How ever did we get through 20 years? And what does the future hold?
Gerry van Klinken
When Inside Indonesia was born in a Fitzroy restaurant in 1983, Suharto was at the height of his powers and East Timor solidarity organisations were beginning to settle in for the long haul. Twenty years later, Suharto is gone and East Timor is free. Looking back, what have we learnt (other than that it's hard yakka keeping a little magazine going)? What's next?
It's tempting to flick through past editions and remember the highs and lows. The highs? Robert Domm's 1990 interview with Xanana in the mountains (#25 Dec 1990) has to be one, the whole Papuan edition (#67 Jul-Sep 2001) another. And the lows? Well there are a few that make my ears tingle to think of them. Let us know your candidates for the best and the worst.
However, let us do this thematically. The magazine has always aimed to communicate, to report, and to take sides on Indonesian issues for non-Indonesian readers.
To communicate you have to be interesting. A rule I once read in a book for magazine editors says every edition should have a little surprise. Terry Hull's 'Penis enhancements' (#69 Jan-Mar 2002) was one example, so was Emma Baulch on Bali's Generation X (#48 Oct-Dec 1996). We spend a fortune every edition on making the cover look good. The occasional offbeat travel story and interview goes down well. I thought Ciaran Harman's walk across Kalimantan was fabulous (#65 Jan-Mar 2001), so was Duncan Graham's profile of Rizza in Surabaya (#72 Oct-Dec 2002).
Yes, there's the tourism exotica trap of making Indonesians look weirder than they really are. But it's a hard-bitten traveller who never catches themselves thinking 'what an amazing country this is.' The magazine wants to broaden horizons especially for people only recently interested in Indonesia. Young people today have less faith than previous generations in politics as a way of making the world a better place. Running intelligent travel and human-interest stories for them is part of the magazine's educational emphasis. I hope we can keep doing our best in this area. Far from falling into the tourism exotica trap, I suspect we slip too easily into the activist trap of taking ourselves too seriously.
'Mutual understanding and cooperation between the peoples of Indonesia and Australia and elsewhere' is the declared goal of Inside Indonesia. That calls for communication skills, but also for solid reportage. This is the heart of what Inside Indonesia has always been about. In 1983 credible information about Indonesia was scarce. The Indonesian government routinely issued misleading propaganda, its military often expelled foreign correspondents, and Australian newspapers carried little about the giant neighbour to the north. Academic researchers were denied permits, and activists were blacklisted. When I joined the board as editor in 1996 I learned that accurate, unbiased reporting was the most important thing they expected the magazine to do. Editorials were deliberately kept low-key, so the reportage could speak for itself.
Of course we will never be a Far Eastern Economic Review. We couldn't even pay our authors. But several board members had university backgrounds like myself. Our academic networks provided a pool of talent. Lots of knowledgeable postgraduate students were only too pleased to share what they knew with a popular readership. And for nothing! I did often have to wrestle with them to drop jargon and agree to bolder titles. The quarterly format was good for their more thoughtful approach. Production times were too long for 'hot' news, but just right for the short essay.
For years this reportage was so good that Indonesian students and activists themselves began to read the magazine. It was not produced primarily for them, but they found stuff there they couldn't get elsewhere. I recall seeing well-thumbed copies slumped on the library shelf at Satya Wacana University in Central Java in the 1980s.
That all changed in 1998. The Indonesian press is now much freer. Australian newspapers also began to cover Indonesia in much greater depth - either excited by the mushrooming democratic movement, or driven by fears of the country's 'break-up'. The internet revolution came on strong about the same time as well. Inside Indonesia appeared online with a home-made design in late 1996. Indonesians are our biggest single group of readers. Whenever something big happens, like the war in Aceh, our access statistics take a leap. Less so our subscriptions, unfortunately.
These big changes in Indonesia presented the magazine with a dilemma that came to a head early last year. One view within the board was that since Suharto was gone and East Timor was free, maybe the mag had served its purpose and should close. Money and time were also in short supply. Subscription income was really not enough - we have always needed gifts to survive. The young students and activists who started the magazine in 1983 were by now super-busy professors and managers. And we had more competition. The mainstream press was better at Indonesian reportage than before and new alternative magazines like Latitudes were appearing on the market.
The other view was the opposite. Reformasi has been largely a failure. Indeed the horrible violence following Reformasi turned many westerners off the country altogether. The military destruction of East Timor, the Muslim-Christian fighting in Ambon, and especially the Bali bombing, caused Australian interest in Indonesia to plummet. Enrolments in language classes are down everywhere. 'I ask myself, do I really still like Indonesia�', a friend of mine who has studied Indonesian history for years told me not long ago. The question haunts many Indonesians too.
There's no doubt that Indonesia has a serious self-image problem. And yet, and yet. Once we are there, most of us experience enough hospitality, hope and friendliness to counteract the worst pessimism. Is this really a good time to give up on trying to understand this vast country, where little is as it seems? Even today, the mainstream press gets it wrong all the time. Foreign correspondents almost never travel outside Jakarta, unless it is to a war zone. Some end up reflecting the prejudices of the diplomatic circuit.
Fortunately, the second view prevailed. A new board took over from the old, some new money was found (not really enough), a system of rotating guest editors was invented, and the magazine is here for its 20th anniversary edition. If you'll forgive the hype, we still want to 'get behind the soundbite, the propaganda and the stereotypes to keep you informed about the real Indonesia'. We hope you share the vision.
Taking sides is the third part of the magazine's aim. It is not the most obvious aim. No publication that claims to provide quality reportage wants to be predictable and easily put into an ideological box. This has made the issue of editorial orientation a little subterranean, but not undiscussed. The new board has spent a lot of time writing it all down for a new constitution. Indonesia still contains so much more potential for change than seems likely in the industrialised West. Believing in the creative potential of change keeps the magazine from falling into the tourism trap.
The struggles for justice in Indonesia are multi-dimensional. They include struggles for economic equality in the face of capitalism, for environmental sustainability in the face of industrialism, for human rights and peace in the face of militarism, for gender justice in the face of all forms of sexual discrimination, and for cultural freedoms in the face of the authoritarian state. Though often related, each struggle has its own agendas and network of activists. Indonesia's political parties have so far proved fairly clueless advocates of these emancipatory agendas. They are being carried by young people who often organise through non-government organisations or through less structured forums. Inside Indonesia wants to be there for them, to help get their message out.
The aim is to rotate through the various themes regularly. Hence the recent editions on the environment (#65 Jan-Mar 2001), gender (#66 Apr-Jun 2001), the arts (#64 Oct-Dec 2000), and on the poor (#69 Jan-Mar 2002). But things happen unexpectedly. We dumped another edition on the arts after the Bali bombing, for example, and that wasn't the first time.
One big question I would like us to look at is 'what have people learned from 1998?'. The establishment in Indonesia and overseas often behaves as if Reformasi was a success and Indonesia is now a democratic country. The groups that worked for change in 1998 feel the opposite - that their work has been a failure. It is not hard to see why. The war in Aceh looks remarkably like the invasion of East Timor in 1975. Religious and ethnic violence in some areas has wrecked an emerging democracy.
Many activists have gone back to work almost as if nothing has happened to interrupt the rhythm. A younger generation was too young in 1998 to have even been there! Some older ones have become disillusioned, like East Germans after the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989. What went wrong? How will democracy activists create opportunities in the future? I don�t think any of us believe that Indonesia is 'by nature' violent or authoritarian. But most people who were there in 1998 would probably now say they were naive to expect that change was as easy as getting rid of Suharto.
Gerry van Klinken (editor@insideindonesia.org) is coordinating editor of Inside Indonesia.
Review: Both books illustrate the way the Suharto family exploited Indonesia
Ron Witton
In 1625 Sultan Agung of the East Javanese kingdom of Mataram conquered Surabaya by besieging the city and poisoning its water supply by throwing rotting animal carcasses in the Brantas River that flows into the city. The first book under review is a tale of what happened 350 years later, when the people of Surabaya again faced a poisoned water supply. This time, it was caused by New Order 'development' industries on the river banks, dumping their toxic effluent into the Brantas. The way the book describes local authorities and NGOs fighting valiantly throughout the New Order period to oppose the rich and powerfully connected is quite gripping.
After the Suharto era, environmental politics flourished as they never could before. The title refers to a traditional community attitude that always saw the river as an easy way of getting rid of rubbish. Disaster results when chemical firms and other highly polluting industries adopt the same attitude. A wonderful collection of cartoons from Surabaya's surprisingly outspoken newspapers illustrates the struggle over the city's water supply.
The second book documents two case studies where the land of ordinary people was alienated by the New Order's elite. In one, it became golf links for the rich. In the other, a cattle ranch for Suharto. The story highlights the bravery of those ordinary people who dared to speak out. Doomed to failure under the New Order, they can now at last hope for justice. This book, perhaps, marks the beginning of that process.
Both books illustrate the way the Suharto family exploited Indonesia. In one, we read of Suharto's ranch. In the other, Tommy Suharto's water pipeline company defaulted its contractual obligations with impunity, and thus managed to extract vast sums of money from the Surabaya provincial government.
Anton Lucas with Arief Djati, The dog is dead, so throw it in the river: Environmental politics and water pollution in Indonesia, Clayton: Monash Asia Institute, 2000, 152pp, ISBN 0732611814.
Dianto Bachriadi and Anton Lucas, Merampas tanah rakyat: Kasus Tapos dan Cimacan [Plundering the people's land: The Tapos and Cimacan cases], Jakarta: Gramedia, 2001, 360pp, ISBN 9799023440.
Dr Ron Witton (rwitton@uow.edu.au) has taught social science in Australia, Indonesia, Fiji and Malaysia.
Inside Indonesia 68: Oct - Dec 2001
Gus Dur's troubles
10-13 November, 1998 - The first superparliament (MPR) session after Suharto resigns fails to address fundamental reform issues.
20 October, 1999 - Abdurrahman Wahid, backed by only a small party of his own, is appointed the compromise president by an unstable coalition of mostly New Order parties.
30 January, 2000 - Gus Dur visits Geneva and paves the way for an internationally mediated 'humanitarian pause' in Aceh, signed 12 May.
13 February, 2000 - Gus Dur sacks Gen Wiranto, his coordinating minister for politics and security and responsible for the East Timor mayhem. This removes the army from top government.
28 February, 2000 - At Gus Dur's insistence, Lt-Gen Agus Wirahadikusumah is appointed Kostrad elite force commander. Agus was seen as a liberal - too liberal for his military superiors, who managed to have him removed again on 31 July.
21 March, 2000 - Gus Dur hits headlines till the end of April with his proposal to allow communist ideas again, banned since 1966. No parliamentarian agrees with him.
24 April, 2000 - Gus Dur sacks Laksamana Sukardi, a competent minister, from an economic portfolio, apparently because of pressure from 'black conglomerate' Texmaco that Laksamana was pursuing.
29 May-4 June, 2000 - Papuan Congress, partly paid for by Gus Dur's government.
7 August, 2000 - Gus Dur's accountability speech to super-parliament (MPR) is severely criticised by all party fractions but one.
28 August, 2000 - The main defendant in the US$57 million Bank Bali corruption scandal (allegedly involving a 1999 Golkar election slush fund) is acquitted, leading to cries of continued judicial corruption. All other defendants are acquitted later.
14 September, 2000 - A military-style car bomb explodes at the Jakarta Stock Exchange, killing 15, the day before Suharto's trial resumes. More bombs explode at other times, including dozens all over Indonesia on Christmas Eve.
26 September, 2000 - Tommy Suharto is sentenced to 18 months jail for corruption, but he goes into hiding before police eyes.
28 September, 2000 - A court declares Suharto medically unfit to stand trial for corruption. No other Suharto family members face charges.
Early October, 2000 - State Audit Agency (BPK) says 96% of Rp 144.5 trillion (US$14 billion) of public recapitalisation funds to 42 sick post-crisis banks was improperly used.
1 February, 2001 - Parliament (DPR) passes a censure motion against Gus Dur over two alleged cases of corruption ('Buloggate' and 'Bruneigate') totalling US$6 million.
Inside Indonesia 66: April-June 2001
Sulphur miners risk their lives on an active volcano. How do they do it?
Ciaran Harman
Agus Alam turned from watching me struggle up towards him, and looked down the mountainside beside the steep path to the squares of rice fields far below. Beyond him, the stubby grey-treed slope, folding and unfolding like a fan, was cut with a path like a fault-line. The first miners were beginning the first descent of the day down it from the smoky crater high above. Slung across their backs were woven baskets filled to the brim with brilliant yellow ore. Sulphur.
In Kawah Ijen (One Crater), far eastern East Java, sulphur ore is mined by hand from an active volcanic crater. On a break from my studies in Yogyakarta in April, I took the night bus heading out that way with vague intentions of photojournalism and trying to understand what a life of hard physical labour would be like. I came back knowing only that I would probably never be able to understand the lives the people I saw, and that to write about them here as though I did would be a flat-out lie.
Java's buckled spine of volcanoes, from Krakatau off the west coast to Gunung Merapi and Kawah Ijen in the far east, form part of the 'ring of fire' that surrounds the Pacific Ocean. Earlier, as my motorcycle taxi buzzed towards the volcano and up its slopes, I had seen the nearby peaks by the vast triangles of stars they blotted out in the pre-dawn sky. Now the sun was feeling its way across the slopes, slowly unfolding them to me, yet leaving so much hidden.
I had caught up with Agus as I began up the path that led from the end of the road and the weigh station where the transport truck was parked. It was 3km up to the crater rim. Short and simple hair, a dirty tee shirt, shorts and thongs; he was in his twenties, about my age or younger, and walked slowly, unwillingly. It was his first day as a sulphur miner.
Agus Alam quietly answered my questions as we ascended. He said he had come to work as a miner for the same reasons his father had many years before. They were poor and owned no land. Agus told me how every day his father left their home well before dawn to walk almost 20km from their village to the crater. Sometimes he stayed away for a couple of weeks and lived on the mountain in a shack shared with other miners. Agus would only ever see his father in daylight on the days he was too sick or tired to work.
Ailments
His father, I imagined, suffered from many of the ailments I was told are common to those who work in the sulphur clouds. Bad eyes, sore lungs, teeth corroded from the acid fumes. Agus must have known that he too would develop the calluses on his shoulders where up to 100kg of sulphur was balanced for three descents from the crater every day. He said he hoped not to work there long. You could earn a fair bit of money, especially if you were strong. The miners were paid for the weight they carried: about Rp200 (less than 5 cents) a kilo. He would save enough, perhaps, to buy a motorbike and cart around the throngs of tourists that come to see the crater and snap pictures of themselves and a miner in the dry season. But Agus carried his fear as a burden up the mountain, just as later he would carry those yellow rocks down, the load measured with every step.
We came to a station on the path where the sulphur is weighed and the miners' shacks stand that Agus had told me about. In one shack, before my eyes became used to the gloom, it seemed as though stars surrounded me. I remembered for a moment the stars that had been blotted out from the night sky by the mountains. These pinpoints of light, however, turned out to be a thousand holes in the walls and roof. I wondered what the miners did when it rained. They would never be able to avoid a drip from the ceiling or a draught from the walls. The black soot coating everything and the pile of wood in the corner bore testament to the way they staved off the cold and clogged their lungs with smoke at the same time.
Up the path the vegetation began to thin out. There was less lush green. The trees were getting greyer and the undergrowth withered to a scrubby, stunted tangle. And then, as I turned a corner in the path, just by where an old miner had stopped to adjust his load of brilliant yellow rocks, I was there. It was as though the peak of the mountain had been struck and shattered. The grey, gaping wound was filled with a grey, steaming lake. The crater rim, jagged like torn paper, encircled it. I could smell the sulphur; I could see it too. Yellow steam roared out of vents in the rock below me. It twisted upward and was carried east by the morning breeze. To the west, up an invisible path through the exploded landscape, the miners ascended, visible only by the way their burdens flared against the dead landscape. It was like Jacob's Ladder in reverse. But these were men, not angels or devils.
Gas would drift over me and I would be reduced to a hacking, coughing mess between the grey rocks.
My descent into this pit was graceless. The miners, balancing the baskets of ore on their shoulders, knew where to place their sandaled feet. They heaved their way up the occasionally vertical route to the rim. I clambered over boulders and slid across sections of gravelly stones, thankful I had my steel-capped work-boots on. The path seemed to go on forever. The rim thrust up above me like a wall. I crossed a stream of hot water where a miner washed the yellow from his hands and then I was at the mine face.
The sulphur vents were far above me. Spilling down from them was a wall of congealed sulphur ore, that brilliant, noxious yellow. Pipes had been built to capture some of the gas and carry it down the slope and let it sweep back up, aiding the process of congealment. The miners would climb up by the pipes and break off the ore, their eyes and lungs stinging from the fumes. By the time I got there though, most of the miners had gone. Just a few old men were left, making artificial sulphur stalactites for tourists by getting the sulphur to congeal on twigs and leaves. I would have to go soon, they said. The wind was about to change and blow the gas westward, over the path to the rim. I watched the rushing steam and the dead lake for a while and then climbed back up the crater wall. Occasionally the gas would drift over me and I would be reduced to a hacking, coughing mess between the grey rocks.
I can never place my feet in their sandals and walk that ruptured path to the rim. I can't tell you what it is like to wonder if one more rock will feed your family or break your back. All I can do is tell you of the shadows of desperate men I saw up there. Some old, trapped in a job that will destroy their health and perhaps ultimately kill them, but that provides for their families, as long as they keep carrying ore. Some young, with their eyes constantly turned down the slopes, working at the mine only so that, one day, they will not have to any more.
Ciaran Harman (ciaran69@hotmail.com) is a student at the University of Western Australia in Perth. He was participating in the Acicis Study Indonesia Program in Yogyakarta.
Inside Indonesia 64: Oct - Dec 2000
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