ISBN 1-932728-08-2

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at the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI). East-West Center Dr. Ikrar Nusa Bhakti is Head of the Research Center for Political Studies Melbourne, Australia. Dr. Richard Chauvel is Director of the Australia Asia Pacific Institute at Victoria University in

About the Author

East-West Center Washington

this about? University governance of Papua are necessary to bring Dr. Christopher Collier, Australian National the Papuan people—what changes in the International War Against Terror” Indonesia nation—based on the consent of “Southern Philippines and the determined to keep Papua part of the authors pose the question: If Jakarta is Dr. James Millward, Georgetown University Violence in the International Context” tion of Papua into three provinces, the “Uyghur Anti-State Organizations and policies of special autonomy and the parti- tain central control. After examining the Dr. Elliot Sperling, Indiana University the horse of the reliance on force to sus- to the Tibet-China Conflict” for Indonesian rule are both the cart and The Background “History, Politics Culture: authority and the lack of Papuan consent authority is fragile. The fragility of Jakarta’s Forthcoming Titles tory over the Netherlands in 1962, this Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti authority in Papua since its diplomatic vic-

Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa BhaktiDr. Allen Carlson, Cornell University

Securing Sovereignty and Legitimacy Indonesia has been able to sustain its Beijing’s Tibet Policy: society. This study argues that even though Policy Studies 4 since 1961 by various groups within Papuan challenged initially by the Netherlands and

Policies

International Studies-Jakarta Indonesia proclaimed its independence— Dr. Rizal Sukma, Centre for Strategic and contested for much of the period since Goals, Consequences, and Lessons

Jakarta’s Perceptions and Indonesia’s sovereignty in Papua has been

Security Operations in Aceh: Policy Studies 3 from the yoke of Dutch colonialism. Jakarta thought it had liberated the Papuans

The Papua Conflict:Economics for independence nearly three decades after

Dr. Kirsten E. Schulze, London School of today confronts renewed Papuan demands Anatomy of a Separatist Organization Indonesia and its importance. Indonesia The Free Aceh Movement (GAM): ists’ conception of Papua’s place in The Papua ConflictPolicy Studies 2 gave voice to the essence of the national-Sukarno, her father, Megawati Sukarnoputri University Dr. Harold Crouch, Australian National recalling this statement of President Dr. Edward Aspinall, University of Sydney of the Unitary Republic of Indonesia.” In Why it Failed The Aceh Peace Process: complete to become the national territory Policy Studies 1 “Without Irian Jaya [Papua], Indonesia is not

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Policy Studies

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The Papua Conflict:

Jakarta’s Perception and Policies

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Policy Studies 5

The Papua Conflict:

Jakarta’s Perceptions and Policies

Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

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Copyright © 2004 by the East-West Center Washington

The Papua Conflict: Jakarta’s Perceptions and Policies by Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

ISBN 1-932728-09-0 (online version) ISSN 1547-1330 (online version)

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This publication is a product of the East-West Center Washington’s Project on Internal Conflicts. For details see pages 71-79

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Contents

List of Acronyms v

Executive Summary vii

Introduction 1

Two Challenges 5

Making Papua Indonesian 13

Special Autonomy 31

Lessons 50

Endnotes 55

Bibliography 66

Project Information: The Dynamics and Management of Internal Conflicts in Asia 71

• Project Purpose and Outline 73
• Project Participants List 77
• Background of the Papua conflict 81
• Map of Papua, Indonesia 83

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List of Acronyms

State of the Republic of Indonesia)

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vi

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Executive Summary

This study discusses the development of Indonesian attitudes and policies toward Papua from the preparations for Indonesian independence in mid- 1945 to the present day. It emphasizes the Indonesian view that Papua has been an integral part of the Indonesian state ever since the proclamation of independence. In Jakarta’s eyes, Papua is no more or less part of Indonesia than Yogyakarta or Manado. The study traces the ebb and flow of Indonesian government policies toward Papua from the founding President Sukarno to his daughter President Megawati Sukarnoputri. Indonesian governments have changed from radical nationalist through military authoritarian to democratically elected. Government policies, too, have ranged from the overtly repressive to the occasionally accommodative. The study argues that the nationalist conviction that Papua is an integral part of Indonesia remains the dominant framework in which government policy is made and public opinion formed. Indonesia’s sovereignty in Papua has been contested for much of the period since Indonesia proclaimed its independence—challenged initially by the Netherlands and since 1961 by various groups within Papuan society. After the Netherlands refused to include Papua in the transfer of sovereignty of the Netherlands Indies to Indonesia in 1949, President Sukarno skillfully mobilized nearly unanimous support for the struggle against the Netherlands. He made the struggle for West Irian (Papua) an issue of national unity. Indeed there were no significant leaders or politi-

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viii Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

cal parties that did not support the struggle to return West Irian to Indonesia. The second Papuan challenge evolved in the context of the dispute between the Netherlands and Indonesia. Sukarno recognized that a rival Papuan national claim posed a greater threat to Indonesia’s own claim than the continuation of Dutch colonial administration. Indonesia’s victory over the Dutch in 1962 confronted Sukarno’s government with the challenge of how to integrate and administer Papua. West Irian’s status as a nationalist trophy made the task of integrating the territory into Indonesia’s political and administrative system more difficult. The study discusses how Indonesia developed an administration in Papua and considers the Indonesian responses to the emergence of Papuan resistance. We contend that the “security approach” developed during the New Order period was counterproductive. Indeed it has consolidated a separate Papuan identity and strengthened a desire for Papuan independence. The study examines Jakarta’s attitude toward the right of self-determination for Papuans and its management of the 1969 “Act of Free Choice.” Although Jakarta secured the only result acceptable to it, the Act of Free Choice was conducted in such a way as to remain not only the focus of Papuan refusal to become part of Indonesia but the focus of international scrutiny as well. Later the paper examines how the post-Suharto governments have developed policies in response to the resurgence of Papuan nationalism. This renaissance has occurred in the broad political context of the struggle to create a more open, competitive, and democratic political system in Jakarta and the separation of East Timor. The Indonesian government faced a dilemma: how much freedom of expression and organization could be tolerated in Papua when those freedoms were used to mobilize widespread support for Papua’s independence? This dilemma is related to the underlying predicament Indonesia faces in Papua. Jakarta’s authority is powerful but fragile. It has the capacity to maintain its authority in Papua but relies on its near monopoly of the control of force to do so. The reliance on force—in democratizing Indonesia as in the authoritarian New Order—has a powerful counterproductive dynamic: it fuels the opposition it is supposed to quell. The brief Papuan Spring indicated something of the fragility of Indonesia’s position. The unprecedented (but not unrestricted) political space of late 1998 to late 2000 revealed how few Papuans envisioned a future Papua as part of Indonesia. Reflecting the pressures generated by the dilemma, government poli-

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The Papua Conflict ix

cies have fluctuated between the repressive and the accommodative. The policy established by Abdurrahman Wahid, Indonesia’s first democratically elected president, proved untenable. Abdurrahman’s attempt to accommodate Papuan aspirations within Indonesia created a space for Papuan advocates of independence to mobilize support for their cause. But successful mobilization of support for independence—by people who had been liberated by Indonesia—was an unacceptable affront to a nation experiencing multiple crises. The success of that mobilization revealed not only the fragility of Indonesian authority but also the lack of Papuan consent for Indonesian rule. Special autonomy was a policy response from weak and insecure governments to Papuan demands for independence. The policymaking vacuum in Abdurrahman Wahid’s government permitted significant Papuan input into the formulation of the special autonomy legislation passed by the national parliament. Some within the government, however, had fundamental objections to key aspects of the law. Although they had not been involved in its formulation, they were now in a position to undermine its implementation. For these people, special autonomy was too great a concession. It gave strong expression to Papuan national aspirations and was an affront to core Indonesian nationalist beliefs. If implemented, moreover, the law would empower a Papuan elite in Jayapura—an elite whose loyalties were suspect. Rather than a means to secure Papua within the national fold, special autonomy was thought of as a step toward Papuan independence. The confusion, violence, and apparent impasse in the government’s policy since the presidential instruction of January 2003— dividing Papua into three provinces—suggests there is no easy return to the old ways of Indonesian governance in Papua. Beyond the ideological obstacles to the accommodation of Papua within the Indonesia state, there are institutional factors that make compromise even more difficult. The political economy of the security forces in Papua and the symbiotic relationships they have developed with resource companies, most notably Freeport, have created an institutional imperative for maintaining the territory as a zone of conflict. Although the security forces have no interest in letting the conflict get out of control, they have little interest in resolution. What policy options remain? There is little doubt that the central government can sustain its authority in Papua and, moreover, that it is determined to do so. This objective alone, however, cannot lead to resolution.

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The cycles of repression and alienation simply consolidate Papuan identity and support for independence. Yet the government’s rhetoric about national unity and public support for strong measures against separatists indicate that in the period leading up to the national and presidential elections in 2004 few policymakers and political leaders will be advocating policies that accommodate Papuan aspirations. Thus there remains a deceptively simple question: If Jakarta is determined to keep Papua part of the nation—based on the consent of the Papuan people—what changes in the governance of Papua are necessary to bring this about?

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The Papua Conflict:

Jakarta’s Perceptions and Policies

Papua has been an integral part of Indonesia ever since the proclamation of independence. 1 Like all the other regions, Papua was included in Indonesian territory because it had become part of the Netherlands Indies. Papua is no more or less part of Indonesia than Yogyakarta or Manado. This statement of Jakarta’s formal position belies the importance of Papua in the construction of Indonesia and in the Indonesian national enterprise. Papua is important because it marks the eastern boundaries of Indonesia— geographically, strategically, and culturally. As a boundary marker Papua helps define the whole. This paper traces the continuity and changes, the ebb and flow, of Indonesian government policy toward Papua from the founding President Sukarno to his daughter President Megawati Sukarnoputri. Just as Indonesian governments have changed from radical nationalist through military authoritarian to democratically elected, their policies have been overtly repressive and occasionally accommodative of Papuan interests and aspirations. This study advances three arguments. First, we argue that the nationalist conviction that Irian Jaya (Papua) is an integral part of Indonesia, developed by Sukarno and cultivated by his daughter, remains the dominant framework in which government policy is made and public opinion formed. Second, we maintain that the security approach adopted during the Suharto era was counterproductive: rather than mitigate or resolve, it aggravated the problem by strengthening a separate Papuan

2 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

identity and the desire for Papuan independence. And third, we contend that the Papuan problem confronts the Jakarta government with a dilemma: the government can attempt to accommodate Papuan aspirations within Indonesia. Such an accommodation would involve significant devolution of decision making powers and loosening central control of resources as well as concessions in national ideology. Accommodation risks creating a space for Papuan activism and further demands for independence. Alternatively, the government can assert its authority through its near monopoly of the control of force. It can repress and marginalize its Papuan opponents. Such an approach risks alientating Papuans yet further from the Indonesian state and is likely to strengthen the quest for independence. Repression in Papua also risks undermining democratization in Indoesia as a whole. Papua lay at the furthest extent of the Netherlands’ eastward expansion. It was one of the last territories to be brought under Dutch administration, and even by 1962 much of Papua and its population was not under effective Dutch control. Until the Pacific War, the Dutch administration consisted of half a dozen posts dotted along the coast and on some offshore islands. There had been no systematic endeavor to develop the territory. The island of New Guinea was where the Netherlands, Britain, and Germany divided their respective spheres of influence. Papua was part of the Dutch Empire based in Southeast Asia. The eastern half of New Guinea was under Australian administration after World War I. Australia thought of its New Guinea territories as part of the South Pacific, where it was the dominant regional power, rather than part of Southeast Asia, where, prior to the Pacific War, it had limited relations independently of the British. In cultural and ethnic terms, Papua is part of the eastern archipelago where the Malay world of Southeast Asia and the Melanesian world of the Pacific meet and overlap. 2 It is the home of the easternmost Muslim communities in the archipelago. Over the past century and a half, a majority of Papuans have become Christians, in part through the missionary activities of Christians from Maluku and Manado, particularly in the coastal areas. The province constitutes almost one-quarter of Indonesia’s landmass and is three and a half times bigger than the island of Java, which is home to almost 60 percent of the national population. Its population in 2000 was a mere 2.2 million out of Indonesia’s population of over 210 million. Papua’s population has become significantly more “Indonesian,” though,

The Papua Conflict 3

since Indonesia assumed administrative control. In 2000 there were 772,684 Indonesian settlers constituting 35 percent of the population. In 1960 Indonesians numbered just 18,600 or 2.5 percent of an estimated 3 population of 736,700. It is rich in natural resources, including vast tracts of timber. The Freeport mine dominates the province’s economy and is one the world’s biggest gold and copper mines. Freeport is one of Indonesia’s largest corporate taxpayers. Between 1991 and 1999, it paid 4 $1.42 billion in taxes, dividends, and royalties. Indonesia’s sovereignty over Papua has been contested for much of the period since Indonesia proclaimed its independence in 1945—initially by the Netherlands and since 1961 by various groups within Papuan society. From the Indonesian nationalist perspective, these two challenges to Indonesian sovereignty have made Papua more important. This study considers Indonesia’s response to the two challenges. The first section examines how a nationalist axiom—Papua’s inclusion in Indonesia—became a matter of debate among leading nationalists just prior to independence. President Sukarno skillfully mobilized nearly unanimous support against the Netherlands and made the struggle for West Irian an issue of national unity. No significant leaders or political parties failed to support the return of West Irian to Indonesia. But in the context of this dispute between the Netherlands and Indonesia a pan-Papuan identity had evolved. We contend that the emergence of this second Papuan challenge forced

Indonesia’s sovereignty over Papua has been

contested for much of the period since

Indonesia proclaimed its independence in 1945

tinuation of Dutch colonial administration.

Sukarno’s hand to resolve the dispute with the Dutch, if necessary, by threatening to use military force. Sukarno recognized that a rival Papuan national claim posed a greater threat to Indonesia’s own claim than the con-

Indonesia’s triumph over the Dutch in 1962 confronted Sukarno’s government with the challenge of how Papua should be administered. Papua had been under a separate administration for nearly twenty years and had developed a political culture distinctly different from postrevolu- tion Indonesia. If anything West Irian’s status as a nationalist trophy made the task of integrating the territory into Indonesia’s political and administrative system more difficult. This study examines how Indonesia developed an administration in Papua—in particular, how official Indonesian

4 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

views of Papua and Papuans evolved in the context of administering the territory. We also discuss the Indonesian responses to the emergence of Papuan resistance. As we shall see, the security approach developed during the New Order was counterproductive. Indeed it consolidated a separate Papuan identity and strengthened a desire for Papuan independence. Examining Indonesia’s attitude toward the right of self-determination for Papuans and management of the 1969 Act of Free Choice, we find that while Indonesia secured the only result acceptable to it, the Act of Free Choice was conducted in such a way as to remain the focus of Papuan resistance to being part of Indonesia and, as well, the focus of international scrutiny. The final section examines how the post-Suharto governments have developed policies in response to the resurgence of Papuan nationalism and the transformation of the separatist campaign from one based on an armed struggle led by the Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM; the Free Papua Organization) to one advocating a peaceful resolution. The renaissance of Papuan nationalism has occurred in the broad political context of the struggle to create a more open, competitive, and democratic political system in Indonesia and the separation of East Timor. We consider how the government has dealt with the dilemma of how to accommodate freedom of expression and organization when these freedoms are used to mobilize widespread support for Papua’s independence. This dilemma is related to the underlying governance predicament Indonesia faces in Papua. Jakarta’s authority is powerful but fragile. It has the capacity to maintain its authority in Papua but relies on its near monopoly of the control of force to do so. The reliance on force—in today’s democratizing Indonesia as in the authoritarian New Order—has a powerful counterproductive dynamic: it fuels the opposition it is supposed to quell. The brief post-Suharto Papuan Spring indicated something of the fragility of Indonesia’s position. The unprecedented (but not unrestricted) political space of late 1998 to late 2000 revealed how few Papuans wished to see Papua as part of Indonesia. Jakarta’s policy responses have combined the accommodative and the repressive—sometimes in different periods, sometimes simultaneously. This study discusses the major policy initiatives, including the Special Autonomy Law of 2001 and Inpres 1/2003 to accelerate the implementation of the province’s tripartite division. Exploring the extent to which Inpres 1/2003 represents the end of the special autonomy initiative we

argue that the nationalist conviction that Irian Jaya is part of Indonesia has made the accommodation of Papuan aspirations extremely difficult. The curtailment of political activity since the end of 2000, the resort to more forceful military responses, the detention and trial of Presidium leaders, the assassination of Theys Eluay in 2001—all hark back to an earlier form of governance. This study explores the tensions—if not at times contradictions—between the accommodative and repressive tendencies in government policy. One of the themes running through this study concerns the tensions and ambiguities in Indonesian attitudes toward Papua and its inhabitants. In the campaign to wrest control from the Dutch there was a strong sense that Indonesians were liberating Papuans not only from the yoke of Dutch colonialism but from the stone age as well. The Papuans were fellow Indonesians, but they were to be civilized. One of the Indonesian arguments used against the Netherlands was that it was Indonesians, not the Dutch, who had brought civilization to Papua. The other side of this coin is the resentment and alienation such attitudes cause among Papuans.

Two Challenges

The pre-independence debates in the Badan Penjelidik Kemerdekaan Indonesia (BPKI; Indonesian Independence Investigatory Body) in May–July 1945 are important, not because they determined the territorial scope of Indonesia, but because they provide some insight into the thinking of Indonesia’s founders. With respect to Papua, a clear majority supported its inclusion in Indonesia. Nevertheless, the issue was debated. The debate suggests that the conception of the Indonesian state held by the leading nationalists was still in the process of being formed and numerous alternatives were under consideration. Papua’s impor-

Papua’s importance lay in its peripheral posi-

tion—geographically, ethnically, and culturally.

tance lay in its peripheral position—geographically, ethnically, and culturally. The status of Papua bore directly on the rationale of the Indonesian nation-state and the criteria used for defining the state’s territory. Sukarno saw a divine hand in the determination of the Indonesian archipelago as a national entity. Mohammed Yamin sought Indonesia’s roots in precolonial kingdoms and envisaged a national territory more extensive than the Dutch Empire. Mohammed Hatta was the most promi-

6 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

nent of those who argued for Papua’s exclusion from Indonesia. He was concerned about ethnic difference: Papuans were Melanesians, he said, and had the right to become an independent people. Hatta was the only participant in the debate about the territory of the future Indonesian state who suggested that it should be the Netherlands Indies minus Papua. He even suggested Malaya should be included and Papua excluded. Hatta found little support, however. 5 The independence proclamation of August 1945 included Papua as part of the territory of Indonesia, though it was the Netherlands rather than the Republic of Indonesia that exercised administrative control over Papua. (Indonesia had failed to gain control over West Irian during negotiations with the Dutch.) But in the Linggajati Agreement of November 1946, Indonesia did win recognition from the Netherlands that Indonesia consisted of the territory of the Netherlands Indies—including Papua (Bone 1958: 31). Dr. J. H. van Roijen, the Netherlands representative in the United Nations Security Council in late 1948, confirmed that the territories of the Netherlands Indies would become an independent state of Indonesia. 6

The Netherlands Challenge Prior to the negotiations at the Round Table Conference (RTC) at The Hague, the Netherlands cabinet had decided to try to exclude Papua from the transfer of sovereignty to Indonesia. At a cabinet meeting on June 7, 1949, the minister for overseas territories, H. J. van Maarseveen, advanced a series of arguments: Indonesia had no moral right to the territory; the development potential would be greater under Dutch than Indonesian control; the Netherlands needed a pied-à-terre in the Far East to receive those pro-Netherlands people who got into difficulties in Indonesia. KPM (the Dutch shipping line in Indonesia) needed to be able to use harbors in New Guinea; emigration to New Guinea offered a partial solution to the overpopulation problem in the Netherlands; and New Guinea was of importance for the Dutch navy. 7 Ultimately the Netherlands succeeded in excluding Papua from the transfer of sovereignty. Article 2 of the agreement stated that Papua would continue under Dutch administration— with the stipulation that, by the end of the first year, the question of Papua’s future political status would be determined by negotiations between Indonesia and the Netherlands. The Netherlands’ success in excluding West New Guinea from the transfer of sovereignty at the Round Table Conference marks the formal beginning of the first challenge to Indonesian sovereignty. Negotiations in

the context of the Netherlands-Indonesia Union were supposed to resolve the status of the territory. As part of the negotiation process, a joint Indonesia-Netherlands Commission was established. The commission’s report did more to confirm the distance between the two positions, however, than facilitate any resolution. But the commission did provide another forum in which the Indonesian representatives, including Yamin, could develop Indonesia’s arguments. One of the themes to emerge was the contribution of Indonesians to the development of West Irian. Yamin had argued in one of his speeches at the BPKI that Malukans, particularly Ambonese, had worked for decades in Irian and did not want Irian to be separated from Indonesia. In the commission the argument was developed further: Irianese were part of the Indonesian people, and Indonesia’s objective was to liberate that part of its people living in Irian. The Irianese would be treated as a “broeder volk.” 8 In the context of the dispute with the Netherlands, the Indonesian members of the commission contended that the Dutch had done little to develop the territory. What had been achieved for the people of the coastal areas had largely been done by the missionaries. The people of the interior were naked and lived in the stone age. They had little contact with the coastal Irianese, let alone the people outside Irian. They lived in primitive conditions found nowhere else in the world. It was the missionaries—not the government and the East Indonesians and not the Dutch—who had contributed to the development of Irian. 9 In 1954, Indonesia took the West New Guinea issue to the United Nations. In so doing it had to justify its claim to the territory. Indonesian representatives at the UN recognized that the concept of self-determination was the Achilles heel of the Indonesian argument. Not only was self-determination enshrined in the UN charter, but it was central to the values of the increasing number of newly independent members. Other delegations expected the voice of the indigenous population of Papua to be heard. 10 How could they deny the Papuans the right that they themselves had exercised just a few years earlier? Indonesia’s arguments at the UN provide some insight into how “official Indonesia” had refined its thinking about the principles underlying the state in the aftermath of the pre-independence debates as well as the threat posed by the emergence of an Papuan elite and the possibility of a separate Papuan state. The Indonesian argument had four elements. First, despite their lack of participation in the pre-independence discussions and in the events around the proclamation of Indonesian independence, the Irianese, like

8 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

their fellow Indonesians, had exercised their right of self-determination in August 1945. Thus West Irian had been decolonized in 1945 as part of Indonesia. Second, in Jakarta’s view the right of self-determination was something for nations and not “racial” or “cultural” groups. Third, Indonesia was a political concept rather than a cultural or ethnic notion. According to L. N. Palar, one of the Indonesian representatives to the UN, the Irianese were merely one of seventeen ethnic groups that made up Indonesia. The Irianese were different from other Indonesians, he argued, but no more so than, for example, “Eskimos” and “Indians” were different from other Canadians. What was important in nation building was not common ethnic stock but rather a shared history, suffering, and fight against a common adversary. The common Indonesian bond was developed through the shared struggle against Dutch colonialism. Fourth, the relative lack of Papuan participation in the independence struggle was explained in a comparative context. The Indonesian freedom fighters, like their counterparts elsewhere in the world, had naturally acted on behalf of the hundreds and thousands of Irianese still living in the stone age. 11 One of the consequences of the struggle against the Netherlands was that the political experience of Papuans from 1944 to May 1963 was quite distinct from that of other Indonesians elsewhere in the country. Papua was the first region of Indonesia to be reoccupied by the Allies in 1944. Like most regions of eastern Indonesia, it remained under Dutch administration during Indonesia’s struggle for independence. Nevertheless, there were a number of revolts against the Dutch authorities in Hollandia (Jayapura) in 1945–47 the political experience and in Biak in 1948. In Serui (the island of of Papuans…was quiteJapen) the exiled republican governor of Sulawesi, Dr. G. S. S. J. Ratulangi, was instru- distinct from that of mental in establishing the strongest and most other Indonesians durable pro-Indonesia political party: the Partai Kemerdekaan Indonesia Irian (PKII; Indonesian Independence Party in Irian). Despite these pro-Indonesia revolts and political activities, Dutch authority in Papua was not challenged. Prior to the Pacific War, Papua was administered as part of the neighboring Maluku Islands. These administrative links were not maintained after the war, however, and Papua was not included in the federal state of East Indonesia (Negara Indonesia Timur) established by the Netherlands in 1946. With the administrative links with Indonesia bro-

ken, Papuan participation in the revolutionary struggle was limited and localized. The widespread antagonism among Papuans toward Indonesians reported in colonial Netherlands New Guinea enabled the development of credible political alternatives to integration in Indonesia. The Netherlands and Indonesia failed to agree about the status of Papua at the Round Table Conference in 1949, and Papua remained under Dutch administrative control for a further twelve years. Thus Papuans were part of a different political culture during a critical period of Indonesia’s nation-forming process. While Sukarno was uniting Indonesians in the struggle to liberate the Irianese from Dutch colonial repression, Dutch education policies and political socialization sought to cultivate Papuans’ sense of difference from Indonesia.

The Papuan Challenge If the Dutch refusal to include West New Guinea in the transfer of sovereignty represented the first challenge to Indonesia, the emergence of political activity among Papuans was the second. The two challenges to Indonesian sovereignty were not, however, sequential. The Papuan challenge began while the Indonesia-Netherlands struggle was still being fought. Indeed, in some respects political activity among the Papuan elite 12 was stimulated by the conflict. A small educated elite emerged in Papua after the Pacific War. The first generation of this elite comprised graduates of mission schools and Papuans trained as officials, police, missionaries, and teachers. A Dutch report of 1949 identified a group of some 1,700 consisting of village schoolmasters, government officials, paramedics, agricultural officials, police, and tradesmen. Most of this group had some secondary education. They followed political developments in Indonesia through radio and 13 newspapers. As political activities developed in Papua, some of the parties were pro-Dutch while others were pro-Indonesian. Although centers for pro-Indonesia political parties were mostly in the western coastal area of West Irian, including Serui, Sorong, and to a lesser extent Merauke, groups that actively supported Indonesia could be found in Hollandia (Jayapura) and Biak. Initially, ex-Digulists and Indonesian political pris- oners in Hollandia and Serui established the Red and White movements 14 (Gerakan Merah Putih) in West Irian. In 1961 the Dutch established the Nieuw-Guinea Raad (New Guinea Council). Although the council had limited advisory powers, a majority of

10 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

its members were elected, directly or indirectly, and 22 of the 28 were Papuans. It was the territory’s first representative body. Paul van der Veur (1963: 62–63) describes the election as highly successful, but he notes that the voter turnout was significantly lower in some areas known for their pro-Indonesian sympathies, including Japen, Sorong, and Fak Fak. The establishment of the New Guinea Council was part of a ten-year decolonization plan—initiated by the state secretary for New Guinea, Th. Bot— that sought to develop a Papuan elite with a Melanesian and pro-Western rather than an Indonesian orientation. The plan promoted Papuanization of the bureaucracy and established a paramilitary force to strengthen the defense of New Guinea. The objective of this accelerated political development was self-determination and independence, possibly in a larger Melanesian entity together with the Australian territories. 15 On September 27, 1961, the Dutch foreign minister, Dr. Joseph Luns, introduced the “Luns Plan” to the UN General Assembly. This plan proposed that under United Nations supervision “an organization or international authority” should take over West Irian to “prepare the population for early self-determination under stable conditions” (Hastings 1973: 208–9). The Indonesian foreign minister, Dr. Subandrio, opposed the idea, insisting that the right of self-determination should not be implemented where it would lead to partial or total disruption of a country’s national unity and territorial integrity. West Irian was part of Indonesia, he argued, because Indonesia was the successor state to the entire territory of the Netherlands Indies (Department of Foreign Affairs, n.d.: 164–259). The Luns Plan and Indonesia’s opposition to it prompted Papuan leaders, including Nicolaas Jouwe, P. Torey, Markus Kaisiepo, Nicolaas Tanggahma, and Eliezer Jan Bonay, to organize a meeting on October 19, 1961, to which 70 Papuans were invited. (Seventeen of them were appointed as members of a national committee.) The meeting also adopted a Manifest Politik. Torey later explained that the Manifest Politik was draft- ed because Papuans did not want to passively listen to the claims of the Indonesian and Netherlands governments and then be forced to support one of the adversaries and lose their own voice at the UN or in the international community. The objective of the Manifest Politik was to demon- strate to the international community that Papuans desire to stand on their own feet and, in time, establish their own nation. 16 The manifesto stated:

On the basis of our people’s desire for independence, we urge through the mediation of the National Committee and our popular representative body, the New Guinea Council, the governments of Netherlands New Guinea and the Netherlands so that as of November 1:

a. Our flag be flown beside the Netherlands flag.
b. Our national anthem, Hai Tanahku Papua, be sung along with the Wilhelmus.
c. The name of our land becomes West Papua.
d. The name of our people becomes Papuan. On this basis we the Papuan people demand to obtain our own place like other free peoples and among nations we the Papuan people wish to contribute to the maintenance of freedom in the world.”
17

Dutch plans for the decolonization of a Papua separate from Indonesia and the emergence of a small political elite, some of them attracted to the prospect of an independent Papua, posed a different sort of challenge to Indonesia. Colonial Dutch occupation of territory that Indonesia claimed as its own could be contested with strong and widely accepted anticolonial arguments. A rival national claim to the territory was much more difficult. The Australian ambassador in Jakarta warned Canberra that Dutch plans for self-determination in Papua posed a particular threat. He argued that the Australian government could not expect the Indonesians simply to accept the Dutch plans, which were designed to keep them out of a territory they regarded as their own. 18 SubandrioDutch plans for the understood this distinction. In his speech of decolonization of November 15 at the UN, he stated that Indonesia would not resort to military action so long as the***…Papua…posed a dif-*** conflict remained a dispute between The ferent sort of challenge Netherlands and Indonesia. If Papua declared its independence, however, Indonesia would immediately intervene, as it had done in the case of the Republic of the South Malukus. 19 In his 1962 Independence Day speech, Sukarno related that he had sent Subandrio to the UN with but one instruction: “Defeat the Dutch attempt to establish an independent Papua through the United Nations” (Sukarno 1962: 500). Also at the United Nations, Indonesian representatives sought to undermine the credibility of Papuan politicians participating in the Dutch plans for decolonization. It was asserted that

12 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

the Dutch had replaced Irianese freedom fighters with people they had trained themselves and given privileges. The interests of these puppets were completely interwoven with those of the Dutch: “These confused West Irianese are now frightened by the consequences of the Dutch policy of separatism on their behalf.” 20 Although the Luns Plan failed to achieve the necessary two-thirds majority in the General Assembly, it helped to create the context for Sukarno’s famous Trikora (Tri Komando Rakyat; People’s Triple Commands) speech in Jogyakarta on December 19, 1961, for the liberation of West Irian. These commands were: (1) To thwart the formation of the “Papuan Puppet State,” a colonial creation of the Dutch; (2) to raise the red and white flag in West Irian, an integral part of the motherland of Indonesia; and (3) to prepare for major mobilization to defend the freedom and unity of the country and the people. 21 On January 2, 1962, in a follow-up to the Trikora speech, Sukarno issued Presidential Decree 1/1962 establishing the Mandala Command to liberate West Irian with the future president, Major General Suharto, as its commander (Cholil 1971: 23). Among the people Sukarno sent to liberate West Irian was Herlina, a 21-year-old woman from East Java. Motivated by a sense that the Dutch had let the Irianese live in stone-age conditions so they could be easily enslaved and their resources exploited, Herlina joined the struggle to liberate the primitive Irianese—“all but naked and wearing ‘koteka’... their bodies covered in pig fat”—so that they could be free (merdeka) and develop along with their brothers and sisters in other parts of the country. 22 Herlina survived the parachute jump somewhere in the Bird’s Head area to find herself naked, washing herself in a tropical downpour in a jungle Garden of Eden, suddenly surrounded by five equally surprised “Adams of the stone age.” She distracted them with the gift of a mirror and recorded in her memoirs that she could not suppress a feeling of pity: “Was it this life that the Dutch offered them? When would they be freed from their stone-age civilization?” 23

Toward Resolution The escalation of tensions between Indonesia and the Netherlands in the last months of 1961—culminating in Sukarno’s Trikora speech—was followed by naval skirmishes between Indonesian and Dutch forces off the southwest coast of West Irian in January 1962. These developments gave

a sense of urgency to President Kennedy’s attempt to settle the West Irian problem peacefully. 24 In February 1962, President Kennedy sent his broth- er Robert Kennedy, the attorney general, to Jakarta and The Hague to promote negotiations between the two sides with the United States as a third party. The negotiations were based on proposals from the UN medi- ator, retired U.S. Ambassador Ellsworth Bunker. Bunker proposed that the territory would be transferred first to UN jurisdiction, then to Indonesia, with eventual self-determination for the Irianese people after a period of Indonesian administration. After five months of negotiations, interspersed with low-level military conflict and the threat of larger-scale operations, Indonesia and the Dutch negotiators signed an “Agreement Between the Republic of Indonesia and the Kingdom of the Netherlands Concerning West New Guinea (West Irian)” at the UN Headquarters in New York on August 15, 1962. Under the New York Agreement, the Netherlands would transfer administration of the territory to a United Nations Temporary Executive Authority (UNTEA) on October 1, 1962, and on May 1, 1963, UNTEA would transfer the administration to Indonesia. Indonesia was committed to implementing an Act of Free Choice in West Irian in 1969 to determine whether the Irianese people wished to remain with Indonesia or sever their ties. 25

Making Papua Indonesian

Today, May 1, 1963, we are witnessing a very important occasion. This first of May is a historical day for all of us, particularly for the people of Irian Barat as well as for the people of Indonesia as a whole. Probably not everyone here present is fully aware of the tremendous struggle of the Indonesian people and of the great sacrifices, from Sabang to Merauke, which have been put up to achieve this important occasion, namely the transfer of administration of this territory to the Republic of Indonesia. Because this means the reunification of the whole territory of the Republic of Indonesia which was previously called “the Netherlands East Indies”… [This day] should not be looked upon as a merely technical/juridical event or an event of only local importance, but as an event imbued with a great historical struggle, a struggle of revolution of 100 million people striving for freedom, security, and welfare of their country. 26

Sudjarwo Tjondronegoro spoke these words as head of the Indonesian

14 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

Mission during the UNTEA period when he accepted the transfer of administration on behalf of Indonesia. As a member of the Indonesian delegation during the Bunker negotiations, Sudjarwo appreciated as much as anyone the significance of Indonesia’s diplomatic victory. He had also become aware of the very great challenges Indonesia confronted when it came to integrating West Irian into its political and administrative system. The transition of Papua from being the object of an international diplomatic struggle to becoming part of the political system of Indonesia would not be easy. In Netherlands New Guinea there had been a substantial sub- sidy for the territory’s policies supporting rapid Papuanization of bureaucracy and accelerated political development. Both of these policies posed difficulties for an incoming Indonesian administration—for both supported the emergence of a small Papuan political elite that was attracted to the prospect of an independent Papua. The New York Agreement was a triumph for Indonesia. Indeed President Sukarno titled his 1962 Independence Day speech—delivered a couple of days after the agreement was signed—“Tahun Kemenangan” (Year of Triumph). Indonesia, however, had accepted some provisions for Papuan self-determination. This compromise had been strongly resisted and was difficult to accommodate within the established view that all Indonesians, including Irianese, had The New York already exercised their right of self-determination Agreement was a with the proclamation of independence. In his speech Sukarno justified the decision to accept the triumph for Indonesia. self-determination provisions because he was con- vinced that Irianese, after they had seen and experienced the results of Indonesia’s struggle, would choose to remain with Indonesia. 27 Not all Sukarno’s ministers shared this confidence, however. The minister of information, Ruslan Abdulgani, told his staff in May 1963:

In the field of politics our efforts should be actively and positively aimed at suppressing all attempts to break up and separate West Irian from the Republic of Indonesia. In other words we must abolish the idea of a referendum or legal separation, which is inherent in the term self-determination. Our information units in West Irian have been given very definite orders on this matter. We must assist their effort with all our publications orally, through RRI broadcasts as well as in print, through articles and illustrations. 28

The minister was somewhat franker when he spoke to embassy political officers at the Jakarta Diplomatic Group. To the diplomats he confid- ed that Indonesia was being “a little bit naughty” about the plebiscite and that many voices will reproach Indonesia for “not upholding the treaty.” He added that West Irian people would say they did not want a referendum and, if necessary, groups would be manipulated in helping them to say this. 29 On January 7, 1965, Indonesia withdrew from the United Nations. 30 In April 1965, Sukarno and Subandrio announced that the Papuan self-determination would not be implemented. In an interview with a Dutch newspaper Sukarno explained that implementing the provision of the New York Agreement was no longer necessary because all Irianese wanted to be Indonesians. 31 If the motivation for Sukarno’s Trikora speech of December 1961, at least in part, reflected a desire to preempt the further evolution of Papuan nationalism and the establishment of a Papuan state, it follows that win- ning the support of the Irianese political leaders was a priority for Indonesia. Eliezer Jan Bonay was appointed as the first governor of West Irian. 32 Bonay had been a Papuan nationalist and a strong critic of the Dutch regime. The choice of Bonay suggests a desire to have as governor an Irianese with credibility and some local support rather than a clearly pro-Indonesia Irianese or even a non-Irianese Indonesian. 33 There was a concerted and systematic effort to cultivate the support of the Irianese leaders, even those who had been strongly opposed to Indonesia. During the UNTEA period, a number of Irianese delegations had been sent to Java where they were lavishly entertained. A month after the Papuan National Congress had declared its support for Papuan self-determination during the UNTEA period, three of its leaders, Achmad, Burwos, and Mirino, were given the red carpet treatment in Jakarta. 34 Subsequently the Irianese leaders made strong statements in support of Indonesia. In one such instance, in January 1963, there was a demonstration outside the UNTEA offices where a petition signed by eighteen political leaders was presented. The petition asserted that the Irianese were loyal to the proclamation of independence and wanted to be united with the republic in the shortest possible time, thus forgoing the self-determination provisions of the New York Agreement. 35 The Australian liaison officer with UNTEA considered that his Indonesian colleagues were working skillfully with the members of the New Guinea Council. He observed amity and full acceptance between the two groups. Indeed he declared: “There is certainly no evidence of New Guinea ‘Nationalism.’” 36

16 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

In the analysis of the Netherlands head of mission, the Indonesians had anticipated much stronger opposition from a politically better developed Papuan society. They had been prepared to use greater military repression and, as well, had made provision for political indoctrination. After a few months of the UNTEA administration, the Indonesians realized that the political awareness of Papuans was much less than they had expected and there was nothing of an organized national opposition to Indonesia. 37 The 21-year-old Javanese freedom fighter Herlina, who mobilized support among the Papuan elite during the UNTEA period, observed:

Exerting influence on people who were still very simple was easy. They would take the side of whoever came as victor, which was evident from their slogan “Indonesia has won, so we take Indonesia’s side.” Their way of thinking was very straightforward. People with such a simple understanding could not be called hypocrites, but they should be approached in a kind and ingratiating way. 38

West Irian was incorporated as part of Indonesia during the last years of President Sukarno’s Guided Democracy—a period of high political ten- sion and economic disintegration that culminated in the abortive coup of September 30, 1965, and emergence of the strongly anticommunist New Order government led by the former Mandala commander, General Suharto. What was always going to be a difficult transition became particularly stressful. Symptomatic of the poor relations that developed between Indonesian officials and Papuans was the large-scale (re)exporting from West Irian of goods scarce elsewhere in Indonesia by officials stationed in the territory. (Many imported goods were more easily available in West Irian than in other parts of the country.) This pattern of behavior did great and enduring damage to Indonesia’s reputation in West Irian. Herlina (1990: 293) attributed the problem to officials who were not sufficiently committed to the great cause of liberating West Irian. Sarwo Ehdie, the military commander in West Irian in the late 1960s, argues that the abortive coup had a fatal impact in the territory. The government was preoccupied with developments in Java and people in West Irian felt that they had been forgotten. As political, economic, and social conditions deteriorated, an extremely fertile ground was created for the subversive activities of separatist elements. 39 Indonesian observers in the early New Order period recognized that

there had been difficulties in West Irian since Indonesia assumed administrative responsibility. Mahasiswa Indonesia asked in 1968: “What exactly has the Indonesian Government and the officials posted in West Irian achieved to evoke the desire on the part of the West Irianese to elect to stay with the Republic of Indonesia?” Answering its own question, the paper wrote:

When the Indonesian Government took over the government in West Irian in 1963, it clearly did not have any positive and purposeful policies regarding the West Irian problem. Our government officials were confused, without either purpose or guidelines. Sadder still was the unpleas- ant fact that the majority of the Indonesian officials, from the highest ranking down to the lowest, were of the opinion that the West Irianese are not Indonesians, and they were merely subjects for oppression. This opinion continues to prevail to this very day, and lies at the root of the existence of the gap between the government and the West Irian people. 40

A journalist and intellectual, Mochtar Lubis, constructed Indonesia’s problems in West Irian in more philosophical, if somewhat paternalistic, terms. He recognized that the Sukarno government had made great mistakes. Lubis thought of the Irianese being at a stage of innocence. “Whatever substance and color are given to their pure souls depends on the parties which mold their souls. At the present time, we are molding them. Their simple way of thinking will evaluate how they are treated. They will be pleased if they feel that the treatment is good, and they will be displeased if the treatment is bad” (Lubis 1968). Herlina might not have had much of Mochtar Lubis’s sophistication, but she shared something of his sense of the simplicity and innocence of the Irianese. At the end of her contribution to the liberation struggle she reflected:

My tears had scarcely been wiped away by pride and happiness because our dark crisp-haired brothers had become free masters in their own country, when all of a sudden my heart felt painfully hurt.... At the beginning of the victory I am enjoying and reflecting upon, I can smell the beginning of a new colonialization by ourselves! I cried out, my sorrow mixed with wrath. [1990: 318].

Others attributed the problems in West Irian to the Netherlands. The economic difficulties, Papuan political aspirations, and resistance to Indonesian rule were time bombs left behind by the Dutch. In 1962, the Netherlands realized it could not hold West Irian after Sukarno’s Trikora

18 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

commands but persisted in subsidizing the West Irian economy to the extent of 100 million guilders. The Dutch knew that Indonesia could not match this offering of luxury consumer goods to the people of West Irian. 41 At the political level, the New Order’s foreign minister, Adam Malik, recognized both the problems in West Irian and their implications for Indonesia fulfilling its international obligations under the New York Agreement. Malik visited West Irian in August 1966. He was aware of the enormous political and economic development task ahead for Indonesia at a time when Jakarta had great challenges elsewhere and little capacity to provide in West Irian. Malik…was aware ofHe acknowledged the grievances of the Irianese and recognized the shortages in basic commodi- the enormous political ties and inadequate transport infrastructure. 42 ***and economic develop-***One of Malik’s advisers, Kim Adhyatman, was even more frank in his assessment. He had been ment task ahead there in Dutch times when it was well run and had comfortable accommodation and plenty of food. When he returned with Malik, the only way they could ensure a meal was to take everything with them. There had been considerable dete- rioration in infrastructure since 1962. Adhyatman did not speculate on how the political future would work out. Jokingly he suggested to the Australian ambassador that the best thing would be to get the United Nations to take the place back. 43 Sudjarwo Tjondronegoro, another of Malik’s close associates, responded to the decline in material conditions, mounting Irianese discontent, and armed opposition by issuing a “Call of National Obligation.” He argued that West Irian should be made into a special national project and the spirit of Trikora should be revived. Indonesian administrative, financial, and economic failures had not only created disappointment but generated support for Papuan independence. The independence movement had few real supporters, he said, but discontent had produced many. The people’s needs were simple; Indonesia was not providing for them; there- fore the Irianese support independence. Sudjarwo recognized that there was a social and mental gap between Indonesian officials and the Irianese. The relationship was expressed in colonial terms: Indonesian officials manage the Irianese population; the Irianese themselves participate little in the running of their own society. The forthcoming Act of Free Choice was a national issue that would decide the unity and integrity of the Republic

of Indonesia. 44 Whether to implement the self-determination provisions—and if so how—were crucial policy decisions confronting the New Order government. Suharto and Malik wanted to restore Indonesia’s position in the international community after Sukarno’s withdrawal from the UN and the confrontational style of foreign policy developed during the last years of his Guided Democracy. As Mandala commander and chief negotiator in the New York Agreements, Suharto and Malik were just as committed to the principle of West Irian being part of Indonesia as Sukarno and Subandrio had been. But Malik was also aware that developments in West Irian since Indonesia assumed control might not have encouraged the Irianese to exercise their choice in Indonesia’s favor. When Malik spoke to journalists during his visit to West Irian in August 1966, it seemed that the government was still undecided about whether to carry out the provisions. Drawing on arguments developed under Sukarno, Malik told the journalists:

According to the New York Agreement, in 1969 we should arrange a plebiscite. As you all know there was a charter called the Kotabaru Charter in which the people rejected this plebiscite. And today I think the leaders of the tribes, the people in the administration, and various other representatives still don’t want a plebiscite. In this situation it becomes difficult for the republic. How do we honor this obligation to the outside world yet keep the people happy here? 45

Within the New Order government, Malik appears to have been an advocate for fulfilling the obligations under the New York Agreement. Part of the debate centered on method. The New York Agreement did not speci- fy a method of ascertainment except to say that it had to be done according to international practice. Malik rejected a “one man, one vote” method as inappropriate. 46 The dilemma faced by the government, once it had decided that a plebiscite would take place, was to settle on a method that would produce the desired result yet seem credible to the international community. In his Independence Day speech in 1968, President Suharto confirmed that Indonesia would fulfill its obligations under the New York Agreement and that a plebiscite would be held before the end of 1969. He asked for special understanding of the problems involved. In implementing the provision, Indonesia was showing its good intentions by fulfilling

20 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

its obligations under an agreement it had accepted. But this did not mean that Indonesia would sacrifice the people of West Irian, abandon the results of the struggle for its liberation, or forsake the principle of the unitary state. Suharto claimed: “The people of West Irian had frequently expressed the opinion that they were a part of the Indonesian people, that West Irian was an indivisible part of the Unitary State of Indonesia, that they never wanted to be separated by whomever from the united Indonesian nation and the unitary Indonesian Republic.” According to Suharto, these repeated declarations clearly facilitated the completion of the final stage of the New York Agreement. 47 In making this claim Suharto, like Malik, was reverting to arguments initially advanced by Sukarno. As we have seen, Ruslan Abdulgani, the Minister of Information, had explained how Papuan leaders had been induced into making the statements to which Suharto referred. It is precisely this sort of misrepresenta- tion of Papuan opinion by the Indonesian government that motivated the Papuan rejection of Indonesia’s conduct of the plebiscite. Suharto’s statement—like those of Sukarno before him and those of their respective ministers—left no doubt that the Indonesian government contemplated but one outcome from the Act of Free Choice. Thus the process in West Irian was conducted with the sole purpose of securing the desired result. As the Australian minister of external affairs had anticipated in January 1962 in the resolution of the dispute with the Dutch, there was likely to be some face-saving formula for the protection of Papuan interests. The Papuans’ right to choose their own future would be “entire- ly dependent on Indonesian good faith,” and there would be no way of ensuring that this aspect of the agreement would be carried out. 48 The Act of Free Choice was finally conducted in July and August 1969, when 1,025 traditional leaders voted unanimously on behalf of the Irianese people to join the Republic of Indonesia. Sarwo Edhie, the Indonesian commander in West Irian, noted in a report to President Suharto: “The people themselves had to be prepared and guided so that they would win the Act of Free Choice.” The preparations had required both overt and covert security operations. 49 After Indonesia undertook the Act of Free Choice in Irian Jaya in 1969, the UN General Assembly adopted Resolution 2504 (XXIV) on November 19, 1969, by a vote of 84 to 0 in favor of Indonesia, with 30 abstentions (UN Office of Public Information 1969: 175–79). From the Indonesian government’s perspective, the UN’s acceptance

of the result of the Act of Free Choice showed that the international community had endorsed the legal process through which West Irian had been returned to Indonesia. It fulfilled the vision of most Indonesian nationalist leaders, particularly former president Sukarno, to complete the national territory of the Republic of Indonesia from Sabang (in Sumatra) to Merauke (in West Irian). Apart from that, the Indonesian government would not accept the separation of any former Dutch territory in Southeast Asia, based on ethnic or religious difference, since the Indonesian nation and state itself consists of so many different ethnic, racial, and religious groups and was formed through the nationalist slogan of “Unity in Diversity.” 50 The method chosen for the Act of Free Choice produced the desired result—a unanimous vote of the Irianese people in favor of joining Indonesia. That the debate continues to this day, however, suggests that Indonesia’s assertion that the plebiscite was a credible and legitimate expression of the will of the Irianese people has been a much more difficult argument to sustain. The government’s great anxiety about the international campaign (initiated by the Papuan Congress in 2000) to have the results of the Act of Free Choice reexamined demonstrates the continuing sensitivity of the issues. In Jakarta’s eyes, the Netherlands parliament’s investigation into the Act of Free Choice and its own government’s role threatens to undermine a key aspect of Indonesia’s claim to sovereignty in Papua. The controversy surrounding the conduct of the plebiscite links Indonesia’s successful campaign against the Dutch challenge to its sovereignty to the continuing struggle against the Papuan challenge. Patrick Shaw, Australian ambassador in Jakarta in the early 1960s, was a strong and influential advocate urging Australia to support resolution of the West New Guinea dispute in favor of Indonesia. In 1969 he was the ambassador at the UN. In his report to Canberra after the General Assembly had noted the results of the Act of Free Choice, he conveyed his sense that while the international community had recognized Indonesian sovereignty, this might not be the end of the issue. Shaw wrote:

By its vote of 19th November the General Assembly accepted that the Dutch-Indonesian agreement of 1962 had been implemented. But we are left with the uneasy conclusion that the West Irian issue has not been disposed of. Some internal, but very few international, disputes are amenable to arbitration and final settlement and West Irian, I fear, is not one of them. 51

22 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

Papuan Resistance, The New Order’s Security Approach Response Even before the formal transfer of administrative authority from the UN to Indonesia in May 1963, Indonesia had persuaded much of the Dutch-educated elite to cooperate—including many of those who had been advocates of an independent Papua. Within a short period, however, Indonesian control over Papua was under challenge from the very groups that initially had been persuaded to cooperate. During the Sukarno and Suharto periods, Papuan rebels associated with the Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM; Free Papua Organization) carried out sporadic actions. Established in 1964, the OPM undertook its first action against the Indonesian government the following year when Papuans faced increasing economic hardships. These hardships reawakened old feelings of anti amberi (antiforeigners), which turned into rebellion. 52 In 1968, Justus M. van der Kroef wrote:

The heart of anti-Indonesian sentiment, it soon became apparent, is perhaps the most developed part of West New Guinea, i.e., the area around Gelvink Bay, including the islands of Japen and Biak and such towns as Waren, Ransiki, and Manokwari. In the Bird’s Head area, anti-Indonesianism ran strong in and about the town of Ajamaru and the Arfak range. (Elsewhere in the Bird’s Head—e.g., the town of Sorong and south around MacCluer Gulf—pro-Indonesian feelings have been more common.) Some, but by no means all, of the anti-Indonesian leaders seem to be Papuans who were formerly in Dutch military service or who have held middle-level civil positions in the territory, e.g., in local legislative councils, during both the Dutch and the present Indonesian period. [1968: 696].

Some of the most serious resistance occurred in Biak, Enarotali, and Waghete in the months before the plebiscite. Brigadier General Sarwo Edhi, the West Irian military commander, reported to President Suharto that it took four months to suppress the revolt in Enarotali. Although dis- turbances continued to take place, the situation was kept under control sufficiently to permit implementation of the Act of Free Choice. By the end of 1969, the number of battle units had been gradually reduced and replaced by Development Task Forces. 53 Despite Sarwo Edhi’s confidence that the security situation was under control and Indonesia could focus on the great challenge of developing West Irian, Papuan resistance has persisted. Although this resistance has

not threatened Indonesian control, Jakarta has failed to eliminate it and the military’s ability to impose its authority has been severely tested. Indeed the “security approach” has itself spurred anti-Indonesian sentiment. According to Lieutenant General Kahpi Suriadireja (1987: 64), other factors stimulating anti-Indonesia sentiment include the feeling that in comparison to other provinces in Indonesia, development in Irian Jaya has been neglected and its natural resources have not been utilized for the benefit of the province. Indeed the “security He also noted that the Irianese fear economic approach” has itself domination by non-Irianese and that non-Irianese government officials and settlers look spurred anti-Indonesian down on the indigenous people as second-class sentiment. citizens. According to Suriadireja, the Irianese believe that transmigrants have received a better deal than Irianese. He attributed the lack of job opportunities for Irianese to a lack of skills or administrative requirements for employment whereas the Irianese themselves blamed discrimination. One foreign observer in the early 1990s noted that constant surveillance by the military, as well as the presence of former military personnel as transmigrants in the border areas, led the Irianese to feel that the Indonesian government did not trust the indigenous people. Furthermore, the appointment of only four Irianese to nine regency heads in Irian Jaya exacerbated these feelings (Schwarz 1991: 25). Some of Jakarta’s adjustments to the security approach toward Papuan resistance suggest an awareness of the counterproductive nature of the Indonesian stance. In November 1978, the Indonesian defense minister and the commander of the armed forces, General Mohammad Jusuf, announced the adoption of a new strategy in Irian Jaya that became known as the “Smiling Policy.” According to this policy:

Indonesia would desist from its direct assaults upon Irianese culture and allow the people to adjust more slowly to the norms of Indonesian civilization. At the same time, he stated that in future the OPM rebels would be treated as the minor nuisance they constituted in fact. Indonesia would no longer engage in major operations against the rebels. Instead, it would confine its military activities to routine border patrolling and security duties, leaving the guerrillas either to rot in the jungle or accept in their own good time the generous clemency terms Indonesia was prepared to offer them. 54

24 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

General Jusuf ’s military restraint also indicated a more accommodative approach to Irianese culture. Ten years earlier, Sarwo Edhie had advocated that assimilation be accelerated in order to strengthen the nation-building process. Because the Irianese lacked a strong set of beliefs and ideology, he argued, discontent could easily be exploited by irresponsible and separatist elements. Many coastal peoples still preferred conditions under the Dutch to those under Indonesia. Sarwo Edhie saw the need to cultivate a national consciousness in order to create among Irianese a sense of common destiny in the unitary Republic of Indonesia. 55 The security approach of the Suharto era brought with it widespread human rights abuses. A Yale Law School report concluded that “the people of West Papua have suffered persistent and horrible abuses at the hands of the Indonesian Government. The Indonesian military and security forces have engaged in widespread violence and extrajudicial killings in West Papua” (Brundige et al. 2003: 75). Certainly human rights abuses occurred in Timika from June 1994 to February 1995 when villagers protested against the Freeport mine’s use of their traditional lands as well as the military’s severe action against the people in Tsinga, Owea, Jila, Bela and Alama, villages surrounding the mine. In the Tembagapura area, military action was related to the Bintang Kejora (Morning Star) flag-raising ceremony undertaken by the OPM group under the leadership of Kelly Kwalik in Tsinga on July 1, 1994, to commemorate 33 years of Papuan independence. 56 Human rights abuses in Biak, Manokwari, Jayapura, Wamena, and along the border with Papua New Guinea (PNG) from the 1960s to the 1990s were related to the military operations to put down rebellion in Papua. The military’s human rights abuses in Jayapura in early 1984 and the killing of Arnold Ap, an anthropologist from the University of Cenderawasih, by the Army Special Forces (Kopassus) caused thousands of people to cross the border into Papua New Guinea. Many Papuan observers believe that it is precisely the security approach implemented by the military—including widespread murder, torture, abduction, and other human rights abuses—that has instilled the desire for independence in the heart of the people. 57

During the Reform Era When Indonesia was confronted with a renewed Papuan challenge to its sovereignty following the fall of President Suharto, Megawati Sukarnoputri emphasized the importance Papua had acquired for

Indonesia as a result of the struggle against the Dutch. 58 She recalled a childhood conversation with her father, Sukarno. When she asked why he had visited Papua, so far away, he replied: “Without Irian Jaya, Indonesia is not complete to become the national territory of the Unitary Republic of Indonesia.” Megawati wished to maintain her father’s vision. To the people of Papua she appealed that the territory had been entrusted to the nation through the sacrifice of heroes. 59 A crucial factor influencing the Indonesian government’s response to the reemergence of Papuan nationalism was the loss of East Timor. Clearly the separation of East Timor had traumatized the government and most of the civilian and military elite. The government, fearing that this would lead to the disintegration of the whole country, was determined not to lose another province. Moreover, Aceh and Papua occupy a special position for Indonesia—not only because the two provinces have rich natural resources but also because of the nationalist slogan “From Sabang [a city in Aceh] to Merauke [a city in Papua],” symbolic markers of Indonesian territory. Aceh and Papua are key elements in the Indonesian national enterprise. Aceh has had more than its share of Indonesian national heroes and was the only region to remain under republican control for the duration of the revolution. West Irian was the object of a twelve-year-long struggle against the Dutch, as we have seen, and its return to the republic was a nationalist triumph. Policymakers in the post-Suharto governments inherited a troubling situation in Irian Jaya, where the New Order’s security approach had strengthened the desire for independence. Their predicament was not dis- similar to that of the New Order government in the 1960s confronted by the economic and social decline and Papuan discontent inherited from the Sukarno government. Now policymakers faced a new dilemma: how much freedom of expression and organization could be tolerated when those freedoms were being used to mobilize widespread support for Papuan independence? Few political figures in Papua had joined the struggle for a more open, plural, and inclusive Indonesia. The Papuan leaders’ straightforward demand for independence—combined with an expectation that this could be negotiated peacefully—posed a new problem in a democratizing Indonesia. 60 A police report addressed this dilemma by making a distinction between universal democratic norms (under which the advocacy of independence from Indonesia was legitimate) and the regulations that governed democratic life in Indonesia (under which such advocacy consti-

26 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

tuted treason among other offenses). 61 Jakarta’s policy responses have combined the accommodative and the repressive—sometimes in different periods, sometimes simultaneously. Among the major policy initiatives, the Special Autonomy Law of 2001 was by far the most significant. Although its content owed more to the Papuan proposals than to Jakarta policymakers, its acceptance by the DPR appeared to be a first step in what might have constituted a transformation of governance in Papua. The presidential instruction (Inpres 1/2003) to accelerate the tripartite division of the province, however, raised questions about the government’s commitment to

Jakarta’s policy responses

implement special autonomy. The Habibie government, which had created the opportunity for have combined the the East Timorese to vote for independence, was

accommodative and the

in a weak position. Its response to renewed 62 demands for Papuan independence combined repressiverepressive and accommodative measures. The military and the police implemented a tough policy to end pro-independence demonstrations in Jayapura, Biak, Sorong, and Wamena in mid-1998. Later in 1998 the Habibie government conducted a dialogue with the Forum Rekonsiliasi Rakyat Irian Jaya (Foreri; Forum for the Reconciliation of Irian Jaya Society), a group established by intellectuals, church leaders, traditional figures, and NGO activists. In cooperation with the State Secretariat, Foreri organized a series of Jakarta Informal Meetings (JIM) at the vice-president’s office in early November 1998 attended by Papuan leaders, government officials, and Indonesian scholars. 63 These sessions led to the meeting of a team of 100 Papuan leaders with Habibie in February 1999. The members of the Papuan delegation were broadly representative of the Papuan elite both geographically and in terms of social and religious background. During this meeting Tom Beanal, representative of the Amungme tribe and leader of the Team of 100, as it was called, read a statement to President Habibie and his cabinet colleagues stating that Papua wanted to secede from Indonesia, that a transition government should be established in Irian Jaya under UN supervision, and that, if necessary, the United Nations should become part of an international dialogue between the government of Indonesia and the Papuan people. President Habibie was so taken aback by the Papuan demand for independence that he did not give any formal response to the statement. This meant that, from a Papuan perspective, the

hoped-for national dialogue with the central government would not even- tuate. Although Habibie did not engage with the Papuans on their central demand, he did recognize the truth of their painful experience under the New Order. 64 The meeting with President Habibie can be regarded as an important stage in the transformation of the Papuan resistance and the emergence of a new Papuan elite. Indonesia’s first democratically elected president, Abdurrahman Wahid, struggled with the dilemmas confronting his government in Papua and the difficulties of finding some compromise between the demands of two competing nationalisms. Perhaps reflecting the struggle in which he was engaged, Abdurrahman experienced great difficulty in maintaining consistency and coherence in his Papua policy as well as a common approach in his cabinet. Throughout much of his presidency, there were notable differences in spirit and substance in the statements of the president, on one side, and those of the vice-president and Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, the security minister, on the other. Abdurrahman Wahid visited Papua to witness the dawn of the new millennium. A month earlier, on December 1, 1999, the Bintang Kejora flag had been raised in central Jayapura without the intervention of the security forces. The president took the opportunity to rename the province Papua: “On this day, together with the rising sun, I declare Papua the name for this province.” 65 He also permitted the Bintang Kejora flag to be flown. (As noted earlier in this study, the Bintang Kejora flag was adopted by the National Committee and the New Guinea Council as the Papuan national flag. It was raised for the first time on December 1, 1961, the day that some Papuans recognize as their independence day.) When confronted directly with demands that he recognize Papuan independence, Abdurrahman was emphatic:

I will defend [the unity of the state] with all the means within my power. If the request [for independence] is limited to a statement of opinion, that’s fine, provided you don’t attempt to create a state within a state. My duty is to defend the geographic integrity of Indonesia because I was given this task by the MPR [the upper house of the Indonesian parliament]. As long as the 1945 Constitution is retained, I have no other option but to defend the constitution, with all the means within my power. 66

After his visit, the president maintained an intermittent dialogue with

28 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

Papuan leaders. Although Abdurrahman Wahid’s symbolic gestures did not mean that pro-independence political activity was free from surveillance, intervention, and intimidation by the security forces, there developed in Papua a political space in which pro-independence activities could take place in a way that had not been possible since 1962. Two mass meetings were held that reflected the consolidation of a new leadership structure capable of mobilizing support throughout the province. The Musyawarah Besar Papua 2000 (Mubes; Papuan Mass Consultation) was held on February 23–26; the Kongres Papua II (Second Papuan Congress) took place in May–June. The Mubes established a Papuan Presidium Council (Presidium Dewan Papua) that, under the leadership of Theys Eluay and Tom Beanal, became the principal organization of the pro-independence groups in 2000. There was a great deal of overlap in personnel between Foreri, the Team of 100, and the Presidium. Abdurrahman declined an invitation to open the Second Papuan Congress, but funded the occasion with a contribution of Rp 1 billion. The leaders of the Papuan provincial parliament and government, including the Indonesian acting governor, attended the event, which attracted considerable coverage in the Indonesian and international media. The Presidium considered that it had received a popular mandate from the congress to advance the struggle for independence both within Indonesia and internationally. 67 Abdurrahman Wahid’s tolerant approach to Papuan national aspirations caused considerable disquiet among the leaders of the Irian Jaya police. One police report argued that the president’s financial contribution to the congress provided the Presidium with a broad opportunity to turn the president’s support to its advantage. Moreover, the president’s permis- sion to fly the Bintang Kejora flag complicated the position of the security forces in the field. And not only did separatist groups use the issues of democratization and human rights to weaken the morale of government officials, but the government gave these groups an opportunity to “socialize” the results of the congress. 68 The successful holding of the Mubes and the Second Papuan Congress marked a turning point in the development of the government’s policy toward Papua. Now there was recognition that the emergence of a new leadership group around Foreri, the Team of 100, and the Presidium together with their ability to mobilize support represented a threat to Indonesian authority that the OPM had not. This was perhaps the first time that policymakers in Jakarta took Papuan nationalism seriously. One

Ministry of Internal Affairs document produced shortly after the congress described it as an activity planned by a group calling itself the OPM with the objective of liberating Irian Jaya. This report acknowledged that the atmosphere down to the village level was now euphoric about the idea of independence and “conspiratorial groups” supporting the cry of independence (Merdeka!) were increasingly cohesive. The document estimates support for independence at 10 to 20 percent. 69 A memorandum to the minister of internal affairs argued that it was necessary to take immediate, concrete, and appropriate actions to antici- pate the further expansion of this political climate. It envisaged graduated activities, both overt and clandestine, targeting a broad spectrum of Papuan leaders. The covert activities would include recruiting, training, and supporting pro-Indonesian militia at the village level. Other measures involved providing pro-Indonesia leaders with government positions at all levels from village to province, bestowing honors on local leaders, and appointing “national heroes” from Irian Jaya. Among the policy initiatives supported were regional autonomy, the partition of the province, and the creation of new administrative districts. The memo argued that the implementation of both regional autonomy and partition should be accelerated. 70 The objective of these measures was to create a more “conducive” environment by raising the levels of material welfare in Papua in order to improve the credibility of the government and persuade the people to support Indonesia. 71 The annual session of the People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR) in August 2000 was the occasion for a savage critique of Abdurrahman Wahid’s policy toward Papua. Members of all factions in the MPR attacked Abdurrahman’s accommodative attitude. Both the president’s agreement to change the province’s name to Papua and his granting of per-mission to fly the Bintang Kejora flag were rejected. Commission C of the MPR stated: “The president has not yet been able to deal with separatist movements which have been threatening the totality of the unitary state of Indonesia, especially in Aceh and Irian Jaya provinces.” Abdurrahman was given the task of taking decisive action against separatism and implementing special autonomy for Papua and Aceh. 72 Above all, the MPR session revealed that the president’s accommodative approach had few supporters and that the detractors came from all across the political spectrum. 73 There were two key elements in the government’s policies following the Second Papuan Congress and the MPR’s directions for the president:

30 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

removing the Presidium from the center of the political stage (and the symbols of Papuan nationalism from the public arena) and promoting the alternative of special autonomy. The next section deals with special autonomy; here we will consider the first element. In the three and a half months following the MPR session, the government succeeded in removing the Papuan nation- Wamena raised the al symbols from public display and marginalizing specter of “horizontal” the Presidium. By early December the Bintang Kejora flag was no longer flown in the center of violence that had Jayapura and key leaders of the Presidium were in engulfed the neighboring detention. The flag was the first object of Jakarta’s attention. The government’s determination to Maluku Islands lower the Bintang Kejora led to several clashes between the security forces and Papuans involving the loss of scores of lives. The most notable clash was in Wamena on October 6, 2000, when the forceful removal of flags precipitated a series of events that led to the deaths of some 30 people. The importance of the violence was not merely in the loss of life and injury, however, but in the tensions generated between Papuans and settlers and among Papuans themselves that sent a shock wave through the province. Indeed, Wamena raised the specter of “horizontal” violence that had engulfed the neighboring Maluku Islands. 74 In the last week of November, just before the “independence day” anniversary on December 1, five leaders of the Presidium—Theys Eluay, Thaha Al Hamid, the Reverend Herman Awom, Don Flassy, and John Mambor—were detained on charges of treason and subversion. 75 The arrest of the Presidium leaders on treason charges was consistent with the approach advocated by the Irian Jaya police. They considered that the Presidium’s activities contravened the law and that the law’s supremacy should be established. 76 For much of the period of political openness, the authorities have relied on accusations of subversion, summons, and inter- rogations to keep pressure on the pro-independence leaders. The threat of legal sanction lent ambiguity to the notion of political openness. The occasions by which political openness was measured—Theys Eluay’s birthday- turned-political-meeting in November 1999; the flag raising on December 1, 1999; the two mass meetings of 2000—were also the basis for the charges of subversion. The removal of the flag and the arrest of the Presidium leaders transformed Papuan politics as well as relations with the

central government. Suddenly the political space for the articulation and mobilization of Papuan aspirations had been closed. By March 4, 2002, when the district court in Jayapura freed his fellow defendants, Theys Eluay had been assassinated. The presiding judge, Edward Sinaga, gave a curious verdict: the Presidium leaders were found guilty but not sentenced. Judge Sinaga argued that they could not be convicted because they had organized the Second Papuan Congress with the full knowledge and support of the local and central governments. Moreover, Abdurrahman Wahid himself had given the organizers Rp 1 billion to help finance the congress (Nugroho 2002; Amnesty International 2002: 6). Although the judgment reflects the vacillation in government policy and ambiguity surrounding the political space created in the reform era, the detention and trial of the Presidium leaders had served the government’s purpose well. The Presidium was no longer the predominant force in Papuan politics, and the credibility and efficacy of its strategy— independence by peaceful means—was much in question. But the popular outpouring at the time of Theys Eluay’s funeral suggests that the support could be mobilized again—if the Presidium could devise strategies and generate activities in a political situation that is much more tightly controlled by the Indonesian authorities than it was in 1999 and 2000.

Special Autonomy

The central government’s commitment to special autonomy for Papua was enshrined in the MPR’s broad outline of government (1999–2004). The granting of special autonomy is specifically linked to the objective of strengthening national integrity within the unitary state. 77 A year later, the MPR’s criticism of Abdurrahman Wahid’s handling of separatism in Papua and his accommodation of Papuan national symbols was paired with an instruction to implement special autonomy. 78 The offer of special autonomy has been a part of central government rhetoric since 1999. The trouble with the commitment is its lack of clarity and substance. This lack of clarity and substance, however, created an opportunity for Papuans to contribute to the formulation of policy. The governor, J. P. Solossa, appointed a team of notable Papuan intellectuals, officials, academics, and church leaders to help conduct the consultations, draft the legislation, and “socialize” special autonomy throughout the province. 79 The governor’s proposal for special autonomy, in the form of a 76-clause draft bill presented to the president and parliament on April 16, 2001, 80

32 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

reflects Papuan political and cultural values combined with a substantial devolution of decision-making authority and distribution of resources from the center to the province. Although the draft bill did not demand independence, it was nevertheless a strong statement of Papuan national values and established Papua as a region of self-government within Indonesia. Under the proposed distribution of powers, the province has authority in all areas of government except foreign affairs, external defense, monetary policy, and the supreme court. The distribution of revenue is 80 percent to the province and 20 percent to the center. The debt to the Presidium and the Second Papuan Congress is evident. Simon Morin, a Papuan member of the national parliament and supporter of autonomy, argued that many of the aspirations that had been expressed during the congress had been incorporated in the legislation. Morin cited the recognition of traditional rights and Papuan culture that were included to show Papuans that special autonomy was a viable alternative—a third way to create a new Papua. 81 The House of Representatives (DPR) passed the Special Autonomy Law in October 2001 after protracted negotiations between a special DPR committee and the governor’s team. The new law did not include all the crucial provisions advanced in the Papuan proposals, but in terms of what was politically possible in Jakarta it was a significant development. Not only did many of its elements affront Indonesian nationalist values but there was a significant reallocation of revenue and devolution of decision making powers to the provincial government. The Papuan politics of special autonomy are critical to understanding its importance as a policy of the central government. Special autonomy had the support of a significant section of the Papuan elite. Some supported it out of a realpolitik consideration that it represented about the best that could be achieved within the framework of the rhetorical question Indonesia. Others saw it as a necessary stage along was simply: why should the road to independence. The law reflected broadly held Papuan nationalist values. It was one of the we believe Jakarta now? few pieces of legislation governing center/region relations in which leaders from the region itself had much input. But special autonomy found little support and much opposition outside the elite. In the euphoria of the reform era, with the Presidium offering merdeka, special autonomy was too much of a compromise. Perhaps more important, there was widespread suspicion about

the central government’s intentions. Given its long history of empty and unimplemented promises, the rhetorical question was simply: why should we believe Jakarta now? In terms of their legitimacy in the Papuan community at large, the pro-autonomy section of the elite took considerable political risks supporting the policy. Special autonomy was a critical policy development, for the central government, too, one of the few occasions since 1963 when sections of the Papuan elite supported a central government policy (largely out of their own assessment of Papuan interests).

Resort to Force One of the factors inhibiting the “socialization” of special autonomy was the rising level of violence. The violence flowing from the government’s determination that the Bintang Kejora flag should no longer be flown, the detention of pro-independence leaders, the show of force to mark Papuan “independence day,” the tough security measures—all represented a return to the forms of governance, dependent on the use of force, that have char- acterized Indonesian administration of the territory since 1963. The pattern of violence—Papuan attacks on the security forces followed by indiscriminate reprisals—started almost immediately after the “independence” thanksgiving service. The attack on the Abepura police station on December 7, 2000, was followed by the security forces’ impris- onment, torture, and killing of highlander students. The murder of four Kopassus soldiers in February 2001 in Sarmi was followed by military operations. On March 31, 2001, three Indonesian settlers, employees of a timber company, were killed in Wasior district. Additional security forces were deployed and conducted what Elsham, the human rights organization, described as “arbitrary action against the civilian population,” including arrests, torture, and the killing of six civilians. On June 13, 2001, an armed unknown group killed five Brimob (Police Mobile Brigade) members and a civilian. 82 In June and July the security forces conducted a “sweep and clampdown.” According to Elsham and church sources, the operation resulted in detention, torture, and houses being burned. Elsham estimates that some 5,000 civilians fled their homes. The report noted that daily social and economic activities had been completely paralyzed and everyone was living in a state of fear. 83 It was in this atmosphere that the assassination of Theys Eluay occurred on November 11, 2001. The circumstances of his death illustrate

34 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

the complex network of relationships in which he operated. On Saturday, November 10, Infantry Colonel Hartono, commander of the Tribuana Kopassus base, visited Theys Eluay at his home, bringing him a Christmas present: a white, long-sleeved shirt. Theys Eluay left home at 11 A.M. and went to the Matoa Hotel where he attended a meeting of the Presidium. That evening he attended a reception at the Tribuana Kopassus base to cel- ebrate Indonesian Heroes’ Day. On the way home to Sentani, accompa- 84 nied by Kopassus officers, Theys Eluay was murdered. At the trial of seven Kopassus officers, testimony confirmed Papuan suspicions that Kopassus was responsible for the murder. Lieutenant Colonel Hartomo, the senior officer on trial, acknowledged that Theys Eluay’s death resulted “indirectly” from an order from the military to steer him away from his planned proclamation of Papuan independence on December 1, 2001. In their testimony, other officers described how Eluay was smothered by Zulfahmi, the most junior of the officers on trial, fol- 85 lowing an argument about his intention to proclaim independence. But the trial has not shed much light on who ordered the assassination or why. Prior to the trial, Kusnanto Anggoro, an observer of military affairs from Jakarta’s Centre for Strategic and International Studies, suggested that the military involvement was much more extensive than low-ranking Kopassus personnel: “Theys [Eluay] was the victim of a dispute between two retired generals in Jakarta. One of them is no longer in a position of power and is facing charges of human rights abuses. The other is becoming more influential in the worlds of politics and intelligence. The two generals are fighting over who will become kingmaker in the national political arena.” One of the generals considered that Theys Eluay had adversely affected his personal land interests in Papua (Anggoro 2002). Perhaps more revealing than the light sentences for the Kopassus personnel was the comment of the army’s chief of staff on the conviction. General Ryamizard Ryacudu portrayed the murderers as heroes who were 86 performing duties for the nation. Theys Eluay’s assassination and his funeral procession were the occasion for the first mass display of Papuan nationalist feeling since the end of

2000. Whatever the motives of those responsible for his death, the effect was to reinvigorate Papuan national aspirations, intensify Papuan distrust of the Indonesian authorities, especially the security forces, and unify Papuans around yet another martyr to the cause of independence. Tifa Papua likened Theys Eluay’s assassination to the still unexplained death of

cultural figure Arnold Ap in 1984 and that of Willem Onde in 2001. 87 The killing of Theys Eluay has made the Megawati government’s already difficult task of mobilizing support among Papuans even harder. Although the Indonesian and FBI investigations into the killing of three teachers (two Americans and one Indonesian) at the Freeport mine in August 2002 are not yet complete, there has been a great deal of controversy about who was responsible for the attack. The Indonesian security forces were quick to blame the OPM. Papuan activists blamed the military. 88 They found support from an unlikely source: the Indonesian police in Papua. The police report of September 28 doubted whether the OPM had the weapons and ammunition. Moreover, the police pointed out that the OPM had never previously killed Caucasians. The police concluded there was a strong possibility that members of the Indonesian army had perpetrated the killings (Bonner 2003). The possibility of Indonesian military involvement was the subject of a number of reports in American newspapers—reports contested by the military. The New York Times reported that Bush administration officials have determined that Indonesian soldiers carried out the ambush that killed the two American teachers. A “senior administration official” was quoted as saying: “There is no question there was military involvement... .There is no question it was premeditated.” 89 The military’s involvement in the assassination of Theys Eluay and the allegations that it was also involved in the killings at the Freeport mine lend support to one of the central contentions of the second International Crisis Group report on Papua. This report cites Indonesia’s reliance on force in the governance of Papua as a critical factor in the ongoing insta- bility and conflict in the province. It concludes that the conflict in Papua is unlikely to subside until there is a shift in the pattern of Indonesian rule away from its reliance on violence (ICG 2002: 27–29). Earlier we argued that the security approach developed under the New Order succeeded in consolidating a sense of Papuan identity and Papuan alienation from the Indonesian state. There is no evidence to suggest that the security approach applied since late 2000 has had any different impact. If anything, the counterproductive influence might be somewhat greater because it followed a period of relative political openness with lower levels of violence, a time when political change seemed possible. With respect to special autonomy, the security approach leads one to conclude that the governor exercised little influence in security matters at a time when he

36 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

was promoting reforms that should have enhanced his authority and that of the provincial government. 90 Some official documents recognize that dependence on the use of force to maintain Indonesian authority in Papua is a double-edged sword. The Irian Jaya police argued for the development of a “Pendekatan Kasih Sayang” that sought to condition its security approach with sensitivity to sociological and anthropological factors. The objective was to establish the supremacy of law without a senseless loss of life. A simple law and order approach would result in serious loss of life and material destruction, the police argued, because a great portion of the Papuan people have been “provoked” into demanding independence and are willing to sacrifice themselves to that cause. 91 Much the same approach is evident in the Internal Affairs document urging that the use of force and military measures should be a kept to a minimum. 92 Ermaya Suradinata has argued emphatically that the government cannot achieve its objectives with force alone: there must be dialogue and development in education, health, and the economy. 93 Yet the question remains: why has it been so difficult to constrain the use of force? George Aditjondro provides some insights into this problem in his observations about how Indonesians inter- act with Papuans. He associates the prevalence of Yet the question human rights abuses against Papuans with the remains: why has it beencommon Indonesian notion that Papuans are not really human in the “hierarchy of civilizations.” so difficult to constrain Aditjondro notes that the Javanese, Buginese, and the use of force? Malukan soldiers stationed in Papua for six-month periods of duty tend to become trigger- happy not so much through bravado but as a result of their fear and suspicion of Papuans. 94

Partition In the last days of 2002, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono reiterated the government’s commitment to special autonomy. Solving the problems in Papua in a civilized and just manner, he said, was one of the government’s priorities: “The special autonomy we have opted for will be further strengthened in order to increase the level of prosperity and the welfare and dignity of the people of Papua until these are truly realized.” 95 Yet it was evident that many within the government had fundamental objections

to the special autonomy legislation that President Megawati had signed into law. Less than a month later Megawati issued her first presidential instruction for the new year (Inpres 1/2003) to accelerate the implementation of Law 45/1999 concerning the creation of the provinces of West and Central Irian Jaya and the districts (kabupaten) of Paniai, Mimika, and Puncak Jaya as well as the city of Sorong. With the partition of territory, the government has returned, if somewhat inconsistently, to its preferred nomenclature: Irian Jaya. The idea of partition was not new, however. Law 45/1999 separating the province into three parts was President Habibie’s response to the renewed demand for independence. 96 Although governors for the two additional provinces were named, West and Central Irian Jaya were not created. The law was not revoked, however, despite the subsequent development of special autonomy as the principal framework of the government’s Papua policy. 97 Since 1999 the issue of Papua’s partition has been raised on a number of occasions. In the last months of 2002, the provincial parliament stated its opposition to the law of 1999. In October 2002, it passed another resolution opposing partition. In December 2002, Governor Solossa seems to have persuaded President Megawati to at least delay implementation of the division. Partition, he argued, would require lengthy preparation. 98 An early indication of opposition within the government to special autonomy came in January 2002 with a report from the governor of the National Resilience Institute (Lemhannas), Professor Ermaya Suradinata, titled “The Partition of Irian Jaya Is a Solution to the Threat of National Disintegration.” 99 Professor Ermaya regretted that the Special Autonomy Law had not incorporated the unimplemented law to divide the province. Indeed, he cited Governor Solossa as part of the problem. Solossa, together with the Golkar-dominated provincial parliament, were opposed to partition and had been the principal advocates of special autonomy. Above all Professor Ermaya feared that special autonomy empowered the Jayapura-based Papuan elite—depicted as being simultaneously pro-autonomy, opposed to partition, and a threat to national unity. He made no distinction between some of the most senior Papuans in the Indonesian administration, on the one hand, and the public advocates of Papuan independence on the other. He criticized the governor for favoring his own ethnic group and region as well as hindering the economic development of Irian Jaya. 100 His concern about empowering the Jayapura-based Papuan elite

38 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

was related to another of the government’s objections to the Special Autonomy Law: it established a Papuan People’s Assembly (MRP)—an ethnic Papuan-only upper house with extensive political powers to protect the rights of Papuans—to vet candidates recommended by the provincial parliament for governor and deputy governor and the province’s representatives for the MPR. Article 76 determined that partition of the province could only happen with the approval of the MRP and the provincial parliament. Hari Sabarno, the minister of internal affairs, argued that the powers given to the MRP were so extensive as to endanger the administration and stability in Papua and insisted that the MRP should only rep- resent Papuan cultural values. 101 The Dewan Ketahanan Nasional (National Resilience Council) agreed that the MRP’s powers exceeded the limits of what could be tolerated. 102 According to Professor Ermaya, three major benefits would flow from partition of the province. First, partition would isolate and marginalize “irresponsible and opportunistic groups” who claim to speak in the name of the people of Papua and would divide the “pro-disintegration” group into three. Specifically partition would make it easier for the central government to escape a referendum (for independence) because a referendum might be possible in one province but not in three. Second, on the plane of political culture, he argued that partition would undermine the symbolic nexus linking the name Papua, the Bintang Kejora flag, and Papuan nationalism. The three provinces would have different cultural identities. This issue was taken up in a National Resilience Council workshop in 2003, where it was argued that the name Papua, legitimized in the Special Autonomy Law, strengthened the desire for independence. 103 And third, three provinces would be more stable and peaceful than one and hence encourage investment, business, and economic development. The official rationale for the partition of Papua is administrative rather than political: Jakarta says the legislation has been in place for over two years and should be implemented; Papua is 3.5 times the size of Java and has too many (28) administrative districts (kabupaten and kotamadya); and, finally, partition will improve the provision of government services by shortening the distance between government and the communities it serves. Oentarto, director general of regional autonomy in the Department of Internal Affairs, argued: “With the partition into three provinces, the administration of regional government will become easier. Regional government will be better able to serve society.” 104 In fact, the

39

partition of Papua is occurring within a broad national context of decen- tralization and the creation of new provinces and districts. Under the Regional Autonomy Law (22/1999), numerous new provinces and districts have been created—often in response to campaigns of the regions concerned. As noted here, the government has pointed out that Papua is relatively large geographically and has many districts. Thus one could argue that dividing Papua is unexceptional and should not be a matter of controversy. Two points can be made about the differences between the general autonomy law and the special autonomy for Papua (and Aceh). First, in the government documents cited here the advocates of dividing Papua have not used the argument that since new provinces and districts are being created elsewhere in the country, why not in Papua? Although they have indeed cultivated Papuan groups lobbying for partition, the political dynamic is different. The creation of new administrative units under the general autonomy law is most often driven by indigenous groups, not manipulated and imposed from Jakarta. The weight of the argument, in the internal government documents, is that partition will undermine the independence movement. Likewise the second point relates to the different political dynamics involved in the two pieces of autonomy legislation. The 1999 autonomy law was formulated in Jakarta with little consultation with the regions. It is only since January 2000, when the law was implemented, that local political struggles have generated pressure for new administrative divi- sions. As we have seen, special autonomy for Papua involved considerable participation by the provincial government and others in Papuan society. The imposition of partition marked a disjuncture in the process. The authorities in Jayapura had not been consulted about Inpres 1/2003 and appear to have been taken by surprise—even though the gov- 105 ernment’s ambivalence toward special autonomy was apparent. The governor and the provincial parliament had submitted their draft of the government regulations needed to implement the Special Autonomy Law in July 2002. Following Article 72 of the law, the government was obliged to finalize the regulations within a month. Nothing, however, had been done (Maniagasi 2003). The response from sections of the elite in Papua has been strong and quite uniform in its rejection of partition. If the government’s public rationale was administrative, the Papuan rejection was political. Partition was an attack on special autonomy. In terms of Papuan politics, the list of those who have rejected partition is impressive: Papuan

40 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

members of the national parliament, the leadership of the provincial parliament, the Papua branch of the Golkar Party, senior political figures like former Governor Bas Suebu, academics, and the major NGOs together with the leaders of Papua’s Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and Hindu communities. All these elements supported special autonomy. Ironically the public opponents of special autonomy—notably the Presidium and student groups—also rejected partition. Outside the established elite, the Papuan reaction to Inpres 1/2003 has been divided. Just as the Dutch Lieutenant Governor General, H. J. van Mook, found Indonesian political leaders—many with strong nationalist credentials and support bases in their own communities—willing to participate in his federal states, the government has found Papuans who are prepared to cooperate with the establishment of the new provinces. Indeed there had been Papuans lobbying the government to create the new provinces. 106 Shortly after the presidential instruction was announced, Marine Brigadier General (retired) Abraham Atururi was installed as governor of the province of West Irian Jaya following what was reported to be a large and enthusiastic parade through the streets of Manokwari. 107 Inpres 1/2003 created a new regional dynamic in Papuan politics. Although there was some local Papuan support for the new provinces the government wanted to create, there were also demands for still more provinces to be established. In February 2003, highlanders demonstrated in Jayapura in support of the establishment of a province of Central Irian Jaya based in the highlands. 108 The district heads Inpres 1/2003 created a (bupati) of Merauke, Yapen Waropen, and Fak Fak wanted their own districts to become new new regional dynamic in provinces, and leaders in Nabire and Biak Papuan politics. thought their own towns were more appropriate capitals for the province of Central Irian Jaya than Mimika. 109 If the government’s objective was to divide the Papuan opposition, these demands for further partition must have been gratifying. Yet at the same time they added to the confusion and the sense that policy was in disarray. The local support for partition demonstrates that Papuan unity is fragile and the development of a coherent territorywide identity remains a work in progress. Earlier we noted that during the Dutch regime there was strong pro-Indonesia support in Serui, Sorong, Fak Fak, and Merauke— all regions where there is some support for the creation of new provinces.

Biak, however, was a center of pro-Dutch, then Papuan nationalist, sentiment. Manokwari was the base of OPM activities in the 1960s. The highlands, including the Baliem Valley, had little contact with the Dutch administration and the leaders of highland communities were barely involved in the Papuan nationalist politics of Hollandia. Nevertheless the highlands became a center of support for the independence movement after the fall of Suharto. The absence of any clear provenance for the support of partition suggests that factors other than pro-Indonesia sentiment are important. The access to resources and position that partition offers is attractive for those members of the Papuan elite who are out of power in Jayapura. The interest in new provinces in places like Fak Fak, Merauke, Serui, Biak, Nabire, and the highlands is conditional—so long as they become the administrative centers. Two of the prominent Papuan advocates of partition, Abraham Atururi and John Djopari, were former deputy governors and unsuccessful candidates for governor in 2000. Djopari has been candid: one advantage of tripartite division, he says, is that three Papuans will now have the opportunity to be elected governor. 110 The next step in the implementation of Inpres 1/2003—inauguration of the province of Central Irian Jaya on August 23, 2003—aggravated social and political tensions in Papua and exposed the contradictions in the government’s policy. The inauguration in Timika sparked several days of violence between pro-and anti-partition groups of Papuans and pro-partition immigrants that led to the deaths of five people and dozens injured. 111 Tom Beanal, the Presidium and Amungme tribal leader, described the conflict as a perang adat (traditional war). 112 Andreas Anggaibak, the head of the district council of Timika who conducted the inauguration, said he had been encouraged to do so by officials from the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Badan Intelijen Negara (BIN; the National Security Body). 113 Officials of the central government were not present; nor were the authorities in Jayapura informed (Somba 2003). Amien Rais contends that the violence was a consequence of the lack of clarity in the government’s policy and proof that a policy not quickly implemented is going to cause masuk angin (discomfort): “Masuk angin politik, masuk angin sosial.” The government had to act. 114 The government’s response to the violence in Timika revealed the shifting emphasis between autonomy and partition that has marked government statements since the presidential instruction. President Megawati insisted that partition would happen, but in stages, while Hari Sabarno

42 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

argued that the violence was not related to partition. 115 Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, the security minister, brought a degree of certainty to the government’s position when he announced that partition would be put on hold and the status quo would be maintained—meaning that the province of West Irian Jaya would remain but Central Irian Jaya would not be established. Together with the parliament, the government would review the laws relating to Papua. 116 At its annual session two weeks before the Timika violence, the MPR recommended that the government and the DPR (the lower house of the national parliament) review the legislation relating to autonomy and partition and that Law 45/1999 and Inpres 1/2003 be revised to comply with the spirit and letter of the Special Autonomy Law. 117

Policy Confusion and Weakness in Government Decision Making Even before the violence in Timika there was recognition within government circles that its Papua policy was a problem. At the end of May 2003, the National Resilience Council held a workshop at the Hotel Indonesia with representatives of the responsible departments, the security forces, the office of the security minister, and some senior Papuans. One of the issues they discussed was the weakness in decision-making processes in the government and national parliament concerning special autonomy: decision making was hasty, emotional, and did not reflect the complexity of the issues and strategic considerations. Government decisions simply compounded problems. One of the three discussion groups argued that the government would have to choose between special autonomy and partition of the province. 118 Some of the incoherence and inconsistency in government policy statements appears to be related to differences within the government itself. The International Crisis Group reports that before the announcement of Inpres 1/2003, not only had Governor Solossa not been consulted but neither had the security minister, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. 119 The security minister has consistently placed greater emphasis on the Special Autonomy Law as the principal policy framework for resolving Papua whereas BIN and its head A. M. Hendropriyono have been associated with the establishment of the two new provinces and President Megawati and Hari Sabarno have been public advocates of partition. There is another issue on which Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono appears to differ with some of his colleagues: the government’s relations with the authorities in Jayapura. He admits that communication between Jakarta

and Jayapura has been bad and that the provincial legislators must be part of the solution. 120 The absence of any consultation about partition with the Papuan leaders of the provincial government and parliament in Jayapura was a particularly sensitive issue. The formulation of special autonomy and the negotiation of the legislation with the national parliament was perhaps the first time since 1963 in which Papuans actively participated in the making of government policy. Among the leaders of the provincial government and the governor’s special autonomy team there was a strong sense of participation. The lack of consultation was a rejection of the notion that self-government was at the heart of special autonomy. In none of the government policy documents consulted for this study is there any appreciation of the idea of self-government and its implications for the central government’s decision making. As noted earlier in this study, the elite supporters of special autonomy had trouble convincing fellow Papuans that it was an acceptable alternative to independence. The government’s seeming reluctance to establish the Papuan upper house (MRP), as well as Inpres 1/2003, partitioning the province, have confirmed the widespread and deeply held suspicions about the government’s intent and the credibility of its policy commitments. 121 The implications of Inpres 1/2003 for the conduct of government policy in Papua is significant both in domestic and international spheres. Reflecting on the development of Indonesian policy since 1963, special autonomy probably represents the most promising framework in which a resolution could be found. One of Indonesia’s core problems in the governance of Papua has been the difficulty in finding Papuans to cooperate willingly. With special autonomy, the government was able to mobilize the support of a significant section of the Papuan elite. The reaction of this group in the months following the presidential instruction, however, suggests that the government has lost their support. In rejecting partition, autonomy supporters and advocates of independence have found common cause. Many foreign governments have been supportive of special autonomy. 122 Special autonomy enabled governments friendly to a democratizing Indonesia to avoid (or at least postpone) difficult decisions about Indonesian sovereignty in Papua. But the International Crisis Group has suggested that if special autonomy does not succeed in reducing the level of conflict, foreign support for Indonesian sovereignty may become more difficult to sustain (ICG 2002: 5).

44 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

Distrust of Papuan Elites This analysis of special autonomy and the partition of Papua highlights the importance of the Papuan elite in the formulation of Indonesian policy and the administration of Papua. Although Indonesia has not ruled Papua through Papuan elites, Papuans have participated as senior officials in the bureaucracy—the upper levels of which have been occupied main- ly by non-Papuan Indonesians. Most of the governors have been Papuans: Eliezer Jan Bonay, Frans Kaisiepo, Barnabas (Bas) Suebu, Izaak Hindom, Jacobus Pattipi, Freddy Numberi, and the present governor, Jacobus Solossa. Apparently having a Papuan as governor has been judged to be an element in the legitimacy of the administration both domestically and in the eyes of the outside world. Having locals (putra daerah) as governors has not been the practice in all provinces. But how much authority the Papuan governors have had, both vis-à-vis Jakarta and within their own administration, needs to be examined. Indeed two of the former governors, Izaak Hindom and Barnabas Suebu, were very critical of the central government’s policy after they finished their terms. In its analysis of the Papuan independence movement after the Second Papuan Congress, the Department of Internal Affairs produced a diagram depicting a “Papuan political conspiracy.” The diagram included both Izaak Hindom and Barnabas Suebu among the leaders of the Papuan opposition to Jakarta’s authority. The people in the conspiracy diagram represented a broad spectrum of opinion within the Papuan political elite and were grouped by their political and social backgrounds. Not only the well-known public figures of the independence movement, Theys Eluay, Tom Beanal, Herman Awom, and Thaha Al Hamid, were included, but many of the Papuans who have achieved most in the Indonesian system were also identified as supporters of independence. 123 Governor Solossa seems to be among those treated with great suspicion. Ermaya, the head of Lemhannas, specifically identified the governor as an opponent of partition and very much part of Jakarta’s problem in Papua. 124 The deputy speaker of the Indonesian parliament accused Solossa of seeking support overseas for the independence movement. 125 At the National Defense Council’s workshop, one of the propositions discussed concerned the relations between Papuan leaders in Jakarta and political developments in Irian Jaya. Some of the Jakarta leaders, it was suggested, were sympathetic to separatist organizations. 126 In the Department of Internal Affairs analysis, the Papuan opposition

45

is represented as one conspiracy. The conspirators’ diverse backgrounds are reflected—religious, women, senior officials, and so on—but the analysis does not distinguish differences in ideology, strategy, or objective. The Irian Jaya police report has a somewhat more sophisticed analysis. It dis- tinguishes two groups among those who sought independence. The first were hard-liners, remnants of the OPM, who would not compromise with the legitimate government and had a paramilitary organization, the Tentara Pembebasan Nasional Papua (TPNP). The second group was moderate and prepared to compromise. Led by politicians, civil servants, adat leaders, and Christian ministers, they had the support of a pro-independence militia (the Satgas Papua). The two groups represented diverse opinions, yet it was assumed that there was a strong emotional relationship between them. The activities of the two groups were increasingly directed toward the establishment of a free Papua: Papua Merdeka. 127 The Department of Internal Affairs document recognized that the provincial government had been “contaminated” by the independence ideal and recommended that strong sanctions be applied to well-known supporters of Papua Merdeka among local officials. 128 If many senior Papuan government officials were thought to have dual loyalties, the leaders of the Presidium were considered to be two-faced. One of the difficulties confronted by the security forces, according to this document, was that Papuan politicians were hard to trust. With Indonesian officials, they were all sweetness and light (bersikap manis). But when communicating with their own people they were provocative, opposed the policy of the central government, and advocated separation from Indonesia. 129 “Dual loyalties” is used here to describe the allegiances of many Papuan leaders who hold senior positions in the Indonesian system. The term is not meant to suggest an equality of allegiance. In much of the Indonesian official documentation, however, many in government suspect that their Papuan colleagues’ commitment to Indonesia is just lip service. Not only has the Papuan elite exhibited dual loyalties, but these loyalties have shifted over time. Papuan leaders have frequently switched their political stance—from supporter of the Indonesian state to pro-independence advocate and vice versa—depending on their personal interests in promotion and survival in the Indonesian state as well as their assessment of the range of political possibilities in Indonesia. Eliezer Jan Bonay, for example, had changed from a supporter of Partai Kemerdekaan Indonesia Irian to a pro-independence leader by the early 1960s, became pro-

46 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

Indonesia during his time as governor, and then switched back again to become a pro-independence leader. (He was a political prisoner for a number of years after being replaced as governor.) The late Theys Eluay was a Pepera (Act of Free Choice) council member in 1969 and, like all his fellow members, voted in favor of joining Indonesia. For fifteen years, he was a provincial parliamentarian representing the ruling party, Golkar. In his home Theys Eluay displayed photos of President Sukarno and the young Megawati Sukarnoputri and told Ikrar Nusa Bhakti in 1993 that he was an Indonesian nationalist and a supporter of the Indonesian Democratic Party (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia; PDI). He had joined Golkar for political convenience. 130 In terms of Indonesian governance in Papua, this pattern of dual and shifting loyalties among the Papuan elite has created a certain fragility. From the perspective of Jakarta the Papuan elite have proved unreliable allies. The Papuan challenge has never threatened Indonesian control, however. The success with which the government has reasserted its authority since August 2000—ending a brief Papuan Spring—suggests that Jakarta’s capacity and determination to sustain its sovereignty remain strong. The political space that facilitated the mobilization of pro-independence opinion in 1998–2000 has been shut down. And with the partition of the province, the space that special autonomy appeared to offer for the realization of Papuan aspirations seems to have disappeared as well. Indonesia has always been able to impose its authority. It has always been able to find Papuans willing to assume senior positions within the Indonesian administration. Yet there is another Many Papuan leaders way of understanding the problem of dual and shifting loyalty—and that is to note how few have simply accepted the Papuan leaders have publicly and consistently realpolitik of Indonesian said they envision Papua’s future as part of Indonesia. Many Papuan leaders have simply control accepted the realpolitik of Indonesian control and, working within the Indonesian administration, endeavored to promote Papuan interests and protect their flock.

The International Context The struggle between Indonesia and the Netherlands for control of West New Guinea became an international dispute, as we have seen, and its resolution was achieved under the auspices of the UN. The international

context of the Papuan challenge in the post-Suharto era is shaped by two factors: one is international intervention in the separation of East Timor; the other is the Presidium’s campaign to challenge the 1962–69 resolution of the Papua dispute and to make Papua once again an international issue. The continuing controversy about the conduct of the Act of Free Choice links the ongoing Papuan demand for independence to the earlier Dutch challenge to Indonesian sovereignty. It also connects Jakarta’s campaign against the Papuan separatists and the separatists’ lobbying internationally. Indonesian policymakers consider the widespread Papuan desire to reexamine the history of Papua’s integration into Indonesia (pelurusan sejarah) as a threat to Indonesia’s position in the UN. One of the provisions of the Special Autonomy Law that policymakers wanted to revise was Article 46 that would have established a Commission for Truth and Reconciliation to clarify the history of Papua. 131 The government’s anxiety is reflected, too, in its concerns about the research commissioned by the Netherlands parliament into the conduct of the Act of Free Choice and the Netherlands government’s role in it. Sidney Jones (2003) has argued that for some Indonesian officials the Dutch inquiry has become part of a foreign conspiracy to wrest Papua from the Indonesian fold. International intervention in the East Timor crisis has heightened Jakarta’s sensitivity about international involvement in Irian Jaya and scrutiny of Indonesia’s policies and governance. Former Foreign Minister Ali Alatas, in an article on the foreign policy challenges facing Indonesia, maintains that the doctrine of “humanitarian intervention” not only enables external forces to exploit internal conflicts to their own political ends but encourages elements within Indonesia to create crises in order to seek international attention and provoke interference (Alatas 2000). Contemporary international interest in human rights has complicated Indonesia’s problem in Papua and opened the door to international intervention there. Policymakers recognize that Indonesia must improve the professionalism of its security forces and law enforcement agencies as well as manage situations that might lead to the abuse of human rights. This sensitivity about human rights is reflected in the restrictions placed on international NGOs regarding their contacts with counterpart organizations in Papua. 132 Ali Alatas’s concerns are reflected in the government’s statements about the activities of Papuans abroad and international interest in developments in Papua. At the time of the Freeport killings, for example, Susilo

48 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

Bambang Yudhoyono, the security minister, ordered the National Intelligence Agency to investigate a conference at Sydney University’s Center for Peace and Conflict Resolution. Eight Papuans, including Elsham’s supervisor John Rumbiak, attended the conference. Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono said the Papuan group had left for Australia within hours of the killings at Freeport on August 30, 2002. The object of the investigation was to “prevent any assumption that Australia is involved in this case” (Garnaut 2002). When Australian Prime Minister John Howard visited Jakarta in February 2003, President Megawati and her ministers raised the issue of groups in Australia supporting Papuan independence and asked whether the Australian government was funding aid organizations that supported independence (Shanahan 2003). Marty Natalegawa, a spokesman for the Department of Foreign Affairs, told the press: “We know the Australian Government’s view in support of our territorial integrity. At the same time we will make known our concern not to allow certain groups under the guise of democracy, free speech and the like basi- cally to try to disrupt and disturb our national unity which we will defend, as would any other sovereign country” (Skehan 2003). Presumably the fear is that military action in Papua will enable NGO and solidarity groups to press their governments to reconsider their recognition of Indonesian sovereignty in Papua. One of the recommendations in the second International Crisis Group report was that donor governments should remind Indonesia that the behavior of its security forces could erode international support for Indonesian rule in Papua. Some Western governments could come under domestic pressure if governance and the behavior of the security forces did not improve (ICG 2002: iii–1). Indonesian policymakers tend to doubt the repeated protestations of the United States and Australia that they support the territorial integrity of Indonesia. Both countries have economic interests that make their attitudes to developments in Papua ambivalent. 133 East Timor again provided a precedent. In that case Australia and the United States recognized Indonesian sovereignty—only to support intervention when the behavior of the military and its militia made support of Indonesia unsustainable. Generally the world after 9/11 and the Bali and Jakarta bombs provides a more supportive international environment allowing the Indonesian government to take a firm military response to Papuan separatists. Certainly the United States seems keen to redevelop its relationship with the Indonesian military. But the suggestion that the military is toler-

ating, if not supporting, the activities of the Laskar Jihad militia in Papua, as in Maluku, together with the controversy about military involvement in the Freeport killings, make it more difficult for friendly governments to be supportive. For Indonesian policymakers, the U.S. demand that the security forces be held responsible for the murder of American teachers at Freeport meant that the investigation had to be continued. There are some, however, who want to reject American involvement in the legal process conducted by the security forces. 134 Since the Bali and Jakarta hotel bombs, Indonesia has assumed a high- er profile in the “War on Terror.” The international focus on terrorism tends to highlight Jakarta’s rather different security priorities. Although the Bali bomb forced the government to take more seriously the activities of Indonesian terrorist organizations, within the government the most press- ing threat was thought to be separatism not terrorism. If anything, the Western focus on terror has intensified Indonesia’s domestic concerns. A consistent theme in Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s speeches in mid-2003 has been to emphasize that Indonesia’s unity and territorial integrity are nonnegotiable and final: “Our top national security priority is fighting armed separatism in Indonesia. And here the most serious military threat came from the armed rebels in Aceh.... Unlike in Aceh, the military threat posed by the OPM is relatively minimal. The real challenge [in Papua] is political: how to implement the Law on Special Autonomy, which was promulgated in 2001.... We believe that the proper and speedy implementation of the special autonomy law will help dampen separatism in Papua” (Yudhoyono 2003a). The security minister has also cited the challenge of a “second wave of reform” linking democracy with good governance. Democracy does not automatically provide Indonesia with national unity, political stability, or human rights: “Democracy and reformasi can only deliver these things if it is furnished with good governance” (Yudhoyono 2003b). Part of the Presidium’s mandate from the Second Papuan Congress was to involve the international community in its dialogue with the Indonesian government. Much of the Presidium’s efforts were directed to the South Pacific. With the support of Nauru and Vanuatu, Papuans were able to attend the UN Millennium Summit and the Pacific Islands Forum in Kiribati in October 2000. Jakarta responded to the Presidium’s international activities by sending delegations to the South Pacific and in 2001 becoming a dialogue partner with the forum. Indonesia’s presence at the

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2001 forum meeting did contribute to a more moderate communiqué, but the forum leaders restated their concern about the continuing violence and loss of life in Papua and urged Indonesia to seek a peaceful resolution through dialogue with all parties. They welcomed the special autonomy proposals. 135 In early 2003, Indonesia became concerned about the establishment of a Papuan Representative Office in Vanuatu. Indeed Jakarta even made threats, later retracted, to sever diplomatic ties with Vanuatu. Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono declared that if international support for Indonesia’s sovereignty is serious, the international community must not give separatists the opportunity to expand overseas. 136 In another diplomatic initiative, Indonesia hosted the first meeting of the Southwest Pacific Dialogue group in Yogyakarta in October 2002. This group, the idea of President Abdurrahman Wahid, consisted of the Philippines, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, East Timor, and Indonesia. Although the meeting afforded Australia another opportunity to reiterate its support for Indonesia’s territorial integrity, New Zealand’s foreign minister, Phil Goff, floated the idea of his country mediating between Papuan separatists and Jakarta. Hassan Wirayuda, the Indonesian Foreign Minister, indicated that there was no interest in the proposal (Moore 2002).

Lessons

Papua is geographically and culturally at the margins of Indonesia. But being at the margins has given Papua a defining role. It has helped establish the boundaries and provided some of the rationale for determining the substance of what constitutes Indonesia. Papua is just as much part of Indonesia as Flores or Lampung, but in Papua Indonesia has had to struggle to obtain and maintain control. Jakarta’s struggle against first the Dutch and then the Papuan challenges has made Papua more important in the Indonesian national enterprise than Flores and Lampung. The loss of East Timor has added further to the significance of Papua and other regions where Indonesian authority is under challenge. The government’s determination to deal with the separatist challenges by asserting its authority is demonstrated by the 2003 military campaign in Aceh, the retreat from special autonomy in Papua, and the strong nationalist framework defending the integrity of NKRI—the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia—in which security issues are articulated. The struggle to defeat the Dutch is important because it created the historical and political context in which the second Papuan challenge was

able to develop. It was not simply that the Netherlands sought to develop a pan-Papuan elite that supported an independent Papua. Rather, the Indonesia-Netherlands conflict provided a fertile environment for the emergence of a rival Papuan nationalism. Most of the Papuan elite had little to do with the revolutionary struggle against the Dutch. And for nearly thirteen years after the transfer of sovereignty, they lived in a political and administrative structure separate from Indonesia. The curious dual colonial structure of Netherlands New Guinea—in which Indonesians as much as the Dutch were the face of the colonial regime—established frameworks for Papuan/Indonesian relations that made an independent Papua, separate from Indonesia, an attractive proposition and after 1963 made integration with Indonesia more problematic. The struggle to defeat the Dutch and the ultimate national triumph have engendered a fierce determination to maintain Papua as part of Indonesia and fostered the view, to borrow President Megawati’s expression, that without Irian Jaya Indonesia is not complete. This national imperative, even stronger after the loss of East Timor, makes an accommodation of Papuan values and interests within Indonesia more difficult. The reluctance to recognize a rival nationalism is one expression of this imperative. Jakarta’s great anxiety over the international campaign to have the 1969 Act of Free Choice reexamined and the Netherlands parliament’s investigation are other expressions. The policy established by Abdurrahman Wahid has proved untenable. Abdurrahman’s attempt to accommodate Papuan aspirations within Indonesia created a space for Papuan advocates of independence to mobilize support for their cause—and mobilization of support for independence by people who had been liberated by Indonesia was an unacceptable affront to a nationLike Hatta before him, experiencing multiple crises. The success of this Abdurrahman had the mobilization revealed not only the fragility of Indonesian authority but also the lack of Papuanvision to think outside consent for Indonesian rule. Within the Jakarta the nationalist box. elite, Abdurrahman’s policy failed to find much support even within his own cabinet. Like Hatta before him, Abdurrahman had the vision to think outside the nationalist box. But neither of them, their status notwithstanding, was able to con- vince many of their fellow (non-Papuan) Indonesians. The political space that Habibie and Abdurrahman’s policies created was considered by the

52 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

security forces in Irian Jaya as obstacles to the fulfillment of their primary duty: maintaining national unity and combating separatist activity. Special autonomy was a policy response from weak and insecure governments to Papuan demands for independence. In the historical framework of this study, the Special Autonomy Law was something of an aber- ration—a distinct departure from the nationalist mindset that has informed the view from Jakarta. The policymaking vacuum in Abdurrahman’s government permitted significant Papuan input into the formulation of the special autonomy legislation passed by the national parliament. Some within the government, however, had fundamental objections to key aspects of the law. Although they had not been involved in its formulation, they were in a position to undermine its implementation. For these people special Today it is unclear autonomy was too great a concession. It gave whether anything of the strong expression to Papuan national aspirations and challenged core Indonesian nationalist special autonomy initia- beliefs. If implemented, moreover, the law would tive can be rescued. empower a Papuan elite in Jayapura—an elite whose loyalties were suspect. Rather than a means to secure Papua within the national fold, special autonomy was thought of as a step toward Papuan independence. The retreat from special autonomy is symptomatic of the strength of the nationalist mindset prevailing in Jakarta after the humiliation of East Timor’s separation and has become even more pronounced under Megawati’s presidency. The confusion and apparent impasse in the government’s policy since the presidential instruction of January 2003—particularly the violence in Timika surrounding the attempted establishment of the province of Central Irian Jaya—suggest there is no easy return to the old ways of Indonesian governance in Papua. Today it is unclear whether anything of the special autonomy initiative can be rescued. Beyond the ideological obstacles to the accommodation of Papua within the Indonesian state, there are institutional factors that make compromise more difficult. The brief Papuan Spring of 1998–2000 revealed something of the weakness of Indonesian authority in Papua. The fragility of Jakarta’s authority and the lack of Papuan consent for Indonesian rule are both the cart and the horse of the reliance on force to sustain control. To increase the use of force is bound to prove counterproductive. To loosen controls risks opening up the political space for Papuan nationalist activi-

ties. Moreover, the political economy of the security forces in Irian Jaya and the symbiotic relationships they have developed with resource companies, most notably Freeport, have created an institutional imperative for maintaining the territory as a zone of conflict. Although the security forces have no interest in letting the conflict get out of control, they have little interest in its resolution. If the suggestion that Theys Eluay was the victim of a land dispute between two retired generals in Jakarta has substance, it shows how difficult it is for some within an institution that prides itself on its role as defender of national unity to distinguish their own personal and institutional interests from those of the nation. What policy options remain? There is little doubt that the central government can sustain its authority in Irian Jaya and, moreover, that it is determined to do so. This policy objective alone

Beyond the ideological…there are institu-

tional factors that make compromise

more difficult.

will not resolve the issues discussed in this study, however, nor does it offer much hope that some sort of resolution is possible. And there are costs involved in a heavy reliance on force. Nationwide democratization is more difficult to advance when some provinces have closed political systems. To the extent there is democratic political space at a national level, Papuans, like all Indonesians, can use it. In Papua, however, the potential for state violence is likely to remain. As we have argued with respect to both the New Order and the reform era, the cycles of repression and alienation simply consolidate Papuan identity and support for independence. Yet the government’s rhetoric about national unity and public support for the military campaign in Aceh indicate that in the period leading up to the national and presidential elections in 2004 few policymakers and political leaders will be advocating policies that accommodate Papuan aspirations. Much of this study has been concerned with the dilemmas facing policymakers in Jakarta. Thus it may be appropriate to conclude with another question: if Jakarta is determined to keep Papua part of the nation— based on the consent of the Papuan people—what changes in the governance of Papua are necessary to bring this about? If only it were so simple.

Endnotes

The authors are indebted to the participants at the East-West Center Bali Workshop and the anonymous referees for comments and assistance.

1. The name of Indonesia’s easternmost province has been a matter of political dispute since the 1940s. The official Dutch name was Netherlands New Guinea (Nederlands Nieuw Guinea). Most Papuans preferred Papua. In 1961 the Dutch agreed with the National Committee’s request that the name should be West Papua. Pro-Indonesia Papuans and Indonesians adopted Irian. In 1973, the Indonesian government officially changed the name from West Irian to Irian Jaya. In 2000, President Abdurrahman Wahid gave his blessing to the use of Papua as the name of the province; no follow-up action was taken to formalize this. Papua became the official name with enactment of the Special Autonomy Law in 2001. Presidential Instruction 1/2003 on the partition of the province reverted to the name Irian Jaya. In this study we use the various nomenclatures as appropriate to the context. For a detailed discussion of the politics surrounding the name see Mote and Rutherford (2001: 120–21) and Chauvel (2003: 3–4).
2. The geographic and cultural categories used here are constructions of the colonial and postcolonial era. They reflect the region’s division into different colonial spheres of influence and the broad ethnographic classifications that were devised during the colonial era and have been largely adopted by independent governments and their academic advisers.
3. Netherlands Government Annual Report to the United Nations on Netherlands New Guinea, 1960, The Hague, pp. 6–7; Tifa Papua, Minggu ketiga, May 2002,
   p. 5.
4. Freeport-McMoRan Copper & Gold Inc. Economic Impact in Indonesia; see www.fcx.com/mr/fast-facts/ff-econimpact.htm. Freeport estimates that its operations contributed a further $6.32 billion in the form of purchases, wages and benefits, charitable contributions, and reinvestments.

56 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

5. Risalah Sidang Badan Penyelidik Usaha-usaha Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia (BPUPKI); Panitia Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia (PPKI), May 28–August 22, 1945, Sekretariat Negara Republik Indonesia, Jakarta, 1995, pp. 158, 160. This debate is discussed in greater detail in Chauvel (2003: 8–9, 16–17).
6. Official Records, Security Council, 3rd year, December 22, 1948, p. 11, cited in “Statements on Netherlands New Guinea by the Dutch Before the Round Table Agreements of 1949,” Note for the Minister, A. H. Tange, January 9, 1961, DEA file 3036/6/1 PT 11, CRS A1838.
7. Notulen Ministerraad, June 7, 1949, 3, ARA. It is worth noting that van Maarseveen’s arguments did not relate to the interests of Papuans.
8. Rapport van de Commissie Nieuw-Guinea (Irian) 1950, 3e Stuk, De Nederlands-Indonesische Unie, The Hague, 1950, pp. 79, 107.
9. Ibid., pp. 81, 112.
10. L. N. Palar, “Laporan mengenai tugas saya dalam membawa soal Irian Barat dimuka PBB,” December 21, 1954, Personal Collection L. N. Palar, Arsip Nasional (Jakarta), inv 299.
11. L. N. Palar, Memorandum on West Irian, October 1961; West Irian and Indonesian Nationalism, 1961, Personal Collection L. N. Palar, Arsip Nasional Jakarta, inv 159, 163. The ethnic terminology is Palar’s.
12. This essay discusses Papuan nationalism insofar as it is necessary to analyze the Indonesian responses. Webster (2001) provides a good overview from its emergence in the last period of Dutch rule to its revival after the fall of Suharto. A policy study later in this series will discuss Papuan nationalism.
13. “Report on Activities, Reactions, and Aims of the Autochthonic Population of Neth. New-Guinea Concerning the Future Political Status of Their Country in Connection with the Dutch-Indonesian Round-Table-Talks,” Hollandia, September 1949; DEA 400/1/11/1/1, pt. 2, CRS A1838 /289, National Archives of Australia (hereafter NAA).
14. For detailed accounts of the Red and White movements in West Irian see Aditjondro (1987) and van der Veur (1963). See also Chauvel (2003: 7–15).
15. Notulen Ministerraad (Cabinet Minutes), 16, Nieuw Guinea, April 1, 1960, ARA. Chauvel (2003: 28–32) has a detailed discussion of Bot’s plans for political development and decolonization.
16. NGR Handelingen, October 30, 1961, pp. 13–18.
17. “Manifest Politik,” Hollandia, October 19, 1961; Pengantara: Het nieuwsblad voor nederlands-nieuw-guinea, October 21, 1961; Politiek Leven over Oktober 1961, Hollandia, November 28, 1961, Nieuw Guinea Archief, Dossier G 16725, ARA. The Bintang Kejora was chosen as the national flag from three designs. Hai Tanahku Papua was composed by the Dutch missionary Kijne in 1925. The establishment of the National Committee, the formulation of the Manifest Politik, and how the assertion of Papuan interests impacts on the international dispute are discussed in Chauvel (2003: 38–44).

18. Memorandum 1670, Shaw to Secretary DEA, December 10, 1960, 3036/12/3, pt. 1, CRS A1838, NAA.

19. Telegram 6832, Bot 467 to Platteel, November 17, 1961; Telegram 7063, Bot 479 to Platteel, November 24, 1961, Archief Kolonien 2.10.36.17, ARA; Notulen Ministerraad, 2a, November 24, 1961, ARA.

20. L. N. Palar, West Irian and Indonesian Nationalism, 1961, Personal Collection L.
    N. Palar, Arsip Nasional Jakarta, inv 163.
21. A copy of the original text can be found in Herlina (1985: viii).
22. See Herlina (1990: 5–6). This English translation is based on Pending Emas (Bergerilya di Balantara Irian), Edisi yang direvisi (Jakarta: Gunung Agung, 1985). Saraswati Sunindyo has argued that Herlina was Sukarno’s ideal of a female nationalist. For her contribution to the liberation of West Irian, Sukarno awarded her the nation’s highest military honor. Herlina was presented as the natural Indonesian woman—both modern and professional. See “When the Earth Is Female and the Nation Is Mother: Gender, the Armed Forces, and Nationalism in Indonesia,” Feminist Review 58 (1998): 9.
23. Herlina (1990: 81–82). The Garden of Eden analogy is Herlina’s.
24. Jones (1977: 202–3). For a full account of U.S. intervention in the settlement of the West Irian problem see Bhakti (1985: 1–13).
25. The New York Agreement is one of those aspects of Papua’s incorporation in Indonesia about which many Papuans have a different interpretation than that accepted by the Indonesian government. The second resolution of the Second Papuan Congress (Kongres Papua), held in Jayapura (Port Numbay), May 29–June 4, 2000, reads: “The people of Papua, through the Second Congress, reject the 1962 New York Agreement on moral and legal grounds as the agreement was made without any Papuan representation.” See “Resolusi: Mari Kita Meluruskan Sejarah Papua Barat,” Kongres Papua, Port Numbay (Jayapura), June 4, 2000, p. 1.
26. Speech, Sudjarwo Tjondronegoro, Kotabaru, May 1, 1963, DEA file 3036/6/1, pt. 85, CRS A1838, NAA.
27. Sukarno (1962: 507). Sukarno cited the example of the visit of Fritz Kirihio, the Irianese Leiden University student, to Indonesia in 1962. Sukarno believed he had persuaded Kirihio and his fellow students to become pro-Indonesia.
28. Antara Report quoted in Cable 432, Jakarta to DEA (Canberra), May 10, 1963, DEA file 3036/6/1, pt. 83, CRS A1838, NAA.
29. Cable 423, Jakarta to DEA (Canberra), May 7, 1963, DEA file 3036/6/1, pt. 83, CRS A1838, NAA. On the ground in Kotabaru (Jayapura), the 21-year-old freedom fighter Herlina was involved in mobilizing Irianese support for the campaign against the referendum. See Herlina (1990: 266).
30. Indonesia’s withdrawal from the United Nations was part of its campaign against the formation of Malaysia. It was Malaysia’s election as a member of the Security Council that provoked the withdrawal.
31. Cable 152, The Hague to Canberra, May 25, 1965, Territories file 1965/2769, CRS A452/2.

58 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

32. Born in Serui, an area known for its pro-Indonesian sentiments during the revolution, Bonay was a graduate of the training college for officials and then a district officer in the Dutch administration. He was one of the founders of Parna (National Party) and a member of the National Committee and the New Guinea Council. See Memo, G. A. Jockel to Secretary DEA, May 7, 1963, DEA file 3036/2/1, pt. 2, CRS A1838, NAA.
33. Ibid.
34. See Tjenderawasih, Kotabaru, November 11, 1962. Tjenderawasih was edited by Bonay and took the place of the Dutch-language Nieuw Guinea Koerier. See Cable 11, Hollandia to Canberra, October 27, 1962, DEA file KA1962 /01, CRS A6364 /4, NAA.
35. Cable UN 72, New York to Canberra, January 14, 1963, DEA file 3036/6/1, pt. 82, CRS 1828, NAA.
36. Record of conversation, November 6, 1962, Birch with Waller and Shann, DEA file 3036/2/1, pt. 2, CRS A1838, NAA.
37. Cable, Goedhart 121, Hollandia to Hague, December 8, 1962, Archief Kolonien G 41793, ARA.
38. Herlina (1990: 266). One of Herlina’s Irianese colleagues was Fritz Kirihio, who had just returned from Leiden University. On their first meeting, Herlina compli- mented Kirihio on his fluent Indonesian (p. 259). For a discussion of Kirihio’s political activities see Chauvel (2003: 35–36).
39. “Keadaan Keamanan Irian Barat tjukup memadai untuk Pengerahan Pembangunan,” Indonesia Magazine 2 (1970): 62.
40. “The Uncertain Years in West Irian,” Mahasiswa Indonesia, West Java ed., May–June 1968.
41. “Time Bomb in West Irian,” editorial, Harian Kami, May 7, 1968. This line of analysis is still reflected in contemporary opinion. In a 2002 opinion piece in Suara Pembaruan, it was argued that in the twelve years during which Papua was separated from Indonesia, the Dutch had deliberately cultivated various artificial aspirations including the idea of an independent state (“pihak Belanda dengan sengaja berusaha menghidupkan berbagai aspirasi bikinan, antara lain gagasan negara independen”). See “Kenapa Papua Begitu Sulit?,” Suara Pembaruan, November 30, 2002.
42. Cable 1032, Jakarta to Canberra, August 22, 1966; Cable 1043, Jakarta to Canberra, August 23, 1966, DEA file 201/6, pt. 2, CRS A4359, NAA.
43. Memorandum 481, H. M. Loveday (Ambassador Jakarta) to Canberra, March 17, 1967, DEA file 3036/2/1, pt. 5, CRS 1838, NAA.
44. See Tjondronegoro (1968); he had visited West Irian shortly before writing this article.
45. Memo, Canberra to New York and The Hague, September 5, 1966, DEA file 3036/6/1, pt. 86, CRS 1838. The quote is based on journalist Frank Palmos’ notes of the interview. The Kotabaru Charter was the outcome of a large conference organized by Governor Bonay in May 1964. The 500 delegates stated that the Irianese people wanted to remain in Indonesia.

46. Interview with the foreign minister, Adam Malik, Sinar Harapan, July 2, 1968.

47. Pidato Kenegaraan Presiden Republik Indonesia Djenderal Soeharto, didepan sidang, DPR-GR, August 16, 1968, Departemen Penerangan R. I. Jakarta, pp. 35–36; Cable 1990, Jakarta to Canberra, August 16, 1968, DEA file 201/6, pt. 6, CRS A4359/14, NAA. The Australian Department of External Affairs’ brief assessment of the president’s first major policy pronouncement on the government’s approach to the 1969 “act of free choice” concluded that it left no room for doubt that the Indonesian government was determined to retain West Irian. See “Indonesia: President Suharto’s Policy Towards West Irian,” DEA file 3036/2/1, pt. 8, CRS 1838/T184.

48. Submission 10, West New Guinea, “Where Is the Dispute Heading?,” G. E. Barwick, January 11, 1962, Prime Minister’s file C508, pt. 2, CRS A4940, NAA.
49. “Keadaan Keamanan Irian Barat tjukup memadai untuk Pengerahan Pembangunan,” Indonesia Magazine 2 (1970): 61.
50. The conduct of the Act of Free Choice is the key element that Papuan nationalists want to “rectify” in the history of Papua’s integration into Indonesia. The third resolution of the Second Papuan Congress (Kongres Papua), held in Jayapura (Port Numbay), May 29–June 4, 2000, reads: “The people of Papua, through the Second Congress, reject the results of Pepera [the Act of Free Choice] because it was conducted under coercion, intimidation, sadistic killings, military violence and immoral conduct contravening humanitarian principles. Accordingly, the people of Papua demand that the United Nations revoke resolution 2504, 19 December [sic] 1969.” See “Resolusi: Mari Kita Meluruskan Sejarah Papua Barat,” Kongres Papua, Port Numbay (Jayapura), June 4, 2000, p. 1.
51. Cable, UN M 555 to Jakarta and Canberra, November 22, 1969, DEA File 201/6, pt. 14, CRS A4359/14, NAA.
52. For a discussion of earlier messianic or cargo cult movements see Boelaars (1986: 182–92) and Aditjondro (1987: 121).
53. “The Security Situation in West Irian Is Good Enough to Permit Development,” IndonesiaMagazine 2 (1970): 59, 61; cited in Geoffrey Mulherin, unpublished manuscript, 2002.
54. Indonesian News Agency, Antara, November 2, 1980; see also Bhakti (1984).
55. “Keadaan Keamanan Irian Barat tjukup memadai untuk Pengerahan Pembangunan,” IndonesiaMagazine 2 (1970): 60, 66, 69–70.
56. See Australian Council for Overseas Aid (ACFOA), Trouble at Freeport: Eyewitness Accounts of West Papuan Resistance to the Freeport Mine in Irian Jaya, Indonesian and Indonesian Military Repression, June 1994–February 1995, Canberra, 1995.
57. LaporanForeri; cited in “Gus Dur Minta ke MPR, Thom Bilang Dialog Internasional,” TifaPapua, January 10–15, 2000.
58. Some of the material in this section draws on the research that Richard Chauvel conducted as a consultant for the International Crisis Group. This research was published as Indonesia: Ending Repression in Irian Jaya (ICG 2001).
59. “Wapres: Tanpa Irian, Indonesia tidak Utuh,” TifaIrian, December 20–31, 1999.
60. The transformation of Papuan resistance from a guerrilla struggle led by the OPM to one led by an urban elite advocating peaceful struggle is discussed in ICG (2001: i, 2–3).

60 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

61. Kepolisian Negara Republik Indonesia, Daerah Irian Jaya, “Telaahan Staf tentang Upaya Polda Irja Menanggulangi Kegiatan Separatis Papua Merdeka Dalam Rangka Supremasi Hukum,” Jayapura, November 2000, pp. 7, 13 (hereafter “Telaahan Polda Irja”). This report was sent to the commander of the Indonesian police by Brigadier General S. Y. Wenas, November 30, 2000, Pol. R 1682/X1/2000.
62. B. J. Habibie was Suharto’s longest-serving minister and last vice-president. He became president upon Suharto’s resignation in May 1998.
63. Ikrar Nusa Bhakti attended the Jakarta Informal Meetings at the vice-president’s office followed by meetings in the Hotel Sabang, Jakarta.
64. “Human Rights and Pro-Independence Actions in Irian Jaya, 1999–2000,” Human Rights Watch, vol. 12, no. 2(C), www.hrw.org/hrw/reports/2000/papua/.
65. “Gus Dur Resmikan Propinsi Papua,” Kompas, January 3, 2000.
66. “Irian Jaya Berubah Menjadi Papua,” Kompas, January 1, 2000.
67. The key resolutions passed by the Second Papuan Congress were quoted earlier in the study.
68. “Telaahan Polda Irja,” p. 6.
69. The Irian Jaya police report, written five months after the congress, took as two of its assumptions that the Papuan separatist movement was becoming increasingly strong and the quality of democratic life was improving. See “Telaahan Polda Irja,” p. 1.
70. The Irian Jaya police report also recommended the partition of the province— implementation of Law 45/1999—as a strategic measure to control unrest. See “Telaahan Polda Irja,” p. 16.
71. Nota Dinas, Direktur Jenderal Kesbang dan Linmas Ermaya Suradinata to Menteri Dalam Negeri, June 9, 2000, 578/CD/Kesbang/D IV/VI/2000. This document was compiled with input from the police, the military, and the intelligence services. It is summarized in “Papua Punya Aspirasi, Jakarta Punya Jurus,” TifaPapua, November 13–18, 2000.
72. “Indonesia’s Assembly Assigns President to Curb Separatism,” Xinhua News Agency, August 15, 2000.
73. In February 2003, Abdurrahman was reported to have said in South Korea that if he is elected president in 2004 he would give Papua its independence if that is the wish of the majority of Papuans through a referendum. See “Papua: I’ll Let Papuans Decide, Says Ex-Indonesia President,” National/PINA Nius, Port Moresby, February 26, 2003. With respect to Papua, Gus Dur is perhaps the Hatta of his generation. His views are sympathetic to Papuan aspirations and, like Hatta, his opinions are not broadly shared by his fellow Indonesians.
74. For a detailed discussion about the violence at Wamena and its consequences see ICG (2001).

75. The five had been charged under Articles 106 and 110 of the Criminal Code relating to activities aimed at separating Papua from Indonesia. They were also accused of participation in an illegal association (Article 169) and “spreading hatred against the government” (Article 154). See Amnesty International (2002: 5).

76. See “Telaahan Polda Irja,” pp. 7, 15. Operasi Adil Matoa—the police operation of July 2002—was in many respects a continuation of the same law and order approach. The Presidium leaders remained the principal targets, but the net was cast wider to include “individuals and social organizations who oppose the policy of the government by using violations of human rights as a cover and who engage in other activities that can undermine the authority of the government and the state” (para. 3b). See Instruction 3 /VII /2002, Inspector General Drs Made M. Pastika, July 17, 2002.

77. MPR Decision IV/MPR/1999; cited in Ohoiwutun (2001: 4).
78. “Indonesia’s Assembly Assigns President to Curb Separatism,” Xinhua News Agency, August 15, 2000.
79. The team included Bas Suebu and Izaak Hindom (former governors); F. A. Wospakrik, August Kafiar, and Frans Wanggai (present and former university rec- tors); Benny Giay, G. M. Satya, and Phil Erari (church leaders); Michael Menufandu; S. P. Morin; and August Rumansara.
80. RUU Otonomi Khusus Papua 2001—RUU Republik Indonesia Nr…. Tahun 2001 tentang Otonomi Khusus bagi Propinsi Papua Dalam Bentuk Wilaya Berpemerintahan Sendiri.
81. Interview of Simon Morin, DPR-RI member, by Radio Australia’s Hidayat Djajamihardja, Jakarta, August 2001.
82. Urgent Action No:46/Elsham Papua/VI/2001, Jayapura, June 19, 2001.
83. “Impact of Sweepings and Clampdown in Wasior, Manokwari,” West Papua, Elsham, July 16, 2001.
84. “Preliminary Report: The Abduction and Assassination of Theys Hiyo Eluay Was Premeditated and Politically Motivated,” Elsham, Jayapura, December 13, 2001.
85. “Special” Testimony, Tempo, January 7–13, 2002; “‘Junior’ to Take the Fall?— Zulfahmi May Be Found Guilty of the Murder of Theys Eluay—The Lowest Ranking Officer Charged with the Crime,” Tempo, February 11–17, 2003.
86. “Indonesian General’s Comments Raise Human Rights Fears,” Associated Press, Jakarta, July 10, 2003, www.kabar-irian.com; Harold Crouch interviewed in “Papua: The Next Major Thorn in Relations Between Jakarta and Canberra?,” Asia Pacific/Radio Australia, May 9, 2003.
87. “Misteri Kematian Arnold Ap, Misteri Kematian Theys Eluay,” Tifa Papua, November II, 2001.
88. “What’s Wrong with Freeport’s Security Policy?: Results of Investigation into the Attack on Freeport Employees in Timika, Papua, Finds Corporation Allows Impunity of Criminal Acts by Indonesian Armed Forces,” Elsham, October 21,
    2002.

62 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

89. See Bonner (2003). On February 25, 2003, the Washington Post published a cor- rection of one of its earlier reports. The paper had reported the existence of intelligence indicating that “senior Indonesian military officials discussed an operation” against Freeport before the ambush occurred and that the discussions involved the military’s commander in chief, Endriartono Sutarto. General Sutarto “vehemently denied that he or any other top military officers discussed any operation targeting Freeport. As a result of the general’s denial, The Post investigated the matter further. The reporting has revealed no substantiation that Sutarto or other high-ranking Indonesian military officers were involved in any discussion or planning of the attack. The Post regrets publication of this report.” See “Clarification: Involvement of Indonesian Military, Post Corrects Nov. 3 Report on Freeport Mine Ambush,” Washington Post, February 25, 2003.
90. “Recent Developments in Papua: Papua Congress II, 29 May–4 June 2000, and the Situation Pasca-Congress”; Office for Justice and Peace, Diocese of Jayapura, January 2001.
91. “Telaahan Polda Irja,” pp. 13–14.
92. Nota Dinas, Direktur Jenderal Kesbang dan Linmas Ermaya Suradinata to Menteri Dalam Negeri, June 9, 2000, 578/CD/Kesbang/D IV/VI/2000, p. 6.
93. Interview of Ermaya Suradinata by Richard Chauvel, Jakarta, December 15, 2000.
94. Dr. G. J. Aditjondro, Cahaya Bintang Kejora: Papua Barat dalam Kajian Sejarah, Budaya, Ekonomi dan Hak Asasi Manusa, Elsham, Jakarta, 2000, pp. 50–51, 170–171. Aditjondro compares the attitude of the Indonesian soldiers to those of European settlers toward indigenous peoples in North America and Australia.
95. Pernyataan Sikap Pemimpin-Pemimpin Agama Di Papua untuk pelaksanaan Undang-Undang Otonomi Khusus yang lebih konstruktif bagi Propinsi Papua, No. 035/SKP/03/7.2, Jayapura, February 5, 2003, Mgr. Leo Laba Ladjar, Ofm, Bp. Irianto Setiawan, Pdt. Herman Saud, M.Th., Bp. I. Dewa Putu Mustika, BA, Drs. Zubaer D. Hussein.

96. In 1984 there were proposals for dividing the province. The appointment of three territorial deputy governors was thought to be the first step in the establishment of three provinces in the territory. Budgetary considerations, however, meant that nothing further happened. See Democratic Center, Cenderawasih University, “Principal Thoughts Concerning Development Policies in Papua Province and Critical Considerations on Implementation and Implications: The Validity of Undang-Undang No. 45/1999, Undang-Undang No. 21/2001, and Inpres No. 1/2003,” Jayapura, June 2003. Djopari dates the idea from a seminar at Jakarta’s Institute for Government Administration in 1983. See JRG Djopari, “Regional Division of Papua Province Has Positive Values for the People of Papua,” www.KABAR-IRIAN.com.

97. During the DPR special committee’s consideration of the special autonomy legislation, government legal experts argued that it was not necessary to repeal Law 45/1999 because Indonesian legal convention dictates that provisions in later laws take precedence. This means that the provision for the creation of new provinces would lapse whereas those for the creation of new districts (kabupaten and kotamdya) would remain valid. At the time of the violence in Timika—occasioned by the attempted establishment of the third province of Central Irian Jaya— Padjadjaran University law professor Sri Soemantri asserted that the government could not arbitrarily implement Law 45/1999 because the Special Autonomy Law superseded the earlier legislation. See “Central Gov’t Flouting Law of Land,” JakartaPost, August 29, 2003.

98. “Presiden Rayakan Natal di Papua,” Harian Kompas, December 13, 2002.
99. Ermaya Suradinata, “Pemekeran Irian Jaya Merupakan Solusi Dalam mengatasi acaman disintegrasi Bangsa,” Lembaga Ketahanan Nasional Republik Indonesia, Jakarta, January 2002. The following two paragraphs are based on the report. Professor Ermaya, an official of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, had been responsible for the intelligence assessment of Papua produced in June 2000 (referred to earlier as “Nota Dinas”).
100. It is worth noting that Professor Ermaya is not alone in this criticism. Papuans from regions other than the governor’s home turf around Sorong have noted that his appointments tend to be “SOS”—Semua Orang Sorong (all people from Sorong).
101. “Mendagri Nilai MRP Bahayakan Stabilitas Keamanan Di Papua,” Suara Karya, April 15, 2003; www.suarakarya-online.com/news.html?id=61361.
102. Dewan Ketahanan Nasional, Sekretariat Jenderal, Hasil Kelompok “A” tentang Strategi Penyelesaian Konflik Berlatar Belankang Separatis di Provinsi Papua Melalui Pendekatan Bidang Politik dan Keamanan, Jakarta, May 27, 2003, p. 2.
103. Dewan Ketahanan Nasional, Sekretariat Jenderal, Hasil Pokjasus Kelompok “C” tentang Strategi Penyelesaian Konflik Berlatar Belankang Separatis di Provinsi Papua Melalui Pendekatan Bidang Politik dan Keamanan, Jakarta, May 27, 2003,
     p. 7. Only in one group in which Papuans were present was it suggested that the name Papua should not be made an issue as it was a matter of pride for “Papuan society as part of Indonesia.”
104. “Diterbitkan, Instruksi Presiden soal Pemekaran Papua,” Kompas, January 30, 2003, www.kompas.com/kompas-cetak/0301/30/nasional/105629.htm; “Depdagri: Pemekaran Irja Untuk Sejahterakan Masyarakat,” Suara Karya, February 11, 2003, www.suarakarya-online.com/news.html?id=57303.
105. “Dividing Papua: How Not to Do It,” ICG Briefing, Jakarta/Brussels, April 9, 2003, p. 7.
106. “Sebanyak 315 Masyarakat Papua Temui Presiden,” KompasJumat, September 20, 2002; www.kompas.com/utama/news/0209/20/063320.htm.
107. The retired marine general was a former bupati (district head) of Sorong and one of Freddy Numery’s deputy governors. In 2000 he was an unsuccessful candidate in the election for governor. For the parade see “Irja Barat Terbentuk,” Harian Cenderawasih Pos, February 7, 2003.
108. “Demonstrators Give Backing to New Papuan Province,” JakartaPost, February 19, 2003.

64 Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti

109. Democratic Center, Cenderawasih University, “Principal Thoughts Concerning Development Policies”; “Biak Lebih Siap Jadi Ibukota Provinsi Papua Tengah,” Harian Papua Pos, March 11, 2003.
110. See JRG Djopari, “Regional Division of Papua Province,” www.KABAR-IRIAN.com.
111. “More Blood Spilled Fresh in Papua,” Jakarta Post, September 2, 2003.
112. “Govt Needs to Change to End Papua Violence,” Jakarta Post, August 30, 2003. Tom Beanal later disavowed this statement. He argued that the riot was not a tribal war but a result of manipulation by competing factions in Jakarta. See “Beanal: Bukan Perang Adat: Konflik Timika hasil tindakan adu domba,” Cendrawasih Pos, September 2, 2002.
113. “Rakyat Timika Desak Pusat Selesaikan Perang Saudara,” Media Indonesia, September 1, 2003; www.mediaindo.co.id/berita.asp?action=cetak&id=29962.
114. “Kaji Ulang Pemekaran Papua,” Suara Pembaruan, August 26, 2003; www.suarapembaruan.com/News/2003/08/26/Utama/ut01.htm.
115. “Diburu, Promotor Irjateng dari Jakarta,” Suara Pembaruan, August 27, 2003, www.suarapembaruan.com/News/2003/08/27/Utama/ut01.htm; “Presiden: Pemekaran Provinsi Papua Bertahap,” Kompas, August 29, 2003; www.kompas.com/kompas-cetak/0308/29/utama/519689.htm.
116. “Pemekaran Papua Ditunda,” Suara Karya, August 29, 2003; www.suarakarya-online.com/news.html?id=69800.
117. KEPUTUSAN MPR No 5/MPR/2003; cited in Marcellus Widiarto, “UU dan Inpres Pemekaran Papua Harus Direvisi,” Suara Pembaruan, August 11, 2003.
118. Dewan Ketahanan Nasional, Sekretariat Jenderal, Hasil Pokjasus Kelompok “C” tentang Strategi Penyelesaian Konflik Berlatar Belankang Separatis di Provinsi Papua Melalui Pendekatan Bidang Politik dan Keamanan, Jakarta, May 27, 2003,
     p. 6.
119. “Dividing Papua: How Not to Do It,” ICG Briefing, Jakarta/Brussels, April 9, 2003, p. 7.
120. Indonesia’s security minister “in conversation,” ABC, Asia Pacific, October 10, 2003; www.abc.net.au/ra/asiapac/programs/s963695.htm.
121. “Inpres Pemekaran Papua: Memberi Solusi atau Membuat Masalah,” Suara Pembaruan, February 4, 2003; www.suarapembaruan.com/News/2003/02/04/Nasional/nas08.htm.
122. See, for example, “Goff Welcomes Autonomy Package for Irian Jaya,” press release, New Zealand Government, Monday, October 29, 2001, 5:26 P.M. The minister noted: “New Zealand will follow closely the implementation of the autonomy package. The Indonesian parliament’s proposals must become a reality if political tensions are to be reduced and Papuan grievances are to be addressed.”
123. Nota Dinas, Direktur Jenderal Kesbang dan Linmas Ermaya Suradinata to Menteri Dalam Negeri, June 9, 2000, 578/CD/Kesbang/D IV/VI/2000.

124. Ermaya Suradinata, “Pemekeran Irian Jaya Merupakan Solusi Dalam mengatasi acaman disintegrasi Bangsa,” Lembaga Ketahanan Nasional Republik Indonesia, Jakarta, January 2002, p. 4.

125. “Gubernur diduga terlibat Gerakan Papua Merdeka,” Koran Tempo, November 2, 2002; cited in “Dividing Papua: How Not to Do It,” ICG Briefing, Jakarta/Brussels, April 9, 2003, p. 8.

126. Dewan Ketahanan Nasional, Sekretariat Jenderal, Matrik Kelompok “B” tentang Strategi Penyelesaian Konflik Berlatar Belankang Separatis di Provinsi Papua Melalui Pendekatan Bidang Politik dan Keamanan, Jakarta, May 27, 2003, p. 4.
127. See “Telaahan Polda Irja,” p. 10.
128. Nota Dinas, Direktur Jenderal Kesbang dan Linmas Ermaya Suradinata to Menteri Dalam Negeri, June 9, 2000, 578/CD/Kesbang/D IV/VI/2000.
129. See “Telaahan Polda Irja,” p. 14.
130. Conversation with Ikrar Nusa Bahkti in Theys Eluay’s house in Sentani, Irian Jaya, June 1993.
131. Dewan Ketahanan Nasional, Sekretariat Jenderal, Hasil Kelompok “A” tentang Strategi Penyelesaian Konflik Berlatar Belankang Separatis di Provinsi Papua Melalui Pendekatan Bidang Politik dan Keamanan, Jakarta, May 27, 2003, p. 6. Article 46 determined that the clarification of Papuan history was needed to strengthen Indonesian unity. It was a much-watered down version of the Papuan proposal to establish a commission to reexamine Papua’s history.
132. Ibid., pp. 8–9.
133. Dewan Ketahanan Nasional, Sekretariat Jenderal, Matrik Kelompok “B” tentang Strategi Penyelesaian Konflik Berlatar Belankang Separatis di Provinsi Papua Melalui Pendekatan Bidang Politik dan Keamanan, Jakarta, May 27, 2003, p. 7.
134. Ibid., p. 8.
135. Communiqué, 32nd Pacific Islands Forum, Republic of Nauru, August 16–18,
     2001.
136. Radio New Zealand International News, 11:59 A.M., February 8, 2003. The minister also stated that the government had decided not to allow foreign-initiated proposals to conduct historical or political studies that could intervene in Indonesia’s sovereignty.

Bibliography

Aditjondro, G. J. 1987. “Martin Indey, Pilar Perjuangan Irian Barat di Jayapura.” Prisma 2 (February): 108–28. ———. 2000 Cahaya Bintang Kejora: Papua Barat dalam Kajian Sejarah, Budaya, Ekonomi dan Hak Asasi Manusa, Elsham, Jakarta. Alatas, Ali. 2000. “Challenges to Indonesian Foreign Policy.” Jakarta Post, April 1. Amnesty International. 2002. Indonesia: Impunity and Human Rights Violations in Papua. ASA 21/010/2002. London: Amnesty International. Anggoro, Kusnanto. 2002. “Theys’ Death and the Vampire.” Tempo (Jakarta) 30/II/April 2–8. www.tempointeraktif.com/majalah/eng/cov-4.html. Bhakti, Ikrar Nusa. 1984. “Kembali ke Kebijaksanaan Senyum.” Kompas, October 7. ———. 1985. “Intervensi Amerika Serikat dalam Penyelesaian Masalah Irian Barat.” Masalah-masalah Internasional Masakini, no. 13. Jakarta: LRKN-LIPI. Boelaars, Jan. 1986. Manusia Irian: Dahulu, Sekarang, Masa Depan. Jakarta: Gramedia. Bone, Robert C., Jr. 1958. Dynamics of the West New Guinea Dispute. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Bonner, Raymond. 2003. “U.S. Links Indonesian Troops to Deaths of 2 Americans.” New York Times, January 30. Brundige, Elizabeth, et al. 2003. “Indonesian Human Rights Abuses in West Papua: Application of the Law of Genocide to the History of Indonesian Control.” Allard K. Lowenstein International Human Rights Clinic, Yale Law School, November. Chauvel, Richard. 2003. The Land of Papua and the Indonesian State: Essays on West Papua. Vol. 1. Working Paper 120. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute.

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Cholil, M. 1971. Sedjarah Operasi-operasi Pembebasan Irian Barat. Jakarta: Dept. Hankam, Pusat Sedjarah ABRI. Department of Foreign Affairs. Republic of Indonesia. n.d. Indonesia on the March. Vol.

2. Collection of addresses by Dr. Subandrio, foreign minister of the Republic of Indonesia. Jakarta: Department of Foreign Affairs.
   Garnaut, John. 2002. “Outrage as Murders Linked to University.” Sydney Morning Herald, September 13. Hastings, Peter. 1973, New Guinea: Problems and Prospects, Cheshire, Melbourne, 2nd edition. Herlina. 1985. Pending Emas (Bergerilya di Belantara Irian). Jakarta: Gunung Agung. ———. 1990. The Golden Buckle. Yogakarta: Gadjah Mada University Press. International Crisis Group (ICG). 2001. Indonesia: Ending Repression in Irian Jaya. Report 23. Brussels/Jakarta: ICG. ———. 2002. Indonesia: Resources and Conflict in Papua. Asia Report 39. Brussels/Jakarta: ICG. Jones, Howard Palfrey. 1977. Indonesia: The Possible Dream. Singapore: Ayumas. Jones, Sidney. 2003. “Aceh, Papua, and Rising Nationalism in Indonesia.” USINDO Open Forum, Washington, April 3. Kroef, Justus M. van der, 1968. “West New Guinea: The Uncertain Future,” Asian Survey, Vol. VIII, No. 8, August 1968. Lubis, Mochtar. 1968. “A Glance at the Eastern Part of Indonesia: Some Views on West Irian.” Kompas, August 14. Maniagasi, Frans. 2003. “Inkonsistensi Jakarta terhadap Papua.” Harian Sinar Harapan, August 15. Moore, Matthew. 2002. “Downer Stresses Opposition to Separatist Groups.” Sydney Morning Herald, October 7. Mote, Octovianus, and Danilyn Rutherford. 2001. “From Irian Jaya to Papua: Limits of Primordialism in Indonesia’s Troubled East.” Indonesia 72 (October): 120–21. Nugroho, R. K. 2002. “Papuan Leaders Cleared of All Charges.” Jakarta Post, March 5. Ohoiwutun, Frans. 2001. “Dampak Restrukturisasi Terhadap Pelakanaan Otonomi Khusus.” Tifa Papua, Minggu III. Schwarz, Adam. 1991. “Irian Jaya Seeks Bigger Say in Its Own Destiny, Eastern Reproach.” Far Eastern Economic Review, July 11, p. 25. Shanahan, Dennis. 2003. “Jakarta Concerns Over Aid Agencies.” The Australian, February 17. Skehan, Craig. 2003. “A Papuan Free for All.” Sydney Morning Herald, March 11. www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/03/10/1047144926255.html. Somba, Nethy Dharma. 2003. “C. Irian Jaya to Be Declared a Province.” Jakarta Post, August 22.

Sukarno. 1962. “Tahun Kemenangan.” Debawah Bendera Revolusi, Jilid II. Jakarta: Gunung Agung. Suriadireja, Lieutenant General 1987. “Pengembangan Irian Jaya Ditinjau dari Segi Ketahanan Nasional.” In Manuel Kasiepo et al., eds., Pembangunan Masyarakat Pedalaman Irian Jaya. Jakarta: Pustaka Sinar Harapan. Tjondronegoro, Sudjarwo. 1968. “Call of National Obligation.” Angkatan Bersendjata, May 2–3. UN Office of Public Information. 1969. “Questions Concerning West New Guinea (West Irian).” Yearbook of the United Nations, vol. 23. New York. van der Veur, Paul. 1963. “Political Awakening in West New Guinea.” Pacific Affairs 36(1) (Spring): 58–59. Webster, David. 2001. “‘Already a Sovereign People’: A Foundational Moment in West Papuan Nationalism.” Pacific Affairs 74(4) (Winter): 507–28. Yudhoyono, Susilo Bambang. 2003a. “Global Security in the New Millenium.” Royal United Services Institute, Canberra, October 9. www.kbri-Canberra.org.au/speeches/2003/031009Polkam.htm. ———. 2003b. “Keeping the Promise of Reformasi.” Speech delivered to the United States–Indonesia Society, Washington, D.C., September 19.

Project Information

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The Dynamics and Management of Internal Conflicts in Asia

Project Rationale, Purpose and Outline

Project Director: Muthiah Alagappa Principal Researchers: Edward Aspinall (Aceh) Danilyn Rutherford (Papua) Christopher Collier (Southern Philippines) Gardner Bovingdon (Xinjiang) Elliot Sperling (Tibet)

Rationale Internal conflicts have been a prominent feature of the Asian political landscape since 1945. Asia has witnessed numerous civil wars, armed insurgencies, coups d’etat, regional rebellions, and revolutions. Many have been protracted; several have far reaching domestic and international consequences. The civil war in Pakistan led to the break up of that country in 1971; separatist struggles challenge the political and territorial integrity of China, India, Indonesia, Burma, the Philippines, Thailand and Sri Lanka; political uprisings in Thailand (1973 and 1991), the Philippines (1986), South Korea (1986), Taiwan, Bangladesh (1991), and Indonesia (1998) resulted in dramatic political change in those countries; although the political uprisings in Burma (1988) and China (1989) were sup- pressed, the political systems in these countries as well as in Vietnam continue to confront problems of political legitimacy that could become acute; and radical Islam poses serious challenges to stability in Pakistan, Indonesia, Malaysia, and India. In all, millions of people have been killed in the internal conflicts, and tens of millions have been displaced. And the involvement of external powers in a competitive manner (especially during the Cold War) in several of these conflicts had negative consequences for domestic and regional security.

Internal conflicts in Asia (as elsewhere) can be traced to three issues– national identity, political legitimacy (the title to rule), and distributive justice–that are often interconnected. With the bankruptcy of the socialist model and the transitions to democracy in several countries, the number of internal conflicts over the legitimacy of political system has declined in Asia. However, political legitimacy of certain governments continues to be contested from time to time and the legitimacy of the remaining commu- nist and authoritarian systems are likely to confront challenges in due course. The project deals with internal conflicts arising from the process of

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constructing national identity with specific focus on conflicts rooted in the relationship of minority communities to the nation-state. Here too many Asian states have made considerable progress in constructing national communities but several states including some major ones still confront serious problems that have degenerated into violent conflict. By affecting the political and territorial integrity of the state as well as the physical, cultural, economic, and political security of individuals and groups, these conflicts have great potential to affect domestic and international stability.

Purpose The project investigates the dynamics and management of five key internal conflicts in Asia—Aceh and Papua in Indonesia, the Moro conflict in southern Philippines, and the conflicts pertaining to Tibet and Xinjiang in China. Specifically it investigates the following:

1. Why (on what basis), how (in what form), and when does group dif- ferentiation and political consciousness emerge?
2. What are the specific issues of contention in such conflicts? Are these of the instrumental or cognitive type? If both, what is the relationship between them? Have the issues of contention altered over time? Are the conflicts likely to undergo further redefinition?
3. When, why, and under what circumstances can such contentions lead to violent conflict? Under what circumstances have they not led to violent conflict?
4. How can the conflicts be managed, settled, and eventually resolved? What are policy choices? Do options such as national self-determination, autonomy, federalism, electoral design, and consociationalism exhaust the list of choices available to meet the aspirations of minority communities? Are there innovative ways of thinking about identity and sovereignty that can meet the aspirations of the minority communities without creating new sovereign nation-states?
5. What is the role of the regional and international communities in the protection of minority communities?
6. How and when does a policy choice become relevant? Design A study group has been organized for each of the five conflicts investigated in the study. With a principal researcher each, the study groups com- prise practitioners and scholars from the respective Asian countries including the region or province that is the focus of the conflict, the United

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States, and Australia. For composition of study groups please see the participants list.

All five study-groups met jointly for the first time in Washington, D.C. from September 29 through October 3, 2002. Over a period of four days, participants engaged in intensive discussion of a wide range of issues pertaining to the five conflicts investigated in the project. In addition to identifying key issues for research and publication, the meeting facilitated the development of cross country perspectives and interaction among scholars who had not previously worked together. Based on discussion at the meeting five research monograph length studies (one per conflict) and twenty policy papers (four per conflict) were commissioned.

Study groups met separately for the second meeting. The Aceh and Papua study group meetings were held in Bali on June 16-17, the Southern Philippines study group met in Manila on June 23, and the Tibet and Xinjiang study groups were held in Honolulu from August 20 through 22,

2003. The third meeting of all study groups was held from February 28 through March 2, 2004 in Washington D.C. These meetings reviewed recent developments relating to the conflicts, critically reviewed the first drafts of the policy papers prepared for the project, reviewed the book proposals by the principal researchers, and identified new topics for research. Publications The project will result in five research monographs (book length studies) and about twenty policy papers. Research Monographs. To be authored by the principal researchers, these monographs present a book-length study of the key issues pertaining to each of the five conflicts. Subject to satisfactory peer review, the monographs will appear in the East-West Center Washington series Asian Security, and the East-West Center series Contemporary Issues in the Asia Pacific, both published by the Stanford University Press. Policy Papers. The policy papers provide a detailed study of particular aspects of each conflict. Subject to satisfactory peer review, these 10,000 to 25,000-word essays will be published in the EWC Washington Policy Studies series, and be circulated widely to key personnel and institutions in the policy and intellectual communities and the media in the respective Asian countries, United States, and other relevant countries.

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Public Forums To engage the informed public and to disseminate the findings of the project to a wide audience, public forums have been organized in conjunction with study group meetings.

Two public forums were organized in Washington, D.C. in conjunction with the first study group meeting. The first forum, cosponsored by the United States-Indonesia Society, discussed the Aceh and Papua conflicts. The second forum, cosponsored by the United States Institute of Peace, the Asia Program of the Woodrow Wilson International Center, and the Sigur Center of the George Washington University, discussed the Tibet and Xinjiang conflicts.

Public forums were also organized in Jakarta and Manila in conjunction with the second study group meetings. The Jakarta public forum on Aceh and Papua, cosponsored by the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Jakarta, and the Southern Philippines public forum cosponsored by the Policy Center of the Asian Institute of Management, attracted persons from government, media, think tanks, activist groups, diplomatic community and the public.

In conjunction with the third study group meetings, also held in Washington, D.C., three public forums were offered. The first forum, cosponsored by the United States-Indonesia Society, addressed the conflicts in Aceh and Papua. The second forum, cosponsored by the Sigur Center of the George Washington University, discussed the conflicts in Tibet and Xinjiang. A third forum was held to discuss the conflict in the Southern Philippines. This forum was cosponsored by the United State Institute of Peace.

Funding Support This project is supported with a generous grant from the Carnegie Corporation of New York.

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Project Director

Muthiah Alagappa East-West Center Washington

Aceh Study Group

USAID, Jakarta Marcus Meitzner USAID, Jakarta Kelli Muddell International Center for Transitional Justice

Papua Study Group

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Papua Study Group (continued)

John Rumbiak ELS-HAM, Jayapura

Southern Philippines Study Group

Carolina Hernandez Institute for Strategic and Development Studies, Manila

Tibet Study Group

79

Tibet Study Group (continued)

Warren W. Smith, Jr Radio Free Asia

Xinjiang Study Group

Other Participants

East-West Center

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Background of the Papua Conflict

The Indonesian province of Papua (formerly Irian Jaya) is a territory whose political status has long been subject to debate. Western New Guinea first appeared as part of the Netherlands Indies in official documents issued in 1828 and 1848; yet neither the Dutch, nor the Tidoran sultans, whose rule over the “Papuan Islands” provided the basis for the Netherlands’ claims, exercised effective control in the territory. It wasn’t until 1898 that the Indies government established the first permanent post. This situation changed following World War II, when the Dutch retained western New Guinea after the rest of the Indies gained independence as the Republic of Indonesia. In the Round Table Agreement of 1949, a clause stipulated that the territory’s fate would be decided within a year. When bilateral talks broke down, Indonesia lobbied for the recov- ery of the territory, which it called West Irian, first through diplomacy then by threatening war. The Netherlands initially responded by acceler- ating the colony’s passage towards self-rule. Dutch officials oversaw elections for a New Guinea Council, which inaugurated a flag and regalia for a future West Papuan state on December 1, 1961. Eventually, the Netherlands yielded to American pressure and agreed to a settlement with Indonesia. The New York Agreement of 1962 called for western New Guinea’s transfer to the United Nations, then Indonesia, which was to hold an Act of Free Choice in which the territory’s inhabitants would chose between independence and integration into the republic. On May 1, 1963, Indonesia took control of the territory, and in 1969, 1022 care-fully supervised (some say intimidated) individuals voted unanimously in favor of integration. An armed separatist movement waxed and waned over the first three decades of Indonesian rule, accompanied by military reprisals and widespread reports of human rights violations. After the resignation of Indonesia’s President Suharto on May 21, 1998, the independence movement took on a more inclusive, nonviolent form. At a February 26, 1999 meeting in Jakarta, a Team of 100 provincial leaders presented then President Habibie with a demand for West Papua’s independence. Back in the province, pro-independence activists convened talks that coalesced in the Papuan National Congress of May 21-June 4,

2000. The Congress resulted in a resolution confirming the leadership of the Papuan Presidium Council and directing this executive body to pursue independence through peaceful dialogue. Following the Congress, the

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central government launched a crackdown involving the arrest of pro-independence leaders and the banning of the West Papuan flag. On November 11, 2001, Theys Eluay, the Presidium chairman, was found murdered; members of the Indonesian Special Forces (Kopassus) later were convicted of the crime. During the same month, the Indonesian legislature passed a bill based on a draft prepared by a group of Papuan intellectuals granting the province special autonomy and a new name. The fate of the 2001 special autonomy law (UU No. 21/2001), which provides the province with a greater share of the territory’s vast natural resource earnings and calls for the founding of an indigenous upper house, came into question in January 2003, when President Megawati Sukarnoputri signed an instruction (Inpres No. 1/2003) ordering the immediate implementation of a 1999 law (UU No. 45/1999) dividing Irian Jaya into three new provinces. Between August 23 and September 7, 2003, rioting between pro-and anti-division groups in the mining town, Timika, cost five people their lives.

List of Reviewers 2003-2004

The East-West Center Washington would like to acknowledge the following who have offered reviews of manuscripts submitted for publication in the Policy Studies series.

University of California-San Diego Paul Hutchcroft University of Wisconsin

ashington.org estCenterW ecurity@EastW AsianS Submissions can also be forwarded by Email to

Washington, D.C. 20036 1819 L Street NW, Suite 200 East-West Center Washington Policy Studies Editor,

be sent to: stylesheet, available from the series’ editorial office. Submissions should Policy Studies from identifying themselves in their proposals and manuscripts and should follow the completed bibliography. All artwork should be camera ready. Authors should refrain text with notes double-spaced at the end. The manuscript should be accompanied by a Pacific affairs. Manuscripts should be typed and double-spaced. Citations should be inserted in the and promoting American understanding of and engagement in Asia Notes to Contributors focused on the theme of conflict reduction in the Asia Pacific region A CV indicating relevant qualifications and publications should accompany submissions. Asia Pacific community through substantive programming activities and the institutional objective of building a peaceful and prosperous Washington will have copyright over material published in the series. Submissions must be original and not published elsewhere. The East-West Center West Center Washington is to further the East-West Center mission be peer reviewed in line with the double blind process. Established on September 1, 2001, the primary function of the East-experts will review the abstract. If considered suitable for the series, the manuscript will East-West Center Washington cance, and the novel perspective provided by the paper. The editor and two relevant two page abstract that sets out the issue, problem, or puzzle analyzed, its policy signifi-Submission of complete manuscript should be accompanied by a Complete Manuscript. porations and a number of Asia Pacific governments. will be peer-reviewed in line with the double blind process. comes for the U.S. government, private foundations, individuals, cor- proposals to determine their suitability for the series. The manuscript when completed United States is a leading and valued partner. Funding for the Center which the manuscript will be ready. The editor and two relevant experts will review be analyzed, its policy significance, the novel perspective to be provided, and date by stable, peaceful and prosperous Asia Pacific community in which the. A three to five page proposal should indicate the issue, problem, or puzzle to Proposal study, training, seminars, and research, the Center works to promote a Submissions may take the form of a proposal or completed manuscript. the countries of the Asia Pacific. Through its programs of cooperative Submissions strengthen understanding and relations between the United States and in the series. research organization established by the U.S. Congress in 1960 to Center research projects; stand-alone investigations of pertinent issues will also appearThe East-West Center is an internationally recognized education and topic. Often publications in this series will appear in conjunction with East-West East-West Center Each publication in the series presents a 10,000 to 25,000 investigation of a single insights and perspectives based on extensive fieldwork and rigorous scholarship. informed public, the peer-reviewed publications in this series will provide new policy evant manner. Written for the policy community, academics, journalists, and the and international political, economic, and strategic issues affecting Asia in a policy rel-The aim of Policy Studies is to present scholarly analysis of key contemporary domestic Dr. Muthiah Alagappa Editor:

A Publication of the East-West Center Washington

Policy Studies

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ISBN 1-932728-09-9

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at the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI). East-West Center Dr. Ikrar Nusa Bhakti is Head of the Research Center for Political Studies Melbourne, Australia. Dr. Richard Chauvel is Director of the Australia Asia Pacific Institute at Victoria University in

About the Author

East-West Center Washington

this about? University governance of Papua are necessary to bring Dr. Christopher Collier, Australian National the Papuan people—what changes in the International War Against Terror” Indonesia nation—based on the consent of “Southern Philippines and the determined to keep Papua part of the authors pose the question: If Jakarta is Dr. James Millward, Georgetown University Violence in the International Context” tion of Papua into three provinces, the “Uyghur Anti-State Organizations and policies of special autonomy and the parti- tain central control. After examining the Dr. Elliot Sperling, Indiana University the horse of the reliance on force to sus- to the Tibet-China Conflict” for Indonesian rule are both the cart and The Background “History, Politics Culture: authority and the lack of Papuan consent authority is fragile. The fragility of Jakarta’s Forthcoming Titles tory over the Netherlands in 1962, this Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti authority in Papua since its diplomatic vic-

Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa BhaktiDr. Allen Carlson, Cornell University

Securing Sovereignty and Legitimacy Indonesia has been able to sustain its Beijing’s Tibet Policy: society. This study argues that even though Policy Studies 4 since 1961 by various groups within Papuan challenged initially by the Netherlands and

Policies

International Studies-Jakarta Indonesia proclaimed its independence— Dr. Rizal Sukma, Centre for Strategic and contested for much of the period since Goals, Consequences, and Lessons

Jakarta’s Perceptions and Indonesia’s sovereignty in Papua has been

Security Operations in Aceh: Policy Studies 3 from the yoke of Dutch colonialism. Jakarta thought it had liberated the Papuans

The Papua Conflict:Economics for independence nearly three decades after

Dr. Kirsten E. Schulze, London School of today confronts renewed Papuan demands Anatomy of a Separatist Organization Indonesia and its importance. Indonesia The Free Aceh Movement (GAM): ists’ conception of Papua’s place in The Papua ConflictPolicy Studies 2 gave voice to the essence of the national-Sukarno, her father, Megawati Sukarnoputri University Dr. Harold Crouch, Australian National recalling this statement of President Dr. Edward Aspinall, University of Sydney of the Unitary Republic of Indonesia.” In Why it Failed The Aceh Peace Process: complete to become the national territory Policy Studies 1 “Without Irian Jaya [Papua], Indonesia is not

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