James Van Zorge – In 1998, Indonesian campuses were a beehive of political activism and, literally speaking, served as the vanguard for pushing Suharto out of the palace. Buzzing with excitement and a newly found belief that they could change their world with the power of protest, students continued their marches in the streets and took aim at Suharto's protege and successor, BJ Habibie, until he, too, was unceremoniously shown the exit.
Today, more than a decade later, the scene is strikingly different. Universities across the country have turned conspicuously quiet. Most of all, one is struck by the lack of interest by students in anything to do with politics. Rather than engage in debates about democracy or mobilize for a cause, students prefer to think about their job prospects and, if they feel the urge to find a ballast in life, visit the local mosque or church. And when students do talk about politicians and possibilities for change, you are likely to hear cynical remarks and pessimism, not dreams for a better future.
In many ways, the rise and fall of Indonesian student politics is reminiscent of the tumultuous 1960s when American and European campuses had become a hotbed of public protest. In the United States, students found common cause because of a deeply ingrained belief that the Vietnam War was unequivocally wrong and that the only honorable policy was one of retreat. Protest found purpose not only in the immorality of war, but in perceived injustices against minorities as well, hence spawning a nationwide cry for social revolution.
Across the Atlantic, there emerged an obsession with overturning the old order, manifesting itself more often than not in violent protests in the streets of Berlin, Rome and Paris. Even behind the Iron Curtain, students in Warsaw and Prague took the radical cue from their counterparts across the Wall and protested for more political openness. Everybody at the time, it seemed, had a cause.
By the early 1970s, however, youthful zeal for change was quickly diminished. The prosperity of the '60s came to a sudden end, and in the midst of high inflation and deepening structural unemployment with no apparent fix in sight, communitarian causes took a backseat to individual needs.
It would be wrong to conclude, however, that economic concerns were the only reason for which students decided to put down their rocks and Molotov cocktails. Having seen the end of the Vietnam War and unprecedented legislature in protection of civil rights, expanded social welfare and equal opportunity, student activists walked away from their campuses and into the mainstream with a sense of real accomplishment. With having achieved so much, most students felt that they did not have any battles left to fight. Sure, there were some radical exotica that persisted, mostly para-Marxist groups and anarchists like the Bader-Meinhoff gang of Germany, but for the most part their theories and illusions of revolution were viewed as strange curiosities.
In stark contrast, Indonesian students in the late '90s must have regretted what could be viewed, in retrospect, as a premature return to their campuses. Indonesian students were naive in believing that when the two icons of political dissent during the Suharto era rose to power, first Abdurrahman Wahid and then Megawati Sukarnoputri, they would become the protagonists and guardians of democratic reform. Over time, these hopes were replaced by a bitter realization that neither leader had the capacity or will to make any bold moves as president. Reform stopped dead in its tracks.
When Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono took office, university students felt they had good reason to cheer the demise of Sukarnoputri. On the one hand, most students generally liked Yudhoyono and trusted him as a national figure with true democratic intentions. On the other hand, they also had more than their fair share of disappointment. If students were once exuberant, they now realized it was an exuberance born of innocence, and turned therefore to a colder, more jaded view of politics in general and to Indonesian politicians, in particular. Universities were no longer hotbeds of dissent and reformist sentiment – rather, they had become, for the most part, political ghettos.
In any healthy democracy, universities are a place for critical discourse. Intellectual society especially plays a crucial role in challenging conventions and fostering public debates about political and social life. As such, what rectors, professors and students alike need to recognize is that while the great debates and fight to replace dictatorship with democracy are over, more sober yet equally important debates await them.
While democracy is here to stay and direct elections are a fact of life, most people are wondering what democracy means for them personally. Is it just the right to vote, or something bigger? For some, this vacuum on university campuses has not gone unnoticed. In part, it has been filled by religious organizations, even on traditionally secular public campuses such as the University of Indonesia and the Bandung Institute of Technology. One political party, the Prosperous Justice Party (PKS), has been clever enough to recognize Indonesian students' feelings of estrangement with politics, especially on issues related to the moral turpitude of public officials. Using ancient scripture as their weapon of choice, PKS leaders and activists have successfully organized students in support of their party.
The political ghetto I speak of, then, is not one where university students are absolutely disengaged. In many instances, students are being engaged, but unfortunately it is in a dangerous fashion, primarily because a political party that utilizes religion as its ideology is holding them captive. Religious parties of any ilk, whether they are linked with Muslim, Christian or other faiths, are driven primarily by moral absolutism, which, as history clearly shows by numerous examples, is incompatible with democracy.
Given this state of affairs inside Indonesian universities, what should be done? It seems clear that the onus for creating a healthier political atmosphere on campuses lies with the government and educators. The national government, in particular the Ministry of National Education, should take a serious look at outdated public school curricula and pose one question: Now that Suharto is dead and gone, what type of coursework is needed to strengthen a student's understanding of and appreciation for a secular, liberal democracy?
Educators can play an important role, as well, by creating a vibrant atmosphere for more diverse student politics and stimulating intellectual debates on public issues, hence removing the monopoly held by religious groups and parties. If the government and educators can achieve this, then it would prove to be an eloquent recognition and fitting respect for the sacrifices made by the students of 1998, who, in the end, made democracy possible for Indonesia.
[James Van Zorge is a partner in Van Zorge, Heffernan & Associates, a business strategy and government relations consulting firm based in Jakarta. He can be reached at jvzorge@rad.net.id.]