Indonesian police forcibly broke up a protest marking the 1962 Rome Agreement in front of the US Embassy in Central Jakarta this week and arrested 17 Papuan activists.
One of the demonstrators, former political prisoner Ambrosius Mulait, said the 17 arrested protesters were forcibly taken away by police as soon as they arrived at the US Embassy.
“We hadn’t even started the action and were forced to get into crowd control vehicles,” said Mulait about the protest on Thursday.
Mulait also said that police were “repressive” when they were arresting the protesters by firing teargas until a physical clash broke out between demonstrators and police.
“Some of our comrades were assaulted by the police,” he said.
Central Jakarta district police chief Senior Commissioner Hengki Hariyadi confirmed that 17 Papuan activists were arrested.
Hariyadi said that they did not allow the protest action because Jakarta was currently under a level 3 Enforcement of Restrictions on Public Activities (PPKM) in order to prevent the spread of the covid-19 pandemic.
“During a Level 3 PPKM all activities which have the potential to create crowds are prohibited, in this case they did not have a permit to express an opinion in pubic, so it was without a recommendation from the security forces,” said Hariyadi.
The protest by the Papuan activists made six demands:
[The right to hold] an action in the context of marking the 59th anniversary of the Rome Agreement [that led to Jakarta’s colonisation of Papua];
President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo to withdraw all TNI (Indonesian military) and Polri (Indonesian police) from Papua because they were making the situation for the Papuan people “uncomfortable”;
Release political prisoner Victor Yeimo who is currently in ill health and is being detained at the Mobile Brigade (Brimob) command headquarters in Jayapura;
Reject the extension of Special Autonomy for Papua which had failed to bring prosperity to the Papuan people;
Give Papuans the right to self-determination (through a referendum);and
Reject racism and fully resolve human rights violations in Papua.
IndoLeft News backgrounds the crisis:
The 1962 Rome Agreement was signed by Indonesia, the Netherlands and the United States in Rome on September 30, 1962.
The agreement provided for a postponement of a referendum on West Papua’s status which had been scheduled to be held in 1969 under the New York Agreement signed on August 15, 1962, that the referendum would use a consultative process, that the UN’s report on the implementation of the referendum would be accepted without open debate and on US commitments to invest in resource exploration and provide funds for development programmes in West Papua.
Mental illness has historically dwelt in the shadows of the global health and development agenda and only recently has moved from the margins to become a central priority in research and policy. Mental disorders account for 30% of the worldwide non-fatal disease burden and 10% of the overall disease burden, including death and disability, and the cost to the global economy is estimated to reach as high as USD 6 trillion by 2030. Large middle- and low-income countries like Indonesia struggle with a plethora of challenges in delivering adequate mental health care to its 270.2 million citizens. Centralised funding for Indonesian mental health is only 1% of the national health budget; health expenditure is around 3% of GDP. National health programming such as Indonesia Sehat, the incorporation of mental health into primary care basic standards and voluntary contributions from provincial budgets does provide some additional resources. However, there is a severe shortage of mental health personnel, treatment and care facilities, especially outside the island of Java.
Estimations based on the 2018 Basic Health Survey (RISKESDAS) indicate there are 450 000 families in Indonesia with at least one member diagnosed with schizophrenia; given the high level of stigma against mental illness and psychosocial disabilities, we suggest this number is much larger. Many of these people are subject to human rights abuses, being left to languish in cages, stocks or chains referred to as Pasung. Human Rights Watch estimated that 12,800 people were experiencing Pasung at the end of 2018. Over 26.23 million people, more than the entire population of Australia, suffer from clinically relevant symptoms of anxiety and depression and 16.33 million likely meet the diagnostic criteria for a depressive disorder.
Although there is a shift to community-based outpatient models of care, Indonesia’s 48 mental hospitals and 269 psychiatric wards in general hospitals are still the primary sources of care. There are just over 1000 registered psychiatrists, 2000 clinical psychologists, 7000 community mental health nurses, 1500 mental health trained GPs and 7000 lay mental health workers unevenly distributed across the archipelago, (Ministry of Health Regulation on Pasung Management, 2017; Pols, 2020). Need outstrips supply, with eight provinces without a mental hospital: three of these hospitals without a single psychiatrist. Less than half of all primary care centres and only 56% of government district hospitals are equipped to handle mental health cases. Fortunately, there are many passionate and committed mental health personnel, government officials, academics, consumer group founders and mental health advocates who are working tirelessly to implement the vision embodied by the 2014 Indonesian Mental Health Law. Our webinar for World Mental Health Day is a small sample of these extraordinary individuals, who will share their experiences in Indonesian mental health.
Dr Nova Riyanti Yusuf, a psychiatrist, legislator (member of the DPR from 2009-14 and 2018-19), novelist, scholar, television personality and activist, was one of the driving forces behind the 2014 mental health law. She will talk about the ongoing journey of the mental health law, what its vision is for Indonesian mental health and the current state of implementation at the grass roots level. Professor Hans Pols, a renown psychiatric historian based at University of Sydney and expert on Indonesian mental health will then take us through a brief history of Indonesian Psychiatry and will talk about some of the emerging trends for the future of the profession across the archipelago. Anto Sg,Pasung survivor and current recipient of an Australia Award currently studying a Master of Health Promotion at Deakin University, will share his person experience of Pasung and introduce the survivor or consumer group movement in Indonesia. Dr Erminia Colucci currently based at Department of Psychology, Middlesex University, UK will is working with the Center for Public Mental Health (CPMH), Psychology at the University of Gadjah Mada and Ade Prastyani, GP and scholar on traditional healing approaches to mental health. We will show a short exert of their upcoming film produced by their collaborative Together4MentalHealth. After which, CPMH director, distinguished academic and clinical psychologist Dr Diana Setiyawati will provide us with a current update on community mental health initiatives in the age of Covid19. Aliza Hunt, Centre for Mental Health Research PhD Candidate and Endeavour Scholar at the ANU is chairing the session.
In this in-depth analysis, published in two parts this week, Lila Sari looks at vaccine distribution in Indonesia, and the surprising entrance of political parties into the roll-out.
Media reports suggest that Golkar has received a large allocation of coronavirus vaccines from the government. Golkar was among the first to launch a party-led vaccination program, commencing on 21 March 2021. It has created a new a unit to run vaccinations and provide other pandemic-related services, which it calls “Yellow Clinics” (yellow is the colour of the party). Using these Yellow Clinics as its main facility, the party claims it had administered at least 200,000 doses of vaccines as of late August 2021. From the Yellow Clinic Instagram account, we can learn that the focus of distribution was Jakarta, with most of the mass vaccination events held at the central office of the party in Jakarta. Other regions in Java (West, Central, and East Java), Aceh, and South Kalimantan received the rest of the vaccines, but in much lower numbers. At the time of writing, the Yellow Clinic vaccination program continues, with the party now offering Pfizer vaccines for free in Jakarta.
Golkar’s ability to access the vaccines promptly and in large numbers was undoubtably a product of the party’s key role in the ruling coalition at the national level. Golkar general chairperson Airlangga Hartarto sits in the cabinet as the coordinating minister for economic affairs, a position which places him at the center of power and gives him the capacity to influence the Ministry of Health and other important agents in vaccine distribution, like PT Bio Farma.
Golkar is the quintessential elite party in Indonesia. It is dominated by wealthy and influential businesspeople, former bureaucrats, and former generals. These connections give it the organisational and financial capacity to convene and run many mass-vaccination programs. Between March and September, it seems Golkar thus primarily conducted its own vaccination campaign independently, though on a few occasions it collaborated with businesses and held mass vaccination events at factories, including at the PT Santos factory in Karawang, West Java, and a PT HM Sampoerna factory in East Java.
Golkar vaccination events, especially those in Jakarta, have also focused on promoting Airlangga Hartarto, the party chairperson, presumably reflecting his ambition to run in the presidential election in 2024.
A Golkar billboard in Jakarta. Photo by Yus Prinandy.
PDI-P
The core party in the ruling coalition, PDI-P has about a fifth of the seats in the national parliament, and President Joko Widodo is a party member. At the regional level, the party is also strong: in the 2018 local election, it won six of 17 provincial elections and 97 of 171 city/ district elections. PDI-P’s pattern of delivering mass vaccinations is different from Golkar. PDI-P is more diverse in terms of regional distribution, branding, and partnerships.
I have found media and social media reports of the party running mass vaccination events in many regions in Java, the southern part of Sumatra (Lampung, South Sumatra, Jambi), and Central Kalimantan. These are all areas where PDI-P is strong politically. The party still, however, focuses on Java more than other regions. Meanwhile, unlike Golkar events which often promote Airlangga, PDI-P mass vaccinations often do not place much emphasis on central party bosses, but rather highlight the role of local leaders who hold posts at the central and regional level. Some of them are national and regional parliament members, and also leaders of regional branches. For example, in Kendal Regency (Central Java), the mass vaccination promoted local figures such as head of the district branch, the provincial party leader, and the national parliament member from the region, Tuti Nusandari Rusdiono. The event also featured a local health official as a ‘’supervisor”.
Another example, a mass vaccination event in Bangka Belitung Province, put up a banner with five photos on it. They included the PDI-P’s crown princess and speaker of the DPR, Puan Maharani, a local member of the DPR, chairs of the provincial and district branches in the region, and the mayor. The mass vaccination itself was held at the so-called Rudi Center—an office that belongs to Rudianto Tjen, a DPR member and a prominent PDI-leader.
Mayor of Semarang City, Hendrar Prihadi and three Projo (pro-Jokowi) members in a mass vaccination on 16 September 2021 in Semarang (credit: Abdul Mughis).
Meanwhile, when it comes to collaboration, because PDI-P dominates the government at the central level and in many regions, the party can engage easily with local governments, and POLRI/TNI in holding these events. It can also readily use public facilities and resources, including community healthcare centers or Puskesmas, and local health offices (Dinkes) as well as local police or army resources, to provide both venues and personnel for their activities. In fact, according to one source in a government agency in Central Java, doctors from public healthcare facilities often complain about having to do extra work at these party-led vaccination events.
NasDem Party
NasDem is a new party that was founded by old oligarchs and political elites associated with Golkar and the Democrat Party. Similar to Golkar, it is an important part of the national governing coalition. Party leaders have tried hard to make themselves different from their predecessors, Golkar and the Democrat Party, and to create a new image to attract voters. Still far from being dominant in parliament and cabinet, the party has growing influence and power in some regions. In 2018, governor candidates supported by NasDem won elections in North Sumatra, West Java, Central Java, West Kalimantan, Southeast Sulawesi, and NTT. Furthermore, party chairperson, Surya Paloh is a media mogul who owns the MetroTV network.
Hence, it is not surprising that NasDem seems to have acquired quite a large quota of vaccines for its mass vaccination programs. Like PDI-P, the party relies upon, and foregrounds, politicians who sit in the DPR and in the provincial governments to lobby for access to vaccines. According to media reports I have compiled, NasDem has been dispensing more than 200,000 doses of vaccines, mostly in the greater Jakarta region but also elsewhere, including West Java, Central Java, Papua, NTT, and Bangka Belitung
Some of the politicians in charge of vaccine distribution happen to be related to local government heads, which presumably also makes it easier for them to acquire vaccines. Take the example of Nusa Tenggara Timur (NTT Province) in eastern Indonesia. One DPR member from here, Julie Laiskodat, is the wife of the NTT Governor, Viktor Laiskodat. Both are NasDem elites and run businesses. As a DPR member and the governor’s wife, Julie could easily negotiate with the Ministry of Health to get a vaccine share for NTT Province. As the wife of the Governor, she leads various organisations responsible for women’s affairs (PKK, Bunda PAUD, etc.) in the province, which gives her an added incentive to get a vaccine quota and allocate it to her constituency. Unlike other politicians who hold only one-off or at most a few mass vaccination events, she is holding vaccination events in NTT regularly: twice a week from August, and scheduled to last until December.
Are party campaigns helping achieve herd immunity?
It is difficult to access reliable data on the number of doses allocated to parties, because these allocations take place through informal and non-transparent processes. Therefore, I tried to gather data from online media and social media, and compiled claims by party leaders about the number of vaccines parties were distributing. I identified eight political parties as being involved in vaccine distribution between March and September 2021. If each political party—based on public claims in the media—has distributed around 200,000 doses (a rough estimate), this will generate a total of around 1.6 million doses. This number is miniscule compared to the targeted population of 208 million and will contribute very little—less than 0.5 percent—to achieving the national vaccination coverage goal.
Sometimes parties and the leaders of the government’s COVID-19 taskforce suggest that these party-led vaccination programs help outreach in low coverage regions and among marginalised groups (e.g., transgendered persons and rubbish pickers), as informed by one Partai Solidaritas Indonesia member While it is hard to know about the latter claim, we can test the argument about regional coverage using information from parties’ social media and online media.
Before checking that information, we should see how the coverage rate of vaccinations varies across provinces in Indonesia (Figures 1 and 2). These figures use data from the Ministry of Health’s vaccination dashboard (SMILE) that are publicly available.
Figure 1 shows us that very few regions have achieved high vaccination rates (i.e., above 60%) for dose 1. The most successful provinces in this regard are DKI Jakarta, Bali, Riau Islands, and Yogyakarta. The ministry of health has prioritised these regions as centers of the economy, government, and tourism. Other provinces, however, are at or below 40% coverage rate. For second dose administration, Jakarta is the highest; Riau Islands, Bali and Yogyakarta are all still below 40% while other provinces are even further behind.
Now, where have political parties been holding their vaccination events? What regions did they focus on? Figure 2 shows the spatial variations of regions covered by political parties during the period of March to September 2021.These data are based on my own counts of events covered in the mass media and party social media accounts.
Figrue 2. Spatial variation of party-led vaccination programs. Source: various online media and social media.
Comparing the two figures, it is obvious that the parties are not distributing their vaccinations in places where coverage and capacity are low. Instead, they dispense vaccines in Java, particularly Jakarta and West Java, where the national vaccination roll out is working relatively effectively. The argument that party campaigns help to attain herd immunity and reach out to the areas where vaccines are most needed is weak.
Conclusion
What are we to make of these party-led vaccination programs? The examples presented above imply that the parties are using these programs to promote the popularity of party leaders and cadres. The parties do so by crafting an image that they are being responsive and helpful to the government, whilst also sending out a message that they have fought hard to get an allocation from the government to their people.
These events are heavily political—but political in the distinctive clientelistic sense that is the dominant mode of politics in Indonesia. The newly democratized political system has generated intense competition among parties and politicians. It also makes winning elections expensive. The political parties and their leaders need to always be finding new ways—even during this global pandemic—to keep their supporters loyal and win over new voters. The fact that is often incumbent DPR members who organise these events in their own electoral districts shows that the parties are using these events to provide favors—potentially lifesaving favors—to their political supporters in their own base areas. Distributing vaccines is thus an excellent way to supplement the old-fashioned forms of patronage distribution, such as handouts of money, food, government jobs and contracts, which are typically more costly—politicians often have to provide these themselves – and have less impact.
While the benefits to the parties and their politicians are clear, whether these events really help the national vaccine roll out is less so. The party-led vaccination programs surely target and prioritise their own constituents and supporters, meaning that those with the right political connections have the privilege of getting vaccinated before those who lack such connections. This can disrupt the targeting of those who need vaccines the most.
In this in-depth analysis, published in two parts this week, Lila Sari looks at vaccine distribution in Indonesia, and the surprising entrance of political parties into the roll-out.
What role exactly do the political parties play in vaccine distribution? How do they access the vaccines, how do their approaches differ and what motivates them? I’ll be looking at these questions across two articles this week. In today’s article, Part 1, I’ll examine the broader practices of vaccine acquisition and distribution by political parties and their partners, and in Part 2 I’ll look at how this plays out in Golkar, PDI-P and NasDEM’s approaches.
To accelerate vaccine delivery, the government has instructed several institutions to help the Ministry of Health and local governments to deliver the vaccines. The first, and main, track of the vaccine rollout relies on diverse state bodies. The Indonesian Police and Army (TNI/POLRI), the Coordinating Agency for Family Planning (BKKBN), and even the State Intelligence Agency (BIN) have been involved in administering vaccinations in several regions. According to the Ministry of Health’s dashboard data, this main track has delivered 167.5 million doses.
In addition to these public sector institutions, the government has expanded the vaccination delivery track to the private sector, using private companies and state-owned enterprises. This second track, which the government has dubbed the Gotong Royong (mutual cooperation) vaccination program, uses a very different modality than the standard government approach. Companies and enterprises are expected to use their own funding and resources to acquire and deliver different vaccine brands or types. In particular, the Gotong Royong program uses the Sinopharm vaccine, unlike the Sinovac-Bio Farma, AstraZeneca, Pfizer, Novavax, Moderna, and BioNTech vaccines used in the standard program. The goal is for these companies to then deliver these vaccines to their own employees.
As part of the Gotong Royong program, the government also uses the Indonesian Chamber of Commerce (KADIN) to provide brokerage services to bring together the private sector and the Ministry of Health and PT Bio Farma, the state-owned enterprise responsible for importation and distribution of vaccines. This track has delivered 915,295 first doses (6.1% of the total targeted population for vaccinations) and 663,515 second doses. Whereas 28,413 companies have applied to participate in this program, only 258 (less than 1% of the applicants) have received an allocation from the Ministry of Health and PT Bio Farma.
This program makes sense for the private sector: it is more efficient and economical for companies to vaccinate their workers than to test them regularly and spend money on supporting infected workers. By vaccinating their workers, companies hope to be able to run their businesses at full capacity.
Despite the mobilisation of so many actors in the vaccination roll out, it seems this is not enough. Politicians in Indonesian’s national parliament have criticised the slow progress and uneven distribution in vaccination delivery. Perhaps it is this criticism which has pushed the government to open a third vaccination track, a track that involves these politicians and their parties. This third track, however, is not clearly stipulated in government regulations on the vaccination program (the latest being Ministry of Health Regulation No. 10/2021 and the Minister of Health Decree No. 4638/2021).
Nevertheless, reports in online media and social media show that several political parties have been actively involved in the vaccination program. These include parties from the government’s ruling coalition, like the Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P), Golkar Party, National Awakening Party (PKB), National Democrat Party (NasDEM), and National Mandate Party (PAN), as well as the opposition parties, like the Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) and the Democrat Party (PD), and even small parties like the Indonesia Solidarity Party (PSI).
This is a highly unusual practice. To my knowledge, Indonesia is the only country where political parties are not only organising their own vaccination programs but also actually injecting vaccines into people’s arms.
In fact, it seems like the program is accelerating, with political parties competing to give out vaccines, and using the program as a way to demonstrate their ability to work with the government and achieve the important national goal of reaching herd immunity. Interestingly, each party has claimed to be the first to deliver a coronavirus vaccination program.
What role exactly do the political parties play in vaccine distribution? How do they access the vaccines, how do their approaches differ and what motivates them?
At first, when I noticed reports of party vaccination programs, I assumed that they were buying the vaccines they were delivering, as with companies using the Gotong Royong track, rather than drawing on government stocks.
After all, the parties present their campaigns as if they are solely their own initiatives. Most of the parties mentioned above have been running mass vaccination activities in ways that resemble election campaign events. For example, they use big banners with photographs of their prominent leaders, and hand out t-shirts, and goody bags containing party merchandise, food, and souvenirs to people who come to get vaccinated.
These events typically include speeches from elite politicians, who are usually members of the national parliament (DPR) or the local parliament (DPRD) in the area concerned, or they might be the local chairperson of the party regional branch. Sometimes, the national chairperson (Ketua Umum) of the party appears. Typically, in these speeches the politicians concerned praise how responsive and concerned their party is about the community and how they have worked hard, or fought, to ensure community members get the vaccines. Sometimes, they claim that the mass vaccination event involves collaboration with state institutions, private sector actors, and/or mass organisations. Sometimes, party leaders bring along leaders from the local government and/or local police and army officials, representatives of private companies, and of mass organisations.
They also claim to have provided funds to distribute these vaccines. Such claims are partly true, as politicians and parties apparently do finance some elements of these vaccination events. They provide cadres and resources to organise registration, provide the venue, as well as snacks, lunches, and fees for the medical staff providing the vaccinations. However, it turns out that, unlike the Gotong Royong program, parties do not need to buy the vaccines they deliver. Instead, they receive them from the Ministry of Health. This is where the lobbying capacity of party bosses comes in.
How do they access vaccines?
In general, my respondents from political parties and local media explain that their party received an allocation of vaccines from the Ministry of Health. In their capacity as the Ministry’s counterparts in the DPR, members of the Commission IX of the DPR, which is responsible for health and labor affairs, can submit a request to the Ministry to allocate buffer stocks—stocks left over from the quota used for the government-led vaccination program. Then, based on the Ministry’s assessment, the Ministry can grant them a quota. These politicians normally prioritise distribution to their own electoral districts (daerah pemilihan or dapil).
In short, much like other government benefits and programs, COVID-19 vaccines have now become a political commodity which politicians can use to solidify their constituency and supporters. This is an important opportunity for them to survive in what observers have called Indonesia’s “patronage democracy” as written by Aspinall and Berenschot in Democracy for Sale: Elections, Clientelism, and the State in Indonesia. When parties and politicians habitually provide their supporters with benefits of various kinds, it makes sense for them to view the coronavirus vaccination program as a new political commodity they can distribute.
Aside from this channel, some respondents from the national government, as well as local experts and members of watchdog institutions in some regions, explained that some parties have been able to access vaccines from other state institutions, such as local governments, POLRI and the TNI. As explained above, these institutions also received vaccine allocations and were responsible for delivering jabs through the government-led vaccination program. They have discretion on how to deliver their vaccines. They can use their own facilities, such as local public health clinics and hospitals, police or military health institutions, or partner with private healthcare services, or even partner with mass organisations, or, it turns out, with political parties.
This discretion has opened up opportunities for parties and politicians to use these allocations for their own promotional purposes, though typically presented as joint effort or kerjasama (cooperative) schemes. Party elites request the allocation from the national or local government, POLRI and the TNI to deliver the vaccinations under their party’s banner. In return, the parties will name these institutions as their partners, and they will pay for the vaccinators’ fees and other operational costs to deliver the vaccines.
Perceived religious prohibition, vaccine coercion, anti-Chinese sentiment and reliance on alternative health and hygiene practices are contributing to low vaccination acceptance.
In fact, it is not only parties who use this approach. In some regions, according to my anonymous sources, some big business groups have also used the kerjasama scheme. These are typically business groups owned by oligarchs—i.e., the super wealthy individuals who dominate both political and business life in Indonesia. Such companies can sometimes use the quotas allocated to central government agencies, local governments, and POLRI/TNI, bypassing the formal Gotong Royong vaccination track provided for the private sector. Of course, they label the vaccination events they then run as a form of collaboration with the real owner of the vaccine quota. But in fact, these companies acquired the vaccines for free and much more quickly than they would as part of the Gotong Royong track, with no need to wait for KADIN to process their proposals. By doing so, I estimate they save around 75% of the costs they would incur if using the Gotong Royong track.
To access vaccines, political parties and the companies thus need to lobby and negotiate with government institutions which are authorised vaccine distributors. But having access to political power and good connections with those institutions helps. In many cases, party leaders and other politicians have family connections with the governor or other local officials, and this, too, can allow access.
Take, for example, in one region of Indonesia, where a senior politician, who is also the owner of one of the biggest conglomerates in the region. He is known to have close connections with two generals who hold very high positions in the country, are from the same region as the elite politician and served as his adjutants when he was in the office. Having this close connection as a patron gives the elite politician easy access to use the police quota in the region for vaccination events run by his companies.
Another example can be seen in a woman politician, a prominent party elite, and member of the DPR. She is also the wife of a former two-time mayor in the region. Her husband is a senior politician with a colourful background. He retains much influence in the city including in the prison sector, given that he spent some years in jail for corruption. The woman has good access to the Ministry of Health as she is a member of the DPR’s Commission IX. Once she attained the quota, she distributed it where she and her husband have many fans: in the prisons and among networks of women’s Islamic devotional groups.
Tomorrow: How Golkar, PDI-P and NasDEM approach vaccine distribution.
Papua human rights activist and lawyer Veronica Koman has called for an independent inquiry into the attack on health workers in the Kiwirok district, Star Highlands, Papua, saying there are two versions of how the tragedy happened.
A healthcare worker, 22-year-old Gabriella Maelani, was killed during the attack by the West Papua National Liberation Army-Free Papua Organisation (TPNPB-OPM) resistance movement.
“There is one version which is clearly being shared a lot in the media. And there is a second version circulating among the Papuan people,” Koman told CNN Indonesia.
Koman said that the chronology of events which was being broadcast by most news media depicted the alleged brutality of the TPNPB-OPM during the attack.
In the second version alleged the attack was triggered when a person wearing a doctor’s uniform shot at the TPNPB, causing a shootout inside the healthcare building, Koman said.
She said that in Papua many TNI (Indonesian military) personnel held dual posts as teachers and doctors. She believed this caused a great deal of suspicion in Papua.
Nevertheless, she was saddened by the news that a healthcare worker died, although she said that the truth about the chronology of events must still be investigated.
Death of healthcare worker
Based on information she had received, the death of the healthcare worker was not because they were tortured by the TPNPB as alleged.
“The Papuan people’s version is that it’s not true that there was torture. Gabriella jumped [into a ravine] while escaping, she wasn’t thrown into the ravine by the OPM,” she said.
Koman called for an independent investigation. According to Koman, finding out which chronology was correct would influence several factors, particularly racism against the Papuan people.
“If for example the alleged barbaric actions are not true, it will influence the stigma and racism against the Papuan people. And that is very barbaric,” she said.
“Looking for examples of human rights issues, we can separate it. The ones adversely affected should be the OPM, not the ordinary Papuan people.
“In general with minority groups, including the Chinese, when one person does wrong, everyone is adversely affected. LGBT [lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender] for example, if a gay person does something, the whole community is adversely affected. So it’s important to straighten it out.”
Koman also said care was needed to be taken with the witness testimonies.
Information under duress
She questioned whether or not the witnesses provided information under duress.
“There would have been many soldiers around them … So they could have been pressured,” she said.
Earlier, the TPNPB-OPM admitted responsibility for attacking public facilities such as a community healthcare centre and school building in the Kiwirok district on September 13 and 14.
They claimed that the attack was a form of resistance demanding Papuan independence from Indonesia.
The Presidential Staff Office said that “armed criminal groups” (KKB) — as officials generally describe Papuan armed independence fighters — violated human rights law after the healthcare worker died during the attack on September 13.
Presidential Staff Deputy V Jaleswari Pramodhawardani said that the armed group had violated several laws such as the healthcare law, the nurses law, the hospital law and the healthcare quarantine law.
An Auckland property developer is involved in a company linked to carrying out deforestation in Indonesian-controlled Papua, where virgin rainforest is being bulldozed to grow palm oil plantations. Newsroom Investigates.
From above, the satellite image shows two insignificant dark-coloured shapes, like a couple of missing puzzle pieces in a flat sea of green. But on the ground, they represent devastation.
This innocuous picture illustrates the beginning of what is earmarked to become the world’s largest palm oil plantation, replacing one of the last remaining rainforests on earth.
Two years ago, the Tanah Merah megaproject began clearing just 230 hectares in Papua, the Indonesian-controlled half of New Guinea (the other half of the island is Papua New Guinea).
That relatively small land area was just a warning of what is predicted to come: 270,000 hectares have been allocated to the project, an area 10 times the size of Auckland’s Waitakere Ranges.
After halting work due to alleged non-payment of staff salaries, in March this year the bulldozers arrived again and forest clearing resumed. This can be seen using near-real time satellite imagery on Nusantara-Atlas.org – the newly felled sections of rainforest are in pink.
The project is divided into seven concessions — parcels of land — of around 40,000 hectares each in Boven Digoel, a regency in Papua’s southeast.
Documents obtained by Newsroom show three of those seven concessions are controlled by a company called Digoel Agri Group, whose majority shareholder is listed as a New Zealander. (Read the full response from Digoel Agri Group here.)
Environmental experts say the Tanah Merah project is a sign of things to come and if this entire forest is razed it will be catastrophic — hundreds of millions of tonnes of carbon will be released, contributing to the world’s failure to stay under two degrees Celsius of warming.
So why, when we face a climate emergency of biblical proportions, is an Auckland property developer involved in the felling of some of the world’s most diverse, intact, old-growth forest?
‘Charming’ and ‘brazen’ Neville Mahon is 61 with a soft face and a swatch of sandy hair that was once red. (See David Williams’ story looking at Mahon’s business history here)
He has an affable demeanour, and enjoys a weekly standing appointment with a group of associates at a popular Chinese restaurant in Auckland.
Neville Mahon during his meeting with Newsroom Investigates’ Melanie Reid and Bonnie Sumner. Image: Newsroom
He cuts a controversial figure in New Zealand — he doesn’t do social media, and the only online accounts of his existence are a bunch of articles that detail court cases over failed property developments and a Wikifrauds page dedicated to his involvement in the Fiji Beach Resort & Spa, which says dozens of mum and dad investors were left out of pocket in 2010.
(Mahon’s name is registered against more than 120 New Zealand companies, the bulk of which are now defunct.)
Newsroom has spoken with a number of people on the condition of anonymity who have had dealings with him. They variously describe him as “charming”, “brazen” and someone who “worries about looking like a bad guy”.
Sometime around 2015, after he had extricated himself from the Fiji Beach Resort & Spa debacle, Mahon jumped on a plane to Jakarta for business meetings with some Indonesian movers and shakers.
It was to be the beginning of a new chapter in Mahon’s life, a move away from property and into what he described to Newsroom as the “resource sector”.
Three years later, his name popped up as a majority shareholder alongside that of Indonesian political operator Ventje Rumangkang on a companies registration document under the business name Digoel Agri Group.
Rumangkang was the patriarch of a well-connected family and one of the founders of the Democratic Party in Indonesia. He died suddenly last year and his son, Jones, took his place as Digoel Agri’s managing director.
Permits to log rainforest and create palm oil plantations cannot be bought and sold, they can only be issued by local government officials. So instead they are allocated to companies.
In the case of Digoel Agri, three subsidiary companies were set up to manage three concessions as part of the Tanah Merah megaproject.
Forest clearance and palm oil plantation development by Megakarya Jaya Raya, one of the concession holders in the Tanah Merah project in Papua’s Boven Digoel Regency. Image: Ulet Ifansasti/Greenpeace
The investigation also exposed Neville Mahon’s involvement in the project, describing him as the Rumangkang’s chief investment partner and the majority shareholder — claims he would come to dispute in a face-to-face meeting with Newsroom.
Another name that also appears on the documents is Australian man Selva Nithan Thirunavukarasu, known as Nithan Thiru.
He was a director of Gleneagles Securities, an Australian financial services firm — the very same company believed to have looked after Mahon’s money from the Fiji Resort & Spa development.
Thiru’s name also appears on the New Zealand companies documents from another property development involving Mahon, a worker accommodation complex in Queenstown that never eventuated.
The Digul River in Papua’s Boven Digoel Regency. Image: Nanang Sujana for The Gecko Project/Earthsight
The Kiwi tree defender Tanah Merah is just one of a number projects on the island involving dozens of players from around the world, including the Middle East, Korea and Malaysia, who are already turning the varied flora into monocrop forests of palm oil trees.
But a network of individuals and organisations is attempting to shine a spotlight on what’s going on in Papua to prevent what they say is an environmental and human rights calamity.
One of those is Grant Rosoman. Tall, lean and 60 years old, he looks more university professor than tree-hugger, despite dedicating his life to protecting tropical forests and their inhabitants.
Greenpeace International adviser Grant Rosoman … people had no idea their decking was coming from the destruction of people’s lives and forests. Image: Newsroom
In the late 1980s and early 1990s he worked to halt the importation of kwila coming from Indigenous communities in Malaysia, at one point chaining himself to a log at a Christchurch timber yard. His campaigning succeeded.
“We managed to drop imports down to a fifth of what they were and to raise awareness of the issue. Because people had no idea their decking was coming from the destruction of people’s lives and forests. And it’s a bit the same with Papua.”
As a senior adviser to Greenpeace International, he tells Newsroom he is shocked a fellow New Zealander is involved in this – and warns the impact of losing a forest this size during a climate crisis will be catastrophic.
The Rainbow Warrior III sailing on the Boven Digul River in Papua. Image: Ulet Ifansasti/Greenpeace
“If we lose this forest then we don’t survive climate change. That’s how important it is for everyone.”
He says all New Zealanders should be concerned about what’s going on over there.
“This is the first time I have come across a New Zealander investing in tropical rainforest destruction.”
But, isn’t it a bit rich for someone from Aotearoa New Zealand — a country that has systematically wiped out two thirds of its native forest in favour of naked rolling landscape covered in cows and a tidal wave of urban housing — to pass judgment when another country seeks to make money from its primary resources?
“We in Aotearoa made the mistake of clearing most of our lowland forest and now there are massive very costly national and local programmes to restore the forest that has been lost. We don’t want Papua to make the same mistake, especially for the local customary communities that are so reliant on and spiritually tied to their forests. The local communities are telling us this,” says Rosoman, who adds that they instead support local enterprises that protect the forest but also generate an income, such as sago, medicinal plants and spices, and ecotourism.
“Destroying the forests of Papua for the benefit a few wealthy Indonesian elites or foreign investors like Neville Mahon is not development.”
Destruction of virgin peatland rainforest by the Tanah Merah logging and palm oil project in Papua. The photos show new road networks leading into vast areas of untouched, virgin rainforest, indicating where operations are likely to expand. Image: Greenpeace
Atlas of destruction New Guinea’s landscape is extraordinary. Mangroves and peat swamps sit alongside tropical alpine grasslands and lush forests: a recently released study in Nature journal proclaims it as “the most floristically diverse island in the world”, home to more than 13,000 species of plants.
It is the world’s largest tropical island, with 83 percent of Indonesian New Guinea supporting old-growth forest, and the third largest rainforest after the Amazon and Congo.
But Indonesia, the fourth largest emitter of carbon, carbon dioxide and greenhouse gas emissions and by far the world’s biggest producer of palm oil, is running out of arable land to grow the fruit.
Members of the Indigenous Auyu community in their ancestral forest in Boven Digoel, Papua. Image: Nanang Sujana for The Gecko Project/Earthsight
The thing about palm forests is they have a shelf life — after 25 to 30 years these vast monocrops begin to fail because the soil no longer holds up.
In the last few decades around 21 million hectares of Indonesian land has been relinquished to plantation companies. To put that in perspective, Aotearoa New Zealand’s landmass totals 26.8 million hectares.
Used in everything from biscuits and shampoo to biofuel and supplementary feed for Kiwi cows, palm oil made the Southeast Asian country $23 billion last year — and Papua is Indonesia’s final frontier for this moneymaker.
After laying waste to millions of hectares of primary forest in Borneo and Sumatra, this island is the last remaining opportunity to exploit the primary forest for timber and to grow colossal tracts of palm oil monocrops to feed the demand for the ubiquitous product.
Deforestation accounts for the bulk of Indonesia’s CO2 emissions, and this month Indonesia cancelled an agreement it had with Norway to halt deforestation in exchange for hundreds of millions of dollars in environmental protection incentives.
A meeting with Mahon Mahon told Newsroom he couldn’t speak on behalf of the company, but did eventually meet us at a Newmarket café so he could address some of the allegations reported about him in overseas media.
He orders tea and agrees to let us take notes.
Mahon disputes the four main accusations: that he has a majority shareholding in Digoel Agri Group, that the company has an interest in timber, that the concession area is rainforest at all, and that the land is being used to grow oil palms.
He says the claims are all “bullshit”, and can’t figure out why anyone in New Zealand would be curious about the topic: “What the hell….it’s in Indonesia, it’s in the back end of nowhere, what is the interest here?”
When asked why he hadn’t attempted to rectify the inaccuracies before, he says: “These people are so nasty that even if you tried to correct it, you’d just get yourself into a worse mess.”
By “these people” he means reporters and organisations like Greenpeace International.
“There are people that are out there that are paid to cause that sort of trouble. I mean that’s the reality, they’ll seize on anything.”
Throughout our conversation Mahon repeatedly denies that the area the Digoel Agri concessions cover is rainforest.
“There’s no virgin rainforest in there whatsoever. That’s actually just complete and utter bullshit. That area was cleared out by Malaysians 35 years ago. I mean, it’s just a stupid allegation to start with. If it was a rainforest, I can assure you my partner and my children wouldn’t even want to walk out the door.”
A road running between rainforest and new palm oil plantations as part of the Tanah Merah project in Papua. Image: Greenpeace
We put this to Grant Rosoman, the forest protector from Greenpeace. He tells Newsroom this is “patently incorrect”, and points to satellite images, aerial photos, field visits and an assessment of timber that all show the concession area is predominantly primary forest.
French environmental scientist Dr David Gaveau, who lived in Indonesia for 15 years and has also been to the area in question, backs this up. He set up Nusantara-Atlas.org for exactly this reason.
“In April I saw that the clearing [in Boven Digoel] had continued since I first looked at it two months before. That’s the whole point of the system, to be able to demonstrate a conservation outcome. Consumers don’t want the food they eat to be causing deforestation.
“The companies have understood this and they’ve signed on these no deforestation pledges. So what we’re doing is developing a system that can verify these pledges on a near real-time basis.”
Environmental scientist Dr David Gaveau over primary forest in Boven Digoel. Image: Ulet Ifansasti/Greenpeace
The platform works as an alert system so officials, NGOs or anyone with a computer and an internet connection can see what’s happening.
“These forests are becoming a very rare resource. And we all know they are an important part of the world’s ecosystems for earth to thrive and for humans to thrive. And so why is it still happening? Why is New Zealand even involved in this?”
‘Majority’ shareholder But just how involved really is Neville Mahon? In international reports, he is listed as a majority shareholder in Digoel Agri Group, something he strenuously denies at our meeting.
He tells Newsroom he and his family own just “seven to eight percent” of the company.
“It would be quite nice if we did own it,” he says with a laugh. “The reality is we don’t, but my family have a small shareholding,”
Instead, he says he temporarily “fronted” the company when it was first set up.
“What happened was about five or six years ago when the opportunity came up from an Indonesian family I basically sorted a deal out and then I had to pass most of it on. I just didn’t have the money to fund it. But the problem is it was my name there on day one. And so everybody seized on my name.”
Newsroom sought companies records for Digoel Agri Group from the Indonesian government via four separate sources. All documents have been vetted as legitimate and all four — one from 2018, another from 2019 and two from this year — show Mahon as a majority shareholder.
Whatever his exact beneficial shareholding, or exactly how it is configured, what our investigation can confirm is that he was forecast to receive profits from rainforest timber production into the millions this year.
Another contentious issue is the intended land use. Mahon takes a sip of his tea and leans over the table. The company’s shareholders are only interested in bare land and agriculture, not timber, he tells us.
By agriculture, does he mean palm oil plantations?
“What the Indonesian government is motivated towards is food. They’re importing something like 70 percent of their food. So our interest is to put rice, soya beans, sorghum, cattle, you know, whatever we can on it because you’re on the back door of 240 million people.”
But documents from the Indonesian government obtained by Newsroom and translated into English are clear: the concessions attached to the Digoel Agri Group subsidiary companies are expressly for logging and palm oil.
For food crops to be planted, they would need new permits to be issued.
Another palm oil concession within the Tanah Merah project. Image: Ulet Ifansasti/Greenpeace
Finally, we wanted to know about the trees. Reports indicate the timber involved in the Tanah Merah project is estimated to be worth US$6 billion, and a sawmill owned by Malaysian logging giant Shin Yang has reportedly been set up on the island.
Mahon says he has “no interest” in the wood: “We have nothing to do with the forestry at all, nothing to do with it. This is just regrowth, which hasn’t even got a lot of value because it’s not, for example, mahogany. What you’ve got to remember is I, or my shareholders, have got no interest in that side of it at all.”
Yet in a judgment issued by the High Court at Auckland in June in a bankruptcy proceedings case against Mahon, Justice Sussock writes of Mahon referring in his evidence to the possibility of security being provided at some future date “from a debt that is due to [him] from a joint venture forestry operation” and that Mahon says “there are monies due to [him] in terms of loans as well as an equity interest in the forestry operation”.
(Greenpeace and NGO Pusaka, which advocates for Indigenous communities in Indonesia, are currently investigating where the logs from the Digoel Agri Group concessions are going.)
When pressed on these issues, Mahon said the best thing we could do is to email him a list of questions and he would send them to the company’s managing director in Indonesia for a response.
So we did.
A spokesperson from Digoel Agri Group, Jones Rumangkang, wrote to Newsroom that the company has business permits to develop “less than 78,630 hectares” — two of their three concessions. (It is unknown what they plan to do with the third concession.)
He writes that they pay attention to, “the principles of sustainability through the NDPE approach in accordance with our sustainability policy.” NDPE is a palm oil industry led initiative which stands for No Deforestation, No Peat, and No Exploitation.
Rumangkang also backed up Mahon’s claim that he is a minority investor, and said the company is committed to following all relevant environmental and consent regulations, including agreement from the local Indigenous communities.
“We have obtained approval from the indigenous peoples who control the land we are working on. We also do not develop areas that are sacred and have local cultural values as well as hunting areas and areas that are a source of staple food such as sago forests.”
‘What will be the fate of our grandchildren?’ New Guinea is not just environmentally diverse, it’s also culturally diverse – a sixth of the world’s languages are found here.
According to an in-depth report released by Greenpeace International in May this year, Indonesian law states that Indigenous land can only be surrendered to a plantation company through musyawarah (a consensus decision-making process), but that this did not occur in the case of the Tanah Merah project.
A member of the Indigenous Auyu community in his ancestral forest in Boven Digoel, Papua. Image: Nanang Sujana for The Gecko Project/Earthsight
Instead, police and representatives turned up to the villages handing out envelopes full of cash. There was no clarity around what these were for, but the project to clearfell their land has divided once close Indigenous clans.
The effects can be seen in a film, The Secret Deal to Destroy Paradise, in which locals talk of not being able to carry out their traditional way of life and practices such as hunting, fishing, gathering and processing sago.
“It feels like the clouds have fallen. All destroyed in an instant. What will be the fate of our grandchildren?” asks the chief of the Auyu clan, Bonevasius Hamnagi.
United Arab Emirates-owned companies with concessions in the same Tanah Merah project have already displaced some traditional hunting grounds.
“It used to be customary indigenous forest,” says Mikael Felix Mamon of Anggai village, as he stands before a seemingly endless array of uniform oil palm saplings sitting atop the bare ochre earth, waiting to be planted.
“It used to be a place for hunting. We searched for pigs or other animals. Fishing. And a source of drinking water. We could find these things quite freely. Now the indigenous people looking for food to fulfill our basic needs must go a long way. Further inland. Because our forest around here is gone.”
And agreements to create health, education, facilities, clean water, housing and electricity have not been fulfilled.
Members of the Indigenous Auyu community in Boven Digoel, Papua. Image: Nanang Sujana for The Gecko Project/Earthsight
Grant Rosoman says this is a common occurrence in Papua and that companies can make up to US$2000 per hectare per year while paying locals less than US$10 per hectare in a one-off payment for taking their land.
“The impact on the community — we are hearing from them and from the local NGOs that are supporting the community — is huge. And if we look at the concessions that have already been developed in that area, their loss of livelihood, their rights not being respected, their sacred sites being desecrated and destroyed, and their food and water sources being destroyed as well.”
And many locals are pushing back against the corporations, people like longtime environmental activist Bustar Maitar, who leads campaigns in Papua to protect the ecosystems through the EcoNusa Foundation, and clan leaders who have been coming together to put pressure on the government to stop the deforestation.
A political situation There have also been long running debates about whether the Tanah Merah permits to log and plant palm oil have been obtained legally.
According to the NGO Pusaka, permits have not been issued for Digoel Agri to clear the land and is calling on the Indonesian government to take steps to halt the destruction.
They claim that because the original permits were not issued in accordance with the correct process, including the consent of local indigenous people, this would mean the forest clearing happening under Digoel Agri is illegal.
Franky Samperante, director of Indigenous rights NGO Pusaka. Image: Nanang Sujana for The Gecko Project/Earthsight
When Newsroom contacted Pusaka director Franky Samperante, he was firm in his request to international players like Neville Mahon.
“I found that the companies are carrying out eviction of the forests and important places of indigenous peoples without the consent of many communities, they are threatened with losing their sources of food and livelihoods.
“We ask the government and companies to be consistent with regulations and commitments to sustainable development, by not doing deforestation, violating human rights and respecting the rights of indigenous peoples.”
Indonesia is no stranger to human rights controversy. According to Amnesty International reports, at least 100,000 West Papuans have been reported killed by the Indonesian authorities since the takeover in the 1960s.
Everyone Newsroom spoke to was reluctant to answer questions about the Indonesian government’s involvement in deforestation.
But without government approval, these individual companies would never be allowed to bring in the bulldozers, so isn’t this, in fact, a political situation?
“Papua as a sensitive place for the Indonesian government,” says Greenpeace’s Grant Rosoman. “And there are rights abuses that are going on. They’re being documented by some of the media that’s coming out and it’s a very unsafe place. So there is a lot of fear about speaking out about Papua and what’s going on there.”
“We focus on the deforestation and we can monitor that from satellites so we can see what’s going on and we don’t believe it’s a good thing for a New Zealander like Neville Mahon to be there destroying the forest and basically staining the reputation of all New Zealanders in the process of doing it.”
Since our café meeting with Mahon, we have contacted him several times in an attempt to reconcile his statements to us with what’s on the official documents.
We again received a reply from the company saying he has a small beneficial shareholding.
In the meantime, the bulldozers continue their work while activists and people like Rosoman try to keep them at bay.
“It’s not acceptable to be clearing rainforest in this day and age. We’re in 2021, we’re in a climate emergency. There’s plenty of other land where you can develop businesses. We do not need to clear rainforest for business anymore. It shouldn’t be done.”
Produced by Newsroom with the support of NZ on Air. Republished by Asia Pacific Report with the permission of Newsroom and investigations editor Melanie Reid.
The reports of anxiety and fear as the Taliban marched through to claim rule in Afghanistan and the crescendo of reports of the targeting of women has invoked memories of stories people told me about living under the rule of Kahar Muzakkar’s Darul Islam/Tentara Islam (henceforth DI/TI) in South Sulawesi. This fraction of Indonesia’s post-colonial Islamic state movement, first established by Kartosuwirjo in West Java in the 1950s, held power over much of rural South Sulawesi (including what is now Southeast Sulawesi Province) until the early 1960s. My doctoral research on Sorowako, in the northern mountains of South Sulawesi, concerned the social and economic impacts of a foreign-owned nickel mine that had just been opened by President Suharto. I arrived in 1978, and the local population were still smarting from the forced loss of their land and livelihoods. But when I sat down to yarn with people, they were compelled to tell me also about their suffering under what they termed the ‘gerombolan’ (‘gang’). This area had been close to one of the key centres of Kahar’s movement (Kolaka in Sulawesi Tenggara): the rebel troops had forcibly moved the people from the western shore of Lake Matano, the end point of the road to Malili on the coast, to a remote location on the wild side of the lake—which the people termed the penyingkiran (evacuation site). They explained to me that the guerrilla fighters wanted to ensure local populations could not be forced to provide sustenance to the guerrillas’ enemy, the Indonesian army (TNI) troops. Local people’s accounts of DI/TI, who lived among them exercising authority and control for over a decade, always feature stories about actions that are harsh, even cruel.
Islam in Sorowako
The ‘orang asliSorowako,‘ as they called themselves, had been Islamised by functionaries from the Kerajaan Luwu deployed as colonial officials by the Dutch after they extended direct control over the interior regions of Sulawesi’s southwestern peninsular around 1906. From the early 1950s DI/TI forcibly Islamised Christian villagers around Lake Matano who had been relocated there from further up the mountains. Villages and ripening fields on the lake shore were burned as people were forced to flee.
The text of proclamation of Islamic State of Indonesia on Wikicommons
Life in the jungle refuge was full of privation, and over the years I learned about the ways the DI/TI impacted on individual lives. The current stories of young Afghani women being forcibly married to Taliban fighters, or people hiding their daughters as the fighters rolled into their towns brought to mind the personal stories of forced marriages to DI/TI fighters recounted by many of my friends in Sorowako. One very independent woman raising her now adult (disabled) son on her own had been forcibly married in this manner. I asked a family member if the marriage lasted after the cease fire with government troops in 1962. I was told: ‘she pushed the stairs away from the (stilt) house’ i.e. a strong message to the husband ‘don’t come back’. People gossiped about a ‘wrong marriage’ of a friend: wrong according to the rules of the bilateral kinship system which stressess generational relations. Prior to their marriage he had called her ‘aunt’—that is she was the generation above him, not on ‘cousin’ level. Her father, a village leader, married her off quickly to avoid her forcible marriage to a DI/TI soldier. No doubt many of these marriages were polygynous, both within the DI/TI -controlled territory and in their home villages, and this alone would have given parents reason to fear them. Collecting genealogies, I came across quite a few men who had been DI/TI fighters. The charismatic rebel leader Kahar was himself polygynous (practiced poligami) having 9, or some accounts say 12, wives—and this excessive sexuality was an aspect of his hyper-masculinised charisma.
Photo of Kahar Muzakkar, the leader of the Sulawesi rebellion from 1950-1965. KamielahK on Wikicommons
There were many stories of kidnapping, especially people from the government-controlled towns who had expertise the rebels desired—such as accountants, teachers and agricultural experts—to set up their alternative administration. Government was in accord with a document establishing shariah law as the basis of the Makalua charter. It contained provisions, similar to that of the Taliban, based on misogynistic readings of Islamic texts, on the fikih (Islamic jurisprudence) that supported a God-ordained male privilege. Women were forced to wear head coverings and live basically domestic lives. The Makalua charter allowed forced polygyny (poligami), indeed people who rejected polygyny could be prosecuted, and no offer of marriage could be refused, save that the man was a juvenile, impotent, diseased or of bad character. It had harsh provisions for regulating relations between the sexes, and a broad interpretation of zina (sexual acts outside marriage): I heard personal accounts from people who witnessed women accused of adultery being buried to the waist and stoned to death (dirajam). Other people graphically gestured to describe the practice of cutting off hands as punishment for theft.
Kahar has been described as a Muslim socialist and his rule also expressed a kind of ‘radical egalitarianism’ in that he sought to stamp out the power of Bugis nobility and the cultural trappings of their authority, which were an exercise of power that the pre-Islamic religion deemed ordained by the Gods of the Upper world. The corpus of pre-Islamic beliefs and rituals that validated social hierarchy and noble privilege and power and were divinely ordained and ritual life harkened back to the sacred cycle, La Galigo. DI/TI troops burned the houses of the nobility that symbolically encoded their status, and which housed sacred regalia. They banned syncretic ritual practices, melded with Islamic rituals for birth, death, marriage and activities such as farming and house construction. People of noble birth were targeted. A very confident Bugis noble woman form Malili told me she had been kidnapped as a 10 year- old child and held captive in the jungle ‘sleeping under the trees’ for three years. She recounted that she continuously scolded her captors and refused to bend to their world view. Just a few years ago, a friend who was in a ‘nostalgic’ mode told a story of seeing a DI/TI rebel walk up the stairs of a house and shoot the owner in his doorway, According to her, this was because they were of noble birth.
What allowed for despotism and misogynistic tyranny?
What makes this possible? Kahar’s rule over the Islamic state that he proclaimed relied on the Makalua charter, which was ostensibly based on the fikih: their understanding of Islamic law and what they believed to be Syariah. The elevation of a version of Islamic law (understood as God’s law and so not subject to debate) justified cruel summary justice. The Makalua charter and the ideology that it was the direct interpretation of the words of God justified this arbitrary behaviour, including the cruel and arbitrary treatment of women, and notably, control of their sexuality and public movement. This style of textual interpretation that the DI/TI and Taliban share is known in Indonesian as ‘Islam gariskeras (hard-line Islam’). Former president and head of NU, Abdurahman Wahid (Gus Dur) reminded us that while the Qu’ran is the word of God it is always known through human interpretation—and scholars of Islam in the many educational institutions throughout Indonesia delight in textual debate
The people of Sorowako are today very observant Muslims, and acknowledge that the years under DI/TI rule led them to intensify their piety. A common view was that although they professed Islam by the 1950s, they had not been very pious. The threshold for conversion had been very low in South Sulawesi: recite the shahada, renounce eating pork and get circumcised. When I asked whether they supported the rebels, many people responded: yes, because it championed the elevation of Islam. Many are well-educated, working for the mining company or in other middle-class occupations, and their modernist and tolerant mode of Islamic practice is of the kind common to Indonesia’s urban middle classes. The village imam stressed an important point, from their contemporary understanding of piety. He said that the DI/TI compelled women to wear head covering: the women today, including young women, all wear head-covering (jilbab), but now it has more meaning as they do it from their own religious knowledge.
Memory activism—why not DI/TI?
The DI/TI came soon after the very traumatic events of the Japanese occupation, which is remembered as very brutal in this area. It also followed the 1947 Westerling massacres of the anti-colonial struggle. Memory activism is a notable political movement in in contemporary Indonesia, much of it focussing on the brutal mass killings of accused communists in 1965-6, associated with the power struggle that resulted in Suharto assuming the presidency. After his fall in 1998, memories of the suffering and lingering claims of injustice rapidly surfaced, especially among local populations (and especially in East Java) with remembrance of unmasked mass graves and slaughter sites serving as mnemonic devices to keep those memories alive. In Sorowako memories of the years of suffering under DI/TI go very deep and have not been supplanted by the more recent traumatic memories of the loss of their land and livelihoods under the Suharto regime’s foreign investment provisions. They do, however, acknowledge that the discourse of the threat of communism that was deployed by the New Order as a form of social and political control constrained their courage to oppose their dispossession to make way for the foreign-owned mine. A group of young people are now exploring the history of their community, including its’ history and culture before the development of the project and its associated suffering. They reported the same experience that I did when I asked about the past: the old people wish to recount their suffering under DI/TI.
The loyalty of some Islamist groups to AQ, and by extension, the Taliban, is evident from the content posted on their respective affiliated websites and publications.
The failure to address the events of the DI/TI years continue to have political consequences today. A descendant of Kahar Muzakkar has won political office, for example, on platforms that echo some of the tenets of Kahar’s movement and calling on the deceased Kahar’s enduring charisma. In the case of Sorowako the Christian Karongsi’e, who prior to the 1950s lived in a neighbouring village on the shores of Lake Matano, began to return to the mining town that had grown up on the shores of the lake. Their village had been burned at the same time as Sorowako and they had been forcibly Islamised and taken to the refuge site (so as not to provide assistance to government troops). In around 1960 they had been rescued from the penyingkiran (evacuation site) by the TNI (Indonesian army) and taken to Malili. From there they dispersed into Central Sulawesi—and were fearful to return until after Reformasi. They trickled back and established a settlement (considered illegal by the local government and the mining company) and pressed claims for compensation for their lands, forcibly abandoned during the DI/TI period and now incorporated into the mine concession area (used for residences and a golf course). The land ‘compensation’ has been controversial since the 1970s, but the company considers the process complete with the group who self-identify as the orang asli Sorowako, who are Muslim. They have had difficulty gaining formal recognition of their claims to indigeneity and for consequent privileges in the mining community.
The Karongsi’e who have come back since 1998 argue that they have been dispossessed by the mining development and their claims have been taken up by international and national NGOs who support their status as the indigenous people in East Luwu. These claims are accepted by the current local government. A 2016 report of KOMNASHAM (Indonesian Commission in Human Rights) on’ indigenous people in forest areas’ focused on the Karongsi’e to the exclusion of the orang asli Sorowako (even though the groups are linked through kinship and marriage, language and shared history in the pre-colonial and colonial eras). The erroneous description in that report draws on accounts of the historical experience of the orang asli Sorowako at the hands of the mining company, confusingly attributing this experience to Karongsi’e. Significantly, it fails to account for their fundamental dispossession by the DI/TI. They are represented as dispossessed by the mining development. The KOMNASHAM report follows the ‘script’ set out by the AMAN (Aliansi Masyarakat Adat Nusantara, the principle advocacy group for customary rights), which calls for ‘inventorising’ claims, including mapping graves. The identity of Karongsi’e as Christian is downplayed as adherence to a world religion does not fit the AMAN script. Meanwhile, the people of Sorowako regularly travel back to the cemetery at the penyingkiran, to clean graves before important Islamic holidays. There are a lot of graves, many of babies and children. Like people in areas of political killings in 1964-5, the act of clearing their loved ones’ graves triggers the memories of the years of suffering under DI/TII rule.
But the violence of the DI/TI which occurred in South and Southeast Sulawesi (and linked movements in West Java and Aceh), a quotidian occurrence over around 15 years, have not been the subject of contemporary memory activism. Perhaps current political sensitivities around political Islam preclude addressing the trauma of those years. But reports from Afghanistan and contemporary memory activism teach us that memories of trauma run deep, as I and others have found among the Sulawesi survivors of DI/TI.
The author has published extensively on this topic over many decades. Not all that scholarship has been digitised yet, so we encourage readers to seek out, in particular, her 1983 journal article “Living in the hutan: jungle village life under the Darul Islam” Review of Indonesian and Malaysian Affairs, vol 17. pp. 208-229. Professor Robinson has also recently published Mosques and Imams: Everyday Islam in Eastern Indonesia (2020) Singapore: NUS press.
The United Liberation Movement of West Papua has blamed the Indonesian military over the attack at a hospital in Kiwirok, near the Papua New Guinean border, in which a nurse was killed.
Interim president Benny Wenda of the ULMWP has issued a statement in response to accusations by the Indonesian authorities against the West Papuan army, saying that the upsurge in violence is because of the militarisation of the region to protect business and a “destroy them” policy directive from Jakarta against West Papuan resistance.
But Wenda claimed, according to sources he has spoken to, the clash was started by an Indonesian migrant doctor threatening people with a pistol.
“This triggered a West Papua Army investigation. A nurse fled from the scene and fell down a slope, fatally injuring herself,” said Wenda.
Indonesia had deployed more than 21,000 new troops since December 2018, displacing tens of thousands of civilians from Nduga, Intan Jaya, Puncak Jaya and Sorong.
Not keeping Papuans safe
“These troops are not there to defend Indonesia’s ‘sovereignty’ or keep my people safe; they are there to protect illegal mining operations, to defend the palm oil plantations that are destroying our rainforest, and to help build the Trans-Papua Highway that will be used for Indonesian business – not for the people of West Papua,” Wenda said.
“The Indonesian government is creating violence and chaos to feed these troops. As the head of the Indonesian Parliament, Bambang Soesatyo, ordered, ‘destroy them first. We will discuss human rights matters later’.
“Indonesian soldiers murdered the two brothers in April last year. Months later troops tortured and killed the pastor,” Wenda said.
Indonesian soldiers to blame
“In both cases, the military blamed the West Papua Army for the attacks – but Indonesia’s own human rights commission and military courts found that Indonesian soldiers were to blame. A similar pattern will unfold with the events in Kiwirok.”
Wenda said Indonesia must allow the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights into West Papua to investigate this violence and produce an independent, fact-based report, in line with the call of 84 international states.
“Indonesia’s ban on media, human rights groups and aid agencies from entering West Papua must be immediately lifted. If Indonesia is telling the truth about these events, why continue to hide West Papua from the world?,” he said.
“This war will never end until President Widodo sits down with me to solve this issue. This is not about ‘development’, about how many bridges and roads are built.
“This is about our sovereignty, our right to self-determination — our survival.”
Southeast Asian countries have raised concerns that Canberra’s decision to develop and procure eight nuclear-powered submarines under a trilateral security partnership with the United Kingdom and United States, announced on 15 September and collectively known as AUKUS, will spark a regional arms race. The nuclear submarine initiative signals an end to Australia’s contract with French […]
As with rice, Indonesia experiences high sugar prices. Domestic sugar prices can be three times the average international price. Near the beginning of the COVID-19 outbreak last year, sugar prices rose a further 25 percent in some areas. Consumer sugar prices differ substantially between different regions, but even seemingly low prices are still high compared internationally. These inflated prices make for big profit margins, especially for importers. Indonesia imports over two thirds of its sugar. Although there are anti-sugar import protests, they do not produce the same sort of sensationalised outrage associated with rice imports.
Calls to reform Indonesia’s sugar trade often appear in media. Proponents for lowering prices on behalf of consumers and commercial users blame the government’s opaque import licensing and quota system for creating an uncompetitive sugar market. They claim allowing greater quantities of imported sugar does not lower prices as just a few groups have permission to import. Their efforts to reform the import license and quota system to lower sugar prices for consumers have little influence because those who profit from how things work now have few reasons to accept change.
Indonesia’s own sugar farmers and millers, represented by assertive and politically connected lobbying associations, want to preserve already high prices. So too do select bureaucrats, politicians, conglomerates, and their oligarchs, as well as state-owned enterprises that make windfalls from the structure of the existing sugar market. But perhaps less obviously, Indonesia’s security institutions benefit from sugar capital. They have profited from sugar since the birth of the Republic. Addressing high sugar prices requires addressing the sensitive issue of reforming security force financing practices that have been institutionalised since decolonisation. If modes of sugar patronage institutionalised in tumultuous periods of Indonesian history remain unaddressed, incremental changes to sugar-related regulations can only have a piecemeal effect on prices.
The roots of sugar capital
Enclaves of sugar production and processing fuelled the early colonial state’s capitalist development. Sugar production enabled the emergence of private Chinese and European entrepreneurs on Java, some of whom went onto become the entire region’s wealthiest oligarchs. Given sugar’s high value, the Dutch forced its production among other cash crops in the Culture System (Cultuurstelsel, 1830-1870). Before the Great Depression, Java was consistently the world’s second largest sugarcane producer and exporter after Cuba.
Sugar produced wealth for some but also cultivated insecurity. Declining sugar prices and sugar permit exceptionalism formed the foundations for ethnic violence that still lingers. Rigid state allocation of land for sugar production enabled conditions for famine. “Sugar lords” invested their profits into opium production. Crime such as theft and holdups increased around the trade of sugar. Thugs became more prominent in villages with elites using them to expand and protect land used for sugar cultivation as well as to discipline labour. Villagers that protested about falling sugar prices as well as forced land conversion could find their crops torched, or alternatively they burnt down plantations’ sugarcane crops in acts of resistance. In response, colonial police became deeply entangled with sugar. Dutch police (Marechaussee) battalions were posted to Java to curb sugarcane theft as well as arson attacks on sugar plantations. After the Japanese occupation began, military police (Kempetai) took over sugar plantations and coercively extracted from wealthy sugar-rich families.
Stamp from 1960 showing a railway track running through sugarcane fields (public domain)
Newly independent Indonesia was similarly dependent on sugar. After the Second World War and the National Revolution, Indonesia had less than half of its sugar processing capacity. Early governments needed to generate revenue to engage in trade for necessary machinery and textiles, which they did by reviving the decimated sugar industry. Private smallholder sugarcane farming occurred but its scale remained minor. Revival really meant securing and funding plantations. Revival also meant the sugar industry’s colonial-era sins, such as heinous working conditions and extortion, were largely unaddressed. Many state officials became entangled with private capital to take over Dutch sugar enterprises. Independence leaders and officials’ quick decisions made to support the national economy meant the structure of colonial sugar cultivation and processing was retained during decolonisation (Indonesianisasi).
While there was structural continuity, political tensions among workers at sugar plantations found new avenues for expression. During the “be prepared” (bersiap) period of the revolution (August 1945 to December 1946), long pent-up resentment felt at some sugar factories erupted in violence and murder. Sugar plantation workers became deeply involved in the new nation’s political change and many later returned to work at plantations as hardened revolutionaries. Sugar plantation unions, which colonisers had crushed, emerged again with connections to ideologically driven political parties and Islamic organisations. During this period, the independent state was often without the means to sustain control for extracting revenue in sugar enclaves. In the years immediately after the National Revolution, the amount of sugarcane plantation destroyed or stolen reached between 15 and 20 percent annually. Like its colonial predecessors, the newly independent government’s attempts to maintain control included assigning soldiersand police to protect sugar plantations.
Military involvement in sugar became even more entrenched after plantation nationalisation and Sukarno’s authoritarian turn in 1957. As newly formed state sugar plantation companies gained control over formerly Dutch enterprises, soldiers became more heavily involved to supervise financial administration, and deal with land and labour disputes. Military leaders needed to find money for their underfunded units or departments and sugar plantations were a useful source of revenue. The practice of soldiers extracting from the sugar trade occurred beyond plantations, too. A prominent example of military engagement in the sugar trade in this period involved a future president, Suharto.
From the late 1940s, Suharto—then a Lieutenant Colonel – lent army trucks to businessmen for sugar transport. He also purchased, or even sometimes seized, sugar from mills to sell onto middlemen. Later in 1957, while commanding a deep-water port in the city of Semarang, Suharto collaborated with future oligarchs such as Sudono Salim (Liem Sioe Liong) and Bob Hasan (The Kiang Seng) to smuggle and export sugar to Singapore. According to biographer David Jenkins “extortion and straight-out theft” describes Suharto’s operation at the port in those years. Suharto’s racketeering even meant he was nearly dismissed from his position by army chief of staff General Nasution.
Suharto with Let. Gen. Leo Lopulisa at a North Sumateran military food project in 1968
Once Suharto became president, his militarised government further entangled itself with sugar production and processing to generate revenue. The government created state-owned sugar plantation companies out of the nationalised Dutch estates. These companies milled most domestically sourced sugar even as private smallholders became more important to overall sugar production. But really, sugar producing smallholders participated in state directed sugar distribution chains despite a veneer of change. The New Order government initially maintained a long-term system of forcing sugarcane farmers to rent land to mills. A regulation that was introduced to increase production efficiency by ending forced land rental, also had the effect of enabling village elites to dispossess smallholders of land. Those elites then sold sugar into the same state-owned mills. Moreover, soldiers and the police, in conjunction with irrigation officials, determined allocation of smallholder lands for sugarcane production.
Further up the sugar chain, the National Logistics Agency (Badan Urusan Logistik, Bulog), partly led by former soldiers, absorbed output from mills and became the sole trader of sugar. Bulog licenced sugar import and distribution contracts to Suharto’s cronies, including conglomerates controlled by his children as well as Sudono Salim. These contracts were very lucrative as Indonesia became, in the 1980s, one of the largest sugar importers in the World. This dominance meant Bulog had an enormous influence on prices.
Post Suharto sugar marketcraft
After Suharto’s downfall, the longstanding dynamic of prosperity and crime continued to coalesce around sugar. The removal of Bulog’s monopolies in 1999 meant imported sugar readily flowed into Indonesia and caused a sharp price decline. This new competitiveness caused a shock to sugarcane farmers as well as mills, represented by their associations. The emergence of agricultural commodity farming and trading associations are feature of post Suharto democratisation. There are many such associations for sugar.
The interests of diverse sugar associations, such as the Association of Indonesian Sugarcane Farmers (APTRI), the Association of Sugar and Flour Entrepreneurs (APEGTI), and the Indonesian Sugar Association (AGI), the latter with its membership comprised mostly of state-owned plantations, aligned in response to the price decline. They aggressively lobbied the government for re-introduction of sugar import restrictions and were successful in 2002. Soon after, just several state-owned plantations were legally able to bring sugar into the country. The government reintroduced these sugar import restrictions just as it was introducing decentralisation reforms that meant local governments gained more power to act in the sugar trade. The subsequent confusing regulatory landscape and the sidelining of private sugar merchants that prospered briefly after Suharto’s downfall led to a re-emergence of sugar smuggling.
Near the estuary of the Asahan River in North Sumatra is a small port almost opposite Malaysia’s Port Klang, a special trade zone around 180 kilometres away. Many such “veins” for smuggling contraband exist along the coast, but from this small port many thousands of tons of sugar flowed into Indonesia illegally after the re-introduction of import restrictions. The small port lays next to a highway. After unloading, workers quickly transferred contraband sugar onto waiting trucks and whisked it towards metropoles to become mixed into value chains trading legitimate sugar.
For many smugglers, the possibility of finding fortune in smuggled sugar was worth the minimal risk of jailtime. Making illegally imported sugar legitimate was not particularly problematic. One regular method included smugglers paying officials to create permits to legalise sugar after it was already in Indonesia. A reporter aptly said the restrictive sugar regulations “crumbled like donut dough in the hands of an official wanting an envelope (angpau)”. Moreover, the threat from the state for enforcement was not asymmetrical. A high-ranking customs official near the port claimed there were only 20 officers to deal with a nearby city full of smugglers. One junior leader at the port believed thugs (preman) would react strongly if their livelihoods dependent on sugar trade became disturbed.
But there were some arrests. One notable sugar-related arrest in the early post-Suharto period was a Golkar politician from South Sulawesi, Nurdin Halid. He held prominent leadership positions. Aside from being one of the Golkar party’s main leaders, he was head of the All-Indonesian Football Association (PSSI) (2003-2011), as well as Indonesia’s Cooperative Council (Dewan Koperasi Indonesia, Dekopin)(1999-2004, 2009-2019)—a representative body for savings and small loan banks. While a member of the parliamentary commission on trade Halid, along with his brother and several cronies, took part in a swindle involving more than 73,000 tonnes of illegally imported sugar. The police, rather than the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) that was then operating at a more limited capacity, were involved in prosecuting Halid’s sugar smuggling case. Eventually the illegal sugar import charges against Halid were dropped, but he was nevertheless jailed for other commodity trading cons.
Further details about Halid’s links with sugar and the police reveals a more complicated picture. Just after Halid went to prison in September 2007, thieves stole 3,000 tonnes of his sugar from South Sulawesi Customs. In addition to the customs warehouse manager and supervisor, the police investigated one of their own, a midranking officer described as a witness to the theft. After prison Halid was elected head of Dekopin for two more five-year terms over the decade 2009 to 2019 and was only recently ousted trying for another. A prominent member of Dekopin is the police employee cooperative (Induk Koperasi Kepolisian, Inkoppol), which is itself involved in the sugar trade.
Police and military employee cooperatives invest in raw sugar importation. These investments are partly justified in terms of helping control consumer prices as well as supporting their budgets. Their participation in sugar importation is above board and, despite criticism from national auditing authorities and members of civil society, occurred with ministerial approval. A 2005 review for police finance reform even saw increasing revenue at police cooperatives as a solution to help curb other sources of informal financing while addressing the institution’s budget shortfalls. Police and military cooperatives help import raw sugar from overseas for processing with several members of the Indonesian Refined Sugar Association (AGRI) which formed in 2004 soon after restrictive import controls were introduced.
Polda Metro Jaya in the Sudirman Central Business District (SCBD). The SCBD is a development of the Artha Graha group. Cropped photo by Dino Adyansyah on Flickr. (CC BY 2.0)
Conglomerates owned by oligarchs, some of whom have long established links to security forces, fund these sugar-refining enterprises and have significant access to an exclusive domestic sugar market. Membership of sugar markets regulates companies means to trade. Politically connected sugar players themselves sometimes even own commodity trading markets. One such figure is Tomy Winata, a tycoon with links to security forces and political parties. His conglomerate Artha Graha owns the Jakarta Commodities Market (Pasar Komoditas Jakarta, PKJ) designated by the government for large-scale sugar trade auctions. In addition to owning a government-designated market for sugar trading, Artha Graha owns one of the companies that trades there, which is also a member of AGRI, and is a major sugar importer in conjunction with Inkoppol.
AGRI members’ appear likely to benefit further from regulation stemming from the controversial Omnibus Job Creation Law (Undang Undang Cipta Kerja No.11/2020). Sugar related regulation in the law and Ministry of Trade regulations could mean only state plantations and large industrial-scale sugar traders, nicknamed “samurai”, are able access sugar import licenses. Many of the eleven “samurai” businesses are members of AGRI. Powerful Coordinating Minister for Maritime Affairs, and former General, Luhut Panjaitan said, “Sugar will be imported only by the food industry that needs it. So it’s not from other people so it doesn’t become a game”. Some industrial users of refined sugar, along with Indonesian Entrepreneur’s Association, worry that this new regulation goes against previous attempts to enable more competition, and will lead to further entrenchment of AGRI members’ dominance in the sugar trade. But before accepting the two differing positions as opposite sides in a hypothetical debate, it is worth asking who is actually willing to compete with entrenched players in Indonesia’s sugar markets?
‘A fuss about sugar’, the cover of Tempo magazine, No 39, 22 Nov 1980
At the subnational level, newer sugar traders have links to coercive power, sometimes including security institutions beyond the police and military. For example, according to some research, former members of the Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, GAM) connected to former two-time Governor (2007-2012 and 2017-2018) Irwandi Yusuf, were awarded many of the province’s sugar quota licenses between 2007 and 2012. Importers more removed from the former Governor’s immediate patronage network then purchased these licenses with agreements that allowed the original holders cuts, without having to involve themselves in sugar distribution. These relations of sugar patronage are part of a broader “combatants to contractors” transition also found in Aceh’s construction sector.
Other new sugar players use existing political connections that competitors lack. For example, former Minister of Agriculture Amran Sulaiman allegedly sped up the approval process for the construction of what is now now the largest sugar plantation and processing factory in Indonesia. From 2016, the government requested tender submissions for an enormous new sugar plantation and factory located in Bombana, Southeast Sulawesi. The government promoted this new plantation and factory as necessary in terms of reducing dependency on foreign sugar. Of the 300 submissions to acquire the rights for sugar the plantation, Sulaiman’s cousin and former deputy treasurer for the Jokowi-Maruf Amin presidential campaign, Andi Syamsuddin Arsyad (also known as ‘Crazy Rich’ Haji Isam), a coal magnate, gained the license.
In October 2020, President Jokowi opened the sugar factory in Bombana declaring, with Sulaiman and Haji Isam present: “This is courage. Courage to open an investment and business in this place. This is what we must appreciate and value.” His remarks sounded as though he had arrived at a Wild West frontier with land of little value. Wealth from small-scale gold mining on the land converted for sugar plantation actually flowed into the area’s off-budget economy. But the conversion of thousands of hectares for sugar production and the factory dispossessed farmers who valued the land.
“Can Indonesia have food security without security?” Colum Graham looks at who really benefits from the government’s recent measures to address Indonesia’s food crisis.
Available coverage of the sugar plantation development at Bombana suggests there was an absence of protest from the dispossessed. But elsewhere recently, land conflict at sugar plantations has been intense. One recent case of land conflict in Tulang Bawang regency in the province of Lampung illustrates the power of plantations backed by security forces with stakes in sugar capital. For a long time, the land now used by the Bangun Nusa Indah Lampung (BNIL) company has been a site of conflict. In the early 1990s, security forces allegedly used gunfire to herd elephants from a national park through nearby transmigrant villages to make residents flee and assist BNIL to claim the land. Reports from human rights organisations say villagers had to sign miserly compensation agreements, which they only later discovered were for land, or face torture.
Tensions between BNIL and surrounding communities, many comprised of transmigrant villagers, were fraught for two decades before boiling over in 2015. Given sugar’s high price and its national prioritisation, some companies use it to replace other cash crops. BNIL even wanted to replace palm oil in its plantation with sugarcane. But then-Regent of Tulang Bawang Hanan Rozak, now a member of national parliament, refused BNIL’s request to convert palm oil land for sugar production because their application did not include an environmental impact assessment.
The Regent’s refusal became entangled with broader longstanding communal grievance about the legitimacy of BNIL’s land claim and threats to employment. Emboldened, thousands of aggrieved members of the “Farmers Union of BNIL Eviction Victims” attempted to occupy the plantation. Protests about BNIL even reached the presidential palace in Jakarta. In October 2016, conflict between members of the farmer union occupying the plantation and ‘Self-Sufficient Community Security Forces’ (Pam Swakarsa) protecting it erupted. Dozens of motorbikes and security posts were torched. With the clashes serving as additional justification, the actual police moved in, disbursed the occupiers, and arrested the accused ringleaders of the occupation including a charismatic priest Sugianto, who reportedly attempted to ensure occupation was nonviolent.
While we might look at this case in isolation as reported, we should see it as part of a broader pattern of sugar politics. Much about this disbursal of Farmers Union of BNIL Victims by the police reproduces the long-term relations between security forces and plantations that we have seen earlier in this brief chronology of the political economy of sugar in Indonesia.
Nowadays, BNIL cultivates sugarcane.
What is new?
Aside from the emergence of representative sugar business associations in the post Suharto democratic landscape, then Regent Hanan Rozak’s rejection of BNIL’s land conversion request in 2015 might indicate potential separation between the power of sugar capital and political decisions in one regency of Lampung province. But further analysis of the province’s elections indicate sugar capital actually saturates its politics.
“Can Indonesia have food security without security?” Colum Graham looks at who really benefits from the government’s recent measures to address Indonesia’s food crisis.
Just one hundred kilometres southeast of the BNIL sugar plantation by road is another owned by the Sugar Group. Ridho Ficardo, the son of one of Sugar Group’s directors, became the youngest ever Governor of Lampung in 2014 at 33 years of age. The company, famous for its popular Gulaku shelf-product found in Indomaret and most grocery stores, funded Ridho’s costly campaign to have someone in power to regulate on its behalf. In the most recent 2018 Lampung gubernatorial election, despite their man Ridho running as incumbent, the company backed the eventual winner, Arinal Djunaidi, too.
But that news of sugar scandals even appears at least allows for recognition of what is problematic. Corruption within Indonesia’s state-owned sugar plantations in the last decade, such as sugar distributioncontracts and tender process bribery involving plantation bureaucrats, has frequently appeared in the news. Beyond the case of Nurdin Halid, other prominent politicians’ careers have recently ended because of underhanded dealings in the sugar trade. For instance, Irman Gusman, former speaker (2009-2016) of the Regional Representative Council (DPD), received a four-and-a-half-year sentence in prison (later reduced to three) in 2017 for accepting bribes for sugar purchasing licenses in West Sumatera.
More prominently, former Minister for Trade Enggartiasto Lukita (2016-2019) was linked to bribery for sugar auction permits in a recent corruption case. In the trial of former Golkar parliamentarian Bowo Sidik Pangarso—prominent for planned “dawn attack” vote buying in the 2019 elections and now himself in prison for fertilizer bribery—a witness accused the former Trade Minister of offering a bribe to Pangarso for securing PKJ as the designated government sugar auctioning market. When questioned about the accusation Lukita denied involvement, but just a few months later he lost his position in Jokowi’s second term cabinet without clear public explanation.
Rather than see such sugar scandals—be they land conflicts, instances of corruption, collusion, or high prices—in isolation, recognising the context that enabled them is useful for understanding possibilities for moving forward. The effects of decisions about sugar made during tumultuous periods in Indonesian history linger into the contemporary era. Progress may mean political leaders’ revise decisions made long ago in totally different economic contexts and disrupt entrenched sugar patronage networks. Unwinding relations of sugar patronage is all the more difficult without also reforming security force financing. Further, lowering high sugar prices may not be a useful goal in terms of public health. Diabetes and other sugar related illnesses are increasingly prevalent in Indonesia. Leaders and officials will want to make quick decisions about these difficult issues as they have done in the past. But sidestepping sugar’s actual political economy and its roots as too difficult may render any future reforms toothless.
It seems utterly beyond debate but acknowledging legal rights to clean air has assumed the makings of a slow march over the years. The 1956 Clean Air Act in Britain arose from the lethal effects of London’s 1952 killer smog, which is said to have taken some 12,000 lives. The Act granted powers to establish smoke-free zones and subsidise householders to shift to the use of cleaner fuels (gas, electricity, smokeless solid fuel).
There is certainly no shortage of advocates for the self-evident point that clean air is vital. Some of this has been reduced – at least historically – to an issue about the non-smoker’s wish not to have the air clouded by the selfish actions of a smoker. But this is small beer when compared to the general levels of global pollution that keeps the Grim Reaper busy on an annual basis. According to the World Health Organization, air pollution kills 7 million or so people each year, with 9 out of 10 people breathing air “that exceeds WHO guideline limits containing high levels of pollutants, with low- and middle-income countries suffering from the highest exposures.”
In 2019, the UN Special Rapporteur on human rights and the environment David R. Boyd noted approvingly that a majority of States had, be it through their constitutions, statutes and regional treaties, recognised the right to a healthy environment. But recognition for such a right on a global level remained an unfulfilled object. The UN General Assembly, for instance, may have adopted a range of resolutions on the right to clean water, but never on the right to clean air. This is despite such a right being, according to Boyd, “implicit in a number of international human rights instruments, including the Universal Declaration to Human Rights (right to adequate standard of living), the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (right to life) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (right to health).”
This month, a flutter of interest was caused by a ruling in the Central Jakarta District Court on a lawsuit lodged two years before accusing the Indonesian government of unlawfully permitting air pollution in the capital to exceed permissible, healthy limits. Citizens such as Istu Prayogi, who had never so much as touched a cigarette in their lives, joined the suit after his lungs revealed the sort of lung damage that would arise from being a heroic, persistent smoker.
The unanimous decision by the three-judge panel found that the seven officials concerned, including President Joko Widodo, three cabinet ministers and the governors of Jakarta, Banten and West Java were negligent in not upholding environmental standards. As Duta Baskara, one of the panel members observed, “They have been negligent in fulfilling the rights of citizens to a good and healthy environment.” The judges, however, dismissed the applicants’ submission claiming that the president had violated human rights.
The court directed that the seven officials take serious action to guarantee the rights of Jakarta’s residents by improving air-quality regulations and implementing measures to protect human health, the environment and ecosystems informed by science and technology. Environmental laws would also have to be policed more rigorously, along with the imposition of sanctions for offenders.
The scale of this effort is hard to exaggerate. On June 4, 2019, Jakarta registered the worst air quality in the world, if one takes the readings of the air quality monitoring app AirVisual as accurate. At 210 on the Air Quality Index (AQI), the city keeps ahead of the pack of other polluters such as New Delhi, Beijing and Dubai.
Rapporteur Boyd also offered his services to the 32 applicants, writing in his supporting brief that, “Protecting human rights from the harmful effects of air pollution is a constitutional and legislative obligation for governments in Indonesia, not an option.” The director of the Indonesian Forum for the Environment, Nur Hidayati, affirmed this view to The Jakarta Post in early June that breathing “clean air is our right that the government has to fulfil.”
These are not positions plucked out of some speculative realm of legal reasoning. The right to clean air in Indonesia is guaranteed by such legal documents as the country’s 1945 Constitution and the 1999 Law on Environmental Protection and Management. But the writ of law is not always a guarantee of its policing.
Before the September decision, Jakarta’s governor, Anies Baswedan, did not feel that a ruling against the authorities would cause much fuss. As the governor’s climate change envoy Irvan Pulunga explained, “The governor doesn’t see this lawsuit as a disturbance to the government’s work but a vehicle for collaboration.” Pulungan also insisted that improvements had been made to the city’s air quality over the course of two years.
This tune coming from the office of president has been somewhat different, more a case of fleeing rather than addressing a problem. In part, this is understandable, given that Jakarta has become a city of nightmares for policy makers, urban planners and the authorities. Few such concentrations of humanity on the planet are as plagued by environmental concerns. To debilitating air pollution can be added flooding, regular seismic activity and gradual subsidence.
Only a month after the lawsuit was filed, the president proposed relocating the capital to another spot to be built in East Kalimantan on the island of Borneo. “The burden Jakarta is holding right now,” he claimed at the time, “is too heavy as the centre of governance, business, finance, trade and services.” Such moves promise to abandon one problem by creating another, given the risks posed to the environment of East Kalimantan.
Showing a spirit not exactly collaborative in nature, an appeal against the ruling is expected by the government. Jakarta’s governor, in particular, finds himself facing a range of orders from the court, including designing environmental “strategies” and policies to mitigate the air pollution” under the direction of the supervision of the Home Affairs Minister.
Modest as it is, the victory for the applicants in the Central Jakarta District Court shows, at the very least, that courts remain an increasingly important forum to force the hand of legislatures in ensuring that something so elementarily vital is not just seen as a right but enforced as one.
The Indonesian government has used the covid-19 pandemic as a pretext to crack down on West Papuan street protests and to impose online censorship, according to new research published by the human rights watchdog TAPOL.
Covid-19 protocols have given more power to the police and military to crush protests but they are not fairly implemented across Indonesia in general.
Peaceful demonstrators, student activists, West Papuan and Indonesian political activist groups, human rights lawyers and defenders and individual civilians experienced extreme repression during 2020 in West Papua and outside West Papua.
The report includes specific recommendations for the Indonesian government and the international community.
“Online and offline repression in 2020 left almost no space in which West Papuans, or West Papua-related issues, or protest in general, could be freely conducted,” said Pelagio Doutel of TAPOL.
Doutel called on the Indonesian government to desist from using its own covid-19 protocols to stop free expression, especially treason charges which were in almost all cases “disproportionate” to alleged offences.
Call to uphold human rights
He also called on international groups to ensure that the Indonesian government fulfilled its legal obligations by upholding human rights and not arbitrarily criminalising West Papuans.
The report details repression, consisting of arbitrary dispersals, arbitrary arrests, terror and intimidation, internet shutdowns or cyber attacks against those speaking out in support of West Papua’s self-determination and against the Indonesian government’s treatment of West Papuans.
The Indonesian police and military were responsible for most of the repression but some actions were carried out by Indonesian right-wing reactionary militias, academic institutions and civilian administrative authorities.
Regions such as West Papua have seen increasing numbers of the security forces deployed on the streets.
Security forces arrested as many as 443 people. Of this number, 297 were arrested in West Papua, with 146 people arrested outside West Papua.
The authorities charged 18 people with treason, all of whom were West Papuans.
Various arbitrary dispersals took place during protests about West Papua, with dozens of intimidation and harassment incidents taking place before and during protest dispersals.
Intimidation and harassment
Intimidation and harassment also took place online.
Many West Papua-related public discussions that were held online were attacked by unknown individuals with the intention of disrupting them, and event speakers received intimidating phone calls and threatening messages.
Protests in West Papua continued in 2020 due to ongoing issues of political prisoners, arrested during 2019, and the renewal of the special autonomy law (otsus, otonomi khusus) in West Papua.
Protests against the Omnibus Law were also held in Indonesia in general, including in West Papua.
Trials of several high profile Papuan political prisoners from the 2019 West Papua Uprising took place at the beginning of 2020.
As a result, many street protests and public discussions were held to support and demand the release of political prisoners.
Human rights groups say revelations that Australia sat on its hands after learning of Indonesian military atrocities against West Papuan demonstrators are “deeply disturbing” and should prompt an independent investigation.
A newly released unredacted intelligence report, shared with the Guardian, shows the Australian government had compelling evidence that the Indonesian military fired live rounds indiscriminately into a group of unarmed West Papuan demonstrators on the island of Biak on 6 July 1998.
The criminalisation of activists — including those in West Papua — in 2019 and 2020 has been cited as one of the factors for the decline in the quality of democracy in Indonesia.
Based on a report by the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU), democracy in Indonesia scored its worst figure ever with a score of 6.3 and was placed 64th out of 167 countries.
Advocacy Team for Democracy (TAUD) member Teo Reffelsen said that the criminalisation of activists contributed to Indonesia’s poor record on civil freedoms.
“It has been marked by the criminalisation of expression and public opinion, through to repressive actions ridden with violence,” said Reffelsen in a media release, reports CNN Indonesia.
Between 2019 and 2020, said Reffelsen, TAUD recorded at last 10 incidents of the criminalisation of activists in Indonesia.
This included six Papuan activists — Watchdoc founder and senor journalist Dandhy Dwi Laksono, Jakarta State University (UNJ) sociologist Robertus Robet, musician Ananda Badudu, Papua Student Alliance (AMP) lawyer and human rights activist Veronica Koman and public policy activist Ravio Patra.
Also, 5198 demonstrators were arrested during the protests against the Omnibus Law on Job Creation in September and October 2019, Save Indonesia Action Coalition (KAMI) activists Syahganda Nainggolan and Jumhur Hidayat along with Banda Aceh Syiah Kuala University lecturer Saiful Mahdi.
12 cases in 2021
In 2021, TAUD recorded at last 12 cases of criminalisation of activists. Two of these cases were related to senior state officials, namely Presidential Chief of Staff Moeldoko and Coordinating Minister for Maritime Affairs and Investment Luhut Binsar Pandjaitan.
“The criminalisation of two Indonesian Corruption Watch (ICW) researchers, Egi [Primayogha] and Miftah, threats of criminalisation against [rights activist] Haris Azhar from the Lokataru [Foundation] and Fatia Maulidiyanti from Kontras [Commission for Missing Persons and Victims of Violence],” wrote Reffelsen.
Reffelsen also said they found several cases of attacks on civil freedoms in the form of doxing or attacks in digital space against people who were critical of the government such as those suffered by Ravio Patra and critical online media Tempo.co and Tirto.id.
“The [police] cyber patrols which were legitimised by an instruction by the Indonesian police chief is another example,” said Reffelsen.
Apart from civil freedoms, another factor was that it appeared as if the government lacked the involvement of public participation in policy formulation.
The enactment to revisions to the Corruption Eradication Commission Law, the Omnibus Law and other legislation were examples.
Another aspect was actions by law enforcement agencies such as the judiciary which were seen as corrupt and the lack of seriousness on the part of the government to resolve human rights violations.
“The decline in Indonesia’s democratic index is in keeping with TAUD’s findings on the ground, primarily in relation to civil freedoms which have shrunk,” said Reffelsen.
The West Papua National Committee (KNPB) claims that an attack on a military post in Maybrat regency earlier this month is being used as a pretext to “force the KNPB into a corner” and to criminalise them, reports Suara Papua.
The September 2 attack on Kisor sub-district military post in Maybrat regency, West Papua province, killed four soldiers.
“There are vested interests and a plot by certain parties behind the killing for four TNI [Indonesian military] members at Kisor, Maybrat,” claimed KNPB spokesperson Ones Suhuniap in a statement sent to Suara Papua newspaper.
“First multinational palm oil companies, which are currently challenging [the cancellation of] permits in the western Birds Head region,” he said.
“Second, the construction of [new] Koramil [sub-district military commands] in several districts in South Sorong and Maybrat regencies.
“Third, the additional deployment of troops on the grounds of securing the PON XX Papua [20th Papua National Games].”
Suhuniap said the incident was a plot and a trap which had been arranged to distract public attention from a challenge by four palm oil companies with the Jayapura State Administrative Court (PTUN) against Sorong Regent Jhony Kamuru’s decision to revoke their permits.
Legalising Trans-Papua Highway posts
The “plot” was also to legalise and accelerate the construction of sub-district military posts and TNI and Indonesian police posts on the Trans-Papua highway connecting Manokwari and Sorong.
Suhuniap said that for the KNPB such a plot was nothing new and these methods were often used in Papua, especially against the KNPB.
As has been reported, the police claimed that a member of the civil society KNPB was involved in the attack, namely the movement’s chairperson in the Kisor sector.
However, what their alleged motive was and why they were involved, along with who the mastermind was behind the 19 people declared responsible for the attack had not been cited by the police.
Suhuniap said that if there were KNPB Maybrat members involved then there was a third party which provoked or trapped them into it and so it was necessary to discover the mastermind and what their interests were.
The KNPB did not kill or act in a hostile way towards other people, including the TNI and police, Suhuniap said.
“There is no agenda of murder directed against the authorities or special organisational instruction to attack members of the TNI and Indonesian police,” he said.
Investigation needed
“So the police must delve into and investigate this case further. Who was the mastermind behind the attack? Don’t criminalise the KNPB.” he said.
If the investigation found that KNPB members were proven to have been involved in the attack then their actions were taken as individuals, not the organisation.
“We as an organisation [the KNPB] have never carried out sabotage or urban guerrilla actions,” he said.
Suhuniap also said the attack was part of an Indonesian effort to counter public demands from within Papua and internationally for the release of KNPB international spokesperson Victor Yeimo.
“The state is shaping public opinion to distract the Papuan people’s attention from Victor Yeimo’s release and creating a sense of fear,” he said.
“Indonesian colonialism through its intelligence [services] are shaping public opinion and distracting the Papuan people’s attention by accusing the KNPB of being involved in the attack on the soldiers in Kisor.
“We believe that this effort to distract public attention is a cheap sort of intelligence propaganda to destroy and criminalise the KNPB.”
Suhuniap called on colleagues from West Papua’s 112 resistance movement organisations and all Papuan people to remain solid and not be influenced by the manipulation of public opinion.
“The Papuan people must be consistent in rejecting the extension of special autonomy, the unconditional release of Victor Yeimo and demanding the right to self-determination,” he said.
3Mins Read Domino’s Indonesia has just added two new meatless items to its menu, developed in partnership with homegrown startup Green Rebel Foods. The two new Asian-inspired pies will be topped with Green Rebel’s vegan-friendly beefless shreds, and are now available across all Domino’s 162 outlets in the country. World-famous pizza chain Domino’s has expanded its plant-based […]
A West Papuan group seeking self-determination has greeted Papua New Guinea on its 46th anniversary of independence, predicting that one day the artificial colonial border separating the two would “fall like the Berlin Wall”.
“I know that one day all of New Guinea, from Sorong to Samarai, will celebrate true independence and enjoy God’s creation on our green island. This is our long-term dream.
“With one half unfree, our island is not complete.
“We are one island, with one ancestor. Just because a colonial border separates us, does not mean we are destined to be apart forever.
“One day this artificial line will fall like the Berlin Wall, bringing our people together once more.”
Wenda said in a statement it was in “my heart’s dream to see elders from each half of the island meet and watch their grandchildren dance together in peace like the Bird of Paradise”.
He said Papuans continued to dream of liberating the people of West Papua from tyranny, 21st colonialism imposed by the Indonesian government.
“You have reached your 46th year of sovereignty – we have been fighting for the last 58 years for independence and freedom,” said Wenda.
Exiled Papuan leader Benny Wenda … “the new generation, in West Papua and PNG, must fight to liberate the rest of New Guinea”. Image: Office of Benny Wenda
“We will pray for your celebrations and thank the forefathers who liberated PNG.”
On the other side of the island, said Wenda, Papuans still struggled for their freedom, but their forefathers had already set their destiny.
“Now the new generation, in West Papua and PNG, must fight to liberate the rest of New Guinea,” he said.
“One day we will join these independence celebrations hand-in-hand, with the Morning Star [banned in Indonesia] raised alongside the PNG flag. We will stand together and celebrate together.”
While Papua New Guinea gained its independence from Australia in 1975, West Papuans declared independence in 1961 but this was overturned in a non-democratic referendum in 1969 — the so-called Act of Free Choice — after Indonesian paratroopers had invaded Papua, then a colony of The Netherlands.
How did this book come about? Both of us are historians of psychiatry, and we frequently met at conferences when Hans was living in North America. One of most fascinating topics in the history of psychiatry is the appearance, increasing popularity, and disappearance of psychiatric diagnoses over time. Mark has written about the history of hysteria —once commonly diagnosed, now rarely identified. After moving to Sydney, Australia, some 20 years ago, Hans became interested in [link] psychiatry and mental health care in Indonesia—its past, present state, and future. In Indonesia, not surprisingly, psychiatry looks somewhat different. It is not possible to transplant North American theories and treatments to clinical presentations in other parts of the world without modification and adaptation.
Today, one of the most widely used diagnostic categories in psychiatry is Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It was officially recognised by the American Psychiatric Association in 1980, when it was included in the third edition of its authoritative Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-III), nicknamed the “Bible of Psychiatry.” PTSD captures the psychological after-effects experienced by individuals who have been exposed to extreme violence or catastrophic events “outside the realm of normal human experience.” These include bombing, torture, death camps, military combat, physical or sexual assault, and natural disasters. Initially, the PTSD diagnosis was primarily applied to Vietnam veterans, Holocaust survivors, and women who had suffered domestic and sexual abuse.
The concept of PTSD has various uses within psychiatry. But trauma and PTSD often appear in discussions of non-psychiatrists and non-physicians as well. As historians, we view debates about trauma as ways to cast light on violence and horrific experiences—how they come about, their nature, and what can be done about them. These debates are socially, culturally, and politically highly significant.
Before the publication of DSM-III, psychiatrists and others used a range of terms to describe the psychological effects of war and severe accidents. These included shellshock, war neurosis, railway spine, combat fatigue, and combat stress. In 2001, Mark co-edited an influential volume on this topic with Paul Lerner and noted that many of these diagnostic categories fell in and out of favour over time. In contrast, PTSD’s popularity in the Western world has steadily increased. According to some critics, PTSD is now ubiquitous in Western society. According to these critics, the condition is increasingly diagnosed in individuals who have experienced less severe traumas, thereby potentially trivialising the diagnosis.
Hans and Mark met again in 2017, when Mark was invited by the University of Newcastle, Australia, for a 2-month visit. Over several beers, Hans convinced Mark that Traumatic Pasts deserved a sequel focusing on the non-Western world. Because of Hans’ work in Indonesia and his familiarity with the history of psychiatry and mental health in Asia, he suggested co-editing a volume focusing on Asia. Traumatic Pasts in Asia is the outcome.
Traumatising events are not unique to the West. People in Asia have been repeatedly exposed to deeply traumatic events including military violence and occupation, civil war, torture, terrorism, and acts of genocide, as well as natural disasters such as volcanic eruptions, tropical storms, floods (including the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami), earthquakes, and prolonged droughts. Critics of Western and global psychiatry have argued that Western diagnostic categories, in particular PTSD, do not adequately capture the way people in the rest of the world react to severe trauma.
The contributors to Traumatic Pasts in Asia investigate how people in Asia have reacted to traumatising events by rebuilding their communities and by developing individual and collective repertoires to overcome trauma, regain a sense of equilibrium, and foster resilience. They focus on how they found ways of rebuilding their communities and their sense of self. Some contributors have focused on the extent to which Western diagnostic categories have influenced the ideas and approaches of local health personnel. Others analyse the way people in Asia have dealt with traumatic events without resorting to medical theories and approaches.
The chapters in the book are written by historians and anthropologists—a fruitful combination, because combining approaches from both disciplines leads to unusually good insights. The volume’s historians have analysed trauma-related diagnostic categories over time, while its anthropologists have investigated the unique features of how people in various Asian contexts react to traumatic events.
Traumatic Pasts in Asia contains historical chapters on Japan, Taiwan, Korea, and Vietnam. Eri Nakamura analyses how German ideas on trauma influenced Japanese military psychiatry during World War II. Even though psychiatrists publicly denied that soldiers of the Imperial Army could succumb to trauma, they still identified soldiers who had broken down. Before World War II, as Harry Wu describes, Japanese physicians investigated the psychological after-effects of a volcanic eruption in Taiwan—long before natural disasters became of interest of psychiatrists elsewhere. Ran Zwigenberg investigates the complete absence of research on the trauma among atomic bomb survivors in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in post-war Japan. Even though these individuals were obvious candidates for this kind of research, it was never conducted, for various political reasons.
Jennifer Yum-Park analyses the enthusiastic reception of American approaches to war neurosis and combat stress (“Yankee-style trauma”) among Korean physicians during the Korean war. In a path-breaking essay, Narquis Barak investigates the reactions of Vietnamese psychiatrists and physicians during the Vietnamese War (called the American war in Vietnam). Up to this day, Vietnamese psychiatrists argue that there is no PTSD in Vietnam. Neither the Korean nor the Vietnamese story have been told before.
Vannessa Hearman focuses on the exchange of letters between a female political prisoner in Suharto’s Indonesia and a British woman Quaker. These letters provided the only source of contact with the outside world for this prisoner and helped her to survive. Dyah Pitaloka and Mohan J. Dutta investigate the performances of the Indonesian Dialita choir. Its members are women who survived the horrors of the aftermath of Suharto’s coup in 1965. In their performances, they sing songs of hope and resilience, and thereby connect to younger audiences. Neither chapter focuses on medical or psychiatric conceptions of trauma. Instead, it focuses on rituals and practices people use to deal with traumatic pasts and presents.
Jakub Hałun, Skulls at the stupa on the Choeung Ek Killing Field in Phnom Penh. Source: Wikimedia Commons
Anthropologist Hua Wu reports on the experiences of a group visiting the rural farm to which they were banished during China’s cultural revolution. Revisiting this site evoked various reactions in the participants. Caroline Bennett analyses haunting in Cambodia after the defeat of the Khmer Rouge by investigating how people re-established relationships with the death. The death remained a social presence, to which their surviving relatives reacted through funerary rituals and building shrines. It is exceedingly difficult to interpret these rituals as culturally specific expressions of psychological trauma.
Saiba Varma focuses on conditions in Kashmir, which is still occupied by the Indian army. Because the occupation is ongoing, Kashmiris are currently not post-trauma. Their trauma continues in the present; it is not relegated to the past. Seinenu Lemelson-Thein analyses the remarkable resilience of Myanmar’s freedom fighters, which is based on a cultural system of rites, rituals, and moral beliefs based on the concept of sacrifice (anitnah). Sadly, the situation in Myanmar has deteriorated dramatically over the past year.
In the final chapter, Maki Kimura describes how sculptures are used in the ongoing political battle of the so-called “comfort women,” women who were forced into sexual slavery by the Japanese Imperial forces during World War II. Japan still refuses to acknowledge the experiences of these women. By placing sculptures in strategic places, activists around the world highlight their plight.
We see discussions about trauma and PTSD as ways of dealing with violence and horror—or, at times, to obfuscate both. The case studies in this volume analyse both the psychological and communal effects of violence and natural disasters and how communities attempt to overcome their effects. At times, people in Asia incorporate and transform Western medicalised ideas, at other times transcend them and rely on local spiritual healing traditions, or even creatively combine both.
This volume transcends the traditional Western focus of trauma studies by highlighting Asia. We hope that this volume will inspire a shift in perspective for other scholars in this field.
4Mins Read Green Queen Media publishes “APAC Alternative Protein Industry Report – APAC Acceleration”, the 2nd edition of its award-winning Asia Alternative Protein Industry Report 2021.
4Mins Read Jakarta has just welcomed a new dedicated plant-based collaborative space with vegan cloud kitchens. Opened by local startup Mad Grass, the new space in the Indonesian capital claims to be the first-of-its-kind in the world, featuring a wide range of homegrown plant-based brands and curating their offerings under one roof. Mad Grass, Jakarta’s first vegan […]
A mural on the eastern side of the Wirobrajan intersection in Central Java city of Yogyakarta was covered over with black paint before President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo’s weekend visit.
It was known that President Widodo would be passing through this stretch of road during a working visit to Yogyakarta on Saturday. The mural was painted over in Friday.
The mural was critical of Indonesian censorship under the Widodo administration.
Yogyakarta Mayor Haryadi Suyuti asked people not to pre-judge the removal of the mural, saying it was done as part of a routine weekly cleanup — not just because of the mural.
“We were doing a routine cleanup right, not [just] cleaning off the mural,” he told journalists.
Quoting from the Gejayan Calling (Gejayan Memanggil) Instagram account, which immortalised the mural before it was painted over, the picture was of a figure whose eyes were covered with the internet tab “404 Not Found” with the message “The regime is afraid of pictures”.
During his working visit to Yogyakarta on Friday, Widodo asked Yogyakarta Governor Sri Sultan Hamengku Buwono X to accelerate the covid-19 vaccination programme for the region.
The request was made during an internal meeting with the provincial and regency regional leadership coordinating forum at the Pracimasono Building at the Kepatihan complex in Danurejan.
“[We are] accelerating vaccinations in concert with the gradual reopening (of public places)”, said the Sultan following the meeting, although he said that Widodo did not give any specific vaccine targets for Yogyakarta.
“Vaccinations must be done as widely as possible even if it’s only the first dose”, he added.
Abridged translation by James Balowski for IndoLeft News. The second part of the article which was not translated detailed the covid-19 situation in Yogyakarta, vaccination rates and comments by Widodo. The original title of the article was “Jokowi Mau Lewat, Coretan Kritikan di Yogya Dihapus”.
As a campaigner, Carmel Budiardjo (obituary, 27 August) was a pioneer in using film to publicise the abuse of human rights. In London she produced Amnesty International’s first documentary film, More Than a Million Years, highlighting the ill-treatment of political prisoners in Indonesia. In the cutting room, with the editor Jane Wood, she was a stickler for clarity and accuracy.
In 1976, with Albert Finney as its narrator, the film won the jury prize at the Nyon documentary film festival in Switzerland. The jury’s citation praised the film “for exposing the conspiracy of silence which masks the drama of the Indonesian people”.
More than a week after four Indonesian soldiers were killed by pro-independence fighters in an attack on a military post in Kisor village, South Aifat sub-district, Maybrat district, West Papua, police have arrested two suspects and launched a manhunt for 17 others.
Also, a joint team of personnel from the Indonesian Military (TNI) has continued to crack down on Papuan rebels operating in the area.
The XVIII/Kasuari Regional Military Command’s spokesperson, Colonel Hendra Pesireron, said that TNI soldiers had “secured” several villages.
The troops’ presence in villages had “restored the security situation” in Maybrat district, and guaranteed public safety, he claimed in a statement.
On 5 September 2021, TNI personnel engaged in a gunfight with several members of a pro-independence group in the neighborhood areas of East Aifat sub-district.
The rebels retreated into a thick forest to escape, Colonel Pesireron said.
Before the gunfight, the rebels destroyed a bridge, he said.
Kisor military post attacked
On Thursday, pro-independence rebels had ambushed several soldiers while they were sleeping at the Kisor military post.
Four soldiers—2nd Sergeant Amrosius, Chief Private Dirham, First Private Zul Ansari, and First Lieutenant Dirman—died in the attack, while two others suffered serious wounds.
The bodies of three soldiers had been found at the post, while the body of another soldier had been discovered in bush not far from the post.
Several local residents had fled their homes fearing for their safety.
On Friday, Indonesian police investigators named 19 alleged suspects in connection with the attack on the military post.
Rahmad Nasutionis a journalist for the Indonesian news agency Antara.
West Papua activists have called on the Australian government to raise concerns about the Indonesian military’s ongoing human rights abuses in West Papua, when they met with their Indonesian counterparts this week.
Foreign Minister Marise Payne and Defence Minister Peter Dutton are attending the seventh Indonesia-Australia Foreign and Defence Ministers 2+2 dialogue in Jakarta, which started yesterday, before continuing on to visit New Delhi, Seoul, Washington and New York.
Australia-West Papua Association spokesperson Joe Collins said: “We can expect all the usual statements about regional stability, peace, economic prosperity, terrorism and defence cooperation, but highly unlikely anything about human rights — unless it is criticism of China’s record.”
In a reply to correspondence from AWPA, the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) indicated that because of Australia’s close relationship with Indonesia it had allowed DFAT to discuss a range of issues, including sensitive topics like the situation in Papua.
Given this close relationship, Collins said activists were hoping the human rights situation in West Papua would be raised, including: the ongoing concerns for arrested West Papuan activist Victor Yeimo; the security force operation taking place in the Maybrat Regency; and the death of Kristian Yandun from a beating in a police cell in Merauke.
Yeimo faces a number of charges, including treason with conspiracy. There is concern for his mental and physical health, which is deteriorating.
According to AWPA, after an attack on a military post in Kisor village in the Maybrat regency, security forces have retaliated, causing residents from five districts to flee their villages in fear of the Indonesian military.
AWPA is concerned that Merauke local police chief Untung Sangaji was trained by Australian Federal Police and trainers from the United States and Britain in anti-people smuggling and surveillance techniques at the Jakarta Centre for Law Enforcement Cooperation (JCLEC).
AWPA is calling on Payne and Dutton to urge Jakarta to release Yeimo and all political prisoners, and to raise the human rights abuses committed by the Indonesian security forces.
Susan Price reports for Green-Left.
Clash between Indonesian forces and the WP National Liberation Army, reportedly on 5/9/21 in Maybrat.
Notes for int’l humanitarian law observers:
– level of intensity
– the operation seems to be led by soldiers not police
Stronger Australian-Indonesian military ties
Indonesian troops could join regular training exercises on Australian soil, as part of a deepening of defence ties with Australia, reports The Guardian.
While Indonesia regularly joins naval exercises with Australia, and has participated in occasional joint military exercises on Australian land, the two countries have flagged plans to “step up” their joint training in the coming years, writes Daniel Hurst.
Australia’s defence minister, Peter Dutton, and foreign minister, Marise Payne, met their Indonesian counterparts in Jakarta yesterday, on the first leg of a four-country trip.
Indonesia’s Defence Minister Prabowo Subianto said he and Dutton had discussed “the possibility of Australia opening their training areas for the participation of Indonesian units to be training together with Australia”.
“I think this is a historical first,” Prabowo said.
Indonesian security forces troops being flown in to Sinak, Puncak region, in the Papuan highlands for operations against independence fighters. Image: Screenshot APR
Indonesian authorities have been accused of adopting a strategy of deploying military force to drive thousands of Papuans from their homes to make way for powerful business interests.
The humanitarian crisis there is being compared to Nduga and Intan Jaya, where more than 50,000 West Papuans have been displaced by military operations in recent years.
“Maybrat is a peaceful place. The violence we are seeing now is a result of Indonesian state attempts to clear the local people and grab the gold and minerals that lie under the earth,” said ULMWP interim president Benny Wenda.
“I have been stating for a long time that Indonesia’s military operations are not about ‘sovereignty’, but business.
“Now, Indonesia’s own NGOs have confirmed this. New reports from WALHI Papua, LBH Papua, KontraS, Greenpeace Indonesia and several other groups have noted the deep links Indonesia’s retired generals, Kopassus officers and intelligence chiefs have with resource extraction projects in West Papua.
“Powerful Indonesian leaders like Luhut Binsar Pandjaitan, Maritime Affairs Minister, hold direct interests in the Wabu Block gold concession in Intan Jaya, where huge military operations have forced thousands of people from their homes.”
‘Wiping our entire villages’
Wenda claimed the military operations were attempts to “wipe out entire villages and clear the way for illegal mines”.
“They are killing us because we are Black, because we are different. This is state-sponsored terrorism,” he said.
Wenda said that given these economic interests, the Papuan people could not “trust the reports of the Indonesian police and military whenever one of their own is killed”.
“The military men’s presence in the region is illegal. Their presence is part of Indonesia’s business interests, part of their illegal colonial occupation of my land.
“The 1969 Act of No Choice was illegal, it was not done by one man one vote as required by the 1962 New York Agreement. The UN did not endorse what happened, it only ‘took note’ following fierce opposition led by Ghana in the UN General Assembly.
“Indonesia cannot claim that its invasion of West Papua is a done deal – it is not. It is the root cause of all the issues we see today.
“Indonesia has no right to send any more military to West Papua, to build the Trans-Papua Highway, or to construct any more military posts.”
Negotiated solution
Wenda said the issue would never end until Indonesian President Joko Widodo negotiated a “solution for the good of West Papua and Indonesia to hold a referendum on independence”.
“If the international community wants to help end the bloodshed in my homeland, it must act to ensure this visit happens,” Wenda said.
A new wave of displacement of thousands of people from 19 villages in Maybrat, West Papua.
They are running away from raids by Indonesian security forces following the killings of four soldiers by the West Papua National Liberation Army last week. pic.twitter.com/L7D7qTGD1N
Indonesian police have arrested two suspects in connection with an attack on the Kisor military post which killed four soldiers late last week, reports Antara news agency from Sorong.
“The suspects have admitted their involvement,” claimed the commander of the XVIII/Kasuari Regional Military Command, Major General I Nyoman Castiasa, after paying his respects for the dead soldiers on Friday.
Castiasa led a military procession to honour the soldiers before their caskets were transported to their hometowns for their funeral.
The two alleged West Papuan independence fighters have been placed under police custody for further investigation, he said.
The commander added that he did not yet know the exact number of the attackers.
Castiasa appealed to members of the community in West Papua who were still independence to end the conflict and “work together to develop” the province.
“If they are stubborn and continue their campaign of insurgency, they will be crushed,” he said.
Military post ambush
In the early hours of Thursday, the pro-independence fighters ambushed several soldiers while they were sleeping at the Kisor military post.
2nd Sergeant Amrosius, Chief Private Dirham, First Private Zul Ansari, and First Lieutenant Dirman died in the attack, according to spokesperson for the XVIII/Kasuari Regional Military Command, Lt Col Hendra Pesireron.
The bodies of three soldiers were found at the post, while another was discovered in the bush not far from the post.
Pesireron added that another soldier, First Private Ikbal, could not be found.
Police chief Inspector General Tornagogo Sihombing in West Papua province said two suspects have been apprehended, but police investigators were continuing their probe into the Kisor military post attack.
“The suspects are under police custody at South Sorong police precinct,” he said.
The assault on the Kisor military post was the latest incident in the armed uprising by Papuan nationalists.
Covid-19 pandemic
In the midst of the government’s handling of the covid-19 pandemic in Papua and West Papua, the two Melanesian provinces have been gripped with the armed independence struggle over the past few months of 2021.
In April, two teachers in Julukoma village, Beoga sub-district, Puncak district, were allegedly killed by independence fighters.
On August 22, 2021, a rebel group operating in Yahukimo district attacked several construction workers of PT Indo Mulia Baru who were involved in building a bridge on Brazza River, killing two.
Independence fighters also attacked the Indonesian Police’s Mobile Brigade (Brimob) unit when they went to the shooting site to recover the bodies, Pesireron said.
Papuan activist Victor Yeimo has been receiving medical treatment in hospital following a police crackdown on a protest in the provincial capital Jayapura demanding that he be released from detention to be treated for illness.
Hundreds of protesters had gathered at the Papua chief public prosecutor’s office on Monday to demand that West Papua National Committee (KNPB) spokesperson Yeimo be released from detention to be given hospital treatment.
Yeimo’s detention was finally deferred on Monday afternoon and he was taken to Jayapura public hospital for treatment.
The protesters arrived from the direction of Abepura, Jayapura city. They arrived at the chief public prosecutor’s office and began giving speeches on the street leading into the office.
In speeches, the demonstrators demanded that chief public prosecutor Nikolaus Kondomo immediately defer Yeimo’s detention.
Yeimo is currently being tried at the Jayapura District Court in a criminal case related to anti-racist demonstrations in Papua in 2019.
Demand for treatment
The rally at the prosecutor’s office on Monday was because Yeimo had still not been released from detention. They demanded that the prosecutor release Yeimo immediately and allow him to be treated.
The police had already closed the main gate to the office and prohibited the protests from entering the grounds. About 1 pm police forcibly broke up the rally which was coordinated by the KNPB.
A number of protesters were injured, including Gad Holanue, Varra iyaba, Hengki Giban, Leti Soll, Egenius Tebay and Jufri Dogomo. Three protesters — Soleng Soll, Beni Orsa and Bayage — were arrested by police.
Papua Regional House of Representatives (DPRP) member John NR Gobai said he deplored the police actions. Gobai, along with DPRP member Laurenzus Kadepa, had been accepted by the court as guarantors for Yeimo to be released and treated in hospital.
“I was blocked by police, then I was pulled away by the demonstrators. I wasn’t able to get in and convey my wishes,” Gobai said.
A Regional Representatives Council (DPD) member from Papua, Herlina Murib, was also barred from entering the office.
“We hope that the police will not repeat this inhuman attitude which was shown by blocking us and removing people who wanted to convey their aspirations. This violates the law”, Murib said.
Second demonstration
The demonstration at the prosecutor’s office on Monday was the second one held by activists demanding that Yeimo be allowed to receive hospital treatment.
Protesters had also gathered at the prosecutor’s office on Saturday, August 28, because the prosecutor was seen as ignoring the court’s ruling that Yeimo receive treatment.
However, Kondomo refused the request, saying Yeimo could only be released on Tuesday, August 31.
About 3.20pm on Monday, Yeimo was finally allowed to leave the Papua regional Mobile Brigade command headquarters detention centre and was taken to Jayapura public hospital. The ambulance transporting Yeimo was escorted by two police patrol cars and three black minivans.
Around 20 police officers escorted Yeimo to the hospital. Public prosecutors Adrianus Tomana and Valerianus Dedi Sawaki were also present at the hospital.
Advocate and lawyers
Yeimo was accompanied to the hospital by advocate Emanuel Gobay and a number of other lawyers, Laurenzus Kadepa and John NR Gobai along with Yeimo’s wife and mother.
Speaking to Tabloid JUBI at Jayapura hospital, Tomana said the medical examination was in accordance with the court’s ruling. Tomana stated that how long Yeimo’s detention will be deferred would depend on the examination and the doctor’s diagnosis.
“How long the deferment will be depends on the results of the doctor’s examination. If the doctor declares that he is well, then we will revoke the deferment, and Yeimo will be returned to his detention cell,” he said.
Indonesia, the world’s fourth largest country by population with 270 million, has not yet determined its stance towards the Taliban leadership after seizing power in Afghanistan.
It is also the most populous Muslim country.
The Director-General for Asia Pacific and Africa at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Abdul Kadir Jailani, said the same attitude was also being shown by other countries.
Indonesia’s Director-General for Asia Pacific and Africa at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Abdul Kadir Jailani … “quite warm” response in Indonesia to Taliban takeover. Photo: Ministry of Foreign Affairs
“Why haven’t many countries taken a definitive stance, because the situation is still fluid and (the Taliban) have not yet formed a legitimate government,” said Abdul Kadir in the webinar ‘Post-Conflict Afghanistan: Fall or Rise?’ this week.
According to Jailani, Taliban officials are negotiating with a number of figures in Afghanistan in a bid to form a new government.
In addition to the formation of government, Indonesia is also still waiting for the status of the Taliban in the international community.
Jailani said a common view was needed about the status of the Taliban.
“This understanding is very important, so we can get faster information to determine our attitude towards the Taliban and its government later,” he added.
He said the Indonesian government was also careful in determining its stance because the Taliban’s seizure of power in Afghanistan received a “quite warm” and mixed reaction from within Indonesia.
Jailani stressed that Indonesia’s definitive stance would only be conveyed when the situation in Afghanistan became clearer.
The Taliban seized control of the civilian government in Afghanistan on August 15 without any resistance. A few days ago, the Taliban claimed to have pocketed a number of names of figures who would later fill the new government.
Unlike in the 1996-2001 era, the Taliban claimed to be forming an inclusive government that involved all elements and ethnicities in Afghanistan.
Former Papuan political prisoner Filep Karma has also joined activists and Victor Yeimo’s family along with Yeimo’s lawyer who protested at the private residence of the Papua chief public prosecutor in the Doc 5 area of Jayapura city at the weekend, reports Suara Papua.
Karma revealed that he was shocked at the attitude of the public prosecutor who was still “showing his racism” towards Yeimo during their visit on Saturday.
The panel of judges at the Jayapura District Court hearing last Thursday, August 26, ordered the prosecutor to facilitate the defendant, who is accused of “treason”, being given healthcare — an up examination and inpatient care at a hospital.
Just like before and despite being urged by several parties over the last two days following the court’s ruling, the chief public prosecutor has not demonstrated good faith, say critics.
When Yeimo was being examined by a medical team at the Jayapura pubic hospital on the evening of Friday, August 27, the prosecutor accompanied by security personnel put pressure on Yeimo not to be treated overnight.
He was then returned to the Papua regional police Mobile Brigade command headquarters detention centre where he has been detained since his arrest in May.
Yeimo’s lawyer, who is part of the Papua Law Enforcement and Human Rights Coalition (KPHHP), has already met all of the administrative requirements for Yeimo’s hospital treatment, including providing guarantors from the Papuan Regional House of Representatives (DPRP) — legislators John NR Gobai and Laurenzus Kadepa, as well as an advocate.
‘Long-winded lawsuits’
“Legal affairs in Indonesia are indeed like this, excessively long-winded,” he said.
“Indonesia does not regard life as important — procedures are more important than people’s lives.”
Karma said the prosecutor’s actions were “strange”, especially because ipso facto it was an an indigenous Papuan who had not heeded the order by the judges.
“Because the prosecutor is a Papuan, he’s afraid of being labeled as biased towards Papuan independence. So, he will try to show that he is more nationalist than the Javanese,” said Karma.
“Yet in the eyes of the Javanese, he’s ‘just a monkey’. I lived in Java for a long time, so I have felt this.”
Yeimo must be treated first because, according to Karma, a suspect and a defendant was guaranteed by law to receive treatment if they were ill.
“What we want this evening is for brother Victor Yeimo to be allowed to be treated in hospital. But this has not happened because of other considerations and they say they are following legal procedures,” he said.
‘Surrender to God’
Because of efforts to get Yeimo treated in hospital have not been carried out, Karma is calling on all Papuans to “surrender to God”.
“We will cool our passionate hearts, let us rise in hymn and prayer. Myself and all of us exist not just because of power, but rather because Jesus who lived before us, today and forever,” Karma said.
KPHHP litigation coordinator and Yeimo’s lawyer Emanuel Gobay believes that the Papua chief public prosecutor’s response to Gobai and Kadepa when he met with them at his private residence was different from the court’s ruling that his client receive inpatient treatment because his state of health had deteriorated while being detained at the Mobile Brigade detention centre.
“We have heard the chief public prosecutor’s response. If seen from the court’s ruling, there is difference in how it is seen,” he said.
“What the chief public prosecutor has conveyed proves that he does not respect the judges’ ruling at the Abepura Class IIA District Court.
“The public prosecutor has gone against the court’s order.”
Speaking in front of Yeimo’s family and activists gathered in front of the prosecutor’s home at 8am, Gobay said Yeimo’s lawyers would accompany him at the next hearing on Tuesday. His guarantors, Gobai and Kadepa would also attend the hearing.
In the Indonesian Islamist extremist landscape, support for the Taliban—as it seeks to restore the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan following the US’ withdrawal from the country—has mainly accrued from groups and individuals that have followed Al-Qaeda’s (AQ) stance in rejecting the legitimacy of the now defunct “caliphate” declared by the Islamic State (IS) in Syria and Iraq in 2014. Moreover, support for the Taliban in the Indonesian context has traditionally been closely associated with the support for AQ, given the former has provided sanctuaries for AQ for several decades. As such, how will the Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan be interpreted by Al-Qaeda supporters in Indonesia? By extension, what are the security implications for the country?
Support for Taliban
The Indonesian pro-AQ camp consists of, among others, Majelis Mujahidin Indonesia (MMI), Jama’ah Ansharusy Syariah (JAS) and Jemaah Islamiyah (JI), all groups which have aspired to establish an Islamic state in Indonesia. Their loyalty to AQ, and by extension, the Taliban, is evident from the content posted on their respective affiliated websites and publications. In 2007, Arrahmah Media, linked to MMI, published a translated book titled The Giant Man: Biography of Mullah Umar. The book, an ode to the Taliban leader who founded the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, is currently still sold on several e-commerce platforms in Indonesia. Based on our observations, the groups’ affiliated websites have also regularly provided updates on the progress of the Taliban over the decades.
Following its recent takeover, JAS was the first pro-AQ local extremist group to officially congratulate the Taliban. In fact, JAS’ public lauding on its official website of the Taliban’s territorial successes stretches back to March 2020, when it congratulated the Taliban on its “victory” in the high-level peace talks held in Doha in February 2020, that led to the US’ commitment to a military withdrawal from Afghanistan. JAS also congratulated the people of Afghanistan, who it claimed would soon enjoy the liberty and freedom of living under Islamic law (Sharia). Following the Taliban’s takeover of the capital Kabul, JAS again lauded the group, encouraging Muslims around the world, including in Indonesia, to celebrate its victory.
Research by PAKAR, an Indonesian NGO that studies terrorism, has also revealed that some pro-AQ former terrorist inmates have been staunch supporters of the Taliban in recent years. They have kept themselves updated on the progress of the Taliban’s military operations and recently re-circulated congratulatory messages from AQ affiliated groups—Hay’at Tahrir al Sham (HTS) of Syria and Al-Qaeda in the Arabia Peninsula (AQAP), based in Yemen—heralding the Taliban’s success in retaking Afghanistan.
Euphoria over the Taliban’s “victory” is also apparent in the online discourse of pro-AQ groups in Indonesia, which has suggested the Taliban should unite Muslims around the world and establish a global caliphate, including conquering the capital cities London and Washington. In the Indonesian context, there were some online suggestions to unite the jihadists under Daulah Islam Sumatra (an Islamic State of Sumatra). There were also suggestions the Taliban should open a “branch” in Indonesia, and assist in the establishment of an Islamic state in the country. Meanwhile on the ground, some Islamist elements in Poso, Central Sulawesi, such as supporters of the banned Front Pembela Islam (Islamic Defenders Front/FPI), and ex-combatants from the Poso communal conflict in the early 2000s, have called on Muslims to pledge their allegiance (bai’at) to the Taliban.
In contrast to the exuberance of the pro-AQ Indonesian elements, the International Centre of Political Violence Research (ICPVTR) data suggests the pro-IS camp in Indonesia has repudiated the Taliban takeover as a “victory”. It has labelled the Taliban as murtad (apostates) and being pro-Shia and pro-US, in addition to being antagonistic towards IS Khorasan, an IS affiliate based in Afghanistan. PAKAR’s research shows some supporters of pro-IS groups, the Jamaah Ansharud Daulah (JAD) and Jamaah Ansharul Khilafah (JAK), assert that the Taliban is a thaghut (tyrant Muslim state that does not enforce Sharia) as its emirate is premised on the concept of a nation-state (nationalism), and thus has deviated from the teachings of AQ founder Osama bin Laden. Such reactions are to be expected, as IS supporters still long for the restoration of the group’s now defunct “Caliphate”.
Security Implications
The support from Indonesian extremist networks for the Taliban has several security implications. First, the success of the Taliban may re-energise the Indonesian pro-AQ groups in pursuing their long-held strategy, which combines non-military (social and political) and military (armed jihad) elements. In the past decade, the aforementioned Indonesian groups have conformed to a long-term strategy that seeks the establishment of an Islamic state in Indonesia. The non-military element primarily entails winning the hearts and minds of local communities through social activities (dakwah/religious outreach, charities, education) and active involvement in the political realm. The latter aims to introduce sharia into the Indonesian political and legal system (by participating in elections, rallies, as well as lobbying the government and parliament on Islamic issues).
The military element is manifested in abstaining from plotting attacks within the country (for JI, this was especially the case when Para Wijayanto led the group from 2009 to 2019), while at the same time discreetly sending their members to gain military experience in Syria as part of their i’dad programme (military training). JI, the group with the most serious military preparation, believes that jihad should be waged when it is militarily ready and has the support of the community; all of which requires patience. In a critical difference, patience has been a source of contention between the Indonesian AQ and IS elements. Those who are not patient are typically associated with the latter whose networks have preferred random attacks in Indonesia with little preparations.
Second, some pro-AQ individuals have emerged to express their intention for hijrah (migration) to Afghanistan so as to receive training from the Taliban and to use such skills to establish an Islamic state back in Indonesia. If this materialises, it will pose a serious security threat to Indonesia in the long term as returning jihadists will be more emboldened by their Afghan training, in a similar way that the old JI Afghan alumni network in the 1980s and 1990s.
Third, the Indonesian jihadists may copy and implement Taliban’s strategy and tactics—as described in the latter’s tradecraft manuals (such as guerrilla tactics) circulated in the Indonesian online domain—although such prospects remain remote. Almost a decade ago, the Taliban’s 12-page manual titled “The Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan: The Prison Break: How to Turn Fantasy to Reality” was translated into Indonesian and posted in several Indonesian extremist websites in 2012. This manual might have inspired Fadli Sadama, the commander of Kumpulan Mujahidin Indonesia (KMI) – a branch of JI in North Sumatra led by Toni Togar – to mastermind a jail break in Medan in July 2013. A total of 218 inmates, including 15 terrorists, fled from prison then. Fifteen prison officers were also briefly taken hostage. The incident resulted in five casualties including two prison wardens.
Currently, it does not appear that the Taliban’s latest tradecraft manuals have been translated into Indonesian. The lack of such translated manuals may be a sign of current weak enthusiasm to implement the manual in the Indonesian context, but it may be a matter of time before such translations appear. How these translated manuals are eventually utilised may impact on the future strategy and tactics which the pro-AQ camp would adopt in Indonesia.
Concluding Remarks
The pro-AQ elements’ general celebration of the Taliban takeover is not unqualified. As the Taliban transforms itself into a governing authority and seeks international recognition, Indonesian pro-AQ groups could possibly reject some of the potential political compromises that the Taliban will have to make along the way. Our online observation shows that individuals in this camp have questioned the Taliban’s efforts in seeking alliances with China, Russia, and Iran, all of which the pro-AQ camp also deem as enemies of Islam, along with the US and its allies. Furthermore, they have also dismissed reports on various concessions the Taliban has apparently made with these countries.
Overall, however, the pro-AQ groups in Indonesia will likely continue to be inspired by the Taliban’s “success” and remain committed to their own long-term goal of setting up an Islamic state in Indonesia. This means they may not be inclined to conduct attacks in Indonesia for the time being, with the exception of some rogue elements within JI who lack patience and have plotted attacks in parts of the country recently.
#/media/File:Proclamation_of_Islamic_State_of_Indonesia.jpg)
,_p283.jpg)
