Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Vernacular Security
Vernacular Security
NILS BUBANDT*
Department of Anthropology, University of Aarhus, Denmark
Introduction
T
HIS ARTICLE DEALS WITH THE POLITICAL imagination in
Indonesia by analysing the contradictions within and interplay
between global, national and local discourses on security.1 Through a
political–ethnographic analysis of the rhetorical and institutional changes to
the concept of security in Indonesia during the last three decades, I make
three claims. First, I argue that the cultivation of the ‘soft side’ of security that
characterizes the current political focus on global human security is not new.
1
The article was initially presented at a workshop organized by the research network ‘From Inequality to
Insecurity: The Place of Crime and Violence in Development Thinking and Action’, held at the Danish
Institute of International Studies in Copenhagen in January 2004. I would like to thank the workshop
participants, in particular Finn Stepputat, for critical and incisive comments. I also thank the editor of
Security Dialogue and two anonymous reviewers for providing a set of helpful and challenging comments
of both an empirical and a conceptual nature. Any remaining misconceptions are naturally my own.
Although security was a crucial concept also during the Cold War, the
political use of ‘security’ has recently shifted from a focus on the interstate,
military problem of maintaining territorial borders to the social and global
problem of maintaining ‘life’ across borders (Duffield, 2004).
As such, security has emerged as a master trope for the so-called post-
development age, along with concepts like ‘participation’, ‘partnership’,
‘democracy’ and ‘autonomy’. It has, however, all the definitional vagueness
of all other truly powerful discursive phenomena. In its conventional forms,
‘security’ may be defined as ‘freedom from danger and risk’, as freedom
from ‘care, apprehension, or doubt’, as well ‘the precautions taken to guard
against theft or sabotage’ (Webster’s Dictionary, 1994: 1290). Security, in
other words, deals with the problem of order and disorder, being both the
ontological condition of order, in the sense of an absence of doubt, danger,
risk and anxiety, and the political means of ensuring that order. The political
obsession with security during the 1990s, and in particular after 9/11, has to
do with this ‘onto-political’ duality. ‘Securitization’, the rhetorical evocation
of security as a political exception (see Wæver, 1995), is intimately related to
the governmental idea of governing through freedom (Steinmetz, 2003). The
liberal project of governing through freedom entails, however, as Dean
(2002: 56) suggests, ‘divisions between both populations and individual
subjects, in such a way as to require authoritarian or despotic government in
a wide variety of instances’. The disciplinary control through security is in
other words what establishes the open spaces of governmental freedom by
maintaining that it protects them.
2
See, for instance, the debate between Thomas & Tow (2002) and Bellamy & McDonald (2002) in previous
issues of this journal.
3
Ironically, there has been considerable contestation with security studies about whether security qualifies
as a contested concept; see, for example, Buzan (1991); Booth (1991); Baldwin (1997).
come to make sense. Asian security structures are, as Buzan (2003) argues,
unique to the region for a number of historical and geopolitical reasons.
These regional peculiarities are also likely to have repercussions on the scale
of nations. If China can be said to have its own ‘security concept’ (Baiyi,
2001), so perhaps can Indonesia.
The history of the Indonesian vernacular concept of ‘security’ was heavily
influenced by the recent shift in ‘global’ security from a disciplinary concern
with control to a governmental concern with freedom. But, as I shall argue,
‘security’ was in Indonesia used as part of a political discourse to conjure up
the imagined nation that in many ways foreshadowed the global cultivation
of the ‘soft side’ of security. While human security established ‘the global’ as
a scene for the reproduction of ‘insecurity’, the Indonesian political rhetoric
about ‘safety’ (keamanan) constantly reproduced the nation-state as a scene
susceptible to recurrent ‘social chaos’ or ‘madness’ (keédanan), and that
played upon an ontology of harmony (rukun). This difference, I will argue,
was more than a difference of words. The political speech acts about safety
played upon, but were also constantly undermined by, an ontology of (un)-
certainty that was peculiar to the relationship between state and community
in Indonesia.
control (see Tsing, 1993: 24). ‘Security’ was thus more than anything else a
bureaucratic attempt to calculate the threats and dangers from within civil
society to the state (as the true representative of the people). As a conse-
quence, the state had to maintain constant vigilance (waspadai) on behalf
of the people against the ‘subversive forces’ from ‘certain quarters of
society’ that threatened the safety and order of the state (see Barker, 2001;
Bourchier, 1990). These imagined forces – which were often equated with
crime or communism but remained vaguely defined as ‘certain quarters’
(pihak tertentu) – served an important political function as legitimization for
the maintenance of a rationalist form of ‘political paranoia’ (Bubandt, forth-
coming; Lindsey, 2001).
The rationalist paranoia was institutionalized in a number of ways. The
dual function of the army (dwifungsi), established at independence in 1945
and only partly dismantled in the post-Suharto era (Rinakit, 2004), was one
such way. The dual function stipulated that the army (ABRI) had both a
military role as a defender against foreign enemies and a ‘socio-political’ role
as a protector of society. A truly ‘total social institution’, the mandate of
this socio-political role covered ‘the ideological, political, social, economic,
cultural, and religious fields’ (Army Doctrine from 1965, cited in Crouch,
1978: 25). The army took this socio-political role seriously, and a system of
army officers was set up to mirror the hierarchy of the civilian political
system at all levels of government, right down to the non-commissioned
officer, the babinsa, who was the military complement to the village head but
answered directly to the district commander (koramil). The main role of the
babinsa – as reflected in the last two syllables of the acronym (binsa) – was to
act as a political ‘guide to the village’ (pembina desa). The babinsa was to
ensure the political stability of the village by providing the district com-
mander with lists of ‘any formal or informal social or political or cultural or
economic organisation or grouping’ in the village and by reporting ‘unusual
social conditions’ (Tanter, 1990b: 225). At the same time, he was expected to
encourage people to partake in the development efforts of the government.
In the uniformed body of the babinsa, in other words, security and develop-
ment were united as the main political ideals of the patrimonial state.
This did not mean that New Order security was managed in a homogenous
or predictable way. The surveillance instructions of the babinsa, for instance,
were tailored to the specific security concerns of each region in the country.
In ‘volatile regions’ such as East Timor, the panoptic tasks of the babinsa
were more detailed than in more ‘safe’ regions (Tanter, 1990b: 244). In addi-
tion to this regional heterogeneity, state intentions were constantly under-
mined by the very social forces on which the babinsa was supposed to report.
In the process, the Indonesian security project was imbued with its own kind
of aporia or doubt. The personal integration of the babinsa into local condi-
tions on which he was supposed to provide objective ‘security’ lists meant
that state security interlaced with local concerns. An example will illustrate
this.
In the early 1990s, at the height of New Order rule, I conducted anthro-
pological fieldwork in a coastal fishing village of some 700 people on the
island of Halmahera in North Maluku. In many ways, this village resembled
other marginal villages in the Outer Islands of Indonesia. Villagers spent
most of their time carrying out the fishing and horticultural chores of their
subsistence economy, while local concerns about sorcery and witchcraft cast
an occasional sombre shadow on the normally gay tone of daily life. The
New Order state, however, was present in numerous ways, most of which
were related to the state ‘security’ project of ensuring political stability and
social order. The village had a small school built with funding from a special
presidential grant (inpres); a village leader (kades) was ‘chosen’ every
four years through a careful political selection process; and a variety of com-
munity-development programmes were initiated without ever becoming
truly popular among the villagers. In 1992, a babinsa was stationed in the
village. A man in his forties from a neighbouring ethnic group, the babinsa
began his assigned task of ensuring that people showed up to political
speeches by the district mayor, partook in collective work tasks and traded
in old superstitions for enthusiasm about the developmentalist plans, from
which he also expected to earn hidden kickbacks. The Ambonese wife of the
babinsa became a leading figure in PKK, the family educational programme
that arranged lectures for the women of the village on hygiene, nutrition and
the national moral philosophy of Pancasila. Intended to act as an instrument
of panoptic surveillance and first line of defence against political subversion
from ‘certain quarters’, the babinsa in this particular village, however, became
deeply socialized into village life during the ten years he stayed there. He
divorced his wife when he impregnated a young local girl half his age,
taking up residence briefly with the girl’s parents. The low point in his
efforts to develop the village came one night when the girl, in hysterics over
the persistent and eerie calls of a kokók (a local evil spirit associated with
witchcraft) from a large mango tree in the centre of the village, persuaded
him to try to shoot the evil spirit. He emptied the full magazine of his 9-mm
semi-automatic into the treetop, but the witchcraft did not go away. On the
contrary, it made him seriously ill. In 2001, he let himself be persuaded by
neighbours in the village that witchcraft was to blame for the illness that
killed his adopted teenage son. Frustrated, the babinsa left the village and
today lives in the district capital, where he has been reunited with his first
wife from Ambon.
This all-too-brief account of one particular babinsa provides an instance of
the ways in which state dreams of social order may be undermined by the
vicissitudes of social life.4 As Dove & Kammen (2001) have argued, the
4
See Holston (1989) and Scott (1998) for more detailed elaborations of this point.
largely intact,5 two factors – the rise of localism and neotraditionalism on the
one hand, and the enrolment of Indonesia in the global fight against terror-
ism on the other – have meant that the monopoly of the military on main-
taining a ‘safe’ society has been both challenged and reconfigured.
Associated with the new politics of decentralization, these two trends have
opened up for the emergence of local forms of vernacular security that do
not seek to reproduce the Indonesian ‘nation’ but are geared toward the
establishment of ‘local’ imagined communities.
she had met with strong opposition from student reform groups and Muslim
organizations, both of whom feared this was a first step to a return to New
Order authoritarianism. The bombs changed this picture, and within a few
weeks the new law (No. 15/2003) had been passed in the parliament. With
the new law in hand, the Megawati government – suspected abroad of not
doing enough to stem Muslim fundamentalism and accused domestically of
abusing its power – took a new hard line against sectarian violence in
Sulawesi and Maluku, cracked down on political protest in Papua, and
started a military campaign against secessionism in Aceh in May 2003.
The anti-terrorist law was thus not just a response to the new global
project of ensuring security after 9/11. In Indonesia, popular support for the
law was boosted considerably by concerns that the state of Indonesia would
fall apart as a result of regional conflict and secessionist movements. In the
post-Suharto security complex, concerns about a slide into a time of ‘social
madness’ – which had been cultivated during the New Order but became
acute after 1998 in part because of frenzied press reports about the sectarian
conflicts (Spyer, 2002) – therefore continued to provide an Indonesian optic
through which the new global security structures were indigenized.
The discourse of securitization in Indonesia after 2003, which has con-
tinued during the current presidency of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, still
revolves around imaginaries of the state and its ‘social’ enemies. But, the
figure of the ‘social enemy’ has become more problematic and contested.
During New Order rule, the main enemy had been the spectre of commu-
nism, supported by the US Cold War doctrine that Indonesia was the
linchpin in the fight against communism in Southeast Asia. The new global
project of security entailed the substitution of communism with radical
Islam as state enemy number one. In Indonesia, however, which remains a
strategic geopolitical site within US policy (Dibb, 2001; Gershman, 2002), this
entailed a problem.
Although radical Islam had been the target of political oppression in the first
few decades of Suharto’s rule, this had shifted dramatically in the early 1990s,
as Suharto, in a bid to renew his divide-and-rule tactics, had begun supporting
conservative Islamic groups (Hefner, 2000a; Liddle, 1996).6 In addition, politi-
cized Islam had become so engrained in Indonesian society in the previous
20 years that fundamentalist Islam could never obtain the status that com-
munism had enjoyed during New Order rule as an undisputed evil.7 Too
6
This cultivation of conservative Islam was to prove decisive for the spread of sectarian violence after
Suharto’s fall in May 1998 (Hefner, 2000b; 2002).
7
Part of the difficulty in making a national enemy out of radical Islam also lay in the success with which
radical Islamic groups like Laskar Jihad had portrayed themselves as defenders of the nation-state.
Subversion, epitomized by the secessionist movement or rebellious region, had thus remained the same
threat as it had been during the New Order. And because radical Islamic groups in Indonesia were
frequently fiercely nationalist and unitarian, they could successfully employ the ideology and rhetoric of
the unitarian state as a way to legitimize their armed engagements in Maluku, North Maluku and Papua
(see Turner, 2002).
8
The conflict in North Maluku, which cost over 2,000 people their lives and forced several hundred thou-
sand out of a population of 800,000 into internal displacement, began in late 1999. The conflict was in
many ways a spin-off from the violence in Central Maluku and should be seen in the context of the
general political upheaval and socio-political divisions that grew out of the last few years of New Order
rule (Hefner, 2002). The conflict cannot, however, be reduced to elite politics in Jakarta. Rather than one
conflict with one singular cause, it was a series of clashes across the region that involved a variety of
socio-economic tensions (Bubandt, forthcoming; Duncan, forthcoming; van Klinken, 2001b). These
tensions were exacerbated by a general climate of political paranoia through which old traditional,
religious and ethnic labels took on political valency (Bubandt, 2001; 2004b). Among these, the sultanates
played an important role (Bubandt, 2004a).
of a country-wide trend in Indonesia after 1999 (van Klinken, 2004), and the
case of the Sultan of Ternate may therefore provide an example that, in
general terms if not in detail, indicates one of the directions that the local
politics of ‘security’ have taken in Indonesia after 1999.
Accused by his political foes of misusing ‘tradition’ for his own political
purposes, Mudaffar Syah, the 48th Sultan of Ternate, claims that only the
values and democratic structures of the North Malukan tradition (adat se
atorang), which he studied as part of his undergraduate degree at the
Indonesian University, can restore peace and stability to the country.
Tradition, in this sense, is his answer to the problem of security. In an inter-
view in 2000 he stated:
We still don’t know what our national values are. [The state philosophy of] Pancasila is
unclear and therefore does not perform a function. Therefore it is my principle to
uphold the traditional values of the local region. (Karni & Haryadi, 2000)
9
In the process, I have ignored a wide variety of interesting areas where analytical aspects of security are
also at stake. I am thinking in particular of the ‘privatization’ of crime prevention through the rise of
security providers, such as traditional guards and security groups (satgas), as well as criminal militias,
formerly controlled by the military (Barker, 2001; Lindsey, 2001). The imaginaries and practices related to
the private provision of security are, however, part of the general trend I have discussed here.
worldview on the other. The article instead traces three varieties of vernacu-
lar security at the local, national and global level, arguing that they each con-
tain their own contradictions, but also that they – far from being isolated cul-
tural constructions – constantly interact with and affect each other.
The apparently homogeneous character of the global risk society and the
seemingly universal way of conceptualizing fear and politically managing
‘security’ associated with it break down into a more complex pattern upon
closer inspection. As this article has tried to show, the ‘onto-politics’ of
security have global, national and local refractions, the interplay between
which deserves detailed analysis.
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