Back to Bloody Work: The Indonesian Army Inches Its Way Back into National Politics

By Farish A. Noor

After the debacle of the recent elections in Indonesia, the country was in for another unsuspected surprise: the nomination of ex-General Wiranto, former Head of the Indonesian Armed Forces (TNI), to the position of being the main candidate of the GOLKAR party that has shocked the country by staging a miraculous comeback to the stage on Indonesian politics.

It now seems like a sad and twisted case of history repeating itself.

The GOLKAR party that was formed during the time of former President Suharto was set up as part of the depoliticisation process, and was part of the New Order regime in the 1970s to the 1990s. GOLKAR was an attempt by the Suharto government to wipe out all legitimate dissent and opposition in the country, and its membership was made up of civil servants and bureaucrats that were already part of the state’s governing apparatus. By creating this all-encompassing party that did not seem to have an ideology to call its own – save a form of shallow conservative nationalism that was predicated on lofty notions of national unity and patriotism – Suharto was ensuring that the members of the bureaucracy would remain eternally plugged into the regime’s extensive patronage network. GOLKAR dutifully complied and saw to it that every measure and programme introduced by Suharto and his cronies were implemented to the letter.

General Wiranto in turn was one of the strongmen of Indonesia whose star was in the ascendant just as Suharto’s own fortunes were about to plummet back to earth with a graceless thud. Like that other Suharto-era strongman, former General Hendropryono (dubbed the ‘Butcher of Lampung’), Wiranto was placed in charge of the Indonesian army and its elite special forces and given a free run of the country. During the closing years of the Suharto regime, Indonesian politicians and military leaders feared the prospect of the disintegration of the country and were fearful of the loss of East Timor in particular.

Wiranto was the man put in charge of East Timor, and it was he who commanded Indonesian troops that were based there in the late 1990s. Though the international community had consistently condemned Indonesia’s violent annexation of East Timor in 1974, Jakarta’s allies – notably the USA, Britain and Australia – were muted in their criticism. Washington feared that Timor would end up as the Cuba of Southeast Asia, while Britain and Australia brokered numerous deals ranging from weapons sales to oil and gas exploration in Timor with the Suharto government.

It was only when Suharto was handed his marching orders by Madeline Allbright in May 1998 that the Indonesian elite realised that the game was up: Suharto met his end and soon the rest were to follow. At that time Wiranto was singled out as the Indonesian officer responsible for the crimes and abuses that took place in Timor during the 1990s, and was accused of turning a blind eye (if not aiding and abetting) the human rights abuses meted out by the pro-Jakarta militias that were on a killing rampage throughout the East Timor province. Though Indonesia’s senior command have denied these allegations, a host of foreign journalists and human rights monitoring groups have pointed the finger of accusation at the Indonesian army and men like Wiranto, whom they accused of helping, training, arming and protecting these rogue militia units that were doing the dirty work of Jakarta in Timor.

But despite the violence that took place, when the Timorese went out to vote for the referendum on the province’s future in 1999 the results were a resounding ‘no’ to continued existence as part of Indonesia. The rogue militias loyal to Jakarta intensified their efforts and even more blood was spilt before East Timor finally gained its independence, after a quarter of a century of living under Indonesian hegemony and brutal rule.

Things, however, have changed radically in Indonesia since the glory days of the ‘Reformasi’ movement in 1998. When Suharto was toppled, the country was sure that the transition to constitutional democracy and rule of law would follow. Wiranto, like many other military leaders of his generation, promptly abandoned Suharto to his fate and even publicly called for his former mentor to step down and resign. Without the support of the army Suharto was just a middle-aged Javanese man whose own claims to power and authority sounded weak and hollow.

But Wiranto himself was not spared the wrath and ire of the masses. He tried to warm up to Suharto’s successor B. J. Habiebie, but the latter’s honeymoon period in office was the briefest of all. Having warmed the seat of the President, Habiebie made way for Abdurrahman Wahid (known as ‘Gus Dur’), head of the Nahdatul Ulama movement, who became Indonesia’s next president.

It was Gus Dur who turned the tables on Wiranto and allowed the reformasi activists and human rights groups to take Wiranto to court, on charges of human rights abuses in East Timor. Shortly after Wiranto was forced to abandon his post and was disgracefully booted out of the military high command.

Since then the Indonesian army has been biding its time and waiting to stage its comeback. Since 1998 Indonesia has seen a string of Presidents come and go: First Habiebie, then Gus Dur, then Megawati Sukarnoputri. The office of President of Indonesia now looks like a game of musical chairs with heads of state being brought low almost as soon as they step into office. Indonesia’s national political arena has hardly moved in the direction of constitutional democracy and the notion of rule of law is merely cosmetic at the best of times: In many parts of the country rogue militia units still operate with the protection of rogue elements of the army, while the troubles in provinces like Aceh add to the body count in the countryside.

Nor has Indonesia managed to recover fully from the economic crisis of 1998: Its banking sector remains weak and disorganised, a fact made worse by the clumsy intervention of the IMF at the peak of the crisis 6 years ago. About the only thing that has improved is the standard of the Indonesian media, which is fiercely independent and has become a model for the rest of ASEAN; indeed, it is the one success story that Indonesians can be thankful for.

But as the economy remains in the doldrums and the politicians bicker over petty scandals and intra-party disputes, it has been the hand of the USA that is most evident in Indonesia today. Now regarded as a major strategic ally by America and Australia, Indonesia – like Pakistan – has become a vital strategic player in the so-called ‘war against terror’ concocted by the Bush cabal. It is against this backdrop of growing public disillusionment, breakdown of law and order and nostalgia for the past that many Indonesians have begun to look back to the Suharto era as a flawed ‘golden age’ of sorts. While the Suharto era was marked by the total collapse of the democratic process, absence of a free media and constant persecution of opposition leaders, writers, students and intellectuals, it was – at least in the eyes of the poor and homeless in Jakarta’s streets – a period where things appeared stable.

But here lies the trap that Indonesia has to avoid at all costs: Indonesia’s apparent ‘stability’ during the Suharto era was underwritten by a system of repressive laws and the exercise of routinised state violence on a scale unrivalled in many other parts of the world. The comeback of GOLKAR and General Wiranto can be read as symptoms of a tired and worn-out society wanting to run to the past as a false asylum, to escape the painful realities of the present. But Indonesia must never forget that its past was hardly a rosy one, and that the hands of the military elite of Indonesia remain bloody till today, sullied by crimes they have yet to answer for.