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
67: West Papua: towards a new Papua
July - Sept 2001
Politics and Human Rights
West Papua: towards a new PapuaThis edition wants to be a forum for ideas on Papuan independence - Gerry van Klinken
From the ashes of empire Papua needs a clear political vision and be ready for the long haul - John Rumbiak
Where nationalisms collide History is central to the politics of West Papua - Richard Chauvel
Towards a New Papua When they hear the sacred texts of the church, Papuans see a better future - Benny Giay
Self-determination or territorial integrity? There is growing international concern over West Papua - Nic Maclellan
The backlash Jakarta's secret strategy to deal with Papuan nationalism - Richard Chauvel
Freeport's troubled future Without Suharto, who will protect Freeport from itself? - Denise Leith
Action in Europe What are Europeans doing about Papua? - Siegfried Zöllner and Feije Duim
Bravo the cat Life among Papuan and Timorese political prisoners in Jakarta - Jacob Rumbiak, with Louise Byrne
Box - Mama Yosefa wins a GoldmanA Papuan activist wins a prestigious prize for her work on the environment - Agung Rulianto
Papua - The Indonesian debate What does the public in Jakarta think? - Peter King
Box - Special Autonomy Main points of the 76-clause draft special autonomy law for Papua
To end impunity How Indonesia responds to human rights abuse in Papua is the measure of reform elsewhere - Lucia Withers
The bronze Asmat warrior Contemporary art in Papua is about new and contested identities - Robyn Roper
Remembering Sam Kapissa He was a wood carver, musician, and mover and shaker for the arts on Biak - Danilyn Rutherford
Inside the Special Autonomy Bill Chronology of a remarkable process - Agus Sumule
But is it democratic? Indonesian democrats have mixed feelings about Papua's independence drive - Stanley
Mama Papua Beatrix Koibur explains why Christianity is important to Papuan women - Annie Feith
The ethnic factor Christianity, curly hair, and human dignity - Nico Schulte Nordholt
Regulars
Papua on the Net
Letters
Newsbriefs
Inside Indonesia 67: Jul-Sep 2001
66: The politics of gender
April-June 2001
Politics and Human Rights
The politics of gender This edition highlights Indonesia's women and men - and its gays, lesbians, bissu and other genders - Gerry van Klinken
The new conservatives Golkar and PDIP parliamentarians join forces to pull down Gus Dur - Gerry van Klinken
Box - The new conservatives Gus Dur's troubles - timeline
Groundhog Day Defence planners wake up and find Asia is (still) a threat - Simon Philpott
Peace journalism in Poso When reporting ethnic conflict, journalists can make a difference - Jake Lynch and Annabel McGoldrick
Aceh will not lie down A new generation of victims speaks out. Will Indonesia now negotiate? - Lesley McCulloch
Don't let them drown Australia must be a good global citizen towards refugees who transit Indonesia - Anita Roberts
Culture
Wisanggeni, Ned Kelly, and Tommy A new novel explores the ambiguous role of the outlaw in today's Indonesia - Marshall Clark
Women and Men
Out in front This energetic cabinet minister wants more power for women, fast - Vanessa Johanson talks with Khofifah Indar Parawansa
Women and the nation Throughout its history, outsiders wanted the women's movement to be nationalist first of all. Now women are finding their own voice - Susan Blackburn
Box - Women and the nationRifka Annisa - Wineng Endah
Jakarta women's barefoot bank Poor kampung women double their income through their own micro-credit scheme - Lea Jellinek
Gay men in the reformasi era Homophobic violence could be a by-product of the new openness - Dédé Oetomo
Quo vadis, lesbians? Lesbians want to be themselves - Bunga Jeumpa and Ulil
Sex in the city Between girl power and the mother image, young urban women struggle for identity - Yatun Sastramidjaja
Sulawesi's fifth gender What if there were not just two genders, but five? In Indonesia, there are - Sharyn Graham
Left-over from death Timorese women raped by Indonesian militias need justice. So do all the other women who survived New Order abuse - Galuh Wandita
Regulars
Bookshop
Your Say
Marrying up in Bali Review: Tarian bumi is the story of four generations of Balinese women - Pamela Allen
Newsbriefs
Inside Indonesia 66: April-June 2001
Box- The new conservatives
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
65: The environment
Jan - Mar 2001
Environment
The environment Now that the New Order is gone, how is the environment faring?- Gerry van Klinken
Mine thy neighbour The Australian government needs to control Australian miners - Jeff Atkinson
Suharto's fires Suharto cronies control an ASEAN-wide oil palm industry - George J Aditjondro
Saving Bunaken Locals are saving one of the world's most beautiful marine parks - Mark V Erdmann
Indorayon's last gasp? Popular protest closes a huge paper and pulp mill in Sumatra - Frances Carr
Get your act together, Aussie! Without Suharto, an Australian gold mining company is having trouble - Jeff Atkinson
Kalimantan's peatland disaster Greed and stupidity destroy the last peatland wilderness - Jack Rieley
Reformasi and Riau's forests Government struggles with 'people power', poverty and pulp - Lesley Potter and Simon Badcock
In the forests of the night Living with tigers in South Aceh - John McCarthy
Politics and Human Rights
Looking back to move forward A Truth Commission could bring healing for a tragic past - Mary S Zurbuchen
Inside the Laskar Jihad An interview with the leader of a new, radical and militant sect - Greg Fealy
Tribute to a proud Acehnese Jafar Siddiq Hamzah died defending dialogue and human rights - Sidney Jones
Constitutional Tinkering The search for consensus is taking time - Blair A King
Society and Economy
Future Indonesia 2010 What will Indonesia look like in 2010? - Dedy A Prasetyo
Travel
Pak Rabun and the wilderness Across Kalimantan by boat and on foot - Ciaran Harman
Regulars
Your say
Newsbriefs
Nathaniel's NutmegReview: How one man's courage changed the course of history - Ron Witton
Bookshop
Inside Indonesia 65: Jan-Mar 2001
64: Artists and activists
Oct - Dec 2000
Culture
Artists and activistsThe late novelist YB Mangunwijaya coined the phrase 'post-Indonesian generation'. - Gerry van Klinken
Naked truth Young artists rebel against the political crisis - M Dwi Marianto
Letter from Makassar Artists rebuild community identity - Halim HD
Confused? Directions in post-New Order theatre - Lauren Bain
Punks for peace Underground music - the voice of young people - Jo Pickles
Of pigs, puppets and protest Radical Yogyakarta artists get among the people - Heidi Arbuckle
Skin signatures Tattoos are the fad of today's teenagers - Megan Baker
Meet Semsar An interview with an artist and activist - Yvonne Owens with Semsar Siahaan
The Theft of Sita A joint Australian-Indonesian performance bursts boundaries - Robin Laurie
Politics and Human Rights
View from the top Exclusive interview with the president - Greg Barton with Abdurrahman Wahid
Making Indonesia work for the people Chusnul Mar'iyah thrives on controversy - Peter King
Busy girl Chusnul Mar'iyah and the NGO scene - Peter King
Women and the war in Aceh Women want to silence all the guns - Suraiya Kamaruzzaman
A different freedom Islamic rebellion in Aceh and Mindanao is not so irrational - Jacqueline Aquino Siapno
Blood on the map A conference on recent violence in Indonesia - Jemma Purdey
Society and Economy
Land for the landless Why 'democrats' in Jakarta aren't interested in land reform - Dianto Bachriadi
'Run my child' Mukti-Mukti sings protest songs about land - Anton Lucas
Travel
One Crater Sulphur miners risk their lives on an active volcano - Ciaran Harman
Regulars
Your Say
Newsbriefs
Bookshop
Inside Indonesia 64: Oct-Dec 2000
One Crater
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
'Only the clothes have changed
Reformasi has not made life much easier for trade unionists
Terry Symonds
A strong labour movement is a powerful force for change. Suharto knew this better than most, having come to power on the slaughter of thousands of union activists and communists. Today, under a new and more liberal government, imprisoned labour activists are mostly free and independent unions are on the rise. But they continue to face repression at the factory level and their battle for union rights is by no means won.
The economic and political crisis of the last two years has had a dramatic and contradictory effect upon workers' organisations in Indonesia. Students led the 1998 wave of protest, but it quickly extended to the urban poor. Workers felt encouraged to join the democracy protests and raised demands of their own. Sensing the potential strength of a worker-based opposition, the dying Suharto regime cracked down hard in response.
Immediately before Suharto's re-election in March 1998, some 30 police officers visited the office of the Indonesian Prosperity Trade Union (SBSI) and forced its closure until after the election. In the week before the election, several lower SBSI officials were arrested for crimes ranging from distributing leaflets to organising plant level unions. Its leader Muchtar Pakpahan was already in jail.
Only two months later Suharto resigned, and Muchtar Pakpahan was released. But other labour leaders remained in prison, including Dita Sari, who was not released until July 1999.
During the turmoil of the Habibie administration, labour organisations continued to play a small but vocal role in the fight for democracy. Just weeks before Wahid was elected president in October 1999, several key unions joined street protests against the proposed new state security laws. Among them were the SBSI and the radical National Front for Indonesian Workers Struggle (FNPBI).
Since then, the workers' struggle has provided conflicting signals. Union activists I spoke with earlier this year believed most workers shared some level of optimism about the reformed political process and might be willing to give the government and economy a kind of 'honeymoon'. On the other hand, more recent reports show industrial disputes flaring again, some spilling into the streets.
One thing is certain: trade union activity will grow from a low base. Up to half the workers in footwear and non-garment textile industries were retrenched, while an estimated three quarters of construction workers lost their jobs. Most unemployed workers did not return to their villages but remained in the cities, seeking casual labouring work or driving transports. Recent research indicates that these workers were unable to return to agriculture because they have lost the skills and contacts they need to find work in the village. Many do not want to return anyway. Instead, they remain in large new communities of workers, such as those scattered on the outskirts of Greater Jakarta, sharing the work and earnings of their neighbours.
This huge reserve army of unemployed exerts significant pressure upon workers' confidence to take industrial action, and helps explain the drop in strike rates the last two years. It also confirms that the transformation of Indonesia's workers into a permanent urban class over the last twenty years has not been reversed by the economic crisis.
Vedi Hadiz says in an important 1995 study of the Indonesian working class that urbanisation has closed off any avenue of 'retreat' to the village. Workers will now 'stay and fight it out in the cities'. Urbanisation allows traditions of union organisation to grow and be passed on from one generation to the next.
Bolder
'Workers are becoming more bold because of reformasi,' said one company director in June last year. There are growing signs that he may be right. Labour activists insist that the new freedoms haven't made things any easier at the factory level, where they face constant intimidation and harassment, but they aren't wasting the opportunity to build.
The Suharto regime effectively smashed Dita Sari's Centre for Indonesian Workers Struggle (PPBI) after she was thrown in jail. But her comrades resurfaced with a new labour organisation, the National Front for Indonesian Workers Struggle (FNPBI). Even before she was released, they elected Dita to head it up.
The FNPBI, barely a year old, held a national council meeting in West Java in February of this year. It brought together delegates from 11 affiliated labour organisations, four more than last year. The FNPBI remains small, but some of its sections are sizeable organisations with an impressive record of organisation. It is distinguished by a socialist outlook and a commitment to political protest not shared by other independent unions.
The commitment of these new labour organisations is matched by growing bitterness among workers. In February 2000, sacked shoe factory workers from Reebok producer PT Kong Tai Indonesia blocked the toll road outside the Manpower Ministry office for several hours with an angry protest over severance pay. When this didn't work, over a thousand workers staged an occupation of parliament which lasted more than a week. These workers seem to have had little prior history of independent unionism. Their spontaneity is a reminder that workers' frustrations do not always express themselves through established organisations.
Demonstrations have been taking place outside parliament almost every week this year. In April, 5000 teachers, whose profession has no reputation for militancy, swamped parliament house during a strike for a 300% wage rise. They had rejected the government's offer of 100%.
Shoe factory workers at PT Isanti in Semarang won 23 of their 25 demands, including a holiday on May 1 to join the international commemoration of workers struggles. Their union believes this will help to revive a May Day tradition that was forced underground for its association with communism.
Wahid
The relationship between labour and the new government is shaky and not likely to improve. When I asked one group of striking workers what they thought of the election results, they told me that 'only the clothes have changed'.
Muchtar Pakpahan's SBSI is Indonesia's largest and most well established independent union. It is generally close to Wahid, but even that relationship is showing signs of strain. In a test case for the new government, the SBSI is fighting for the release of two members convicted under subversion laws for leading a strike last year at a tyre factory in Tangerang. Muchtar also criticised the recent small rise in the regional minimum wage, saying it was 'just enough to eat and smoke a little, and breathe the air.'
Almost all independent unions, including the SBSI and FNPBI, declared their opposition to the appointment of Bomer Pasaribu, a New Order figure, as Labour Minister. Muchtar Pakpahan calls on international unions to apply pressure for his removal (see box).
Wahid did delay the recent IMF-inspired fuel price rise, but 2,000 protesters gathered at parliament to remind him of what lies ahead. When the price rises inevitably come, bigger protests are expected.
Indonesia's new labour movement is small but growing and the mood of workers is hardening. Trade unions are unlikely to occupy centre stage in the political process unless the economy turns around and the bargaining position of their members improves, but they will be an increasingly important player in the looming confrontations over economic reform. Wahid will ignore them at his peril.
Terry Symonds (tsymonds@powerup.com.au) is the convenor of Australia-Indonesia Union Support. He lives in Brisbane, Australia. The group has wide union links and brought Muchtar Pakpahan to Australia for a visit.
Inside Indonesia 63: Jul - Sep 2000
63: Democracy - how far, so far?
Jul - Sep 2000
Politics and human rights
Democracy - how far, so far?So how far has Indonesia come on the road to democracy? - Gerry van Klinken
The slow birth of democracyA new generation is challenging the status quo - Munir
Opening that dark pageObstacles in revealing the stories of 1965-66 - Stanley
Box - Sulami explains why....An extract from Sulami's speech at YPKP's first anniversary -Sulami
A century of decentralisationYet again 'power to the regions' is the call - Trevor Buising
Box - What's new? What isn't?Trevor Buising
Wahid, IMF and the peopleUnbowed, an activist continues his questions - Nick Everett with Budiman Sujatmiko
Where is Wiji Thukul?An outspoken poet is silenced - Richard Curtis
Business as usualThe military is slow to get out of business - Lesley McCulloch
The forgotten war in North MalukuThere's more than religion behind the troubles - Smith Alhadar
No longer so 'special'New and different ties for Australia-Indonesia - Scott Burchill
Society and economy
Medan gets a new mayor A tale of two cities: part 1 - Loren Ryter
Inside JeparaA tale of two cities: part 2 - Jim Schiller
'Only the clothes have changed...'Unions still find the going tough - Terry Symonds
Muchtar Pakpahan interview Terry Symonds interviews Muchtar Pakpahan
Fireside chat about AIDSReaching at-risk groups requires new approaches - Ingrid Hering
The kampung bookshelfBringing books to the poor - Bambang Rustanto and Lea Jellinek
Environment
Leave Indonesia's fisheries to Indonesians!Foreign fleets filch fish from local plates - Mark V Erdmann
Culture
Indonesia is definitely OKComic artists explore new freedoms - Laine Berman
Regulars
Your say
Newsbriefs
Scenes from an occupationReview: A lone Australian filmmaker records East Timor's history-making year of 1999 - Baranowska
Bookshop
Inside Indonesia 63: Jul - Sep 2000
A century of decentralisation
Decentralise. Easy to say. Difficult to do.
Trevor Buising
Few states have had as long an experience of decentralisation as has Indonesia. The Dutch, primarily to increase administrative effectiveness, enacted the first law for decentralisation in 1903. It was the first of several designs. Yet Indonesia today is more centralised than it was a century ago. Many states, in particular developing ones, have attempted to decentralise for a bewildering variety of administrative, political and economic reasons. It is a technically complex policy, especially for developing countries. Yet decentralisation is a political as well as an administrative necessity for Indonesia. However daunting the task, Indonesia is so diverse that it has to decentralise, and sooner rather than later.
A recent World Bank study noted that the 'problems associated with decentralisation in developing countries reflect flaws in design and implementation more than any inherent outcome of decentralisation'. Policymakers may not sufficiently understand the specific problems they want to overcome through decentralisation, or they may adopt an ineffective strategy to solve them. Implementation is inherently even more difficult. Policymakers may give the field implementers unclear guidelines. Implementers may lack the required skills and commitment. The policy may lack sufficiently powerful political mentors and organised support to carry it through. Changing circumstances may make the policy redundant, or it may be insufficiently resourced.
Much of this has been the case in Indonesia. Flaws in the original design forced the colonial Dutch to revise the 1903 law in 1921. None of the three 1940's decentralisation laws was satisfactory - they did not apply to all of Indonesia, and they were framed during the anti-colonial struggle for independence, when expediency rather than longer-term considerations was the priority. The Dutch were still working towards implementing the amended design when the Japanese invaded in 1942.
The independent Republic of Indonesia enacted a replacement for these Dutch attempts in 1957. Law 1/ 1957 came out of lengthy negotiations, only to be rendered inoperative in many of its provisions by Presidential Decree No 6 of 1959. The PRRI-Permesta regional rebellions gave President Sukarno the opportunity to replace constitutional democracy under the 1950 provisional constitution with presidential rule under the 1945 constitution.
New Order
The New Order tried to decentralise as well. Law 5 of 1974 was potentially an effective general design, negated by a lack of detailed design and implementation. Like the Dutch, the New Order leadership accepted the need for decentralisation if only as a means of enhancing administrative effectiveness, particularly with respect to development and thus its claims to legitimacy through performance. However, Law 5/ 1974 left many details to be finalised in subordinate legislation. This applied in particular to the problem of sectoral decentralisation - that is, the allocation of specific functions in the various fields of government activity to particular levels of government.
If the break-up of functions between the various levels of government had been included in Law 5 then many (but not all) of the subsequent problems would have been avoided. Sectoral decentralisation is technically complex. Moreover, many bureaucrats in the affected departments perceived decentralisation as detrimental to their institutional interests. This made determining the details a protracted process.
Indeed, if the details had been included in the draft, Law 5 might never have been enacted at all. Thus there may have been good reasons for deferring sectoral decentralisation to supplementary regulations. Still, the longer it took to enact the regulations the more difficult it became to maintain the political will to decentralise in accordance with the original objectives. French decentralisation was on a lesser scale than is being attempted in Indonesia, yet it still took decades, and that by a state with a much greater capacity than that of the often ill-coordinated personal fiefdoms of the Indonesian state.
Law 5/ 1974 had an additional problem. One of its aims was to shift the focus of regional autonomy from the provinces to the regencies (kabupaten) and municipalities. This level was closest to the people and thus the most appropriate for administering services. Before 1974, legislation dealt only with transfers of functions from the central government to the provinces. It regarded sectoral decentralisation to the regencies and municipalities as an internal provincial matter. Furthermore, between 1950 and 1974 the number of provinces had grown from 9 to 26, 17 sectors needed to be decentralised, and the legislation was confusing. On top of that, the oil boom allowed New Order sectoral departments to subvert the objectives of decentralisation by coopting the regions with development money.
In the early 1990's the New Order, especially under dynamic Interior Minister Rudini, sought to revive the impetus for decentralisation. Regulation 45/ 1992 was designed to push through decentralisation to the regencies and municipalities. All functions except those specified as central or provincial functions could go to the regencies and municipalities. Regulation 8/ 1995 implemented these changes and launched the 'Autonomous Regions Pilot Project'. Activities in 19 sectors were to be transferred to the regencies and municipalities (so-called level 2 regions). Inaugurated with great fanfare, this initiative failed because it was under-resourced. The central government gave selected level 2 regions greater responsibilities but no greater funding to go with them.
'Justice'
Last year, the Habibie government brought down Law 22/ 1999 to replace Law 5/ 1974. The new law, it said, would enhance 'democracy, community participation, equitable distribution and justice as well as to take into account the regions' potential and diversity'. Actually it was hardly needed. Law 5/ 1974 could just as well have been implemented to do all this. What was really needed was the supplementary legislation.
The changes are not as great as often imagined. Although consideration was given to abolishing them, the provinces have been retained. (There are compelling reasons for retaining them - they bridge the centre and local communities). However, Law 22 is more specific about the role of the regencies and municipalities than was Law 5. They are no longer part of the hierarchy of 'administrative territories' which made them subordinate to the provinces and hence the centre. As with Regulation 45/ 1992, Law 22 states that the regencies and municipalities can assume responsibility for all aspects of government except those reserved for the central and provincial governments. These regions must in any case assume responsibility for a minimum of eleven fields or sectors, a provision similar to that of Regulation 8 of 1995.
Law 22 also clearly stipulates that the decentralisation of functions to the regions must include the transfer of the relevant resources - facilities and infrastructure, personnel and funding. Obviously the framers of Law 22 have learned something from the failure of the 'Autonomous Regions Pilot Project'.
Yet like Law 5/ 1974, Law 22/ 1999 requires considerable supplementary legislation. With one notable exception little of this legislation has yet been passed. Law 5 and Law 22 both required a replacement for Law 32/ 1956, the inoperable law determining fiscal relations between the centre and the regions. This was finally accomplished with the enactment of Law 25 of 1999. This law should increase revenue adequacy and certainty for the regions, improve regional equity, contribute to macroeconomic stability and enhance transparency, accountability and participation in the budgetary process. However, Law 25 itself also requires considerable supplementary legislation.
Regional development planning also still needs reform. In principle, bottom-up planning has been an important feature of Indonesian development planning processes (known as P5D) since 1982. But in practice the emphasis has been on implementing central government policies, programs and projects, and hence on increasing the effectiveness of regional sectoral agencies to implement rather than design policy. Nobody would argue that effective service delivery is not an important responsibility of the state, but this is not what decentralisation is all about.
At the heart of any decentralisation policy must be the realisation that effective policy requires a comprehensive understanding of local circumstances - so comprehensive that central planners simply cannot do it themselves. Diversity requires diverse policy inputs. If decentralisation is to be effective in Indonesia, regional development planning has to be reoriented towards the needs and potentials of the region itself.
Trevor Buising (tbuising@hotmail.com) is a consultant from Brisbane, Australia. He is a former colonial administrator in Papua New Guinea who recently completed a PhD on Indonesian decentralisation at Griffith University.
Inside Indonesia 63: Jul - Sep 2000
More than six decades after being inspired as an undergraduate in Sydney, Ron Witton retraces his Indonesian language teacher's journey back to Suriname