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Smoking gun
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The fires were no natural disaster, says JOKO WALUYO. The smoking gun is in the hands of plantation companies.
When I went to Kalimantan and saw that local government and business were doing nothing concrete to deal with the fires, I felt very emotional. They only used a few water bombing aircraft to put out these huge fires, and even those were loaned by neighbouring countries. When we were in the million hectare development project in Central Kalimantan, amidst the burning peat, it felt like we were in hell. It was impossible to get closer than 100 metres to the fire.
Our investigations in the field as well as satellite photos show that these forest fires were man-made. Ninety percent of them occurred in areas with rubber and palm-oil plantations, production forest plantations (HTI), and new transmigration projects.
The government tended to limit information getting out about the extent of the fires. Even the press was not game to speak about who started them. Walhi opened special offices in the affected areas to distribute information about the danger of smoke and to hand out face masks.
Clearing land
Opening up new land involves first of all land clearing, then planting, cultivating, and harvesting. They clear land by chopping down the trees, slashing undergrowth, and then burning the waste. When a company applies to the bank for credit they put down burning off as a cost component. At the moment they budget Rp 1 million (AU$ 4,000) to clear a hectare of land, and set aside a tenth of that for burning off. If they were to use other methods of course it would become more expensive.
In 1982-83 more than 3.7 million hectares of forest were burned, and the fires are repeated every year. But till now the government has not wanted to learn from their experience, for instance by banning the use of fire in land clearing. Walhi has been campaigning against it since 1983, but we have had no reaction from the government.
By the end of September over 1.7 million hectares had been burned, at a loss to the economy of Rp 6.2 trillion (AU$ 2.4 billion). The biggest area was burned by plantation companies. Yet they are doing almost nothing about it. The companies said they were contributing Rp 20 billion (AU$ 7 million) to a fund to help victims of the fires, but it is quite unclear where this money went, who handled it, who received it.
Only 3,000 hectares of that area belonged to small farmers (see table). Yet some still continued to blame them as the main cause of the fires. Company owners say fires from traditional farmers spread accidentally to their plantations. But in reality the traditional farmers do their burning in the interior, far from the plantations and production forests.
Area affected by fire July-September 1997
Production forest
578,000 ha
Conservation area
45,000 ha
Large plantations
798,000 ha
Peat area (C Kal)
260,000 ha
New transmigration areas
30,000 ha
Small farmers
3,000 ha
Total
1,714,000 ha
This cheap method of waste disposal has a severe impact on biodiversity and the fertility of the soil. Tropical forests only have 30 cm of top soil, which is easily washed away by rain once it is exposed.
Drought caused by the El Nino effect should not be blamed for these fires. The effect can now be predicted. It may have made the fires worse but it didn't start them.
Serious
A more important factor is the absence of strict regulations against clearing land by fire. The fires demonstrate how bad forest policy has been in Indonesia thus far. The government should put a complete ban on the use of fire, not only by forestry concession holders but also by plantation owners, miners, transmigration contractors, and anyone else who uses forested areas, including traditional farmers. There should be strict supervision.
We must be much more serious about these fires. Waiting for the rains to come at the end of November is not good enough. We have Rp 4 trillion (AU$ 1.5 billion) in the Reforestation Fund. Why not use that? And the government should ban all further expansion of the plantation sector. Plantations don't make such a large contribution to the economy and only increase the rate of deforestation, now running at 2.4 million hectare per annum.
Withdrawing the logging licence from these companies was meant to give the impression of tough action, but in fact it has no legal consequences. The companies simply go on working their plantations, production forests or new transmigration areas. And they can apply for a new logging licence.
They should be taken to court. The new Environment Law (no 23/ 1997) permits anyone in society to sue environmental destroyers. Clearing land by means of fire is an environmental crime.
Joko Waluyo is coordinator for forest advocacy with Walhi, Indonesia's premier environmental umbrella group. Contact Walhi at: Jl Mampang Prapatan XV/41, Jakarta 12790, Indonesia, tel +62-21-799 4394 or 794 1672, fax 794 1673, email walhi@pacific.net.id.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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The East Timor peace process
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Heike Krieger, East Timor and the international community: Basic documents, Cambridge University Press, 1997, 494+xxviii pp, hardcover, Rrp AU$160.
Geoffrey C. Gunn, East Timor and the United Nations: The case for intervention, Lawrenceville, N.J: Red Sea Press, 1997, 241+vi pp, paperback, Rrp US$19.95. Avail: Red Sea Press, 11-D Princess Road, Lawrenceville, N.J., USA 08648-2319; fax: 1-609-844-0198.
Reviewed by RICHARD TANTER
Today the questions of peace and self-determination for East Timor are higher on the international agenda than at almost any time since 1976. The 1996 Nobel Peace Prize to Bishop Belo and Jose Ramos-Horta, and President Mandela's dramatic appeal to President Suharto to release the imprisoned CNRM leader Xanana Gusmao, focussed the collective mind of the diplomatic community on the search for a break in the stalemate.
For stalemate it is. Even after 22 years of Abri 'pacification', Indonesia simply cannot win in East Timor, politically or militarily. But equally, the East Timorese resistance cannot throw the invaders out. Nor, to this point at least, can CNRM convert its extraordinary record of diplomatic achievements based on absolutely minimal resources into concerted international pressure.
Short list
Many people suggest that Indonesia will never leave East Timor, because it has too much invested. However, if you look hard at the question, 'which Indonesians have interests in East Timor that cannot be negotiated?', it turns out to be a much shorter list than most would have you think.
For the Indonesian military, East Timor is a long-running sore and a humiliating failure. Under Murdani, careers were made in Tim-Tim: no more.
In security terms, Indonesia gains little from Timor except grief and the diplomatic status of a quasi-pariah. An independent East Timor will necessarily pay great heed to the foreign policy concerns of its giant neighbour. There will be no 'Cuba of Southeast Asia', no 'export of the Timorese revolution' to Irian Jaya or the Moluccas.
Economically, three groups of Indonesians benefit from Timor - Abri-linked conglomerates, Indonesian beneficiaries of the Timor Gap oil and gas exploitation, and the large number of mainly poor transmigrants. None of these necessarily stand in the way of self-determination if the political will is there.
The Indonesian conglomerates that make money in Timor are more associated with the old Murdani-crowd than the current Abri leadership. In any case, a new East Timorese government can always negotiate such commercial interests - if that is the price of self-determination.
In the same way, self-determination will require a re-negotiation of the Timor Gap Treaty with both Indonesia and Australia. An independent East Timor will have to make cruel choices about how much of its oil and gas rights it will be willing to give up for its freedom.
The most complex group of economic beneficiaries of the Indonesian occupation is the weakest politically: Indonesian immigrants into East Timor. Xanana Gusmao has indicated that CNRM will not demand their immediate repatriation. CNRM will need to give great thought to how it would ensure their protection following the withdrawal of Indonesian troops.
De Gaulle
The two largest Indonesian obstacles to the peace process are the possible loss of face for Suharto and the Abri leadership, and the fear that any concession on East Timor would weaken them in the contest for the presidential succession. Yet time has helped a great deal here. Suharto is himself the last survivor from the group that dreamed up the invasion of East Timor in the first place.
East Timor was never part of the former Netherlands East Indies. An adroit Indonesian politician can argue that it really should not be thought of as part of the Indonesian nationalist project, and that Murtopo and Murdani made an error of judgement from which it is not too late to pull back, despite all the blood.
Like General Charles De Gaulle faced with the French catastrophe of the war in its Algerian colony in 1960, a new military president after Suharto deciding to cut his nation's losses would have the political means readily to hand: scapegoat the old crowd, rise above issues of 'face', and look to other means of influencing the former territory, such as economic power.
But President Mandela has initiated the other version of this argument: an appeal to Suharto to use his last years in office to gain the international stature he so clearly yearns for. Suharto cannot travel freely abroad for fear of demonstrations in almost any advanced industrial country. While Mandela's first approach did not succeed, the card still lies on the table.
There is one more player on the table, eyeing that card, or looking at the others: the United States. In 1975, there can be little doubt that the US gave the green light for the invasion. But the late 1990s are very different. Post-Cold War, the United States is the animateur of the diplomatic scene, and has been moving systematically to use its influence to force resolutions of lingering regional conflicts: Israel and Palestine, Morocco and Western Sahara, former Yugoslavia, North Korea. The Nobel Prize was the most visible sign that the issue of East Timor and Indonesia is now on that agenda.
The US is not happy with Suharto, and it has no interest in the continuing war in Timor. From the US viewpoint it serves only to weaken its most important regional ally. It is now concerned about the fragility of the entire Suharto regime.
In the international media, the mood has been turning against President Suharto for several years. Articles in The Economist and Newsweek now almost casually list Suharto along with Kim Jong-il and Fidel Castro as the last dictators surviving from the ice ages of the Cold War. The global political public is being prepared for a change in Indonesia.
Krieger and Gunn
Heike Krieger's monumental East Timor and the international community: Basic documents is a must for any library concerned with East Timor, Indonesia, or international relations. Part of a series produced by the Cambridge University Research Centre for International Law, Krieger's 500-page collection reproduces more than 130 documents relevant to East Timor from 1859 to 1995, concentrating on the last twenty years. Reports by UN Special Rapporteurs and of proceedings of the UN Fourth Committee (including testimony by many non-government groups) are included.
More importantly, the collection renders accessible the workings of the UN and other international bodies such as the World Court, as well as exchanges of diplomatic notes.
These documents represent the world in which Jose Ramos-Horta has performed with such extraordinary skill since December 1975. They make his achievement - and Indonesian diplomatic failure - evident. Self-determination will ultimately be won in East Timor, but many times in the past 22 years it could have been lost abroad, but for Horta's persistence.
Unfortunately, a cut-off date of June 1995 for a book of documents published in 1997 seems a trifle early. Particularly since the pace of Timor diplomacy has picked up.
Geoffrey Gunn's East Timor and the United Nations: The case for intervention goes some way to remedying these limitations (at an accessible price). Half the book is a collection of documents, many not included by Krieger. The other half collects Gunn's recent articles on East Timor, the largest of which has already been published in an earlier book. Some are interesting but slight contributions to electronic conference debates.
The book takes its title from the final chapter by Gunn, which sets out the lessons from recent UN peace initiatives, including Western Sahara, Namibia, Mozambique and Cambodia. This important piece developed out of a contribution to the highly constructive 1995 ANU conference on peace-keeping initiatives for East Timor organised by Michael Salla.
Timorese groups in Australia and elsewhere, as well as the Timorese leadership, together with activist scholars such as Michael Salla, now at the American University in Washington DC, and David Scott in Melbourne, have started asking some of the hard but necessary questions involved here.
If the United States is to use its good offices to pressure Indonesia to the conference table, the US will need to be reasonably confident that CNRM is in fact capable of taking responsibility for the territory.
The CNRM under Xanana Gusmao has demonstrated a willingness to consider the crucial diplomatic concessions. Their plan envisages a two-step process - Indonesian military withdrawal and Timorese autonomy first, followed by a UN supervised self-determination process of some years. The devil would be in the details - for example, 'autonomy' in Indonesia has some poor precedents. But with negotiators like Xanana and Horta, East Timor would hold a good hand.
Hard work
The hard work would then begin. To take some simple but crucial problems, consider the following:
Given that most young people in East Timor now speak Bahasa Indonesia, in what language will education and administration be conducted?
Assuming agreement about a phased withdrawal of Indonesian troops, just how will the new administration provide security for all residents of East Timor, including a large number of Indonesian immigrants?
How will the economy be organised and the administration financed, given the distorting effects of Indonesian militarisation and budgetary subsidies?
How will the rights of returning East Timorese refugees be handled, in relation to both Timorese who stayed and Indonesian immigrants? Their property has been bought or seized. Many East Timorese abroad have led entirely differently lives from people inside for two decades. Serious cultural difference is inevitable.
Many East Timorese inside and outside are thinking about these issues. Some may be writing constitutions for an independent East Timor; others may be building trust between East Timorese and Indonesians. Others still will be developing practical policies to make an effective transition from occupied colony to autonomous state and on to independence. Krieger and Gunn are contributing to this process in the international community. There are opportunities now that must not be lost.
Richard Tanter is Professor of International Relations at Kyoto Seika University. In 1976-77 he worked as an assistant to the Democratic Republic of East Timor office to the United Nations.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
Tags: Timor Leste
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Political gangsters
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The riot that engulfed Jakarta on 27 July 1996 started after army-backed gangsters invaded Megawati's PDI headquarters. JESSE RANDALL traces the strange relationship between government and criminality.
The state court is an odd forum for gangsters to resolve their disputes. Particularly when they are suing officials of a government-recognised political party for breach of contract. All the more so when the contract involved staging an attack against hundreds of enthusiasts of a rival party faction which, officially, never took place - at least it was not called an attack.
Yet this is what happened when confessed 'former' preman (Indonesian for gangster or thug) Seno Bella Eymus filed suit in late May 1997, in the Central Jakarta State Court, on behalf of 49 of his compatriots. His suit was against Soerjadi, chair of the officially recognised faction of the Indonesian Democratic Party PDI, and against four other 'Puppet PDI' officials.
Bella charged that he and his boys were promised Rp 200 million (AU$ 100,000), given a cash advance of some Rp 5.5 million, and lent a Toyota Kijang light truck. In return, they were to throw out the supporters of PDI chair Megawati Sukarnoputri from her Jalan Diponegoro headquarters on July 27, 1996.
Pocket the money
Never mind that the assault sparked massive rioting in Jakarta that day, or that Soerjadi had been inaugurated as party chair the previous month in a rump congress orchestrated by the government - these things were of no concern to Bella. The issue was merely that he hadn't been paid. Since he couldn't spread the wealth, his compatriots were beginning to suspect he had pocketed the money himself. For Bella, it came down to a question of honour.
That the state court accepted the suit may indicate that the government has decided Soerjadi is expendable. After putting him up to dealing with their Megawati problem, he has served his purpose. Better he take the fall for employing rogues than certain cabinet ministers, or officers such as Armed Forces Commander Feisal Tanjung, rumoured to have launched the operation.
As if to compound the shame of seeing his faction suffer a near total loss in the elections, Soerjadi is now in the unenviable position of being sued by both the attackers and the attacked. In addition to Bella'spreman, 124 victims in a separate civil case are seeking compensation for 'material and moral' damages suffered as a result of being attacked by Soerjadi's crew and then detained by the police.
Both camps are being represented by the same legal team, Megawati's Indonesian Democracy Defence Team (TPDI). Despite the name, it is pursuing an offensive strategy of litigation.
Hired
Alternatively, the court's decision to accept the suit may simply indicate that they consider it a run-of-the-mill contract law case. It comes as no surprise that politicians and officials should employ the masses. During the 1990s, several prominent 'nationalist' demonstrations and violent 'mass actions' were revealed to be the work of hired preman.
Outside the courthouse during a session of dissident parliamentarian Sri Bintang Pamungkas' trial, youths yelled 'We love our nation and our country' and 'Hang Bintang!'. Later they were handed Rp 10,000 notes by a uniformed officer at the McDonalds in nearby Gajah Mada Plaza.
Preman have been suspected of playing 'integrationist' East Timorese in sometimes violent counter-demonstrations against East Timorese asylum-seekers and Bishop Belo supporters, of burning down the Medan Legal Aid offices, and of ransacking the offices of Dili's only local newspaper, to name only a few.
Both the raid on the PDI headquarters and the crude manner in which Megawati was displaced are seen by regime critics as exemplars of 'political premanism'.
In May of 1996, even before the Megawati affair came to a head, Suara Independen, the outlawed vehicle of the Independent Journalists' Alliance (AJI), ran a cover story on the politics of premanism. They had in mind not merely the use of thugs for political suppression, but a style of rule that has strayed from any notion of accountability in government that at first justified the New Order, and has reached the pinnacle of cynicism.
A certain ambiguity between authority and criminality is not unique to Suharto's Indonesia. The Dutch used Eurasian thugs to suppress the nationalist movement. In response, the PKI in the 1920s organised its ownanti-ribut bond, a defence league comprised of local toughs.
Both the 1945 revolutionaries who drove out the Dutch and the 1966 youth activists who helped to oust Sukarno were well-connected with the underworld.
However, as such links become highly institutionalised, a new strategy has emerged of calling attention to this relationship through a discourse on preman.
Civvies
The popular understanding of preman as hoodlum or gangster is fairly recent. In the early years of the Republic of Indonesia and well into the Suharto period, preman simply meant soldiers and officers who were off-duty or in civilian dress. To be in preman dress was (and is) to be wearing one's civvies.
By the 1980s, however, preman had acquired criminal associations. Preman became understood as the entire network of local racketeers who controlled markets, bus terminals, dangdut discos, prostitution, and parking, among other enterprises. Preman in other words acquired a new meaning of 'two-bit Mafiosi'.
In the 1990s preman have become a 'problem'. The precise nature of the problem, however, is under dispute.
The solution to criminality in the early 1980s was assassination. During the so-called Petrus (mysterious shootings) killings, the corpses of thousands of suspected criminals - then called gali-gali - turned up in public places. Most were shot with silencers, owned only by the security forces. Suharto boasted in his autobiography that it was a necessary response to a persistent problem.
Many of the targets, however, had been working with and for the security forces, in part during the lead-up to the 1982 elections. Some who managed to flee abroad expressed surprise that being hounded was the reward for their service.
Gali-gali disappeared, and preman took off. Learning from a rude awakening, preman have sought to minimise their vulnerability through better organisation. Preman have set themselves up as reformist organisations which claim to provide gainful employment to repentant recidivists.
Pemuda Pancasila
Pemuda Pancasila is a youth organisation which claims 6 million members. It is a prominent member of the national youth forum KNPI and received Suharto's blessing at its June 1996 congress. The group is widely seen as a collection of preman, and the usual suspect when pro-democracy activists are intimidated. But it insists its role is to uplift former and potential preman.
Soerjadi's accuser, Bella, heads a 3,000 member group called Yayasan At-Taubah which professes similar objectives.
As preman grew in influence, however, they began to challenge the authorities. In March 1995, two police officers and a marine private were killed in two separate incidents. This generated a sensation over premanism. As security forces retaliated with Operation Cleansing and rounded up some 7,000 street preman, newspapers highlighted the dangers of premanism with alarming headlines.
However, the press did so in ways that played off the ambiguity of the term itself. The weekly Tiras, in an article entitled 'Preman and preman,' carefully satirised the military-style 'training' the armed forces were giving captured preman in the name of national discipline. Having been given green uniforms, crew cuts, and lined up in neat rows, the preman 'not only didn't look spooky - at first glance they even resembled honest-to-god soldiers', it said.
With similar subtle delight, journalists are fond of using the term preman to refer to soldiers in their civvies, even though the cognate sipil is available and preferred by authorities.
Money motive
It is not without irony that Soerjadi, a man willing to advance his political career at the cost of public contempt, has dismissed Bella's case against him as 'slander anchored by politics', no more than expected from a preman whose only motive is money.
Especially after the violent take-over of the PDI headquarters, Soerjadi has been fighting a losing battle to assert the legitimacy of his position. He insists his partisans never executed an invasion, only sent a large delegation to negotiate with the Megawati camp.
Soerjadi acknowledges he met with Bella, and even that the latter offered to provide security for his daughter's wedding and to mobilise 40,000 people on behalf of his PDI. However, Soerjadi says he refused, because Bella confessed he was not a member of the PDI.
One of the accused, PDI Jakarta section head Lukman Mokoginta, admits to having lent Bella the vehicle for an anti-Megawati demonstration, but says it was later called off. (Also see below).
The publicity surrounding the case tests the potency of the open secret of intimacy between preman and power politics. How public can such situations become while still being officially denied?
Bella and company will almost certainly lose their case. Soerjadi has been unwilling to produce a list of his 'volunteers', and Bella's TPDI admits it has no documentation of payment or promise thereof. In any case, despite the public airing given to Bella's charges, Soerjadi's position as chair of the officially recognised PDI is unlikely to be jeopardised.
Bella just wants his money. If it weren't for the intervention of his lawyer R O Tambunan, he would have stormed Soerjadi's house by now. 'If we've used the law properly, but are still up against the wall,' Bella remarked in an interview with Mutiara, 'then we'll fight itpreman-style.'
Postscript: Bella lost on 12 November 1997.
A denial, sort of
Mutiara (Mutiara 8 July 1997): Is it true that you gave money to Bella to assemble preman?
PDI Jakarta secretary Sahala P. Sinaga, BA: Ha... ha...! Ah...! How could that be! That's... really ridiculous! For what reason would I give him money! Ya know? If you mean he asked for expenses, yeah, he did. What the hell?! I, uh, actually quite frankly, yeah, uh... you mean... uh, what?! I... don't want to have anything to do with preman. From all that, how can people believe preman more? The courts will know, see, whether he is lying or not. If he wasn't a liar, ya know, he wouldn't be apreman.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Art for a better world
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TOM PLUMMER speaks with Moelyono, an artist engaged with farmers threatened by a large dam.
Moelyono is an artist and writer in Tulungagung, East Java. Influenced by Brazilian educator Paulo Freire, he has become well known for his successful efforts to encourage workers to engage with local political issues through community theatre.
The Perth based cultural exchange project, the Sam Bung Foundation, facilitated a visit to Australia by Moelyono for three weeks in October. Moelyono exhibited his most recent work 'Those who are bound' (Yang diikat). This multimedia installation included an opening performance in cooperation with Perth artists, students and volunteers. He also presented campus seminars and workshopped with primary school children. Becoming involved with the local community is in line with Moelyono's art practice, which promotes dialogue and is accessible to anyone who wants to take part.
The poor
Moelyono uses art to help marginalised communities develop autonomous spaces. Many Indonesian artists depict 'the poor', but Moelyono criticises them for not actually connecting with these communities to help them improve their situations. 'Contemporary art only objectifies the poor', he says.
Moelyono spoke with me about his most recent work: with farmers from Wonorejo forced to leave their land because of a large dam project. Though started in 1982 to provide Surabaya industries with fresh water, the project was deserted for many years due to funding problems. In 1994 work resumed, and 347 families began to move from their land following negotiations with local officials.
The villagers were offered compensation depending on the size of their land and the type of house they owned. Those with large pieces of land were able to buy houses in the nearby town of Tulungagung. However, the majority who owned only small tracts were forced to move into the hills behind the dam project because the compensation didn't allow them to buy land elsewhere.
Green belt
The main issue at present is connected with the 'green belt' around the reservoir's edges. Villagers were compensated only for land to be submerged once the dam was filled. Now officials have declared that those living in the green belt, up to 100 metres from the water's edge, must also move. They will not receive compensation.
The most immediate side effect has been the disintegration of the Wonorejo community. There is less work. Farmers with large compensation payouts bought houses and consumer items such as motorbikes. Now they realise they can no longer work as farmers. Most seek work in factories or building roads.
The 100 or so farming families who remain in the green belt will become landless squatters in the hills, unless their legal claims succeed.
In the Kedung Ombo dam protests of the 1980s, students supported the evicted farmers. But in Wonorejo students don't show much concern towards land issues. In the Nipah dam protest on Madura a strong local Islamic community formed the core of opposition. But in Wonorejo the community tends towards secular religious practices and are therefore less united and less able to organise within the framework of Islam.
Also in Wonorejo local officials were more sophisticated in their negotiations with the villagers because they had learnt from the experiences of Kedung Ombo and Nipah.
Folk art
Moelyono has turned the Javanese trance dance calledjaranan into a forum for discussion. During weekly rehearsals the villagers come together to practise a form of traditional theatre and also to discuss the social realities they face. When the troupe performs in neighbouring villages they develop aspirations ordinary people feel.
At another level, the trance has a cathartic effect which provides both performers and the audience a chance to release psychological pressures built up because of the social situation.
In the Wonorejo area it would not be possible for Moelyono to do this any other way. All outsiders, including Moelyono, were banned from entering. However through his efforts to regenerate traditional folk theatre such as jaranan Moelyono can now meet with the villagers in order to develop dialogue. He hopes it will help them refine consciousness about their situation. Even so, Moelyono had to obtain a special artist's permit, and rehearsals and performances are frequently monitored by local security officials.
Tom Plummer is a co-founder of the Sam Bung Foundation. He recently graduated from Murdoch University, Perth.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Not your local member
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When this teacher tries to explain the electoral system, he ends up in knots. SUGENG PERMANA listens in.
Teacher: Children, children. Get out your notebooks. Carefully take down what I have to say. Today is 1 October, the Day of the Supernatural Power of Pancasila. The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is installing the members of the People's Consultative Assembly (MPR) as well as the new Parliament (DPR) of our Republic of Indonesia. The MPR will meet in March 1998 for its once-in-five-years gathering.
Our country is not a kingdom, a military junta or a communist state, whose sovereignty lies in the hands of a king or a leader from the military or the working class ruling arbitrarily. No, clause 1, paragraph 2 of the 1945 Constitution states that 'sovereignty is in the hands of the people, and is fully enacted by the MPR'.
The MPR consists of members of the DPR, along with delegates from the provinces and from functional groups. The constitution stipulates that the MPR chooses the president and regulates the direction of the state. The president then makes laws together with the DPR.
In our beloved Indonesia today the DPR has 500 members, and the MPR 1000. It is constituted like this: each member of the DPR represents 400,000 people and each member of the MPR represents 200,000 of our people. Are there any questions?
Student: Yes, sir. In the newspapers and on television they say there are elected and appointed representatives. Can you explain how that is the case, sir?
Teacher: In the last election the representatives that were elected to the DPR were only those members belonging to the parliamentary factions of Golkar, the United Development Party (PPP) and the Indonesian Democratic Party (PDI). There are 325 from Golkar, 89 from the PPP and 11 from the PDI. On the other hand 75 members were appointed as the Abri faction. As a result, out of 500 DPR representatives, 425 were elected and 75 were appointed by the president.
Student: Excuse me, sir. I have a question. Each member of the DPR is supposed to represent 400,000 people, aren't they, sir?
Teacher: Yes. work it out yourself, 200 million Indonesians divided by 500 means each member of the DPR represents 400,000 people, correct?
Student: In that case, the 75 Abri members times 400,000 makes 30 million people. Is that right, sir? In that case our country must have the largest military force in the world.
Teacher: No, our country's armed forces don't even reach a million. But Abri membership in the MPR/DPR is a special right not possessed by the other civil political parties. Furthermore, that privilege is needed for these changing times in order to protect Pancasila and the 1945 Constitution. You children have to understand this well. For the moment we will not consider it to be in conflict with clause 27 of the constitution about the equality of all citizens. Try and read thoroughly about this topic by yourselves.
Student: But tell us how the Abri representatives get chosen, sir. Are they chosen by the Abri leadership, or by the president, or like our election of student reps, by a meeting of Abri members conducting an open election?
Teacher: Enough, enough! Don't ask about such matters. Later on you will understand when you are at university. Then you will study about democracy in theory and practice. For the present, just accept the fact that Indonesia is a Pancasila Democracy.
Now I will explain about the membership of the MPR. The 500 DPR members automatically become members of the MPR. The other 500 members are appointed by the president. It works like this. Each provincial parliament selects its provincial delegates. They can be military area commanders, governors, chairmen of the provincial parliament, or just anybody considered to have enough authority to represent a region. So in practice the president just has to appoint the delegates suggested from below, a total of 149 people.
Then there are the functional group delegates consisting of 100 people. They are appointed by the president. The process of candidature and election is never clear. Nor are the groups which get represented ever announced. Amongst the 100 are people like Mr Yogi Memet (Interior Minister), and Mrs Hartini Hartarto (wife of another cabinet minister).
Student: Sir, does Mr Yogi represent the functional group of Ministers of State, while Mrs Hartini Hartarto represents the functional group of Wives of Ministers?
Teacher: Now, I don't know how it works. In the school text book it is not at all clear what the functional groups are and how their delegates are chosen.
Aside from that, the president also appoints members to the MPR from the three political parties, depending on the balance of power in the DPR. Thus, Golkar gets another 163, the PPP 45, the PDI 5 and Abri gets 38 more.
Student: During the general election one campaigner said that all members of the MPR ought to be directly elected. How many are elected that way right now, sir?
Teacher: Those elected directly are only the 325 from Golkar, the 89 from PPP and the 11 from PDI, 425 in total. So out of 1000 people in the MPR, only 42.5% were elected and 57.5% were appointed.
Student: Sir, if 57.5% of the MPR was appointed by President Suharto and later the MPR chooses Mr Suharto as president again, won't fractious foreign journalists make the headline: 'The Suharto People's Assembly elects Suharto as President'?
Teacher: That's enough, try not to think about whatever outsiders might feel like writing. What is clear is that the composition of the MPR and the DPR is the best that we have for the present. What is the evidence? No one dares to oppose the system, and that includes the intellectuals and the respected religious leaders. The only ones who do not like it are small groups who have been shoved aside or are on state pensions, or students and young people who are always demanding that the five laws on politics be rescinded. But they only ever indulge in empty chatter. They have no idea how to rescind the laws or what to replace them with. That is enough of this lesson for today.
Student: Excuse me please, sir. One final question. According to clause 2, paragraph 1 of the constitution there should only be delegations of regional and functional groups in the MPR. But we have also put them in the DPR. What do you think, sir? I also once read in the newspaper that Golkar is actually not a political party. But then what are they doing occupying the DPR? Surely it is enough for them to just be in the MPR. What do you think?
Teacher: That is enough, my boy. Don't go trying to count the number of clauses in the constitution you consider to have been broken. They have not been broken, it is just that they have yet to be fulfilled exactly as originally intended. It takes time. Maybe in the future when Pancasila has become more truly supernaturally powerful. Possibly at that time the constitution will be enacted consistently and as purely as the driven snow. That is all for now. See you tomorrow. Good afternoon.
Istiqlal, 8 October 1997. David Williams was the translator.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Godly men in green
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Abri officers are becoming more Islamic, but many do not want their Islam to become a political tool for the administration, according to MARCUS MIETZNER.
Admiral Sudomo, the once powerful commander of Kopkamtib and currently head of the Supreme Advisory Council, has always been in possession of an infallible political instinct. When he returned to Islam in a widely publicised ceremony in August 1997 after having embraced Christianity for more than thirty years, this was not just another chapter in the already legendary record of one of the New Order's most flamboyant characters. It also reflected a significant change in the approach to the cultural and political implications of Islam by the Suharto administration in general and by the military elite in particular.
Sudomo's move highlights a development that has seen a remarkable shift in the religious affiliations of the top military personnel. In the 70s and 80s Christian officers held key positions in the Armed Forces, and most of their Muslim colleagues could be described as less than strictabangan. But devout santri officers with strong ties to Muslim organisations have been prominent in the 90s.
Secular
For decades, the secular and nationalist orientation of the Armed Forces seemed to exclude devout Muslims from top military posts. After independence had been achieved, the army saw itself as the defender of the national ideology Pancasila. This implied opposition to the identification of the state with any particular religion. Especially Islam with its reluctance to concede a distinction between religion and state politics was viewed by the army as a possible threat to the stability of the heterogenous nation.
It was only the threat of a communist takeover during the last phase of Sukarno's Guided democracy in the early 1960s that forced the army and the Muslim community into a short-lived coalition. But after Sukarno's fall in 1967 the New Order government demonstrated very quickly that it had no intention of making any concessions to a politically oriented Islamic movement. The final disillusionment for Muslim organisations came with the 1971 elections, in which Abri orchestrated a Golkar victory that marginalised the Muslim parties.
The distrust of the government towards political Islam was embodied in the military personnel. Besides moderate Muslims many Christian officers occupied top posts: Panggabean, Witono, Sudomo and - most notably - Benny Murdani. Together with Ali Murtopo, who had provoked the Muslim community by creating the concept of 'democratic theism' as a theoretical basis for the New Order, the Christian officers became the focus of anti-military sentiments within Muslim circles.
Legitimacy crisis
In 1983 and 1984 Benny Murdani's ascent to the top post of the Armed Forces, and the army's suppression of the Islamic riots in Tanjung Priok which left a still unkown figure of protesters dead, marked the historic low in the relations between Abri and the Muslim community. After Tanjung Priok, the army took an active role in 'convincing' Muslim organisations to accept Pancasila as their sole ideological principle, which was finally enshrined in the 1985 political laws.
Having domesticated Nahdatul Ulama (NU), Muhammadiyah and the Islamic Students Association (HMI) by 1985, Abri should have been satisfied with its achievements. But its very success undermined fundamental elements of Abri's legitimacy. Given the reduced danger of Muslim extremism, it was much more difficult for Abri to explain the need for the continuation of its dominant role in politics. The presence of Christian officers in the top ranks, traditionally presented as a measure of containing ambitions for an Islamic state, was now openly questioned.
This partial legitimacy crisis coincided with the cultural renaissance of Islam in Indonesian society. Caused by the New Order's success in providing secondary and tertiary education to the average Indonesian, devout Muslims began to rise to important positions in the bureaucracy and - after some initial resistance by the Abri leadership - in the middle ranks of the military.
At the same time, Benny Murdani's obvious attempts to distance Abri from the administration and a Golkar dominated by Sudharmono confronted Suharto with the possibility that the Armed Forces could withdraw their support for the president.
Ingenious
Suharto reacted quickly. He dismissed Benny as Abri Commander-in-Chief in 1988 and turned to the Muslim community as a new basis of power. This ingenious move carried some far-reaching consequences and provided the president with a wide range of tactical alternatives. First, he was able to integrate Islamic groups into the system of the New Order and therefore reduce the danger of political instability.
Second, comforting the Muslim community required the appointment of more Muslim generals in place of the hitherto predominantly Christian and abangan military leadership, which had been for decades a bone of contention for Muslim groups. Both factors combined to give Suharto the opportunity to gradually dismantle Benny's network - a move that had strong support from society.
The president's new strategy was clearly mirrored in his policy of appointments to top and middle military positions. Between 1988 and 1991 Feisal Tanjung, Hartono, Sofyan Effendi and Syarwan Hamid were promoted to important posts in both the central hierarchy and the regions, preparing them for the top ranks in the years to come.
These officers were hardly influenced by Abri's traditional reservations towards political Islam. They did not hesitate to demonstrate their affinity towards both the cultural implications of Islam and their political consequences. Therefore they fitted well in the president's calculations to reconcile the Muslim community with the New Order and to bring the army back under his control.
Benny's replacement as Abri Commander-in-Chief, the madrasah-educated Try Sutrisno, enjoyed a higher degree of acceptance in the Muslim constituency, although he was also widely considered to be loyal to his former superior, now transferred to the Ministry of Defence and Security.
From the perspective of Abri-Islam relations, Try's leadership was a period of transition. While the handling of the 1989 Lampung affair initially showed the well-established pattern of blaming Muslim fundamentalists, it was later acknowledged by the military that land conflicts had been the reason for the unrest.
Although warnings against Islamic extremism became less frequent in the post-Murdani era, the new military leadership left no doubts that there were clear limits for Muslim activism. The military's treatment of Muslim separatists in Aceh is a hint to where the line in the sand is drawn. The nationalist education in Abri's institutions has no tolerance for movements undermining national unity.
Abri factions?
Hartono's meteoric rise since 1994, and the general observation that devout Muslims held key positions after Feisal Tanjung's appointment as Abri Commander-in-Chief in 1993, led many analysts to the conclusion that the Armed Forces were split between an Islamic and a nationalist faction. While the Islamic faction is usually associated with the Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals Association ICMI and its chairman, Minister of Research and Technology BJ Habibie, the nationalists are described as officers following the secular tradition of Benny Murdani.
At the surface, this observation can be reasonably defended. But the curiosity that Feisal Tanjung is variously assigned by observers to both of the factions suggests that the categorisation along religious and nationalist lines is misleading. Instead, more fundamental problems seem to be the cause for the split in the ranks.
Two facts should be taken into account. First, the 'Islamic' faction, by actively mobilising the support of Muslim organisations for the political elite of the New Order, was merely implementing Suharto's strategic imperatives. Second, the biographical background of officers categorised as nationalists differs in religious terms considerably from that of their Christian and abangan superiors during the 70s and 80s. Officers like Bambang Yudhoyono also established excellent relationships with Muslim groups in the regions where they served.
Thus the controversy separating the two groups is concentrating more on another question. Are the Armed Forces a security force with the fundamental task of safeguarding the unity of the state, or a political tool of the incumbent administration? In this context it was a telling phenomenon when Hartono, as Army Chief of Staff, not only distinguished himself as a 'green', 'Islamic' general, but in 1996 also attempted to commit Abri to Golkar. Strengthening the relationship with the Muslim community and tying Abri to the administration's party were key elements of Hartono's politicisation of the army.
The 'nationalist' camp does not so much object to the more receptive stance of Abri vis-a-vis the Muslim community as to the exploitation of Muslim groups as a means of perpetuating the New Order government. Abri's changed perception of Islam itself is not part of the controversy. It is a historical development which is unlikely to be reversed in the near future. Only the resurrection of a radical Muslim movement threatening the substance of the state might lead Abri to reconsider its approach.
Reluctance
Current developments tend to underline this point. Muslim protests against the economic dominance of the Chinese are now received with some sympathy by military officers. During the recent riots in Java, West Kalimantan and Sulawesi, the responsible regional commanders were very fast in assuring that no Muslim fundamentalists were responsible for the unrest. They rather pointed to the social roots of the conflicts which were exploited by a 'certain group' for political reasons.
The reluctance of the military to blame Muslim extremists for instigating riots points to the importance of Muslim groups in counterbalancing the challenges posted by liberalism, which in Indonesia is often identified with communism. During the hunt for activists of the People's Democratic Party PRD, military commanders tried to mobilise Muslim support for the New Order's anti-communist record. In East Java, however, some of the Muslim leaders summoned by the then Brawijaya Commander Imam Utomo refused to sign a declaration blaming the PRD for subversive activities.
Overall, the gradual shift in the military top brass from a Christian- and abangan-dominated leadership to one with a santri background had a strong impact on the late New Order society. It deprived Abri of one of its institutionalised explanations for its intervention in political affairs, namely the exposure of a latent threat from the religious right. On the other hand, the changing pattern of religious preferences of military officers is not always helpful to explain splits in the ranks.
Marcus Mietzner is a PhD student at the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, Canberra.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Kings or kingmakers
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Senior Abri intentions may be obscure now, says BOB LOWRY, but no one should assume they will remain that way.
In 1451 Mehmet II replaced his father, Murad II, as Sultan of the Ottoman Turks. He was the third son, by a slave girl, from the Sultan's harem. Murad's first two sons, by high born wives, were expected to be his successors but the eldest died of natural causes and the second was murdered in suspicious circumstances.
Among his first acts on assuming power, Mehmet II had his infant half brother drowned in his bath. Fratricide was common place following dynastic successions and was designed to reduce the field of possible usurpers and deny disgruntled citizens a symbol of opposition.
Mehmet II delivered the coup de grace to the last significant remnant of the Roman Empire and bastion of the Eastern Orthodox Church by capturing Constantinople in 1453. The empire was no more but the Orthodox Church survives in Russia and Eastern Europe.
Interestingly, in the six years before his death, Sultan Murad attempted to retire, handing power to Mehmet II. But he was eventually called back because of Mehmet's youth, and dissension among his advisers. Nevertheless, Mehmet became one of the greatest leaders of the Ottoman Empire.
This historical cameo reminds us of the inherent difficulties authoritarian regimes experience replacing leaders and establishing and maintaining their legitimacy. Although fratricide is now unfashionable and much has changed since the days of Mehmet II, the nature of the human animal remains constant.
Eunuchs
Whoever replaces Suharto will need the backing of influential sections of the elite, especially those in the armed forces. It might seem that Suharto has promoted a tame bunch of professional lackeys to the senior leadership of Abri. But to expect all of them to remain docile when the redistribution of power and privilege is on offer is to ignore history and deny human nature.
Suharto's actions in relation to Abri show that he is acutely aware of this problem. From the beginning of his reign he has been a master of divide and rule tactics and the use of political eunuchs. He successfully isolated and sidelined potential challengers like Generals Nasution, Sumitro, Murtopo, and Jusuf among others.
Abri command arrangements also make it difficult for any commander to act in isolation or in concert with fellow malcontents. The intelligence system is pervasive and comprises several independent parts. And the capital Jakarta is secured by units from several different commands, reducing the risk of Praetorian arrogance.
Overlaying the structure of power are personnel arrangements designed to minimise the opportunity for officers to betray their political masters. Many of the senior commanders are personally known to the president, having been personal aides, presidential security officers, or local commanders. Most are also tied to the president by patronage, either directly or indirectly.
Finally, most senior military appointments are regularly rotated. This has the effect of denying officers the opportunity to develop independent power bases and alliances. With a retirement age of 55 and a top heavy structure it also ensures rapid promotion for favoured officers, flattering their egos and creating a sense of obligation to their patrons.
Save the state
If Abri has been so effectively bent to the president's will can it play any significant role in the presidential succession? The answer is that it will depend on the circumstances at the time. Abri officers might act to save the state as defined by doctrine, from self-interest, or from a combination of both.
Abri has contingency plans to cover possibilities like the death of the incumbent president and the forthcoming special session of the People's Consultative Assembly (MPR). These plans only cover security matters, they cannot address the political consequences except in a procedural manner. Nevertheless, they will put some senior commanders in potentially advantageous positions when implemented.
Ironically, the regime's own indoctrination is a double edged sword. Doctrine states that Abri is above politics, that it is the guardian of the nation and the protector of the people from false prophets. Were the succession to give rise to unrest, for whatever reason, some officers might feel duty bound to save the state from those who would destroy the regime.
Likewise with President Suharto's policy of maintaining dynamic tension and competition among senior officers. Although this assists in maintaining his own position it could lead to factionalisation during a succession.
Challengers
The Suharto succession will occur as a consequence of the president's death or infirmity, or a decision to step down either at a regular MPR session or mid-term. Death or infirmity or retirement mid-term would be the easiest solution if the incumbent vice president was generally acceptable and competent and the process was not drawn out.
A prolonged succession, as a result of creeping senility or of a decision to step down at a regular MPR session, poses the greatest challenge. It would dissolve patronage obligations and create an opportunity for a number of challengers to emerge. In the absence of strong political institutions it is possible that challengers could seek endorsement directly from the populace, through social and religious organisations, or from the military.
Such endeavours could divide the loyalty of Abri commanders and staff, forcing officers to declare their position. When personal ambition and other motives such as envy, revenge and frustration are added, the potential for splits within Abri increases. Should civil unrest arise it will inevitably put more power into the hands of the troops deployed to restore order.
Likewise with the option of semi-retirement, the so-called Lee Kuan Yew option. Indonesia lacks the political infrastructure provided by Singapore's People's Action Party. After more than 30 years of the New Order, Abri remains the repository of Suharto's power. And, as Sultan Murad found, any attempt to divide power at the peak allows scope for divisive politics from below.
Cleavage
Any attempt to explore the lines of cleavage in Abri is confounded by the nature of the regime and restrictions on research. The Indonesian officer corps is sometimes defined according to patronage links, divisional allegiances, military classes, professional orientation, religious affiliations, and ethnicity. None of these, in themselves, are of much utility because interests and loyalties change with time and circumstance.
Rather than explore these imponderables, differences of interest can be explored in relation to concrete issues like the succession and political transition. The officer corps both active and retired is split on the succession issue. Many believe that it is long past time that Suharto retired but few are prepared to say so directly or openly.
There are many reasons for their reticence. Suharto can still severely penalise critics directly or indirectly, for example by denying passports, business or educational opportunities to the individual or his family. They are also reluctant to publicly acknowledge divisions within the Abri family for fear of stimulating cleavages which might be exploited by other opponents of the regime. The regime also fosters subservience to authority and deference to age.
The motives for opposing Suharto's continued rule also vary. Some resent being left out of power and patronage, others resent the privileges given to family and friends of the president. Some resent Suharto's usurpation of the New Order, some believe that he has done a good job but that his time has passed. Others are critical of the means he has used to retain power.
Suharto's unseating of Megawati Sukarnoputri from the leadership of the Indonesian Democratic Party, and the party's virtual destruction in the lead-up to the May 1997 parliamentary elections, crippled an avenue of opposition to Suharto's reelection in March 1998 and stripped away the veneer of democracy Pancasila doctrine espouses. Suharto's manipulation of Islam for political ends also causes anxiety among some members of the officer corps.
Suharto's new-found devotion to Islam has been useful in coopting Islam and for providing a counter-foil to Abri, much as the PKI did for Sukarno. But many officers, including the current minister for defence and security, fear that the political mobilisation of Islam could rebound on the regime. They fear the emotive mobilising power of Islam in the wrong hands.
Transition
Political transition is the other issue on which divisions within Abri are apparent. For some, political transition means retention of the current regime. For others it includes liberalisation of the current regime. For a minority, mainly of the younger generation, it includes eventual transition to liberal democracy. In the cut an thrust of politics the two issues sometimes become entwined.
Opposition to Suharto is mainly expressed by retired officers or the occasional maverick in Abri's parliamentary faction. Nevertheless, they reflect the views of many serving officers who do not have the latitude to express their views. A serving officer risks his career prospects and consideration for sinecures on retirement by openly opposing Suharto's continued rule.
Suharto's recent authorisation of government regulations providing for five star generals within Abri and his own promotion to five star general, along with the late Sudirman and Nasution, can be seen as a move to remind Abri officers, in the lead-up to the March 1998 elections, that he is supreme commander of Abri. That Suharto needs these symbols of power shows that he recognises that he is losing power as age catches up with him and discussion of succession mounts.
The discussion thus far is centred on elite politics, but a revolt by more junior officers inspired by ideological zeal or religious zealotry cannot be ignored. For example, the currency crisis related to the floating of the rupiah, the devastating fires that swept Indonesia recently and increasing concerns about corruption and the abuse of power could motivate such action. Even if unsuccessful, the attempt could trigger deep divisions within the elite, including the officer corps.
In summary, there is little to be gained from looking for individual military officers or fixed constellations of officers who would be king or kingmakers. The commanders in place when Suharto decides to retire or is no more will only show their true colours when the time comes. What colours they fly will depend on their latitude for action and the character of the individuals concerned. Those who would delete Abri from the analysis of presidential succession would do well to reflect on the nature of the human animal.
Bob Lowry is author of 'The Indonesian Armed Forces', Allen & Unwin, 1996.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Watch these five!
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DAMIEN KINGSBURY puts his money on five military winners in the presidential stakes. Indonesians call them the five Pendawa.
In the lead-up to Suharto's reappointment as president in March 1998, there is more speculation than ever about the future of Indonesian politics, in particular the issue of the presidential succession. Short of Suharto following the Chinese pattern of gerontocracy, it seems that this will indeed be the term of office in which Indonesia's leadership changes hands.
Despite the constraints of Indonesia's political society, a couple of trends are becoming increasingly clear. Since the split between a significant section of Abri and Suharto in the late 1980s, the armed forces has manoeuvred to ensure that it will still be a key player in the post-Suharto period. There have also been moves by members of Suharto's family to more closely integrate themselves into the political system, either via political appointments or by forming alliances with political and military figures. And there is broad agreement that the general structure of the economy must be maintained.
It is this latter which has brought together competing interests and which is most shaping the post-Suharto period. Nearly all political players in Indonesia recognise that, in the volatile period immediately after Suharto, economic collapse could tip Indonesia into political chaos. No one wants a return to the cathartic blood-letting of the period after 1 October 1965, when Sukarno began to be pushed from office.
While Suharto has been off-side with a significant section of Abri since the late 1980s, no overt challenge is likely to come from that quarter, for three reasons. Abri wants to preserve the mystique of authority, Suharto may have struck a deal with a group within Abri just ahead of the convening of the MPR in March 1998, and any challenge by Abri is not guaranteed to succeed.
Red and white
Many observers identify Abri as being split into two main, competing groups, being the pro-Islamic, pro-Suharto 'green' faction, and the generally anti-Suharto 'red and white' faction. The 'red and white' faction is that which is poised to take a dominant role in the post-Suharto period. Within these two broad camps are 'clusters' of power and patronage, forming and dividing over a range of issues and alliances.
Within the 'red and white' faction, a group of five individuals comprises the core of perhaps the most important 'cluster' and is the one most likely to influence the post-Suharto period. This group is referred to by Golkar insiders as the Pendawa Lima, or the five Pendawas, referring to the knights (satria) in the Hindu-derived Mahabarata epic of old Java. These satria represent noble Javanese behaviour and were key players in the battle with the mythological Kurawa faction. ThePendawa Lima has established links with many of the major players in Indonesia, is powerful within Abri and is young enough to carry its vision for Indonesia into the 21st Century.
Yudhoyono
The most notable of the Pendawa Lima is Maj-Gen Bambang Yudhoyono, who was regional commander of South Sumatra before being moved to become Assistant for Abri Social and Political Affairs in July 1997. The role of Abri's Social and Political office is to advise on policy and manage the secondment of Abri staff to government positions. This placed Yudhoyono in a central position from which to influence Abri policy on its role in government.
More importantly, Yudhoyono is seen as being the intellectual leader of a rising group of younger senior officers. Yudhoyono was touted as a possible vice-presidential candidate, but in any case is expected to wield considerable political power in any post-Suharto environment. His open political career could start after the post-Suharto period has already gotten under way.
Hendropriyono
The next Pendawa is former Jakarta military commander Maj-Gen Hendropriyono, who is especially close to Vice-President Try Sutrisno and to Suharto's son Bambang Trihatmojo. Through his link with Hendropriyono, Bambang is helping to ensure that his own personal fortune is not jeopardised in a post-Suharto shake-up. Hendropriyono was also influential in having Megawati Sukarnoputri elected as chairman of the PDI in 1993, explicitly against Suharto's wishes. This damaged Hendropriyono's standing with Suharto, got him thrown out of the Jakarta command in 1994, but put him in good standing with many army colleagues and ensured that he would play an influential role in any post-Suharto political process.
Wiranto
Lt-Gen Wiranto is another, especially well placed member of this group, having replaced Hartono as the head of the army and possibly being positioned to leap-frog to head Abri. Wiranto, a Suharto adjutant from 1989 until 1993, continues to be trusted by Suharto, even though he has links with 'red and white' officers who are not so favourably disposed towards Suharto. In this sense, Wiranto has the potential to act as a bridge between disaffected senior Abri officers and Suharto.
Wiranto could be relied upon to ensure that, in the period after Suharto, Abri does not get drawn into political disputation and either participates, as it did in 1965-66, or, worse, splits along factional lines and fights within itself. Wiranto is seen by some as a suitable replacement for Try Sutrisno as vice-president, given his high standing within Abri and his still good links with Suharto.
Wiranto is also originally from Yogyakarta, close to where Suharto grew up, and shares a similar sense of the type of propriety favoured by Suharto. Wiranto's move to the vice-presidency would not be unpopular within Abri and would place him in a strong position to make a bid for the presidency in a post-Suharto environment.
Agum Gumelar
The head of the military district of South Sulawesi, Maj-Gen Agum Gumelar, is number four of the five Pendawa. Agum is a trusted colleague of the other four, being closely associated with Hendropriyono in having Megawati elected to the PDI chairmanship For his trouble he was replaced as commander of Kopassus. His elevation to Sulawesi regional commander in 1996 confirmed, however, that his star is not in permanent decline.
Farid Zainuddin
The fifth colleague in this group is Maj-Gen Farid Zainuddin, who headed military intelligence, the BIA (Badan Intelijen Abri), from late 1996. During Benny Murdani's period as Commander-in-Chief of Abri, military intelligence assumed an important role in political affairs, even though Suharto and Feisal moved to downgrade it in the wake of Murdani's dismissal, first from the army and then from cabinet.
As head of BIA, Farid was in charge of strategic and internal security intelligence collection and analysis, counterintelligence, special operations and the security aspects of international relations. It was a most powerful position within Abri. Farid was also associated with Hendropriyono in supporting Megawati for the PDI chairmanship. In August 1997 Farid was replaced by Maj Gen Zacky Anwar Makarim, who is also close to Hendropriyono.
Each of the Pendawa Lima is associated with five individual Pendawa from whom they derive their collective name. Yudhoyono is identified with the most famous Pendawa, Arjuna, Wiranto with Kresna (powerful first cousin to Arjuna), Hendropriyono with Gatotkaca, Agum with Yudistira and Farid with Abimanyu.
Murdani
The Pendawa Lima are closely identified with Defence Minister Edi Sudrajat, and through him to Murdani. Through Sudrajat they are also associated with Suharto's son Bambang Trihatmojo. Sudrajat has a number of international links, aimed at ensuring future foreign investment. Beyond that, the group has links to a number of major Indonesian investors, ensuring a ready supply of funds should it be needed.
To further cement this group's linkages, Murdani, a Catholic, is also holding out an accommodation to Indonesia's Islamic community. In particular, the NU's Abdurrahman Wahid is very close to this group, ensuring a significant bloc of Islamic support for the group as well as ensuring the NU's future political influence.
An associate of Murdani said that in 1989 he made Suharto an offer to preserve his children's business interests, if Suharto agreed to leave office soon. By 1993 that agreement had expired, and there were a number of incidents which marked the bitter rancour between Suharto and Murdani at that time. More recently, though, it seems that some officers close to Murdani have begun to negotiate another deal with Suharto about the succession. The idea, then, is to preserve the status quo.
No democratisation
After Suharto there is unlikely to be substantive change in Indonesia's political make-up. Indonesia's economy cannot afford the shock of a serious flight of capital, which would come with a wholesale clean-up of questionable businesses. Nor could it cope with a serious drop in foreign investment that would follow radical political change.
This effectively precludes more broad political participation, or 'democratisation', although there could be moves to acknowledge some pro-democracy concerns. These might include the divestment or floating of some proportion of the major conglomerates (such as Suharto's daughter Tutut's toll roads), a redirection of some development funds towards health, housing and education projects, and a brief period of greater freedom of expression. This last point would be encouraged where it offers a criticism of the previous government, which would assist in legitimising the new government.
The person who succeeds Suharto as president might not occupy that position for long, perhaps being acceptable only until a more appropriate candidate can be groomed. But however it is analysed, there is no optimistic scenario for those who have pinned their hopes on Indonesia's eventual democratisation.
Damien Kingsbury is the author of 'The politics of Indonesia', to be published by Oxford University Press in early 1998. Readers interested in the Pendawa will enjoy Ben Anderson, 'Mythology and the tolerance of the Javanese', Cornell University, 1965.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Wicked!
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Heard any good jokes lately? Here's some ...
Prabowo becomes a spy
Three young soldiers applied to join the military intelligence service BIA. Each took turns in an oral exam. Since it doesn't take much nouse to join the intelligence in Indonesia, the questions were kept simple, not long-winded, just on basic general knowledge. But seeing that the examiner happened to be Javanese and liked the shadow puppet theatre, his questions that day all had to do with wayang stories.
First up was Abu, a former member of the pro-government youth organisation KNPI, from Madura. The examiner asked him: 'Who kidnapped Shinta?'. Abu answered: 'Rahwana'. Abu passed, and became a spy.
Second in line was Bustanul, former member of the pro-army youth organisation FKPPI, from Sawahlunto in Sumatra. The examiner asked: 'Who was the younger brother of Rama who joined him in the forest?'. Bustanul thought for a moment and silently cursed this Java-centric question. But he answered: 'Laksmana'. Bustanul also passed, and became a spy.
Third was Prabowo, former member of Pancasila Youth, from who knows where. The examiner asked him: 'Who fought a duel and eventually killed the giant Rahwana?'. Prabowo was silent, gave no answer, though he kept on smiling. For ten minutes. At last the examiner lost patience and said: 'You can go home now, and come back tomorrow with your answer!'.
Prabowo left, still smiling. At home his father asked him how the exam had gone, and why he was smiling all the time. Prabowo said: 'Fantastic, dad! I've even been told to investigate a case of brawling'.
Goro-Goro 2 September 1997.
Even the mummies know Suharto
Three archaeologists, one each from America, England and Indonesia, got lost in a tunnel under one of the Egyptian pyramids. Suddenly a mummy, thousands of years old, rose up and approached the three archaeologists, who turned deathly pale.
'Hail, humans. Who are you and where are you from?', asked the mummy in a booming voice.
'My name is Michael, Lord Mummy. I am from the United States of America, the world superpower', said the American archaeologist, throwing out his chest.
'Huh.... America? I do not know your country. And where do you come from?', the mummy asked the other pale-skinned archaeologist.
'I am from England, Lord Mummy. My name is Charles', replied the English archaeologist.
'England, where is that?', asked the mummy.
'England once had the greatest empire in the world', said the Englishman proudly.
'I am sorry, I do not know your people. Hey you, the short one with the almond eyes! Where are you from?', asked the mummy.
'Lord Mummy, my name is Sugeng from Indonesia', replied the Indonesian archaeologist.
'Ahaa! So you're from Indonesia', said the mummy and he motioned to the Indonesian archaeologist to come closer. 'Tell me, is Suharto still the King of Java?'.
Goro-Goro 16 September 1997.
What succession?
Why does Suharto seem so relaxed about his own succession, when everyone else is in a tiz about it? Word has it the old man has bought a piece of land out of the family fortune - in Jerusalem. To be precise, at Golgotha, where Jesus was crucified. He has left instructions that when his time comes his corpse is to be flown to Jerusalem for immediate burial there. Why so far from home? To escape an ungrateful population? On the contrary. So that after three days he can rise again and return to Jakarta to continue as president.
Jakarta taxi driver.
Judgment day
Malaysia's prime minister, the Chinese president and the Indonesian president were called to heaven for a short briefing. They came quickly and God told them the judgment day would occur next Friday. Each head of state was asked to convey this information to their people so they could be ready. How? - that was up to them.
The Malaysian prime minister returned to Kuala Lumpur and spoke on national television: 'Ladies and gentlemen, I have two items of news, one is bad, the other good. The bad news is that the world will end next Friday. The good news is that God exists and he is most compassionate'.
The Chinese president returned to Beijing and said on state television: 'Comrades, I come with two pieces of news, both bad. First, the world will end next week. Second, God exists'.
The Indonesian president returned to Jakarta and summoned a state television crew to come and record this speech: 'Assalamu'alaikum. Brother citizens, as the mandated leader of the Indonesian people I have been given the responsibility to convey some news to you all. There are two items, and Alhamdullilah they are both good. The first good news is that God exists, providing security and order for the cosmos. The second good news is that as from next Friday there will be no more poor people in Indonesia'.
Goro-Goro 27 August 1997.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Taking on the timber tycoons
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It's lonely in the Forestry Minister's office, says GERRY VAN KLINKEN.
Amidst the Indonesian smoke, spare a thought for Forestry Minister Jamaludin Suryohadikusumo. As official custodian of Indonesia's vast but shrinking forests, he has to police some well connected timber tycoons. Men like Bob Hasan, golfing partner to Suharto and jokingly referred to as Indonesia's real Forestry Minister.
Early in October Jamaludin apparently carried out a threat to remove the logging licence from a major commercial timber plantation owned by Hasan in East Kalimantan. The list of 160-odd licences slated for withdrawal also included other well-connected companies. Most were oil palm plantations. Jamaludin said satellite monitoring showed they had starting fires that blanketed the region in smoke for months, in defiance of a ban on burning timber wastes effective since last July.
Fumed
Even though removal of a logging licence is no great hardship for a plantation, small time slash and burn farmers of Kalimantan and Sumatra were pleased with Jamaludin's action. For years they had been blamed for causing smoke, while large companies walked scot free. Bob Hasan, on the contrary, fumed about communist environmental non-government organisations, and continued to blame farmers and El Nino for the fires.
Appointed to cabinet in 1993 from an obscure career in the Forestry Department, Jamaludin now joins Minister for the Environment Sarwono Kusumaatmaja as the ministers most respected by Indonesia's environmental movement.
Some of his early attempts to assert himself against the flood of untaxed timber leaving the country were amateurish. Nothing was heard again, for example, about his 1994 curbs on the sale of chain saws. But Jamaludin's confrontation with Bob Hasan was by no means the first clash with big business.
In 1994 his department forcibly took a 49% stake in several logging companies owned by Prayogo Pangestu guilty of damaging the forest. 'Nobody expected he would do this to Prayogo', an analyst said at the time. In 1995 he revoked some of the logging licences held by the giant Djajanti Group, part-owned by presidential cousin Sudwikatmono, for buying illegal timber. Indeed he has refused to renew numerous logging licences over the years for clear-felling or cutting outside their perimeter. He also tried to fine a pulp factory owned by Eka Tjipta Widjaya for using illegal timber. However, this attempt failed and he was forced to back down publicly.
No results
To track down timber criminals he formed special teams backed by soldiers and police. He offered them up to 50% of the proceeds of auctioned illegal timber captured. It was not enough. He has complained repeatedly that the military backed teams have produced no meaningful results.
In July 1997 he tried to block a new cement factory at Gombong in Central Java, to be built by a company partly owned by the late father in law of Suharto's daughter Tutut. The plant was to use limestone under state owned forests. He faced strong opposition, and again the attempt appears to have failed.
The next month he ordered a financial audit of a commercial timber plantation company owned by Suharto's half brother Probosutejo for misusing Reforestation Fund money. But nothing more has been heard of the affair.
Billions
Politically the most explosive is the Reforestation Fund. Little is known about this extra budgetary fund, but it contains billions of dollars drawn from timber taxes. Administered via presidential decree, it has long been a convenient fund for many other purposes beyond restoring forest cover. It has been used to build new aeroplanes, clear forest for irrigated rice, and lately to prop up the plummeting rupiah.
Its major use has been to provide cheap loans to commercial timber plantation companies, which replant logged forests with quick growing pine or acacia for pulp factories. The tycoons have been major consumers of this credit. Jamaludin says he will refuse to fund companies who burn forest.
Making a career of checking up on powerful tycoons, in the name of the state treasury as much as of the rain forest, has brought Jamaludin many enemies. The day after he threatened to cancel Hasan's Kiani Lestari logging licence an unusual call went up in parliament for Jamaludin's resignation.
Indonesian cabinet ministers are responsible to the president, not to parliament. But when Jamaludin went to see him, Suharto received him for only ten minutes. He came out saying the head of state believed the real problem was not (who started) the fires but the El Nino effect. At a press conference, attended by no less than seven cabinet ministers and their expert staff, all maintained this presidential line, and none blamed big companies. Evidently, Jamaludin had been told to get in line, or else.
Gerry van Klinken edits Inside Indonesia. A version of this report appeared in the Courier Mail, 11 October 1997.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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In the line of fire
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Facing a sceptical public, Abri has to talk harder to justify its political role. JUN HONNA listens in.
Over the last two years Abri has faced intense debate over its political role as defined in the doctrine of dual function, or dwifungsi. The doctrine states that Abri has not only a conventional state security role but also, more controversially, a role in politics.
The media did much to bring the 'dwifungsi problem' into public discussion. When Abri's appointed parliamentary seats were reduced from 100 to 75, they described it as a necessary step for democratisation. When army chief Hartono declared that all Abri members were cadres of the ruling party Golkar, they vigorously debated the (loss of) Abri neutrality. When defence minister Edi Sudradjat claimed that, regrettably, many thought of Abri as a tool of the rich, they interpreted it as a sign ofdwifungsi misconduct.
Seminars
Perhaps reflecting the growing critical mood, more than ten formal seminars were held the year before the last election in 1997 to discuss the future role of Abri. One controversial seminar at the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (Lipi) in February 1997 suggested that Abri should totally withdraw from parliament by 2007. This gave the impression thatdwifungsi had become an open topic for public discussion. But was it a signal of the diminishing role of Abri? If not, what does the growingdwifungsi debate imply?
Abri views the trend with suspicion. At an air force seminar in May 1996, Tamlicha Ali, head of Abri's general planning section, claimed the current dwifungsi criticism was being used by certain groups to discredit Abri, and could lead to national instability.
The next month, an army seminar complained that some people still questioned Abri's twin role, wishing to end it and hence to change 'Pancasila democracy'.
At a private Surabaya seminar in November 1996, Hartono warned of the influx of liberal thoughts into Indonesia as a result of globalisation. He said criticism of dwifungsi was based on a different framework of thinking. In Abri terms, 'different' thinking can easily be interpreted as thinking opposed to the official ideology Pancasila.
Abri has long linked criticism of the regime with political instability. But in the recent debate Abri faced criticism from many more directions. They were sometimes attacked by civilians in the government, sometimes by students with political aspirations, and sometimes stabbed in the back by old buddies.
Intellectual retirees
Abri's response to its critics, meanwhile, has become more dogmatic. Retired Lt-Gen Hasnan Habib challenged this dogmatic response at an Abri seminar held in September 1996 to formulate input to the national policies for 1998-2003. The seminar had concluded that criticism ofdwifungsi was due to a mistaken view that saw a dichotomy between civilian and military affairs. Abri saw this as a western way of thinking. However, Hasnan asserted it was not the dichotomy that was being questioned, but the excesses of dwifungsi itself.
Pressure from other retired generals followed. Two months later retired former army chief General Rudini spoke at a seminar held at Abri's staff command college. In his paper entitled 'social legitimacy of Abri's sociopolitical role' he suggested a need to renew the dwifungsi conception, and said Abri representation in parliament was unnecessary.
Another intellectual retiree, Maj-Gen Z A Maulani, insisted at the army staff command college on the same day on the need to redefinedwifungsi, and for Abri no longer to take sides in labour and land conflicts. Taking sides would undermine the virtue of dwifungsi, he argued.
On another occasion, Abri commander Feisal Tanjung, reflecting the critical mood, admitted it was ironic that the very success ofdwifungsi encouraged its criticism.
These highly respected retired officers were never labelled as 'too westernised', as were some civilian activists voicing similar opinions. But this is not to deny a general dissatisfaction among active Abri leaders towards outspoken retired officers. Many still in service supported Suharto's accusation that outspoken retirees were being inconsistent. In the aftermath to the Jakarta riot of July 1996, Feisal said some of them were not loyal to the nation and encouraged current political unrest.
Talk too much
Growing 'vocalness' of former Abri leaders has contributed to the opening up of the dwifungsi debate today. In the late 70s and early 80s the critical campaign was somewhat dominated by certain retired soldiers, such as A H Nasution, Ali Sadikin, Dharsono and Sumitro. But after a generational change in the mid-80s, the number of retired officers increased dramatically. In the 90s, many academy-educated officers entered the non-active sector and started to back the intellectual campaign for dwifungsi reform.
In tandem with this, the intellectualism of current officers has provided fertile ground for the debate. One military leader of the 80s notes it as a pull-factor: 'Today's officers talk too much'.
This is a real dilemma for Abri. Facing increasing demands for democracy, today's 'intellectuals in uniform' think it necessary to promote dialogue with society, to explain the future utility of dwifungsi. But the dialogue may itself legitimise the critical approach being brought into the public debate. It is in this context that Abri seeks a new format fordwifungsi legitimation.
Such an attempt was made at the army seminar mentioned above. 'Empowering political infrastructure' became Abri's official slogan. It defined dwifungsi as a tool for promoting wider communication between the state and society.
But can Abri share civilian language? Maj-Gen Zacky Anwar Makarim, an intellectual officer who now commands Abri's intelligence body, implied there are officers who speak civilian political language. Unlike typical Abri rhetoric that dogmatically reiterates the state ideology, Zacky asked Hasnan Habib in the Surabaya seminar about a possible shift in the balance between authoritarianism and liberalism. As an example, he mentioned 'successful' South Korea. Zacky was at that time an assistant to Hartono, who had denied the advent of liberalism a few hours before in the same room. In the mid-60s, Zacky was a student activist.
Progressive
On the other hand, some civilian commentators have no time for Abri at all, with or without civilian language. As if representing the 'empowered' society, columnist Christianto Wibisono argued it was a myth to seedwifungsi as part of Indonesia's uniqueness. Rather he saw it as a feature common in many 'praetorian' military regimes. He was challenging Abri's customary use of cultural relativism in explaining dwifungsi.
So too the Lipi seminar and its report proposed the total demilitarisation of parliament by 2007. This 239-page book was probably the first systematic collection of civilian assessments of dwifungsi, approaching it from various perspectives. It was also the most progressive proposal ever made by a governmental organ. Though the immediate feasibility of the proposal still seems to be low, many civilian elites expect it to be one of the guidelines in the lobbying process of post-Suharto political transformation.
Perhaps feeling the need to prevent the debate going out of control, Abri held another seminar at the national resilience institute (Lemhanas) two months after the Lipi seminar to disseminate a 'correct' interpretation of the future of dwifungsi.
One of the more popular officers, Lt-Gen Hendropriyono, admitted the need for reorienting and redefining Abri's political role, given the erosion of traditional values within Abri in the face of globalisation. But he emphasised that dwifungsi should remain, because it was aimed at democratic practice.
Redefined
Abri's recently established interpretation now runs thus.Dwifungsi can be redefined. The principles remain, but its implementation can be flexible, and it is directed to democratisation.
Yet at the same time, the current dwifungsi language is full of dichotomies. While it says 'don't dichotomise between civilian and Abri', it does dichotomise between the west and Indonesia, between the principle (dwifungsi) and the practice (posting officers to non-military jobs - kekaryaan), between Abri as a sociopolitical force and Abri as a defence force, between Abri as an institution and Abri as a citizen, and so on.
The debate itself, of course, does not reflect the reality. Democratic activists say cynically that this opening up of a previously taboo discussion does not mean an end to repressive operations by the security apparatus. Many think that even if the dwifungsi concept changes, the territorial structure will remain, so Abri's political role will not diminish.
However, this does not deny the change in political communication. The 'openness' debate in the early 90s at least expanded the scope and depth of legitimate demands on the regime, which in turn gave a support base to reformers within the regime. Given the reality that, as elsewhere in the world, the pace and degree of democratisation are primarily determined by the regime elite, there is no reason to stop giving support to the potential reformers.
Can the current dwifungsi debate be incorporated in this process of change? One 'inside' player says optimistically: 'It is like the previous debate about openness. Once it starts rolling, the system can not find a legitimate reason to stop it'.
Recent critics, as if to prove the truth of this prediction, have employed a new method. They criticise the results of dwifungsi, without criticising dwifungsi itself. The Lipi seminar insisted that its proposal was not to reject dwifungsi but to reform the political structure resulting from kekaryaan.
This tactical borrowing of Abri language, which distinguishes the principle of dwifungsi from its practice of kekaryaan, shows that civilian elites have now started to reinvent the dwifungsi language in order to criticise dwifungsi. How it develops in real politics is still uncertain. Some at least expect it to erode Abri's monopolistic interpretation of dwifungsi over the previous three decades.
Jun Honna is a PhD student at the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, Canberra.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Expelled from my home by thugs!
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HERTJE SURIPATTY tells how developers used soldiers and thugs to try to force her out.
Who wouldn't want to live on 5000 square metres of land, near a main road, in an elite area of Southern Jakarta? I have been living here for thirty years. I have a residency permit based on a court decision. And I don't want to sell.
In 1952 this land was controlled by the Purba Wisesa Foundation, who built a hostel for high school students. They obtained a residency permit for lots number 96 to 99 in what is now Senopati Road 3, Kebayoran Baru, Jakarta. The permit ran for thirty years. However, a few years later the hostel was abandoned. The deserted grounds were soon overgrown.
Shame to waste it
My family lived just behind here. Considering the land was not being used, we moved in in 1963. It seemed a shame to waste it. Moreover, the Purba Wisesa Foundation had broken up. We found it was no longer even registered with the Social Welfare Department. My father, a police commissioner in the 1950s, felt confident in moving in for the time being.
After 1982 I was entrusted with the care of the house and land. I improved the ruinous building and paid tax on it. In order to strengthen my legal claim I applied for ownership to the South Jakarta court in 1990. The previous residency permit had expired in 1982. I put forward a host of documents going back to 1952.
Judge R Wendra granted my application. He said I was the legal occupant and had the right of priority based on Presidential Decree no. 32 of 1979. I therefore applied to the South Jakarta Land Office for a certificate.
However, as this process was in train, in October 1993 I was suddenly sued by Mrs Sri Juliati Nitimihardjo Mansoer and Mrs Toeti Kalay Iwa Kusumasumantri. They said they were the board of the Purba Wisesa Foundation and that the land had been theirs since 1952. But we knew the original foundation closed down years ago. I found that this particular foundation was only set up on 1 October 1986. Moreover, their supporting documentation was weak.
In September 1994, the South Jakarta court rejected the suit of Sri and Toeti. The judges doubted the validity of their new foundation. They appealed, but lost again in 1995. So they went to the Supreme Court.
However, before the final judgment came down on 13 February 1997, suddenly a number of people turned up accompanied by police and soldiers, saying they were from Sumbercipta Griya Utama Pty Ltd. This firm was owned by three developers of Chinese descent, Umar Hartadinata, Hasan Hartono and Yongki Tanugraha. Armed with a letter signed by a general, they made an offer for the land.
Thugs
But I had no interest in selling. Then the intimidation started. There was banging on the back wall with rocks. It stopped when I complained to the military garrison.
A month later they came again, bearing an eviction order signed by the Jakarta municipal government for the Sumbercipta company. But I refused.
On 13 May they came again, accompanied by policemen and some thugs. The back wall of our house was destroyed with crowbars and sledge hammers. I was too scared to spend the night there.
On 20 June the same thing happened again. This time there were about 50 of them. They said they belonged to The Boss of Thugs, Basri Sangadji, and started demolishing most of the fence around the house. We complained to the South Jakarta police station. But the police did not respond.
While all this was going on, an eviction notice arrived from the Jakarta Housing Department on 4 August. I tried asking them at least to wait until the Supreme Court decision, but they didn't want to know.
On 14 August the second eviction notice arrived. I steeled myself and went straight to the Jakarta deputy governor. My spirits lifted a little when he asked the Housing Department to slow down because there was a law case pending.
Bulldozer
But it didn't last long. The worst intimidation by thugs occurred on 22 August. At 4:30 in the morning my younger siblings were still asleep in the house. Suddenly they were awoken by a crashing sound: a bulldozer was breaking down the wall. Terrifying individuals with rocks, knives and even a long sword came right in. They smashed the furniture and carried it to a truck. They looted the valuables, including jewelery worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and about AU$ 50,000 in cash belonging to my brother's business. Important documents disappeared.
My sister was dragged outside in her pyjamas. My two brothers were beaten black and blue because they tried to resist. I'm lucky I wasn't there. I might have been bashed to a pulp.
I then complained to the Military Police headquarters. And got lucky. They managed to control the situation and the bulldozer was removed from the site. However, the trauma haunts us still.
From Forum Keadilan 3 November 1997. Lawyers for Sumbercipta Griya Utama denied they had used thugs, suggesting on the contrary Mrs Suripatty may have used them herself. Jakarta police chief Col Gorries Mere said that the police did not tolerate the use of thugs, and that Basri Sangadji was now in detention on another charge of thuggery.
Stories such as this one, in which commercial interests 'borrow' military muscle to resolve land claims (often already confused by war and revolution), are common in the Indonesian media.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Jakarta money stirs Ujungpandang riot
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VEDI HADIZ sent this eyewitness account from South Sulawesi.
The South Sulawesi city of Ujungpandang was shaken by riots lasting several days in mid-September. Whole rows of shops and other buildings in the city's commercial district were destroyed, together with hundreds of automobiles and motorcycles. Private residences were also attacked. At least six persons died, some trapped in burning buildings, while scores were injured.
Mental illness
Among the dead were a 24-year old Chinese man identified only as Benny, and Anni, a nine-year old girl whom he chopped to death with a machete as she was walking home from a prayer meeting on the fateful night of 15 September. This horrific act, by a man with a history of mental illness, instigated the worst case of rioting in the city's modern history.
Benny himself, apparently, was killed by a crowd that quickly gathered after the senseless murder took place. The circumstances of his death remain unclear. Rumours spread that he had not died, but had somehow survived the beating and everything the crowd threw at him. Some locals insisted he had mastered the mystic art of invulnerability (kebal).
Stories circulated within hours that the authorities were hiding him. This caused more crowds to vent their anger at the Chinese community in general, signifying once again that all is not well with race relations in many parts of Indonesia. It took several days before authorities finally convinced people that Benny was dead.
Night clubs
The murder of Anni, the only daughter of a lecturer at a local Muslim university, took place at about nine o'clock in the evening. Soon afterwards people were already gathering and descending towards the commercial district, especially onto the block where new pubs, karaokes and night clubs were prominent. These, as well as stores, shopping malls, banks, motor vehicle dealerships and some hotels, became the target of attacks for the next few days. Even a Buddhist monastery was damaged. Unlike recent outbreaks of anti-Chinese rioting in Java, churches were largely left unscathed.
On the seventeenth, authorities declared the city 'under control'. Thousands of soldiers and police remained on guard for several more days, as sporadic actions of destruction and looting continued.
On the nineteenth the situation became tense. Word of mouth had it that a new round of rampaging would take place following Friday afternoon prayers. This did not happen, probably helped by the understanding, again spread by word of mouth, that security forces had orders to shoot to kill. Still, the city remained full of soldiers donning anti-riot equipment, many of whom were reportedly elite troops brought in from outside Ujungpandang.
The reverberations of these events were felt elsewhere. Cities and towns in East Java were put on military alert, for fear of a repeat of anti-Chinese riots that had recently torn sections of that province apart.
In a development not clearly related, hundreds of villagers attacked two police stations in a district south of Ujungpandang. They were retaliating against alleged cases of police abuse and wrongful arrest. Having ransacked one police station, they then released all of its prisoners.
Why?
As usual, military authorities were quick to blame 'third parties', a euphemism for non-government organisations. Military commander Maj-Gen Agum Gumelar and Abri chief of social and political affairs Lt-Gen Yunus Yosfiah thought it impossible that the riots were an act of spontaneity. They suggested a nation-wide conspiracy aimed at disrupting stability.
The National Commission on Human Rights had another theory. They held that the riots were the product of growing social and economic disparities. Ujungpandang (many residents prefer the old named steeped in history, Makassar) is a city undergoing rapid change. New shopping centres, hotels, and recreation facilities have been built, by some accounts largely by Jakarta's moneyed elite.
Near Ujungpandang is a growing industrial zone, where scores of factories have been built. Industrial unrest has begun to rise, though not yet to levels now common in Java. The changing social and economic milieu is creating new problems and anxieties. Ujungpandang has become a much rougher and tougher town, something like Medan on a smaller scale.
In spite of home-grown business notables like Jusuf Kalla, local indigenous entrepreneurs (pribumi) feel left behind by the new wealth being created. They blame the local Chinese, who are visibly dominant over petty commerce. (Ironically, the Makassarese and Buginese have quite a reputation as competent traders in many other parts of Indonesia). However, they should probably be directing more of their attention to Jakarta's rich and powerful, whose long reach has found Ujungpandang.
Dr Vedi Hadiz is a research fellow of the Asia Research Centre, Murdoch University, Perth.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Sun, sand and smoke
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Air crashes, riots, smog, and a currency crisis dented tourist arrivals in 1997. But, says ANNA KARIN EKLÖF, newly rich Asian tourists will save the industry in the long term.
During September 23-28 Indonesia's largest annual tourism convention was held in Jakarta for the fourth time. Around 250 buyers from 35 countries met with Indonesian sellers of tourism related services and products. Business deals worth millions of dollars were closed. Officials held seminars, and the international businessmen were entertained with city tours, dinner parties and post-conference tours to other parts of Indonesia.
TIME '97 (Tourism Indonesia Mart & Expo 1997) also included a four day expo open to the public, where Jakartans wandered through stalls exhibiting anything from luxurious holiday resorts and white-water rafting to furniture and glittering home decorations.
Smog
However, the timing of the convention turned out to be rather unfortunate. Starting more than a month earlier, huge forest fires raging in Kalimantan and Sumatra caused thick smog to cover parts of Indonesia and neighbouring countries. Many areas were classified as 'very unhealthy' or 'dangerous'.
Furthermore, riots broke out the previous week in Ujung Pandang, Sulawesi, with violent clashes between Muslims and Indonesian Chinese.
On the fourth day of the convention, Indonesia was hit by yet another disaster when a Garuda jet crashed in north Sumatra, killing all 234 passengers and crew on board. It was the fourth serious plane crash in Indonesia this year.
Mrs Emiati Djojosoebroto of the Indonesia Tourism Promotion Board (ITPB), the main organiser of the convention, nevertheless maintains that TIME '97 was a big success. 'The only thing that wasn't a success was the fact that we had to cancel several of our post-conference tours because of the smog', she says.
1997 Seems to be a bad year for the Indonesian tourist industry, with the lowest growth of foreign arrivals in thirty years. They were already low in April and May, probably because of reports of social unrest, increasingly common since last year.
The campaign leading up to the general elections in late May was unusually violent and no doubt contributed to the low number of tourist visitors. In July numbers rose, as they do every year when (mainly) Europeans have their summer vacation.
Currencies
However the figures dropped sharply again in August. Tourism officials blamed it on the fluctuations of Southeast Asian currencies. Asian currencies like the Thai baht and the Malaysian ringgit have been unstable in 1997, and the Indonesian rupiah lost 45% of its value between January and September.
Because of the alarmingly low value of their currency, Southeast Asians have drastically cut back on their trips to Indonesia. Since visitors from this region make up no less than a third of Indonesia's total number of visitors, this is a serious blow for the industry. A devalued currency often attracts more tourists, but this positive effect did not occur in Indonesia because of similar developments in neighbouring countries.
Thus, the first six months of 1997 saw a rise in foreign tourist visits of only 2.6% from the same period last year - far from the targeted 12%.
The largest losses, however, are probably still to come, as the more recent smog crisis is expected to push down the number of tourists. 'We still have the Christmas season, which is usually very busy, and we can only hope that the haze will be gone by then. But we can't predict anything at this stage - it is all in God's hands', says Mrs Emiati somewhat anxiously.
In sum, four factors dampened tourism growth this year: the smog, the four plane crashes, the political unrest - all creating bad publicity - and the unstable currency.
Long term
However, when the worst disasters are over and forgotten, tourism will probably continue to be a booming sector. It is already one of the largest foreign exchange earners, up there with oil and gas. Businessmen at TIME '97 appeared to be optimistic and eager to invest. Many participated and big deals were done. In other words, it seems to have been business as usual.
International tourism in Indonesia has grown at an average rate of 10% annually since the late 1960s, when foreign tourists were very rare. In 1996 just over five million visited.
Until the late 1980s Westerners, especially Australians, were the largest group. Recent trends, however, show that more Asians are travelling to Indonesia, while the number of Europeans is growing more slowly. Singapore is now leading, with no less than 1.3 million visitors (out of a population of three million) coming to Indonesia last year. Then come Japan, Taiwan, Malaysia, and as number five Australia, closely followed by South Korea. The total number of Europeans was 0.75 million and Americans only 0.24 million last year.
Asians are the big holiday-makers in Indonesia. The ever larger and richer Asian middle class is expected to continue to dominate among foreign visitors. This means a significant change in the appearance of tourism, as Asians seem to have a taste for more expensive things than the 'typical' Westerner.
Asian tourists more often stay at luxurious resorts and spend their time playing golf or scuba diving. The main tourist attraction seems to be shopping - the expensive way. Some Balinese shop keepers apply three different price categories: the highest price for Japanese tourists, the middle for Europeans and the lowest for Australians.
Domestic
Another aspect of the same trend is rapidly growing domestic tourism in Indonesia. Mr Chalik Hamid, Director General of Domestic Tourism at the Department of Tourism, Post and Telecommunication, expects this phenomenon to grow tremendously in the near future as Indonesians become better off and want to spend their vacation as tourists. 'Most Indonesians still travel to visit relatives, but leisure tourism is becoming very popular, especially to famous places like Bali. I suppose people are curious and want to find out why so many Westerners go there, why Bali is so popular among foreigners', Mr Chalik says. Last year Bali received just as many Indonesian as foreign tourists, each around 1.6 million.
While Bali is already well-known internationally, one of the most important aims for the Indonesia Tourism Promotion Board is to promote tourism to other parts of Indonesia for the foreign market. Indonesia: A World All Its Own is the slogan that ITPB hopes will open up people's eyes to the rich diversity of nature and culture of the vast archipelago.
During TIME '97 a particular focus was directed towards marine and adventure tourism. Coral reefs in pristine tropical waters and river-rafting through dense rain forests are expected to lure more adventure-seeking tourists than the usual beach-comber. The trend points to more promotion towards wealthy East and Southeast Asians interested in adventurous - and expensive - nature experiences. Western backpackers have long been a low priority group since they bring in far too little money.
However, Indonesian tourism officials are well aware of the negative effects that the recent disasters may have. 'We will have to work very hard in the future to persuade the world that Indonesia is OK to visit', Mrs Emiati underlines.
Anna Karin Eklöf is researching the Indonesian tourist industry for a PhD degree in social anthropology at Lund University, Sweden.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Indonesian spying on East Timorese exiles
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PETER CRONAU and MATTHEW BROWN find that Cold War methods live on in Indonesian consulates around Australia.
The Indonesian government is using its embassies worldwide in a campaign of surveillance and intimidation against East Timorese activists and their supporters, claims the Nobel Peace Prize laureate, Jose Ramos-Horta.
'The Indonesian intelligence activities, in fact surveillance, blackmail, pressure, harassment, is carried out primarily through the embassies, the military intelligence, who pose as diplomats, who are assigned as diplomats to the embassies in Canberra, in Madrid, in The Hague in Holland, in London, in the US, in the Permanent Mission in New York, in Canada,' Ramos-Horta told the ABC's Background Briefing.
Photographs
These are the key places where there is a very active Indonesian intelligence gathering, and pressure, harassment activities, not only of the East Timorese but also of East Timor supporters, Australians, Europeans, and Americans, primarily those activities aimed at acquiring photographic evidence of demonstrations of East Timorese participating in demonstrations,' says Mr Ramos-Horta.
'Those photographs then are sent to East Timor to the Indonesian military intelligence branch in Dili. In turn they identify the families of relatives of those who participate in demonstrations. They are called in for interrogation, they are harassed, they lose their jobs, they are constantly reprimanded, harassed by the Indonesian military, and in some instances they end up in detention,' he says.
'The Indonesian Embassy in Canberra, the consulates in Darwin, in Sydney and Melbourne, are the most active in terms of gathering information on the pro-East Timor activities, all the East Timorese activists, on Australian activists who support the East Timor struggle.'
The Indonesian government response to the claims has been stinging. Mr Ghaffar Fadyl of the Indonesian foreign office in Jakarta accused Ramos-Horta of having lost credibility in the international community. 'It's a pack of lies and anti-Indonesian propaganda, and nobody is going to believe it,' he said.
Cables
While the Australian government has so far remained silent on Ramos-Horta's call to issue a formal protest to Indonesia, it has been aware for at least four years of the Indonesian intelligence gathering in Australia and its use in East Timor.
Confidential Australian diplomatic cables sent from the Australian Embassy in Jakarta to Canberra in 1993 and 1994 were revealed in recent Refugee Review Tribunal cases, and confirm the surveillance and intelligence gathering activities of Indonesian officials.
A March 1994 cable from the Australian Embassy in Jakarta makes it clear who is doing the surveillance and what the consequences of the intelligence gathering may be:
'Usually Indonesian Embassies and Defence Attache offices will keep a close watch on Indonesians and particularly East Timorese youth and students abroad. They will send reports back to Jakarta on their observed or reported activities. Hence the authorities tend to build up a picture of what they may consider are anti-government activities.'
The same cable says it is 'very possible' that a family member of someone involved in anti-government activities overseas 'could be treated adversely by the authorities even though that person themselves had no direct political involvement'. The family could be visited repeatedly, put under surveillance, and their mail and other communications can be monitored, says the cable.
Antenna
Human rights lawyer, ex-diplomat and a former Attorney-General of the Australian Capital Territory, Bernard Collaery, says that Indonesian consular staff in Australia are overstepping their duties and breaching the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations (1961).
'There have been a number of incidents in my experience that have indicated to me over the years that the Indonesian government uses its own nationals, former nationals, and friends to obtain information on the activities of the East Timor relief and refugee organisations in Australia,' he says. 'It would be pushing the realms of ordinary common sense to suggest that the Indonesian government does not have a well developed antenna in our midst.'
The Indonesian Embassy did not reply to a request for an interview, and several Australian ministers including the Attorney-General and Foreign Minister were approached but declined to comment.
Darwin, in the north of Australia 600 km south of East Timor, is the nearest city to East Timor outside of Indonesia. Although far from the heart of international diplomacy in the northern hemisphere capitals like Geneva and New York, Darwin is no forgotten backwater on the southern shore of the Timor Sea. It has a substantial East Timorese community of some 3,000.
For many Indonesians living there, the prospect of trade is said to be the attraction, but the Indonesian consul, Widodo Surono, is no businessman. His background is as a former senior Indonesian military officer.
Darwin resident for 15 years, Jose Gusmao, a representative of the East Timorese resistance and a close relative of the resistance leader Xanana Gusmao, says the intelligence collection by the consulate is well known. 'The activity of the Indonesian consulate in Darwin is mainly spying activities, or intelligence activities, but in very sophisticated ways,' he says. 'So they try to set up a network throughout the community even by paying some members of the Timorese community to perform as their sources of information.'
Gusmao says his photograph has been seen on the wall of the military intelligence centre in Dili, along with several other Darwin residents. 'I was warned by a friend of mine who went to East Timor and she says she was at the police and she saw my photo on the wall. Even she was surprised that photos that were taken in my house, a copy was there,' says Gusmao.
Asio
East Timorese community representatives in Darwin say that the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (Asio) is aware of the activities of the Indonesian Consulate , but do not appear to have intervened.
'We wonder what is the main reason behind Asio's coming to have talks with us,' says 'Maria' [not her real name].
Maria says that the Asio officers ask about any threats from Indonesians in Australia, but also ask about leaders inside East Timor and in Portugal, about demonstrations, and divisions in the community, and they usually want names.
'I don't think [we] have been protected, because the names of people that we gave Asio agents as spies sent by the Indonesian military to spy on others, they have kept coming to Australia,' she says.
A former senior intelligence worker described the role Asio plays in communities like these, as being that of an 'honest broker'. It seems that while the Indonesians are watching the East Timorese, the Australians are watching both.
US Colonel (Retired) John Haseman spent 10 years at the US embassy in Jakarta as a Foreign Military Area Officer. In his role as the embassy's Defence Attache from 1990 to 1994 he made 13 trips to East Timor.
'My observation of the Indonesian military intelligence system is that it is very effective in domestic affairs. They are tasked to keep track of dissident movements, insurgent movements, anything that threatens internal stability and national security from within. They are quite good at that.'
Former defence analyst and a former Australian consul to Portuguese Timor, James Dunn, disagrees. 'I think that intelligence organisations in undemocratic countries are often not very efficient, simply because they are inclined to tell their masters what their masters want to hear,' he says. The Indonesian intelligence agencies form a very important link between the military side of Abri and Indonesian politics.
Surveillance and monitoring of East Timorese and their supporters in Australia seems likely to increase as the stakes get higher, and some of the information gathered by Indonesian intelligence may be provided to them by Asio.
Timor Sea
Under the Petroleum (Australia-Indonesia Zone of Co-Operation) Act 1990, Australia and Indonesia agreed on how to exploit the rich oil and gas fields in the Timor Sea.
Article 13 of the Agreement provides that the signatories 'shall exchange information on likely threats to, or security incidents relating to, exploration for and exploitation of petroleum resources of Area A'.
This section seems to be aimed at terrorists, but Bernard Collaery argues the broad wording will catch up many East Timorese and their supporters.
'It's not legitimate for there to be an exchange of information about those who peacefully and lawfully protest,' he says. 'And it is illegitimate for there to be an exchange of information about any ongoing activities of those emigre or expatriate groups.'
The quantity and quality of Australian signals intelligence can be very high. A 1996 book by New Zealand activist, Nicky Hager, revealed a sophisticated computer analysis system, code named Echelon. With a worldwide network of spy satellites, operated in Australia by the Defence Signals Directorate, it enables the selective monitoring of telephone, fax, telex, and email communications in Australia and the region.
The 1995-96 Asio Annual Report states that Asio is 'seeking to increase its understanding of potential sources of security harm in the Southeast Asia and Pacific region'.
Asio says it would provide intelligence only where a country has similar 'regard for democratic and human rights'. At the same time the report notes that Asio now liaises with 156 approved foreign intelligence services belonging to 76 countries.
The report also notes that the diplomatic mission of Indonesia, and several others, 'were afforded additional protection at various times during the year, in response to our assessments of potential threats to their security'.
In Article 8 the Joint Authority is empowered to 'request action by the appropriate Australian and Indonesian authorities ... in the event of terrorist threat to the vessels and structures engaged in petroleum operations in Area A'.
'It implies that they [the East Timorese] are terrorists,' Collaery says. 'We have seen over the years how the security apparatus responds to likely threats.
'It is not an insurgency; it is not a terrorist campaign; it is not a guerrilla campaign; these are people in an occupied state fighting for their freedom.'
Peter Cronau is a Sydney-based researcher and journalist; Matthew Brown is a producer with ABC Radio National's Background Briefing. Extracted from reports in the Sydney Morning Herald and on Radio National's Background Briefing.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
Tags: Timor Leste
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Sulawesi on two wheels
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MICK COOPES drags a bicycle through the wilds of Toraja, South Sulawesi.
We left the west coast fishing port of Polewali pre-dawn, armed with more enthusiasm than common sense. A trio of cycling nuts - Rieks, an entomologist and part-time adventurer, Ian, engineer and sports fanatic, and myself, expedition chef and hopelessly inadequate linguist. We had stacked up on sweet biscuits, canned herring, and cooked rice, eggs and veges wrapped in banana leaves.
Several days later we left the Mamasa River and started climbing. Narrowing to the head of the valley northeastwards, the road deteriorated into a four-wheel drive farce. Fully loaded, our 30 kilogram road bikes made even pushing on the rock-strewn path a struggle. All afternoon we sweated, swore and swerved our way up through the primary jungle.
Unable to reach the summit pass, we camped mid-track at 1600 metres under our mozzie nets. A cool white mist rolled in to envelop the forest. We sat up talking about a confrontation with the anoa - a deer-like buffalo with small horns and a big territorial aggression. An occasional lone traveller padded by us during the night, on that most common means of conveyance, the rubber thong.
Lucky
At the top next morning we found an ancient truck and hut, abandoned by the colonial Dutch before World War II. On the descent we realised how lucky we had been thus far. The track was so appalling I had to disassemble my bike to get it over gullies. It took over four hours to travel five kilometres, losing several hundred metres elevation. The views were stunning.
At last we arrived - at Ibu Theresa's Ave Maria Homestay. The walls were awash with icons. She was keen to have us stay. Much of her income depends on passing travellers. We were slightly deflated to hear about two Belgian girls who had come this way on bicycles three years earlier.
Two days later we limped into the market town of Tandung. Ian had had enough of the humidity and the canned herring. We pooled our meagre funds to buy him a jeep ride out to Makale.
For Rieks and I, the afternoon was an ordeal of mud, outrageously steep inclines and chewed out jeep tracks. Other travellers walked behind mountain ponies.
Mud
Later Ian, looking white in the face, passed us, squeezed into an ancient Toyota with half a dozen Torajans, their goats and baskets. His bike sat on the roof of the lurching, labouring rust bucket.
Mud is probably the worst thing you can do to a bicycle. The chain and wheels got so badly clogged that all moving parts would cease to function.
But as we approached town, the road 'improved', and we enjoyed a butt-jarring clatter down-hill. We rode into the beautiful regional capital elated, filthy, unshaven, and with torn saddle bags and twisted rack mounts. Rieks' rear rim, which he had bought cheap from a Chinese becak owner in Pare Pare, was disintegrating.
And there was Ian, looking cool and relaxed, freshly shaven, a coke in one hand, toasted jaffle in the other. He called out from the verandah: 'So look what the cats dragged in!'.
Michael Coopes comes from Brisbane. He has ridden many thousands of kilometres around Australia.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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No crisis please
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The currency crisis is making Thailand more democratic, but not Indonesia, says PRIYAMBUDI.
Thailand was the first to be hit with the monetary crisis. Then followed the Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia. But why did the crisis induce political reform in Thailand, while Indonesia made no move to reform?
Both the Thai and Indonesian economies have been effectively deregulated and oriented to export since the early 1980s. Both implemented economic reforms that placed them among the second generation of newly industrialising countries - after South Korea and Taiwan. The World Bank called it a 'miracle'. What was the recipe for Thai and Indonesian success?
First, it had much to do with the leadership of Prime Minister Prem Tinsulandonda, in power between 1980 and 1988, and that of President Suharto, in power from 1968 till the present day. Both came from the military but were supported by the political elites of each country.
Second, Prem and Suharto got a lot of help from economic advisers who were independent, disciplined and apolitical. Most had PhDs from American universities. Dr Snoh Unakul in Thailand and Prof Wijoyo Nitisastro in Indonesia formed teams that often consulted with Prem and Suharto, and this resulted in economic policies inducing rapid growth.
Freedoms
However, Thailand and Indonesia are politically rather different. Prem had a more progressive political vision than Suharto. He believed economic reform alone was not enough, and began a gradual process of democratisation. The lower house of parliament had to be elected directly by the people. The media gained more room to move, and other freedoms - of association, of speech - also grew. Former student activists from the 1976 political crisis, some still hiding in the jungle, were given amnesties and returned to Bangkok.
Prem's successes bore fruit. Today Thailand is one of the most democratic countries in Southeast Asia, along with the Philippines. The Thai people enjoy relatively free elections to choose the government they want. Although it experienced a military coup d'etat in 1991 and the bloody Bangkok incident of May 1992, the election of Chuan Leekpai in September 1992 once more consolidated a democracy that has lasted until the present day.
Suharto, meanwhile, has retained a political format that allows only three political parties - Golkar, PDI and PPP. He did not respond to social pressures in the late '80s to open up the political system. Demonstrations by students, farmers and workers early in the '90s were signs that Indonesians wanted more democracy. In other words, Indonesia lags far behind Thailand in the area of democracy.
Globalisation
But the high growth rates of 8-10% in both countries during the '80s and early '90s could not be sustained. These last three years Thai growth has plummeted. A 1998 growth rate of only 2-3% is projected for Thailand, and 5-7% for Indonesia.
Both countries have experienced serious banking crises over the last five years. Many property investments have failed, and corruption made both economies inefficient. On a regional level, both faced intense competition from neighbouring countries also experiencing strong growth. Some manufacturing industries have relocated to countries like Vietnam and Bangladesh.
The globalisation that brought good and bad to both economies has made them more susceptible to rapid changes throughout the world. There is no reason why both cannot deal with these changes, provided they have economic managers of the calibre that Prem and Suharto had in the 1980s. Thailand seems to have lost some of its economic vision, and Indonesia's economic management could be better than Thailand's right now.
The Chaovalit Yongchaiyuth coalition government, formed in December 1996, appears unable to solve the currency crisis. Its failure became most clearly evident when it was forced to accept a financial aid package worth US$1.7 billion from the International Monetary Fund (IMF). In exchange, the Chaovalit government had to apply strict and unpopular stabilisation measures, such as cancelling government projects, reducing subsidies, reforming taxation and banking, privatisation, and so on.
In Indonesia, by contrast, the team of technocrats remains very strong, especially when faced with a crisis. Even though Prof Wijoyo and Ali Wardana are retired from formal positions they are directly involved in solving the currency problem. They enjoy close working relations with Bank of Indonesia Governor Sudradjat Djiwandono, with Finance Minister Mar'ie Muhammad, and with Coordinating Minister Saleh Afiff.
Constitution
The political consequences of the currency crisis are even more interesting. In Thailand the crisis drew lines of conflict between 'pro-democracy' and 'pro-status quo' factions. The conflict focussed on a new constitution. The democracy faction wanted all members of parliament - also those in the senate - directly elected by the people. At present many senators are appointed. They also wanted more guarantees for civil rights, an independent judiciary, more press freedoms and freedom to organise.
In Indonesia the currency crisis created no political crisis. Indonesians think the technocrats are capable of handling the matter and there has been no crisis of confidence in the Suharto government. Indonesia's political elite want the currency crisis resolved quickly. They fear that if it is not resolved before the presidential election in March 1998 it may influence the succession.
In Thailand, the currency crisis has strengthened the democratising process. The Chaovalit government was forced to accept a new and more democratic constitution. But in Indonesia there is as yet no democratisation. Many members in the new parliament and MPR, though directly elected, do not come from the common people but from elite families whose political aspirations are merely to maintain the status quo.
Priyambudi Sulistiyanto is a PhD candidate in politics at the University of Adelaide, Australia. He wrote this whilst conducting research in Indonesia and Thailand before the IMF also began negotiations with Indonesia.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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The Bre-X fraud
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Douglas Goold & Andrew Willis, The Bre-X fraud, McClelland & Stewart, 1997, ISBN 0771033346, Rrp Can$27.95.
Extracted from
THE GLOBE & MAIL
From the start, the Bre-X story had been the perfect fairy tale. Although the tiny Calgary exploration company had no revenues or profits, it had become one of the most successful stock market plays in Canadian history. Shares had skyrocketed to $240 (on a pre-split basis) by that summer from pennies in 1994, creating overnight millionaires out of ordinary investors and gold rush fever reminiscent of the Klondike of the 1890s.
Although no one in Indonesia, Canada, or elsewhere doubted that the gold was in the ground [at Busang, in Kalimantan], Bre-X still had to navigate the treacherous shoals of the Indonesian bureaucracy.
$5 billion gift
The Monday morning phone call to the well-placed source shattered Cinderella's glass slipper. 'Here is my understanding,' the source began almost inaudibly. 'Bre-X is real, as far as the gold reserves and quantity is concerned. But what isn't real is what it will cost the company to get its interest retained. [Bre-X president] Walsh was told by the government that he has to give up a very significant interest in order to get the work permit....'
'You have to understand how the government is looking at it. Here is a bunch of guys who put up very little money and their company has a market capitalisation of $5-billion.... So why does the government have to give Bre-X a $5-billion gift, for the little money it put up? Bre-X has to give up a good chunk of it. That means major partnerships or joint ventures, or the government telling them who should be their partner, and the terms.'
'This is the most corrupt entity in the world.... But when you are talking at this scale, then Suharto wants to be involved.'
These were stunning revelations. What the source said about Bre-X and its problems turned out to be uncannily accurate, apart from the view - which was then shared by everyone - that the gold was real. If anyone at this stage had taken a step back from the story, he or she would have realised that it indeed was too good to be true....
Results from Freeport McMoRan's initial Busang tests had just come in. An angry Jim Bob Moffett had shouted the news over the long-distance lines and his geologists had also given their prospective partners at Bre-X an earful. In four holes, each drilled just 1.5 metres from holes where Bre-X struck it rich, Freeport had come up empty. No gold. And, oh yes, Bre-X geologist Michael de Guzman was dead in what looked like a suicide. Was Strathcona free to figure out what was going on?
Yes, said Farquharson, [independent mineral consultants] Strathcona was free. 'What we had in mind was a short visit, two or three days, that would see us talk to a few people, visit the site and write up a report,' said Farquharson. He would be away for almost a month.
Dark secret
At 5:30 on the morning of March 26, 1997, [Bre-X lawyer] Rollie Francisco got a multi-billion-dollar wake-up call. He'd told Farquharson to call any time, day or night, and was taken at his word. Now, lying in bed at his home in a Toronto suburb, a groggy Francisco was astounded by what he heard from the other side of the world.... Clearly shaken, Francisco told Farquharson to do whatever was necessary.
Farquharson then called Toronto and got his wife out of bed. For eighteen years, she had been his secretary at Strathcona. She knew how to take dictation and she could be counted on to keep Bre-X's dark secret in the family for a few hours. 'I told her she was about to write the most significant letter of her career,' Farquharson recalled. 'I told my wife she might want to take careful notes. I knew this one phone call was going to cost the company billions.'
Farquharson dictated a two-page memo that described what Strathcona had found and what they intended to do next in Indonesia. Half-way through the letter was the line that spelled Bre-X's doom. 'Based on the work done by Freeport and our own review and observations to date,' Farquharson dictated, 'there appears to be a strong possibility that the potential gold resources of the Busang property have been overstated because of invalid samples and assaying.'
By 9:00 in the morning, Bre-X's lawyers in Toronto had a copy of the letter and had asked the Toronto Stock Exchange to halt trading in the stock. Strathcona's letter was sent to Calgary, where a stunned David Walsh and equally bewildered colleagues read it, then prepared a brief press release. At 10:30, the news went out.
On Thursday, March 27, at 3:00 p.m., the TSE opened the gates to a flood of orders to sell Bre-X. In the first trade, the stock dropped to $2.50: it last traded at $15.80 before the halt went into effect on Wednesday. By the end of the day, Bre-X had lost close to $3-billion in market value.
This extract appeared in The Globe & Mail, 28 August 1997. Four other books are appearing on the Bre-X affair. A Price-Waterhouse study in October (commissioned by Bre-X) mostly blamed geologist Michael de Guzman for the fraud. Bre-X was expected to be declared bankrupt in November 1997.
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More educated, more ruthless
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Written by DAVID BOURCHIER
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DAVID BOURCHIER looks at the new generation of military leaders, after a big shakeup between July and October 1997.
Indonesians found it hard to believe the headline in the afternoon papers: HARTONO REPLACES HARMOKO. Harmoko had sat in the cabinet as Information Minister for nearly fifteen years. As head of Golkar he had campaigned relentlessly and had just presided over the government's largest election victory ever.
The precipitous removal of Indonesia's second most prominent civilian politician came amidst growing signs that Suharto was also losing patience with Habibie, the country's best known civilian politician and presidential aspirant.
Suharto's new favourite is General Hartono, who until his 56th birthday in June this year was Indonesia's Army Chief. The strapping Madurese Muslim, popularly believed to be romantically involved with Suharto's daughter Tutut, was appointed to fill Harmoko's shoes as Information Minister. He is now also breathing down Habibie's neck at ICMI, the Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals Association Habibie has headed since 1990.
Whatever future Suharto, and his increasingly influential daughter, may have in mind for Hartono, his surprise elevation to the cabinet and his widely publicised joining of ICMI have led to speculation that Suharto has mended his bridges with Abri and may once again be committed to ensuring that his successor comes from the military.
This is certainly what the military wants to believe. Yuwono Sudarsono, a political scientist second in charge at the Defence Department's National Defence Institute (Lemhanas), claimed in September there were no civilians with the leadership qualities required to run the country.
Who, then, are the current generation of military leaders and how did they get there?
Privilege of proximity
The most obvious pattern in the large scale rotations between July and October is that Suharto has again given trusted former adjutants and bodyguards with the important jobs.
The new Army Chief is Gen Wiranto, who served as Suharto's adjutant from 1989 to 1993. His new deputy, Lt-Gen Subagyo Hadi Siswoyo, served in the presidential security squad in the mid 1970s, and from 1988 to 1993 commanded Suharto's personal guard.
Wary of a coup, Suharto has also attempted to ensure that the key troop commands (the ones with the guns) are in safe hands.
His latest choice to head Kostrad, the 27,000 strong Army Strategic Command which Suharto used to seize control of Jakarta in 1965, is Lt-Gen Sugiono. The US-trained Sugiono was presidential adjutant from 1991 to 1995 and commanded Suharto's personal guard between 1995 and 1997.
Indonesia's most highly trained killers, the Kopassus 'red berets', remain under the command of Suharto's 46 year old son-in-law Maj-Gen Prabowo Subianto. Married to the president's daughter Titiek since 1983, Prabowo has a strong stake in the survival of the Suharto dynasty.
Day to day control of the Jakarta streets, meanwhile, has been entrusted to the man who headed Suharto's personal guard between 1993 and 1995, Maj-Gen Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin.
'Red and White' comeback?
The army's new number one, Gen Wiranto, spent most of his career as a Kostrad officer. He took part in many anti-insurgency operations, including at least one stint in East Timor in 1981.
Wiranto's term as a presidential adjutant put him on the fast track. After leaving the president's service in 1993 he climbed quickly from Chief of Staff of the Jakarta military region to Jakarta Military Commander and then to Kostrad Commander.
These positions - all in the capital - saw Wiranto extend his network to the Jakarta underworld. In 1995 he organised a rally of 15,000 'Cadre Upholders of Discipline', consisting largely of members of youth and strongarm organisations. Issuing them with ID cards, he unleashed them on Jakarta to create 'order' in public places.
His recent instruction to duplicate his example in towns and villages throughout the archipelago prompted fears that East Timor style state-sponsored thuggery is set to become a regular feature of Indonesian political life.
Politically, Wiranto is said to be aligned with the 'red and white' (nationalist, secular) military faction, which opposes the ambitions of ICMI under Habibie. His appointment might be read as an attempt by Suharto (and by Abri Commander Gen Feisal Tanjung) to wind back the influence of the ICMI camp.
Not long after Wiranto was appointed Army Chief, his protege Maj-Gen Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono took up the strategic position of Abri Assistant for Social and Political Staff. The 'Sospol' staff are the military's main political managers.
Bambang Yudhoyono is the star of his 1973 Military Academy class. He recently commanded a multinational United Nations Military Observer force in Bosnia. Like Wiranto, he is said to be suspicious of political Islam, and is busy building alliances with like-minded military officers as well as with civilian intellectuals ranging from Christians associated with the newspaper Suara Pembaruan to the Muslim thinker Amien Rais.
Abri's Sospol also has a new chief, the sixth in as many years. Replacing the high profile Lt-Gen Syarwan Hamid in this powerful post is Maj-Gen Yunus Yusfiah, a Timor veteran known in Australia for leading the Kopassus assault on Balibo in which five Australian journalists were killed in October 1975.
Although Yunus has been described as a 'fighting animal', he demonstrated a keen interest in politics while in charge of the Abri Staff College between 1995 and 1997. His controversial invitation of Megawati to speak at the college suggests that his vision of Indonesia's future, like that of Wiranto and Bambang Yudhoyono, is more 'red and white' than 'green' (Muslim).
Suharto's long delay in issuing Yunus' letter of appointment may indicate that he was the military's candidate, not Suharto's. The test will come in the months ahead when the 75 military appointees to parliament, who are answerable to Yunus, reveal their candidate for vice president.
New generation
Slightly lower down the ladder are the ten regional military commanders, now dominated by officers aged between 47 and 50 who graduated from the Military Academy in the early 1970s. Most if not all of the current crop have served in East Timor. Many took part in the Operation Seroja invasion and the anti-population measures of the late 1970s and early 1980s.
The hottest of the new generation of regional commanders is Maj-Gen Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin, the 45 year old from Sulawesi who took up the highly strategic position of Greater Jakarta Military Commander in late August 1997.
A glance at Sjafrie's background provides a lesson in how to get ahead in the Indonesian military in the 1990s.
First, Sjafrie spent six years as part of Suharto's personal escort. He was his top bodyguard from 1993 until 1995, accompanying him to at least sixteen countries.
Second, he has spent the best part of his career in Kopassus, whose battle hardened 'tough guys' occupy a large and increasing number of positions in the regional commands and at Abri HQ.
Third, Sjafrie is highly trained, having earned himself - like a handful of other high fliers - an American MBA. He has also taken at least five specialist military courses in the US, including one on Terrorism and Low Intensity Conflict which, according to Sjafrie, involved training by US Special Forces flown in from Peru on 'how to create terror'. Sjafrie topped his class.
A final plus for Sjafrie is that he is a mate of Prabowo, having shared a room with him while attending the Military Academy in Magelang. Most of Prabowo's known allies in the military have done well in the recent round of promotions. Probably the most important of these are Bambang Yudhoyono and Maj-Gen Zacky Anwar Makarim, head of Military Intelligence (BIA). Like Prabowo, both have extensive combat experience in East Timor and are regarded, within the army at least, as intellectuals.
Well connected
While it may be pointless to speculate, as Bob Lowry argues in this issue of Inside Indonesia, which particular officers will prevail in the post-Suharto era, a look at the rising military elite suggests some interesting trends. More professionally trained than their predecessors, they are also more educated, several holding degrees in management or business. Many are closely related to rich and influential civilian businesspeople. Apart from the obvious example of Prabowo, Zacky Anwar is the brother of Indonesia's highest paid corporate lawyer, and Maj-Gen Luhut Panjaitan, the new head of the Army Education and Training Command, is the brother in law of the wealthy economist and securities trader Syahrir.
Many officers, moreover, have taken part in international missions in Cambodia, Bosnia, the Philippines and the Middle East in the 1980s and 1990s, exposing them to alternative military cultures.
But while these experiences may have given some a greater understanding of the economy and the outside world and reinforced their sense of belonging to the civilian elite, it does not appear to have made them any more sympathetic to democratic ideals.
The men in charge of the military have, after all, spent most of their careers fighting Indonesians, whether in Kalimantan, Lampung, Timor, Aceh or Irian Jaya. They are deeply imbued with the idea that the greatest threat to the state is from disloyal elements within the country. They see it as their role, as Sjafrie made clear in an October interview with Forum magazine, to watch the people very closely and to nip any trouble in the bud.
Perhaps the clearest manifestation of this attitude was the storming of the PDI headquarters on 27 July 1996 by thugs said to have been coordinated by precisely the men whose stars are now shining bright: Wiranto, Prabowo and Sjafrie, along with Jakarta's new mayor, Maj-Gen Sutiyoso, another former Timor commando with substantial underworld links.
Dr David Bourchier is a Research Fellow at the Asia Research Centre at Murdoch University, Perth.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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Abri in figures
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Source: US Arms Control & Disarmament Agency, 1996.
Indonesia
Australia
Thailand
Population (million)
203
18
58
Military expenditure (US$million)
3,398
8,401
4,014
Armed forces (1000s)
280
58
288
Arms exports (US$million)
10
50
0
Arms imports/ Total imports (%)
0.4
1.5
1.6
Mil. expend./ Gross National Product (%)
1.8
2.5
2.5
Mil. expend./ Central govt. expend. (%)
8.9
8.8
15.2
Mil. expend./ population (US$)
17
465
69
Armed forces/ 1000 population
1.4
3.2
4.9
Source: Military Balance, 1997/98
Indonesia
Australia
Thailand
Army main battle tanks
0 (355 light tanks)
71
253
Navy subs
2
4
0
destroyers
0
3
0
frigates
17
8
12
Air Force fighters
65
105
89
The Indonesian armed forces play a prominent role in domestic politics. But in comparison with its neighbours they are by no means funded extravagantly. For example, though its population is less than a third of Indonesia's, the Thai armed forces have nearly the same number of personnel as Indonesia's, and often more and better equipment. Australia and Indonesia spend the same proportion of the government budget on the military, but the Australian economy is bigger so it actually spends more than twice as much as Indonesia. Yet Australia's population is less than one tenth that of Indonesia's.
Inside Indonesia 53: Jan-Mar 1998
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