Category: PSC

  • Last October, Georgia Power approached regulators with what it said was a crisis. Unless they did something soon, they discovered, the growing demand for electricity would outpace production sometime in the winter of 2025. Georgia’s Governor Brian Kemp and other state leaders had been courting data centers and new manufacturing plants for some time, and it was all catching up to the aging power grid.

    The Georgia Public Service Commission, the elected body tasked with regulating the utility company, had approved Georgia Power’s long-term grid plan, which the company makes every three years, in 2022. Since then, the company said, its projections for the growth of electricity demand through 2030 had increased by a factor of 17.

    Georgia Power proposed a mix of resources to meet this rising demand, including buying power from neighboring utilities, adding solar and battery storage, and building three new natural gas turbines that could generate 1,400 megawatts of electricity, enough to power more than half a million homes, per year. Experts, including some on the service commission’s own staff, have questioned those projections and the power company’s method of making its forecast. They testified that the growth in energy demand would take longer to materialize than the company projected, giving the utility more time to address the problem. The plan for gas-powered turbines also drew sharp criticism from experts and members of the public alike, who said the utility should rely on carbon-free solutions. 

    The proposals to buy electricity, meanwhile, drew less attention and criticism, but they raised suspicions from ratepayer advocates and environmentalists because they bypassed normal procedure. When Georgia Power needs to buy more energy from another power company, it is required by statute to issue a request for proposals, or RFP, and choose the best bid. But faced with the data center-driven spike in demand, the utility did not solicit competitive bids. Instead, it used a provision of Georgia law that allows for exceptions for “resources of extraordinary advantage that require immediate action” as long as the PSC approves, which the commission may do retroactively. And so, in October, before any public hearings over Georgia Power’s request for more energy took place, the power company orchestrated two deals, known as power purchase agreements, or PPAs, with Santa Rosa Energy, in Florida, and with Mississippi Power — the latter of which is owned by the same corporation that owns Georgia Power, the Southern Company. The exact pricing of the deal was filed as trade secret, meaning the service commission, its staff, and intervening parties like environmental and business groups could see how much Georgia Power is paying Mississippi Power but members of the public cannot; this is common practice for information that could be of economic value. 

    It wasn’t until April 2024 that Georgia’s Public Service Commission approved the utility company’s new plan, including both purchase agreements. Under the deal, the Georgia utility will buy 750 megawatts of electricity through 2028 from its Mississippi sibling company and up to 230 MW from the Florida plant. According to the final agreement approved by the PSC, Georgia Power will collect an additional $3 per kilowatt year on the power transferred from Mississippi beginning in 2026.

    Power purchase agreements like the ones Georgia Power has entered into are not uncommon, especially for the Southern Company and its affiliates, Ari Peskoe, director of Harvard University’s Electricity Law Initiative, told Grist. The company generally chooses, as a business strategy, “to build and rely on its own resources to meet demand in its territories,” he said. “That’s the standard utility business model, but the Southern Company pursues that model in a more aggressive way than any other utility company in America,” Peskoe added.

    But some critics are skeptical of the utility’s argument that this urgency precluded competitive bidding. “There’s still time to do RFP processes; the business world can respond on an expedited basis,” said Daniel Tait, an Alabama-based researcher at the Energy and Policy Institute, a utility watchdog nonprofit. The agreement between two Southern Company affiliates, conducted in haste and shrouded from public scrutiny, smacked of self-dealing. And because the prices were redacted from the public, “we don’t know whether or not that was a good deal,” Tait said.

    The deal came with an added concern: In order to provide electricity to Georgia, a Mississippi Power coal plant that had been slated for closure will need to keep running, reversing plans approved by Mississippi regulators and saddling residents of that state with the cost risks and pollution of coal to meet energy needs in Georgia. Georgia Power officials even cited that impending closure as a reason they entered into the deal last year. Asked by Georgia Power’s own lawyers why it was necessary to sign an agreement with a sister company, the utility’s director of resource planning Jeffrey Grubb replied, “Because those units would have been either retired or sold off-system and we needed certainty that they would be there to serve our customers.”

    The Victor J. Daniel Electric Generating Plant, or Plant Daniel for short, sits in a rural area of Jackson County in the southeastern corner of Mississippi. It has operated two coal units since the 1970s; in 2001, two new gas combined cycle turbines were built on the same site. Together, the four units comprise the state’s largest single power station.

    Coal is a notoriously polluting form of electricity generation, and Plant Daniel is no exception. In 2022, the power plant reported more than six million metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions to the EPA, more than any other facility in Mississippi. And a 2019 report found that the groundwater near Plant Daniel contained five times the safe amount of lithium, likely as a result of contamination from coal ash, a toxic byproduct of the coal-fired power process.

    In 2018, the Mississippi Public Service Commission commissioned a review of its power reserves. Its consultants found that Mississippi Power had more power plants than its customers needed — a “substantial and persistent capacity overhang that imposes excess costs on ratepayers.” To address this, they suggested retiring the two coal units at Plant Daniel. Nothing changed until 2020, when the commission ordered Mississippi Power to come up with a plan to deal with its 950 megawatts of excess capacity; the following year, the utility announced it would retire the coal units by 2027.

    At the time, environmentalists celebrated the decision. “Retiring Plant Daniel means folks living in the area can breathe easier knowing that there is an end date to burning coal,” David Rogers, deputy director of the Sierra Club’s Beyond Coal Campaign said in a statement. “But this is also a win for all of Mississippi Power’s customers, who won’t have to pay for the expensive electricity the coal plant produces.” The deal between Georgia and Mississippi changed that. While Mississippi customers won’t be paying for the plant anymore, they’ll still have to deal with its continued air and coal ash pollution — and pay for any further cleanup that’s required.

    According to a petition that Mississippi’s Sierra Club chapter filed in June with the Mississippi PSC, the regulatory body was not officially consulted on the deal with Georgia Power. In effect, critics of the deal charge, the arrangement allows Georgia Power to pay for the electrons but effectively offshore the externalities that make coal power unfeasibly expensive to Mississippi.

    In January 2024, when Georgia Power finally faced public questioning about the deal, Tim Echols, one of Georgia’s public service commissioners, explicitly acknowledged this aspect of the deal: “I guess the benefit to it being outside is the pollution’s not in Georgia, right?” he said. “It’s in Mississippi. It’s in other places.”

    To Mississippians, that comment was telling. It was cited in the Sierra Club petition, which asked the commission to weigh in on the purchasing agreement and require Mississippi Power to show how its plans to “continue operating several of its aging fossil plants and sell the power to Georgia Power” would impact Mississippi ratepayers. 

    “Continuing to operate these units past the previously established retirement dates poses potential economic risks to the [Mississippi Power] ratepayer, including potentially significant capital investments to comply with impending environmental regulations, maintenance costs, and risks associated with the storage of coal ash residuals at Plant Daniel,” Robert Wiygul, an attorney for the Sierra Club, wrote.

    Each of Southern’s affiliates in Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi has been granted a regional monopoly by statute in a large swath of its respective state. In lieu of the pressures to conduct business fairly and keep costs low for consumers that may in other regions come from market competition, the Southeast’s public service commissions theoretically serve as the forces to keep these companies in check. In everyday terms, this means that residents can’t choose what power company to pay their bills to, and electricity rates are set by the state’s service commission based on a formula by which the power company’s shareholders receive a fixed return on their investment in the company and ratepayers fund the utility’s capital investments, such as the construction of new power plants or other infrastructure, as long as it can justify the expenditure to the regulators. In bigger terms, the strength of their monopolies, the Southern Company’s overarching control, and the relative obscurity in which the commissions operate all amount to a situation in which private deals that have enormous, and sometimes negative, public implications are easily made.

    Critics contend the region’s commissions should be more closely scrutinizing utilities’ decisions. “The Public Service Commissions and Public Utilities Commissions are supposed to govern the monopoly utilities to make sure that they’re making the decisions that are in the best interest of the ratepayers and not necessarily in the best interest of shareholders,” said Bryan Jacob, the solar program director for the nonprofit Southern Alliance for Clean Energy. 

    With the Georgia-Mississippi deal, the Southern Company accomplished not only forestalling the closure of a coal plant by selling the energy to itself, but also squeezing a few more dollars out of Plant Daniel’s final years with the additional revenue Georgia’s public service commission allowed it to collect.

    When affiliate companies like Georgia Power and Mississippi Power enter into purchasing agreements, those deals are subject to an added layer of scrutiny from the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, or FERC. 

    “The Company follows FERC protocols related to affiliate transactions and conducts regular employee training to ensure employees remain familiar with these protocols,” said Georgia Power spokesman John Kraft in a statement, adding that the Mississippi PPA complied with those protocols and was approved by the Georgia PSC. “More broadly, Georgia Power routinely selects resources through an RFP process that also assures appropriate relationships between affiliates.” 

    But this isn’t the first time Georgia Power’s deals with its fellow Southern Company affiliates have come under fire: in 2022, Jacob’s group and another Georgia sustainability nonprofit challenged five such agreements, arguing that the utility tailored its RFP to favor its sister companies. FERC ultimately disagreed and allowed the transactions, though one commissioner dissented.

    Barring increased state PSC scrutiny or intervention from FERC, advocates contend there’s another way to prevent back-room deals that risk favoring affiliates to the detriment of customers: opening up the power marketplace. Utilities in other regions participate in regional transmission organizations and organized wholesale markets that see utilities and other owners of large-scale power generation buying and selling energy more publicly.

    “Joining a regional wholesale market absolutely provides a transparency, governance, and platform to mitigate the risks of affiliate abuse in transactions across utilities,” said Katie Southworth, who leads policy efforts in the southeast for the Clean Energy Buyers Association, a group representing companies and governments looking to buy carbon-free energy to meet their own emissions goals. 

    The Southern Company, meanwhile, has lobbied hard against federal transmission reforms that would encourage greater interconnection between the nation’s fragmented electricity grids — and thereby potentially cut into its profits if cheaper energy from another producer is available in the region.

    The company also opposes organized wholesale markets. In a statement to Grist, Southern Company listed what it considers the benefits of the vertically-integrated, regulated monopolies it operates in the southeast, arguing that they are more affordable and reliable for customers and treat electricity as a necessity rather than a commodity.

    “The very nature of these [deregulated and regional transmission organization] markets — which are focused on short-term profits — encourages behavior that focuses on meeting short-term demand, rather than long-term planning,” the company’s statement read. “These companies are coordinated by unaccountable bureaucracies that place profits over people and often prioritize certain characteristics instead of working to achieve an optimal balance for all customers under any condition.”

    The Southeast’s model of electricity regulation does have its defenders among some climate advocates who note that, simply put, a monopoly is more practically capable of financing a capital-intensive clean energy buildout than the rest of the country’s liberalized energy markets. Recent scholarship has highlighted financing as one of the main hurdles to an energy transition away from fossil fuels worldwide: even as subsidies and innovation have made renewable energy increasingly cheap, markets have not sufficiently rewarded actual investments in building it.

    Proponents of deregulation and wholesale markets point to Texas, where a deregulated energy market has responded to rising demand and widespread grid failure during a winter storm with a solar-and-storage building bonanza. And they disagree with the notion that regulated-monopoly utilities provide more reliable energy. One benefit of regional transmission and sales, they contend, is that if a storm knocks out the power grid in one place, power can be brought in from an unaffected area. 

    “The weather is bigger than the grid,” said Southworth, “If you look at the rest of the country, [you’ll see] these wide swaths where regions are sharing reserves and working together to ensure reliable service.”

    What’s even bigger than the weather, though, are the changes happening to the global climate and the burden on the earth that humans have created by burning fossil fuels. The Southern Company has an official target of achieving net-zero emissions by 2050 — but its regional affiliates disclaim any responsibility toward achieving that goal, leaving open the question of how the company as a whole can decarbonize while its subsidiaries are building new fossil infrastructure and delaying the retirement of existing coal plants.

    This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Why Mississippi coal is powering Georgia’s data centers on Aug 27, 2024.


    This content originally appeared on Grist and was authored by Emily Jones.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • ANU is world renowned as a centre for excellence in Indonesia-focused research and engagement. Through short study tours, the extensive ‘Year in Asia’ program, and extended postgraduate degrees, ANU students gain first-hand understanding of Indonesian language, culture, politics and economics and go on to apply this expertise in careers in government, academia, the media and many other diverse fields. As numbers of Indonesian language graduates decline across the country, Indonesian expertise and specialised skills are becoming increasingly sought after. This webinar examines four stories of success from ANU alumni who have been engaged in strengthening the Australia-Indonesia relationship. It highlights the course options available to current ANU students for exchange programs, intensive study tours in-country/ virtually, and research opportunities for postgraduate students from both Australia and Indonesia.

    Panellists

    Cameron Allan, Regional Policy and EAS Section, Southeast Asia Regional Division, Australian Government Department of Foreign Affairs & Trade Bachelor of Laws (Honours) and International Security Studies (ANU 2020)

    Claudina Milawati, Deputy Director, Department of Education and Training, Australian Embassy, Jakarta. Master of Science (Science Communication) (ANU 2005)

    Kirrilly McKenzie, Head of Languages, Haileybury Rendall School, NT BA Asia-Pacific Security (ANU 2014) and Grad Dip of Asia-Pacific Studies (ANU 2014)

    Dr Gatra Priyandita, Australian Strategic Policy Institute and non-resident WSD-Handa Fellow at the Pacific Forum PhD Political Science, ANU Coral Bell School (ANU 2021) and BA Asia-Pacific Security (Honours) (ANU 2014)

    Moderator:

    Elena Williams, Board Member, ANU Indonesia Institute. Current PhD candidate in the School of Culture, History and Languages at ANU, examining Australia-Indonesia relationship building. MA Applied Anthropology & Participatory Development (ANU 2012)

    The post Watch: Deepening the Australia-Indonesia relationship through study abroad & research collaboration appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • World Mental Health Day celebratory event co-hosted by ANU Indonesian Institute and the Sydney Southeast Asia Centre, University of Sydney; featuring the launch of the new film It Takes a Village directed by Dra. Ninik Supartini, and a launch of Dr Nova Riyanti Yusuf’s recent book on suicide.

    Date & time: 10 October, 2022 – 1-3 pm AEDT, 9-11am WIB

    Where: Online

    Register on Zoom

    What is happening in mental health in Indonesia today? The golden age in psychiatry in the world’s largest archipelago nation is over. During the last thirty years, mental health has not been a priority in either research, policy, or treatment facilities. But with advent of COVID-19 this changed: mental health became everybody’s business. In February 2021, Indonesia opened the new National Centre of Mental Health on the lush grounds of the Bogor psychiatric hospital. At the same time, the Indonesian Mental Health Directorate has been renewed. Armed with a new mandate and funding, we are watching expectantly at what comes next. In addition, civil society initiatives have always been the backbone of mental health support in Indonesia.

    Today, on World Mental Health Day, we are going to hear from Dr Dr Nova Riyanti Yusuf, Secretary General of the Asian Federation of Psychiatric Association, head of the Jakarta chapter of the Indonesian Psychiatric Association, and formerly a member of the Indonesian parliament (DPR), who will give us a brief update on the current state of mental health in Indonesia. We will also launch her recent book on suicide. Dr Sandersan Onie, a research fellow at Black Dog Institute and Founder of mental health NGO Emotional Health for All, will discuss groups of individuals with a lived experience of mental distress in urban Indonesia.

    Following this we will launch the film It Takes a Village, a success story of community- driven mental health systems improvement in Kebumen, Central Java, directed by Dra. Ninik Supartini of Elemental Film Productions. The film launch will be followed by a dialogue with our special guests and the audience.

    The event is co-hosted by Sydney University’s Professor Hans Pols and ANU Indonesia Institute’s Dr Aliza Hunt. We hope you will come along and join the discussion.

    Chairs:

    Professor Hans Pols (Sydney University)

    Dr Aliza Hunt (ANU Indonesia Institute)

    Speakers and guests:

    Dra. Ninik Supartini

    Dr Nova Riyanti Yusuf, Secretary General of the ASEAN Federation of Psychiatric Association

    Dr Sandersan Onie, a research fellow at Black Dog Institute and Founder of mental health NGO Emotional Health for All

    The post No health without mental health! A forum from the ANU Indonesia Institute appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.


  • Indonesia remains a rural country. With 45% of the population living in the countryside (approx. 123 million), Indonesia has the fourth-largest rural population in the global south. Agriculture is the lead sector in 20 of 34 provinces. Rural Indonesia is changing fast, with land reform and village government reforms, rapid migration to the city and overseas, and COVID-19 impacting rural life. While many people have moved above the poverty line over recent decades, rural people face the imminent threats of vulnerability, food security, stunting and climate change, with a large proportion still living below $2/day. Despite the importance of rural life to Indonesia and its region, scholarship has tended to overlook rural Indonesia. In August 2022 the Indonesia Institute held a panel discussion to commemorate Hari Tani and Indonesian Independence day and consider the need to rejuvenate research on rural Indonesia. We asked critical Indonesian thinkers to reflect on a simple question: What are the most important policy problems facing rural Indonesia, and what can researchers do about them? The panellists presentations were followed by an open discussion.

    Panel speakers:

    Land Reform: Noer Fauzi Rachman

    Food security in rural Indonesia: Sirojuddin Arif, SMERU

    Village Governance: Lian Gogali

    Rural migration: Suraya Affi

    The post Watch: Hari Tani Nasional, a forum on the future of rural Indonesia appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Experts speak in a free forum providing a prospective examination of the administration of Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. in the Philippines, with a focus on issues and dynamics that can be expected to define his presidency.

    Leading experts from the Philippines examined three themes in particular:

    1) The new cabinet and the exercise of presidential power

    2) Challenges in the macroeconomy, and likely strategies to address them

    3) Foreign policy and the geostrategic outlook.

    Speakers:
    Julio Cabral Teehankee is Professor of Political Science and International Studies at De La Salle University where he served as Chair of the Political Science Department (1994-2007); Chair of the International Studies Department (2008-2013); and Dean of the College of Liberal Arts (2013-2017). He also served as President of the Philippine Political Science Association (2017-2019) and the Asian Political and International Studies Association (2009-2011). He was the Philippine representative to the Council of the International Political Science Association (2019-2021), and is currently regional manager (Southeast Asia and the Pacific) for Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem). He has held several visiting appointments, including ANU as well as universities in Japan, Hong Kong, and the US. Most recently, he was invited to be Senior Visiting Fellow at LSE’s Saw Swee Hock Southeast Asia Centre. He appears regularly as a political analyst for local and international media outlets.

    Maria Socorro Gochoco-Bautista is the BSP Sterling Chair Professor of Monetary Economics at the School of Economics, the University of the Philippines . She has served as member and Chair of the AMRO Advisory Panel, as Senior Economic Advisor at the ADB, as Visiting Scholar at the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, and as Senior Research Fellow at the Bank for International Settlements Asia and Pacific Office. She is an Associate Editor of the Asian Economic Papers and serves on the editorial boards of the Journal of Economic Surveys, Japan and the World Economy, and Thailand and the World Economy. She holds a BA in Economics from Mount Holyoke College (Massachusetts) and a PhD from Columbia University.

    Jay Batongbacal is an Associate Professor at the University of the Philippines College of Law. He teaches courses on Property, Obligations & Contracts, and Law of the Sea and Natural Resources. He obtained his LL.B. (1991) from College of Law at the University of the Philippines and Masters degree in Marine Management (1997) and Doctorate in the Science of Law (2010) from Dalhousie University in Canada. His graduate degrees were acquired under scholarship grants from the Canadian International Development Agency and the prestigious Pierre Elliot Trudeau Foundation, respectively.

    Chair:
    Maria Tanyag is a Fellow and Senior Lecturer at the Department of International Relations, ANU Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs. She was awarded her PhD from Monash University in 2018. Maria received first class honours for both her MA (Research) and BA Honours in Political Studies from the University of Auckland, New Zealand; and a BA in Political Science magna cum laude from the University of the Philippines-Diliman. She was selected as one of the inaugural International Studies Association (ISA) Emerging Global South Scholars in 2019, and as resident Women, Peace and Security Fellow at Pacific Forum International (Hawaii) in 2021.

    The post Watch a forum: Bongbong at the Helm appeared first on New Mandala.

  • To mark International Human Rights Day in 2021, on 9 December 2021 the ANU Indonesia Institute hosted a discussion on women’s rights and gender equality in Indonesia. Speakers examined the extent to which Indonesian women have achieved equality in a broad array of political, economic and social fields, and what Indonesian women are doing today to overcome the obstacles that lie in the path of gender equality. You can watch this important, challenging and inspiring discussion on New Mandala now.

    Chair

    Dr Eva Nisa
    Senior Lecturer, School of Culture, History and Languages, and ANU Indonesia Institute
    The Australian National University.

    Topics and speakers

    Sri Budi Eko Wardani: Achieving women’s sexual and reproductive rights and health.
    Lecturer in the Department of Political Science and Director of the Center for Political Studies, Universitas Indonesia.

    Dr Marcia Soumokil: Countering gender-based violence and harassment.
    Country Director IPAS Indonesia (Yayasan Inisiatif Perubahan Akses menuju Sehat Indonesia)

    Anindya Restuviani: The gender pay gap and female labour force participation.
    Director of Jakarta Feminist and Co-Director of Hollaback! Jakarta.

    Dr Diana Contreras Suarez: Women in the media and building a feminist voice.
    Melbourne Institute of Applied Economic and Social Research, University of Melbourne.

    Devi Asmarani
    Editor-in-Chief and co-founder of women-focused webmagazine Magdalene (www.magdalene.co)

    Speaker Biographies

    Dr Eva Nisa is a cultural anthropologist and expert in Islamic studies. Her research and publications focus on the intersections between religious, cultural, political, economic, legal, social, and philosophical aspects of peoples’ lives. She is interested in global currents of Islam reshaping the lives of Muslims in Southeast Asia, especially Indonesia and Malaysia. Her research has involved international collaborative projects with scholars from the USA, Germany, Australia, the Netherlands, Indonesia, Austria, Malaysia, New Zealand, Thailand and Singapore. Currently, she serves on the editorial board of The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology. 

    Dr Marcia Soumokil is the director of Ipas Indonesia. Prior to joining Ipas, Dr. Soumokil worked for several international organizations within Indonesia in the areas of HIV, adolescent reproductive health, maternal and newborn health, and health governance. Dr. Soumokil is a trained medical doctor and began her career as a general practice physician in a community health clinic. She also holds a Masters of Public Health degree from University of Melbourne, Australia. She currently serves on the boards of the Indonesia AIDS Coalition. 


    Frontline women: unrecognised leadership in Indonesia’s COVID-19 response

    Incorporating women’s experiences and skills would improve pandemic responses.

    Sri Budi Eko Wardani is a lecturer in Department of Political Science Universitas Indonesia. She is also the Director of Center for Political Studies Universitas Indonesia. She is taking her doctoral degree in politics at Department of Political Science Universitas Indonesia. Some of her previous notable research were Indonesian Voting Behavior on 1999 Election (1999-2000, collaboration with Ohio State University, USA), Strengthen and Monitoring of 2004 General Election (2003-2004, collaboration with CETRO),  Women Political Participation and Advocacy for Adoption Affirmative Policy in Political Party Law and Election Law (2007-2009, collaboration with The Asia Foundation), and Representation of Women in National and Local Legislature after 2009 Election (July – December 2010, collaboration with The Asia Foundation & AusAID).  

    Dr Diana Contreras Suarez is a Senior Research Fellow at the Melbourne Institute of Applied Economic and Social Research. Her research is driven by questions on how to improve the lives of vulnerable and disadvantaged populations, and focuses on understanding human capital formation throughout the life cycle as well as how public policy or programs work on achieving improved lives. She uses econometrics techniques to look into those questions, with most of her expertise in developing countries, including Indonesia.  

    Devi Asmarani is the Editor-in-Chief and co-founder of women-focused webmagazine Magdalene (www.magdalene.co). Her 25 years’ experience in journalism began at The Jakarta Post, followed by The Straits Times of Singapore, where she wrote news reports, in-depth articles and analyses on various issues from politics, conflicts, terrorism to natural disasters. She has also written columns, articles, essays as well as works of fiction for various local and international publications. She is also a writing and journalism instructor, and gender and media facilitator, and has worked as a consultant with international organizations. Devi is the recipient of S.K. Trimurti Awards for her work in promoting gender equality in journalism.  

    Anindya Restuviani is Program Director of Jakarta Feminist and Co-Director of Hollaback! Jakarta. She is a feminist activist with expertise in gender equality and a history of working in the development sector on issues of gender, children, and vulnerable youth with strong experience in feminist advocacy and organizing within grassroots communities and at the local, national and global level.

    The post Women’s rights & gender equality in Indonesia: watch now appeared first on New Mandala.

  • Date: Tuesday 23rd August 2022Time: 1.00pm – 2pm AEST (UTC+10), 10.00am – 11.00am WIB (UTC+7)Venue: online zoom webinar

    REGISTER ON ZOOM

    Indonesia remains a rural country. With 45% of the population living in the countryside (approx. 123 million), Indonesia has the fourth-largest rural population in the global south. Agriculture is the lead sector in 20 of 34 provinces. Rural Indonesia is changing fast, with land reform and village government reforms, rapid migration to the city and overseas, and COVID-19 impacting rural life. While many people have moved above the poverty line over recent decades, rural people face the imminent threats of vulnerability, food security, stunting and climate change, with a large proportion still living below $2/day. Despite the importance of rural life to Indonesia and its region, scholarship has tended to overlook rural Indonesia.The Indonesia Institute will hold a panel discussion to commemorate Hari Tani and Indonesian independence day in August 2022 and consider the need to rejuvenate research on rural Indonesia. We have asked critical Indonesian thinkers to reflect on a simple question: What are the most important policy problems facing rural Indonesia, and what can researchers do about them? Each presenter will speak for 10 minutes, making a few critical points about their issue, and then we open the floor for discussion.

    Panel speakers:

    Land Reform: Noer Fauzi Rachman

    Food security in rural Indonesia: Sirojuddin Arif, SMERU

    Village Governance: Lian Gogali

    Rural  migration: Suraya Affif

    indonesiainstitute.anu.edu.au

    The post Hari Tani Nasional: A forum hosted by the ANU Indonesia Institute appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Thursday 11 August 2022
    3.30pm–5pm
    On-line

    Join expert speakers in a free forum providing a prospective examination of the administration of Ferdinand ‘Bongbong’ Marcos Jr. in the Philippines, with a focus on issues and dynamics that can be expected to define his presidency.

    Leading experts from the Philippines will examine three themes in particular:

    1) The new cabinet and the exercise of presidential power

    2) Challenges in the macroeconomy, and likely strategies to address them

    3) Foreign policy and the geostrategic outlook.

    To join the forum, please register via this link.

    Speakers

    Maria Tanyag is a Fellow and Senior Lecturer at the Department of International Relations, ANU Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs. She was awarded her PhD from Monash University in 2018. Maria received first class honours for both her MA (Research) and BA Honours in Political Studies from the University of Auckland, New Zealand; and a BA in Political Science magna cum laude from the University of the Philippines-Diliman. She was selected as one of the inaugural International Studies Association (ISA) Emerging Global South Scholars in 2019, and as resident Women, Peace and Security Fellow at Pacific Forum International (Hawaii) in 2021.

    Julio Cabral Teehankee is Professor of Political Science and International Studies at De La Salle University where he served as Chair of the Political Science Department (1994-2007); Chair of the International Studies Department (2008-2013); and Dean of the College of Liberal Arts (2013-2017). He also served as President of the Philippine Political Science Association (2017-2019) and the Asian Political and International Studies Association (2009-2011). He was the Philippine representative to the Council of the International Political Science Association (2019-2021), and is currently regional manager (Southeast Asia and the Pacific) for Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem). He has held several visiting appointments, including ANU as well as universities in Japan, Hong Kong, and the US. Most recently, he was invited to be Senior Visiting Fellow at LSE’s Saw Swee Hock Southeast Asia Centre. He appears regularly as a political analyst for local and international media outlets.

    Maria Socorro Gochoco-Bautista is the BSP Sterling Chair Professor of Monetary Economics at the School of Economics, the University of the Philippines . She has served as member and Chair of the AMRO Advisory Panel, as Senior Economic Advisor at the ADB, as Visiting Scholar at the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, and as Senior Research Fellow at the Bank for International Settlements Asia and Pacific Office. She is an Associate Editor of the Asian Economic Papers and serves on the editorial boards of the Journal of Economic Surveys, Japan and the World Economy, and Thailand and the World Economy. She holds a BA in Economics from Mount Holyoke College (Massachusetts) and a PhD from Columbia University.

    Jay Batongbacal is an Associate Professor at the University of the Philippines College of Law. He teaches courses on Property, Obligations & Contracts, and Law of the Sea and Natural Resources. He obtained his LL.B. (1991) from College of Law at the University of the Philippines and Masters degree in Marine Management (1997) and Doctorate in the Science of Law (2010) from Dalhousie University in Canada. His graduate degrees were acquired under scholarship grants from the Canadian International Development Agency and the prestigious Pierre Elliot Trudeau Foundation, respectively.

    The post A Forum: Bongbong at the Helm appeared first on New Mandala.

  • In March 2022, Muhammad Qodari, the high profile executive director of Indo Barometer survey institute grabbed headlines by proposing that President Joko Widodo (Jokowi) and his former presidential rival and now Minister of Defence Prabowo Subianto run on a joint ticket for the 2024 presidential election.  He argued that this would unify the nation and “polarisation would disappear”.

    Politicians and scholars have repeatedly warned of the dangers that polarisation, especially of a religious nature, poses to Indonesian democracy.  Deepening cleavages between religious communities that were once on civil terms are seen as contributing to a political culture of intolerance and democratic illiberalism.

    But in the past three years, a new trend has emerged which might best be labelled “counter-polarisation”.  In this development, politicians and their parties undertake initiatives or manoeuvres in the name of reducing polarisation and easing intra-communal tensions.  This usually involves parties that were once on opposing sides of the political divide agreeing to cooperate or coalesce.  Not uncommonly, this is hailed as a move to restore national cohesion and strengthen democracy.

    The first and most striking example of this was the decision of Prabowo Subianto, the losing candidate in the 2014 and 2019 presidential elections, to join Joko Widodo’s new cabinet in October 2019 as Defence Minister, despite having campaigned sometimes rancorously against his rival.  One of Prabowo’s justifications for this abrupt about-face was the need to heal divisions between his and Jokowi’s supporters.

    Since then, similar arguments have been used to broker deals that bring together seemingly disparate electoral candidates or parties.  One such case is Qodari’s proposed Jokowi-Prabowo joint ticket, which proved especially controversial because it would require a constitutional amendment to allow Jokowi to stand for a third term. Critics said changing the constitution for this purpose would be democratically regressive. Qodari argued that so great was the threat of polarisation that extending the presidential term limit was justified.  Another proposal called for Prabowo, who previously drew strong Islamist support, to run with Puan Maharani, from the nationalist Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P). In the same spirit, the chairman of the NasDem party suggested that Ganjar Pranowo, the Central Java governor who represents the nationalist camp, take as his running mate Jakarta governor Anies Baswedan, who attracts strong Islamist support.

    Jokowi-Prabowo political reconciliation as Javanese strategy

    The underpinning politics between Jokowi and Prabowo reveals a deeper complexity within the Indonesian election.

    Parties also used “bridge building” arguments to support a flurry of new alliances and proposed coalitions.  Two Islamic parties—the United Development Party (PPP) and the National Mandate Party (PAN)—coalesced with the nationalist Golkar in May 2022, and more recently the Islamist Prosperous Justice Party (PKS), launched alliance talks with the religiously neutral NasDem and the moderate Islamic National Awakening Party (PKB), both of which were previously staunch PKS rivals. Even debate over the length of the 2024 election campaign saw parties arguing about whether a shorter period was more likely to reduce polarisation than a longer one.

    Two questions arise from these developments. Is polarisation as serious a problem as many contend, particularly following the 2019 elections? And is the use of counter-polarisation justifications for political realignments credible or just a cover for other motivations?  We will argue that a recent survey shows a decline in the high levels of polarisation of the 2014-2019 period and that much of the counter-polarisation trend is driven by parties’ attempts to maximise their opportunities in the run-up to the 2024 elections.

    How Polarised is Indonesia?

    This article draws from two data sets, both from Lembaga Survei Indonesia (LSI). The first is the “National Survey on Polarization” conducted in April 2021, which involved 1620 respondents across all provinces of Indonesia.  The margin of error was +/-2.5 at a confidence level of 95%.  The second is “Polarization among Indonesian Muslim Elites”, an analysis of social media content between 2016 to 2021.  More than 2000 excerpts and quotes from a wide range of Muslim organisations and leaders were analysed to discern whether the postings represented conservative, progressive or neutral viewpoints on controversial current issues.

    The survey found that 11% of respondents felt Indonesia was highly polarised and 27% thought it was quite polarised, compared to 33% who believed there was only slight polarisation and 16% who saw no polarisation. This suggests that for a majority of the public, polarisation was not a significant national problem. Those who thought that polarisation was of concern belonged primarily to the elite in urban areas: professionals, and those with higher levels of education and income. Thus while over 56% of those with tertiary education thought that polarisation was of concern, less than 20% of those with only elementary education believed it was a problem. This indicates that existing polarisation is more an elite than a grassroots concern.

    In addition, 46% of respondents who use the Internet (64% of the total number of voters) also tended to see the country as highly or quite polarised, compared to only 24% of respondents who have no Internet access. Thus, although in general the respondents feel that Indonesia is not polarised, exposure to the Internet, such as social media or news sites, increases this perceived sense of division.

    A recurring theme of the “reducing polarisation” proposals is that there is a deep cleavage between those holding pluralist views and those with Islamist views. Pluralism in this case refers to those who favour a polity based on inclusivity, in keeping with the principle of religious neutrality set out in the state ideology of Pancasila. Pluralists resist special privileges being accorded to the nation’s large Muslim majority and also object to political mobilisation based on what they see as “transnational” Islam, or an expression of Islam perceived as inspired by movements or trends from the Middle East.  Islamists are those who seek a political and social system in which Islamic law and principles feature prominently. They believe that the majority status of Muslims combined with Islam’s important role in Indonesia’s history should be formally reflected in the structure and laws of the state.

    The LSI survey, however, showed that the cleavage between pluralist and Islamist groups is less deep than widely supposed. Indeed, the results suggest that high public antipathy is mainly directed to specific religious minority groups rather than major ideological blocs.  The survey used the “feeling thermometer” method for measuring polarisation.  Respondents were shown a list of organisations and parties and asked to rank these according to how warmly or coolly they regarded them, with 100 being hot and zero cold.  (see Chart One)

    Chart One: Feeling Thermometer for persons and groups

    Of the numerous Islamist organisations included in the list, perhaps the most significant for measuring polarisation is PKS.  This largest of Islamist parties that has garnered roughly 7-8% of the national vote in the four general elections since 2004 and is often singled out by pluralists as an example of “transnational Islam” due to its historical links to Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood. PKS was a key Prabowo supporter in the 2014 and 2019 elections, spear-heading damaging social media and mosque-based attacks on Jokowi’s religious credibility.

    Despite its reputation, PKS received an unexpectedly warm 56 “degrees” on the thermometer, placing it above the median. By way of comparison, the groups which were most warmly regarded were, not surprisingly, Indonesia’s two largest mainstream organisations, Nahdlatul Ulama (74) and Muhammadiyah (64).  PKS was more warmly regarded than various non-Muslim groups, such as Christians (50), Hindus (46), Buddhists (43), all of whom might also have been expected to have cooler responses judging by earlier thermometer surveys.

    So, if PKS drew mildly warm “feelings”, which groups evinced the coolest responses?  The five lowest-ranked groups were: local faith sects (38 degrees), usually a reference to heterodox Muslims groups (sometimes referred to Kepercayaan or Kebatinan); the banned Islamist movement Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia (33); the Muslim minority sects Ahmadiyah and the Shia (both 32); and, at the very bottom, the progressive Liberal Islamic Network (JIL) (30), which has been inactive for many years.

    In addition to the thermometer questions, respondents were asked how they felt about having neighbours (Chart Two), sons- or daughters-in-law (Chart Three), or local leaders (Chart Four) from the same list of groups. This is a more specific measure of “affective polarisation’ that gauges the strength of positive or negative emotions. Once again, PKS drew less hostile responses than pluralist discourses might suggest. Sixty-nine percent of respondents didn’t mind having PKS members as neighbours and only 9% objected; 51% could accept them as local leaders and 14% were opposed. 47% of respondents would not object to PKS in-laws, though 26% were resistant. By contrast, more than 30% of respondents were opposed to Ahmadi, Shia or JIL members living near them, and HTI and the banned Islamist vigilante Islamic Defenders Front (FPI) attracted objections from 28% and 24% respectively. Forty-seven percent of respondents would not vote for candidates from local sects; 45% felt the same about Ahmadi candidates, 44% for Shia and 43% for JIL. Objections to having these same groups marrying into respondents’ families were especially high: 55% for Shia, 54% for Ahmadis, 53% for JIL, 49% for HTI and 40% for FPI.

    Chart Two: Feeling Objection for being neighbours with…

    Also notable was the fact that 81% had no objection to supporters of a rival presidential candidate or party for whom they voted living in their neighbourhood, which points to tolerance of political differences in contrast to strong dislike for religious outliers.

    Chart Three: Feeling objection to marrying your child to…

    Chart Four: Feeling objection to voting for a local leader who is…

    These results reveal that the strongest feelings of dislike are directed not towards rival mainstream groups but rather at those on or near the margins who are seen as religiously “deviant” or “excessively” Islamist or liberal. Intolerance of Muslim groups that deviate from Sunni orthodoxy, as defined by the Ministry of Religious Affairs, the state-sanctioned National Ulama Council (MUI) or pre-eminent Islamic organisations, such as NU and Muhammadiyah, has been growing since the Yudhoyono presidency in the late 2000s.  Local sects are frowned upon for their heterodoxy, particularly in blending Islamic and non-Islamic practices.  Ahmadis and Shia, while regarding themselves as Muslim, albeit not part of the Sunni majority, are seen by many conservative Sunnis as theologically problematic and have faced repeated calls for their banning.  HTI is disliked because it espouses the creation of a transnational Islamic government under the leadership of a caliph, which is seen as subverting Indonesia’s foundational principles.  FPI has a public reputation of violence and contempt for law and order. Last of all, JIL, though long moribund, is still seen as emblematic of disruptively progressive ideas that undermine established Islamic norms and practices.  In effect, by objecting to groups such as these, respondents are marking the boundaries of what they regard as acceptable mainstream behaviour.  One might call this a centrist orthodoxy which seeks to exclude ideas and practices that do not conform to an increasingly rigid set of middle-ground norms.

    The extent to which PKS is widely accepted as a mainstream party and its Islamism as part of the tapestry of Indonesian Islam rather than an ideological or religious “other” is also reflected in respondents’ answers to a question asking them to place themselves along a continuum of proximity to PDIP at one end or PKS at the other. While, as expected, feelings of closeness to PDIP are much higher than those towards PKS (18% vs 5%), nonetheless, 38% of those who answered the question placed themselves in the middle of the continuum.

    Whereas the survey provides a snapshot of general community attitudes, social media content analysis offers insights into elite opinion because most of the material studied in this process comes from official websites of Islamic organisations or directly from individual Muslim leaders.  One conclusion from this material bears out the findings of the “National Survey on Polarization” survey finding noted earlier, that elites are more polarised than the rest of society. For example, we can almost directly compare the survey results and the content analysis on the issue of the banning of FPI. With the former, 63% of survey respondents who were aware of the ban supported it and only 29% were opposed, but in social media, 50% of postings opposed the ban and only 34% were in favour. So, opinions were roughly reversed, with almost two-thirds of the general populace favouring the ban but only one-third of elite opinion supporting it.

    Elite disapproval on deviancy issues also appears much stronger than the public’s disapproval. 62% of commentary in social media was hostile to local beliefs, 57% was critical of Ahmadiyah and 39% critical of Shia beliefs.

    One reason for elite susceptibility to polarisation is that they are directly involved in competition for political and economic resources, which requires them to mobilise their support bases.  Exploiting religious identity issues is often an effective means of generating emotion and commitment to their cause.  By contrast, ordinary voters are not usually direct beneficiaries of contestation for political power and rewards.

    The data presented above shows that polarisation, particularly on religious issues, remains significant, though not as serious as many politicians and observers have contended. If we place the 2021 survey results beside data from other credible surveys over the past decade, it is possible to conclude that the high point of polarisation occurred during and between the 2014 and 2019 elections, but has since declined.

    While it is welcome that politicians have expressed concern about religious cleavages and shown a willingness to ease divisions in the name of national cohesion and protecting democracy, there are grounds for doubting that counter-polarisation is the real reason for many recent political manoeuvres. Prabowo readily used divisive appeals as a major part of his presidential campaign strategy in 2014 and 2019, and his main reason for now joining his former opponents is that he wants to rebrand himself as a unifying and statesman-like public figure for the 2024 election. The efforts to extend Widodo’s presidential term are driven by the desire of parts of the ruling coalition to remain in power as long as possible. Any extension beyond 2024 would be a further blow to the quality of Indonesia’s democracy. Finally, those parties that now find virtue in collaboration or coalition with former foes are motivated by a desire to maximise their negotiating positions in the run up to the next parliamentary and presidential elections. Putting together alternative tickets for the presidency reduces their risk of becoming peripheral players who have to accept what the largest parties dictate, rather than being able to protect their own interests.

    The salience of polarisation may increase again in the led up to the 2024 elections. But we need also to be mindful of the fact that a certain degree of polarisation is normal in a democracy, a reflection of ideological difference and engagement with the political process. As Robert B Talisse reminded us recently, “The response to polarisation cannot involve calls for unanimity or abandoning partisan rivalries. A democracy without political divides is no democracy at all.”

    The post Counter-polarisation and political expediency appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • This online forum examines the transition from the Duterte administration to the incoming presidency of Marcos Jr. With the Duterte presidency widely considered a rupture in Philippine politics, we ask: What are the main legacies of the Duterte administration that will impact the new Marcos Jr administration? Will the incoming administration largely follow in the footsteps of Rodrigo Duterte or forge new agendas and policies?

    Speakers address these questions with particular attention to the rule of law and the judiciary, patterns of political mobilisation, and media and disinformation.

    Opening Remarks/Facilitator:

    Mary Joyce Bulao is a PhD student in the Department of Political and Social Change at the Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs. Her work is mostly focused on Philippine elections, political machines, alternative politics, and participatory governance. She finished her BA and MA in Political Science from the University of the Philippines and De La Salle University, respectively. She is a faculty member of the Ateneo de Naga University in the Bicol region of the Philippines.

    Speakers:

    Cleve V. Arguelles is a political scientist doing research on populism in the Philippines and Southeast Asia. He is PhD candidate in the Department of Political and Social Change at the ANU Bell School and Assistant Professorial Lecturer in the Department of Political Science and Development Studies at De La Salle University. His research on democracy, disinformation and youth have been published in Asian Politics & Policy, Democratic Theory, Review of Women’s Studies, and Southeast Asian Affairs.

    Cristina Bonoan is a lawyer and a Senior Lecturer at the University of the Philippines (UP) College of Law. Specialising in governance and human rights, her research is concerned with issues of judicial politics, rule of law, and access to justice.

    Björn Dressel is an Associate Professor at the ANU Crawford School of Public Policy. His research is concerned with issues of comparative constitutionalism, judicial politics and governance and public sector reform in Asia. He has published in a range of international journals, including Governance; Administration & Society; International Political Science Review, and Pacific Review. He is the editor of The Judicialization of Politics in Asia (Routledge, 2012) and co-editor of Politics and Constitutions in Southeast Asia (Routledge, 2016) and From Aquino II to Duterte: Continuity, Change–and Rupture (ISEAS, 2019). You can follow him on twitter @BjoernDressel.

    Ross Tapsell is a senior lecturer and researcher at ANU specialising in Southeast Asian media, digital cultures & disinformation. His recent publications include ‘Divide and rule: Populist crackdowns and media elites in the Philippines’ in Journalism, 2021 and (with Jon Ong) ‘Demystifying disinformation shadow economies: Fake news work models in Indonesia and the Philippines’ in Asian Journal of Communication, vol 32, 2022.

    This event was jointly sponsored by the Department of Foreign Affairs and the Coral Bell School.

    The post From Duterte to Marcos Jr: a forum appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • A group of academics is urging the Federal Government to grant humanitarian protection visas to a small cohort of gifted students from Myanmar who have been left stranded in Australia since completing their studies in 2020. The students have not been able to return to their home country following the military coup in February 2021. The students had received funds to study at Australian universities under the Australia Awards program. However, a condition of the program requires them to return to Myanmar on completion of their degree, or pay the cost of the degree if they do not return.

    The Department of Home Affairs previously intervened, putting the students on temporary three-month visas. The academics say that because it is not safe for the students to go back to Myanmar, they should be allowed to remain in Australia indefinitely. Director of the Myanmar Research Centre at The Australian National University (ANU) Associate Professor Nick Cheesman said he and other academics, who research Myanmar and have instructed or worked with the students, will submit a letter to the new Minister of Home Affairs, Clare O’Neil, this week.

    The signatories are calling on the government to grant the students humanitarian protection visas and waive the requirement to repay the cost of their scholarship. The letter notes that some of the students have actively participated in efforts to oppose military dictatorship, including civil servants who have gone on strike or quit their jobs. Other students have been employees of international organisations working in Myanmar.

    “This is a great opportunity for the new government to act compassionately and sensibly, in everyone’s best interests,” Associate Professor Cheesman said.

    “These are exceptionally gifted students who have a lot to contribute to Australia, and to a future democratic Myanmar. We are optimistic that the incoming minister will make the right decision.”

    The letter, signed by 24 academics from ANU, the University of NSW and six other Australian universities , argues that any attempts to repatriate the students to Myanmar may also violate international law.

    “We call on you as incoming Minister for Home Affairs to prioritise the situation of these alumni so they do not have to endure any more uncertainty and precariousness, and so that they might make a full and lasting contribution to Australia,” it says.

    FOR INTERVIEW: Associate Professor Nick Cheesman Director, ANU Myanmar Research Centre, nick.cheesman@anu.edu.au
    FOR MEDIA ASSISTANCE: Michael Weaver on +61 459 852 243 or ANU Media on +61 2 6125 7979 or at media@anu.edu.au

    The post Academics call on Government to protect stranded Myanmar students appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Across Indonesia, Pemuda (youths) with their university jackets are mourning the death of democracy. Their vigil was a colourful assembly of yellow, green, and red that on April 11th turned into a violent disharmony. Their eulogy condemned the agenda of election-delay and President Joko Widodo’s flirtation with the concept of a third term to satisfy his political impulse.

    Indonesia might still have its 2024 general election on February 14, but as Lady Macbeth put it “Th’ attempt, and not the deed, confounds us.” The recurrence of nationwide demonstrations by Pemuda during Jokowi’s administration illustrates a tragedy of a Macbethian proportion:

    Indonesian democracy corrupted a decent person, turning him into a despot; the Pemuda check and balance this despotic tendency, yet the people keep electing a despot to lead the nation. But who is responsible for the death of Indonesian democracy? Was this an unintended consequence of Jokowi’s ambition to better Indonesia and cement his legacy? A product of power-seeking oligarchs surrounding Jokowi that led him astray? Or a product of Indonesia’s flawed democracy that possesses conflicting aspirations for freedom and a desire to be led?

    William Shakespeare’s Tragedie of Macbeth ask similar questions, interrogating the concept of individual agency. Reflecting on Macbeth allows us to unpack the dilemma of agency when evaluating the culpability of a despotic behaviour––exposing the tension between individual volition, groupthink, and systemic pressure. While Macbeth clearly put a dagger into King Duncan, Shakespeare’s whodunit play never answers who was responsible for killing Duncan: Was he coerced by Lady Macbeth and her ends-justify-the-means outlook, or was he entrapped by the three-witches’ foreshadowing of his destiny? The latter allows Macbeth to raise a defence of diminished responsibility: he was not guilty of a crime because he did not act on his own volition, manipulated by forces beyond his control.

    The story of Jokowi’s ascent resembles that of Macbeth: it was a parable of a person who refused to stay in his allotted place, overturning the natural order of a system. Jokowi’s predecessors were privileged to assume their position: Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono was an accomplished military general and former minister; Abdurahman Wahid was a leader of the Nahdatul Ulama, the largest Islamic organisation in the world; Megawati was a revolutionary figure who carried the Sukarno’s name; Suharto came from the Indonesian military, and Sukarno was an intellectual revolutionary. Jokowi did not possess worldly intellect nor the privileges of his predecessors; his election disrupted the usual path to power. Before him, being a successful furniture salesman and Mayor of Solo would have been insufficient to be elected as the president of the third largest democracy in the world. His exception led some to invoke the metaphor of Petruk Dadi Ratu, a Javanese lore about a king who rose from an ordinary people with no support from political elites, which raised the question of agency: was he a king or a puppet?

    Pemuda protesting the agenda for a delayed election in West Sumatra on April 11, 2022. (Image by Rhmtdns on Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0)

    Thirty years of Suharto (1968–98) habituated thinking of a leader like a king, which instilled the notion of control as understood by the Javanese conception of kingship: A king is a candle within which the divine lights radiate and must be obeyed. Under a similar logic, establishing control became Jokowi’s preoccupation between 2014 and 2017. To consolidate power, he made a deal with established forces––the Indonesian military and other elites. By 2017, Jokowi demonstrated that he could preserve a significant degree of agency by giving concessions to elites, humiliating his dissenters via reshuffling cabinets, and balancing Megawati, the leader of the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P), in a limited way.

    A scene at Gatot Subroto street during the September 24 2019 Jakarta protests

    Indonesian protests point to old patterns

    The return of student protests and the government’s response have are reminiscent of the era of authoritarian rule

    We could be upset with him, but the Indonesian political system makes a fully accountable figure an impossibility. Jokowi’s down-to-earth and social media savvy profile was insufficient for him to lead. The system prohibited him from campaigning as an independent, requiring him to be nominated by a political party, leading him to form an alliance with the PDI-P. PDI-P then worked to restrain his manoeuvre: he was required to cater to the interests of political patrons, which led to the polarisation of loyalty of his elites. The Indonesian democracy forced Jokowi to make a Faustian bargain.

    But to argue that Indonesia’s democracy was faulty by design obscures the complicity and culpability of the oligarchic forces and Jokowi in killing the democracy.

    Realising that challenging the oligarchic forces was futile, he instead harnessed them. A figure closely resembling Lady Macbeth is probably Megawati who, despite her emergence out of revolutionary events in 1998, geared PDI-P to propose laws that took power from the people: the abolishment of direct election and a defamation law for criticising the president. The three witches––nationalism (represented by the military elites), Islamism (represented by the savvy political ulama), and clientelism (represented by rent-seeking business oligarchs)–––also tempted Jokowi to tolerate undemocratic acts as a means to secure power. Throughout his presidency, he performed acts of loyalty to these forces. He put on a military uniform and vowed not to apologise to the victims of military abuse during the period of pro-nationalist, anti-communist pogrom to demonstrate his nationalism. He put on his cap and embraced the Islamists to win an election. He engrossed himself with Lady Macbeth and the three witches, which made him not just complicit but culpable.

    Jokowi is no puppet, but as a king does he possess agency?

    Joko Widodo was given a green turban by K.H. Maimun Zubair before attending the “Rapat Umum Rakyat” at Gelora Bung Karno, Jakarta. (Public domain. Government of RI on Wikimedia Commons)

    Between 2017 and 2019, Jokowi’s preoccupation shifted from consolidation to anointment as a performance of political power. This was not just performative, it was an assertion of kingship. One of the most interesting cases was the replacement of Gatot Nurmantyo, then Chief of TNI (Panglima). Like Banquo in Macbeth, Gatot was Jokowi’s first ally who helped consolidate his power but soon deserted him by showing ambition to contest him in the 2019 general election. Jokowi hastened his replacement, and anointed Hadi Tjahjanto, as Panglima. By rights, no one would have predicted Hadi would get the spot. What Hadi lacks in experience he made up in loyalty, which was seen within TNI as a flagrant case of civilian interference into military politics. This sent a clear message: anointing was a kingly move.

    The melancholy of the Suharto’s authoritarian era soon took over. In his second term, he purged critics and worked to eliminate balancing forces altogether by bringing Prabowo into his administration. Getting closer to the ideal of achieving harmonious political order as understood by the Javanese, in the process he put a dagger into a sickly Indonesian democracy.

    Although his goal for development was well-meaning, the means was not. Jokowi is an ambitious president, reminiscent of Sukarno’s worldly goals but with Suharto’s restrained rhetoric. Jokowi has embarked on concretising many ambitious infrastructure projects, far beyond the complacent Yudhoyono. Yudhoyono chose to be a sitting duck. After much cajoling, he allowed reform-minded ministers such as Chatib Basri and Sri Mulyani to embark on various economic projects that got Indonesia out of the 2008 Global Financial Crisis, but as soon as Indonesia’s economy stabilised he put a stop to the reform process. Jokowi is the opposite of Yudhoyono. He was ambitious in his first term, and got even more ambitious in his second. He is now moving the capital, an act that not even Suharto could realise. To fulfil his many ambitions of equal development, he justifies the means.

    But was he entirely to blame?

    While observers might be surprised that he harboured despotic tendencies, never had he hid his stripes. This was what made me voted for him in 2014. In his short tenure as a governor of Jakarta (2012­–14), he was famous for admonishing sluggish bureaucrats. As a president, Jokowi also has been transparent with his tolerance of undemocratic means to protect democracy, such as disbanding the Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia in 2017 to protect Indonesia from radical Islam. As he was re-elected in spite of his transparency, his undemocratic tactics were validated: he has a democratic mandate to achieve his goals via undemocratic means. This does not acquit him, but it does point to the flaw in the Indonesian society that desires decentralisation but continues to reward a popular leader who centralises. Perhaps this also indicates the weakness of the very concept of democracy, which is unable to prevent the repetition of history, a relapse of the majority to continuously put a despot in office.

    Are Indonesians to blame?

    Putting the burden on the people assumes that they have choices, and they deliberately choose badly. But the choices are an illusion: they are being asked to choose between people cut from the same cloth: Jokowi or Prabowo, both Islamists, both Nationalist, and both would have had to embrace the system that is flawed.

    The interrogation of agency in Indonesia’s politics demonstrates that answering who killed Indonesian democracy is less important than understanding the tragedy itself. This tragedy involves a deterministic trap created by a system that is inherently hostile to accountability; what makes it even sadder is that the elite and the people perpetuate that hostility by their own free will. The essence of the tragedy is thus the circularity of a flawed system and bad actors. The system fosters the worst in people, but everyone’s choice remains: they could plant seeds for reform; instead, they continue to choose expediency at the expense of democracy.

    Like McDuff, who eventually kills Macbeth in the final act, if Jokowi chooses not to step down, he will face stern resistance from the Pemuda. But escaping the trap is not a simple matter of balancing or overthrowing a despot. The harder task is to unlearn the mentality of the masses that have been desensitised to the employment of undemocratic means, making them susceptible to electing another despot. This, in the long run, undermines Indonesia’s democracy.

    The post The Macbethian tragedy of Indonesian democracy appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • This forum examines the dynamics of the upcoming national election in the Philippines. Will Leni Robredo be able to overcome Bongbong Marcos’s decisive lead in the surveys? What are the interests of external actors in the election? How well prepared is the Commission on Elections to oversee the polls?

    Speakers

    Paul D. Hutchcroft is Professor of Political and Social Change in The Australian National University’s Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs (of which he was founding director, 2009-2013). While on secondment from ANU, between 2013 and 2017, Hutchcroft served as Lead Governance Specialist with the Australian Embassy in Manila. From 2018 to 2021, he was the overall chief investigator of a $2.1 million Australian government grant to ANU to support a range of research and advocacy projects on democracy, human rights, and the rule of law in Southeast Asia.

    Marites Dañguilan Vitug is one of the Philippines’ most accomplished journalists and authors. For close to a decade, Vitug – a Nieman fellow – edited Newsbreak magazine, a trailblazer in Philippine investigative journalism. Her recent book, Rock Solid: How the Philippines Won Its Maritime Case Against China, has become a bestseller. She is among the authors who contributed to a 2021 book, Maritime Issues and Regional Order in the Indo-Pacific, published by Palgrave/Macmillan.

    Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Holmes is Professor of Political Science and Development Studies and Fellow of the Southeast Asia Research Center at De La Salle University. Since 2008, Ronnie has also been president of Pulse Asia Research Inc. In addition to three terms as president of the Philippine Political Science Association, Ronnie has chaired the board of the Philippine Social Science Council. His affiliation with DLSU stretches back to 1985, through which time he has served as Chair of the Department and Associate Dean of the College of Liberal Arts. At other junctures, Ronnie was assigned to run De La Salle College of Saint Benilde and De La Salle Zobel. He obtained his Bachelor’s degree in History-Political Science from De La Salle University-Manila, his Master of Arts in Political Science from the University of the Philippines-Diliman, and his Ph.D. from the Department of Political and Social Change at ANU.

    Attorney Ona Caritos is Executive Director of the Legal Network for Truthful Elections (LENTE). She received her B.A. in Political Science and Government from the Ateneo de Manila University in 2004, and a Doctor of Law (J.D.) from the Ateneo in 2008. LENTE is a nationwide, non-partisan network of lawyers, law students, paralegals, and trained volunteers engaged in vote monitoring and legal work for honest elections in the Philippines. It works closely with various civil society organisations to promote human rights and a rights-based approach to elections and governance.

    All opinions expressed are the panellists’ own and do not represent those of The Australian National University or the Australian Government.

    The post Marcos or Robredo? Assessing the dynamics of the May 2022 Philippine presidential elections appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Thursday, 21 April, 3:30-5:00 pm

    Online and in person.

    Hedley Bull Building, Lecture Theatre 2 (HB2)
    130 Garran Road, Acton
    ANU College of Asia and the Pacific

    Please register via this link.

    Hosted by the Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs, ANU.

    This forum examines the dynamics of the upcoming national election in the Philippines. Will Leni Robredo be able to overcome Bongbong Marcos’s decisive lead in the surveys? What are the interests of external actors in the election? How well prepared is the Commission on Elections to oversee the polls?

    Speakers:

    His Excellency Steven J. Robinson AO is Australian Ambassador to the Philippines. Over his extensive career, he has developed and expanded Australia’s relationships with a broad range of countries, with a particular focus on the South East Asian region. He has served in Australia’s embassies in Jakarta, Yangon and Bangkok and has held a range of senior positions in Canberra across operational and corporate areas. In 2009, Mr Robinson was made an Officer of the Order of Australia (AO) “for service to Australia’s international interests through a significant and sustained contribution”.

    Paul D. Hutchcroft is Professor of Political and Social Change in The Australian National University’s Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs (of which he was founding director, 2009-2013). While on secondment from ANU, between 2013 and 2017, Hutchcroft served as Lead Governance Specialist with the Australian Embassy in Manila. From 2018 to 2021, he was the overall chief investigator of a A$2.1 million Australian government grant to ANU to support a range of research and advocacy projects on democracy, human rights, and the rule of law in Southeast Asia.

    Marites Dañguilan Vitug is one of the Philippines’ most accomplished journalists and authors. For close to a decade, Vitug – a Nieman fellow – edited Newsbreak magazine, a trailblazer in Philippine investigative journalism. Her recent book, Rock Solid: How the Philippines Won Its Maritime Case Against China, has become a bestseller. She is among the authors who contributed to a 2021 book, Maritime Issues and Regional Order in the Indo-Pacific, published by Palgrave/Macmillan.

    Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Holmes is Professor of Political Science and Development Studies and Fellow of the Southeast Asia Research Center at De La Salle University. Since 2008, Ronnie has also been president of Pulse Asia Research Inc. In addition to three terms as president of the Philippine Political Science Association, Ronnie has chaired the board of the Philippine Social Science Council. His affiliation with DLSU stretches back to 1985, through which time he has served as Chair of the Department and Associate Dean of the College of Liberal Arts. At other junctures, Ronnie was assigned to run De La Salle College of Saint Benilde and De La Salle Zobel. He obtained his Bachelor’s degree in History-Political Science from De La Salle University-Manila, his Master of Arts in Political Science from the University of the Philippines-Diliman, and his Ph.D. from the Department of Political and Social Change at ANU.

    Attorney Ona Caritos is Executive Director of the Legal Network for Truthful Elections (LENTE). She received her B.A. in Political Science and Government from the Ateneo de Manila University in 2004, and a Doctor of Law (J.D.) from the Ateneo in 2008. LENTE is a nationwide, non-partisan network of lawyers, law students, paralegals, and trained volunteers engaged in vote monitoring and legal work for honest elections in the Philippines. It works closely with various civil society organisations to promote human rights and a rights-based approach to elections and governance.

    The post Forum: Marcos or Robredo? Assessing dynamics of the May 2022 Philippine Elections appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • This article is co-published with our partner 9DASHLINE.

    As ASEAN has grown increasingly frustrated with the Myanmar military’s lack of progress in ending ongoing violence within the country, the junta has spurned the regional bloc and aligned itself with authoritarian friends in Moscow and Beijing, most recently voicing support for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

    Myanmar’s rejection of ASEAN as well as growing economic and diplomatic isolation under military rule echoes its Cold War policy during the rule of a previous dictator, General Ne Win.

    Seeking to maximise autonomy in an era of bipolar competition between the United States and the Soviet Union, Burma’s foreign policy under Ne Win reflected what one Burmese scholar called “negative neutralism for group survival”. According to Maung Maung Gyi, negative neutralism involves an inward-looking, xenophobic worldview, a lack of economic dynamism, and diffidence toward multilateral institutions. Emblematic of this inward turn, Ne Win withdrew Burma from the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) in 1979 and violently expelled Indian and Chinese communities living in the country. The military regime advocated strict self-reliance and nationalised key portions of the country’s economy and national resources, stifling private enterprise and individual rights and shuttering universities, which it saw as breeding grounds for resistance.

    Today, Myanmar’s military is falling back on its old playbook. Military officials have vowed to “learn to walk with only a few friends”, and insist that they are prepared to weather international isolation and economic sanctions. This inward turn is all the more tragic when compared to the country’s decade of gradual opening to the world between 2011-2021 when its economy grew in leaps and bounds and a generation of young people found access to international media, freedom of expression, and exciting new opportunities. Those dreams are now dashed. While universities are still functioning within the country, students now log onto Zoom classes with audible shelling taking place in the background and with pseudonyms in place of their real names for fear of being targeted for expressing their views.

    Both periods of negative neutralism illustrate that the junta has never placed much stock in its political legitimacy — both domestic and external. Indeed, as I have argued with Myanmar scholar Andrea Passeri, the ruling regime’s level of political legitimation directly correlates with its diplomatic proactivity. So, when the junta’s legitimacy plummeted in the wake of the coup, the result is increased self-reliance rather than the more active foreign policy Naypyidaw exhibited following political reforms in 2011.

    ASEAN’s failed approach

    When Cambodia took over the chairmanship of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) in late 2021, Prime Minister Hun Sen signalled a volte-face by insisting that the regional bloc should include junta representatives as members of the ASEAN family. A high-profile visit by Hun Sen in January produced no discernible shift in the junta’s attitude toward negotiations following ASEAN’s Five Point Consensus, which was issued in April 2021. Coup leader Min Aung Hlaing immediately undermined the agreement by continuing to reject talks with Myanmar’s National Unity Government (NUG), which the commander-in-chief refers to as a “terrorist organization”. Moreover, Hun Sen’s entreaties to fellow ASEAN members to support his outreach to the regime have met with resistance and undermined regional unity, leading ASEAN to double down on its decision to disinvite junta representatives from the group’s meetings.

    The association once again barred the Myanmar military from sending a representative to its 16-17 February Foreign Ministers Meeting in a sign of continuing frustration with the junta’s total lack of progress toward negotiations. In response, the military’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs asserted that “Myanmar will continue to promote constructive cooperation with ASEAN, including with the special envoy, with the understanding that it is Myanmar-owned, Myanmar-led process”. However, the statement added that calls to engage with the NUG were “contrary to the principles of the ASEAN Charter” given it viewed the resistance as “terrorists”.

    Military turns to Russia and China

     Disillusioned with the ASEAN process, Myanmar’s military leaders have increasingly looked to Russia and China to support their brutal crackdown on civilian resistance and People’s Defence Forces (PDFs), which have arisen across the country to oppose military rule. Indeed, Senior General Min Aung Hlaing has visited Russia at least seven times since 2013, most recently travelling to Moscow in June 2021. Moscow accounted for nearly half of Myanmar’s total arms imports between 2014 and 2019 and is the source for much of the Myanmar Air Force’s hardware, which it has relied on to combat disparate resistance forces as its ground war has faltered. Myanmar is at the forefront of Moscow’s competition with Beijing for influence in Southeast Asia, where China is the largest economic power.

    China is Myanmar’s top trading partner and a major investor in infrastructure projects across the country. Many of those projects stalled after the February 2021 coup, which put businesses in jeopardy of international sanctions and attacks by resistance forces. As a result, China has urged the NUG to protect its investments, though there is little guarantee the NUG will be able to do so given its lack of control over myriad PDFs scattered around the country. Min Aung Hlaing has enthusiastically courted Chinese investment and vowed that his regime would prioritise hydropower projects, an oblique nod to Beijing’s major stake in hydroelectric dams in northern Myanmar.

    ASEAN on Myanmar’s coup: revisiting Cold War diplomacy on Cambodia

    ASEAN has precedent and success in interceding in struggles for diplomatic recognition at the United Nations during the Third Indochina War (1978-1991).

    Nevertheless, Myanmar’s economy contracted by nearly 20 per cent in 2021, and foreign investment has ground to a halt due to ongoing instability. French energy giant Total and the United States’ Chevron recently announced their withdrawal from the country, as the European Union and the United States have steadily ratcheted up targeted economic sanctions against the military and its business interests. Yet economic isolation has not led to a diplomatic breakthrough.

    While the military has shown no signs of warming to ASEAN’s diplomatic pressure to undertake meaningful political dialogue with the NUG, its ties with Russia and China will be vital for regime survival. Beijing has revealed its frustration with the coup in the past year but appears to have bet on the military holding the upper hand for the time being. In Naypyidaw, the junta knows it needs the support of Moscow and Beijing in the UN Security Council to prevent international action such as an arms embargo, which has failed to pass given their veto powers. As such, issuing a statement of support for the Kremlin’s latest military invasion of Ukraine may be a small price to pay for the loyalty of its authoritarian patrons.

    Looking forward, Myanmar’s military leaders have signalled that international sanctions and diplomatic isolation will have little effect on their calculus. At the same time, there is no indication that Min Aung Hlaing will accede to ASEAN’s calls for political dialogue with the elected government, at least not until conditions on the battlefield compel him to consider negotiating. While the NUG has made every effort to engage with international institutions from the UN to ASEAN to advance its cause, the international community’s failure to respond with meaningful action beyond sanctions means that they will have to outlast the despots in Naypyidaw before Myanmar is able to return to an active and vibrant global role.

    The post With ASEAN snub, Myanmar junta signals return to Cold War isolationism appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • The Indonesian House of Representatives’ new capital city bill passed in mid-January 2022. It is one of fastest bills ever made in Indonesian legislative history, taking less than a month from when the house formed a special committee in mid-December last year to public hearings in early 2022. Normally that process takes at least 6 months, depending on the issues and political will. The new capital city bill has many pros and cons. While the government and house hope it will run smoothly, it appears the new capital draft bill did not include the aspirations or perspectives of current residents of the proposed site in Kalimantan. My research reveals that local voices, especially those of adat (customary law) communities have been excluded from discussions of the capital draft bill. Furthermore, another important issue arises in overlapping rules in the new capital location.  There are 162 existing natural resources concessions within the core location of new capital and its surroundings. Certainly, these two major omissions from the process contradict with the vision of new capital that is a smart, green, beautiful, and sustainable city.

    One important issue to be resolved is the acknowledgment of indigenous land rights. Although the new capital will be established on state land, which is made up of 56.180 hectare for the core area and 199.962 hectares for surrounding developments, this huge area overlaps with existing indigenous land parcels. The Sultanate of Kutai Kartanegara was not invited by national policymakers to discuss the land status of land in the new capital site, although the Sultanate still has traditional land rights on the site.  Before joining the Republic of Indonesia in 1959, the Sultanate was an independent polity whose land covered current territory of East Kalimantan Province. The Sultanate has resumed its activities in 1999 after a forty-year hiatus.   The site also includes some indigenous communities that use the land for fishing and farming.

    However, these traditional owners have been excluded from the discussion too. One local representative from Sultanate told me that, they never get any chance to discuss the new capital city process in formal or informal discussions from the national and local governments. In fact, they have been living in that area for decades. Most importantly, the central government’s bill only mentions Paser, Dayak, and Bugis as traditional owners of the area, and fails to  acknowledge the Sultanate and Kutai people. This could create land disputes, as the Sultanate still authorises customary law in managing lands.

    Lessons from Brasilia: on the empty modernity of Indonesia’s new capital

    Indonesian officials are raising Brasilia as a model for relocating the capital city to East Kalimantan. But Brazil’s experience with Brasilia is not a positive lesson from history, but a warning.

    The marginalisation of indigenous people will be harmful for the new Indonesian capital city. Conflict between indigenous locals and migrants, particularly those from Java, will likely arise. The national state civil apparatus, an estimated 1,5 million people, will be the dominant group of migrants to East Kalimantan when the new city is established. This huge number of migrants has the potential to disturb local economies and markets, especially in terms of housing and food. If the government does not accommodate the need of locals, this will spark new vertical conflicts. Previously, notable vertical conflicts between the central government and communities in Aceh and Papua have resulted in insurgencies that have lasted for many years. Some of these have been focused one mining issues like oil and gas in Aceh and copper and silver mining in Papua.  In the second half of the 20th century, transmigration policy generated horizontal conflict between Javanese migrants and local populations in several provinces outside Java. Therefore, the lesson to be learned from previous conflicts triggered by this New Order developmentalism is that acknowledging traditional land rights and meeting economic needs through fair compensation may satisfy locals in the new Indonesian capital city development projects.

    The design for the new capital features concentric “rings” with parliament, ministries, government occupying the two central rings, business districts in the second ring and residential areas in the third. The location of new capital also overlaps with 162 current coal-mining concessions covering 203,720 hectares, three times the area of Jakarta. The owners of these concessions are large conglomerates who have close relationships with national elites. The mine owners are also attached to the inner political circle of Jokowi’s administration. Hashim Djojohadikusumo, younger brother of current Defence Minister Prabowo Subianto, has concessions that cover 173,395 hectares in the second ring, and business interests of the Coordinating Minister for Maritime & Investment Affairs Luhut Binsar Pandjaitan own land almost 17,000 hectares in the second and third rings. Significantly, most of these mining companies have huge mines on the site. This includes 94 coal mining holes that are supposed to be restored through environmental provisions.

    Photo: BPMI Setpres/Muchlis Jr (public domain). President Jokowi and his entourage at the new capital city site, including Minister of National Development Planning/Head National Development Planning Agency Suharso Monoarfa, Minister of State Owned Enterprises Erick Thohir, Minister of Public Works and Public Housing Basuki Hadimuljono, Minister for Environment and Forestry Siti Nurbaya, Minister for Agriculture and Spatial Planning Sofyan Djalil, Minister for Internal Affairs Tito Karnavian, dan Cabinate Secretary Pramono Anung.

    The Indonesian Mining Advocacy Network (JATAM) has underlined there is lack of transparency and poor public participation in the process of identifying land to be granted to concession holders in exchange for concessions that have been reclaimed. This risks disenfranchising or displacing locals whose land is caught up in these exchanges, which could potentially generate social conflict. These facts, however, lead the public to the belief that conglomerates will be relieved of responsibility for reparations of the disastrous environmental impacts of their mining if they agreed to financially support the new capital city.  This, again, contradicts with the vision of a capital that promotes a green and sustainable city development. The future Indonesian capital may be no better than Jakarta if it is built on vulnerable and fragile environments. The alignment of interests between business and politics should be refused in the making of a new capital city. These has leads one civil society organisation, the National Axis for State Sovereignty (PNKM) to file a lawsuit against the new capital city bill through the constitutional court. They argue that the new capital city is not part of the long-term national development project 2005 to 2025, and therefore  unconstitutional.

    In sum, the whole picture of new Indonesian capital city still leans to the elites rather than the people. Recently, more than 24.000 people have signed an online petition rejecting the capital moving from Jakarta to East Kalimantan because of concerns about the COVID-19 situation and state budget deficits.  Many groups are in opposition, especially those already living in the area.  Acknowledging their existence and accommodating their needs is the key to building an inclusive Indonesian capital city for all.

    The post A new Indonesian capital city: conflict pending appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • As the great power rivalry intensifies, many pundits have already indicated that preserving autonomy is wishful thinking for a middle power such as Indonesia. But while the room for hedging has undoubtedly shrunk, Indonesia will continue to find ways to preserve a significant measure of its strategic autonomy. On September 2, 1948, when Mohammad Hatta, Indonesia’s first vice president, uttered the phrase mendayung diantara dua karang (translated as navigating or rowing between two reefs), the fear of having to succumb to another period of subjugation was just a bitter fruit that they were not willing to swallow.

    The fear of a loss of agency is alive and well in Indonesia’s modern collective unconscious as a post-colonial state. But as Leonard Sebastian and I noted in our essay: “remembrance of things past is not necessarily a preference for historical precedence. This is not the basis of a “free and active” (bebas aktif) foreign policy strategy”. My referencing Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time) carries the subtext of the fluidity of memory: there are things that we remember, but there are things that we remember well.

    The word “mendayung” or “navigate” evokes a textural imagination of the struggle for independence, and Indonesians remember that “navigate” is the essence of our bebas aktif foreign policy doctrine. Mendayung precludes alignment. As Hatta posited: “Do we, Indonesians, in the struggle for the freedom of our people and our country, only have to choose between Russia and America?”

    President Joko Widodo in a bilateral meeting with the President of the United States, Joe Biden at COP26 in 2021. (Public domain)

    What we remember well is that to “navigate” is about playing two superpowers off against each other; this is what Indonesia culturally regards as jalan tengah, translated as the middle way.

    What is jalan tengah, and why should we care?

    Jalan tengah is not a middle position. It is about taking risks. When Indonesia withdrew from the UN in 1965, it rejected Kissinger’s attempts to persuade Jakarta to normalise its relationship with Beijing following the US-China rapprochement in 1972, and organised military exercises in the Natunas in 1996, 2016, 2020, and 2021 against one of its biggest investors––China. These are not risk averse attitudes.

    Jalan tengah refers to a constant searching for a new equilibrium, conjuring the cultural imagery of a Pinisi ship as it navigates the ocean. The goal is twofold: to preserve strategic autonomy and to exploit a great power rivalry to its advantage. Such underlying principles perhaps inspired former Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa’s “dynamic equilibrium.” Natalegawa’s postulation was a modern reinterpretation of jalan tengah, magnifying the aspect of preserving Indonesia’s voice in regional matters. As Natalegawa’s jargon was abandoned during Joko Widodo’s administration, the underlying principle of jalan tengah continues to be prominent but reinterpreted.

    As the inherently unstable multipolarity comes of age, jalan tengah teaches two lessons about Indonesia–––one of policy and another of identity.

    Public opinion and civil society: shaping Indonesia’s South China Sea Policy?

    Public opinion should force the Indonesian government to consider and adjust its policies and responses to China in the South China Sea.

    Jalan tengah makes Indonesia’s concept of strategic autonomy pliable. Under the Jokowi presidency, Indonesia has been willing to sacrifice some degree of autonomy by accepting Chinese investments for the sake of economic development. There are two revealing examples. First, Jakarta started to design (in some instances) an unfair bidding process for investments that only China could access. Second, violating its own domestic law that forbids foreign investors from owning shares totalling greater than 49 per cent, Jakarta made an exception for a consortium of Chinese companies, Shanghai Decent Investment (Group) Co., Ltd., to own 66.25 per cent of the shares in Indonesia’s Morowali Industrial Park (IMIP). (IMIP is the biggest cluster of Chinese investments in Indonesia to date.)

    The two examples are not a sign of China’s success in buying Indonesia’s acquiescence. In fact, Beijing has accepted many conditions imposed by Jakarta, such as the elimination of sovereign guarantees in some high-profile investments (e.g., Jakarta-Bandung High Speed Rail). Moreover, Jakarta continues to contest the legality of China’s traditional fishing ground claim in the Natunas.

    Indonesia’s decision to gamble with a degree of its strategic autonomy should thus be regarded as the latest reinterpretation of what jalan tengah entails. The gambit of compromising autonomy is also a tactic to entice the U.S. to start paying attention to Indonesia. This has borne fruit. Washington has acknowledged Indonesia’s renaming of the far southern end of the South China Sea as the North Natuna Sea. The US’ acknowledgement serves to contest China’s influence in Indonesia. Gifts from the two superpowers are the desired middle way.

    Joko Widodo meeting Xi Jinping, March 2015. (Public domain)

    The Loftusian idea––“memory is a living thing that changes shape, expands, shrinks, and expands again”––illustrates the way in which the Indonesian elite interacts with the concept of jalan tengah. This time, Indonesia blurs its remembrance of non-alignment and bends its strategic autonomy like a coconut tree. This is the twenty first century reinterpretation on how Indonesia exercises the “free” element in its post-colonial foreign policy.

    The other significance of jalan tengah is ontological. It brings to mind Indonesia’s embrace of duality, like a wayang kulit (shadow puppet) that embodies both ascetic and cunning quality. In Hatta’s 1951 address, he noted that “As a nation which has struggled against imperialism and colonialism for many a decade, we have the highest ideals concerning the fundamental principles of life. We want to see our nation live in prosperity and well-being, free from want”. Hatta then ventured on to explain how Indonesia’s economy should contain elements of socialism and capitalism (a blend known as koperasi or a cooperative), a system that prevails to date. Embracing duality perhaps partly explains why it is difficult for Indonesia to let go of its authoritarian tendency for control despite being a democratic and decentralised state. Similarly, in navigating the great power rivalry, jalan tengah is a balancing act, not against the US or China, but over its own conviction: the extent to which Indonesia is willing to compromise its strategic autonomy.

    The post Indonesia’s Jalan tengah in the new age of great power rivalries appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • As the great power rivalry intensifies, many pundits have already indicated that preserving autonomy is wishful thinking for a middle power such as Indonesia. But while the room for hedging has undoubtedly shrunk, Indonesia will continue to find ways to preserve a significant measure of its strategic autonomy. On September 2, 1948, when Mohammad Hatta, Indonesia’s first vice president, uttered the phrase mendayung diantara dua karang (translated as navigating or rowing between two reefs), the fear of having to succumb to another period of subjugation was just a bitter fruit that they were not willing to swallow.

    The fear of a loss of agency is alive and well in Indonesia’s modern collective unconscious as a post-colonial state. But as Leonard Sebastian and I noted in our essay: “remembrance of things past is not necessarily a preference for historical precedence. This is not the basis of a “free and active” (bebas aktif) foreign policy strategy”. My referencing Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time) carries the subtext of the fluidity of memory: there are things that we remember, but there are things that we remember well.

    The word “mendayung” or “navigate” evokes a textural imagination of the struggle for independence, and Indonesians remember that “navigate” is the essence of our bebas aktif foreign policy doctrine. Mendayung precludes alignment. As Hatta posited: “Do we, Indonesians, in the struggle for the freedom of our people and our country, only have to choose between Russia and America?”

    President Joko Widodo in a bilateral meeting with the President of the United States, Joe Biden at COP26 in 2021. (Public domain)

    What we remember well is that to “navigate” is about playing two superpowers off against each other; this is what Indonesia culturally regards as jalan tengah, translated as the middle way.

    What is jalan tengah, and why should we care?

    Jalan tengah is not a middle position. It is about taking risks. When Indonesia withdrew from the UN in 1965, it rejected Kissinger’s attempts to persuade Jakarta to normalise its relationship with Beijing following the US-China rapprochement in 1972, and organised military exercises in the Natunas in 1996, 2016, 2020, and 2021 against one of its biggest investors––China. These are not risk averse attitudes.

    Jalan tengah refers to a constant searching for a new equilibrium, conjuring the cultural imagery of a Pinisi ship as it navigates the ocean. The goal is twofold: to preserve strategic autonomy and to exploit a great power rivalry to its advantage. Such underlying principles perhaps inspired former Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa’s “dynamic equilibrium.” Natalegawa’s postulation was a modern reinterpretation of jalan tengah, magnifying the aspect of preserving Indonesia’s voice in regional matters. As Natalegawa’s jargon was abandoned during Joko Widodo’s administration, the underlying principle of jalan tengah continues to be prominent but reinterpreted.

    As the inherently unstable multipolarity comes of age, jalan tengah teaches two lessons about Indonesia–––one of policy and another of identity.

    Public opinion and civil society: shaping Indonesia’s South China Sea Policy?

    Public opinion should force the Indonesian government to consider and adjust its policies and responses to China in the South China Sea.

    Jalan tengah makes Indonesia’s concept of strategic autonomy pliable. Under the Jokowi presidency, Indonesia has been willing to sacrifice some degree of autonomy by accepting Chinese investments for the sake of economic development. There are two revealing examples. First, Jakarta started to design (in some instances) an unfair bidding process for investments that only China could access. Second, violating its own domestic law that forbids foreign investors from owning shares totalling greater than 49 per cent, Jakarta made an exception for a consortium of Chinese companies, Shanghai Decent Investment (Group) Co., Ltd., to own 66.25 per cent of the shares in Indonesia’s Morowali Industrial Park (IMIP). (IMIP is the biggest cluster of Chinese investments in Indonesia to date.)

    The two examples are not a sign of China’s success in buying Indonesia’s acquiescence. In fact, Beijing has accepted many conditions imposed by Jakarta, such as the elimination of sovereign guarantees in some high-profile investments (e.g., Jakarta-Bandung High Speed Rail). Moreover, Jakarta continues to contest the legality of China’s traditional fishing ground claim in the Natunas.

    Indonesia’s decision to gamble with a degree of its strategic autonomy should thus be regarded as the latest reinterpretation of what jalan tengah entails. The gambit of compromising autonomy is also a tactic to entice the U.S. to start paying attention to Indonesia. This has borne fruit. Washington has acknowledged Indonesia’s renaming of the far southern end of the South China Sea as the North Natuna Sea. The US’ acknowledgement serves to contest China’s influence in Indonesia. Gifts from the two superpowers are the desired middle way.

    Joko Widodo meeting Xi Jinping, March 2015. (Public domain)

    The Loftusian idea––“memory is a living thing that changes shape, expands, shrinks, and expands again”––illustrates the way in which the Indonesian elite interacts with the concept of jalan tengah. This time, Indonesia blurs its remembrance of non-alignment and bends its strategic autonomy like a coconut tree. This is the twenty first century reinterpretation on how Indonesia exercises the “free” element in its post-colonial foreign policy.

    The other significance of jalan tengah is ontological. It brings to mind Indonesia’s embrace of duality, like a wayang kulit (shadow puppet) that embodies both ascetic and cunning quality. In Hatta’s 1951 address, he noted that “As a nation which has struggled against imperialism and colonialism for many a decade, we have the highest ideals concerning the fundamental principles of life. We want to see our nation live in prosperity and well-being, free from want”. Hatta then ventured on to explain how Indonesia’s economy should contain elements of socialism and capitalism (a blend known as koperasi or a cooperative), a system that prevails to date. Embracing duality perhaps partly explains why it is difficult for Indonesia to let go of its authoritarian tendency for control despite being a democratic and decentralised state. Similarly, in navigating the great power rivalry, jalan tengah is a balancing act, not against the US or China, but over its own conviction: the extent to which Indonesia is willing to compromise its strategic autonomy.

    The post Indonesia’s Jalan tengah in the new age of great power rivalries appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Emerging as the first act of defiance after the military coup on 1 February 2021, the Civil Disobedience Movement (CDM) is a general strike mobilisation spearheaded by hundreds of thousands of civil servants. The CDM has become the centre of focus for all parties involved in the post-coup era in Myanmar. To those opposing the coup and the military, the CDM is not only an anti-coup campaign but also a foundation from which to replace the military-controlled administrations. For the military and its supporters, the CDM was a surprise, and represents a threat to maintaining coercive and central power in the post-coup era—a threat that needs to be dealt with through the strongest measures available.

    The civil disobedience campaign in Myanmar comprises a wide range of forms including banging pots and pans, street protests, refusal to pay bills, and boycotting state-sponsored lottery and military-affiliated businesses. However, this report, which can be downloaded by clicking on the cover image below, mainly focuses on the actions and roles of CDM civil servants, locally known as the CDMers, as the civil disobedience campaign is widely referred to the act of civil servants pledging not to work under the military. The report explains the CDM in three different phases—emergence, growth, and consolidation—by highlighting the significant developments, campaigns, and relationships among key political actors and organisations involved; it also explains the measures taken against the CDM by the military to consolidate its grip.

    Click on the cover image below to download the full policy brief.

    The coup was almost universally unpopular, sparking mass protests and boycotts against military-affiliated businesses, but also creating renewed fighting with several ethnic armed organisations, including signatories to the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA).

    The Emergence of the Civil Disobedience Movement

    Mobilisation of politicians and activists to launch the civil disobedience campaign was vital, but the movement began with healthcare workers refusing to go to work on the day after the coup. In his first interview with the local media on 1 February, U Win Htein, a patron of the NLD, urged the public to initiate a non-violent movement to protest against the coup, referring to the civil disobedience movement of India led by Mahatma Gandhi. A group of medical doctors from Mandalay created a network and launched the online campaign by circulating a statement condemning the military coup. A day after the coup, healthcare workers from about forty hospitals, medical institutes, and COVID-19 testing centres announced their decision to join the movement and stop work indefinitely.

    Growing popularity of the Civil Disobedience Movement

    The CDM gained momentum with the onset of street protests. The “CDM” and “Don’t go to office, break away” became some of the most popular slogans of the anti-coup demonstrations across the country. While some portrayed the CDM as the best bulwark in defense against the military-rule, others went further in describing the CDM as a silver bullet that could entirely end the military’s dominance in politics.

    The health and education sectors have the highest volume of CDM participation. About 90% of the total number of healthcare workers reportedly joined the CDM in the first month after the coup. In some states and regions, 50 to 65 percent of teaching staff joined the movement. The participation of civil servants from three military-controlled ministries—Ministry of Defence, Ministry of Home Affairs, and Ministry of Border Affairs—has attracted much public attention. In some townships in Yangon and Mandalay, CDM participation among ward offices is as high as 100%. Moreover, at least 2,000 soldiers and police have reportedly joined the movement as of mid-August. However, all of them are low-ranking, with the highest rank being an acting police colonel and army major, proving the military’s leadership is less likely to split. The movement was nominated for the 2022 Nobel Peace Prize by six academics in Norway. It is estimated that more than 410,000 of about one million civil servants have participated in the CDM since the coup.

    Consolidating the Civil Disobedience Movement

    Having witnessed the deadly crackdown and impact of the CDM, the CDMers and tech-savvy youth have resorted to various tactics, including controversial online “Social Punishment” campaigns, to grow and sustain the movement. For the National Unity Government (NUG), an alternative government to the State Administration Council formed by the military, the CDM is perceived as the most important pillar in boosting domestic support; some CDM participants have become leaders of the NUG. The CRPH and civil society organisations have set up networks across the globe to finance CDM participants, despite the military’s strict control over banking systems.

    With the assistance of the CDMers, there have been efforts to develop alternative administrative mechanisms to challenge the military’s rule, which are most evident in education and heath sectors. Defectors from the security forces have also been known to conduct training for the People’s Defence Forces (PDFs), liaising with others keen to defect, and leaking information about military affairs to the press and the NUG. In Kayah (Karenni) State, groups opposing the coup formed a state police force comprised of 300 CDM police as part of an alternative governing force.

    Military’s Responses

    Surprised by the impact and popularity of the CDM, the military has used all the tools at its disposal to weaken and co-opt the movement. The military at first only asserted authority through intimidation and warnings via their subordinates and lure the civil servants with promotions and benefits. When the movement grew exponentially, soldiers and police carried out lethal and extra-lethal violence to crackdown on the movement. As of May, more than 140,000 teaching staff were suspended. At least 252 attacks were carried out against healthcare workers and medical facilities, resulting in 25 deaths by 31 July. Hundreds of CDMers and supporters have been charged and more than 70 of their family members have been taken hostage by the military. In mid-August, more than 150 people, including 48 doctors, were still in custody in connection with the CDM and many of them were reportedly sexually abused, beaten, or tortured to death.

    What kind of solidarity for what kind of Myanmar?

    What do nascent solidarities mean for the future of ethno-religious minorities in a post-coup Myanmar?

    Four Cs – Coup, CDM, Covid, Crisis

    The continuing military oppression and the resurgence of the COVID-19 pandemic has had an impact on the momentum of the CDM movement. In the face of imminent threats and financial hardships, some participants decided to return to their previous work. Taking advantage of the outbreak, the military has been accused of attempting to revive its local administration by shutting down medical facilities run by CDMers, controlling oxygen supply plants, and forcing the public to seek the approval of the military-appointed local authorities to fill their oxygen tanks. Both the structural damage caused by the CDM and the military’s actions against the CDMers backfired as the country plunged into devastating COVID-19 third wave, leading toward the country’s worst humanitarian crisis in modern times.

    There is little or no room for dialogue, or neutrality, in post-coup Myanmar, as both sides consider winning the only option. The military, which sees the CDM as a major obstacle to maintaining its political power, will continue to take the strongest possible measures against the movement. The recent assassination attempt against U Kyaw Moe Tun, the Permanent Representative of Myanmar to the United Nations, is a clear indication of how far the military will go to control its grip. On the other hand, despite a reduction in pace over the seven months since the coup, recent events have shown that the CDM still possesses popular support at home and afar. The public perception of CDMers as champions sacrificing their livelihoods for the many has changed little. Tens of thousands of CDMers will remain steadfast in their decision as long as the military is in power.

    The damage caused by the coup and the pandemic are unprecedented. The health and education sectors in particular are most severely affected. With the escalation of the civil war following the NUG’s call for defensive war against the military, the humanitarian and socio-economic situations are likely to worsen. There is an urgent need for the international community to mitigate this multitude of crises. Responding to escalating hunger and medical assistance should be prioritised, but the issues of mental health and educational support should not be overlooked for much longer. However, any attempt to carry out humanitarian work without the recognition of the CDM or prioritising localisation will provoke public distrust and rejection, as admiration of the CDM is deeply ingrained in the post-coup Myanmar society.

    The post The Centrality of the Civil Disobedience Movement in Myanmar’s Post-Coup Era appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • 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. 

    Part 2: Party approaches

    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 part 1, I examined the broader practices of vaccine acquisition and distribution by political parties and their partners. In Part 2, I look at how this plays out in Golkar, PDI-P and NasDEM’s approaches.

    The Golkar Party

    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.

    Herd immunity/herding constituents: parpol and COVID-19 vaccines in Indonesia #1

    Online and social media shows that several political parties are actively involved in the vaccination program.

    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. Graph of dose 1 and 2 vaccination rate in 34 provinces as of 6 September 2021. Source: https://vaksin.kemkes.go.id/#/vaccines

    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.

    The post Herd immunity/herding constituents: parpol and COVID-19 vaccines in Indonesia #2 appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • 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.

    Part 1: Vaccines and politics

    Aiming to attain herd immunity by March 2022, Indonesia has been rushing to vaccinate 208.2 million people out of its total population of 271 million. On 26 June 2021, President Jokowi doubled his already ambitious target of vaccinating 1 million persons per day. But Indonesia still has a long way to go. As of 19 September 2021, eight months after the beginning of the roll out, only 79.5 million of people had received one dose while 45 million had two doses of vaccines.

    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.

    What is behind vaccine hesitancy in Indonesia?

    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.

    The post Herd immunity/herding constituents: parpol and COVID-19 vaccines in Indonesia #1 appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Over the coming weeks, New Mandala will publish a series of interviews with academics who contributed to the 2021 ANU Myanmar Update.

    This week we caught up with Hunter Marston, a PhD candidate at the ANU Coral Bell School of International Relations. We discussed his academic career and unexpected journey into the Myanmar space. Originally from the United States, Hunter Marston focuses on great power competition in Southeast Asia and political change in Myanmar.

    Andre Kwok:  So quick, first question. How did you become interested in Southeast Asian studies and why Myanmar? 

    Hunter Marston: I studied religious studies and spent a lot of time studying Buddhist philosophy and history in my undergraduate bachelor’s degree. At the time I studied abroad in India, in a Burmese monastery back in 2005. I didn’t honestly have much exposure to Burma at the time, but I think it planted a seed so to speak.

    When I graduated university in 2007 – so a long time ago – that was the year of the Saffron Revolution. I didn’t have a strong interest in contemporary events or politics per se but seeing monks protest in the street for democracy and against the military at the time flipped a switch in my head. This was because I saw for the first time that Buddhist philosophy was connected to daily struggles and politics at a very fundamental level.

    I was working in Vietnam at the time, teaching English and travelling in Southeast Asia. But I didn’t go to Burma until 2010 when I started working with an NGO based in Chiang Mai which had offices in Bangkok and a network of civil society activists in Myanmar. So 2010 was when I first went to Myanmar researching civil society strategies before the election that year. I worked with a variety of young leaders from across the country and met an array of inspiring people in Yangon working to steer their country’s democratic transition which was about to kick off following the November election.

    I was interviewing people, and this was still very much like the old Burma people told me, you know, look over your shoulder there, military people who might follow you. I went on a tourist visa, it was very discreet, but it opened my eyes to the way civil society had to operate in the country under a great deal of surveillance. I learned a lot about the country and the politics at the time.

    The following September I started my master’s degree at the University of Washington. I took a few classes with Mary Callahan, a specialist in Southeast Asian politics, who really advanced my knowledge of Myanmar and for whom I also worked as a teaching assistant for a semester. I continued to learn the Burmese language for two years while at the University of Washington. I wrote a couple research papers, including my master’s thesis, about the history of elections in Myanmar and what we could learn about the 2010 election in that context. So at that time, my academic interest in Myanmar deepened significantly.

    Andre Kwok: I find it fascinating that you started from a history and philosophy background, but then you jumped into modern political contestations. During this process, could you share some of your experiences working with Burmese people? 

    Hunter Marston: I was fortunate because the people I met working in civil society were from all over the country. One of my good friends, whom I met during my time working with the NGO in Chiang Mai, is from Chin State, for instance. He’s someone I’ve kept in touch with closely, and his family lives in Yangon so is going through a lot with the current military coup. I met a lot of people who were working in the international development sector around the country, trying to improve the country’s technical knowledge and build communities that could engage the government and push back against things like natural resource exploitation. But you know, before 2010 and the election, it was a very difficult space to work in. Sometimes I would meet people who had worked in various ministries of the old military government for decades, some of whom took an interest in democratic values but couldn’t openly identify with the opposition.

    For example, I met someone who had worked in the Ministry of Forestry who disagreed with many of the junta’s policies but had dedicated his life to trying to shape policies around natural resource conservation by serving as a bit of a bridge between the military and civil society groups. It made clear to me that things weren’t black and white in the country, there was a big grey zone, which is where people, civil society and even certain individuals within the old government were pushing back against what we tend to think of as the state being in complete control of people’s lives. Whereas in reality, there are a lot of people inside this grey zone contesting state power, trying to change things slowly.

    Andre KwokBuilding on these reflections, I’m sure you had an opportunity to make unique observations while you were interning at the U.S embassy in Myanmar. Were there any particular takeaways in your role that have shaped your research today?

    Hunter Marston: I’m trying to think of a simple answer: I think I gained an appreciation for how complicated democratic transition is.

    That was back 2012, a year or so after the country’s multi-party parliament convened. Several ministers that I met in the Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP) party were very sincere in their desire to see an experiment towards democracy succeed but also were very aware of the complications that democracy brings.

    They were openly wondering in our conversations: democracy is so messy, what are we doing? Is this right?

    In private talks with the American ambassador which I sat in on, senior Myanmar government officials would raise their concerns about elected leaders arguing in Parliament, realising that democracy was not a straightforward path. They thought maybe democracy would be simple and people wouldn’t fight, or argue. But if anything, there was more of an open debate going on, and democracy exposed deep divisions that came into play. 

    I also had an early glimpse into the tensions that would come as a result of the Rakhine State Rohingya crisis in 2012. At that time, the violence had already caused a lot of concern within the U.S Embassy. I think due to international media, we tend to read about the Rohingya crisis as a recent event from the years 2016 and 2017. So most people wouldn’t know that these problems date back many decades to the military regime’s targeted violence against the Rohingya in the sixties and the nineties which prompted massive refugee crises. This is a long-term problem. It’s not something that just happened in one year. Seeing those sorts of larger timelines play out was a valuable lesson.

    Today’s context is obviously very different; it’s now a full-scale civil war. However, I think it was eye-opening to see how the world saw Myanmar in those pivotal transition years between dictatorship and democracy. It was also rewarding be sort of a middle person in the embassy helping American businesses trying to understand and grapple with civil society. I also got to meet more civil society leaders and community activists around the country and write diplomatic cables back to Washington, which I would not have had the opportunity to do in a bigger embassy with more staff. And as I mentioned, I had the chance to travel to Naypyidaw for meetings with senior government officials, many of whom were retired military. So that offered an invaluable lens into that government’s thinking.

    We also tried to encourage dialogue between very divided religious communities in a direction that I think was positive. Obviously today, things are very negative, but I wouldn’t say that was all a failure. I think civil society and the young people in the country who have been exposed to democracy and the international community still believe in that democratic reform project and are still fighting for that dream.

    Myanmar could learn from Germany

    Hunter Marston argues that Myanmar would benefit from a mixed member election system as it struggles to build its democracy

    Andre Kwok: I think that’s really eye-opening. I liked your thoughts on the gap between international media and people with the lived experience. Moving on from your time at the U.S embassy, what led you to pursue your PhD at the Coral Bell School? 

    Well first of all, I’d been reading New Mandala for a while. I’m not just saying this because I’m speaking to you. There’s a virtuous cycle here. I wrote for New Mandala, but I really never anticipated moving to Australia. After my master’s degree, I started working in a think tank in Washington or a couple of different think tanks actually. At Brookings my bosses had PhDs. I liked to read history and I wasn’t satisfied being a research assistant forever and doing event planning. I still enjoyed learning and the research, so naturally my mentors there encouraged me to go in that direction towards a PhD.

    I was already in my thirties, so I wanted to do a faster PhD and not repeat masters coursework, which most American universities would have required me to do. I think ANU was an obvious choice, given it is the place with the most Southeast Asia expertise in one community and people whom I have read in the past. Then I chose the international relations department because I have a background in area studies and I wanted to move away from the sort of deep country expertise that I did in my master’s program. Instead, I wanted to draw on what I learned from travelling, living in Southeast Asia but to do more of a system-level analysis. I’m still combining my interest in certain countries like Myanmar with a broader disciplinary perspective of international relations.

    Andre Kwok: Last question: What would your advice be to people studying Myanmar? Especially in the current climate without the opportunity to do fieldwork in the country

    I’d say learning a language such as that of Myanmar is still valuable. You shouldn’t rule that out. At the same time, I think the current crisis makes both comparative politics and history even more important. Since you can’t interview policymakers in Myanmar today for obvious reasons, dive into the history because it’s always going to be relevant to what’s happening today. The Myanmar military consciously models its rule on past Buddhist kings. Also, other countries such as Thailand or Indonesia and other federal countries such as Afghanistan – all of these countries have lessons and parallels to Myanmar.

    Having an open mind to being pulled in different directions, whether in a different discipline or towards a different country, I think will give you a unique angle to be able to say more about Myanmar. I also think being flexible about the direction your career goes in is essential. You know, I had an interest in Buddhism and India before I got interested in Myanmar. I now no longer work on Buddhism or India much. So, you see, your career will probably go through unpredictable transitions. I think it’s important to be open to those twists and turns.

    The post Profile: Hunter Marston on shifting from Buddhist philosophy to politics in Myanmar appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • COVID-19 has led to the use of emergency powers that shrink civic space globally. Southeast Asia is no exception. Yet, emergency powers have varying effects in controlling the pandemic, and democracy activists and human rights defenders have responded to such constraints differently.

    This policy brief draws from two country contexts from Southeast Asia—Thailand and the Philippines—to analyse the influence that emergency powers have in shaping civil society activism. It further compares and contrasts these two countries by highlighting:

    1. How emergency powers create diverging outcomes in managing the pandemic.
    2. How civil society activism shapes and is shaped by national pandemic response.

    Click on the cover image below to download the full policy brief.

    COVID-19 and Emergency Powers

    Thailand became the first country outside of China to report COVID-19 on 13 January 2020. By the end of March that year, 60 of 77 provinces had COVID-19 outbreaks. COVID-19 cases remained below 5,000 for the most part in 2020. After this, Thailand recorded two other waves of COVID-10 outbreaks in December 2020 and April 2021. As of July 2021, Thailand has more than 415,000 confirmed cases and 3400 deaths. In comparison to Thailand, the Philippines never experienced waves of outbreak but has seen a continuous surge since the first case was reported on 20 January 2020. As of June 2021, the Philippines has more than 1.2 million confirmed cases and 22,000 deaths.

    Civil Society and Southeast Asia’s Authoritarian Turn

    Just as there is no simple correlation between democracy and good governance, we can no longer draw a straight line between authoritarianism and weak governance.

    To manage the COVID-19 outbreak, Thailand’s Prime Minister Prayut Chan-ocha declared a state of emergency (Emergency Declaration 2020) On 25 March, using Section 5 of the Emergency Decree on Public Administration in Emergency Situation B.E 2548 (2005). This decree came into effect on 26 March 2020, bringing all provinces under the emergency power and transferring authority from Ministers to Prayut himself. In the Philippines, President Rodrigo Duterte signed Proclamation No. 929 on 16 March 2020, which placed the country under a state of calamity for six months due to COVID-19. This specific proclamation allowed the National Government and local government units unprecedented discretion to utilise appropriate funds in their disaster preparedness and response efforts to contain the spread of COVID-19.

    Mass Mobilisation during the Pandemic

    The key findings highlight varying outcomes that result from the use of emergency powers for national pandemic responses and differences in the opportunities and costs for civil society. Both countries employed emergency measures to address the pandemic. These emergency measures centralised authority and financial resources with the national government. In the case of Thailand, this was effective in managing the spread of COVID-19 in the first outbreak, thereby providing opportunities for citizens to mobilise in street protests. However, in the Philippines, emergency powers centralised authority and resources and, at the same time, allowed the military to become directly involved in the pandemic response. As a result, the pandemic response was harnessed for counterinsurgency and state repression.

    Civil society mobilisation is interrelated with pandemic responses in the sense that it provides an important check on emergency powers and helps to provide access to services and information. Civil society mobilisation has pressured the Thai and Philippine governments to improve their pandemic responses but is not shown to translate into policy change or reform when pre-existing civic participation is already constrained and further worsened by the pandemic. In the case of the Philippines, the failing pandemic response has had ambivalent impacts on civil society mobilisation. Strict lockdowns and rising COVID-19 cases disincentivise people from going out in the streets and protesting. There have been cases of online or social media protests but these feed into the already problematic terrain of digital disinformation in the Philippines. Health workers remain on the frontlines of the pandemic and have consistently pressured the government to improve. However, their concerns have been largely ignored by the militarised national COVID-19 task force.

    It has been more than one year since the first COVID-19 outbreak and the Philippine government’s pandemic response remains short-sighted and militarised. Paradoxically, this failure is triggering the emergence of new community-driven, “self-help” strategies toward surviving the pandemic underpinned by belief that people cannot rely on help from the government and therefore must weather this crisis on their own. These community-driven initiatives can potentially strengthen civic society and repair societal damages caused by the Duterte administration in the long-run, but also divert attention from the need to improve national pandemic responses.

    While differing greatly in political and socio-cultural systems, democracy activists and human rights defenders in both countries have been met by pandemic-intensified state repression. In the Philippines, the government passed the Anti-Terrorism Act in June 2020 while lockdowns were in effect. Despite the UN’s global call for a ceasefire in support for the bigger battle against COVID-19, the Philippine State under Duterte intensified its counter-insurgency and counter-terrorism operations. Red-tagging refers to the labelling of left-leaning individuals and groups as communists and therefore terrorists. The targets of red-tagging, following the same trajectory of the drug war, have broadened beyond the usual suspects of Communists and New People’s Army (NPA) members. In practice, it has expanded to individuals who hold critical views of the Duterte administration. Journalists and academics are also targeted by the government based on unfounded accusations that they are indoctrinating students with leftist ideology and recruiting Communists.

    The Philippine case offers an important parallel to understanding ongoing obstacles that democracy activists are facing in Thailand. Since the height of large-scale demonstrations in 2020, pro-democracy movements have been met with increasingly repressive measures, particularly legal prosecution and violent crackdowns, which deliberately instil fear and stifle further activities. Thai Lawyers for Human Rights, an organisation that has provided legal assistance to activists arrested and prosecuted since the May 2014 coup, observed that from the Free Youth protest on 18 July 2020 until the end of May 2021, at least 679 people have been prosecuted for political gatherings and expression. The prosecution of prominent protest leaders and those expressing dissent online is detrimental to both civil society and freedom of expression. In addition to ongoing COVID-19 outbreaks, the combination of these factors puts limits on the possibility of nationwide protests. However, citizens’ grievances towards the government’s haphazard COVID-19 vaccine rollout have revealed the incompetence of the current regime and created a new kind of discontent and opportunities for uniting a broad base of citizens. It therefore remains to be seen whether pro-democracy movements will strengthen after the pandemic is under control again.

    Strengthening Civil Society Post-Pandemic

    There are important recommendations for policymakers and civil society partners that can be drawn from this research. Comparing Thailand and the Philippines, we find that creating spaces for civil society should be integral to post-pandemic recovery and reconstruction plans. It is clear how the pandemic responses may play into the hands of state violence and repression regardless of whether the response has been effective or limited in managing the spread of the virus.

    Consequently, international partners such as Australian decision-makers and transnational advocacy networks should support domestic human rights and democracy activists in advocating for governments to clearly define and assess the temporary enforcement of emergency powers. In addition, regional and international stakeholders can play an integral role in providing support for local organisations and activists to document human rights violations and abuses of power that have occurred in Southeast Asia. In doing so, both international partners and domestic counterparts can place state accountability and long-term prevention of violence as central to post-pandemic recovery plans.

    The post Protests and Pandemics: Civil Society Mobilisation in Thailand and the Philippines appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Local government and civil society responses to the Covid-19 pandemic in Indonesia have been widely lauded in academic and popular media since the first Covid-19 case was confirmed in March 2020. Indeed local mitigation and healthcare responses have proven critical in the face of central government failures in many aspects of pandemic responses. What early studies have not shown however, has been the role that women have played in leading these local responses. My new study uncovered a disjuncture between men’s high representation in formal Covid-19 leadership and decision-making bodies, and women’s overwhelming domination of the daily work of pandemic leadership in both infectious disease mitigation and healthcare responses. While I focused on just one city in Central Java, we can assume that this division is mirrored in other parts of Indonesia and, indeed, in many parts of the world.

    The results of research published in my new report sheds light on why women are minimally represented in official Covid-19 taskforce structures while having overwhelming majority representation in the frontlines of emergency and long-term pandemic responses. In January and February 2021 I conducted fieldwork with a masters scholar in the city of Salatiga, Central Java, collecting data on women public servants’ leadership roles in pandemic responses. In this report I extend on previous research on pandemic responses at local level by applying a gender lens to examine why women healthcare workers and officials, who have limited roles and responsibilities on formal Covid-19 taskforces at the city-wide and subdistrict level, have played the critical roles in leading mitigation strategies at both levels.

    Click on the cover image below to download the full policy brief.

    Failure of Covid-19 pandemic taskforces at local level

    While national government regulations state that gender mainstreaming policies must be integrated into emergency and disaster response plans at the national and sub-national levels, women comprise only 7% of the national Covid-19 taskforce and 12% of, for example, the Central Java provincial taskforce. In the municipality of Salatiga in Central Java, gender representation in government is higher than the national average, however women still occupy a minority of positions in the highest echelons of the local government public service. This disparity had direct implications for the composition of Salatiga’s COVID pandemic taskforce where positions in it were allocated on the basis of structural positions within government without specific reference to gender. In the Salatiga city taskforce appointed in October 2020, women’s participation was 17% in a body of 12 members. The heads of strategic government departments, such as the heads of the regional police (Polres), the local military command base (Korem), the municipal police (Satpol PP), the Regional Planning, Research and Development Agency (Bappeda) and the National Unity and Political Department amongst others (Kesbangpol), are all headed by men and were automatically appointed to the taskforce. Despite violating gender mainstreaming principles, this local picture is typical of the situation across Indonesia both in elected government and amongst career public servants, with men holding a majority of higher echelon positions.

    Rapid Test facility at Pasar Senen Station. Image credit: Gaudi Renanda in Wikimedia Commons (CC BY 4.0)

    The Salatiga municipal taskforce is responsible for strategic pandemic mitigation policy and planning, cross-agency coordination, monitoring and enforcement of mitigation measures, budgeting and other resource allocations. Despite the assumed leading role of this male-dominated body, in practice it has been women that have principally led mitigation and healthcare responses, stepping up to fill gaps in formal leadership of pandemic mitigation measures.

    Women’s leadership in the pandemic

    In contrast to the city-wide COVID-19 taskforce, the Salatiga health department has a far higher proportion of women both in leadership roles as well as comprising the majority of healthcare workers. Overall women comprise 80% of the city’s health department workforce. At the community level, Salatiga’s healthcare response to COVID-19 was even more female-dominated. The directors of the city’s six community health centres (PUSKESMAS)  are all women, with women comprising up to 90% of the health centres’ workforce.

    In practice, pandemic responses not only in healthcare, but also in the critical area of infectious disease mitigation, were largely led by women from the health department, women staff of community health centres, and some acute care staff in the district and other local hospitals. The main weakness in pandemic responses identified by all those interviewed was the failure of the city-wide taskforce to provide leadership and direction. A health department official said that while government agencies have specific taskforce responsibilities in practice they run to the health department to find solutions. Women leaders working in healthcare at citywide and sub-district level argued that the citywide taskforce should be strengthened, to effectively monitor and evaluate the implementation of policies in the field, to supervise effective public communications including mitigation policies to the public, so that health services could prioritise deepening their knowledge of COVID-19 related health science and pandemic handling which is very dynamic and fast-developing.

    Banners communicate strategies for mitigiating COVID-19 spread. Image credit: Rebecca Meckelburg.

    The report shows that there were four institutions that were critical in frontline health care—the health department, community health centres, the district hospital and a special isolation facility; while the first two of these institutions were also critical in mitigation responses. Indeed community health centres (puskesmas) have been the backbone of Salatiga’s pandemic healthcare and disease mitigation strategy as the frontline for testing, tracing and supporting people infected with COVID-19.

    The strategic response of the health centre examined here was innovative, rapidly reorganising health centre workers into dedicated teams that manage COVID-19 patient work specifically and the remainder who continue to manage and provide general health services. At the community level, the community health centre head initiated cross-sectoral communication with sub-district stakeholders (with subdistrict government, police, military and local ward officials) and coordinated cooperation with community stakeholders, civil associations, religious groups and subdistrict government agencies.

    Women’s pandemic workloads

    National pandemic policy failures in Indonesia and many other countries have increased women healthcare workers’ paid and unpaid work burden. Much of the labour of women healthcare workers is not even visible let alone important in public policy– either in terms of the costs it imposes on a highly feminized workforce and society more generally, or the benefits it provides in terms of care work and social reproduction. The result is that the pandemic produced more complex work practices with higher workloads for women working at the frontline of the response, without additional human resources, while these women also had to deal more intensively with everything related to the pandemic in their domestic roles.

    Lab workers in the Bandung BioFarma facility in Indonesia examine vials that have vaccine vial monitor technology incorporated into their labels. BioFarma, Bandung, Indonesia. Image credit: Ümit Kartoğlu for VOA on Wikimedia Commons

    Most concerning is that these women hold significant knowledge through experience of managing this pandemic crisis. They know the shape of the COVID-19 pandemic and understand what practices work best—and what does not work—in mitigating the crisis. Yet their limited inclusion in formal structures with decision-making authority, continue to restrict women’s power to critique and shape political decision-making about priorities in COVID-19 pandemic responses.

    COVID-19, food insecurity and the resilience of indigenous women in Indonesia

    Protecting rural indigenous people’s control over food resources is linked to the wellbeing of migrant workers in the cities.

    What women contribute to pandemic leadership

    Scholars and advocates have argued for women’s participation in the design, implementation and monitoring of COVID-19 related laws and policies at all levels of government decision-making. My study shows that this participation is indeed necessary, not only to address the specific needs of women and girls in the pandemic, but, further, in order to draw upon the growing knowledge and experience of these women in developing timely pandemic strategies.

    Healthcare managers and frontline workers identified several areas that required serious and immediate action. First, there needs to be better coordination, leadership and implementation of official duties in the city-wide taskforce. Second, improved monitoring and enforcement of health protocols in workplaces, public spaces and approved events including weddings, public ceremonies and venues that facilitated public gatherings are required. Third, there must be monitoring and enforcement of movement restrictions and local regulations on work from home quotas, limits on numbers in restaurants, hotels and other venues and home isolation. Fourth, there needs to be more extensive trace and test capacity by expanding physical facilities to support expanded testing as the lynch pin of sound epidemiological monitoring of disease prevalence. This epidemiological monitoring would support the development of a road map to successful disease suppression.

    Local health departments and community health centres in Indonesia, run largely by women, have been a critical piece of infrastructure for Indonesia’s pandemic response. Both health department officials and health centre workers’ intensive community engagements have generated greater understanding of what COVID-19 is in local communities, driven coordination of cross-sectoral stakeholders where possible, provided active support for positive patients, and reduced community stigmatisation. Sadly, this critical role, as well as the knowledge and experience gained by these women, has not been acknowledged formally nor drawn upon as a critical resource in longer term pandemic planning and leadership. Ultimately, this failure to include these leaders undermines the capacity to provide well-coordinated wholistic responses to the COVID-19 pandemic at the local level, resulting in ongoing high levels of virus transmission and effectively extending the timeframe of the multiple crises resulting from the pandemic.

    The post Frontline women: unrecognised leadership in Indonesia’s COVID-19 response appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • For almost four years, the government of Joko Widodo (Jokowi) has been steadily ramping up its efforts to roll back Islamist influence within Indonesia’s political system and society.  Although the anti-Islamist campaign has not been formally declared or been given a name, it has nonetheless been systematic and concerted.  It has included the investigation and prosecution of leading Islamist leaders, restrictions upon Islamists within the public service, closure of websites and social media pages, and the proscription of Islamist organisations.

    The boldest move in this campaign took place in the last days of 2020, when the Jokowi government announced the banning of the Islamic Defenders’ Front (Front Pembela Islam or FPI).  FPI was by far the largest and best-known Islamist organisation to be so targeted – it claimed a membership of seven million, had branches in every province and broad networks across the Muslim community.  The ban was the culmination of two months of sharpening confrontation between the government and FPI and its fiery spiritual leader, Habib Rizieq Syihab, who had returned to Indonesia in November 2020 from three years’ virtual exile in Saudi Arabia. He drew large crowds wherever he spoke.  Six FPI guards were shot by police in early November in a clash between Rizieq’s security detail and a police surveillance team, and a week later Rizieq was arrested and put on trial – he was found guilty in late May on one charge of breaching public health protocols and jailed for eight months. Six other senior FPI leaders were also jailed for the same offence.  (All are likely to be released in the next month or so due to time already served in detention.)

    This showdown between the government and Islamist groups is not without political and security risk. Jokowi has been vulnerable to Islamist criticism and mobilisation in the past and he and his governing coalition appear determined to drive organisations and movements such as FPI to the margins of national life.  If the Muslim community comes to see the FPI ban as anti-Islam (rather than just anti-Islamist), the government could suffer a backlash.  There is also the possibility of former FPI members and sympathisers becoming further radicalised and more violent as a result of the state’s action.

    In this article, we examine the public’s reaction to the crackdown using data from a Lembaga Survei Indonesia (LSI) survey from mid-April commissioned by ANU as part of a research project into religious polarisation in Indonesia, but other data from the Saiful Mujani Research Consultancy (SMRC) will also be used.

    A clear majority of the public approves of the government’s actions in banning FPI.  Moreover, community dislike of FPI and of several other Islamist groups has strengthened over the past year, suggesting that the government is winning the politics of its battle with Islamism, at least in the short term.  More broadly, we will argue that the limited opposition to FPI’s proscription is indicative of shrinking political support for Islamism over the past five years and an endorsement of government efforts to sideline Islamists. We will explore where FPI’s basis of support lies and the reasons for the apparent ebb in public sympathy.

    FPI’s Vigilante Islamism

    Since its formation in 1998, FPI’s central feature was its ability to mobilise on the streets and take direct action against those who it saw as acting contrary to Islamic principles.  Vigilante attacks on nightclubs, brothels, gambling dens and so-called ‘deviant’ Islamic groups such as Ahmadiyah or the Shia were common, as also was the intimidation of and sometimes serious assaults upon liberal-minded Muslims, non-Muslims and even social-media critics of FPI. Scores of FPI members have been arrested and jailed for violence and Rizieq himself was twice jailed in the 2000s.  Despite its thuggish behaviour, FPI has often been courted by prominent political and business figures, and even used on occasions by the police and security agencies to ‘maintain’ law and order.

    FPI’s influence reached its highpoint in 2016-2017 when it played a pivotal role in mobilising 100,000s of Muslims in Jakarta against the Christian Chinese governor, Basuki Tjahaja Purnama (‘Ahok’), ultimately resulting in his defeat in the ensuing gubernatorial election. The massive protests shook the Jokowi government, giving rise to fears that Islamists, after many decades of fragmentation and peripheral activism, were now in a position to shape national politics.  Soon after the Jakarta elections, the government began moving against its Islamist opponents.  Many Islamists came under investigation: some were jailed while others quietly removed themselves from public view.  Rizieq himself went off to Saudi Arabia in April 2017 to escape prosecution on multiple charges.  The Islamist organisation, Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia, was banned by the government in July 2017.

    The government gave four reasons for outlawing FPI on 31 December last year: it had forfeited its legal status after its registration as a community organisation had lapsed; some of its members had been involved in terrorism and other criminal activity; it had often committed acts of communal vigilantism; and it had violated the principles of the 1945 Constitution, the state ideology Pancasila and the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia. The government followed up with a range of other measures, including freezing all FPI’s bank accounts, closing its social media sites, and warning the media not to publish any information from FPI sources.  The public’s reaction to the banning and the government’s explanations is worth exploring further

    Public Responses

    The April 2021 LSI survey involved 1620 respondents across all provinces of Indonesia.  When asked if they were aware of FPI’s banning, a surprisingly high 48% said they did not know, even though news of this and related matters had dominated the media for months.  Of the 52% who were aware of the ban, 63% approved and 28% were against [see figure one].  By comparison, a February 2021 national survey by SMRC found that 77% of respondents were aware of the ban. Of those, 59% agreed with the ban and 35% disagreed.  This suggests that roughly twice as many people approve of the ban as disapprove of it, and that over the past few months, opinion in favour of the government’s actions has strengthened.

    Figure One: Attitude to the banning of FPI (April 2021 LSI Survey)

    A breakdown of the figures gives a clearer picture of where FPI’s support lies.  Of Indonesia’s ethnic groups, the Buginese, based mainly in South Sulawesi, and the Sundanese concentrated in West Java were the most disapproving of the ban (66% and 43% respectively).  The Betawi community in the Greater Jakarta region, which has been a major source of FPI recruitment, was unexpectedly evenly divided on the ban, with 45% agreeing with it and 41% disagreeing.  Those with higher education levels were most likely to know about the ban (75%) as well as disapprove of it (32%).  Also surprising was that some 75% of under-25-year-old respondents favoured the ban.

    The Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) was the only Islamic party that had a majority of its supporters opposing the ban (55%), with 29% endorsing it.  This reflects the close ties that developed between PKS and FPI during the anti-Ahok demonstrations and the 2019 election campaigns.  Opinion among supporters of the three other Islamic parties was pro-banning: the National Mandate Party (PAN) supporters were 42% in favour, 37% against; the United Development Party (PPP) was 59% in favour, 18% against; and the National Awakening Party (PKB) was 77% in agreement and only 19% against [see figure two]. More broadly, 59% of Muslim respondents backed the ban (31% were opposed), whereas 97% of non-Muslims favoured it – a predictable outcome given FPI’s long sectarian agitation against religious minorities.

    Figure Two: Attitude to the banning of FPI ban by party, with party affiliation on basis of voting in 2019 legislative election (April 2021 LSI Survey)

    Perhaps even more revealing of the equivocation felt in the Muslim community towards FPI was the results of “thermometer” questions in which respondents were asked how warmly or coolly they feel towards an array of religious and political organisations. [see figure three] Whereas the major Islamic organisations rated highly—Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) 77% and Muhammadiyah 64%—FPI was ranked in the “cool” lower half of the thermometer on 44%.  Notably, respondents felt more warmly towards the Chinese (46%) than to FPI, which was ironic given FPI’s frequent disparagement of the Chinese community.  A related question about which groups respondents objected to having as neighbours found FPI the sixth most unpopular at 24%, comparing unfavourably with supposedly ‘disliked’ minorities such as the Chinese and Christians (both 18%).

    Figure Three: Feeling thermometer asking respondents how warmly they feel towards a range of religious groups (April 2021 LSI Survey)

    A glance at historical survey data shows that FPI’s profile and public approval has fluctuated widely since its formation in 1998.  An LSI survey for The Asia Foundation in 2010 found that approval of FPI was 15% in 2005, 20% in 2006, 13% in 2007 and 16% in 2010.

    Respondents in the April 2021 LSI survey were asked retrospectively what they thought of FPI’s actions in 2016 when it was the vanguard of the 212 movement: 46% said they agreed with its attitude towards Ahok; 36% disagreed. Support was strongest among young people, with highest levels of support coming in the 22-25-year bracket (54.4%), and then the under-21s (53.1%). The April 2021 figures show under-21s continue to be the strongest supporters of FPI, with 37.1% disapproving of the ban, but 22-25-year-olds were now those most in favour of the ban, with a massive 75% approval rating for the measure, compared to the average of 28% across all age groups.  So, by far the biggest drop in support for FPI has been among young adults.

    Interestingly, those with a university education were most likely to say that they disapproved of the FPI’s actions in 2016 (48% of respondents compared to 34% overall). But this same group were also most likely to disagree with the ban on FPI (32.5%). Given that this is a reversal of the general trend of decline in support for FPI, it is likely that this opposition to the banning of FPI is driven not by greater support for FPI, but by disapproval of the government’s actions. There are certainly some high-profile Muslim and civil society leaders who have spoken out strongly against the ban, arguing either that it is legally questionable or is an excessively repressive way to deal with militant Islamists.

    Between throwing rocks and a hard place: FPI and the Jakarta riots

    Clouds are gathering for the hard-line Islamic group.

    The dramatic shift in public opinion, and especially Muslim attitudes, towards FPI over the past five years appears due to a number of factors.  In 2016, FPI successfully exploited community anger towards Ahok, particularly relating to his supposed blasphemy against Islam, and portrayed itself as protecting the dignity of the faith against denigration by a prominent non-Muslim. But with Ahok’s 2017 defeat and subsequent jailing, much of the emotion dissipated from this issue, and along with it, approbation for FPI.  Rizieq’s relocation to Saudi Arabia in 2017 left a vacuum in FPI’s leadership and a drop in its activities.

    The fall in support for FPI this year appears heavily influenced by the organisation’s flouting of public health protocols in connection with Rizieq’s return to Indonesia in November 2020.  Despite strict provisions regarding social distancing, hand sanitation and mask wearing, massive crowds greeted Rizieq when he arrived in Jakarta, paralysing the airport and causing traffic chaos in the city for much of the day. A few days later, thousands thronged to witness his daughter’s wedding ceremony and hear his sermon marking the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.  An SMRC survey in late November 2020 found that almost half their respondents knew of the airport and wedding crowds and, of those, 77% felt that law enforcement and the Jakarta government should halt such events and disperse attendees.  The April 2021 LSI survey asked those who agreed with the ban why they did so: 25% said it was because FPI caused social disturbance; 24% mentioned its violent behaviour; 19% said it was an illegal organisation; and 15% said it had breached public health codes. (see figure four)  Interestingly, only 10% regarded FPI as a radical organisation and a meagre 2% felt it was terrorist.  These latter two points are significant because the government has used FPI’s alleged radicalisation as grounds for proscription, suggesting that the public is sceptical.

    Figure Four: Reasons for agreeing with the banning of FPI among respondents aware of the ban (April 2021 LSI Survey)

    All of this survey data points to a certain fragility in FPI’s support.  FPI does have a solid constituency of at least around 15%, based on historical survey data. On occasions when FPI is able to capture and amplify anger or anxiety in the broader community on an issue, such as that of blasphemy during the 2016-2017 Jakarta election, its approval can spike.  But at other times, its propensity for virulent rhetoric, intimidation and violence leads to public disapproval and censure.  Over the past six months, its flouting of public health restrictions has further shrunk goodwill towards it.

    The Jokowi government was undoubtedly aware of survey results on FPI prior to outlawing it—Coordinating Minister for Politics, Security and Law, Mahfud MD, cited polling as indicating public support when the ban was announced.  The April LSI survey data presented here will no doubt further convince the government that its strike against FPI has been a resounding political success.  It has effectively removed its most potent Islamist opponent and won public plaudits for doing so.  Other Islamist groups are now wary of crossing the government, lest they also become targets.  Rizieq, one of the government’s most vexatious critics, is in jail with a tarnished reputation.  Many advocates of religious tolerance and pluralism will, perhaps paradoxically given their usual concern with democratic rights, also welcome the demise of such a provocative and militant group.

    But the longer-term consequences of banning of FPI may be a greater cause for concern.  Many millions of Islamists remain convinced of the correctness of FPI’s actions, as is evident from roughly 30% of survey respondents who think it was unjustly dealt with.  Many in this group are likely to see the Jokowi government and indeed the Indonesian state as increasingly hostile towards them.  The risk of growing resentment and extremism is high, as also is the possibility of political retribution should a more Islamically inclined president come to office in a future election with Islamist support.

    The post The politics of banning FPI appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Since the Philippines was named as the “petri dish” of the global disinformation epidemic of 2016, various stakeholders have come together to proactively address the challenges of disinformation in the 2022 elections. Journalists and civil society organizations launched fact check initiatives and media literacy programmes. Tech platforms like Facebook and Twitter revised their content moderation practices. The Philippine Senate started looking into safeguarding social media from foreign interference.

    There is no question that these initiatives are valuable. However, there is are critical voices missing from these initiatives—the voices of ordinary citizens.

    Our latest report “Thank you for sharing: A Deliberative Forum on Disinformation” aims to amplify the voices of everyday Filipinos in the fight against “fake news.” It is the continuation of the #DisinformationTracker project, which examined the disinformation tactics used by political campaigns in the Philippines’ 2019 midterm elections.

    This time, our research shifted our attention to understanding how ordinary Filipinos make sense of their experiences of disinformation during elections, and what can be done to address them.

    Click on the cover image below to download the full policy brief.

    The power of citizen deliberation

    The project’s innovation lies in using a deliberative forum to reach participants’ considered judgment. Unlike surveys, interviews, or focus group discussions, which aim to uncover what participants think about an issue, a deliberative forum generates insight into what participants think about an issue when they are given the opportunity to learn more about it, consider expert evidence, listen to the views of a diverse group of people, and reflect on their own perspectives. Our forum, in other words, created conditions suitable for thoughtful citizen deliberation.

    Over three days, participants from all over the Philippines—from Dagupan to Cebu to Zamboanga del Norte—representing different age groups, socio-economic background, sexual orientation, and opinions on disinformation, collectively diagnosed the problem of disinformation. They engaged in respectful discussion and exchanged their views on institutions and personalities that should be held responsible for the spread of disinformation.

    Here’s what we found.

    Disinformation and money politics

    First, participants situated disinformation as part of the wider problem of money politics. Politicians enhance their image by using paid entities to slander their critics through disinformation tactics. As one participant put it, ‘fake news is just like vote-buying.’ While vote buying pays for votes, ‘fake news’ pays for voice. It was a familiar practice for participants, one that predates social media.

    Second, participants recognized that disinformation cannot be disentangled from economic insecurity. Those trafficking in disinformation can include both journalists struggling to make ends meet and ordinary citizens seeking creative ways to make money by creating fake accounts that boost the profile of politicians and undermine their political opponents and critics.

    Third, beyond disinformation, participants perceived unfettered media power as an issue of electoral integrity. This finding connects with broader trends of the public’s declining trust in mainstream media, especially its independence from political and economic interests. Some comments we heard from participants reflected the same criticisms the Duterte administration perpetuated against legacy media. While most participants primarily sourced their information from mainstream media organizations on television and online, they expressed concern over the media’s capacity to publish or broadcast with impunity. The participants’ concerns included misleading headlines, the unfair treatment of political personalities, and the smearing of innocent people. Participants wanted to learn how to assess and call out media bias, especially during elections.

    Despite disinformation, social media in the Philippines remains a space for genuine grassroots mobilisation

    Despite the rise of disinformation innovations, social media still holds genuine democratic potential.

    Fourth, many participants recognized the individual’s responsibility in the spread of disinformation. This does not mean that participants do not recognise the role of institutions in curbing disinformation. It underscores their desire to take control of their newsfeeds and make informed choices during elections.

    What can be done?

    After characterising the problem of disinformation in the Philippines, we challenged participants to generate recommendations on how social media can be protected from disinformation during elections. Despite their different political beliefs, participants reached a near consensus on the following recommendations.

    First, they supported the passage of an anti-fake news and anti-trolling law but with clear caveats. Learning from the lessons from Malaysia and Singapore that were discussed by one of the experts, participants argued that there must be safeguards against the abuse of this law to silence the political opposition, the state’s critics, and ordinary citizens. They also argued that the law should only be implemented with proper funding. This law is only possible when there is enough capacity for IT experts to detect and investigate disinformation.

    Second, participants called to strengthen the anti-dynasty law. Since participants viewed disinformation as part of the wider issue of money politics, they recognised that meaningful electoral reform can only unfold when the concentration of power to a few families is dismantled. A majority of participants endorsed this recommendation, except for a businessman who argued that some families “have the gift to lead the country.”

    Finally, all participants endorsed the need to strengthen education campaigns which take an intergenerational character, and a stronger commitment to bring disinformation intervention to news deserts.

    Petri dish of democratic innovations

    Disinformation poses a challenge to the integrity of the 2022 elections. Many doubt the capacity of ordinary Filipinos in discerning credible information which can inform their decisions. The findings of the deliberative forum provide scope for hope—that Filipinos do want to learn more about disinformation and how to fight it, and that they do recognise that disinformation is a problem that will not go away for as long as power and money is concentrated in the hands of a few. The forum is also a testament to the importance of crafting spaces for respectful and reasonable discussion to harness the collective wisdom of ordinary citizens.

    Beyond viewing the Philippines as a petri dish of disinformation, may this forum remind us that the Philippines can also be a petri dish of democratic innovations.

    The post From disinformation to democratic innovations: amplifying ordinary citizens’ voices appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Myanmar is still in turmoil with more than eight hundred civilian deaths and five thousand imprisoned since the military (Tatmadaw) overthrew a democratically elected government on 1 February. After the evaporation of dialogue and political solutions, the role of groups with armed forces became more prominent. The post-coup stances of Myanmar’s nearly two dozen ethnic armed organizations (EAOs) that have fought against the military regime will be a determinant in the country’s future.

    In my report for the SEARBO project, I outline the stances of eighteen ethnic armed organizations and their coalitions in Myanmar. In the first 100 days after the military coup began on 1 February, the EAOs diverse positions have been revealed through their public statements, activities and relationships with the military.  Has the coup has brought these groups closer together against their common enemy? Or has the coup deepened their disunity, and the likelihood of the formation of the federal army?

    Click on the cover image below to download the full policy brief.

    Coalitions of the Ethnic Armed Organizations

    Generally, the eighteen active EAOs in Myanmar can be divided into two categories: those that signed the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA) in 2015 and those that did not. The NCA agreement was the first multilateral ceasefire agreement in Myanmar’s history. It is often described as hybrid agreement, as it also included political agreements such as a roadmap for political dialogue and a guarantee of amending, repealing, and adding to the constitution and other existing laws.

    Signatories to the NCA formed the Peace Process Steering Team (PPST) in 2016 and it is now made up of ten EAOs. Four EAOs that had not signed the NCA formed a military coalition, the Northern Alliance, in 2016. A year later, these groups and another three non-NCA signatories formed the Federal Political Negotiation and Consultative Committee (FPNCC). These seven members of the FPNCC reportedly make up 70 percent of the troop strength of all EAOs in the country.

    Mapping the stances of the Ethnic Armed Organizations

    In order to identify the post-coup stances of the EAOs, this report reviews their individual and group. The EAOs’ statements, activities and engagement with the military can be analysed through a framework based on two dimensions: political and military. The political dimension focuses on two main questions: whether a group has publicly condemned the military coup and whether a group has endorsed or supported the coalitions that stake a claim to the legacy of the democratically elected government deposed by the coup. These coalitions are the Committee Representing Pyidaungsu Hluttaw (CRPH), and National Unity Government (NUG). Whether a group has publicly met with military delegates since the coup is another point of analysis.

    The military dimension emphasises whether a group has ongoing clashes with the military and whether these clashes are minor (threats and infrequent clashes between ground troops), or major, where clashes involved multiple offensives, seizure of military posts, artillery and airstrikes.

    Mapping of the EAOs’ positions indicates that their positions can be broadly divided into four categories. There are: groups that are in open armed conflict with the military; groups that condemned the coup publicly but are reluctant to endorse military means; groups that want to take advantage of a military that is overstretched by domestic and international pressure; and groups that maintain the status quo by remaining silent. However, it is important to note that due to the rapidly changing political situation, some groups’ stances may shift overnight—but not significantly.

    The two-dimensional analysis suggests that the coup has deepened the EAOs disunity despite the widespread public expectation that it would unite different forces facing a common enemy and enable the formation of a federal army. EAOs responses toward the coup and post-coup stances no longer depend on their coalition, nor on whether or not they signed the NCA. The EAO’s contradictory positions have diverged from the prospect of a new armed alliance or a federal army, which the anti-coup protesters longed for at the beginning of the coup.

    Despite the joint condemnation of the coup and demand for the release of the political prisoners, members of the PPST have taken different approaches to dealing with the post-coup era. With the exception of the KNU, PPST members are avoiding armed confrontation with the military. It became obvious that there is neither strong political nor military coherence among the members of the PPST when some members reportedly attended the Armed Forces Day ceremony in Naypyidaw on 27 March, and held separate meetings with the Tatmadaw’s National Unity and Peace Coordination Committee (NUPCC) in Naypyidaw in April and May.

    Myanmar’s coup from the eyes of ethnic minorities

    Members of ethnic minorities standing against the military are concentrating on institutional change, while majority Bamar NLD supporters focus on the release of party leaders and the formation of government.

    Similarly, the stance of the FPNCC is most ambiguous after the coup – having groups at both ends of the spectrum. While three members of the FPNCC, including the United Wa State Army (UWSA), have remained silent in the wake of the coup and maintain the status quo, fighting continues between the Kachin Independence Army (KIA) and the military on daily basis in the country’s north. Another three FPNCC members, also known as the Three Brotherhood Alliance, are attempting to take advantage of Tatmadaw’s stretched capacity to retake lost territory.

    New ceasefire agreement or a federal army?

    As before the coup, NCA signatories continue to accuse each other of violations. But it is certain that none of the signatories will declare the annulment of the historic multilateral ceasefire agreement, which has been recognised by the international community and Assembly of the Union (Pyidaungsu Hluttaw). Rather than pushing other EAOs to sign the NCA before the coup, the military will continue to use informal or biliteral ceasefire agreements in order to ease pressure on its forces, as it has been doing with the AA in Rakhine State.

    However, the ongoing clashes are more likely to intensify as majority of the groups currently in talks with the military’s delegates are either groups that have not had any clashes with the military before the coup or groups that only have a handful of soldiers. The military is more likely to assert both political and military pressure on pro-NUG armed groups, regardless of their troop strength and relationships prior to the coup. In addition, the scale of the military-induced violence is pushing anti-coup protesters into armed resistance as evident in many highland areas and urban cities where protesters are taking up traditional hunting rifles, homemade firearms, and bombs against the military.

    Taken together, the stance of the ethnic armed organisations over the first 100 days of the coup is neither based on previous coalitions, nor on whether or not they signed the NCA. Groups have chosen different political and military positions despite the widespread belief that the coup has unified different forces against a common enemy.

    Despite the EAO’s contradictory positions—having groups at both ends of the spectrum, a federal army is not impossible in the future. The idea originated with the now-defunct United Nationalities Federal Council (UNFC) comprised with fourteen EAOs during the previous military regime in February 2011. The UNFC stood as one of the strongest EAO coalitions in the history of ethnic armed resistance in Myanmar.

    After the coup the role of the KIA has grown substantially, both within the coalition and in engagement with the NUG. Despite the PPST’s call to form a coalition with the non-NCA signatories, the damaged relations between its acting leader and some members of the FPNCC contest the practicality of this proposal.

    The prospect of a Federal Army is most likely if the KIA and/or the KNU decide to arm and sustain the NUG-led People’s Defence Force, or if they can come together to lead the other EAOs in forming a Federal Army, regardless of their previous disagreements.

    The post New friends, old enemies: Politics of Ethnic Armed Organisations after the Myanmar Coup appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • A new wave of COVID-19 is hitting Thailand. Its daily tally has increased from less than 100 in early April to more than 2,000 a month later. The country now surpasses China in total COVID-19 cases. What comes as a shock to many is recent outbreaks in prisons nationwide which saw more than 10 thousand inmates infected.

    This prison cluster is not surprising, however. Prison and detention centres in Thailand are notoriously crowded. Available official statistics suggest that prison population has tripled from 2010 to 2021. As of May 2021, the country has roughly 311,000 inmates nationwide, but the normal prison capacity is about 200,000. Several studies suggest that Thailand’s prisons have inadequate access to medical treatment, insufficient food and water, poor sanitation facilities, and severe budget constraints. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, transmission of HIV/AIDs and other infectious disease such as tuberculosis and measles are common. Therefore, large COVID outbreaks in prisons are only a part of a bigger problem in terms of the state overlooking the welfare of prisoners.

    Why are prisons in Thailand overcrowded? As of April 2021, 81% of all inmates are being held for drug-related offenses. From 2018 to 2021, while the number of convicted prisons for drug offences has been more or less the same, the number of those who are pre-trial/unconvicted has increased by 50%. Harsh drug laws are viewed as a major contributor to overcrowding in Thai prisons.

    A recent study by the Thailand Institute of Justice cites changes in two legal standards that explain Thailand’s prison overcrowding. In 2002, by amendment of the Narcotics Act B. E. 2522 (1970), the threshold amount for presumption of intent to sell methamphetamine (known in Thai as ya ba) was dramatically reduced from 20 grams to 375 mg. This threshold is relatively low compared to other countries including Australia and Singapore.

    Another legal contributor is the Rehabilitation of Drug Addicts Act B.E. 2545 (2002). This Act allows some of those found using or in possession of drugs to receive compulsory treatment instead of prison. The amount of drugs involved must be small in order to qualify for diversion. Those in possession of methamphetamine of more than five units or 500 mg are not eligible for diversion. After a short period of reduction, the number of people incarcerated on drug-related offences has since dramatically increased, from about 100,000 inmates in 2008 to more than 250,000 inmates in 2020. This may be in part due to an increase in the amounts of drug possessed, driven by falling methamphetamine price in East and Southeast Asia.

    These reinvigorated drug laws were a part of the “war on drugs” campaign which was officially launched in February 2003 by Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. This “tough on drugs” policy resulted in a large number of extrajudicial killings in a matter of three months. While the prime minister proclaimed victory, this campaign caused many, including the UN Human Rights Committee, to be concerned about violations of human rights . This is not to conclude that such draconian drug laws failed to eradicate drug problems and protect the Thai community; however, the resultant prison overcrowding has a cost to shoulder.

    Duterte’s “drug war” migrates to Indonesia

    Alarming rhetoric from officials is coinciding with an apparent spike in the use of deadly force by police.

    Many organisations (e.g., Thailand Institute for Justice, International Federation for Human Rights, and Human Rights Watch) have long called on Thailand’s Department of Corrections for urgent prison reforms to reduce population congestion. But how can an under-resourced prison system be expected to safely vet prisoners for early release?  Thailand could widen the criteria for early release to include more prisoners, such as those in pretrial detention for nonviolent offences. Of more than 300,000 prisoners currently detained nationwide, about 20% are not convicted; either pending appeal, awaiting trial, or awaiting investigations. They could be released with electronic monitoring (EM) equipment. For the past few months, many countries (i.e., Indonesia, Iran, and Turkey) have temporarily released large numbers of prisoners. In the case of Thailand, since prisoners convicted of offences against drug laws form the largest group of the prison population, minor drug offences should be prioritised.

    The benefit of such a program would not just reduce congestion in prisons in the time of the pandemic. Intriguing studies in Argentina, Australia, and France have found that electronic monitoring has a long-lasting effect on recidivism, thereby lowering the possibility of overcrowding in the future.

    But reducing the prison population does not seem to be the first option. The Justice Ministry’s current priority is to vaccinate inmates and correctional officers. A sluggish vaccine rollout casts doubt on how the Thai authorities allocate the limited amount of vaccine between vaccinations in prisons and the mass immunisation drive (for adults aged between 18 and 59) to be started in June. Whether it is mandatory for prisoners to get COVID-19 vaccine is yet to be discussed.

    Another unanswered question related to general prisoner welfare is how those who have COVID-19 are treated. The current outbreak in prison suggests that measures for COVID-19 prevention implemented by the Corrections Department are ineffective. At the time of writing, it is unclear how many field hospitals are set up for COVID-19 prisoners. More importantly, it is unknown whether these field hospitals have the required medical staff and facilities (beds, ventilators, etc.) because the healthcare sector has already been overwhelmed with increasing COVID infections. Many hospitals are short of beds and even have limited testing capacity.

    While international organisations including Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International Thailand have voiced growing concern over recent the prison cluster and called on the Thai authorities to ensure adequate protective measures and healthcare in detention facilities, the Office of the National Human Rights Commission of Thailand is silent. It would be embarrassing if the timely protection of rights among prisoners cannot be upheld because of its lack of authority.

    Nobody should be left behind during the pandemic. People deprived of their liberty are already vulnerable to infectious disease, but it gets worse in overcrowded prisons. It is now time for the Thai authorities to make every effort to solve this long overdue issue.

    The post Thailand’s COVID-19 prisons outbreak: time for an early release? appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Parliament roles and ‘business as usual’ during pandemic

    Under the Indonesian Constitution Article 20A Paragraph 1, the legislative branch of the government (Parliament) has 3 functions: legislation, budgetary and monitoring.  How do these functions come into play when governing amidst a pandemic? How have their representative roles been at play with regards to their political constituents?

    What we read in the news is that MPs perform their routine activities in a ‘business as usual’ mode. For example, legalising the state budget during the plenary meeting held on Indonesian Independence Day (17 August 2020); legalising the controversial Omnibus Law; and supporting legislative processes like upgrading government regulations into Law and/or compiling national legislation programs (Prolegnas) for the next year. Parliament also carries out the budgetary process, another routine role.  Aside from their routine activities and several distasteful news items about how the family members of Parliament are given priority for vaccine inoculations, the Legislative branch has little to show for pandemic-related activities.

    The only non-routine activity Parliament has conducted is establishing an ad-hoc COVID-19 group in Parliament. It distributed imported herbal medicine to hospitals despite the medicines having no permits from the Food and Medicine authority, causing a protest from herbal medicine entrepreneurs. It has not capitalised on its legislative powers effectively, if at all.

    The monitoring function of Parliament is also sorely lacking during this pandemic. Parliament’s official web site lists several meetings and field visits for COVID-19, but public information on how Parliament is monitoring pandemic management in Indonesia is scarce. Where information is provided, it describes  global diplomacy—how Indonesia has been assisting other countries during the pandemic, practically detaching itself from the struggle of its own citizens.

    During this pandemic, “losing” these key Parliamentary functions has exacerbated the lack of “checks and balances”. Indonesia has three branches of government that are supposed to be independent from one another, in order to “check and balance” each other.

    The Judicial branch is currently struggling with the pandemic but has managed to stay afloat by organizing electronic and/or hybrid judicial system services. The Executive branch has enacted at least 681 national regulations and more than 1,000 regional/local regulations on Covid-19, so far. The State fund budget re-allocation in 2020 increased to IDR 62.3 trillion (US$ 3.9 billion), from the initially-planned value of IDR 23 trillion (US$ 1.2 billion).

    In addition, Indonesia faces problems of political representation. Indonesian electoral politics is widely known to operate on a personality level, rather than an institutional one. “Representative democracy” is a concept foreign to many Indonesians. During the legislative election, people often vote for a candidate either because of a personal relationship or because of vote buying practices. As a result, politicians deem voters useful once every five years at election time. Upon election, it is rare for politicians to maintain strong relationship with their constituencies, apart from formal constituency meetings allocated and funded by house’s budget. Therefore, during the post-election policy-making processes, the aspirations and needs of constituents are rarely, if ever, important aspects for legislating MPs to consider in conducting their three main roles. From the constituents’ perspective, there is a general lack of awareness that having and exercising political representation in Parliament can push policy agendas, not just those concerning COVID-19.

    Media outlets and the general population ignore the fact that Parliament has a role in pandemic governance.  We tracked Google trends of online public conversations, using conversation keywords such as ‘corona virus’, ‘government’ and ‘Parliament’. Our findings indicate that “Parliament” was neither a keyword nor a heavily-searched issue of interest. Few people talked about this important democratic institution online. Indonesians are typically think that the “government” only comprises Jokowi (the President) and his ministers—governors, mayors, civil servant officials, etc. We often forget that Parliament is also responsible for pandemic governance in Indonesia, even though they have spent a significant amount of our state’s budget on this. This is surprising, given that it costs IDR25 .6 trillion (US$ 1.8 billion), or almost 3 times West Papua’s local revenue in 2020, to elect Parliament.

    Taking parliament to the people in Indonesia

    Aid-supported ‘participatory recess’ programs are promoting healthier communication between MPs and constituents. But it won’t transform politics unless parties sign on wholesale.

    Three courses of action

    There is an urgent need to hold Parliament responsible for organizing their basic duties during this pandemic.  As the legislative branch of the government, and as representatives of the Indonesian people, Parliament must perform “checks and balances” on other branches of the government and report those results to the public. They must represent the needs of Indonesian people, especially now, to the Executive and Judicial branches of the government. They should conduct dialogue, hold meetings, and support and review new regulations concerning policies related to the pandemic. The more dialogue and discussions are organised, the more engaged the stakeholders and the people to the information and issue of the government during the pandemic. This ensures the security, sustainability, and transparency of government, improving the public’s access to numerous essential services, such as health care, education welfare, and justice.

    To achieve this, at least three actors must be simultaneously involved—the State, political parties and citizens. Firstly, the state should have clear indicators for the allocation of subsidies to parties, based on parties’ representative performance. The more actively MPs engage their constituents, the better. Of course, this will not be popular among politicians. Secondly, parties, including their cadres, should recognise the incentive that attending to voters’ needs offers to those who want to win elections, although pragmatics voters are also hurdles in Indonesian elections. Parties, as institutions, should consistently champion standpoints favourable to their respective constituencies, not just during elections but even post-elections. This will make parties more responsive to their constituents, and forge a unifying function among their constituents. Thirdly, citizens must actively hold their representatives to account, particularly during this pandemic, by demanding their elected leaders to take more active roles during the pandemic instead of serving their own interests.

    The post The Malady of Ignorance? Indonesian Parliament During the COVID-19 Pandemic appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • The history of military rule, armed conflict and the influence of gender norms mean that women and men live, work and socialize in different ways. Women are generally expected to stay at home and concern themselves with household affairs. And yet, since the early days of the coup, women have been visible opposing dictatorship and participating in protests through, for example the pots and pans campaign, civil disobedience movement and neighborhood vigilance groups.  They are frontline protestors and activists on social media. Images of women have proliferated on social media giving them unprecedented visibility. It is inspiring to see sheer numbers of women such as teachers who are usually seen as apolitical become politically active and taking risks by participating in the protests. Women of different ages and social backgrounds have been at the heart of these protests.

    Since Myanmar’s independence in 1948 until 2010, the country was ruled by successive military regimes with the military playing a key role in Myanmar politics even in its democratic transition after the 2010 elections. Military rule has reinforced “the authoritarian, hierarchical and chauvinistic values that underpinned male-dominated power structures“.  Because of the close links between the military and perceptions of male supremacy, this makes discussions and progress towards women’s rights and their participation in public life difficult to envisage for many.  Under the military one party state, the civil and political rights of all citizens were decimated and women experienced violence through the use of rape as a tool of war. Even during the transition to democracy, with the adoption of a new constitution, Myanmar remains a masculine state with its male-dominated institutions where there is no belief in women’s equality with men, or support for women to become leaders and politicians. Women remain notably under-represented in all aspects of public and political life in Myanmar’s democratising state. Women comprise 13.6 per cent of elected MPs in the lower house and 13.7 per cent in the upper house at the national level following the 2015 elections, and only 0.5 per cent of women elected at the village level.

    For women’s organisations and networks, which made some gains during the transition, the return to the military regime is a blow to progressing the gender equality agenda. Women’s organisations and networks such as Gender Equality Network (GEN) and Women’s Organisations Network (WON) have rejected the military regime by boycotting the Myanmar National Committee on Women (MNCW), the national machinery for gender equality. Membership of GEN and WON to MNCW was approved under the NLD government, for the first time opening up space for women’s voices to be heard at a policy level. Previously that space was occupied by state-sponsored women’s organisations. Most members of these organisations were wives of generals, thereby reinforcing rather than upsetting patriarchal power.  Despite their gains in this space, GEN and WON refuse to work with the military regime. “We have zero trust on the military council’s promise of fulfilling human rights because we believe women’s rights and gender equality only survive in a democratic system not under military rule” said May Sabe Phyu, the director of GEN.

    A number of women’s organisations and networks also have boycotted the Technical Working Groups (TWGs) established to support implementation of National Strategic Plan for the Advancement of Women 2013–2022 (NSPAW). In statements rejecting the TWGs, the women’s groups explained that they do not recognize the military council as the legitimate governing body, therefore cannot support its administration. By taking away women’s voices from the policy and political processes of the military regime, they challenge the legitimacy of the State Administrative Council (SAC) formed by the military. Simultaneously, they channeled their voices through open letters to international bodies such as UN Human Rights Council and ASEAN member states, and demanded the restoration of democratic rule in the protests.

    The military has reinforced the idea of its protective role as the norm by emphasizing its duty to “protect democracy“, “constitution” and its intention to form a “true and disciplined democracy” in its claim of mass electoral fraud in the 2020 election as the justification for the coup. In fact, the military has nurtured its self-image as the “guardian” of the state throughout its patriarchal rule. The military-guided constitution includes references to women principally as ‘mothers’, which not only reinforces a gendered stereotype, but also contends that their reproductive roles are in need of protection (Section 32). The Race and Religion Protection Laws (2015), passed under the military backed Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP)’s government, is an example of controlling women’s bodies and limiting their religious and personal freedoms, in the name of ‘protecting’ women.

    During the protests, women from Kayah State have been effectively challenging the norm, imposed by the military, that women need protection and the military as the protection. In their rally, women carried bras and sanitary pads as symbols of opposition to the coup. Norms perpetuate ideas that women’s inner clothing, such as bras and pads, is dirty; that women are impure during menstruation; and that women’s roles should be located in the private sphere. By bringing these items into the public sphere, they challenge patriarchal norms and shame the military. Their poster declares that “the military can no longer provide protection for us, not even at the level of a pad” –a timely and relevant narrative as the number of women and men killed in crack-downs across the country increases day by day. In this context, Karenni women have challenged the norm that the military is the protection/protector for the women and all of the people. At the same time, they challenge the norm of women being private sphere.

    Myanmar’s coup from the eyes of ethnic minorities

    Members of ethnic minorities standing against the military are concentrating on institutional change, while majority Bamar NLD supporters focus on the release of party leaders and the formation of government.

    Women are also challenging other gender norms such as “hpon,” which gives higher authority and status to men. This perceived inherent spiritual superiority leads to men attaining positions of power and influence in political and religious institutions. In the prevailing culture, men tend to avoid walking under women’s drying htamain or longyi (sarong), as they believe that this can harm their hpon. So women are required to hang their htamain lower than men’s clothing and at the back of the house. Protestors have subverted this superstition  and turned women’s under garments into an effective protection/defense strategy by hanging women’s htamain in the lines across the street and building htamain barricades to induce fear and lower the masculine status of the security force. Images of security forces trying to remove these htamain shared on social media show that this strategy challenges deep-seated misogynistic/patriarchal beliefs held by the military, and demonstrate that the htamain has been turned into an empowering symbol of resistance.

    Women saw this strategy used widely by women and by men, and began to consider it time to directly challenge patriarchal norms, misogyny and sexism rooted in the dictatorship. A group of young women protestors called for a nationwide htamain movement on 8 March, International Women’s Day (IWD), urging people to use women’s htamain as flags. Their slogans, “fly the htamain flag, end the dictatorship,” and “our htamain, our flag, our victory” became the IWD’s theme in Myanmar. Using the htamain as the flag flying high in the marching, women have effectively challenged the private/public roles and patriarchal norms that limit women’s potential.

    Phyo Nay Chi, an activist in the campaign, said “we want to highlight the significance of women’s participation in the fight against the dictatorship so we use htamain as the flags during our marches, and as a symbol of our victory over the dictatorship and patriarchal norms.” The night before the movement the SAC passed an emergency law making hanging htamain on the street illegal. Despite this, the women’s action was successful in many areas of Myanmar. There were many posts on social media young men wrapping htamain around their heads and bodies and holding htamain flags in support of the campaign.

    This is a revolution in the making, opposing the misogynistic dictatorship as well as its underlying patriarchal ideology. Myanmar women now stand at a unique and revolutionary moment in their history. Although norms and experiences are diverse, women find common ground fighting the dictatorship and the patriarchal ideology. Women in Myanmar need to seize this moment to define a shared vision that also celebrates their differences.  How can we create our own, context-specific notions of equality and rights, breaking the patriarchal discourse that has dominated Myanmar’s recent history?

    The post Women fight the dual evils of dictatorship and patriarchal norms in Myanmar appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.