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The National Interest [Washington DC] No. 65 The Fall 2001 issue
Another Year of Living Dangerously?
By Rajan Menon
-Part 2/2-
The State of Failure
A state capable of knitting concord from discord, implementing (not merely proclaiming) reform, and restoring order is what Indonesia has needed to stanch the economic crisis, secessionism and communal butchery that increasingly threaten to undo it. Alas, such a state is precisely what Indonesia has lacked. What it had from October 1999 to July of this year was a tragicomic government personified by President Abdurrahman Wahid. Virtually blind, frail and given to inconsistent Delphic utterances, he became the feckless leader of an entropic government.
Erudite, a proponent of tolerance and long a respected religious and political leader, Wahid personified the aphorism that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. To preserve Indonesia, he offered ceasefires and autonomy to rebellious regions. The offerings failed to appease separatists, but they did convince the military and both Islamist and nationalist parties that he was destroying the country on the installment plan. Indeed, Wahid's political instincts were peculiar, and sowed confusion. To end Aceh's war, he proposed a referendum, but later depicted the idea as a personal opinion. He decreed that the Morning Star, West Papua's long-illegal banner of independence, could be flown, but only below the Indonesian flag. He continued visiting the Middle East and North Africa as Madurese were being slaughtered in Kalimantan, saying that the chaos was under control and had been exaggerated.
The popular support Wahid enjoyed upon taking up the presidency was eventually shredded by the weakness of Indonesia's economy and the pandemonium that is its politics. Charges of incompetence and allegations of corruption led to censure by the parliament, which summoned a session of the MPR in 2001 to remove him, advancing the conclave from August to July once Wahid threatened extreme measures. With the armed forces and the police refusing to support him, Wahid's threats to declare an emergency, suspend parliament and call new elections proved mere bluster. He stood friendless in Jakarta's political arena and was replaced by Megawati Sukarnoputri, with whom his relationship can most charitably be described as having been frosty. Wahid's political demise was a foregone conclusion-to everyone but himself-and his efforts to cling to office by threatening martial law and hinting at demonstrations by his supporters combined pathos with political psychosis.
But Indonesia's summer struggles were far more than petty intrigue. They could have turned violent, making Indonesia a war zone at both its periphery and its center. All of the principals had (and still have) zealous followers ready to mobilize on their behalf and paramilitary units willing to fight. Neither Megawati nor her Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P), had forgotten that the MPR made Wahid president even though his National Awakening Party (PKB) won only ten percent of the seats in parliament in the 1999 elections, compared to the PDI-P's 30 percent. Megawati also has a paramilitary group, Satgas PDI-P, the Red Bulls. The 35 million members of Wahid's Muslim organization, Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) saw him as an icon under assault and those within Banser, NU's paramilitary arm, had pledged to die for him. In East Java, Wahid's home region, his supporters attacked the offices of rival parties and threatened their leaders while parliament convened for its censure motions. The country was on edge, and Wahid's defense minister warned of the dangers of a military coup. It is one thing to have Indonesia's far-flung provinces in rebellion; one can imagine a truncated, yet still substantial Indonesia enduring minus some of its most rebellious provinces. But civil war in Jakarta could well have finished off the country, as it nearly did in 1965-66, Indonesia's infamous year of living dangerously.
With Wahid's peaceful departure at the end of July, Indonesia dodged a bullet. Wahid was finished once the military leaders condemned his plan to declare an emergency. But their conduct sprung less from democratic punctiliousness than from the cold-eyed calculation that Wahid was doomed. The military had little reason to rescue him. They blamed him for aggravating separatism. They considered his willingness to discuss investigations into past military misconduct in Aceh and West Papua as both insulting and dangerous, not least because a dragnet could ensnare many senior officers. They regarded his plan to allow the provinces greater control over revenues as tantamount to emasculating the state.
Yet the military leadership bears much responsibility for Wahid's inability to control the armed forces. They joined senior police officers and rallied behind Indonesia's police chief when he refused to quit after Wahid fired him. They worked through Megawati to scuttle Wahid's choice for army commander. The security forces in general are widely thought to be organizing or supporting paramilitary groups, and Laskar Jihad's ability to sail to Maluku fully armed, despite presidential directives to prevent its passage, fed such speculation. Many Indonesians believe that the military has failed, as in Kalimantan, to stop violence with dispatch in order to promote clamor for a strong hand. Such speculation is testimony both to the aura of crisis in Indonesia and to the enormous political power the military has long held. That power has derived from its reserved bloc of parliamentary seats, Suharto's practice of assigning officers to top posts in the provinces, and the territorial command system that makes the army central to the governance of outlying provinces and districts. These practices were slated to end, and thus the military had much to lose-and much to protect.
Megawati's advent offers Indonesia a chance for a fresh start. But it would be foolhardy to assume that Wahid was the nub of the problem. The economy remains in a parlous state, separatism is rampant, bombings are a daily occurrence, the state's inability to provide order has spawned vigilantism in places like Lombok, and the military has emerged politically stronger from Wahid's ouster. The world must wish Megawati well, but her background provides little basis for confidence that she can end the plotting, create consensus, implement economic reforms or avert fragmentation. She entered the Indonesian political arena only in 1993, with her lineage as Sukarno's daughter being her greatest asset. She is short on hands-on experience and has articulated no clear plan of action. She has a large popular following and, because of that, more support in parliament than Wahid, from whose blunders she has presumably learned. But the kingmakers who sacked Wahid are the very ones who maneuvered to choose him over her in October 1999.
Megawati's popularity among poor Indonesians may make economic austerity harder to enact. Nor is it clear that she can break the back of the vested interests that are powerful, wealthy, entrenched and hostile to reform. A staunch nationalist, heir to the creation of her father and a critic of far-reaching autonomy, she may unleash the army against separatists. But that would only hasten disaster and probably kill Indonesia's democracy in the process. Moreover, Wahid's fate shows that the military remains politically potent. What it did to Wahid, it could do to Megawati. No matter who is at the helm, the problems eating away at Indonesia have a long history and defy quick solutions. Megawati is not destined to fail, and her first major speech to the country on August 16 was surprisingly strong and well received. But the euphoria and relief accompanying her accession to the presidency, while understandable, are no excuse to let wishes father thoughts.
Shock Waves
Indonesia may survive the combined assault of an ailing economy, deepening separatism, and a failing state. Such an outcome is certainly desirable, but it is not likely. American leaders must therefore brace for the possibility that Indonesia could still collapse in chaos and disintegrate in violence. Alternatively, the current instability could continue until economic recovery and political compromise give rise to a country of a rather different shape and size. With Wahid gone and Megawati in place, this is now somewhat more likely. Even the loss of Aceh and West Papua need not spell national disintegration; without such provinces Indonesia would still retain the critical mass to endure as a state. The second of these denouements is preferable to the first, but both will create strong shock waves.
Indonesia's size and location are the reasons why. The three major straits that slice through it are pivotal passages for the global economy. Malacca is by far the most important, particularly for energy shipments. Some 450 vessels and about 10 million barrels of oil pass through daily, and East Asian demand, driven by China, is expected to rise from 12 million barrels a day in 2000 to over 20 million barrels in twenty years. Japan, China, Taiwan and South Korea would suffer severely and soon if fallout from turmoil in Aceh (at its northern end) or Riau (at its southern end) blocked this passage. Its narrowness, 1.5 miles in the Phillips Channel in the Singapore Strait, and ten miles between Singapore and the Riau archipelago, adds to the danger. The Lombok Strait, which ships use to sail to northeast Asia through the Strait of Makasar between Borneo and Sulawesi, is next in importance, although it handles a far smaller volume of traffic than Malacca and is of negligible importance for energy shipments. The Lombok-Makasar route is, however, a critical corridor for Australia's coal and iron ore exports to northeast Asia and for manufactured exports moving south from there. It is also the most likely detour were Malacca rendered impassable or hazardous. By comparison, Sunda is a minor shipping channel; the consequences of its closure would be minimal for transcontinental trade.
Rerouting Malacca traffic through Lombok would strain the capacity of the world's merchant fleet, increase transportation costs, and create severe bottlenecks. The problems would be even worse if all three straits were unusable and ships had to transit northeast Asia by skirting Australia's northern coast. Market signals would eventually add other carrying capacity but the question is how quickly and smoothly the adjustment occurs, and what the economic and political consequences would be in the meantime. The ramifications of blocked or delayed maritime traffic, or even just panic over the possibility, would spread speedily throughout globalization's many circuits. Insurance rates would rise; coverage may even be denied if underwriters deem the risks excessive. The effects of obstructed energy, machinery and manufactured goods would register in capital markets, short-term investors would be scared off, and the flow of much-needed foreign direct investment into a region still convalescing from the blows of 1997 would slow.
Piracy in the seas around Indonesia would also worsen if the Jakarta government either ceased functioning or were so busy holding the country together that it could not police its waters. The hijacking of ships has increased since Indonesia's upheavals began. There were 113 incidents in its waters in 1999 compared to 60 the year before, and between January and March of 2001 alone, pirates attacked ships in Indonesian waters 29 times and on nine occasions in the Malacca Strait. The vessels victimized near Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia included several oil tankers and ships carrying aluminum and palm oil. The three countries began to coordinate operations against the menace in 1992, and in 2000 Japan proposed that its coast guard join the effort along with China and South Korea. Yet how serious piracy becomes, and how effective any joint solution is, depends primarily on the extent of Indonesia's stability.
Refugee flows will also accelerate if Indonesia starts to break apart. The refugee population of one million already within its borders will soar, dragging the economy down further and aggravating communal violence. Refugees could also be driven beyond Indonesia into neighboring countries that are neither prepared to receive them nor able to bear the burden of caring for them. Malaysia, which lies across the water from Aceh, has already seen rising illegal immigration from Indonesia, and its officials worry about the social tensions that could result. The refugee problem also figures prominently in Australian and Singaporean discussions of Indonesia.
Indonesia's neighbors have other worries, as well, as they watch this wobbly behemoth. For Malaysia, one is that the Malaysian Islamic Party, already powerful in northern Malaysia, could receive a fillip were militant Islam to become more significant in Indonesia's politics as a result of the turmoil-or were it to dominate its successor states. Thailand and the Philippines, which ave breakaway Islamist groups in their southern regions, fear that Indonesia's collapse could produce an undesirable demonstration effect. Papua New Guinea, which borders West Papua, could be swamped by refugees and also face an older problem: incursions from the Indonesian military in hot pursuit of Papuan guerrillas. Singapore and Malaysia have invested in pipelines carrying energy from Riau and from Indonesia's Natuna gas fields (located in the South China Sea between peninsular Malaysia and Sarawak) and are watching nervously. ASEAN, whose economic and political clout has fallen short of members' hopes, will be reduced to a salon if Indonesia, its keystone, crumbles.
Neither is it clear how Japan, China and Australia would react to various scenarios in Indonesia. Few convergent interests unite them, and history has done much to divide them. This augurs ill for cooperation on economic assistance, refugee relief, piracy, or peacekeeping to stem Indonesia's unraveling or to deal with the consequences if that proves impossible. Indeed, anarchy in Indonesia could start a scramble among these states that is driven more by fear, uncertainty and worst-case thinking than by the opportunistic pursuit of advantage. A process leading to sponsorship of competitive proxy proto-statelets that rise from Indonesia's wreckage is an extreme scenario, but cannot be ruled out.
Beyond the general tendency of states divided by suspicion to jockey for position when uncertainty or opportunity prevails, there are other specific motives for intervention. China could be drawn into the fray if Indonesia's seven-million-strong Chinese population, which has often been a scapegoat in times of trouble, were to be victimized. Beijing's increasing concern for secure energy supplies since becoming a net importer in 1993 has already made it more assertive in the South China Sea, and could provide another motive. Given Indonesia's uncertain future, Chinese maps depicting Beijing's jurisdiction over Indonesia's Natuna gas fields are a worrisome portent, particularly for Malaysia and Singapore, who envision energy pipelines from this site.
Japan would move cautiously if Indonesia begins to resemble a lost cause, but it depends on Indonesia's straits and owns most of the ships that ply them. Tokyo cannot remain utterly passive if Indonesia's crisis disrupts the Japanese economy, or if others states assert their interests in ways that could do so.
Indonesia's importance for Australia goes beyond the significance of the Lombok-Makasar passage. In a region being shaped by China's growing power, Indonesia, by virtue of its location and size, is central to Australian national security. Its collapse would lay waste to much of Australia's strategic planning.
The consequences of Indonesia's breakup would affect American interests, as well. American energy and raw materials companies (Exxon-Mobil, Texaco, Chevron, Newmont Mining, Conoco and Freeport-McMoRan, among others) operate in Indonesia, particularly in Aceh, Riau, and West Papua, and many of the ships that traverse the Strait of Malacca are American-owned. The United States is also a major trader and investor in East Asia and is to some degree hostage to its fate, especially now that the American economy is slowing. Moreover, if Indonesia fractures, worst-case thinking and preemptive action among its neighbors could upset regional equilibrium and undermine the American strategic canopy in East Asia. The United States has a network of bases and alliances and 100,000 military personnel in the region, and is considered the guarantor of stability by most states-a status it will forfeit if it stands aside as Indonesia falls apart. America's competitors will scrutinize its actions to gauge its resolve and acumen. So will its friends and allies-Australia, Japan, Singapore, Thailand and South Korea-each of whom would be hurt by Indonesia's collapse.
Prevention and Protection
So what should the Bush Administration do? Any plan to keep Indonesia whole and to restore its political and economic stability must be multilateral and multi-faceted if it is to have any chance of success. The size of the problem demands shared responsibility among Executive Branch agencies and U.S. allies, while its nature necessitates using multiple means: diplomacy, economic assistance and, more likely than not, military power. The United States should immediately begin regular, intensive consultations with friends and allies in East Asia both to lay the groundwork for future cooperation and to inform its policies with the assessments of states whose geography and history force them to pay close attention to Indonesia's drift.
Even with the best preparation, however, worsening tumult in Indonesia will make uncertainty the only certainty. Policymakers will work in an environment resembling a fast-moving drama whose cast, plot and likely conclusion change continually. Early-warning markers are therefore essential to chart the direction of change, identify qualitatively critical stages, mitigate uncertainty, and clarify choices. These are the critical markers: the effectiveness of ceasefires; the pace and scale of fighting in Aceh, West Papua and Maluku; the degree of disorder in Lombok, West Kalimantan, Sulawesi and Riau; the size and direction of refugee movements; signs that the Megawati government may be as maladroit as its predecessor; the extent of key personnel turnover in the new government; and signs of the military's increasing political role, particularly harbingers of a coup.
There are concrete steps that the United States can take to prepare for crisis. The Indonesian military is in bad odor these days because of the havoc it wreaked in East Timor. But, as the Bush Administration appears to understand, this is no time to shun an organization that could decide Indonesia's fate. Washington should use multiple channels to dissuade the Indonesian military from seizing power, for Indonesia is more likely to shatter and to be blood-spattered if the armed forces mount a coup to keep it whole. The United States should send quiet but unequivocal messages that it will not condone a coup and that the military's institutional interests-exchanges, training programs and arms sales involving the United States-would suffer if it attempts one. Economic aid and military sales to Indonesia are now suspended, but the administration should devise a plan to resume the former, both to help stabilize Indonesia and to provide incentives for its leaders to avoid reckless behavior. Nor should the resumption of military sales and contacts with the Indonesian military be ruled out as a tool of diplomacy. The concern for human rights in Indonesia and the revulsion at the military's misdeeds in East Timor are justified and proper. But it should be understood that many more people will die and far-reaching instability will occur if Indonesia explodes. Thus, any means that could help influence the Indonesian military should not be excluded by allowing principle to trump prudence.
Washington should also declare its support for a unified Indonesia, particularly because prominent Indonesians have accused it of conniving to destroy their country. Growing violence in Indonesia will bring human rights to the forefront of American debates, and properly so. But the mechanical application of the principle of self-determination to so large and important a country will assuredly not curb but increase long-term violence and disorder. The United States should also favor settlements in Aceh and West Papua that offer autonomy and address in bold, convincing ways the economic and social problems that feed separatism in these provinces. It must, as a corollary, convey to nationalists in these regions that it will support devolution, but not secession. This is because the proliferation of mini-states in Southeast Asia and the implosion of its most important country will increase poverty and violence and unsettle the balance of power in ways that may cast a long and dark shadow. The United States should therefore help identify the providers of arms and training to separatists and militias in Indonesia and use its influence to cut the supply. To help stabilize the Indonesian economy, the United States should organize a fund to support the rupiah and coordinate a long-term program to rebuild what is a ravaged country.
But the United States should not delude itself. To think that American actions can avert Indonesia's collapse is hubris or folly, possibly both. The problems gnawing away at Indonesia are numerous and complex. They may prove beyond the control of Indonesians, let alone Americans and other outsiders. If Indonesia breaks apart despite efforts at preventive diplomacy, the United States and its partners must develop plans to act on several fronts, together with international organizations. The challenges will include evacuating foreign nationals; keeping the Malacca Strait and the Lombok Strait open in the face of threats that could close them; protecting shipping from sabotage, attack and piracy; guarding and transporting refugees to pre-designated safe stations; stockpiling and conveying supplies for their care; organizing economic aid for post-war reconstruction; promoting ceasefires between government forces and separatist guerillas; and, perhaps, interposing forces between combatants so that ceasefires last and subsequent political negotiations have a chance to succeed.
The last task raises the critical matter of injecting American military power into a messy civil war-and into a country where anti-American sentiment is rising. Obviously, the United States should contemplate this measure only as a last resort, in concert with other states, and while taking care not to assume the largest obligations on the ground. Despite the dangers, though, Washington should not rule out a military role by invoking Procrustean preconditions. Maxims that recommend committing American forces only if vital interests are at issue, applying overwhelming force, defining a clear objective, and devising quick and clean exit plans seem cogent and compelling. But the confusion attending a blowup in Indonesia will torpedo tidy formulations, as may other civil wars, for that matter. Without the restoration of order and the separation of warring forces, other measures to manage a crisis in Indonesia-whether refugee relief, economic aid, or negotiations-will prove impossible. And if order is absent within Indonesia, it will have to be supplied from without.
The corollary is not that the United States should insert its forces into wars (of any sort) lightly. President Bush's foreign policy advisors correctly emphasize care and restraint in this regard, and one of them, Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz, has special expertise on Indonesia, where he served as U.S. ambassador from 1986 to 1989. Yet even beyond Indonesia there will inevitably be other civil wars that matter strategically, that are more than purely humanitarian crises. In such cases, military power may have to be part of a multifaceted strategy for restoring order. The choice is not, as one might surmise from recent foreign policy debates, between sending the military and abstention. There is a range of options that combines military power with other policy instruments-and in cooperation with other states and regional and international organizations-and the United States must be creative and flexible enough to devise them conceptually and prepare for them operationally. Its claim to world leadership will be hollow if it ducks such a critical responsibility.
* Note: Rajan Menon is Monroe J. Rathbone Professor of International Relations at Lehigh University. Professor Menon is also director of NBR's Eurasia Policy Studies program and academic fellow and advisor for the International Peace and Security Program at the Carnegie Corporation of New York. E-mail: rm04@lehigh.edu
-End-
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