Articles - Inside Indonesia: The peoples and cultures of Indonesia

Back to the future

Activists in South Sulawesi find democracy in old manuscripts Elizabeth Morrell Since the 1970s, the South Sulawesi city of Makassar has been known as Ujung Pandang. But in the last days of his presidency, Habibie gave it back its historically resonant name. The change followed popular demand. It indicates how important history is to people in South Sulawesi. Forum Informatika Komunikasi (FIK) is a non-government organisation based in Makassar. For the past few years, FIK has used history and culture as a vehicle to educate the public about democracy, gender, human rights, and the environment. They have sponsored community theatre based on a satirical form of people's theatre known as Kondobuleng. This was formerly often used during resistance against Dutch colonial authority. Petta Puang is a Makassar-based group that uses this popular political satire to question many contemporary social issues. The name Petta Puang refers to titles accorded to highest leaders. FIK also initiated an international arts festival in Makassar in September 1999. Their intention was to revitalise the cultural expression stifled during the New Order period. Lontara Members of the group have also tried another experiment to raise awareness of political and development issues. In order to increase grass-roots participation in decision-making they have adopted the historical and mythical texts found in South Sulawesi and known as lontara'. These old manuscripts were once written on leaves taken from the lontar palm. Ordinary people have long been depoliticised under the New Order concept of the 'floating mass'. Many of them are concerned that democracy represents the breakdown of social order, and a Western threat to customary values. If unaddressed, such anxiety about change could result in a superficial 'reformasi' which does not significantly alter patterns of thought. FIK members therefore embarked on a public information campaign drawing on the widely respected lontara'. They use these manuscripts to demonstrate that, prior to Dutch colonial influence, South Sulawesi had democratic systems of government. Rather than threatening customary values, egalitarianism is part of those values. The lontara' manuscripts were produced only in the lowlands kingdoms, but FIK activists have also included examples of egalitarianism followed by highland communities in their campaign. In the mountains of Toraja, for example, where writing did not develop until the twentieth century, examples are taken from oral traditions and ritual practice. They then use this traditional framework to discuss the rights and responsibilities of leaders and citizens. Among the issues they raise in their seminars and essays are these: civil contracts between leaders and citizens; systems of government including federalism; the right to constructive and open debate and the freedom to criticise leaders; the appointment of political officials; abuses of power; and ethical issues surrounding the accumulation of wealth by rulers. Democracy is shown to be an indigenous principle, rather than a concept alien to local communities. Over many centuries in South Sulawesi, written script has produced thousands of manuscripts. These reveal a detailed historiography, and are a source of great local pride. The lontara' documents have now been catalogued under the title Naskah Lontara' Sulawesi Selatan. The catalogue was compiled at Hasanuddin University and the office of the National Archives in Makassar, with assistance from The Ford Foundation. It lists almost 4,000 texts written in the principal regional languages and Arabic. The documents take many different forms, and cover a wide variety of topics. Among them are aspects of traditional law and punishment, discussions between rulers, government treaties, and inter-island trade. Not all manuscripts have yet been translated into the Indonesian language, but most have been microfilmed for future research, and some have been published. Limited power Many manuscripts describe the relations of power which existed in the small kingdoms of the South Sulawesi peninsula. They indicate systems of government in which citizens appeared to enjoy considerable levels of participation. According to the documents, organised kingdoms developed during the thirteenth century. But despite a mythology of divine descent, rulers did not hold absolute power. Within most kingdoms, local chiefs retained leadership over their respective communities. Many confederations existed within the kingdom system, in which political units at different levels agreed to share power. This provides the basis for today's discussions of federalism and increased regional autonomy. Not all kingdoms were governed by hereditary rulers claiming divine descent. Some kingdom histories refer to governing councils, and to social contracts specifying the freedom of the people. According to several translated manuscripts, most kings and queens held positions of shared authority with other community leaders. Strong obligations and responsibilities for the welfare of their subjects limited their power. Royal power was modified by the council of customary (adat) leaders. Sovereignty rested with adat rather than with the rulers as such. Democracy in the modern sense did not exist. Yet the lontara' record many examples of egalitarianism, including agreements for the protection of human rights. Rulers could lose office if they did not carry out their obligations, or if they abused their power. History records that some were removed in a constitutional manner, while others were deposed or killed for crimes against the people. The responsibilities of power are prescribed in manuscripts which instructed the rulers in the importance of honesty, the necessity of justice, accessibility to their subjects, and sensitivity to their needs. In the northern kingdom of Luwu', aspiring rulers were required to live for a short period in small, basic and uncomfortable housing conditions, in order to teach them empathy with their subjects. During that time they were supplied with a minimal amount of food. The candidate then had to satisfy the community that he or she was familiar with adat law, especially as it related to leadership and ethics. The manuscripts also discussed the misappropriation of public assets. Prosperity was important, and wealth was listed as a desirable characteristic of leadership. But this wealth was to be used for the overall good of the kingdom. Examples show rulers demonstrating concern for subjects living in poverty. Furthermore, a prosperous kingdom was a stable kingdom. The wealth of the state offered security for the populace, while misconduct by the ruler resulted in general misfortune. This ethical concept of wealth allows FIK activists to draw parallels with Suharto's rule, in which prosperity was limited and selective, and which eventually resulted in economic crisis and social disorder. They interpret the manuscripts to say that this disorder was the fault of the ruler, not of the people. Practical How reliable are the lontara' as historical documents by which to shape the future? Local scholars rarely question the veracity of the information contained in them. One reason for this is the manuscripts' open, uncomplicated writing style that suggests honesty. The literature emanated from the courts, yet modern interpretations stress that the manuscripts communicate clearly and without apparent deceit or obscurity. The texts do not hide the unacceptable behaviour of some rulers. At times rulers are criticised, and their faults recorded. This point enables discussion of modern restrictions on freedom of speech. The manuscripts reveal a simple, concise, practical literature that is firmly based in reason. It pursues the functional aims of recording history, listing genealogies, maintaining order and stability, ensuring agricultural and economic success, and understanding religious law. Even cosmology was discussed in a functional style, and for practical purposes. The literary aesthetic was one in which rationality, the application of knowledge, and the clear understanding of historical events took precedence over romance, drama, and esoteric knowledge. When FIK activists re-present the lontara' texts they are not rejecting modernity. They are simply recognising the power of history in the cultural identity of all ethnic groups in the peninsula. That is another reason why FIK does not contest the historical record contained in the lontara'. They use the popular acceptance of historicity to demonstrate that precedents for democracy do exist. Following the texts, they point out that it is not the people who cause destabilisation, but inappropriate government practices neglecting the rights of the people. They point out that throughout local history, society has had the right to reform injustice. It was not always so. During the Suharto period, some local scholars did use the lontara' to draw attention to customary values as an ordering rather than a liberating principle. But this newest generation of lontara' scholars recalls history with a different purpose, namely to give society the confidence to deal with a changing order. Elizabeth Morrell (emorrell@metz.une.edu.au) teaches Indonesian language and culture at the University of New England, Armidale, Australia. Contact FIK at tel +62-411-86857. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Gutted by greed

Illegal logging in Indonesia's national parks Julian Newman In 1998 it was voracious forest fire. In 1999, rampant illegal logging, as the future prospects for Indonesia's remaining tropical forests continue to darken. The London-based Environmental Investigation Agency in collaboration with the Indonesian group Telapak have been monitoring illegal logging in two of Indonesia's flagship national parks Tanjung Puting in Central Kalimantan, and Gunung Leuser in northern Sumatra. Both parks provide a protected haven for some of the country's most endangered wildlife including the orangutan, proboscis monkey, Sumatran tiger, Sumatran rhino and clouded leopard. Both are being devastated by illegal logging on a commercial scale. In Tanjung Puting the EIA/ Telapak investigators witnessed virtual anarchy in the park. While there has always been small-scale illegal logging in the more remote parts of the 400,000 hectare park, over the last year the logging has escalated dramatically and is now affecting the core area where scientific research stations and tourist lodges are found. Along the Sekonyer River - one of the park's main arteries blatant logging activity was observed. Logging camps were found in close proximity to the park's guard posts and the scientific camps. An extensive network of wooden rails had been constructed to pull the logs out and the sound of chainsaws permeated the air. On a single day over 700 illegal logs were counted being towed down the river in broad daylight by a succession of small boats. Once the logs reach Kumai Bay they are either loaded onto steel barges or taken to nearby sawmills. All of this activity takes place in full view of the authorities charged with protecting the park. Many local officials from the forest department and police are implicated in the logging, and actually issue 'permits' for the loggers to operate in the park and charge a levy on the illegal timber being brought down the Sekonyer River. The loggers are targeting ramin trees, a valuable luxury hardwood used for mouldings, picture frames, furniture components and futon beds. Ramin is listed as vulnerable across its range and only grows in swamps so it cannot be cultivated. Sawn ramin can fetch up to US$800 per cubic metre on the international market. Yet the loggers inside Tanjung Putting receive a pittance a few dollars per cubic metre cut. It is the corrupt officials and local timber bosses making the money from the pillage of the park. EIA/ Telapak traced the illegal timber to two sawmills in Kumai, and to the factories of a local timber baron Abdul Rasyid. Posing as timber buyers the investigators gained access to two of Rasyid's factories and discovered a huge operation based solely on ramin. Unmarked logs were seen being delivered to one of the factories, proof that the timber was illegal. Within minutes of meeting Rasyid's nephew, the investigators were offered the opportunity to conduct illegal business. Leuser The situation in Gunung Leuser National Park is just as dire. Logging activities were apparent even in the Suaq Balimbing research station, the only place where orangutans have been observed using tools such as sticks to open fruit. Once again EIA/ Telapak traced the activities of the loggers inside the park to local sawmill owners, who were funding and organising the illegal logging. From field reports it appears that many of Indonesia's stunning national parks are being heavily logged. Such a finding is indicative of a much deeper malaise threatening the country's remaining forests. Recent research by the Indonesia-UK Tropical Forest Management Programme reveals that illegal logging now outstrips legal timber production in Indonesia. The research found illegal logging to account for 32 million cubic metres every year (equivalent to 800,000 hectares of land being logged), compared with official production of 29.5 million cubic metres. Indonesia is not only losing its forests at a rapid rate, but is also losing vast amounts of revenue in a country where 50 million people are below the poverty line. The impact of this wanton destruction cannot be underestimated. Species such as the orangutan are increasingly being hemmed into the pockets of protected forests in Kalimantan and Sumatra, and even these area are now being logged. Orangutan populations have plummeted by 50% in the last decade, and fewer than 25,000 remain in the wild. The outbreak of illegal logging in the national parks is a legacy of 30 years of mismanagement and corruption in Indonesia's forest sector under the Suharto regime. Vast tracts of land were dished out to business cronies, the overwhelming majority of forest concession holders broke the rules, and local people were thrown off the land. The only viable solution to the illegal logging epidemic in Indonesia is to effect genuine forest reform, not the watered down version the previous government forced through the parliament in its dying days last October. Such a reform must include the participation of local communities, and the dismantling of the present concession system, which has seen half of Kalimantan's forests destroyed in the last 25 years. EIA and Telapak are also pressuring the Indonesian authorities to take action against the timber bosses implicated in the illegal logging of national parks, and for the replacement of corrupt officials who have presided over the destruction. Julian Newman is an investigator at the Environmental Investigation Agency. The report 'The final cut Illegal logging in Indonesia's orangutan parks' is available from: EIA, 69-85 Old St, London EC1V 9HX, tel +44-171-490 7040, fax +44-171-490 0436, e-mail eiauk@gn.apc.org, web http://eia-international.org Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Business and pleasure

Indonesia's super-wealthy still love their Gulfstreams and Harley Davidsons Veven Wardhana and Herry Barus What if we try to track down some of Indonesia's super-rich for whom travelling is a hobby and find out something about their special travel preferences? The first thing we discover is that the travel bureaus in Indonesia are coy about providing any information. We suspect that this is not because their clients insist on confidentiality but more because it's a mystery to the travel bureaus themselves. The problem is that most of your Indonesian super-rich don't book their plane tickets through travel agents. They just jump on a private jet. Nor are the companies which look after the privately owned planes keen to talk. They are unwilling to release information, many of them, because they are close to ex-president Suharto's family, and our own enquiries came just after Suharto announced his resignation from the presidency. Only one or two of them were able to help us, and even then they wouldn't say much. The existence of aviation charter companies in Indonesia is not a new phenomenon. PT Dayajasa Transindo Pratama for example has been going since 1986, while Indonesian Air Transport (IAT) started up even earlier, in 1968. The majority of air charter aircraft are leased out by the oil companies. Recently, however a number of private individuals have begun to appreciate the benefits of jet-powered travel. And we don't necessarily mean leasing. Many of them find the purchase option increasingly attractive, especially with the demands of business being what they are in this era of globalisation, when fast communications with the outside world have become an absolute necessity. Once you have the jet, of course, you find that it's useful not only for business purposes but also for taking the family on trips abroad business permitting, that is. Families who often make use of private jets include Pontjo Sutowo, Sudwikatmono, Aburizal Bakrie and also Abdul Latief. Private jet prices can range from US$3 million to US$33 million. This figure does not include the cost of fitting out the interior of the aircraft. After the purchase has been transacted, the interior decor and external colour scheme are dependent on customer taste. Communications and navigation equipment likewise: although standard installations are provided, it is common for executives everywhere, including Indonesia, to specify more sophisticated equipment as they might if they were buying a yacht to sail around in. On larger aircraft, the cabin lends itself for conversion to sleeping quarters. The ALatief Corporation's BAC 1-11, for example, in its original configuration could accommodate 100 passengers. After purchasing the aircraft, ALatief remodelled the interior completely, leaving seating for only 18 passengers. This made space for a large bedroom, a bathroom complete with shower and vanity with gold-plated faucets, and two sofas. The additional cost of conversions like this can be as much as US$3 million or from 10 to 20 percent of the purchase price of the aircraft. Apart from the capital cost, the expense of using an aircraft can be gauged from the operating costs. Fuel, maintenance and catering alone can cost up to US$2,500 per flying hour. And then there are crew salaries, training, insurance and hangarage which might be as much as US$30,000 per month. These rates are for a new aircraft, whereas the rates for a used aircraft can be even higher. The maintenance cost for the aircraft operated by Sudwikatmono and associates is US$100,000 per month. 'Not including spare parts as required,' said the cinema chain king Sudwikatmono. But are they privately owned, these aircraft? Isn't private ownership of aircraft banned by government regulation? Well, just as the shadow puppeteer is never without a story, so your Indonesian entrepreneur is never without a way around the regulations. As in the case of the prohibition on private ownership of islands, where it was found that Indonesian executives who were rich enough could acquire them in the name of a company, so also can your private plane be acquired in the name of a company. Unlike private islands, though, most private planes are made available by their owners for commercial use by others. In other words, the private aircraft is actually placed in the hands of an aviation charter firm and made available for hire. Pontjo Sutowo's Gulfstream IV, for example, is looked after by Indonesian Air Transport, as are the aircraft of Aburizal Bakrie and Sudwikatmono. 'The maintenance costs are prohibitive if you don't get some commercial return,' explained Sudwikatmono. Disneyland Setya Novanto, president director of PT Citra Permatasakti Persada, a consortium of companies active in a variety of fields, and also the owner of the Tee Box Cafe, a watering hole in South Jakarta, tends to choose his travel destinations with the help of the rest of the family. 'Once, before the difficult times caused by the monetary crisis, the children would all come along. I would arrange my own holidays to coincide with the children's school vacation time. Usually I would make the arrangements a month ahead. But in the critical times we're going through now I haven't made any plans, and I think the children understand the situation,' said this businessman, author of the book Manajemen Soeharto (1997). If the children were on their long vacation, Novanto would take them to Disneyland or other places suitable for children of their age. Otherwise, in the summer, they might choose to go together to Europe. For the shorter vacations, they might go somewhere within Indonesia. Bali was a favourite destination. Harley Davidson Another kind of travelling is indulged in by members of a different set of super-rich Indonesians. They are the Harley Davidson motorcycle enthusiasts. They have an association called the Harley Davidson Club of Indonesia, HDCI. Because of their love of this particular make of motorcycle, you can be sure that the travelling the members of the association do will always involve this favourite mode of transport of theirs. Recently they organised a tour to Daytona, USA. Achmad Rizal, executive director of the well-known Jakarta restaurant 'Waroeng Kemang', a member of HDCI, hasn't missed one annual visit to South Dakota in the last three years. Sturgis, South Dakota is the world's other Harley Davidson Mecca. Harley Davidson enthusiasts flock here from all over the world at the same time every year. 'At that time there would be upwards of 250,000 Harley Davidson enthusiasts getting together to talk about the Harley or show off their riding skills on the Harley Davidson. It's a lot of fun. One year, 1997, there were a million people there, all Harley Davidson enthusiasts,' he said. Rizal usually goes with ten other HD enthusiasts from Indonesia. When they arrive in the land of Uncle Sam, the Indonesian team members go straight off to collect their Harley Davidsons from a hire company and set off on the road to the rallying point on their hired machines complete with all the essential attributes and accessories. And what does the Indonesian delegation do when they get to their destination? 'Ya, immerse ourselves in the general Harley-mania, buy up gear and accessories sporting the HD logo or buy HD parts and equipment to take home and install on our own machines in Indonesia.' When it comes to cost, Rizal explains that the members of the group will each have their own budget. 'On a tour like this, involving your favourite hobby, there's no limit to the amount you might spend. Each person would spend at least Rp15 million. That would be just for the plane ticket and hotel. Then you would need about Rp10 million to hire a Harley. Some people would spend Rp 35 million to Rp 40 million on one trip,' Rizal said. Besides touring America on Harley Davidsons, Rizal with a number of Jakarta and Bandung business associates once made a round trip of 960 kilometres on the continent of Australia. Starting from the Gold Coast, this trip took them along the Eastern seaboard and into the mountains, with opportunity to sample the renowned Australian seafood and visit all the popular tourist spots. As well, they are frequent visitors to Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand needless to say, on their Harley Davidsons. Abdul Latief, Minister of Labour (1993-1998), Minister of Tourism, Art and Culture (16 March 21 May 1998), CEO of the holding company ALatief Corporation with subsidiaries in the construction, retail, agribusiness and hotel industries including the supermarket chain PT Pasaraya Toserjaya. Aburizal Bakrie, Board Chairman of Grup Bakrie and Brothers, Chair of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Kadin), major shareholder in Bank Nusa, May Bank Nusa International, PT Daya Sarana Pratama and other companies. Achmad Rizal, well-known professional in the hospitality industry, especially bars and cafes, executive director of Jakarta restaurant 'Waroeng Kemang'. Pontjo Nugro Susilo Sutowo, President Director of Nugra Sentana, major shareholder in about 30 business companies including a marine dry dock, CEO of PT Indobuild Company which manages the Jakarta Convention Centre, and Chairman of the Indonesian Hotels and Restaurants Association (PHRI). Setya Novanto, Executive Director of PT Dwisetya Indolestari; board member of a number of companies, including PT Solusindo Mitrasejati, PT Dwimakmur and PT Multi Dwisentosa, board chairman of PT Bukit Granit Mining Mandiri and PT Nagoya Plaza Hotel; as well as having a key role with one of Siti Hardiyanti Rukmana's companies in the national driver's licence computerisation project. Sudwikatmono, owner of a business empire comprising the Subendra Group, Jababeka Group and Golden Truly Group, and one of the four Indonesian business tycoons known as The Gang of Four; the other three being Liem Sioe Liong, Djuhar Sutanto, and Ibrahim Risjad. Veven Wardhana (veven@indosat.net.id) is a virtual media editor with Gramedia Majalah in Jakarta. He also coordinates the Media Watch programme at the Institute for the Free Flow of Information (ISAI). Herry Barus is a journalist with Warta Kota (Jakarta), and before that covered professional lifestyles for Tiara magazine. This article is extracted with permission from their book 'Para Superkaya Indonesia'(Jakarta: ISAI, December 1998). John Gare (johngare@melbpc.org.au) was the translator. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

The case for debt relief

Indonesian non-government organisations call for massive relief Binny Buchori & Sugeng Bahagijo Indonesia has just freed itself from an authoritarian regime, but the Indonesian people are not free from the debt burden. Unless massive debt relief is extended to Indonesia, the next decade will be lost for millions of Indonesians and their children. Supported by international public institutions such as the World Bank, the IMF and the Paris Club, the Suharto regime accumulated US$159 billion in external debt. This debt now threatens Indonesian economic recovery. The highlights of Indonesian external debt are as follows: Over the period 1993-1998, Indonesia suffered a net transfer of minus US$ 5,354 million. This means that the inflow of money from loans by various creditors (bilateral, multilateral and private) was smaller than the outflow under Indonesia's repayment obligations by this amount. Indonesia has to pay more than half of her export earnings to service its debt. This means that over half the country's hard currency, which could be used to buy goods and services for economic recovery and for the social safety net, goes to the rich countries and banks in the north. Without rescheduling or debt relief, the principal repayments on Indonesia's public external debt will increase from about $2 billion in 1999 to $5 billion in 2000, rising to $9 billion a year in both 2001 and 2002, according to the credit rating firm Standard & Poor. Indonesian debt now amounts to over 140 percent of the annual gross domestic product, double what it was eight years ago. How bad is it? Before the 1997 financial crisis, Suharto preferred to call foreign debt by the name foreign aid. Because of mismanagement in handling loan proceeds, and corruption in the collection of taxes, Indonesia was not able to rely on domestic resources like manufacturing and oil and gas to gradually reduce the external debt. Indonesia continued to increase her external debt every year. At the same time the World Bank, IMF, ADB and other creditors (Paris Club, CGI) were always eager to extend new loans, despite knowing about this corruption and mismanagement. A recent study by the independent Jakarta economic think tank Econit (table) pictures continually increasing government or public debt - that is, debt owed not by private companies but ultimately by the public through the state. In 1998, the year an IMF package kicked in, it rose to US$144 billion. This debt is now higher than the total amount Indonesia produces in a year (gross domestic product, GDP). The debt service ratio (DSR) measures debt repayments (interest and principal) as a proportion of export earning. It now stands at well over half. Indonesia's debt The financial crisis of 1997 became an economic crisis due to rapid devaluation, spiraling external debt, and a loss of investor confidence. When the IMF came to Indonesia's rescue it applied its classic prescription of increased taxes, reduced public spending, and increased interest rates. The package caused a dramatic surge in Indonesia indebtedness. In the words of aid agency Oxfam, the IMF was not responsible for East Asia's crisis, but it was responsible for deepening and prolonging the recession. Behind these statistics lies a real human cost suffered by Indonesians. Here are some of the facts on how the crisis directly affects child and maternal welfare: In West Sumatra, more than 32 thousand children out of 300 thousand children under 5 years old are critically malnourished. In Riau province, the incidence of malnourishment among children under five is 27,690 children. Across Indonesia, malnourishment among children under 5 is found in 200 district (kabupatens) out of 320. Vitamin A deficiency has reemerged. The proportion of children aged between one and two years that do not consume eggs (the main source of vitamin A) has almost doubled to 14 percent (Hellen Keller International - HKI - data, quoted by Oxfam report, 1999) Iron Deficiency Anemia (IDA), which impairs the immune system and the intellectual development of children, has increased from 50 per cent in 1985 to 64 percent. Both childhood and maternal anemia rates have risen during the crisis (HKI data). Maternal malnutrition is increasing. Since 1996 the average body mass among women of reproductive age fell by 1 kg - almost reversing the increase achieved over the past 30 years. (HKI data). The effects are also visible in education. Oxfam reports recently: A decrease of 4-5 per cent in school enrolments. This translates to about 1.3 million children who are deprived of access to the education they need to escape a life of poverty. The rate of decline for girls' enrollment is twice that for boys. The most significant reductions in enrolment level have been recorded in Central Java, Jakarta and Maluku. A proposal There are at least five arguments in favour of debt relief for Indonesia: Without relief, economic and social recovery will be threatened. Indonesia post-crisis is similar to post-second world war Germany. Many schools, factories, and offices are closed. Many children under five are malnourished. Many public health clinics do not have medicines. Unemployment is rising. The only hope is revenue from exporting oil and manufactured products. But if the debt service ratio continues at its current level of more than 50%, the prospect for recovery is long and difficult. Certainly the budget for health, education, and subsidies for medicine, food and kerosene will be sacrificed. The new government under president Gus Dur needs budget and fiscal flexibility to allow it to stimulate economic growth through increased public spending, increased real sector investment and to finance the costs of the social safety net. (The current social safety net is financed, once more, by loan money from the World Bank with adjustment conditionalities.) Without such flexibility, any government will have difficulty in delivering its economic recovery agenda. Loans that were misused or corrupted by Suharto cronies and New Order officials cannot be the responsibility of the new government. We propose that odious or criminal debts be cancelled. The World Bank admitted the leakage and estimated it amounted to about 30%. We propose that the coming Consultative Group on Indonesia (CGI) meeting, and talks with the IMF, should include the cancellation of this debt. Creditors are ready to discuss the issue of debt and debt relief now. During World Bank consultations with Infid, World Bank country director for Indonesia Mark Baird expressed his concern about the rising Indonesia debt burden, both external (owed to bilateral, multilateral and private banks in the north) and domestic (the government has issued billions of rupiahs in bonds to finance the recapitalisation of sick banks). Debt relief experience in the past has been workable and good, both for debtors and creditors. The massive debt relief extended to Germany after world war two by the allied powers, and the huge debt relief for Indonesia granted by the Paris Club (for bilateral debt) in 1970-71 are prime examples. The debtor economy can use the money to buy goods and services for recovery. As long as there is common sense and political will on the side of the creditors, debt relief is workable. The International Non-government organisations (NGO) Forum on Indonesian Development, Infid, therefore proposes debt relief for Indonesia as follows: A minimum 30% debt cancellation/ reduction to be taken out of the US$70 billion government debt owed to multilateral (WB, IMF and ADB), bilateral (Japan, US, Germany) and private banks; Indonesia only to repay debt at an annual level not to exceed 5% of DSR ( 5 per cent from export revenues). This will free up money for public spending and the social safety net; Private debt should not become a burden for public debt. The Indonesian government should not be forced to pay the private debt. Creditor and debtor should both be held responsible for bad lending and bad decisions. Binny Buchori is executive secretary of Infid (the International Non-government organisations Forum on Indonesian Development). Sugeng Bahagijo is information manager. Contact Infid: Jalan Mampang Prapatan XI/23, Jakarta 12790, Indonesia, tel +62-21-79196721, 79196722, fax +62-21-794 1577, email infid@nusa.or.id or krakatau@cbn.net.id Public external debt (US$bn) % of GDP DSR % 1991 72 62 45 1995 107 53 43 1997 137 63 46 1998 144 147 52 Source: Econit 1999. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Aceh's causes

A conversation with an activist reveals there is more than one Aceh cause? Maree Keating Otto Syamsuddin Ishak is at once public servant, academic and activist. He lectures in agriculture at the Syiah University in Banda Aceh and is executive officer of Cordova, a non-government organisation (NGO) educating the public on civil society and human rights. He also has links with the armed section of the Free Aceh Movement (GAM). I met Otto in Melbourne during an awareness-raising tour last October. To an outsider, there seem many grounds for hope. New president Gus Dur says he is prepared to negotiate with GAM. He created the new portfolio of Minister for Human Rights, and appointed long term Acehnese human rights campaigner Hasballah Saad to fill it. More concessions have been granted to Islamic syari'ah law in Aceh. Aceh is no longer classified as a military operations area (DOM), and General Wiranto has admitted military excesses. But when I ask Otto how the Acehnese perceive these concessions he tells me bluntly: 'There is not a single policy that gives us cause for hope, because both Gus Dur and Megawati have the same principle - they want a united nation and give no indication they will free Aceh'. He is equally pessimistic about Hasballah: 'Nobody really believes that he can be successful, because he is not a popular figure in Aceh. The people in Aceh feel better represented by the PPP leader, Ghazali Abbas Adan. He is the only one in a position to speak about human rights in Aceh to Jakarta.' Hasballah's position, Otto says, is dilemmatic - he stands between the Acehnese struggle and the Indonesian military, each as determined as the other. I wonder if rejecting Hasballah on these grounds is not tantamount to ruling out any form of cooperation. But Otto puts it like this: 'Jakarta always sets up teams [to investigate abuses], without any consultation. Because of that, people have no faith in these teams. None of its members are credible.' Is Ghazali credible because PPP supports a referendum for Aceh, whereas Hasballah remains less definite on it? Otto seemed reluctant to articulate such political differences, perhaps because, as he says, human rights have become an intensely unifying issue for those championing independence. 'At the moment GAM has a human rights perspective', he says. 'Human rights are being used as a way to find a sympathetic focus. They use the issue of human rights to mobilise society.' Religion Otto is also wary of Jakarta's concessions in the area of Islamic syari'ah law. He seems to suggest it could be an attempt by Jakarta to fuel horizontal conflict. Operasi Jilbab is a recent phenomenon where Islamic officials force people to dress in accordance with strict Islamic codes, attend mosque regularly and behave in a devout manner. It is unclear whether Operasi Jilbab sprang spontaneously from a desire for more religion within the community, or whether outside forces played a role in developing an Islamic militancy which most people find oppressive. When I ask Otto to explain the role of religion in the conflict, he says: 'It is really a secular issue. People have resorted to the security of Islam as a kind of regional identity and as a means of survival.... So they would not feel they were dying in vain? It is not GAM so much as the people themselves who have turned to religion.' It is difficult for me to imagine what living in a devoutly religious society is like. Perhaps an Islamic version of Christian liberation theology I can recognise, but when people start talking about holy wars and public floggings, I realise that not all things can be translated easily for an Australian public. It strikes me as odd that Otto calls the Aceh conflict a secular issue, for how could anything be secular in a society where Operasi Jilbab can take place and where religious leaders are so powerful? I ask him about the worst case scenario, and his reply reveals the depth of religious feeling in Aceh. He says: 'The worst scenario is a face to face confrontation. The religious leaders (ulama) have declared that if there is no referendum in the next six months they will take a decision to declare a holy war (jihad). If the ulama want it, they will get the support from the community.' When asked how he and others in the NGO community feel about that, his answer implies that the power of the religious leaders is stronger than that of the non-violent civil society movement. 'They are worried about what will happen', he says. 'But they are not brave enough to say this because they will become a target for the community's anger.' The referendum movement in Aceh seems to consist of groups with sometimes opposing aims. They include the armed and unarmed sections of GAM, the religious leaders (divided into 'old' and 'new'), students, NGOs and other advocates for a civil society. There is in fact no single Acehnese movement. Some of the 'old' style ulama lost credibility in the past for aligning themselves too closely with Golkar. They now want to regain popular support by taking a strong stance on the referendum. According to Otto, ninety percent of the population want a referendum. Whereas militant GAM leaders in the past have said they will not engage with the 'Javanese' government on a referendum, Otto says this stance has recently changed. 'If the ulama call for a referendum, GAM will support it, even though previously they did not.' But if ninety percent support a referendum, it is not clear whether people want the outcome to be a sultanate or a democratic republic. Otto says: 'There are those who want democracy (who use non-violence), and those who want a sultanate (who use violence)? There is a symbiosis between the two which is mutually beneficial. Student activists and all the groups with an interest in a democratic society believe that a sultanate will not be democratic. Because of that they are taking the initiative towards a referendum.' For Australians wanting to answer Otto's call for support, the challenge remains to find a clearer understanding about what kinds of dialogue are possible within Aceh. If groups within Aceh are afraid to speak out against a violent solution for fear of unleashing the community's anger upon them, the potential for a democratic process could be a fragile one. Maree Keating (mkeating@ozvol.org.au) is country program manager for Indonesia with Australian Volunteers International. The views in this article are her own and not necessarily those of AVI. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

West Papua in 1999

An urban movement pushes for a peaceful solution Nina FitzSimons In the wake of a military crackdown in Biak in July 1998, Christian churches, student and women's groups, and non-government organisations (NGOs) formed a non-party political coalition to pursue a peaceful solution to West Papuan concerns. The Forum for Reconciliation of Irian Jaya Society (Foreri) sought to enter into dialogue with the government. On the 26th February 1999, after four months of planning and five drafts of the terms of reference, then-President Habibie and cabinet ministers met in Jakarta with a one hundred member delegation of Papuan representatives to launch the 'national dialogue'. Foreri played the role of facilitator. The West Papuans unanimously declared their desire for independence. They wanted President Habibie to publicly recognise the loss of Papua's independence through the 1969 Act of Free Choice. Habibie's response indicated that he was not expecting the declaration. Putting aside his prepared speech, he told the delegation to consider their decision carefully. Since that meeting there has been no progress. On April 17th 1999 Irian Jaya's chief of police, Hotman Siagian, issued a proclamation banning all discussion and dissemination of information resulting from the national dialogue. This effectively prevents all Papuans from discussing independence or greater autonomy from Indonesia. The workshops and seminars which were to follow the Jakarta meeting will not be taking place. NGOs in Jayapura say they know the government's answer to the delegation's aspirations. It is the 27th July bill to divide Irian Jaya into three separate provinces. Governors for the new provinces of West Irian, Central Irian and East Irian were sworn in on 12 October 1999. The Protestant church GKI says the division indicates the government's refusal to open any form of conflict resolution. West Papuans fear the administrative expansion will bring in more Javanese bureaucrats. Transmigration (often by Muslims) already means the (largely Christian) Papuan population now only makes up half the territory's population. Since the February 26th meeting, delegates and facilitators of the national dialogue have become targets of intimidation. Travel restrictions were placed on the main leaders of the national dialogue delegation in August, preventing them from leaving Jayapura. On a wider scale, military command posts are continually being set up to ensure no further 'interference' by delegation parties. Furthermore the government has sought to eliminate the role of Foreri by suspending all communications with the Foreri office. The government discredits the national dialogue as the work of radicals. Some officials have dropped hints that delegate members are part of a group supplying arms to West Papuans opposing the Freeport mine. In Fak-Fak police raided and vandalised a local traditional house that was being used as a meeting place and information centre on independence issues by local tribal leaders. While no one was injured, police removed all sacred and indigenous artifacts and destroyed them. The independent human rights organisation in Jayapura, ELS-HAM, has been collecting data on recent killings and intends to publish the results. In August it distributed a report listing human rights abuses in the Central Highlands area as a direct result of the foreign hostage case of early 1996. The abuses implicated the International Committee of the Red Cross and British elite troops SAS. The fact that it took three years to gather enough concrete evidence highlights the difficulties faced by NGOs investigating human rights abuse. As it is, calls by ELS-HAM for the government to protect witnesses relating to this case have fallen on deaf ears. Nina FitzSimons (ninafitz@solo.wasantara.net.id) is an Australian volunteer in Solo, Central Java. She visited Irian Jaya in June 1999 as an electoral monitor under an ACFOA programme. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Why West Papua deserves another chance

The UN ballot in 1969 broke every rule for genuine self-determination Sam Blay West Papua (Irian Jaya) is the oldest self-determination issue in Indonesia since independence. During decolonisation negotations in 1949, the Dutch did not hand over this part of the former Netherlands East Indies to what is now the Republic of Indonesia. However, Indonesia continued to demand sovereignty over West Papua on two grounds: (a) that it succeeded to Dutch sovereignty over the whole of the Netherlands East Indies, including West Papua; (b) that there were historical ties between the rest of Indonesia and West Papua before the colonial era. In 1962, Indonesia and the Netherlands reached agreement over West Papua under the New York Agreement. The Netherlands transferred sovereignty over West Papua to Indonesia, with an interim administration by the United Nations Temporary Executive Authority (Untea). Untea administered West Papua from October 1962 to May 1963, when Indonesia assumed total control and responsibility. Indonesian sovereignty over West Papua was to be tentative because, under Article XVIII of the agreement, Indonesia undertook to ascertain the wishes of the people of West Papua through a consultation process to establish whether they wanted to remain part of Indonesia or to form an independent state. This consultation, the Act of Free Choice, took place in July 1969. Right from the outset, considerable sections of the West Papuan population opposed the incorporation. Activists formed the Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM) in 1970. The movement aimed at independence for West Papua by way of armed struggle. In July 1972, the OPM enacted a provisional constitution and declared West Papua a republic. The principal claim of West Papuan separatists is that the 1969 consultation process was not properly conducted and was therefore not valid. West Papuans demand the conduct of fresh consultations, as was the case in East Timor. OPM organisations argue that a consultation is now more urgent than ever because of continuous and increasingly gross human rights violations by Indonesia, and because Indonesia has attempted to change the population balance in West Papua through the transmigration of 'mainland' Indonesians. A series of petitions to the UN on these human rights violations, and pleas for the UN Decolonisation Committee to investigate the conduct of the 1969 referendum and possibly recommend fresh consultations, have all so far failed. The OPM is fragmented. Too poorly armed to mount any credible guerilla campaign and with no effective strategy, it relies mostly on non-governmental organisations. It lacks any real political support even in the South Pacific. In spite of these difficulties, the events in East Timor and the current focus on self-determination in Indonesia provide some optimism for West Papua's future. International political support would in part depend on the legal merits of their claims in international law. Rules As a rule, self-determination can be exercised in one of the following three ways: the establishment of an independent state; the association of the beneficiary territory with an existing state; or the integration of the beneficiary territory into an existing state. Whatever the outcome, democratic consultations are the necessary precondition for a valid exercise of the right. The 1969 consultations indicated that West Papuans opted for integration, but the issue is whether the option was validly exercised. According to UN rules, two conditions must be satisfied for a valid exercise of self-determination by integration: (a) the integrated territory should have attained an advanced stage of self-government with free political institutions, so that its people would have the capacity to make a responsible choice through informed and democratic processes; (b) the integration should be the result of the freely expressed wishes of the territory's peoples acting with full knowledge of the change in their status, their wishes having been expressed through informed and democratic processes, conducted impartially and based on universal adult suffrage. It is very doubtful whether the West Papuan integration in 1969 met these conditions. Before the Act of Free Choice, Indonesian authorities had made it quite clear that the consultations were only to be a formality. Indonesia indeed indicated that it was 'going through the motions of the act of free choice because of [its] obligations under the New York Agreement... But West [Papua] is Indonesian and must remain Indonesian. [Indonesia] cannot accept any alternative'. From the Indonesian point of view, the outcome of any consultation was irrelevant - integration was a foregone conclusion. Under the New York Agreement, a traditional form of consultation was to be used initially to determine the appropriate methods to be followed for the Act of Free Choice. Secondly, the consultation had to involve the participation of all adults (male and female) of West Papua. Thirdly, the method used to ascertain the wishes of the West Papuans had to be in 'accordance with international practice'. When the time came for a decision on the method to be used, the representative of the UN Secretary General in West Papua suggested that the 'democratic, orthodox and universally accepted ?one-man-one-vote? method would be most appropriate'. However, he qualified this by saying, 'the geographical and human realities in some parts of the territory required the application of a realistic criterion.' Consequently, he proposed a normal adult suffrage for the urban areas, and a form of tribal consultation for the rural areas. Indonesia rejected the suggestion and adopted instead the tribal musyawarah system throughout the territory. The musyawarah system involved consultations with tribal council representatives, who in turn were presumed to have had consultations with their tribesmen. Arguably, the system may have been a useful democratic machinery for tribal administration, but it was certainly not in conformity with the essential requirements of the UN's prescriptions on self-determination. By employing the musyawarah system throughout the territory, it would seem that Indonesia breached one of its obligations under the New York Agreement, and indeed, international law. Indonesia itself admitted that the musyawarah system fell short of the UN requirement, but it justified the use of the system with the argument that 'in West [Papua] there exists? one of the most primitive and underdeveloped communities in the world', and that it was unrealistic to apply normal democratic methods to ascertain their wishes. This was a rather significant admission. If according to the Indonesian administration the West Papuans were so primitive that a single one man one vote adult suffrage was not appropriate for them, it may be argued that they were not sufficiently advanced to appreciate the complex implications of integration. Some African states that opposed the Indonesian method summed up the general sentiment at the time with the observation that 'no society could be so primitive... in the modern world that the vital exercise of democratic government could be indefinitely denied to its peoples'. Some UN members also held the view that if the West Papuans were that primitive, the way to ensure their right to self-determination was not through the musyawarah system but through an accelerated economic development of the territory under the auspices of the UN to bring them up to a level that could enable them to exercise their right to self- determination meaningfully. Even though these criticisms and suggestions were ignored, they underscored the anomalies associated with West Papua's integration. Defects The Act of Free Choice had other defects. Under the UN regulations, consultations for integration must not only be by adult suffrage, but must also be conducted impartially, and where the UN deems it necessary, under its own supervision. However, in line with Indonesia's position that West Papua belonged to it in any case and that the consultations were only a formality to rubber-stamp its claims, Indonesia maintained tight controls over all aspects of the consultations. In fact Indonesia allowed a token UN supervision in only 195 of the 1,000 consultative assemblies. The required impartiality, and the appropriate explanations to West Papuans as to other options for self-determination available to them, were arguably absent in the consultations. The UN representative to West Papua further attested to the unsatisfactory state of affairs in his observation that 'the act of free choice was obviously stage-managed from start to finish ... [Indonesia] exercised at all times a tight control over the population.' In the frenzy of decolonisation in the 1960s, Third World states at the UN were eager to terminate Dutch colonialism in West Papua. Indonesia enjoyed considerable support at the UN in its claims against the Netherlands for West Papua. Quite apart from its diplomatic advantage, Indonesia had also been preparing a military invasion of West Papua. In the face of these difficulties, the Netherlands signed the New York Agreement. It was a face-saving measure that enabled the Netherlands to withdraw 'honourably'. For Indonesia, the Agreement had been a great diplomatic victory. After the signing, West Papua became a de facto integral part of Indonesia, despite the requirement of the so-called Act of Free Choice. At the UN, the incorporation seemed a fait accompli. Secret documents recently released by the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade easily indicate that Australia and the United States actively assisted Indonesia at the UN to secure its control over West Papua, even where it was clear that there were serious defects with the procedure. Australia also helped discourage petitions and debate on the merits of the integration at the UN. It is beyond doubt that the people of West Papua were denied their right to self-determination. Little noticed, separatist agitation in West Papua has persisted for over three decades. Every indication is that it will persist into the new century. After East Timor, the conditions appear right to re-examine the issue to help protect West Papuans rights. Legally there is no barrier for a re-examination of the issues. However as is usually the case in international law, the absence of legal barriers may not be enough. West Papua needs support for the Decolonisation Committee to accept to investigate the case. Time is of the essence. The UN intends to disestablish the Decolonisation Committee by the year 2001. Given Australia's involvement and its commitment to stability in the region, it has a critical role to play in assisting West Papua. Sam Blay (sam.blay@uts.edu.au) is professor of law at the University of Technology Sydney. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Humanity, not fascism!

An Indonesian eyewitness to the East Timor tragedy pleads for compassion. Interview with Yeni Rosa Damayanti Booing filled the auditorium of the Menara Peninsula Hotel in Jakarta. They were booing Yeni Rosa Damayanti, saying she was 'non-nationalistic', 'without love' for Indonesia, because she had given evidence of the burning of East Timor. One participant in the public debate on post-ballot East Timor, held by the think-tank Cides on 15 September, came to the microphone and accused her of disgracing Indonesia before the world. For Yeye - Damayanti's nickname - it was not the first time. Someone circulated an email headed: 'Do you know who the nation's traitors are?' Yeye was second on the list. The first was Hendardi, director of the legal aid institute PBHI. How did Yeye react to all this? People just now thought you were too angry. What do you say to them? I was in Dili until September 11, with seven friends from the independent Indonesian monitoring group Kiper. We saw the people of Timor, adults and children alike, being killed. Their houses looted, then burnt down. Anyone would be angry if they saw humanity trampled like that. Even now, the soul of a whole nation is being murdered. You mean pro-independence East Timorese? I mean the nation of Timor Leste. The killings are regardless of the victims' political views. I can prove that. Straight after the announcement of the ballot result on September 4, militias from Barisan Merah Putih (Red and White Front) and Aitarak were going around Dili carrying M-16, SS-1 and homemade guns, as well as machetes. At first it was just psy-war. But then the shooting was aimed directly at the townspeople. They attacked suburbs such as Taibesi and Becora and razed them to the ground. Massive burning took place on September 6 and 7. In just two days, Dili was reduced to ashes. In a press conference yesterday you mentioned the army's involvement.... Yes. Where did those M-16 and SS-1 rifles come from? And the police and military (TNI) clearly let the militias burn. Militias looted a shopping centre and one managed to find a spring bed. Do you know how they took it away? On an army truck. Before the militias attacked a suburb, police came and announced it would soon be controlled by pro-autonomy forces. 'Residents out or be killed.' This also happened to Kiper. Our Dili office constantly had to move, because the area was being attacked. In the end Kiper's office was also looted and burnt down. Did you see any shooting between militias and pro-independent supporters? This is what needs to be clarified. Not a single bullet was fired between the two groups. This was entirely about terror and killing carried out by just one force and supported by the Indonesian military. There are 800,000 East Timorese. Only about 130,000 have gone to West Timor. Where are the rest? Some were killed, and more than 500,000 chose to flee to the mountains of East Timor. This is what I'm worried about. Three hundred children in Ermera are facing death by starvation. There is no food for them. Why didn't they go to the refugee camps already prepared for them in Atambua in West Timor? All the refugees to West Timor had to sign a letter saying they were pro-autonomy. And TNI guarded the town borders. They would ask: 'Where are you heading?' If they were refugees, they were sent along a special route that no one else was allowed to use. My friends and I tried to follow the same route. The soldiers asked: Refugees? My friend said: No. We were forbidden to go that way. I don't imagine the army will help the refugees. I demand that Timor Leste be opened to humanitarian aid for those in the mountains. Military intelligence SGI was out looking for you. How did you pass the blockade? The order was indeed to get Yeni Rosa Damayanti. But the militias and the soldiers didn't know what I looked like. SGI were not just looking for me. Also for the East Timorese students now in hiding in various places. In the debate just now, some thought you were not nationalistic enough. TNI kills people in Timor Leste, Aceh, Papua, Tanjung Priok. Why doesn't anyone say they are not nationalistic enough? If people say TNI kill to preserve Indonesian nationhood, the integrity of the nation, then in my view our concept of nationalism is chauvinistic, fascist and expansionist. I've had enough of it, if that is the case. Many demonstrations in Jakarta reject interference by other countries on nationalistic grounds. Yes, I have heard that our flag was burnt in Australia and this led to demonstrations. Including demonstrations by students. I myself don't agree with flag burning. But we need to consider two things carefully. One is the humanitarian perspective. Don't turn away from this. TNI not only failed to protect the citizens of East Timor, they themselves became agents of violence. We have to see the cause of foreign interference. Secondly, we have all been manipulated to accept the military concept of nationalism. Throughout the Suharto era we fought against words that had become synonymous with power. Why do we still want to regurgitate a militaristic nationalism that is anti-humanitarian? This interview was recorded just before Interfet troops landed in East Timor. It appeared in Xpos (ekspos@hotmail.com) of 19-25 September 1999. Rani Ambiyo was the translator. Yeni Rosa Damayanti (yenirosa@hotmail.com), is a well-known human rights activist. Under Suharto she spent time in gaol as well as in exile to the Netherlands. James Goodman describes Kiper in an article in Inside Indonesia no.59, July-September 1999. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Out of the tiger's teeth

The inside story of East Timor's ballot for freedom Helene van Klinken In mid-June 1999 I arrived in East Timor to work with the newly established United Nations Assistance Mission in East Timor (Unamet). I was sent to the beautiful district of Ermera, in the hills an hour's drive south of Dili. It is a picturesque, fertile, coffee growing area. The welcome people gave to Unamet was unbelievable. Children would pop out of fragrant coffee gardens as we drove past, waving and calling in chorus, 'Unamet, Unamet!' My job as a political affairs officer was to meet everyone, and report to Unamet's Dili headquarters what they were saying and hoping for, and whether it was possible for the popular consultation to proceed. It is without doubt the most amazing job I have ever done. The new President Habibie first mentioned offering wide-ranging autonomy to East Timor in June 1998. But the people of East Timor came out instead in support of independence, and of a referendum. In Ermera, long-standing East Timorese supporters of Indonesia made peace with their Timorese bothers and sisters, joining the pro-independence side. Even Timorese soldiers who had fought for Indonesia sought reconciliation with Falintil. This unity among East Timorese represented a dilemma for Indonesians, in whose minds fear of Falintil and pro-independence actors was well established. A foreign visitor in East Timor at the time described the atmosphere to me as a 'Prague Spring'. With the likelihood of a popular consultation, a savage crackdown began in Ermera on 10 April. A CNRT youth, Antonio Lima, was killed and the CNRT office burnt down. People later told us that the killings were done by Indonesian police and military in uniform, who patrolled the streets searching for and shooting pro-independence leaders. These killings began five days after the widely reported massacre in a church in nearby Liquica. The Ermera district CNRT leader, Eduardo de Deus Barreto, was arrested. He was later jailed for 'extorting money and coercing people to join the CNRT'. All remaining CNRT leaders fled to the hills around Ermera. During the days that followed many more pro-independence people were killed. In some areas of East Timor, Falintil had managed to maintain long-term control of a few villages. Indonesian military posts stationed in these areas reached some sort of modus vivendi with Falintil, and they did not 'disturb' each other. One such 'liberated area' was Fatubolo village, close to the district administrative centre Gleno. On 10 April all senior Ermera CNRT office-holders fled into this Falintil-controlled territory, though some went to Dili which was also considered safe. When I later visited the Falintil base I met many important people from the Ermera community. Civil servants who were prepared to sign statements promising to support autonomy could come out of hiding on 24 April, 1999. The CNRT itself was forced to 'disband' on 26 April. Militias Militias have been part of the military strategy in East Timor since 1975. However, beginning in late 1998 many more were conscripted, bribed and forced to join their ranks. Each district had its own militia, although militia did not always keep to their designated districts and there was even competition between them. In Ermera district they were called Darah Integrasi, Blood of Integration. They claimed 1,500 members, but according to informants the number of committed members was in the low hundreds. Miguel Soares Babo was its commander, while his brother Antonio dos Santos was second-in-command. Antonio was a low ranking TNI officer, who said he was on 'civilian duties'. He was the real force and spokesperson. Miguel was often drunk and prone to abusive language. While there have always been military outposts in remote areas of East Timor, the numbers of these posts in Ermera was now greatly increased, many of them established after the crackdown in April and May 1999. A military post was usually a simple structure of bamboo and local materials, with the telltale tall communications antenna. At a post there were often four Indonesian officers and about ten East Timorese TNI soldiers. A group of about 20 militia, mostly locally recruited, was also stationed at each post, thus demonstrating once more the close link between militia and military. We received numerous complaints from villagers about the activities of these soldiers. In the middle of the night soldiers would throw stones on the roofs of houses of people known to have housed Falintil soldiers in the past. They would shoot randomly into the air to intimidate people. They would break into houses saying they had received information that Falintil soldiers were attacking the occupants. Most often they were drunk, and frequently they terrorised female members of the household, sometimes spending all day lying round inebriated in a house, making it impossible for the owners to care for their children or cook. The many government officials, sub-district and village heads and village secretaries who remained in hiding and refused to sign statements supporting autonomy were replaced with people who were persuaded and bribed to support integration with Indonesia. CNRT leaders were inspiring people who did not sell their souls, even though they lived with constant threats and in fear. They would express their disappointment about their fellow countrymen who had capitulated to the pressures. Local CNRT leader Amaral would always say that Timorese have to be honest but tell a few lies, and that even while they were afraid they must also be brave. When facing a tiger, you have to be careful or you'll get caught by one of his teeth, he would say. Indonesians seemed to have no idea of the breadth of support the CNRT enjoyed. One Balinese government official honestly told me that he believed 70% of people in Ermera supported autonomy. Decision On the first day of registration people turned out in their hundreds at each centre, queuing like sardines in a tin. Registration centres were joyful places. The Timorese people had taken the decision into their own hands. No matter what the security situation was like they were going to vote. Registration was a resounding success, numbers far exceeding estimates. I did not meet any Timorese in Ermera who had wanted to register but were unable to do so. As a result of this success, in some ways Unamet slipped into a false sense of what we could achieve. We also had to make a judgement as to whether there were equal opportunities for both sides. For the CNRT in Ermera it was a constant struggle, though they philosophically said, 'we've been campaigning for 24 years. Our people know what they want'. Nevertheless they were not passive, and engaged in strategies to raise their profile. As the CNRT had no office and their leadership was in hiding, the pro-autonomy actors felt they had the upper hand. The next step was the campaign, a period of about ten days prior to voting day. Militia provided the 'crowds' at the autonomy campaigns. Public servants, who were obliged to support autonomy, led the rallies. The militia travelled around all day in several trucks, conducting random campaigns whenever and wherever they could find a crowd. Some militia complained to Unamet local staff about having to 'yell party slogans all day', without even being given food. In the end the CNRT cancelled all but two of its six planned meetings, because the leaders were worried about threats to ordinary people who attended rallies, especially those held far from the main Unamet headquarters. There were strong indications that Timorese from both sides wanted to resolve their differences peacefully. In this they requested the mediation of Unamet. The militia commanders were particularly keen to meet with Falintil. The Indonesian district police commander was supportive of such a meeting. In mid-June he visited Falintil in the area controlled by them (Region IV), and saluted its commander, whose code name was Ular (Snake), before shaking hands. The Timorese were jubilant about this meeting, claiming it was the first time in 24 years an Indonesian official had openly recognised Falintil. However, after some time it became clear that the Indonesian district military commander was against any such rapprochement. He would always say he could not guarantee security. So how did the CNRT convey their message to the people, given that the right to campaign and open an office was basically denied them? At every sub-district and village level there were CNRT secretaries, who carried the message, albeit clandestinely. Priests and nuns also gave moral courage and leadership, many at great personal risk. On the occasion that Bishop Belo came to Ermera he told the people that this vote was a once-only opportunity given to them by the international community. They should not be afraid. They should vote according to their conscience, not just thinking of their own safety but remembering they were choosing the future for their children and grandchildren. Also a group of university students was instrumental in spreading the message. The university students mostly belonged to the East Timorese Students' Solidarity Council. Some belonged to East Timorese organisations in Java, Bali and Sulawesi. In Ermera they were very well organised. Some 200 of them originating in Ermera returned to their home villages at the commencement of registration to explain to people the registration and voting process, and to gather information about human rights abuses. They were in constant conflict with the authorities, who claimed they 'angered the people'. Celebration After an agreement between Falintil commanders and senior Dili Unamet officials, Falintil guerillas moved into 'cantonment', meaning they pulled back to predefined areas in the mountains while retaining their weapons. One of these areas was located in Ermera district, in Poetete village. There on 20 August, they celebrated Falintil Day. It was the first time ever they had been able to celebrate it openly, and for many East Timorese it was the first time they had met with the guerillas. The celebration was no less than a campaign rally of 18,000 people. The shops and streets of the towns in Ermera were deserted. The militia, with their police and TNI escorts, were angry to find no one at the village where they had planned a rally. On their way home the next day, they vented their anger by attacking villagers and destroying homes of people who had just returned from attending the Falintil celebration. Two days before the vote, the CNRT held a flag raising in the cantonment. As the flag rose slowly under the intense tropical glare, men hugged each other, their tears flowing unashamedly. The cantonment was by far the most interesting place in Ermera district, alive with hope and indeed forgiveness. Incidents involving militia, reported to Unamet, were passed to the Indonesian police, as they were responsible for investigation. But little action was ever taken, despite the promises, and never an arrest of a militia member. After the vote, the police commander told the Unamet police commander that he had been ordered 'from above' not to interfere with the actions of the militia. Voting day, Monday 30 August, unlike registration, was not a jubilant occasion. Bishop Belo, in a pastoral letter read in all churches the previous day, exhorted people to go home afterwards and pray, and keep on praying. Don't do anything to provoke, he told them, presumably meaning 'don't celebrate'. By 7:30 on the morning of the vote, we heard on our Unamet radios that most people were already waiting in line to vote, and this was the case everywhere in East Timor. Many people had travelled the previous evening to their polling centres, as voting had to take place where you registered. A small percentage of people were intimidated after registration and left the areas where they had registered, so were unable to vote. Despite all the fears that voting might be disrupted, 98.5% of registered voters were successful in casting their votes. The militia attack on our Gleno polling station at midday that day came as a surprise, as Ermera was by this time considered safe, although it was always a knife-edge situation. The US ambassador, Roy Stapleton, had come to view voting there, and was in the yard when shooting broke out and rocks were thrown at the walls of the polling station. The Timorese could hardly believe their luck, to have the ambassador of the superpower actually witness this attack! After several hours and an attempt to address the militia's complaints, the polling station was reopened. Only about 300 of the approximately 2,500 registered voters at this polling station were too frightened to return after the attack. In a distant sub-district of Ermera, Atsabe, over three hours drive away, a more disturbing attack was taking place, in which at least one and probably three local Unamet staff were murdered by militias. Even the ballot boxes in Gleno were not removed without incident. New militia arrived in town the day after polling. The rumour was that they were inserted because Darah Integrasi had never been 'effective'. They tried to prevent the helicopter from picking up the ballot boxes, but not with sufficient determination to succeed. During this attempt, Unamet staff saw Indonesian police mobile brigade members handing traditional weapons to the militia. The evening after the vote, the burning of houses of CNRT leaders began. A young twelve-year old girl came to the Unamet headquarters to tell us about her house that was burnt, together with their store of rice and corn. Soon after that, all of East Timor was in ashes, and we were evacuated back to Australia. It was as if winter had come to beautiful Ermera. Helene van Klinken (helenevk@hotmail.com) teaches Indonesian language in Brisbane. The views in this article represent her own and are not necessarily the official Unamet position. This essay is dedicated to Ana, a wonderful East Timorese friend whose fate remains unknown. A longer version appears in a special edition of the Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars. Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

Nationalism

Fifty years ago, Indonesian nationalism was open to the world Goenawan Mohamad On 29 July 1949, a Dakota aircraft crashed near Maguwo, Yogyakarta, killing three officers of the Republic of Indonesia Air Force. A civilian aircraft, on a flight from New Delhi, it was carrying medical supplies donated by the Republic of India to the Republic of Indonesia. Its broken fuselage still bore the letters 'VT-CLA'. Reports suggested the Dakota had been pursued and shot down by fighter planes of the Royal Netherlands Air Force, which controlled the northern part of Java. A youth of 17 visited the crash site. He was not a photographer, but he wanted to record what had happened. He was a painter, and he made a drawing of what was left of the plane, hoping that it would stand as a witness: a civilian aircraft shot down without compunction by Dutch troops intent on using military might to take back control of Indonesia. Now, in 1999, that young man is recognised as one of Indonesia's foremost painters, Srihadi Sudarsono. But it has taken 50 years, until his first exhibition at the Lontar Gallery in Jakarta last week, for Srihadi's priceless collection of drawings of the battles and negotiations of the revolution to become widely known. Not all of his work has survived. Most of it in fact was lost in a fire that destroyed one of the buildings which played a key role in the events of the revolution. But at the Lontar Gallery I was privileged to see not only the remains of the Dakota, but also the figure of a guerilla fighter riding on a train, a group of Dutch soldiers ransacking a private home in Solo, the face of Bung Karno, the face of Moh. Roem, and a group of foreign diplomats at Kaliurang, Yogya, people who - thanks to the UN - were trying to deal with the problems that arose with the end of colonialism in Indonesia. Indonesia 1949, Indonesia 1999. Srihadi himself is maybe unaware of this, but someone looking at his drawings will easily pick up on a difference, a depressing contrast between then and now. Half a century ago, the outside world - together with a young and vigorous UN - came to the aid of Indonesia, a weakling in the face of overwhelming odds. Now all we hear is pointed criticism from the rest of the world, directed at a big and brutal Indonesia intent on destroying little Timor Leste (and failing in the effort). Indonesia then, Indonesia now. A half century ago the leaders of the Indonesian Republic noted with conviction and emotion in the preamble to their new constitution: 'Whereas freedom is the right of all nations...'. They stood firm in their belief that freedom was a right that everyone had to recognise because it was one expression of universal values. Now we only ever hear the phrase recited with indifference. For the last 40 years, the leaders of Indonesia have tried to proclaim that there is no such thing as universal values. We cannot be measured by 'Western' standards, they cry. We have our own democracy, we are unique, you know, you must understand Javanese culture, Asian values.... It's as though for oppressed peoples there is some essential difference between Indonesian military cruelties and, say, the tyranny of the Portuguese. The crash of a Dakota aircraft carrying medical supplies from the outside world. A number of foreign faces at a meeting in Kaliurang. In Srihadi's 1946 drawings there is no implication in the way foreigners are drawn that they are something to be feared, something weird or distant from ourselves. When he makes a drawing, Srihadi doesn't only record an event. As a soldier who knows what a war of independence means, he also records an attitude. In the lines of his drawings, we can sense that the Indonesian revolution - and Indonesian nationalism - contained no suspicion of the 'outside', was not closed to what was 'foreign'. From Srihadi we learn that the Indonesian revolution was not something 'inward looking', the kind of revolution that could emerge from, for example, the ideology and actions of the Khmer Rouge when they went about building a republic in Cambodia. Srihadi's record of events shows that even in the midst of its war of independence, Indonesia was an open book. The outside world came and looked, and skinny little Indonesia stood up boldly before it. On a street wall in Jakarta, around November 1945, the young independence fighters wrote in large letters, in English: 'Give me liberty or give me death'. They were not addressing Indonesians themselves. The words were those of Patrick Henry, an American, spoken in the face of British colonialism in the 18th century. By quoting them, the young Indonesians seemed to want to remind the outside world: the voice of an American patriot in the 18th century is the same as the voices of Indonesian patriots in 1945. How eloquent they were, how different from the gun-bearing, speechless wearers of safari suits we see all around us now. The outside world had to be convinced, because we were right. There was nothing that needed to be covered up, because we had no cause to be ashamed. Just like the conviction of the revolutionary troops of the 1940s who mobilised painters like Srihadi: they wanted to make a record of events, even if only in painting, at a time when they didn't own cameras. They didn't want to lose the traces of where they had stood. They were not thieves. They were making a history, one that also has meaning for people in a different place, at a different time, in a new millenium. Goenawan Mohamad is a poet and senior journalist. This article appeared in Tempo magazine, 10 October 1999. It was translated, with permission from the author, by Keith Foulcher (keith.foulcher@asia.su.edu.au). Inside Indonesia 61: Jan - Mar 2000

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