Gerry van Klinken – Is Indonesia's social fabric disintegrating? Or are the peasants simply in revolt? It's time to take a serious look at the accepted wisdom on what lies behind the epidemic of social unrest in this vast archipelago. Those outside Indonesia have seen their TV screens filled with images of smoke-blackened shops and Indonesian parents weeping over dead children. The voice-over is almost invariably peppered with such phrases as "a society tearing itself apart" or "as Indonesia's social fabric unravels." Indonesian commentary has been similar, with Feisal Tanjung, the minister for security, for example, saying that the unrest was caused by religious decline.
True, when neighbours kill each other the feeling of decay is hard to put aside. Ambon is today experiencing the worst inter-religious and ethnic strife the island has known this century. And there have been many such cases recently: in Jakarta, Kalimantan and Sumba. Yet the seeming universality of the interpretation, that we are seeing the "breakdown" of a society that once functioned reasonably well, should lead us to be suspicious. Common sense is often uncommonly wrong.
In 1997, I visited the riot-torn town of Tasikmalaya in West Java. Then, the question, "Why did it happen?" had triggered enormous public debate, with the "breakdown" view coming through strongly. Before heading to the town, I met the popular Islamic opposition leader, Abdurrahman Wahid. He explained that the riots had been instigated by a number of intellectuals from Jakarta. But in Tasikmalaya, no one was interested in the Jakarta intellectuals. The talk there instead was about insensitive police, overconfident young activists and well-connected local Chinese businessmen. In other words, it was all about local issues. It struck me then that for all his popularity, Abdurrahman Wahid was out of touch with the grassroots.
Today, my impression is stronger than ever of a Jakarta elite out of touch with their 200 million brethren. Whether they belong to the old guard or the opposition, there is a widespread view that Indonesian society is traditional, religious and (therefore) harmonious and obedient. Put another way, the view is that the bulk of the people are inert and prefer to do nothing unless prodded to action by either good Jakarta government policies or evil "provocateurs," usually also from Jakarta. But this is surely a paternalistic view of one's own society. Indeed, it reminds me of the smug Dutch minister for colonies 70 years ago, who said that the Javanese peasant wanted nothing more than to be left alone to grow rice.
Meanwhile, unbeknown to the elite, there is life, hope and clear thinking in rural and small-town Indonesia. You won't read about this in the Jakarta press, which fears to report it as it might imperil "national unity," but there is an alternative discourse going on. Hidden as it is, it is nevertheless a lively and highly political discourse. And being local, this discourse is different everywhere, although there are some parallels.
First, it is about local heroes, whose status grows as they are denounced as subversives and provocateurs by Jakarta. Some of them are like Achmad Kandang, the separatist rebel leader in Aceh. Others are resolutely peaceful, like Agustiana, the environmental activist in West Java who was eventually blamed and jailed for the Tasikmalaya riot. Others again are religious, such as the Central Java cleric, Afifuddin, named by Jakarta as the provocateur behind a major riot in 1997.
The discourse also often has xenophobic aspects, in which "foreign" is equated with the bad, no matter whether the foreigner in question has lived in the community for many years and is just as poor as the "core" group. Ethnic tolerance is certainly not a hallmark of the intense Acehnese, Dayak or West Papuan feeling that has exploded recently. But mind you, the locals think they are purifying and strengthening the community – the exact opposite of social breakdown. Indeed, Achmad Kandang is a hero in Aceh because young people are turning away from gambling and going back to prayer, as his father proudly told one interviewer.
Most of all, the discourse is about reclaiming local government, long hijacked by big capital and a brutal military. This is why protests have at last stopped the giant pulp mill, Indorayon, in North Sumatra. This, too, is why "anti-corruption" protests have forced literally hundreds of local-government officers throughout the archipelago to resign over the last year – so many that some wonder how the June parliamentary elections will be properly implemented.
And there are many more examples of the discourse – naturally enough because of its overlay of local concerns. Exactly what they all add up to isn't yet clear, except this: It would be a mistake to think of the unrest only as evidence that the social fabric is unravelling. Rather, what may be unravelling is an elitist concept of statehood, and the authority of an elite whose world this has always been. But for the people, this could be just the start of something new.