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Category: SEARBO

  • The Rajapaksa regime: navigating the victor’s peace

    In Sri Lanka, a new government has acted swiftly to curtail freedom of speech and assembly, militarise governance structures and suppress dissent. The COVID-19 pandemic is providing a convenient justification for these measures, which are having a chilling effect on civil society. This policy brief examines how Sri Lankan civil society human rights activists are navigating these challenges. It argues that the resurgence of illiberal modes of governance needs to be contextualised within the “victor’s peace” that was ushered in by the  end of the civil war in 2009.

    Recent presidential and parliamentary elections in Sri Lanka (2019 and 2020) saw the return to power of the powerful Rajapaksa political family. Civil society human rights activists braced themselves for a return to the militarised governance, reduced civic space and extremist Buddhist Sinhala-nationalism of the first Rajapaksa government (2005-2015).

    The elections ended the so-called Yahapalanaya (good governance) coalition government (2015-2019), which had promised constitutional reform, devolution of power to the provinces and reengagement with the west, and had made international commitments to address war crimes through transitional justice mechanisms. Despite fostering high hopes amongst civil society and western donors, the government failed to follow through on many of its commitments.

    The Rajapaksa government has acted quickly to militarise civilian structures, curtail freedom of speech and assembly, reduce space for civic dissent and withdraw from international commitments to transitional justice (arguing that it is protecting its “war heroes”). The national security discourse has become conveniently twinned with a discourse of protecting public health in response to the COVID-19 pandemic.

    The climate of increased repression is having a chilling effect on CSOs (civil society organisations), especially those with a human rights focus. There has been a marked increase in surveillance, intimidation, monitoring and harassment of civil society organisations, especially in the Tamil and Muslim-dominated North and East. Military checkpoints have been established in these areas, and public gatherings and protests are regularly disrupted. More isolated than their Colombo counterparts due to COVID-19 travel restrictions, CSOs in the North and East also have less access to information, lawyers (should they be detained or arrested) and fewer financial resources. Some activists have adapted their strategies and activities as a form of protection, for instance by curtailing participation in public events, disengaging from social media or opting to work on issues perceived less controversial than human rights.

    The post-war victor’s peace: facilitating illiberal peacebuilding

    The policy brief suggests that to make sense of the challenges facing civil society now, and the reason for limited change during the Yahapalanaya era, it is necessary to reflect on the nature of the post-war peace. The civil war between the government and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) ended in 2009 with a crushing victory by the government over the LTTE. This has ushered in a victor’s peace in which those who were in positions of power during the war remain powerful and continue to define the peacetime narrative, and the historically-grounded power asymmetries between the state and the Tamil minority remain in place. The victor’s peace entrenched a militarised approach to governance, the centralisation of power and the cultivation of a political order “premised on Sinhala majoritarianism.” It is underpinned by a “non-pluralist” vision of the nation that is fuelled by Sinhala-Buddhist imaginings of a unitary state, and continually demarcates the boundaries of political community with reference to distinctions between “us” and “them”, “friends” and “enemies”.

    The victor’s peace has facilitated the rise of illiberal peacebuilding, a trend that withstood weak reform attempts during the Yahapalanaya era and is now being reasserted with new vigour in the new Rajapaksa era.

    Engaging with international human rights fora: a catch 22 for activists

    The victor’s peace creates challenges for Sri Lankan civil society human rights activists pursuing “justice” for crimes committed during the war. The UN Human Rights Council (UNHRC) has been a focal point for their advocacy. Many activists engaged intensively with the March 2021 UNHRC session in Geneva, as they did with the previous 2015 session, when the Yahapalanaya government committed to a suite of transitional justice mechanisms.

    Civil society advocacy engagement with the 2021 UNHRC session helped to ensure a new resolution on Sri Lanka was passed, mandating enhanced international monitoring and scrutiny of the human rights situation. Yet it also placed CSOs in a Catch-22 situation. On the one hand, the resolution will keep Sri Lanka on the agenda of the UNHRC for several more years. On the other hand, it continues to feed the Sinhala Buddhist nationalist discourse. It provides the current Sri Lankan regime with the opportunity, by positioning itself in opposition to outside (Western) powers led by the UN, to tap into patriotic, nationalist sentiments that help shore up its electoral support base. There is also a very real chance that activists will experience intensified surveillance and intimidation as a result.

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    Notes from the Salween Peace Park

    Weary of Myanmar’s elite-driven peace process, some communities in Karen State are trying something different.

    Shona Loong 27 May, 2019

    Reimaging the peacebuilding agenda: suggestions for CSOs and donors

    While the return of the Rajapaksas to power and the government’s roll-back of its Geneva commitments creates myriad challenges for CSOs, this policy brief suggests it may also provide an opportunity to reflect on and reimagine the peacebuilding agenda. This includes the campaign for justice for war crimes in which CSOs and donors have heavily invested since the end of the war.

    The report makes several suggestions about what this reimagining could entail. First, there is potential to broaden the scope of “justice” beyond prosecutions for wartime human rights violations in order to encompass urgent past and present injustices experienced by a range of marginalised communities. It might also involve paying more attention to the structural dimensions of injustice, including how institutions and political systems in Sri Lanka create the conditions for the abuse of power and for anti-minority sentiment. Donors and civil society activists will also need to reflect on the power imbalances and inequalities that pervade their own relationships. The question of who gets to define the peacebuilding agenda, and whose voice is heard, is critical.

    There are several practical ways in which donors could support Sri Lankan civil society over the next five years. First, they could support conversations about a reimagined peacebuilding agenda. They could also help to amplify the voices of smaller civil society groups and help find avenues for these groups to speak for themselves. They could also help to promote conversations amongst different ethnic communities and across different geographic regions. Expressions of international solidarity for groups in the North and the East are also essential. Donors could help to create safe spaces for civil society groups to come together and, when COVID-restrictions permit, undertake regular visits to the North and the East, which may help to keep a check on more extreme forms of surveillance and abuse. Importantly, this support needs to be offered with a long-term time horizon in mind.

    Ultimately, recent developments in Sri Lanka provide an important lesson on the need to take a long-term and less linear perspective on peacebuilding. The Yahapalanaya regime might have seen a relaxing of some of the more extreme forms of surveillance and militarisation of the previous government, but donors and civil society actors were perhaps too quick to assume that the regime change would lead to more substantive transformation. Given the victor’s peace, we are likely to see the further entrenchment of illiberal peacebuilding, at least in the short term.

    The post The Rajapaksa regime: navigating the victor’s peace appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Chinese Investment in Southeast Asia, 2005-2019: Patterns and Significance

    Southeast Asia’s growing economic linkages with China generate political opportunities and strategic concerns in equal measure. Recent discussions have tended to focus on infrastructure projects, especially those associated with the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). However, to gauge their significance and impacts, such projects must be understood against the broader context of Chinese investments in Southeast Asia.

    Our SEARBO Policy Briefing provides an overview of the findings from our larger project collating and analysing region-wide, multi-sectoral data on large Chinese investments in Southeast Asian economies from 2005 to 2019. We identify regional trends, analyse the distribution of Chinese investments across Southeast Asia, and evaluate their key political and strategic significance.

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

    Region-wide trends

    Foreign investments in Southeast Asia originating from China grew twentyfold during 2005-19. Chinese investments expanded rapidly after the global financial crisis, when temporary declines in other sources of foreign direct investment (FDI) coincided with Beijing’s “going out” strategy encouraging international investment by domestic enterprises. Between 2013 and 2017, the BRI further enabled very large (at least US$1 billion) outward investments from Chinese enterprises. Moreover, China has diversified its investments across all the key industrial sectors and all the host countries in Southeast Asia.

    Even so, for Southeast Asia as a whole, China is not yet a dominant investor. Between 2005 and 2018, China featured in the top three (non-ASEAN) foreign investors list only twice (in 2012 and 2018, both times in third place). In each instance, China’s share of the region’s total annual foreign direct investment (FDI) was only half that of the second largest investor, Japan. The EU, Japan, and the United States remained the three largest sources of FDI for Southeast Asia across this period.

    Distribution of Chinese investments

    Using the volume-based distribution of Chinese investments, we identify three groupings of Southeast Asian economies.

    • Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore: These three key maritime economies were the top three destinations, together accounting for 57% of total Chinese investments in the region.

    Indonesia is the top Southeast Asian destination for Chinese investments, which more than quadrupled to US$8.5 billion in 2015. The infrastructure sector (including the $2.4 billion Jakarta-Bandung Highspeed Railway) attracted a fifth of total Chinese investments in Indonesia, but the energy sector accounted for the bulk (around 55%).

    Malaysia ranks as the second largest recipient, but Chinese investments rested on a few very major investments, such as the 2015 US$5.96 billion acquisition of all 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB) energy assets, and the 2016 US$8.6 billion investments in the East Coast Rail Link and the Melaka Gateway Port.

    Singapore is the third largest recipient of Chinese investments in the region. Reflecting the city-state’s economic profile, these were marked by major Chinese acquisitions of strategic service providers in energy, e-commerce, and logistics.

    • Laos and Vietnam: These two mainland Southeast Asian neighbours each attracted around 11%, together accounting for just over a fifth of all Chinese investments in Southeast Asia.

    Chinese investments are concentrated in the energy sector – mainly hydropower in Laos, and coal in Vietnam. Laos also received sizeable Chinese infrastructure investment in 2016-18 for the railway connecting Kunming and Vientiane. Both Vietnam and Laos saw larger than regional average proportions of very large (over US$1 billion) Chinese projects.

    Laos experienced a sharp increase in Chinese investments between 2013 and 2017, coinciding in part with BRI, but Chinese investment in Vietnam has been on a declining trajectory since 2010 because of their conflicting territorial claims in the South China Sea.

    • Cambodia, Philippines, Thailand, Myanmar, and Brunei: Each country received 6% or less, together accounting for 21% of total Chinese investments in Southeast Asia.

    Cambodia and Myanmar stand out for the high significance of Chinese investment in their economies, despite the smaller amounts involved relative to the two groups above. Cambodia has largely logged China as its top non-ASEAN FDI source in 2005-18. Unlike Laos, however, Cambodia attracts a wider range of FDI and thus is less reliant on Chinese investment. Myanmar’s reliance on Chinese FDI correlated with periods of international isolation under military rule.

    In contrast, the Philippines, Thailand and Brunei attract small proportions of Chinese investment for various reasons such as reliance on other sources of FDI, nationalist sentiment, and the countries’ specific economic profiles.

    Political and strategic significance

    The largest volumes and shares of Chinese investments go to the most diversified and advanced Southeast Asian economies, but in some of the smaller developing economies, even small absolute amounts of investment can bring China top investor status. Countries that are less attractive to other major international investors are also likely to be more dependent on Chinese investment.

    Related

    The future of Xi’s Belt Road Initiative

    President’s vision lacks strategy.

    Jacob Mardell 02 March, 2017

    Concerns about over-dependence arise when one external source of investment is disproportionately important for a national economy. China has become the most important source of FDI for two Southeast Asian countries, Cambodia and Laos. Laos’ relative dependence on Chinese sources is higher, reaching a peak of 79% compared to a peak of 32% in Cambodia. China is consistently among the top three sources of FDI for only two other Southeast Asian economies: Myanmar and Singapore, but for very different reasons. Laos, Myanmar and—to a lesser extent—Cambodia are most likely to be over-exposed and potentially dependent on Chinese investments.

    In general, sovereignty concerns arise over foreign ownership of critical national assets, and foreign control of service provision in critical sectors. In Southeast Asia, Chinese investments in two areas of critical national infrastructure stand out. Chinese companies are very significant in electricity generation and transmission in Singapore, the Philippines, and Laos. Chinese investment has also grown in the rapidly expanding and highly profitable telecommunications sector, including mobile and internet networks and providers in Thailand and the Philippines.

    Vulnerability could also arise from very large Chinese investments in regional sectors which are strategically important for China, especially in Beijing’s quest for greater energy security. These range from Chinese acquisitions of Singapore companies for oil refining and international trading, to stakes in the refinery and petrochemical industry in oil-rich Brunei, to very large investments in Myanmar’s west coast to build oil refineries, ports to handle oil imports from the Middle East, and overland pipelines into China.

    Myanmar now hosts critical Chinese infrastructure within its territory, and with its contiguous location, becomes integrated into Chinese strategic arenas and interests. China’s concrete stakes in Myanmar’s domestic politics have grown to include the management of ethnic insurgencies both on their shared border in eastern Myanmar and in Rakhine state in the west where such infrastructure is being built. Other strategically located port and transport infrastructure projects in the region have been slow to take off.

    The post Chinese Investment in Southeast Asia, 2005-2019: Patterns and Significance appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Protests and Pandemics: Civil Society Mobilisation in Thailand and the Philippines

    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.

    Related

    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.

    Hunter Marston 04 June, 2021

    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.

  • Kaum perempuan di garis depan: Peran kepemimpinan yang tak dihitung dalam penanganan COVID-19

    Respon pemerintah daerah dan masyarakat sipil terhadap pandemi Covid-19 di Indonesia telah banyak dipuji dalam media akademis dan populer sejak kasus pertama Covid-19 dikonfirmasi Maret 2020. Mitigasi lokal dan respon kesehatan telah terbukti menjadi faktor kritikal ketika pemerintah pusat telah gagal dalam banyak aspek penanganan pandemi. Namun apa yang tidak ditunjukkan oleh kajian-kajian awal adalah peran yang dimainkan kaum perempuan dalam memimpin tanggapan lokal ini. Kajian baru saya mengungkap kesenjangan antara keterwakilan tinggi kaum laki-laki dalam kepemimpinan formal dan badan pengambilan keputusan tanggap COVID-19 di satu sisi, dan dominasi perempuan yang luar biasa dalam kepemimpinan sehari-hari baik dalam mitigasi maupun perawatan kesehatan. Meskipun saya hanya berfokus pada satu kota di Jawa Tengah, kita dapat berasumsi bahwa fenomena ini juga terjadi di bagian lain Indonesia dan di banyak bagian dunia.

    Hasil penelitian yang diterbitkan dalam laporan baru saya, menjelaskan kenapa keterwakilan perempuan dalam struktur satuan tugas (Satgas) Covid-19 sangat minimal, sementara di sisi lain mereka mendominasi peran garis depan baik tanggap darurat maupun penanganan pandemi jangka panjang. Pada bulan Januari dan Februari 2021 saya melakukan penelitian lapangan dengan seorang mahasiswa paska sarjana di kota Salatiga, Jawa Tengah. Kami mengumpulkan data tentang peran kepemimpinan Aparat Sipil Negara perempuan dalam penanganan pandemi. Dalam kajian ini saya memperluas penelitian saya sebelumnya tentang respon pandemi di tingkat lokal, dengan menerapkan lensa gender untuk memeriksa mengapa pejabat dan petugas kesehatan perempuan, yang memiliki peran dan tanggung jawab terbatas pada Satgas Covid-19 kota dan kecamatan, dalam prakteknya telah menjalankan peran kritikal dalam memimpin strategi mitigasi di kedua tingkat tersebut.

    Tembol dibawa untuk mengunduh dokumen arahan kebijakan seluruhnya.

    Kegagalan struktur satuan tugas COVID-19 di tingkat lokal

    Peraturan nasional menyatakan bahwa kebijakan pengarusutamaan gender harus diintegrasikan dalam rencana tanggap darurat dan bencana baik di tingkat nasional maupun di bawahnya. Kenyataannya, keterwakilan kaum perempuan di Satgas Nasional hanya 7%, serta 12% untuk Satgas Provinsi Jawa Tengah. Sejak bulan Februari 2020, pembuatan kebijakan penanganan pandemi tingkat nasional sama sekali tidak membuat ketentuan terkait dengan gender. Dalam komposisi pegawai pemerintahan Kota Salatiga, tingkat perimbangan keterwakilan secara gender lebih tinggi dari rata-rata nasional, namun perempuan yang menduduki jabatan eselon tinggi masih sangat sedikit. Kesenjangan ini, pada gilirannya memberikan dampak langsung pada penyusunan anggota Satgas COVID-19 Kota Salatiga, dimana posisi-posisi di dalamnya dialokasikan atas dasar jabatan struktural dalam pemerintahan, tanpa mempunyai rujukan khusus pada gender.

    Dalam struktur anggota Satgas yang disusun bulan Okober 2020, partisipasi perempuan hanya 17% dari sebuah tim beranggotakan 12 orang. Kepala-kepala instansi pemerintah yang strategis, Kepolisian Resor (Polres), Komando Resor Militer (Korem), Satuan Polisi Pamong Praja (Satpol PP), Badan Perencanaan Pembangunan Daerah (Bappeda) dan kantor Kesatuan Bangsa dan Politik (Kesbangpol), secara otomatis ditunjuk untuk masuk dalam struktur Satgas, dan semua posisi ini dijabat oleh laki-laki. Meskipun melanggar prinsip pengarusutamaan gender, gambaran lokal dari Kota Salatiga ini adalah keadaan tipikal di seluruh Indonesia baik di wilayah jabatan publik yang diduduki lewat pemilihan maupun karir kepegawaian, dengan laki-laki adalah mayoritas pemegang jabatan eselon tinggi.

    Rapid Test facility at Pasar Senen Station. Image credit: Gaudi Renanda in Wikimedia Commons Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0

    Satgas COVID-19 Kota Salatiga bertanggung jawab dalam hal kebijakan dan perencanaan strategis mitigasi pandemi, koordinasi lintas instansi, pemantauan dan penegakan langkah-langkah mitigasi, alokasi anggaran dan sumber daya lainnya. Terlepas dari peran kepemimpinan yang tersemat pada lembaga yang didominasi laki-laki ini, dalam prakteknya kaum perempuanlah yang secara prinsip telah memimpin tindakan mitigasi dan penanganan kesehatan. Para perempuan ini telah berinisiatif maju untuk mengisi celah-celah kekosongan dalam kepemimpinan formal respon pandemi COVID-19, yang tidak responsif.

    Peran kepemimpinan perempuan dalam pandemi

    Kontras dibanding struktur Satgas COVID-19 tingkat kota, Dinas Kesehatan Kota Salatiga memiliki proporsi perempuan yang jauh lebih tinggi baik dalam peran kepemimpinan maupun tenaga kesehatan lapangan, dimana kaum perempuan mencakup 80% dari seluruh pegawainya. Di tingkat komunitas, kerja-kerja penangangan COVID-19 lebih lagi didominasi oleh kaum perempuan. Kepala dari enam Puskesmas di Kota Salatiga semua adalah perempuan, dengan 90% tenaga kerja adalah perempuan.

    Secara praktis, aspek penanganan pandemi ini tak hanya pelayanan kesehatan, namun juga meliputi wilayah-wilayah kritikal lain terkait mitigasi penyakit menular, yang dipimpin oleh kaum perempuan dari Dinas Kesehatan, Puskesmas dan dari pusat perawatan di rumah sakit daerah dan rumah sakit lain di Salatiga. Kelemahan utama penanganan pandemi yang telah diidentifikasi oleh semua responden dalam wawancara adalah kegagalan Satgas untuk memberikan kepemimpinan dan arah. Seorang pejabat Dinas Kesehatan menyampaikan bahwa meskipun terdapat instansi-instansi pemerintah yang mempunyai tanggung jawab sendiri-sendiri dalam Satgas, dalam prakteknya, mereka selalu lari ke Dinas Kesehatan untuk mendapatkan pemecahan masalah.

    Perempuan yang memimpin di pusat kesehatan kota dan kecamatan berpendapat bahwa penguatan peran Satgas tingkat kota sangat perlu, untuk: secara efektif melakukan pengawasan dan penilaian pelaksanaan kebijakan di lapangan, serta mensupervisi komunikasi publik yang efektif, termasuk mengkomunikasikan kebijakan mitigasi, sehingga layanan kesehatan dapat memprioritaskan diri pada pendalaman pengetahuan mengenai berbagai ilmu terkait COVID-19 yang berkembang sangat cepat dan dinamis, serta ilmu penanganan pandemi.

    Sebuah spanduk yang menyampaikan strategi mitigasi untuk COVID-19. Dipotret oleh penulis.

    Laporan saya menunjukkan bahwa ada empat institusi yang sangat penting dalam pelayanan kesehatan garis depan; Dinas Kesehatan, Puskesmas, rumah sakit daerah dan fasilitas isolasi khusus. Dua lembaga yang disebut pertama juga punya peranan vital dalam pelaksanaan mitigasi. Dan Puskesmas adalah tulang punggung dari strategi mitigasi dan perawatan kesehatan sebagai garis depan pelaksanaan pengetesan, penelusuran dan dukungan pada mereka yang terinfeksi COVID-19.

    Respon-respon strategis dari layanan kesehatan ini inovatif; secara cepat melakukan reorganisasi tenaga kesehatan dan penyesuaian tugas-tugas. Terdapat dua tim; yang didedikasikan untuk penanganan COVID-19, dan tim yang memastikan layanan kesehatan umum tetap berjalan.

    Di tingkat masyarakat, kepala Puskesmas memprakarsai komunikasi lintas sektor antar pemangku kepentingan di wilayah kecamatan (pemerintah kecamatan, satuan polisi dan tentara setempat, serta aparat kelurahan), serta melakukan koordinasi antar elemen masyarakat, organisasi sipil, kelompok agama dan pemerintah kecamatan.

    Beban kerja pandemi bagi perempuan

    Kegagalan kebijakan nasional penanganan pandemi COVID-19 di Indonesia dan banyak negara lain telah meningkatkan beban kerja dari tenaga kerja kesehatan perempuan, baik beban kerja yang dibayar maupun tidak. Sebagian besar tenaga kesehatan perempuan bahkan tidak diperhitungkan, apalagi dianggap penting dalam penyusunan kebijakan publik, baik dalam hal biaya yang dialokasikan pada sektor kesehatan khususnya maupun untuk sektor-sektor sosial secara lebih umum – yang keduanya didominasi perempuan, juga dalam hal manfaat-manfaat yang diberikan kaum perempuan dalam sektor kerja pelayanan dan reproduksi sosial. Akibatnya, penangan pandemi menjadi lebih rumit dengan beban kerja yang lebih tinggi bagi perempuan di garis depan. Apalagi, tak ada tambahan sumber daya manusia, sementara perempuan-perempuan ini juga harus lebih intensif menangani implikasi pandemi dalam peran domestiknya.

    Pekerja laboratori di pabrik BioFarma, Bandung, sedang memeriksa vial vaksin (bukan vaksin COVID-19). Image credit: Ümit Kartoğlu for VOA on Wikimedia Commons (public domain).

    Penting sekali untuk dicatat bahwa para perempuan ini telah mengembangkan pengetahuan secara signifikan melalui pengalaman mereka menangani pandemi. Mereka paham betul apa itu pandemi COVID-19 dan tahu langkah-langkah penanganan seperti apa yang bisa berjalan untuk mitigasi krisis – dan mana yang tidak. Namun terbatasnya keterlibatan perempuan dalam struktur formal yang memiliki kewenangan membuat kebijakan, telah membatasi ruang perempuan baik untuk mengkritik maupun untuk mengarahkan pembuatan kebijakan politis mengenai prioritas-prioritas dalam penanganan COVID-19.

    Kontribusi perempuan pada kepemimpinan pandemi

    Akademisi dan pegiat advokasi telah mendorong untuk dibukanya ruang partisipasi perempuan dalam penyusunan rancangan, pelaksanaan dan pengawasan aturan serta kebijakan terkait penanganan COVID-19 di semua tingkat pembuatan keputusan di pemerintahan. Kajian saya menunjukkan bahwa partisipasi ini sangat perlu, tak hanya untuk memastikan bahwa kebutuhan khusus bagi perempuan selama pandemi bisa terakomodasi, lebih jauh lagi, untuk bisa mendayagunakan pengetahuan yang terus berkembang serta pengalaman-pengalaman dari para perempuan ini sebagai sumber penting dalam rangka menyusun strategi-strategi penanganan pandemi yang tepat.

    Manajer kesehatan dan tenaga kesehatan garis depan telah mengidentifikasi beberapa bidang yang memerlukan tindakan serius dan segera. Pertama, perlu ada koordinasi, kepemimpinan dan pelaksanaan tugas resmi yang lebih efektif di Satgas Kota. Kedua, peningkatan pemantauan dan penegakan protokol kesehatan di tempat kerja, ruang publik dan acara-acara umun yang disetujui, termasuk pernikahan, upacara dan di tempat-tempat yang memfasilitasi pertemuan publik. Ketiga, harus ada pemantauan dan penegakan aturan pembatasan pergerakan dan peraturan daerah tentang kuota work from home, pembatasan kapasitas di restoran, hotel dan tempat lainnya serta isolasi mandiri di rumah. Keempat, perlu memperbesar kemampuan penelusuran dan pengetesan, yang dicapai dengan menambah fasilitas fisik untuk mendukung pengetesan sebagai ujung tombak pemantauan epidemiologis yang baik terhadap tingkat persebaran virus. Pemantauan epidemiologi ini akan mendukung penyusunan arah kebijakan menuju penekanan pandemi COVID-19 secara lebih efektif.

    Puskesmas di Indonesia, yang sebagian besar dijalankan oleh perempuan, telah menjadi bagian kritikal dari infrastruktur untuk penanganan pandemi di Indonesia. Upaya menjalin hubungan secara intensif dengan masyarakat yang dilakukan petugas-petugas Puskesmas telah menghasilkan pemahaman yang lebih besar tentang apa itu COVID-19 di masyarakat setempat, mendorong koordinasi pemangku kepentingan lintas sektor jika memungkinkan, memberikan dukungan aktif untuk pasien positif, dan mengurangi stigmatisasi masyarakat. Sayangnya, peran kritikal serta pengetahuan dan pengalaman yang diperoleh kaum perempuan ini, belum diakui secara formal ataupun dijadikan sebagai sumber rujukan penting dalam perencanaan dan kepemimpinan pandemi jangka panjang. Pada akhirnya, kegagalan ini melemahkan kapasitas untuk memberikan respon menyeluruh yang terkoordinasi dengan baik terhadap pandemi COVID-19 di tingkat lokal, yang mengakibatkan tingginya tingkat penularan virus.

    Terakhir, peminggiran struktural terhadap perempuan dan kegagalan untuk mengakui pengalaman, pengetahuan dan kapasitas kepemimpinan mereka dalam penyusunan kebijakan pandemi serta pengalokasian sumber daya, secara efektif telah memperpanjang jangka waktu krisis multi dimensi yang diakibatkan oleh pandemi COVID-19.

    The post Kaum perempuan di garis depan: Peran kepemimpinan yang tak dihitung dalam penanganan COVID-19 appeared first on New Mandala.

    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

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

    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.

    Related

    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.

    Muntaza and Rizki Amalia Affiat 20 April, 2021

    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.

  • The politics of banning FPI

    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.

    Related

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    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.

  • From disinformation to democratic innovations: amplifying ordinary citizens’ voices

    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.

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    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.

  • Human rights ritualism in Southeast Asian regionalism

    The governance of human rights in Southeast Asia is simultaneously at an all-time high and facing sustained challenge. Today, contrary no doubt to the founders of the regional organisation, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) possesses seemingly robust commitments to human rights. At the heart of this rights governance system sits the ASEAN Human Rights Commission (AICHR 2010) which oversees the ASEAN Human Rights Declaration (AHRD 2012). Yet, at the same time as this system has developed, Southeast Asian states have seen considerable backsliding: repeated coups in Thailand, the policies of Duterte in the Philippines, and the continuing violation of rights in mainland Southeast Asia, most recently the violent military coup in Myanmar.

    Our traditional understanding of why regional organisations create human rights commitments is tightly bound to the historical experiences of Europe, both because of the unprecedented nature of European integration and a more parochial concern of scholars largely based in Europe studying their “home” experience. Here it was unambiguously the case that regional commitments both mirrored alignment between member states and were intended to serve as a ‘lock-in’ for those national-level commitments, ensuring no backsliding. The result of this alignment and intention was the creation of strong regional governance, court systems, detailed and specific treaty commitments, robust oversight and, where necessary, formal policing mechanisms. Today we see this system embedded in multiple institutions, most notably the European Union and the Council of Europe.

    For a long time this model of regional commitment to rights has dominated our understanding of how other regional organisations around the world develop and engage with human rights values. We have assumed that regional commitments represent agreement amongst member states and that regional commitments, when created, are intended to be strong. The result has been the assumption that regional commitments, and so regional organisations, are always ‘good things’ when it comes to promoting and protecting rights.

    This policy brief asks how we can understand the reasons behind ASEAN’s engagement with human rights, as well as its current nature and significance. It compares ASEAN’s approach with other regional organisations.

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

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    This post was originally published on New Mandala.

  • Behind the coup: what prompted Tatmadaw’s grab for power?

    On Monday, 1 February, in the early hours before Myanmar’s Parliament was set to convene, the military (Tatmadaw) overthrew the country’s elected government and detained more than 100 prominent lawmakers and activists. The move seems to put an end to the country’s inchoate democratic transition, which first began in 2010 when the Tatmadaw allowed multiparty elections, paving the way to a semi-civilian parliamentary democracy in 2011.

    What events precipitated the military coup? Why did the military intervene in electoral politics now, only ten years after the country’s partial democratic transition? And what comes next?

    In the last week of January the military had rung alarm bells by repeatedly raising complaints of electoral fraud and erroneous voter lists that its close affiliate the Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP) had initiated in the wake of national elections in November 2020. Most observers were surprised given the military had previously affirmed the “successful holding” of the general election and at first refrained from endorsing the USDP’s claims of election fraud. Military spokesperson Zaw Min Tun refused to rule out the possibility of a coup in a press briefing on 26 January. Commander-in-Chief Min Aung Hlaing ominously stated that if the law was not followed, the military might have to “discard” or “tear up the constitution.” However the military quickly alleviated fears of a coup days later when the Tatmadaw issued a statement insisting that the media had mischaracterised Min Aung Hlaing’s statement and that the military pledged to “abide by the Constitution.”

    In retrospect, the specific wording of the statement should have been seen as a red flag: “the Tatmadaw will perform its tasks within the frame of enacted law while safeguarding the Constitution.” The Tatmadaw views itself as the defender of national unity and sovereignty and is committed to its particular form of “disciplined democracy.” As such, the military claims to be acting in defence of the 2008 Constitution and attempts to justify its actions as a legitimate recourse to uphold the rule of law.

    Soon after taking power, the military issued another statement announcing that Vice President Myint Swe, now serving as Interim President, had declared a state of emergency and transferred all power to Commander-in-Chief Min Aung Hlaing. The military furthermore stated that it would serve for one year, citing sections 417 and 418 of the 2008 military-drafted constitution, and multiple complaints of election fraud, as pretext for its seizing power. Section 417 grants the president the power to declare a state of emergency “after co-ordinating with the National Defence and Security Council” in the event of a crisis “that may cause the loss of sovereignty,” while Section 418(a) specifies that the President shall transfer all “legislative, executive and judicial powers” to the Commander-in-Chief “to carry out necessary measures to speedily restore its original situation in the Union.”

    The military has since announced a new cabinet featuring many familiar faces from the previous USDP government. Two days after the coup, the Tatmadaw filed charges against State Counsellor Aung San Suu Kyi for violating the Import and Export Law after allegedly finding six unregistered walkie-talkies searching her house. President Win Myint, who also represents Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD), is facing similar charges for breach of COVID-19 pandemic restrictions by greeting NLD supporters during the pre-election campaign period.

    The series of coordinated steps, the widespread presence of security forces in Naypyidaw and Yangon on the day of the coup, and the constitutional justifications put forward to justify the military takeover, all suggest that this move was premeditated. Yet Myanmar analysts are left wondering why the army decided to take power now.

    Let us consider several possible explanations. First, it is worthwhile—for the sake of argument—to take the military’s claims that they are defending the Constitution at face value. It seems clear from many conversations with sources in Myanmar and based on cursory analysis of Tatmadaw statements throughout January that the military genuinely believes its own propaganda and thus committed itself to a path with no offramp except constitutional crisis. The consistency of the military’s rhetoric supports this explanation. In a statement harking back to the language of the former military junta, the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), Commander-in-Chief Min Aung Hlaing vowed “to practice the genuine, discipline-flourishing multiparty democratic system in a fair manner.” If the armed forces truly believe that the NLD had impeded the legitimate functioning of constitutional democracy by refusing to hear complaints of electoral fraud (the Union Election Commission had dismissed its complaints, while the Supreme Court was set to deliberate a case prior to the military coup), perhaps it felt it had no choice but to block Parliament from convening.

    Yet several factors indicate the shortfalls of relying on this explanation alone. For starters, if the military simply wanted to ensure that its claims of electoral fraud were heard and that the Supreme Court was able to issue a decision before an NLD-led Parliament could convene, then why did it need to declare emergency rule for a whole year? Secondly, if the military’s appeals to the legitimacy of its coup rest on Sections 417 and 418 of the 2008 Constitution, why did it file relatively minor criminal charges against Aung San Suu Kyi and President Win Myint? If the real threat was to the integrity of the Union, why would it not pursue more serious charges of sedition against Suu Kyi and the NLD? As Myanmar constitutional scholar Melissa Crouch has pointed out, “Even if the military had evidence of voter fraud, it is not self-evident that election fraud constitutes an emergency. The Constitution is clear that an emergency is an extraordinary situation that poses a grave threat to the country.”

    Significantly, by detaining President Win Myint in the process, the military also bypassed the constitutionally mandated decision-making process to declare a state of emergency, which power falls to the President alone. However, as Win Myint was detained, it’s not clear how he could have convened the National Defence and Security Council (NDSC) and declared a state of emergency. Thus, the military’s claims of defending the constitution break down under closer scrutiny.

    A second possible motivation for the coup is tied to the underlying power struggle between the military and civilian government. Many observers note that the Tatmadaw sees Suu Kyi as a threat to its interests. Her party is committed to amending the undemocratic 2008 Constitution, which the military drafted without input from other parties or civil society under the previous junta. Its failed attempt rankled the Tatmadaw in early 2020. Aung San Suu Kyi has also refused to convene the powerful National Defence and Security Council dominated by military commanders. Reflecting the deep state of distrust between the State Counsellor and Commander-in-Chief, the two reportedly had not met for more than a year. Perhaps a collision was inevitable.

    Yet this theory seems overly simplistic for several reasons. First and perhaps most obviously, Suu Kyi’s efforts to reform the 2008 Constitution met with failure after the military quarter in Parliament blocked a vote of support. So the NLD’s threat to the military’s constitution was mostly symbolic. Moreover, the Tatmadaw had little incentive to interfere in politics since its interests were protected by the fact that it wrote the constitution to guarantee its continued power and control over several important government ministries. Further undermining this line of reasoning is the fact that Suu Kyi has been careful not to criticise the military. In fact, she went to enormous lengths to try and earn its trust, repeatedly praising the Tatmadaw, which her father General Aung San founded. Most notably in 2019 she appeared at the International Court of Justice to defend the military against accusations of genocide against the Rohingya Muslim minority.

    Barring the first two possible explanations—that the Tatmadaw was genuinely acting in defence of the 2008 Constitution, or that the underlying struggle for power between the NLD and armed forces led to a breakdown—a third motivation may have been Min Aung Hlaing’s personal ambitions. Supporting this third explanation are several related factors. Min Aung Hlaing was set to retire from the position of Commander-in-Chief in July, after the retirement age was officially extended to 65 in 2016. There were also rumours that Min Aung Hlaing had held presidential ambitions of his own. But which party would he join? The USDP had lost credibility and performed abysmally in both 2015 and 2020, and newly created parties in 2020 fared equally poorly. The senior general likely refrained from stepping down to contest elections (he would have had to first win a seat in Parliament to be eligible for the presidency) as he saw no discernible path to the presidency.

    Related

    Illiberalism and democratic illusions in Myanmar

    မြန်မာနိုင်ငံရှိ တင်းမာသောအမြင်သဘောထားနှင့် ဒီမိုကရေစီလှည့်စားမှုများ – ဖွဲ့စည်းပုံအခြေခံဥပဒေပြင်ဆင်ခြင်းအား နိုင်ငံရေးစွမ်းဆောင်မှုအဖြစ် အသုံးချခြင်း

    Melissa Crouch 20 November, 2019

    Second, as stated above, the fact that Aung San Suu Kyi had refused to convene the National Defence and Security Council almost certainly grated on the Commander-in-Chief. More specifically, the NDSC was expected to appoint Min Aung Hlaing’s successor following his retirement, a decision made in conjunction with Aung San Suu Kyi, who is a member of the NDSC in her position as Foreign Minister. It is plausible that Suu Kyi wanted to wait out Min Aung Hlaing’s retirement before proposing a more reform-minded general to succeed him. These concerns likely loomed large in the senior general’s calculations leading up to the military putsch.

    Yet even if the decision to launch the coup ultimately fell to Min Aung Hlaing alone, he needed to persuade a significant coterie of underlings to support it. The Tatmadaw works as an enormous institution. While commands may be directed top-down, they require broad buy-in to enforce. Rather than owing to the senior general’s boundless appetite for power alone, the coup was more likely the result of a combination of the above factors: the military sincerely believed that election fraud occurred; it felt backed into a corner as tensions with the elected leadership came to a head; and Min Aung Hlaing, hungry for personal aggrandisement and bitterly opposed to Aung San Suu Kyi’s dominant position, sensed an opportunity.

    Despite the seeming incredulity of the military and USDP’s claims of fraud, there is reason to take the Tatmadaw’s insistence on the legitimacy of such claims seriously. That is not to say that fraud occurred—numerous election observers and the Union Election Commission found no evidence to support these allegations. But what matters is that the military believes it occurred and acted with complete conviction that the NLD had rigged the election. After all, it has been repeating such claims for the past month ad nauseum—though foreign analysts, not wanting to hear it or not wanting to acknowledge the military’s grievances, treated the claims as absurd and roundly dismissed them.

    When it doubled down on its dispute of the election results, the Tatmadaw backed itself into a corner from which there was no way out. Thus the standoff between the military and civilian camps reached a boiling point when negotiations broke down in the days immediately preceding the coup. Finally, sensing a shrinking window of opportunity to block the NLD from forming a new government despite the military’s objections, Min Aung Hlaing, nearing retirement and running out of options, decided the time to act was now.

    What comes next largely comes down to the Commander-in-Chief’s calculus and perception of regime stability, the Tatmadaw’s response to domestic protests (which are mounting), and potential for defections, which cannot be ruled out entirely.

    Whether the current crisis leads to a peaceful resolution or crackdown also depends on what the regime decides to do with Aung San Suu Kyi. If they block her from participating in politics the people will almost certainly revolt. If instead they choose to negotiate with her and NLD leaders (which seems less likely), it is possible Myanmar’s democracy will re-emerge, though significantly hobbled by any power-sharing agreement struck with the military. The military may be intent to follow through on its pledge to hold elections, but they will be neither free nor fair, ensuring the continuation of “soft” military rule in one form or another perhaps akin to Thailand.

    The military almost certainly recognises that it cannot turn back to the clock to a dictatorship identical to that before 2011. If it is to peaceably withstand the enormous pressures building from popular resentment against the coup, it will have to make significant concessions to the people. One avenue that Min Aung Hlaing has likely considered is a Thai-style constitution which cements the military’s dominant presence in the legislature (perhaps over and above the previous 25 percent guaranteed by the 2008 Constitution) as well as more control over the appointed Union Election Commission, the leadership of which the NLD nominated after winning the 2015 election. However, this will not assuage the demands of angry protesters, who have called on the military to relinquish power entirely.

    It is conceivable that popular protests, which this week expanded to tens and likely hundreds of thousands, could force the new regime to step aside and release NLD leaders sooner than anticipated. The Tatmadaw and Min Aung Hlaing, however, do not have a history of backing down in the face of resistance. Further bloodshed and repression therefore remain probable. The international community will be watching closely for opportunities to persuade the generals to exercise restraint in the hopes of finding a political solution.

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    This post was originally published on New Mandala.