Jose Manuel Tesoro, Jakarta – "Indonesian politics these days is like a Chinese movie," says a disgruntled Indonesian former civil servant. If one imagines vengeful Chinese martial artists in combat, each threatening retribution on the other's descendants, one does indeed approach the petty vindictiveness and vicious skirmishes that now dominate Jakarta's elite politics. Military factions, political parties, businessmen and dozens of other interests duke it out over past offenses or for future advantages. Those who win are not always the good guys, but simply those best trained in the art of political warfare.
The arena is littered with the crumpled shapes of the defeated – including those once considered champions, such as former armed- forces chief Gen. Wiranto (who in actuality holds a black belt in karate). Yet still standing, weaving and wobbling while being watched by his wary adversaries is President Abdurrahman Wahid. In less than six months, the frail, half-blind Muslim cleric, who started his term with practically no military allies, no friends in government and no united coalition behind him, has managed to tame generals, bureaucrats and fellow politicians. And he did it largely on his own, with a mix of jokes, maneuvers and outright fabrications. The center of power in Indonesia is – once again – the province of one person, a man one ex-general now calls, in another reference to Chinese kung-fu flicks, "the drunken master."
How does Wahid do it? And for what reasons? Wahid's latest high jinks include meeting three top Suharto-era figures one after another: dinner with Wiranto on March 3 (because, Wahid said, he missed the home cooking of the general's wife); breakfast with his predecessor B.J. Habibie on March 4; and lunch with Suharto himself on March 8. Yet at the same time, his February 28 shake- up of Wiranto loyalists is still reverberating throughout the military, and his administration is prosecuting financial corruption cases linked to both the Habibie and Suharto governments.
Double-dealing or erratic inconsistency? Not quite either. "It is his natural style to avoid having enemies," Wahid's official biographer Greg Barton recently told The Jakarta Post, "and it is his deliberate political strategy to win over enemies and make them either friends or partners." So at the same time he is launching an all-out assault against two traditional bastions of influence – the army and the bureaucracy – Wahid is making peace with Suharto-era patrons. Jakarta continues to marvel at the president's acrobatics. Wahid's actions must be scripted, says political talk-show host Wimar Witular, "but only he knows the script."
What has clearly been going on since Wahid, popularly known as Gus Dur, took office last October is consolidation. The military reshuffle has earned the most attention, but equally important is the president's inroads into government – how he has brought a circle of outsiders to positions of power. When Wahid announced his rainbow cabinet on October 26, he seemed both host and hostage to diverse interests – opposition and former ruling parties, Muslim and secular groups, civilians and military men, Javanese and outer islanders. In the wake of a divisive fight for the presidency, such unity in diversity served an important message. But the time for symbolism has come and gone, and Gus Dur has quickly set about putting his mark on government.
So far, he has replaced one minister (Muslim party leader Hamzah Haz), suspended another (Wiranto) and severely trimmed the bureaucratic powers of a third (state secretary Ali Rahman, who has since resigned). The sidelining of the last made good on Wahid's pledge to attack the powers of the State Secretariat, known as Setneg. Under Suharto, Setneg was the main gate through which messages to and orders from the president passed. That made it extremely powerful. Setneg, says public-administration expert Warsito Utomo of Jogjakarta's Gajah Mada University, "involved itself in making laws."
The department gained a reputation for being the nexus of corrupt interests involved in everything from government-owned land to the businesses of Suharto's children. (Allegedly, there was even a cabal of bureaucrats who charged for the privilege of setting up handshakes with the president.) In November, Wahid said he wanted Setneg to simply be the state's archivist: "This is very important, because if it isn't so, then gradually Setneg will become a state within a state." He appointed three close confidants to handle the state apparatus, the cabinet and the presidential household. Then early this year, in a vintage Wahid move, the president announced he had accepted Rahman's resignation (it was not immediately clear whether Rahman had actually tendered it).
The "new bureaucracy" has resulted in confusion over division of responsibilities and which secretary should receive news from which ministers. "The new way of governing at the presidential level does not mean a more effective way," says government expert Andi Mallarangeng. "Before, the presidential office had one door; now it has five. You don't know which door to go through." MPs have also lobbed criticism at Wahid's coterie of confidants (which includes his two youngest daughters), labeling them "whisperers."
But Wahid is pushing ahead with his agenda. He has taken a broom not only to Setneg but to whatever his office can lay its hands on. Out of 34 official advisers appointed by Habibie, the president has retained two and gotten rid of the rest.
He has abolished extrastructural boards, such as the Wiranto- chaired Council for the Enforcement of Security and Law. Key state companies now have new CEOs, among them oil giant Pertamina, power monopoly PLN and Bank Nasional Indonesia. On March 8, the government announced the abolishment of the shadowy Coordinating Agency for the Maintenance of National Stability, as well as the official end to the practice of checking public officials and civil servants' backgrounds (in the past used to identify links to the Indonesian Communist Party).
Among the institutions now in Wahid's sights: the Supreme Advisory Council, which he has dismissed as an end-of-career reward for aging bureaucrats, and the Supreme Court, to which he wants to appoint Benjamin Mangkudilaga, a member of the National Commission on Human Rights, over the protests of the judicial establishment. Even the central bank governor, whose appointment is protected by law, appears to be worried about his position. Syahril Sabirin has complained: "The political move is too obvious here." He and 55 others are under investigation for the alleged misuse of some $19.5 billion in "liquidity credits" released by Bank Indonesia during the financial crisis.
How "reformist" are the new faces in government? At the very least, many, like Wahid himself, are rank outsiders far removed from the inner circles of the military and the bureaucracy. Cabinet secretary Marsilam Simanjuntak hails from the Democracy Forum, a loose network of pro-democracy thinkers Wahid co-founded in 1991. State Enterprises Minister Laksamana Sukardi, in charge of reforming the state-owned sector, is a former banker who joined Vice President Megawati Sukarnoputri's Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P) in the early 1990s, when it was hardly politically expedient to do so. Mangkudilaga earned fame as a lower-court justice in 1994 by overturning the Suharto government's decision to ban a magazine.
The local press, however, remains wary of the changes. Aside from the worry over the "whisperers," there is the perception that in the shake-up of the ministries – which are distributed among the various parties represented in Wahid's cabinet – civil servants are being replaced by political appointees. The fear is that the money-making ministries will be milked by the respective parties to build up war chests for future elections. "The sense is: Let's divide the pie," says Mallarangeng. Coming under special attention are Finance (controlled by the National Mandate Party), State Enterprises (PDI-P), and Forestry and Plantations (Justice Party). Party officials, however, deny that the personnel changes are politically motivated. The accusations, says Justice Party vice president Untung Wahono, are just "a political game, because there are certain groups who feel shaken."
Similar concerns about politicization have been voiced over state-owned companies and those in the hands of the Indonesian Bank Restructuring Agency. One business change that invites scrutiny: a bid by the prominent Suryadjaya family to buy some 20% of shares in diversified conglomerate Astra, which the family founded in the 1950s before losing it to foreign and Suharto- linked interests when eldest son Edward's heavily indebted Bank Summa went bust in 1992. Edward is a business partner of Wahid, and one plan to raise the $540 million needed for Suryadjaya's Astra stake involves Gus Dur's business vehicle, Harawi (short for Haji Abdurrahman Wahid). Wahid says he has divested his interests in the company. "I no longer get involved in Harawi and I no longer have shares in it," he told reporters on March 13.
By placing a new coterie of leaders and advisers in the military, government and even business, Wahid may be addressing one of his biggest weaknesses: his lack of management skill and administrative experience. But so far his actions have only confirmed his uniqueness – that indeed only he knows the script. The changing nature of Indonesian government – from the candidness of the presidency (Wahid's propensity to shoot his mouth off ensures he needs no spokesman) to its comforting humanity (he has been known to doze off during lengthy parliament hearings, only to be pinched awake by Megawati) – is his doing and his alone. Hence the continuing concerns about his health: On March 7, Wahid went in for a heart checkup, two weeks after he had to take a break on account of a serious bout of the flu. But perhaps what really unnerves Indonesians is change itself – that a new set of people, with unfamiliar track records and little loyalty to old habits, are taking charge. "This is the real transition," notes Witular.
The president has yet to accomplish much – the rupiah has weakened 11% since he took charge and foreign investors have yet to rush in. But he has certainly secured his right to determine who runs his government with him. Whether the people he has surrounded himself with see their positions as a public trust or as a prize in a lottery will ultimately determine the character of Gus Dur's government – and his place in history.