By Margot Cohen in Jakarta and Bandung, West Java – By all accounts, the speech was masterly. "Human rights have practically disappeared," intoned President Suharto. "The law offers almost no guarantee or protection... Power is centred absolutely in one hand, that of head of state. The nation's wealth has been used for personal gain, and squandered on flashy projects that have destroyed the economy."

Mea culpa? Hardly. Suharto uttered those stinging words 30 years ago to tell Indonesia's parliament what went wrong under Sukarno, his predecessor. Suharto's view of his own achievements remains decidedly rosy, judging by his March 1 speech at the opening session of the People's Consultative Assembly, which meets once every five years. Bolstered by a 25,000-strong security force and a $5 million expense account, this government-appointed, 1,000- member body will dutifully grant the 76-year-old president a seventh term on March 11.

Yet Suharto's words of 1967 are coming back to haunt him. In the west Java city of Bandung, and elsewhere in the country, pro-democracy activists are surreptitiously circulating excerpts of the president's speech as an ironic critique of his New Order regime. And thousands of Indonesians, young and old, are finding their own voice to criticize the government.

The past three months have witnessed a flurry of student and faculty demonstrations, women's protests and public declarations of dissent. In some cases, the mood has spread to the intellectual elite, alarmed by the economic and political developments. Demands for lower prices have swelled into calls for fundamental political and economic reforms.

In standing up to the Suharto regime, however, Indonesia's nascent opposition forces stand divided. Some analysts dismiss the latest initiatives as doomed because the opposition lacks consistent, effective leadership as well as resources. Arrests and disappearances are also putting a damper on the opposition's momentum.

So what could bind together the various elements? "The misery. The economic failure. The unbearable life," answers Amien Rais, an outspoken Islamic leader. "There is a certain stage when everything is beyond the limits of tolerance. People will think automatically, enough is enough. We must say goodbye to the ancien regime." He may have a point. Of late, some have even begun to think the unthinkable--that the powerful military, listening to the cacophony of public protest, could eventually abandon its loyalty to Suharto and align alongside reformist forces. Amien, 53, is chairman of the 25-million-member Muslim organization Muhammadiyah, and only one star in the constellation of Indonesia's reformists. Another celebrity is Megawati Sukarnoputri, Sukarno's 50-year-old daughter, who has remained suspended in an outer galaxy ever since the government engineered her ouster in June 1996 as chairman of the Indonesian Democratic Party, known by its acronym PDI. The oldest star has been the last to emerge: Emil Salim, 67, an American-trained economist and a former environment minister.

Depending on one's telescope, these stars either shine brightly or twinkle very dimly indeed. Some Indonesians even question whether they belong in the same firmament, since Emil has indicated a willingness to work with Suharto by offering himself as the president's potential running mate, while Amien and Megawati have both declared themselves ready for the presidential slot. (In the short term, this is a question of image, not reality, given Suharto's lock on the presidency and his choice of Research and Technology Minister B.J. Habibie for vice-president.)

The fledgling opposition is divided over not only which leader to follow, but also over the urgency of deciding whether to identify one leader or forge a coalition of chieftains. One opinion was voiced by Abdul Wahab Tahir, a 28-year-old student activist in Ujung Pandang, capital of South Sulawesi province. "The important thing is to work towards a shared vision for the future. Once we share this vision, a leader will automatically emerge," he says. The counter-argument is that mass discontent can easily disintegrate into chaos unless a charismatic leader or a solid coalition manages to channel public anger into constructive action.

Indeed, a major reason for the swelling ranks of reformists is moral revulsion at the anti-Chinese riots that have already flared up in scattered locations on the islands of Java, Sumatra, Flores, Lombok and Sulawesi. In campus demonstrations, student leaders have felt compelled to warn against making the Chinese scapegoats in the economic chaos. Emil, Amien and Megawati have all issued public appeals aimed at deterring anti-Chinese violence.

The trio also share a tendency to portray their efforts as a "moral struggle," rather than a stab at getting political power. They insist their primary interest is in the "political education" of the Indonesian people, who are excluded from political participation at the grassroots--except once every five years during parliamentary election campaigns. In part, this rhetoric may be an attempt to seem slightly less threatening to the government, and thus to attract followers who may be fearful of head-on confrontation.

The moralist rhetoric also lets students off the hook if they fail to suggest specific reforms. "The student movement reacts spontaneously. If something is wrong, we shout, 'It's wrong,'" says Didik Fotunadi, a 24-year-old activist at the Bandung Institute of Technology. "If we want to analyze the problem and find a solution, it will take more than 10 years. Let the guys at the top figure it out."

Some elements of the disaffected elite are looking for answers in Emil, a Sumatran Muslim with a jovial manner. This is the man who could conceivably be consulted by the military if loyalties to Suharto do wear thin. Around him has formed an embryonic "nucleus of an alternative elite," says a Western diplomat. In mid-February, when Emil suddenly announced his possible candidacy for vice-president, a stream of big names hastened to back him up. Even Sarwono Kusumaatmadja, the current environment minister, put in a good word.

Although Emil's sudden candidacy was widely viewed as a response to Habibie's controversial one, Emil's supporters emphasize his virtues: personal integrity, long experience in government, a rational technocrat's view of economic policy. For example, Emil has spoken out against immediately imposing an exchange-rate peg for the rupiah--a pet scheme of the president that has raised the ire of the International Monetary Fund. In a March 1 speech, Suharto advocated what was termed "IMF-plus," an improbable marriage between the IMF bailout plan and a currency-board scheme.

Emil has also stressed the need to strengthen the social safety net and focus on immediately providing food and medicine to the poor. He doesn't mind discussing such programmes with Amien and Megawati, but has no interest in working with them to topple Suharto. "The economic situation must not be used as a lever to change the political situation," he told the Review. "The cost is too high." To narrow the gap between rich and poor, Emil favours affirmative action but not based on race or religion. Instead, he prefers to "help the weak" with special loans and other initiatives.

Emil does not appear to be a major threat to Suharto's New Order. As a member of the elite and the regime's old guard, Emil has virtually no mass base and no wish to mobilize demonstrations. The belated announcement of his candidacy has raised questions about his determination to effect change. Some analysts predict that he may fade from the scene shortly after the national assembly adjourns. Yet Emil hints: "Once the bus is running, it's hard to stop."

Amien, for his part, has slowed it down. He demanded a new president in 1998. He denounced corruption and political favours to conglomerates. But on February 26--a few days before the national assembly's first session--Amien appeared on the podium at a Jakarta function to honour a think-tank established under Habibie's patronage. Sounding like a babysitter caving in to the demands of a young ward, Amien said he would "give one last, last, last chance" to Suharto.

Those words and his appearance on the dais have fuelled speculation that Amien is back in cahoots with his old buddies at the Indonesian Association of Muslim Intellectuals--notwithstanding his forced resignation from the leadership of the Islamic organization, which is chaired by Habibie. Giving one last chance to Suharto was designed to discourage young protesters from gathering outside the national assembly hall to deliver signatures supporting Amien as president. Amien maintains he wanted to avoid any student clashes with security forces.

Like Emil, Amien stresses the importance of clean government and a development policy that encourages grassroots participation and decentralization. But unlike Emil, he favours an affirmative-action plan that targets indigenous Muslims, similar to Malaysia's New Economic Policy. In the hopes of blunting his sectarian image, however, Amien met a number of Christian leaders recently, and in late March plans to talk with ethnic-Chinese leaders in East Java.

That region remains a stronghold of Megawati, whom Amien has met several times to explore common ground. However, it appears that historical baggage is blocking prospects for a real working coalition. Essentially, the two opposition leaders speak a different language. While Megawati draws on her heritage in the nationalist movement, often invoking her father's image, Amien relies upon Islamic idioms in the spirit of Masyumi, a former political party.

Amien and Megawati also seem to differ over tactics. Kwik Kian Gie, one of Megawati's top aides, says she will never mobilize supporters to take to the streets for fear the demonstrations would be infiltrated by agents provocateurs and end in violence. Amien, on the other hand, still believes in peaceful change through a kind of "People Power" revolution.

Both Amien and Megawati will have to prove their stamina as opposition leaders. Despite a couple of strongly-worded speeches this year, Megawati remains fairly passive about recruiting new converts, and in the countryside her message seems to be fading. It doesn't help that the government has pressured the local press to play down her statements. "We have been unable to detect the direction of Mother Megawati's thoughts," says Abdul, the student activist in Ujung Pandang.

One new strategy slowly emerging is to use food distribution and other charitable works as an entry point to build new links with local communities. Alumni networks also present the possibility of broadening the student movement to include middle-and upper-class Indonesians who are spread throughout the bureaucracy and the private sector.

Appeals to the military have also begun. In an unusual incident at the University of Indonesia in Jakarta on February 25, retired Brig.-Gen. Hariadi Darmawan, chairman of the alumni association, issued a statement condemning the excesses of the Suharto government. Hariadi, a veteran student leader who opposed Sukarno in 1966, urged ABRI, the armed forces, to return to the doctrine of "what's best for the people is best for ABRI." He told the Review that several active generals subsequently called to congratulate him, although he was warned through formal channels not to go too far.

None of these initiatives is likely to translate into meaningful political capital anytime soon, but advocates say it's a start. It will attract more people to the opposition, perhaps a better strategy for the different groups than forging formal ties with one another. "The more groups that stand up on their own, the better," concludes Megawati aide Kwik. "The government will realize that this is spreading."