Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
The families of activists abducted during the New Order era continue to demand that the former rulers be brought to court.
TRY Suharto….hang Suharto…take him to court,” shouted activists and members of the Indonesian Association of Missing Persons (Ikohi), dragging an effigy of former President Suharto in an iron cage. They walked 2 kilometers from the National Monument to the National Human Rights Commission (Komnas HAM) office in Menteng, Central Jakarta.
Even though Suharto was no longer in power for years, the families of the kidnap victims continued to demand that he be held accountable for his actions. They are the parents and families of abducted people whose fates remain unknown. According to Ikohi leader, Mugiyanto, they believe that Suharto was aware of how dissenters were eliminated.
“In an interview with Panjimas magazine, former Kostrad (Army Strategic Reserve Command) Commander Prabowo Subianto claimed he was given a list of the names of 28 activists that he had to monitor. Suharto also gave the list to other military officials. Those people on the list are still missing,” said Mugiyanto.
According to Mugiyanto, there were three distinct periods when activists and dissenters went missing during Suharto’s rule. The first period was when the 1997 General Elections had to be ’secured.’ At that time, the PDI and PPP coalition, calling themselves the “Mega Star”, was getting stronger. During this period, the targets were supporters or people close to the two political parties opposing Golkar, Suharto’s political vehicle. The victims then were Yani Afri and Soni, activists of the PDI, and Dedi Hamdun and Noval Alkatiri of the PPP.
The second period was just before the MPR general session. Pius Lustrilanang, Desmond Junaidi Mahesa, Haryanto Taslam, and activists of the People’s Democratic Party (PRD) such as Nezar Patria, Rahardjo Waluyo Jati, Andi Arif, Feisol Reza, Wiji Tukul and Mugiyanto himself, were victims of “forcible elimination” attempts.
These nine were later set free, but not before they were terrorized and tortured. “I was held for three days, given electric shocks, tortured, then taken to the police station for three months detention,” said Mugiyanto, 32. Mugi was then a student at Gadjah Mada University’s Department of English Literature in Yogyakarta.
Rahardjo Waluyo Jati went through a similar experience. “For the first three days during the kidnapping I was handcuffed, my legs were tied, given electric shocks and beaten. I was even stripped naked and placed on a block of ice,” he said, when testifying to Komnas HAM. Jati was held from March 12 to April 28, 1998. After three days, Jati was moved to a dungeon where he met Pius Lustrilanang, an activist from Bandung. According to Pius, Room 5 was once inhabited by Soni and Yani Afri, supporters of the pro-Megawati PDI, Dedi Hamdun (of the PPP) and Lukas, a university lecturer from East Timor. In the dungeon, Jati was visited by two persons. “Maybe the bosses of the kidnappers. They smelt of expensive perfume. The two were accompanied by five others. All of them wore masks,” he recounted.
In the third period, people went missing following the May 1998 riots. “They were the eyewitnesses who saw a coordinated group of people torching the markets or malls when many looters were still inside,” said Mugi. Not all the victims of kidnappings were political activists. Some were ordinary street singers and office employees, among whom were Ucok Munandar, Yadi and Abdul Nasser. “Their whereabouts remain unknown but some people saw them being forcibly taken away,” he said.
According to Mugi, Ikohi has called for an ad hoc Komnas HAM team to find out what Suharto’s role was during the 1997-1998 period when people went missing. This team can begin by summoning TNI (Indonesian Military) and police elements suspected of being involved in the abductions. “Komnas HAM had made such a promise. We also appeal to all Indonesians who respect justice not to pardon Suharto before there is an honest and fair trial,” said Mugi, before the former President passed away.
Jumat, 08 Februari 2008
Shooters in the Dark
Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Thousands of people were mysteriously shot to death in 1983, their corpses dumped in the streets. Were the ‘executions’ committed by the state?
ON the night of June 26, 1983, in Lubuk Pakam, 40 kilometers from Medan, at a dim distance, Suwito, the owner of two food stalls in the village, saw five people approaching him. They asked Suwito to follow them as they needed his information.
Unsuspecting, Suwito got into the white Land Rover of the men picking him up. In the car, they asked him about Usman Bais, a notorious robber and gang leader from Medan who had once eaten at his stall. Suwito denied any relationship with the burglar, let alone the accusation that Usman Bais had supplied capital for the food stall.
As Suwito recounted, he was taken round the suburbs of Medan for two hours. He was photographed twice. He was dropped off at Hamparan Perak village, followed by one of the men. “The man was of average build, upright, but a bit crippled,” said Suwito.
As soon as this lame man got out, he pulled his pistol. “I heard three shots before I fell. I could still hear the other man telling him to shoot me in the head. But the shooter said that I was already dead, after groping around my belly,” added Suwito. He was actually holding his breath, pretending to be dead. Suwito was then dumped into a roadside ditch.
In 1983, such scenes became common all over Indonesia and were later known as Petrus (for penembak misterius, mysterious shooters) incidents. At that time, people in Jakarta and other major cities in Indonesia were becoming accustomed to the sights of scattered dead bodies. However, they didn’t have the slightest idea of who had perpetrated the shootings.
The government was at first reluctant to clarify the number of so many deaths. Security authorities also denied involvement. Then Armed Forces commander Gen. L.B. Moerdani said that the killings had occurred following gang wars. The slayings, Benny said, were not a government decision. He admitted that, “Some were gunned down by security men, but it was because they resisted arrest.”
However, in his biography Ucapan, Pikiran, dan Tindakan Saya (My Words, Thoughts and Deeds) Suharto “confirms” the shootings. He said that the mysterious killings were purposely done as shock therapy to reduce the high rate of crime.
“The incidents were not mysterious. The real problem was that the incidents were preceded by public fears,” indicated Suharto, in Chapter 69 of his biography. Some evil people, he said, had acted beyond the limits of humanity norms. “So, we had to initiate some treatment, some stern action,” he pointed out.”What kind of action? Well, we had to resort to force. But it was not just execution by shootings. No! Those who resisted had to be shot. They were gunned down because they fought back,” explained Suharto in the biography.
No official figures of the shooting victims were ever reported. Until July 1983, according to Benny Moerdani, 300 corpses were recorded throughout Indonesia. The number must have been larger because many criminal elements vanished without a trace.
Mulyana W. Kusumah, a criminologist who researched the Petrus incident, said that the number of shooting victims could be as high as 2,000. Hans van den Broek, then Foreign Minister of The Netherlands, in 1984 requested the Indonesian government to respect human rights, putting the total of victims even higher at 3,000.
Many years later the government’s involvement in the mysterious killings began to be unveiled. Mulyana’s research showed that Petrus constituted a continuation of the Anti-Crime Operation in several major cities.
At first, the operation was announced by Yogyakarta’s garrison commander, Lt. Col. M. Hasbi, in March 1983.
It was followed by other areas, including Jakarta. Some of the thousands of gali, as thugs were called, were shot, some of them readily surrendered, others fled to hide in the jungle. A few changed their evil ways.
The government regarded the decision to “organize” the Petrus operation as something positive. Criminal activities werereported to decline following the Petrus operation. InYogyakarta, cases of violent crime dropped from 57 to 20 fromJanuary to June 1983. During the same period, the number of crimes in Semarang decreased from 78 to 50.
But this mysterious method of addressing the problem of the high crime rate invited criticism. Mulyana concluded his study by describing the obscure shooting incidents as “extralegal,” which was contrary to the principle of law and justice. The Legal Aid Institute, then headed by Adnan Buyung Nasution, referred to the Petrus operation as “premeditated murder.”
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Thousands of people were mysteriously shot to death in 1983, their corpses dumped in the streets. Were the ‘executions’ committed by the state?
ON the night of June 26, 1983, in Lubuk Pakam, 40 kilometers from Medan, at a dim distance, Suwito, the owner of two food stalls in the village, saw five people approaching him. They asked Suwito to follow them as they needed his information.
Unsuspecting, Suwito got into the white Land Rover of the men picking him up. In the car, they asked him about Usman Bais, a notorious robber and gang leader from Medan who had once eaten at his stall. Suwito denied any relationship with the burglar, let alone the accusation that Usman Bais had supplied capital for the food stall.
As Suwito recounted, he was taken round the suburbs of Medan for two hours. He was photographed twice. He was dropped off at Hamparan Perak village, followed by one of the men. “The man was of average build, upright, but a bit crippled,” said Suwito.
As soon as this lame man got out, he pulled his pistol. “I heard three shots before I fell. I could still hear the other man telling him to shoot me in the head. But the shooter said that I was already dead, after groping around my belly,” added Suwito. He was actually holding his breath, pretending to be dead. Suwito was then dumped into a roadside ditch.
In 1983, such scenes became common all over Indonesia and were later known as Petrus (for penembak misterius, mysterious shooters) incidents. At that time, people in Jakarta and other major cities in Indonesia were becoming accustomed to the sights of scattered dead bodies. However, they didn’t have the slightest idea of who had perpetrated the shootings.
The government was at first reluctant to clarify the number of so many deaths. Security authorities also denied involvement. Then Armed Forces commander Gen. L.B. Moerdani said that the killings had occurred following gang wars. The slayings, Benny said, were not a government decision. He admitted that, “Some were gunned down by security men, but it was because they resisted arrest.”
However, in his biography Ucapan, Pikiran, dan Tindakan Saya (My Words, Thoughts and Deeds) Suharto “confirms” the shootings. He said that the mysterious killings were purposely done as shock therapy to reduce the high rate of crime.
“The incidents were not mysterious. The real problem was that the incidents were preceded by public fears,” indicated Suharto, in Chapter 69 of his biography. Some evil people, he said, had acted beyond the limits of humanity norms. “So, we had to initiate some treatment, some stern action,” he pointed out.”What kind of action? Well, we had to resort to force. But it was not just execution by shootings. No! Those who resisted had to be shot. They were gunned down because they fought back,” explained Suharto in the biography.
No official figures of the shooting victims were ever reported. Until July 1983, according to Benny Moerdani, 300 corpses were recorded throughout Indonesia. The number must have been larger because many criminal elements vanished without a trace.
Mulyana W. Kusumah, a criminologist who researched the Petrus incident, said that the number of shooting victims could be as high as 2,000. Hans van den Broek, then Foreign Minister of The Netherlands, in 1984 requested the Indonesian government to respect human rights, putting the total of victims even higher at 3,000.
Many years later the government’s involvement in the mysterious killings began to be unveiled. Mulyana’s research showed that Petrus constituted a continuation of the Anti-Crime Operation in several major cities.
At first, the operation was announced by Yogyakarta’s garrison commander, Lt. Col. M. Hasbi, in March 1983.
It was followed by other areas, including Jakarta. Some of the thousands of gali, as thugs were called, were shot, some of them readily surrendered, others fled to hide in the jungle. A few changed their evil ways.
The government regarded the decision to “organize” the Petrus operation as something positive. Criminal activities werereported to decline following the Petrus operation. InYogyakarta, cases of violent crime dropped from 57 to 20 fromJanuary to June 1983. During the same period, the number of crimes in Semarang decreased from 78 to 50.
But this mysterious method of addressing the problem of the high crime rate invited criticism. Mulyana concluded his study by describing the obscure shooting incidents as “extralegal,” which was contrary to the principle of law and justice. The Legal Aid Institute, then headed by Adnan Buyung Nasution, referred to the Petrus operation as “premeditated murder.”
The Unshakeable Legacy
Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Suharto’s leadership was marked by a strong level of personal subjectivity. He created an Indonesia which was ‘prosperous,’ centralistic, and respected, without paying attention to matters of democracy or human rights. Things began to fall apart for him when his children became aggressive in business.
JAKARTA 1966. Sukarno, who had led the country for six years under the confusion known as “Guided Democracy,” had been replaced by a handsome and taciturn military man. He held a powerful mandate known as the Supersemar letter.
Since that point, for decades to come, and even after his body was buried at Astana Giribangun, Solo, on Monday last week, this soft-spoken major-general continues to stir up the nation. Yes, Suharto (1921-2008) is not finished just yet.
There is a nostalgia which makes people yearn for the stability which he brought in the past. Here in the present democracy has led to waves of uncertainty: the emergence of small kings in the provinces, the cackle of freedom of expression, and opportunists who dominate the halls of power. His unwavering doctrine of the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia (NKRI) and intolerance of regional aspirations suddenly seemed like a viable alternative when separatism began to appear in Sumatra, Maluku, Papua, and other parts of the country.
How was he able to permeate the very being of this country?
Of course, during his 32 years in power, Suharto had plenty of opportunities to do good and bad-which he did, alternately. However, there was a process which seemed to go on forever under his administration, the length of which could only be outdone by Cuba’s Fidel Castro. This process was centralization, and even personalization, with figurehead Suharto as the nucleus of the entire nation.
It is not unusual that cultural observers have often compared his so-called New Order rule with the Javanese kingdom of Mataram-a political system which places the king as the center, one which draws its power from the cosmos. The king is a supernatural figure. In Javanese tradition, as Benedict Anderson wrote in his classic book The Idea of Power in Javanese Culture, legitimacy does not come from man. With her supernatural powers, a queen can subdue the people around her. Suharto, whether he realized it or not, appeared to be convinced that he was that central point.
This centralization process might have been detected early on, when he reduced the number of political parties-those pockets of power outside the government which were a remnant of the liberal democracy which had been paralyzed by Sukarno’s Guided Democracy. As Herbert Feith wrote in The Decline of Constitutional Democracy in Indonesia, in the 1971 General Election, the scores of political parties were reduced to just 10. All of the election regulations were made to serve one goal: a victory for the Golkar Party. At that time, his democratic supporters, including the university students from the Class of ‘66 who had taken Sukarno out of office, did not suspect a thing. “We knew he was a military man who did not like politics,” said Arief Budiman, an activist.
These lovers of democracy were intrigued, and placed many of their hopes on his shoulders. Suharto released political prisoners and allowed newspapers banned by Sukarno to start publishing again. The New Order quickly “transformed” into a correction of the Old Order; and Suharto himself became a correction of Sukarno. He broke from the government model which was fond of chanting slogans, one which busied itself with shouts of “Crush Malaysia!” while allowing inflation to rise 600 percent. A program of development was spelt out and inflation brought under control, and Indonesia began an impressive period of economic growth. Foreign capital flowed into the country.
However, the elimination of power outside of the nucleus of the New Order did not come to a halt. An incident in the mid-1970s led to the following consolidation: 10 political parties were
reduced to two parties and one group. The Malari incident (1974) was a protest against the government, which was planning to implement the idea of Tien Suharto, namely the Beautiful Indonesia in Miniature Theme Park (TMII), which began to show signs of corruption. This time, opposition from students met with an iron fist. The government, which had been tolerant and open, turned violent and repressive. Several years later, from 1978-1979, frontal opposition from university students was answered with the NKK/BKK-a ban on political activity for students on campus.
In the 1980s, this centralization of power, which went on during that entire period, had reached a rather frightening stage: the nucleus had widened. The children of President Suharto, who had started to grow up, became an integral part of the central body, going into business armed with “special privileges” from their father. One edition of Forbes magazine reported that, after the monetary crisis in 1997, the wealth of Suharto and his family had reached US$16 billion.
In his lengthy memoir entitled, From Third World to First, former Prime Minister of Singapore Lee Kuan Yew wrote how he did not understand why his children needed to become so wealthy. In the same book, Lee regretted that Suharto had ignored the advice of former Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, General Benny Moerdani, at the end of the 1980s, namely that he curb the zeal of his children to obtain various business privileges.
According to Kuntowijoyo, as quoted by Eriyanto in the book Kekuasaan Otoriter (Authoritative Power), Suharto was the type of person who based himself on acts of faith and not on acts of reason. Because of this, many of Suharto’s statements and actions were sur rising, yet he never doubted himself in making decisions. He did not need any rational considerations when disbanding the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI). He just relied on his personal convictions. A biography compiled by O. G. Roeder shows how confident Suharto felt when he filled the vacuum in army leadership. “I acted upon my own convictions.”
It seems that it was this self-confidence which led him to launch the “Petrus” operation, the mysterious shootings to exterminate thugs. This staunch attitude may also have been the basis of his decision to take drastic action which claimed many victims in Aceh, Tanjung Priok, Lampung, Papua, and other places. This dark record of human rights violations cannot
easily be effaced.
The height of this centralization rife with nepotism was most transparent in 1997: he was elected for the seventh time, which means that he had spent almost half of his life as Indonesia’s President. In the 7th Development Cabinet, Siti Hardijanti Rukmana, his eldest daughter, was appointed as Minister of Social Affairs. And when it was seen that the scope of the authority given to this minister was quite extensive, people began imagining that the handover of power would be a family event: the eldest daughter taking her father’s role.
Indeed, Suharto’s style was centralistic, prone to nepotism, and often repressive. However, this was also the way in which programs of national prosperity were able to succeed-and in the end this created a populist image. Indonesia in the Soeharto Years: Issues, Incidents and Images, is a book containing a collection of writings discussing this period, citing the success of Family Planning, a program which began in 1970 and was based solely on economic considerations. Suharto believed that each child needed food, clothing, and education; these needs could not be met if the country experienced a population boom.
The implementation of the Family Planning program was top-down and did not originate from public aspirations. With Tien Suharto at the top of the organizational chart, and the support of the wives of the highest leaders in the provinces, the bureaucratic machine mobilized the Family Planning program down to the most remote villages. Some of the program’s repressive measures led
to some bitter experiences, even though the world saw it as a noteworthy achievement.
After such an extended stay in power, Suharto and a small circle of close friends and family grew to become the group primarily responsible for the various social and economic indicators in the country: repression, the success of the model of prosperity, horrifying levels of corruption, and the destruction of the economy due to the monetary crisis of 1997-1998.
On Sunday last week, his long life finally ended, but his exploits-whether those from long ago or those yet to be revealed-constitute a legacy which continues to haunt Indonesia.
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Suharto’s leadership was marked by a strong level of personal subjectivity. He created an Indonesia which was ‘prosperous,’ centralistic, and respected, without paying attention to matters of democracy or human rights. Things began to fall apart for him when his children became aggressive in business.
JAKARTA 1966. Sukarno, who had led the country for six years under the confusion known as “Guided Democracy,” had been replaced by a handsome and taciturn military man. He held a powerful mandate known as the Supersemar letter.
Since that point, for decades to come, and even after his body was buried at Astana Giribangun, Solo, on Monday last week, this soft-spoken major-general continues to stir up the nation. Yes, Suharto (1921-2008) is not finished just yet.
There is a nostalgia which makes people yearn for the stability which he brought in the past. Here in the present democracy has led to waves of uncertainty: the emergence of small kings in the provinces, the cackle of freedom of expression, and opportunists who dominate the halls of power. His unwavering doctrine of the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia (NKRI) and intolerance of regional aspirations suddenly seemed like a viable alternative when separatism began to appear in Sumatra, Maluku, Papua, and other parts of the country.
How was he able to permeate the very being of this country?
Of course, during his 32 years in power, Suharto had plenty of opportunities to do good and bad-which he did, alternately. However, there was a process which seemed to go on forever under his administration, the length of which could only be outdone by Cuba’s Fidel Castro. This process was centralization, and even personalization, with figurehead Suharto as the nucleus of the entire nation.
It is not unusual that cultural observers have often compared his so-called New Order rule with the Javanese kingdom of Mataram-a political system which places the king as the center, one which draws its power from the cosmos. The king is a supernatural figure. In Javanese tradition, as Benedict Anderson wrote in his classic book The Idea of Power in Javanese Culture, legitimacy does not come from man. With her supernatural powers, a queen can subdue the people around her. Suharto, whether he realized it or not, appeared to be convinced that he was that central point.
This centralization process might have been detected early on, when he reduced the number of political parties-those pockets of power outside the government which were a remnant of the liberal democracy which had been paralyzed by Sukarno’s Guided Democracy. As Herbert Feith wrote in The Decline of Constitutional Democracy in Indonesia, in the 1971 General Election, the scores of political parties were reduced to just 10. All of the election regulations were made to serve one goal: a victory for the Golkar Party. At that time, his democratic supporters, including the university students from the Class of ‘66 who had taken Sukarno out of office, did not suspect a thing. “We knew he was a military man who did not like politics,” said Arief Budiman, an activist.
These lovers of democracy were intrigued, and placed many of their hopes on his shoulders. Suharto released political prisoners and allowed newspapers banned by Sukarno to start publishing again. The New Order quickly “transformed” into a correction of the Old Order; and Suharto himself became a correction of Sukarno. He broke from the government model which was fond of chanting slogans, one which busied itself with shouts of “Crush Malaysia!” while allowing inflation to rise 600 percent. A program of development was spelt out and inflation brought under control, and Indonesia began an impressive period of economic growth. Foreign capital flowed into the country.
However, the elimination of power outside of the nucleus of the New Order did not come to a halt. An incident in the mid-1970s led to the following consolidation: 10 political parties were
reduced to two parties and one group. The Malari incident (1974) was a protest against the government, which was planning to implement the idea of Tien Suharto, namely the Beautiful Indonesia in Miniature Theme Park (TMII), which began to show signs of corruption. This time, opposition from students met with an iron fist. The government, which had been tolerant and open, turned violent and repressive. Several years later, from 1978-1979, frontal opposition from university students was answered with the NKK/BKK-a ban on political activity for students on campus.
In the 1980s, this centralization of power, which went on during that entire period, had reached a rather frightening stage: the nucleus had widened. The children of President Suharto, who had started to grow up, became an integral part of the central body, going into business armed with “special privileges” from their father. One edition of Forbes magazine reported that, after the monetary crisis in 1997, the wealth of Suharto and his family had reached US$16 billion.
In his lengthy memoir entitled, From Third World to First, former Prime Minister of Singapore Lee Kuan Yew wrote how he did not understand why his children needed to become so wealthy. In the same book, Lee regretted that Suharto had ignored the advice of former Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, General Benny Moerdani, at the end of the 1980s, namely that he curb the zeal of his children to obtain various business privileges.
According to Kuntowijoyo, as quoted by Eriyanto in the book Kekuasaan Otoriter (Authoritative Power), Suharto was the type of person who based himself on acts of faith and not on acts of reason. Because of this, many of Suharto’s statements and actions were sur rising, yet he never doubted himself in making decisions. He did not need any rational considerations when disbanding the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI). He just relied on his personal convictions. A biography compiled by O. G. Roeder shows how confident Suharto felt when he filled the vacuum in army leadership. “I acted upon my own convictions.”
It seems that it was this self-confidence which led him to launch the “Petrus” operation, the mysterious shootings to exterminate thugs. This staunch attitude may also have been the basis of his decision to take drastic action which claimed many victims in Aceh, Tanjung Priok, Lampung, Papua, and other places. This dark record of human rights violations cannot
easily be effaced.
The height of this centralization rife with nepotism was most transparent in 1997: he was elected for the seventh time, which means that he had spent almost half of his life as Indonesia’s President. In the 7th Development Cabinet, Siti Hardijanti Rukmana, his eldest daughter, was appointed as Minister of Social Affairs. And when it was seen that the scope of the authority given to this minister was quite extensive, people began imagining that the handover of power would be a family event: the eldest daughter taking her father’s role.
Indeed, Suharto’s style was centralistic, prone to nepotism, and often repressive. However, this was also the way in which programs of national prosperity were able to succeed-and in the end this created a populist image. Indonesia in the Soeharto Years: Issues, Incidents and Images, is a book containing a collection of writings discussing this period, citing the success of Family Planning, a program which began in 1970 and was based solely on economic considerations. Suharto believed that each child needed food, clothing, and education; these needs could not be met if the country experienced a population boom.
The implementation of the Family Planning program was top-down and did not originate from public aspirations. With Tien Suharto at the top of the organizational chart, and the support of the wives of the highest leaders in the provinces, the bureaucratic machine mobilized the Family Planning program down to the most remote villages. Some of the program’s repressive measures led
to some bitter experiences, even though the world saw it as a noteworthy achievement.
After such an extended stay in power, Suharto and a small circle of close friends and family grew to become the group primarily responsible for the various social and economic indicators in the country: repression, the success of the model of prosperity, horrifying levels of corruption, and the destruction of the economy due to the monetary crisis of 1997-1998.
On Sunday last week, his long life finally ended, but his exploits-whether those from long ago or those yet to be revealed-constitute a legacy which continues to haunt Indonesia.
Editorial: Farewell to the King
Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
HE was accorded seven days of mourning, flags at half-mast. Whether one approved or disapproved of the government’s action, Suharto died a ‘hero’ last week. From the time he was admitted to Pertamina Hospital until his burial in Solo three weeks later, Suharto proved he was a master manipulator.
A stream of senior officials came to visit him. The attention given to the fluctuating condition of his organs overshadowed other news-like the death of Slamet, a smalltime snack-seller, who lost all hope and killed himself over the soaring price of soybeans. All television stations-some of them owned by Suharto’s children-aimed their cameras at the hospital or repeatedly showed footage of the ailing former President. Of course, out of respect for a seriously ill man, they only showed the good parts.
At the hospital, the family applied a strict protocol: only people they approved of were allowed in. Not all of Suharto’s former inner circle passed the screening process. Harmoko, who never forgot to ask directions from his boss while he was Information Minister, failed to get in. Neither did B.J. Habibie, the former President who always used to refer to Suharto as his mentor. Amid the chorus of politicians calling for Suharto to be pardoned, the man himself was not prepared to forgive his two former associates.
When he finally breathed his last, broadcasters brimming with tears recalled his goodness and his achievements. The endless eulogies got better ratings than the soap operas. This meant increased advertising. It is fair to say that use of television to influence the feelings of the public was largely successful.
In an obvious about-face, television channels showed a man who deserved nothing less than prayers and expressions of sympathy. If there were people who spoke otherwise, or referred to his sins or wrongdoings, they were seen to be misled, ignorant, given to prattling or harboring grudges. Perhaps Asep Purnama Bahtiar is right. The Muhammadiyah Yogyakarta University lecturer claimed that media reports were no longer factual. They were, he argued, a reconstruction of a “world” envisaged by the media and the people involved.
Soon, Astana Giribangun, the Suharto family mausoleum, will cease to be in the news. We will be left with the pending civil case against Suharto’s foundations and the debate over the legal status of his heirs. The government should not waste time worrying about that. The rules are quite clear. Unless Suharto’s six children reject the terms of his will, they stand to inherit all his possessions. It would not make sense for any of them to reject their inheritance. The Attorney General’s Office could then deal with the children on the basis of the civil case.
The case against Suharto himself automatically lapses upon his death, but his cronies who survive him must be examined. All the government has to do is determine which of Suharto’s policies represented an abuse of power, were unlawful or were used to enrich himself and his associates. Anybody who benefited from these policies should immediately become the target of an investigation. No one should be allowed to evade this. They did nothing to refuse the fruits of the privileges they enjoyed so cheerfully.
There are many ways in which the government can do this if it has the will to do so. One is to audit the wealth of the cronies. Assets procured through privilege or are of uncertain origin can be examined in court. In principle, enjoying the benefits of illegal policies is a crime in itself. The evidence is clear. Secret documents from the US State Department and the White House can be used as additional evidence to prove corruption during the New Order years.
The public will wait and see if once in court the cronies deny responsibility by pinning the blame for all wrongdoings on Suharto, a man they now praise because he gave them so many “sweeteners.” Only a true coward would “stab” a boss who is already in the next world.
Above all, the cronies must be investigated if the government really wants to uphold economic justice and carry out its constitutional mandate to guarantee the right of all citizens to equal opportunity. If it does nothing, the special facilities and privileges thought to have been wrongfully obtained will never end. Only a puppet kingdom would allow this sorry state of
affairs to continue.
The government should prioritize these investigations, if only because the move has already been mandated by the People’s Consultative Assembly in 1999. Resolving these cases is more important than spending time thinking about declaring Suharto a national hero-as loudly proposed by Priyo Budi Santoso, a Golkar functionary who was once summoned by the Corruption Eradication
Commission.
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
HE was accorded seven days of mourning, flags at half-mast. Whether one approved or disapproved of the government’s action, Suharto died a ‘hero’ last week. From the time he was admitted to Pertamina Hospital until his burial in Solo three weeks later, Suharto proved he was a master manipulator.
A stream of senior officials came to visit him. The attention given to the fluctuating condition of his organs overshadowed other news-like the death of Slamet, a smalltime snack-seller, who lost all hope and killed himself over the soaring price of soybeans. All television stations-some of them owned by Suharto’s children-aimed their cameras at the hospital or repeatedly showed footage of the ailing former President. Of course, out of respect for a seriously ill man, they only showed the good parts.
At the hospital, the family applied a strict protocol: only people they approved of were allowed in. Not all of Suharto’s former inner circle passed the screening process. Harmoko, who never forgot to ask directions from his boss while he was Information Minister, failed to get in. Neither did B.J. Habibie, the former President who always used to refer to Suharto as his mentor. Amid the chorus of politicians calling for Suharto to be pardoned, the man himself was not prepared to forgive his two former associates.
When he finally breathed his last, broadcasters brimming with tears recalled his goodness and his achievements. The endless eulogies got better ratings than the soap operas. This meant increased advertising. It is fair to say that use of television to influence the feelings of the public was largely successful.
In an obvious about-face, television channels showed a man who deserved nothing less than prayers and expressions of sympathy. If there were people who spoke otherwise, or referred to his sins or wrongdoings, they were seen to be misled, ignorant, given to prattling or harboring grudges. Perhaps Asep Purnama Bahtiar is right. The Muhammadiyah Yogyakarta University lecturer claimed that media reports were no longer factual. They were, he argued, a reconstruction of a “world” envisaged by the media and the people involved.
Soon, Astana Giribangun, the Suharto family mausoleum, will cease to be in the news. We will be left with the pending civil case against Suharto’s foundations and the debate over the legal status of his heirs. The government should not waste time worrying about that. The rules are quite clear. Unless Suharto’s six children reject the terms of his will, they stand to inherit all his possessions. It would not make sense for any of them to reject their inheritance. The Attorney General’s Office could then deal with the children on the basis of the civil case.
The case against Suharto himself automatically lapses upon his death, but his cronies who survive him must be examined. All the government has to do is determine which of Suharto’s policies represented an abuse of power, were unlawful or were used to enrich himself and his associates. Anybody who benefited from these policies should immediately become the target of an investigation. No one should be allowed to evade this. They did nothing to refuse the fruits of the privileges they enjoyed so cheerfully.
There are many ways in which the government can do this if it has the will to do so. One is to audit the wealth of the cronies. Assets procured through privilege or are of uncertain origin can be examined in court. In principle, enjoying the benefits of illegal policies is a crime in itself. The evidence is clear. Secret documents from the US State Department and the White House can be used as additional evidence to prove corruption during the New Order years.
The public will wait and see if once in court the cronies deny responsibility by pinning the blame for all wrongdoings on Suharto, a man they now praise because he gave them so many “sweeteners.” Only a true coward would “stab” a boss who is already in the next world.
Above all, the cronies must be investigated if the government really wants to uphold economic justice and carry out its constitutional mandate to guarantee the right of all citizens to equal opportunity. If it does nothing, the special facilities and privileges thought to have been wrongfully obtained will never end. Only a puppet kingdom would allow this sorry state of
affairs to continue.
The government should prioritize these investigations, if only because the move has already been mandated by the People’s Consultative Assembly in 1999. Resolving these cases is more important than spending time thinking about declaring Suharto a national hero-as loudly proposed by Priyo Budi Santoso, a Golkar functionary who was once summoned by the Corruption Eradication
Commission.
The Military’s Tracks in Aceh and Papua
Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Suharto used the military approach to deal with the Aceh and Papua conflicts, resulting in thousands of victims.
THERE was a time when Zarkani (not his real name) would ask everyone he met endless questions about his missing father. “Where is my father? Has my father died? If he did, where was he buried?” He kept on asking until about two years ago. Then the questions stopped.
Born in 1969, Zarkani has been traumatized since the age of 20, when his father was summoned to appear at the Krueng ABRI (Armed Forces) HQ in Pase, North Aceh. The Suharto government had designated Aceh as a Military Operations Zone (DOM). That was the last time anyone saw Zarkani’s father. He never returned home. It clearly affected Zarkani’s mental state. Once, Zarkani was found in a local mosque courtyard, playing in a pool of sacrificial goat’s blood, shouting, “This is my father’s blood.” At other times, he would build a mound of earth in his house’s yard, saying, “This is my father’s grave.”
Thousands of children in the land of Seulawah (Aceh) have gone through the same trauma as Zarkani. They wait for their fathers to come home. Days, weeks, months and years pass, but there has never been any news of their fates.
The military operations that lasted until 1998 began in early 1989 when about 300 Libya-trained armed members of the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) returned to Aceh. Equipped with a specific ideology and weaponry, the GAM army attacked military and police posts in the area. The GAM’s guerrilla war against the government had begun.
The attacks began in Syantalura. A policeman guarding the Arun oil and gas refinery located in North Aceh was enjoying the morning air when suddenly a group of armed men stormed the premises, firing at the police post. “A bullet hit a corporal,” said Ramli Ridwan, a former North Aceh Regent.
Fighting between the Indonesian Armed Forces and GAM rebels had been going on since Acehnese leader Tengku Hasan Tiro declared the formation of GAM on December 4, 1976. Indonesian security forces counterattacked. Seven years later, Tiro and other GAM leaders fled to Sweden. The movement was taken over by a younger generation of Acehnese, trained in Libya.
The critical situation led Aceh Governor Ibrahim Hasan to assemble regents and public figures as well as local military chiefs under the Korem 011/Lilawangsa, in Lhok Seumawe. They decided to take the matter to Jakarta. President Suharto immediately deployed 6,000 members of the Army’s Special Forces (Kopassus) to Aceh. Some 12,000 troops were to remain there until May, 1990. The operation was codenamed Operation Red Snafrie. Officers who led operations there were Sjafrie Sjamsoedin, Prabowo Subianto and Syarwan Hamid.
The military approach operation was typically Suharto’s way of dealing with regional conflicts. This method was applied to suppress rebellion in Papua. Since the December 1, 1969 referendum (Pepera) which validated the transfer of West Papua from The Netherlands to Indonesia, many Papuans were unhappy. They claim that the Dutch East Indies government had promised to give the Papuans independence.
On July 28, 1965, long before the referendum, a number of Papuan leaders, such as Ferry Awom, had proclaimed Papuan independence in Manokwari. They recruited Biak youths to wage guerrilla warfare. One of the strong guerrilla groups of the Free Papua Organization (OPM) was the Mandacan group.
Suharto ‘dealt with’ the security problem in Indonesia’s easternmost province by continuing to reinforce military troops. Former Cenderawasih Military Region commander, Maj. Gen. (ret) Samsuddin, who was assigned to his post in 1975, reported: “Toward the 1977 general elections, the situation in Papua was very tense. The troops had to secure certain areas during the elections.”
History notes that guns, mortars and blood did not succeed in restoring peace in Papua and Aceh. In Aceh, thousands of women and children were traumatized by the effects of the war. The National Human Rights Commission fact-finding team reports that during the DOM (in Aceh) period, some 3,000 women became widows and 20,000 children were orphaned-some of whom like Zarkani, have lost their sanity. Some women were raped.
It is the same story in Papua. Sociologist and anti-Pepera activist, Arnold Clemens A.P., was shot dead. As many as 10,000 Papuans took refuge in neighboring Papua New Guinea.
Papua continues to smolder. History has noted the bloody tracksof military boots in the two regions
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Suharto used the military approach to deal with the Aceh and Papua conflicts, resulting in thousands of victims.
THERE was a time when Zarkani (not his real name) would ask everyone he met endless questions about his missing father. “Where is my father? Has my father died? If he did, where was he buried?” He kept on asking until about two years ago. Then the questions stopped.
Born in 1969, Zarkani has been traumatized since the age of 20, when his father was summoned to appear at the Krueng ABRI (Armed Forces) HQ in Pase, North Aceh. The Suharto government had designated Aceh as a Military Operations Zone (DOM). That was the last time anyone saw Zarkani’s father. He never returned home. It clearly affected Zarkani’s mental state. Once, Zarkani was found in a local mosque courtyard, playing in a pool of sacrificial goat’s blood, shouting, “This is my father’s blood.” At other times, he would build a mound of earth in his house’s yard, saying, “This is my father’s grave.”
Thousands of children in the land of Seulawah (Aceh) have gone through the same trauma as Zarkani. They wait for their fathers to come home. Days, weeks, months and years pass, but there has never been any news of their fates.
The military operations that lasted until 1998 began in early 1989 when about 300 Libya-trained armed members of the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) returned to Aceh. Equipped with a specific ideology and weaponry, the GAM army attacked military and police posts in the area. The GAM’s guerrilla war against the government had begun.
The attacks began in Syantalura. A policeman guarding the Arun oil and gas refinery located in North Aceh was enjoying the morning air when suddenly a group of armed men stormed the premises, firing at the police post. “A bullet hit a corporal,” said Ramli Ridwan, a former North Aceh Regent.
Fighting between the Indonesian Armed Forces and GAM rebels had been going on since Acehnese leader Tengku Hasan Tiro declared the formation of GAM on December 4, 1976. Indonesian security forces counterattacked. Seven years later, Tiro and other GAM leaders fled to Sweden. The movement was taken over by a younger generation of Acehnese, trained in Libya.
The critical situation led Aceh Governor Ibrahim Hasan to assemble regents and public figures as well as local military chiefs under the Korem 011/Lilawangsa, in Lhok Seumawe. They decided to take the matter to Jakarta. President Suharto immediately deployed 6,000 members of the Army’s Special Forces (Kopassus) to Aceh. Some 12,000 troops were to remain there until May, 1990. The operation was codenamed Operation Red Snafrie. Officers who led operations there were Sjafrie Sjamsoedin, Prabowo Subianto and Syarwan Hamid.
The military approach operation was typically Suharto’s way of dealing with regional conflicts. This method was applied to suppress rebellion in Papua. Since the December 1, 1969 referendum (Pepera) which validated the transfer of West Papua from The Netherlands to Indonesia, many Papuans were unhappy. They claim that the Dutch East Indies government had promised to give the Papuans independence.
On July 28, 1965, long before the referendum, a number of Papuan leaders, such as Ferry Awom, had proclaimed Papuan independence in Manokwari. They recruited Biak youths to wage guerrilla warfare. One of the strong guerrilla groups of the Free Papua Organization (OPM) was the Mandacan group.
Suharto ‘dealt with’ the security problem in Indonesia’s easternmost province by continuing to reinforce military troops. Former Cenderawasih Military Region commander, Maj. Gen. (ret) Samsuddin, who was assigned to his post in 1975, reported: “Toward the 1977 general elections, the situation in Papua was very tense. The troops had to secure certain areas during the elections.”
History notes that guns, mortars and blood did not succeed in restoring peace in Papua and Aceh. In Aceh, thousands of women and children were traumatized by the effects of the war. The National Human Rights Commission fact-finding team reports that during the DOM (in Aceh) period, some 3,000 women became widows and 20,000 children were orphaned-some of whom like Zarkani, have lost their sanity. Some women were raped.
It is the same story in Papua. Sociologist and anti-Pepera activist, Arnold Clemens A.P., was shot dead. As many as 10,000 Papuans took refuge in neighboring Papua New Guinea.
Papua continues to smolder. History has noted the bloody tracksof military boots in the two regions
Unanswered Questions: the 1965 Tragedy
Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Attempts to bring to trial cases of human rights violations during the 1965 tragedy still have a long way to go. Suharto somehow managed to remain out of the justice system’s reach.
SVETLANA, the eldest child of Nyoto, said she wanted to see Suharto prosecuted for the 1965 tragedy. The daughter of then-Deputy Chairman II of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) Central Committee, has never joined groups of G30S (September 30 Movement) victims’ families who are fighting the government. “I know these charges are important, but I’m pessimistic about the outcome,” she said.
According to Svetlana, her mother, Sutarni, also expects the same. But Ibu Nyoto, now 79, harbors no grudge against Suharto. In fact, she added: “Some of mother’s friends are so angered that they get sick when they hear Suharto’s exemption from prosecution.” The Nyoto family is an example of a G30S victimliving without any of the traumatic scars. Sutarni recalls how she was forced to carry her children, moving from one detention house to another, trying not to lose her sense of humor. They have no idea when and where Nyoto was killed, let alone his burial place.
Not all the G30S injured parties share the attitude of the Nyotos. Perhaps it is because the tragedy which took place 43 years ago involved a great number of people. Around 3 million people died, over 10,000 were exiled to Buru Island and millions more received discriminating treatment. The New Order, led by Suharto, created instruments that legitimized atrocities against suspected communists at that time.
Exiling over 10,000 people to Buru, for instance, was meant to safeguard the newly established regime in order to win the 1971 general elections, the first of the New Order era. The provisional government replacing President Sukarno should have organized the elections in 1968. But since Suharto, who was then responsible for security, was unprepared, the elections were postponed.
Banishing those classified as Group “B” prisoners to Buru Island was validated by a letter from the Security & Order Restoration Operation Commander, No. KEP 009/KOPKAM/2/1969, signed by Maraden Panggabean on behalf of Suharto. The Attorney General complemented it by issuing another rule to “legalize” the detention on Buru from 1969 to 1979.
Meanwhile, the Group “C” prisoners, or those seen to have been influenced by leftist ideology, received additional ‘punishment’ after they were released into society. For instance, they were banned from becoming civil servants, legislators, and even from taking part in elections. The government made standard rules to justify the discrimination, such as the Home Affairs Minister’s Instruction No. 32/1981, prohibiting people directly or indirectly involved in the G30S from serving as civil servants, soldiers, the clergy, and teachers.
The question that remains unanswered: was Suharto guilty of the 1965 tragedy? After the reforms began, victims of this political tragedy actually made legal attempts to prosecute the government, rather than Suharto directly, to seek redress, rehabilitation and compensation. But all these attempts went nowhere.
The National Human Rights Commission (Komnas HAM) also formed a team to investigate the forced exile of thousands to Buru as a serious violation of human rights. M.M. Billah, a member of Komnas HAM, set up a team and submitted a proposal. But it turned out that the methodology of inquiry Billah offered was not approved by the House of Representatives (DPR) in mid-2004.
According to Billah, the charges against Suharto in the rights infringement case on Buru Island can be revived if seven out of Komnas HAM’s 20 members agreed.
“But it doesn’t guarantee that the investigation will proceed because the approval of the DPR again has to be sought,” said Billah. He acknowledged that it was very difficult to bring cases of serious rights abuse on Buru Island to court. “All relevant parties have their own self-interest,” he added, trying to explain. It is, in fact, such a portrayal that leads people
like Svetlana to be pessimistic.
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
Attempts to bring to trial cases of human rights violations during the 1965 tragedy still have a long way to go. Suharto somehow managed to remain out of the justice system’s reach.
SVETLANA, the eldest child of Nyoto, said she wanted to see Suharto prosecuted for the 1965 tragedy. The daughter of then-Deputy Chairman II of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) Central Committee, has never joined groups of G30S (September 30 Movement) victims’ families who are fighting the government. “I know these charges are important, but I’m pessimistic about the outcome,” she said.
According to Svetlana, her mother, Sutarni, also expects the same. But Ibu Nyoto, now 79, harbors no grudge against Suharto. In fact, she added: “Some of mother’s friends are so angered that they get sick when they hear Suharto’s exemption from prosecution.” The Nyoto family is an example of a G30S victimliving without any of the traumatic scars. Sutarni recalls how she was forced to carry her children, moving from one detention house to another, trying not to lose her sense of humor. They have no idea when and where Nyoto was killed, let alone his burial place.
Not all the G30S injured parties share the attitude of the Nyotos. Perhaps it is because the tragedy which took place 43 years ago involved a great number of people. Around 3 million people died, over 10,000 were exiled to Buru Island and millions more received discriminating treatment. The New Order, led by Suharto, created instruments that legitimized atrocities against suspected communists at that time.
Exiling over 10,000 people to Buru, for instance, was meant to safeguard the newly established regime in order to win the 1971 general elections, the first of the New Order era. The provisional government replacing President Sukarno should have organized the elections in 1968. But since Suharto, who was then responsible for security, was unprepared, the elections were postponed.
Banishing those classified as Group “B” prisoners to Buru Island was validated by a letter from the Security & Order Restoration Operation Commander, No. KEP 009/KOPKAM/2/1969, signed by Maraden Panggabean on behalf of Suharto. The Attorney General complemented it by issuing another rule to “legalize” the detention on Buru from 1969 to 1979.
Meanwhile, the Group “C” prisoners, or those seen to have been influenced by leftist ideology, received additional ‘punishment’ after they were released into society. For instance, they were banned from becoming civil servants, legislators, and even from taking part in elections. The government made standard rules to justify the discrimination, such as the Home Affairs Minister’s Instruction No. 32/1981, prohibiting people directly or indirectly involved in the G30S from serving as civil servants, soldiers, the clergy, and teachers.
The question that remains unanswered: was Suharto guilty of the 1965 tragedy? After the reforms began, victims of this political tragedy actually made legal attempts to prosecute the government, rather than Suharto directly, to seek redress, rehabilitation and compensation. But all these attempts went nowhere.
The National Human Rights Commission (Komnas HAM) also formed a team to investigate the forced exile of thousands to Buru as a serious violation of human rights. M.M. Billah, a member of Komnas HAM, set up a team and submitted a proposal. But it turned out that the methodology of inquiry Billah offered was not approved by the House of Representatives (DPR) in mid-2004.
According to Billah, the charges against Suharto in the rights infringement case on Buru Island can be revived if seven out of Komnas HAM’s 20 members agreed.
“But it doesn’t guarantee that the investigation will proceed because the approval of the DPR again has to be sought,” said Billah. He acknowledged that it was very difficult to bring cases of serious rights abuse on Buru Island to court. “All relevant parties have their own self-interest,” he added, trying to explain. It is, in fact, such a portrayal that leads people
like Svetlana to be pessimistic.
The Malari Mystery
Tempo Magazine
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
The cause of the Malari riots is still a mystery. Court trials failed to prove that university students were behind the violence.
JANUARY 15, 1974. University students hit the streets. They demonstrated against the arrival of Prime Minister Kakuei Tanaka of Japan. Tanaka was seen as the symbol of foreign capital which must be done away with. Taking the form of a long march from Salemba to Trisakti University in Grogol, West Jakarta, the action carried three demands: eradication of corruption, a change in the economic policy on foreign capital, and abolishment of the institution of Personal Assistant to the President. Hundreds of thousands of people hit the streets. The action, however, ended in turbulence.
According to Hariman, the students’ action ended at 2:30pm, “whereas the riot,” he says, “broke out an hour later.” A mob that claimed to have come from among laborers ransacked Senen Market, Blok M, and the Glodok (Chinatown) area. They went on arampage, burning Japanese-made cars and shops.
Head of the Operations Command for the Restoration of Security & Order (Kopkamtib), Gen. Sumitro, tried to block the mob around the Sarinah area of Central Jakarta. He tried to divert the mob, which was headed toward the Presidential Palace. “Come on, let’swalk together to Kebayoran,” he yelled to the crowd. “My intention was to deflect the direction of their march, away from the National Monument (Monas)…”
The mob was undeterred, however. To Tempo several years ago, Sumitro claimed to have offered a dialog between the Students Council of the University of Indonesia (UI) and Tanaka. Tanaka agreed, but the students responded with the message that “the dialog is substituted with a street dialog…”
Jakarta had in the meantime become a sea of fire. That day more than 10 people died, while hundreds were injured. Nearly 1,000 cars and motorcycles were destroyed and burned, hundreds of buildings damaged. In addition, 160 kilos of gold vanished from jewelry shops. The situation was so critical that Suharto had to escort Tanaka by helicopter to Halim airport for his return trip to his country.
Hariman Siregar, Chairman of the UI Students Council, was dragged to court on charges of subversion. After a four-month trial, he was sentenced to six years in prison.
“I was deemed guilty of subverting the authority of the state,” said Hariman when Tempo visited him in March 2006. The price he had to pay was high. While he was serving his jail term, his father died, his beloved wife fell ill, and his twin children died.
It was that storm over Jakarta on January 15, 1974 (better known as Malari, for Malapetaka Lima Belas Januari, January 15 Catastrophe) that changed the course of Indonesia, because, as Asvi Warman Adam related in an article he wrote, since then Suharto has resorted to repression in a systematic way. Syahrir, who was also detained after the incident, sees Malari as a form of consolidation of Suharto’s power.
In all, the security apparatus arrested 750 people, 50 of them student activists and intellectuals such as Hariman Siregar, Sjahrir, Yap Thiam Hien, Mochtar Lubis, Rahman Tolleng and Aini Chailid. “Imagine, on January 11, I was embraced by Suharto, on the 17th I was arrested,” recalled Hariman. Indeed, on January 11, Suharto received Hariman along with other student leaders at Bina Graha, the presidential office. Suharto had intended all the time to curb the students’ actions.
The prominent persons were detained on the basis of the Anti-subversion Law. Some released after having languished for a year in prison, because they were not proven guilty. The Anti-subversion Law-based trials drew criticism.
Until today, the mystery of the riots has not been unraveled. Sjahrir contended that the court had been unable to prove that the students were behind the burning of the cars and the looting. It should not come as a surprise if speculation arose that the Malari calamity was the fire that sparked resulting from rivalry between generals Sumitro and Ali Murtopo (respectively Chief of Special Operations and Presidential Personal Assistant at that time). Sumitro allegedly harbored
ambition, as cited in the so-called Ramadi Documents. According to Asvi Warman, Ramadi was known to be close to Ali Murtopo.
The late Sumitro confided that he had once asked Ali Murtopo about the rivalry, long before Malari occurred. “Ali, outside voices say that you are my rival. That cannot be. I’m still a military man, I have no political goals. You are a two-star, I’m a four-star. You are Intelligence Coordination Agency (Bakin) Deputy, I’m Operations Commander for the Restoration of Security & Order (Pangkopkamtib) and Armed Forces Deputy Commander (Wapangab). We are too distant from each other to be rivals. Yet, if you want to be President, that is your right.” At that time, Ali Murtopo promptly denied it. “Oh, no. nothing of that sort in my mind,” Sumitro quoted Ali as responding.
The Malari affair eventually caused both generals to lose their jobs. Suharto relieved Sumitro from his posts as Pangkopkamtib and Wapangab and at the same time abolished the institution of Presidential Special Assistant. Even so, several years later Suharto still employed Ali Murtopo to fill various positions in the bureaucracy.
More than three decades have passed, yet today mystery still shrouds the affair. In his biography, Suharto does not mention that dark period. Hariman must continue believing that the government would soon unravel the mystery.
No. 23/VIII
February 05-11, 2008
Cover Story
The cause of the Malari riots is still a mystery. Court trials failed to prove that university students were behind the violence.
JANUARY 15, 1974. University students hit the streets. They demonstrated against the arrival of Prime Minister Kakuei Tanaka of Japan. Tanaka was seen as the symbol of foreign capital which must be done away with. Taking the form of a long march from Salemba to Trisakti University in Grogol, West Jakarta, the action carried three demands: eradication of corruption, a change in the economic policy on foreign capital, and abolishment of the institution of Personal Assistant to the President. Hundreds of thousands of people hit the streets. The action, however, ended in turbulence.
According to Hariman, the students’ action ended at 2:30pm, “whereas the riot,” he says, “broke out an hour later.” A mob that claimed to have come from among laborers ransacked Senen Market, Blok M, and the Glodok (Chinatown) area. They went on arampage, burning Japanese-made cars and shops.
Head of the Operations Command for the Restoration of Security & Order (Kopkamtib), Gen. Sumitro, tried to block the mob around the Sarinah area of Central Jakarta. He tried to divert the mob, which was headed toward the Presidential Palace. “Come on, let’swalk together to Kebayoran,” he yelled to the crowd. “My intention was to deflect the direction of their march, away from the National Monument (Monas)…”
The mob was undeterred, however. To Tempo several years ago, Sumitro claimed to have offered a dialog between the Students Council of the University of Indonesia (UI) and Tanaka. Tanaka agreed, but the students responded with the message that “the dialog is substituted with a street dialog…”
Jakarta had in the meantime become a sea of fire. That day more than 10 people died, while hundreds were injured. Nearly 1,000 cars and motorcycles were destroyed and burned, hundreds of buildings damaged. In addition, 160 kilos of gold vanished from jewelry shops. The situation was so critical that Suharto had to escort Tanaka by helicopter to Halim airport for his return trip to his country.
Hariman Siregar, Chairman of the UI Students Council, was dragged to court on charges of subversion. After a four-month trial, he was sentenced to six years in prison.
“I was deemed guilty of subverting the authority of the state,” said Hariman when Tempo visited him in March 2006. The price he had to pay was high. While he was serving his jail term, his father died, his beloved wife fell ill, and his twin children died.
It was that storm over Jakarta on January 15, 1974 (better known as Malari, for Malapetaka Lima Belas Januari, January 15 Catastrophe) that changed the course of Indonesia, because, as Asvi Warman Adam related in an article he wrote, since then Suharto has resorted to repression in a systematic way. Syahrir, who was also detained after the incident, sees Malari as a form of consolidation of Suharto’s power.
In all, the security apparatus arrested 750 people, 50 of them student activists and intellectuals such as Hariman Siregar, Sjahrir, Yap Thiam Hien, Mochtar Lubis, Rahman Tolleng and Aini Chailid. “Imagine, on January 11, I was embraced by Suharto, on the 17th I was arrested,” recalled Hariman. Indeed, on January 11, Suharto received Hariman along with other student leaders at Bina Graha, the presidential office. Suharto had intended all the time to curb the students’ actions.
The prominent persons were detained on the basis of the Anti-subversion Law. Some released after having languished for a year in prison, because they were not proven guilty. The Anti-subversion Law-based trials drew criticism.
Until today, the mystery of the riots has not been unraveled. Sjahrir contended that the court had been unable to prove that the students were behind the burning of the cars and the looting. It should not come as a surprise if speculation arose that the Malari calamity was the fire that sparked resulting from rivalry between generals Sumitro and Ali Murtopo (respectively Chief of Special Operations and Presidential Personal Assistant at that time). Sumitro allegedly harbored
ambition, as cited in the so-called Ramadi Documents. According to Asvi Warman, Ramadi was known to be close to Ali Murtopo.
The late Sumitro confided that he had once asked Ali Murtopo about the rivalry, long before Malari occurred. “Ali, outside voices say that you are my rival. That cannot be. I’m still a military man, I have no political goals. You are a two-star, I’m a four-star. You are Intelligence Coordination Agency (Bakin) Deputy, I’m Operations Commander for the Restoration of Security & Order (Pangkopkamtib) and Armed Forces Deputy Commander (Wapangab). We are too distant from each other to be rivals. Yet, if you want to be President, that is your right.” At that time, Ali Murtopo promptly denied it. “Oh, no. nothing of that sort in my mind,” Sumitro quoted Ali as responding.
The Malari affair eventually caused both generals to lose their jobs. Suharto relieved Sumitro from his posts as Pangkopkamtib and Wapangab and at the same time abolished the institution of Presidential Special Assistant. Even so, several years later Suharto still employed Ali Murtopo to fill various positions in the bureaucracy.
More than three decades have passed, yet today mystery still shrouds the affair. In his biography, Suharto does not mention that dark period. Hariman must continue believing that the government would soon unravel the mystery.
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