10.1007@978 981 15 4242 8

Asia in Transition 9
Stefani Nugroho
The Divergent
Nation
of Indonesia
Heterogeneous Imaginings in Jakarta,
Kupang, and Banda Aceh
Asia in Transition
Volume 9
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Lian Kwen Fee, Institute of Asian Studies, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Gadong,
Brunei Darussalam
Zawawi Ibrahim, The Institute of Asian Studies, Universiti Brunei Darussalam,
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Stefani Nugroho
The Divergent Nation

of Indonesia
Heterogeneous Imaginings in Jakarta,
Kupang, and Banda Aceh
123
Stefani Nugroho
Atma Jaya Catholic University of Indonesia
Jakarta, Indonesia
ISSN 2364-8252 ISSN 2364-8260 (electronic)

Asia in Transition
ISBN 978-981-15-4241-1 ISBN 978-981-15-4242-8 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8
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Foreword
Nicholas Tarling, in his “Nations and States in Southeast Asia” (1998) and drawing
on Duiker’s work on Vietnam, describes nationalism as a process by which people
become willing to transfer their primary loyalty from the village or the monarch to
the nation-state. Such loyalties, he continues, are likely to shift, their articulation
vary from elite to masses, that nationalism is discriminating from one community to
another in the same state, and nationalists aspire to independence. In distinguishing
mainland from insular Southeast Asia, Tarling comments that the presence of
historical and political continuity in such states as Vietnam, Burma, and Thailand
facilitates nation-building. Its absence, as in Indonesia—where boundaries have
been imposed by colonial powers—has been a major obstacle to nationhood.
Indonesia, as Adam Schwarz titles his book, is “A Nation in Waiting” (1994).
Stefani’s book is the product of her Ph.D. thesis she submitted in 2014 at the
National University of Singapore, for which she was awarded the best thesis in the
same year. She was Fulbright Scholar in 2015 before joining the Institute of Asian
Studies, Universiti Brunei Darussalam as Postdoctoral Fellow in 2016, where she
began revising her thesis for publication. Her work is a significant contribution and
a departure from the many in the past that have attempted to come to grips with one
of the most perplexing and ethnically pluralistic societies in the region. Previous
works on Indonesian nationhood have been dominated by the perspective of elites,
influenced by the knowledge that Indonesian nationalism was precipitated by a
common opposition against Dutch colonial rule and oppression, and therefore
framed within the narratives of colonial history.
Stefani’s contribution is remarkable for several reasons. First, she examines
Indonesia as a postcolonial nation but at the same time, she is mindful of its colonial
origins. Secondly, she is determined to move away from the essentialist and unitary
conception of the nation that has dominated previous scholars. She does this by
methodologically disaggregating the nation-state. Thirdly, she interrogates the
nation from below: how do ordinary people who are usually not consciously
engaged in the nation project articulate their notions and aspirations of what it
means to be Indonesian. Selecting youth from three diverse research sites, namely
Muslim Acheh in the western periphery, Jakarta in the center, and Christian Kupang
v
vi Foreword
in the eastern periphery, she uses photo-elicitation to encourage young Indonesians

to explore their views on what otherwise is an abstract topic of conversation. In her
own words, she “engages with the heterogeneity of the construction of the nation
and in so doing disrupts the hegemonic notions of Indonesia”.
The originality of her work becomes full blown as she uncovers the narratives of
her informants. For young residents living in the periphery, Kupang is invisible to
the Indonesian nation-state; yet they prefer integration for the perceived benefits
which they would be deprived of being independent. In contrast, Acheh’s historical
independence marks its antagonism toward the nation, yet her informants accept
reconciliation as necessary for prosperity. At the center in Jakarta, the nation is
indeed an imagined community closest to the official discourse, and in the project
erases the rest of Indonesia by essentializing cultural diversity and naturalizing
inequality. These narratives reveal the fractures and fragility of Indonesia as a
postcolonial nation, so succinctly characterized by Nicholas Tarling.
This is a refreshing and fine piece of scholarship that the Institute of Asian
Studies is proud to be associated with.
Lian Kwen Fee

Professor of Sociology, Institute of Asian Studies
Universiti Brunei Darussalam
Gadong, Brunei
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been written if not for the intellectual and emotional
support of so many people. I am indebted first and foremost to Prof. Eric
Thompson, whose guidance led me to write my dissertation, the initial form of this
book. I wish to thank Profs. Gavin Jones and Maribeth Erb at the National
University of Singapore who have provided various suggestions during the course
of my doctoral research. The fieldwork itself was made possible by the Graduate
Research Scheme provided by the National University of Singapore.
The metamorphosis from dissertation to book transpired while I was a post-
doctoral fellow at the Institute of Asian Studies, Universiti Brunei Darussalam. I am
grateful to have been provided the mentorship and the collegiality of Profs. Lian
Kwen Fee, Bruno Jetin, Jeremy Jammes, Paul Carnegie, Sin Yee Koh, and CY
Hoon. Thank you for the continuous support and encouragement.
To the reviewers of the dissertation as well as the manuscript, your suggestions and
critiques have contributed to the course of this book. I am especially thankful for Prof.
R. Elson, not only for his role as the external examiner of my dissertation, but also for
having written “The Idea of Indonesia” that eventually inspired this entire project.
I wish to extend my special appreciation to the many people I talked to in
Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh, who have been kind enough to share their
comments on the photographs with me. To some of you, I am glad our conver-
sations did not end after the fieldwork, and that our relationship evolved
into long-lasting friendship.
I would also like to thank my colleagues at Atma Jaya Catholic University of
Indonesia for their support, particularly Christiany Suwartono, Syanesti Adishesa,
and Rosa Delima.
To Kim Ji Youn, Wu-Ling Chong, Amritorupa Sen, Minushree Sharma,
Ta-Wei Chu, Ron Humayun and so many others I cannot name one by one for it
would have taken the space of an entire chapter, thanks for accompanying me through
this journey. It would have been a lonely one if it were not for your company.
Lastly, I reserve my gratitude to my parents, my sister, and my little family,
Anton and Christian for providing the much-needed balance in life.
vii
Contents
1 On Imagining a Nation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 1
1.1 Emphasis on Homogeneity and Elites in the Study
of Nationhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 3
1.2 Prevalence of Homogeneous Elite Point of Views in Indonesian
Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 6
1.3 Toward Heterogeneous Constructions of Everyday
Nationhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
1.3.1 The Construction of the Nation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
1.3.2 Standpoint Theory and Situated Imagining . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
1.4 Organization of the Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
2 Nationalism and the Making of Indonesian Subjects . . . . . . . . . . .. 19
2.1 Precursors to Independence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 21
2.2 Independent Indonesia as a Unitary State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 24
2.2.1 Nation-Building Narratives: Majapahit, the Youth Pledge,
and Pancasila . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 25
2.2.2 Indonesia’s Mythical Past . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 26
2.2.3 Early Challenges in Nation-Building . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 29
2.2.4 Guided Democracy and the End of the Sukarno’s
Administration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
2.3 The New Order: Stabilization and Homogenization . . . . . . . . . . . 32
2.3.1 Military Style Homogenization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
2.3.2 Education as the Site of Indoctrination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
2.3.3 Building the National Cultural Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
2.3.4 Uneven Belongingness to Indonesia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
2.3.5 The Beginning of the End . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
2.4 The Reform Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
2.4.1 Decentralization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
ix
x Contents
2.4.2 Gus Dur, Megawati, and Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono . . . . 43

2.5 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
3 Methodology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
3.1 The Research Sites: Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh . . . . . . . . . 49
3.2 Methodological Challenges . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
3.3 The Photo-Elicitation Interview Method . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
3.4 Selection of Photographs and the Interview Process . . . . . . . . . . . 55
3.4.1 Photographs Used in the Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
3.5 Note on Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
4 Imagining “Indonesia” from Jakarta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 67
4.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Jakarta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 68
4.2 The Inward Gaze: Building a Chain of Equivalence from
Diversity and Disparity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 70
4.2.1 The Nationalization and Essentialization of Regional
Cultures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
4.2.2 Politically and Economically Dependent Periphery . . . . . . 73
4.2.3 The Regions as Negative Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
4.3 The Outward Gaze . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
4.3.1 The Antagonistic Other: Malaysia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
4.3.2 The Desirable Other: Affluent and Developed
Countries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 82
4.4 Summary and Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 85
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 87
5 Indonesia from the Periphery: Imagining “Indonesia”
in Kupang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ........ 89
5.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Kupang . . . . . . . . . . . ........ 91
5.2 The Inward Gaze: Coexistence of Hegemonic
and Counter-Hegemonic Discourses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ........ 93
5.2.1 Reproductions of Hegemonic Narratives . . . . . . ........ 94
5.2.2 Inhabiting the Negative Space: Do You Know
Where Kupang Is? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ........ 96
5.2.3 Questioning Hegemonic Meanings of “Culture”
and “Diversity” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ........ 97
5.2.4 A Pragmatic Belongingness to the Nation . . . . . ........ 99
5.3 The Outward Gaze: The Absence of the International
World as the Other . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
5.4 Summary and Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Contents xi
6 Deconstructing “Indonesia” in Banda Aceh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109

6.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Banda Aceh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
6.2 The Inward Gaze . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
6.2.1 Inhibiting the Negative Space: Aceh Culture Versus
Indonesian Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
6.2.2 Two Perceptions on Aceh’s Integration with Indonesia . . . 115
6.3 The Outward Gaze: Aceh and the World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
6.4 Summary and Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
7 Heterogeneous Constructions of the Nation: Theoretical and
Practical Implications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
7.1 Plural Imaginings from Below: The Center and the
Peripheries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
7.2 Multiple Modes of Otherness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
7.3 Multiple Centers, Plural Dominant Discourses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
7.4 The Nation as “Regularity in Dispersion” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
7.5 A Post-script: The Future of Indonesia as a Common
Project? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Appendix: Regional Responses to Individual Photographs . . . . . . . . . . . 145

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
Chapter 1
On Imagining a Nation
Abstract This chapter locates the book in the existing body of theories and research
on nation and Indonesian studies. Classic theories of the nation, including Benedict
Anderson’s notion of “the imagined community”, perceive the nation as a singular
and homogeneous entity. The same trend runs through the field of Indonesian studies
where there is an overemphasis on the elite’s point of view of Indonesia, thus ignoring
the complexity and the heterogeneity of the imagining of Indonesia at the grassroot
level. Heeding Hobsbawm’s call to look at the nation “from below”, this book argues
that it is crucial to take into account how the non-elites imagine it. Using standpoint
theory in conjunction with Laclau and Mouffe’s theory of hegemony as its theoretical
grounding, the book argues that the nation is constructed differently depending on
the positionality from which the chain of equivalence and the chain of difference
are drawn. As empirical support for this argument, the book looks at how young
people in three cities (Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh) imagine Indonesia. The
cities occupy different positionalities in the trajectory of Indonesian nation-building.
Jakarta, the capital, the has long been center of the archipelago. Kupang is the provin-
cial capital of East Nusa Tenggara, one of the least developed provinces and where
most of the population are Christians in a Muslim-majority country. Banda Aceh is
the capital province of Aceh where separatism was active until the peace agreement
was signed in 2005. The different vantage points generate heterogeneous imaginings
of Indonesia.
Keywords Imagined community · Non-elite nationhood · Indonesian nationhood ·

Heterogeneous nationhood · Standpoint theory
This country, the Republic of Indonesia, does not belong to any group, any religion, any
ethnic group, or any group with customs and traditions, but is the property of all of us from
Sabang to Merauke!
(Sukarno, Indonesia’s first president, in a speech given in Surabaya on September 24th,
1955)
If we say “from Sabang to Merauke”, the song goes “from Sabang to Merauke, that is
Indonesia”. But in the daily life, there is no Sabang, there is no Merauke. Not many people
know where Sabang is, where Merauke is. They are just parts of a song.
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license 1
to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020
S. Nugroho, The Divergent Nation of Indonesia, Asia in Transition 11,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_1
2 1 On Imagining a Nation
(Nana, a 20-year-old female student of a secretarial and administration college in Banda

Aceh, in an interview in 2010)
In 1955, a decade after Indonesia’s declaration of independence, Sukarno in the

typically moving way that earned him fame as a charismatic orator popularized the
metonymy “from Sabang to Merauke” in his attempt to persuade people to stand as
a united collectivity that owns, and at the same time belongs, to the all-embracing
new nation. Sabang and Merauke are the two geographical extremities of Indonesia:
the town of Sabang is located in Weh Island, in Aceh, while Merauke is on the
easternmost part of Papua. The space between the two towns, covering thousands
of kilometers of land and sea, is filled by Sukarno with an imaginary seamless
entity named Indonesia. In his view, the diversity and differences between the people
inhabiting the space do not and should not matter, as they are all Indonesians. Various
successive administrations have actively propagated Sukarno’s vision of a united
Indonesia that transcends various ethnic and religious affiliations. It is one of the
cornerstones of the imagined Indonesian community. “From Sabang to Merauke”
is the title of a “compulsory national song”, referring to a category of songs that
represents “the official ideology and form part of a larger indoctrination campaign”
(Van Dijk, 2003). Every citizen who has undergone elementary education, including
Nana, has been exposed to the song, and with it, to the imagining of Indonesia that
it asserts.
Many scholarly works on Indonesia have widely discussed the nation-building
strategies of Sukarno and other political leaders that are instilled through institutions
like the media or schools. They meticulously studied the discursive processes of how
“Indonesia” as an idea is produced and reproduced. Most of these studies, as a later
section of this chapter will elaborate, either take a macro-perspective or focus on the
role of elite social actors . While these studies are undoubtedly useful, they present
only half of the story. The other half is here exemplified by Nana’s deconstruction
of the very phrase that signifies Indonesia.
Unlike Sukarno, who needs little introduction for scholars in Indonesia, Nana is a
young woman living in the outskirts of Banda Aceh. At the time of the research, she
was a student in a secretarial college. She has little interest in politics, and different
from some of the people I met in Banda Aceh, she does not think that Aceh would
be better off as an independent state. Like many people in her age group, she is
more focused on spending time with her boyfriend and friends, finishing college,
and finding a job afterward. Nevertheless, despite the disinterest in politics, her
perception of “Sabang to Merauke” is not only a negation of the state’s narrative, but
effectively unravels the idea by showing its irrelevance to the “real” lives of people.
As she asserted, Sabang and Merauke are two actual cities, and most people do not
know where they are located. Ironically, both Sabang, as well as Merauke, belong to
regions that have continued to have separatist movements long after their integration
with the country, implying disagreement with Sukarno. Moreover, these two distinct
cities do not form a single stand-in for the entire nation-state. In other words, putting
side by side Sukarno and Nana’s understanding of Sabang and Merauke, it becomes
clear that Sukarno and Nana have different imaginings of Indonesia. This diverging
1 On Imagining a Nation 3
imagining is the starting point of this book, i.e., the interest in the unfixed and
heterogeneous constructions of the nation as imagined “from below”.
This book centers on how Indonesia is viewed by the non-elite youth, that is, by
individuals like Nana. Here, I use the term “non-elite” in opposition to the sociological
definition of the elites, that is, people who “have vastly disproportionate control over
or access to a resource” that is transferable, thus leading to economic gains, influence,
or in some other way, a higher social status (Khan, 2012). In contrast to the elites, the
“non-elites” are thus those who do not have access to these resources. In the context of
youth, this would mean that they are not the offspring of well-to-do or exceptionally
powerful figures, nor are they themselves publicly known individuals; they are not
celebrities, or prominent social activists, and do not have a significant presence in
the social media. With the exception of three girls who are radio announcers (two in
Kupang and one in Banda Aceh), none of the young people I talked to have access
to influence the opinions of the general public. It is the imagining of Indonesia by
these “non-elites” that this book is interested in.
By delving into the non-elite imaginings of Indonesia, this book aims to refine
the ongoing discussions in the studies on nationhood and Indonesian studies. In both
disciplines, there is an overemphasis on homogeneity and elite point of views. In
contrast, employing Laclau and Mouffe’s theory on the construction of hegemony
and the standpoint theory, I argue that the imagining of the nation, especially from
below, is heterogeneous. While the empirical data for this book was obtained during
a fieldwork that was done between 2009 and 2010, and there might have been shifts
and changes in the exact content of the imaginings of the nation in the intervening
years, this core argument of this book continue to hold ground (see Chap. 7). The
following sections elaborate these tendencies in both disciplines, as a way of putting
this book on the map of the existing body of knowledge and research.
1.1 Emphasis on Homogeneity and Elites in the Study

of Nationhood
In their introduction to the Oxford Reader on nationalism, Hutchinson and Smith

distil three ideal conditions of the nation-state: autonomy, unity, and identity. Founded
on the ideals of Enlightenment principles, nations are sovereign political units. Simi-
larly, based on egalitarian principles, the members of the nation are a “community
of equals” (Greenfeld, 2006). The nation is expected to function as a fraternity that
is founded on longstanding shared history, and on centuries of practicing the same
culture in a clearly defined geographical territory, thus articulated in a single clear-cut
national identity.
As scholars of the study of the nation are well-acquainted with, there are two
main strands of theories on the nation: primordialism or perennialism, and construc-
tivism or modernism. The key difference between the strands of theories lies in
the factors to which the homogeneity is attributed. Primordialism or perennialism
sees the homogeneous identities of nations as an organic continuation of earlier
pre-modern collectivities that share certain essential “givens”, such as biological or

cultural features. The degree of essentialism within the strand varies considerably.
In its most radical version, the primordialism theory argues that nations are exten-
sions of smaller kinship units (van den Berghe, 1995), thus morphing from nuclear
family to extended family, clan, and so on toward a larger scale. It is thus biological
proximity that bonds the members of a nation. This view, however, has been heavily
criticized for its essentialized and static views of society.
A far less radical understanding of a nation’s cohesion is Smith’s ethno-
symbolism. The theory understands the nation as a continuation of what he terms
as “ethnies”. These are “a named human community connected to a homeland,
possessing common myths of ancestry, shared memories, one or more elements
of shared culture, and a measure of solidarity.” (Smith, 2010 p. 13). In nations, the
shared memory has been codified into national history, the shared culture becomes
a public culture, and the solidarity has been turned into official laws and customs
(Smith, 2010 p. 14). The monolithic identity of nation-states is derived from the
identities of social groups that predate the nation.
Constructivism or modernism, on the other hand, attributes the homogeneity in
nations to particular modern integrative forces that are the consequences of industrial-
ization, such as the standardization in education, or the invention of the printing press.
Industrialization radically re-organized societies. Mass production requires a type of
training for the workers that is standardized, universal, and generic. The educational
system that is needed is massive, and can only be provided and controlled by an orga-
nization as large as the state (Gellner, 2006). This education system is responsible
for the transmission of a culture that entails literacy, and obtained through training
(Gellner, 2006). It is through state-controlled education that individuals are socialized
into a particular culture, serving as the “minimal shared atmosphere, within which
alone the members of the society can breathe and survive and produce” (Gellner,
2006 p. 36). This new system engenders a new form of organization, that is, the
nation. Thus, it is not that nationalism imposes homogeneity, but on the contrary,
it is homogeneity among a group of people, resulting from a particular imperative,
i.e., the demands of industrialization, that eventually crystallized into nationhood
(Gellner, 2006).
While Gellner delved into the role of standardized education, Anderson (2006)
looked at the consequences of print capitalism as the homogenizing factor. Once
print technology made it possible to mass-produce written materials, the texts were
printed not only in “high” languages but also in vernacular languages. Driven by the
basic principles of capitalism, publishers wanted to maximize the market and profit,
and yet at the same time, minimize the costs. This latter aspect meant that similar
oral vernaculars were grouped as one print language. This strategy inadvertently
facilitated communication between speakers of various vernaculars. The awareness
that there is a large but limited group of people who read the same newspaper in a
particular print language is the embryo of national consciousness (Anderson, 2006).
A slightly different dynamics are behind the nations that formed in the aftermath
of World War II, or what Anderson called the “last wave nations”. These last wave
1.1 Emphasis on Homogeneity and Elites in the Study of Nationhood 5
nations are modular to the colonial territory. They are modular in terms of geograph-
ical boundaries, as well as in practices of governance. Whether it is through indus-
trialization or colonization, in both cases, the nation is imagined as being limited,
sovereign, and based on “deep, horizontal comradeship” (2006 p. 7), regardless of the
inequalities and injustices that might take place. In Anderson’s account of the emer-
gence of nationhood, the nation is also necessarily a homogeneous fraternity with a
shared language (through print capitalism), a shared history, and, albeit implicitly, a
single imagining of the national community.
Taking a slightly different angle, Hobsbawm (1992) focuses on the construction of
continuity between the pre-and the modern era. According to him, the break brought
about by modernity and industrialization was so comprehensive that some historic
continuity needs to be invented (1992). These “invented traditions” are ritualized
symbolic sets of practices that are repeated in order to instill certain values and
imply continuity with the infinite, far away past. Examples of these traditions are
flags, the national anthem, the personifications of the nation (e.g., Marianne, or
Uncle Sam), monuments, as well as public ceremonies. Invented traditions anchor
the origins of the new nations to ancient times, while also legitimizing the authority,
and inculcating the beliefs and values among the people.
The idea of “invented tradition” implies the existence of the “inventors” who are,
in different degrees and with varying intentions, responsible for the establishment
of the traditions. These are not only political leaders, like Sukarno, but also the
composers of national anthems, the designers, and sculptors of the monuments, or
the historians who were able to retrace and validate the nations’ mythical origins.
These elites are the key element in the formation of nationhood. For instance, the
standardized and standardizing education system that Gellner saw to be key to nation-
formation requires pedagogical experts. The linguistic regrouping and the catego-
rization of national language and dialects, whether it is due to education or print
industry, demand the meticulous labor of philologists and lexicographers, as well as
journalists, poets, and novelists. In the context of postcolonial nations, the educated
natives, who were absorbed by the bureaucratic machinery of the colonial govern-
ment and had to travel to colonial centers, were central to the emergence of national
consciousness (Anderson, 2006). As Hutchinson and Smith (1994) point out, national
consciousness starts among the elite intellectuals and spreads to professionals, before
reaching the other sections of society. Given the significance of the elite social actors
in constituting nationhood, it is entirely understandable and unsurprising that theo-
retical as well as empirical constructivist studies on the nation have so far focused
on them. Nevertheless, as Hobsbawm also recognized, the phenomena of nation-
states “cannot be understood unless also analyzed from below, that is in terms of the
assumptions, hopes, needs, longings, and interests of ordinary people, which are not
necessarily national and still less nationalist” (1990 p. 10). First, official ideologies
are not accurate reflections of the perceptions and attitudes of the citizens; second,
there might be identity groups aside from the nation that exists alongside, or even
dictate, the identities of the people; and third, national identifications shift and fluc-
tuate over time (Hobsbawm 1990 p. 11). Although he lamented the absence of the
non-elites in studies of the nation, Hobsbawm did not pose concrete theoretical as
well as methodological suggestions as to how the study of the nation from below
could be done.
This study aims to address the imbalance and complement the existing work by
examining the other half of the story, that is, the nation as perceived by the non-
elites. Before engaging in a thorough discussion of non-elite conceptualizations of
the nation, the following section will look at how the same emphasis on homogeneity
and elite point of view also dominate the field of Indonesian studies.
1.2 Prevalence of Homogeneous Elite Point of Views

in Indonesian Studies
The field of Indonesian studies has comprehensively covered the course of

Indonesia’s formation as a nation-state in an extensive body of work. Many of these
work shares the same analytical foci outlined in the earlier elaborated theories of
nationhood. They generally take a macro-perspective and focus on certain historical
events, the dynamics between ideologies, the roles of major institutions, or important
individual social and political leaders in shaping Indonesia.
In a compelling meta-analysis of Indonesian studies, Philpott (2000) points out
the two texts that form the groundwork of studies in Indonesian politics, i.e., Kahin’s
“Nationalism and Revolution in Indonesia” (1952) and Feith’s “The Decline of
Constitutional Democracy in Indonesia” (1962). These hegemonic works have estab-
lished the “elite-based analysis of Indonesian political life” (2000 pp. 61–62). As
Philpott argues, “Mainstream studies of Indonesian politics say little about the ways
that ‘Indonesians’ are constantly made and remade in the political discourses of
government” (2000 p. 147).
Philpott’s criticism runs parallel to the concerns regarding the lack of under-
standing of nationhood from below. A more recent work by Aspinall (2014) in the
edited volume “Producing Indonesia: The State of the Field of Indonesian Studies”
(2014) calls for political scientists to start to pay attention to the “micro-politics”
in the post-authoritarian period, that is, “the political activities and experiences of
ordinary people”. Both meta-analyses point out the absence of the people who are
“made Indonesians” in the studies on Indonesian politics. It is this absence that the
book aims to address.
Of course, this is not to argue that no research had shed light on the diverging expe-
rience of the nation-state among “ordinary” Indonesians. Many of these research use
an anthropological approach, thus through lengthy ethnographic fieldwork, obtaining
an understanding of how the nation plays out in the lived experiences of communi-
ties in the margins. For instance, Kipp’s wonderful “Dissociated Identities” (1996)
looks at the shifts in Karo identities as the result of the broader social dynamics
in Indonesia. She provides examples of how the state’s politicization of culture, its
policies regarding religion, and the prohibition against discussing inter-group differ-
ences are advantageous for the upper-class, urban-dwelling Karo, but less so for the
1.2 Prevalence of Homogeneous Elite Point of Views in Indonesian Studies 7
Karo who stays in their regions. MacRae (2010) studies “ajeg Bali”, a campaign to
protect Bali from outsiders, including migrants from other parts of Indonesia, while
Long (2017) examines the affective dimension of decentralization for the inhabi-
tants of Riau Islands. However, while these studies look closely at how each of these
communities in the peripheries deal with the state, this book looks at three different
communities and the heterogeneity of their conceptualizations of Indonesia.
1.3 Toward Heterogeneous Constructions of Everyday

Nationhood
In the canonical work on nationhood as well as in Indonesian studies, the “ordi-

nary people’s” perspectives and contribution to the (dis)assembling of the nation
have not been a research priority. Works in nation studies have started to address
this absence in the past decades through two concepts, i.e., banal nationalism and
everyday nationhood. Although both concepts share a common interest in how the
nation is experienced in the everyday life, scholars generally agree that there are
substantial differences between the two terms regarding the location of agency in the
production of the imaginings of the nation (Knott, 2015; Fox & van Ginderachter,
2018).
Banal nationalism, a term famously coined by Billig (1995), refers to the way
nation-states are reproduced in “invisible” and seemingly innocuous practices,
e.g., the constant waving of the national flag in office buildings or the taken-for-
granted inclusive “we” in official speeches. In “established” nations where national
sovereignty and legitimacy are no longer disputed by its people or by the interna-
tional community, this is how nationalism is reproduced and how it can be rapidly
evoked when the need for explicit nationalism arises, for instance, to summon support
for electoral campaigns or military actions. Although research on banal nationalism
looks for quotidian signifiers of the nation, the underlying perspective considers
nationalism to be a top-down phenomenon, that is, as master discourses of the nation
that permeate the everyday life of the “common” people (Hearn and Antonsich,
2018). Examples of studies that share the same assumption as banal nationalism are,
for instance, Edensor’s work on national identity and popular culture (2002), and
Foster’s work on consumption and nation-making in Papua New Guinea (2002).
In contrast, although also focusing on the nation “from below”, everyday nation-
hood focuses on the bottom-up processes of nation-making and so puts much
more emphasis on agency (Hearn and Antonsich, 2018; Knott, 2015). The nation
is “made” in routine conversations and interactions, in the decisions that people
make, in the bodily performances or ritual enactment, and in the consumption prac-
tices of the people (Fox and Miller-Idriss, 2008). For instance, Mann & Fenton
(2009) look at how experiences of work and locality inform individuals’ imagining
of British/Englishness, while Van Ginderachter (2018) analyzes the “propaganda
pence” written by ordinary citizens of the city of Ghent, Belgium, at the end of the
nineteenth century to reveal the absence of Belgian nationalism and the presence of
banal Flemish nationalism.
Although the elite-centered perspective has been countered by the growing interest
in banal nationalism and everyday nationhood, there are several limitations in the
use of both concepts that are addressed in this book. The first limitation is pointed
out by Hearn and Antonsich (2018): both banal nationalism and everyday nation-
hood continue to assume that the nation is singular, thus not unlike the top-down
perspectives of the nation. The concepts and the way that they have been applied
in most studies do not sufficiently consider the ethnic, religious, linguistic make-
up of population and how these inform the various ways in which the nation is
expressed and constructed by “ordinary people”. Despite looking at the nation “from
below”, the nation is still assumed to be monolithic, leaving its hegemonic construc-
tion unchallenged. The second limitation is that most of the research is done in the
Western or post-Communism context (Knott, 2015). The lack of research on everyday
nationhood in Asia or postcolonial nations is regrettable, although a much-welcomed
exception is the recently published edited volume on affect and nationalism in Asia
that looks at how “nationalism orders our feelings….” (Wang, 2017 p. xvi). The third
limitation is that there is a lack of exploration regarding the connection between the
structure and agency, (Knott, 2015; Hearn and Antonsich, 2018) or in other words,
between what is being studied in banal nationalism and what is the focal point of
everyday nationhood.
The current book addresses these limitations exactly by engaging with the hetero-
geneity of the construction of the nation and in so doing, disrupts the hegemonic
notions of “Indonesia”. By choosing three research sites with significant differences
from each other in terms of the characteristics of the population but also in terms of
their colonial and postcolonial experiences (more about this will be explained in a
later section), the study wants to do justice to the plurality of the voices from below.
By studying Indonesia, this book contributes to a better understanding of the
nation in the so-called “last wave” nations. These nations possess certain historical
burdens that set them apart from Western nations. They bear the consequences of the
“anomalies” brought about by imperial powers, such as the “arbitrariness of frontiers
and bilingual intelligentsias poised precariously over diverse monoglot populations”
(Anderson, 2006 p. 114). These nations are ongoing projects engaged in continuing
discussions and dissensions over their history, identity, and boundaries. It becomes
imperative to study how nationhood is constructed at the grassroot level, whether as
echoes of dominant discourses or as something produced by everyday interactions
of ordinary people. Not only are these constructions more fluid and heterogeneous
than in more established nations, but studying them might also shed more light on
alternative constructions of the nations.
Having proposed how this book could contribute to the existing body of knowledge
on nationhood from below, the position of this book within the banal nationalism-
everyday nationhood dichotomy is not straightforward. On the one hand, aligned
with everyday nationhood, it aims to understand how the nation is expressed in and
shaped by daily experiences. The very open-ended interview method aims to mimic
as closely as possible the natural flows in conversations (more about this in Chap. 3).
1.3 Toward Heterogeneous Constructions of Everyday Nationhood 9
However, despite the efforts that have been made to make the interviews as “natural”
as possible, they are instigated by photographs and revolve around topics that the
informants might not have thought of if it were not for the interview. On the other
hand, very much like banal nationalism, the research does acknowledge that the
everyday imaginings of the nation are informed by larger, more dominant discourses
of the nation. Yet, as stated previously, the study goes beyond identifying how the
state is quietly reproduced in the everyday because it also looks at the discourses that
diverge from the state discourse.
This research straddles between the two concepts and is yet not entirely part of
either one. This suggests that the two major concepts and approaches in the studying
the nation from below, i.e., everyday nationhood and banal nationalism, do not suffi-
ciently capture the range of research that can be done on non-elite constructions of
the nation and that more conceptual work needs to be done in this regard. Given that
this work cannot be categorized into either one, I propose to understand the discourse
of the nation in terms of Laclau and Mouffe’s theory of hegemony. This theory would
accommodate both the macro-structural aspect of the construction of the nation, as
well as the undecidability and heterogeneity of this construction.
1.3.1 The Construction of the Nation
Drawing on Laclau and Mouffe’s theory of hegemony, I propose that the construction
of the nation could be better understood as the workings of hegemony. Torfing (1999:
302) defines hegemony as “The achievement of a moral, intellectual and political
leadership… It involves the expansion of a particular discourse of norms, values,
views and perceptions through persuasive re-descriptions of the world.” A good
example of a “re-description” is Sukarno’s “re-drawing” of the space between Sabang
and Merauke as a singular and homogeneous nation.
This construction of a seemingly singular and coherent image depends on the
articulation of sameness and difference, thus of “us” and “them”. The important
role of the exterior in the construction of an entity has been proposed by many
other theorists aside from Laclau and Mouffe. In the classic work on ethnicity and
boundaries, Fredrik Barth argues that it is the boundaries of the ethnic groups that
“define the groups, not the cultural stuff that it encloses” (Barth, 1982: 15). Similarly,
Anthony Cohen (1985) proposes that symbolic boundaries are constructed to give
substance to belongingness to a community. Michael Billig (1995) draws from Social
Identity Theory to postulate that the national identity is formed by defining the “self”
as that which is different from “them”. In Laclau and Mouffe’s theory, there are two
logics that are simultaneously at play in the construction of an entity; the logic
of equivalence and the logic of difference (Laclau and Mouffe [1985] 2001). The
logic of equivalence highlights sameness between different elements, creating the
so-called chain of equivalence. This is the logic that underlies the perception that the
various ethnic and religious groups within Indonesia are all part of the same country.
However, this logic alone is not sufficient to constitute a mentally constructed entity.
To form the idea of a singular entity, the working of the logic of difference is necessary.
This logic of difference highlights the contrast of these elements with other elements
that are (considered to be) dissimilar. In its most extreme form, this is the logic that
generates xenophobia and the sense of national superiority. It is only by privileging
the difference with an exterior that the differences within the entity can be erased.
According to Laclau and Mouffe, the elements within the nation are considered
equivalent only in contrast with a “common enemy”, or, antagonistic force. Some
examples of antagonistic forces in the course of Indonesian nation-building1 are, for
instance, the Dutch, the “western imperialist”, the communists, and most recently,
Malaysia (more on this in Chapter Four). Although agreeing that the strength of
the chain of equivalence corresponds to the strength of the antagonistic force, the
imaginings of Indonesia presented in this book suggest that to form a sense of “us”,
the exterior need not to be perceived as antagonistic.
A third fundamental concept in Laclau and Mouffe’s theory of hegemony is the
notion of “empty signifier”. This is the signifier that binds the chain of equivalence
together. It is not an “actual” particular essence, like a shared past or a signifi-
cant number of biological similarities, but is instead a signifier that stands in for an
“absent” totality. It does not have a clear and fixed meaning, therefore it is “empty”.
Paradoxically, it is precisely because an empty signifier does not signify a particular
essence that people have varied interpretations of its meaning and representations.
Zizek (2013: 294) describes an empty signifier as follows “…nobody really knows
what it means, but each of them somehow presupposes that others know it, that it
has to mean ‘the real thing’, and so they use it all the time”. In Laclau’s words, “This
relation by which a particular content becomes the signifier of the absent communi-
tarian fullness is exactly what we call a hegemonic relationship (italics in original)
(Laclau, 2007: 43).” The nation is imagined as a community by all its members
precisely because of the working of the empty signifier. The members might have
different perceptions of what binds them, and they might have diverging experiences
and expectations of the kind of community that their nation is, nonetheless, they all
are convinced of its “genuine” reason for existence.
Importantly, the hegemonic relationship is not fixed nor stable. Hegemony is
contingently formed from a terrain that is heterogeneous, due to the workings of the
two abovementioned logics and tied by a signifier that stands in for an emptiness.
The logic of equivalence and the logic of difference fix meanings temporarily out of
a plethora of potential alternative meanings. Laclau points out that the imagination of
the nation is the result of forces that totalize and homogenize elements in a heteroge-
neous terrain and so forms a relatively coherent image. Despite the workings of these
1 Inthe case of Sukarno’s particular speech, however, the logic of difference is applied to the
imagined threat of ethnic, religious, and cultural groups that might claim Indonesia to be exclusively
theirs, or reversely, that they are not part of Indonesia altogether. In other words, any other alternate
visions aside from the Indonesia that is imagined by Sukarno is considered to be radically “not-
Indonesian”. This insistence on the country’s form is one of the strongest themes that runs through
Indonesia’s nation-building strategies (more on this in the subsequent chapter), and one of the
reasons behind the continued subterranean reproduction of counter-hegemonic visions of the nation
among some groups in the country.
hegemonic forces, the image is not absolute and is still marked by contingency and
incompleteness (Glynos and Howarth, 2007). By reserving conceptual spaces that
could take into account the blurriness of the boundaries and of the chain of equiva-
lence, as exemplified by Nana’s counter-interpretation of the phrase “from Sabang
to Merauke”, the theory could accommodate the understanding of the nation from
below.
In this book, “Indonesia” is treated as an empty signifier with potentially diverging
meanings for young people in three different geographical locations and socio-
historical and political positions. The chain of equivalence is referred to as “the
inward gaze”, while the youth’s perception of the exterior other is referred to by
the term “the outward gaze”. Although “the gaze” itself is a well-trodden concept
in continental philosophical theories, to which Laclau and Mouffe’s theory categor-
ically belong, the book will not engage in the intricacies of the term. “The gaze”
in this book mainly refers to the act of perceiving what is “internal” and what is
“external”, and in so doing form a sense of entity, in this case, the nation. As this
book also will explore in the later parts, slightly deviating from Laclau and Mouffe’s
assertion of the necessity of the antagonism, the imaginings of “Indonesia” in the
three cities suggest that the constitutive exterior does not need to be perceived as
antagonistic. The non-existence of an absolute boundary between the inside and the
outside should be understood as an important point of Laclau and Mouffe’s theory
of hegemony, and why it is a suitable framework to understand the imagining of the
nation.
While Laclau and Mouffe’s theory of hegemony is apt not only to understand how
those in power shape certain imaginings, but also to take into account the hetero-
geneity of these imaginings (by acknowledging that hegemony is necessarily not
absolute nor complete), it does not elaborate more on the spaces where this hetero-
geneity is present, thus where the contingency is most strongly experienced, e.g., at
the boundaries of the chain of equivalence. Although they agree that empty signifiers
mean different things for different people, it does not explore the kinds of differences
that would lead to different meanings. In other words, the theory does not elaborate
nor question whether and how different vantage points generate different imaginings
of the same empty signifier. To capture this particular nuance of the constitution of
an imagined collectivity, we use the lens of the standpoint theory.
1.3.2 Standpoint Theory and Situated Imagining
The standpoint theory was conceived as a feminist critique to the epistemological

assumption that our knowledge and conceptualization of the world can be purely
objective and all-encompassing. It challenges the implied “…god-tricks promising
vision from everywhere and nowhere equally and fully” (Haraway, 1991). Taking a
contrasting stand against this principle of science, Harding (2004) states, “the grounds
for knowledge are fully saturated with history and social life rather than abstracted
from it”. At its core, standpoint theory asserts that our knowledge, perception, and
imagining of the world are embedded in the social context wherein we are situated,
thus in our position in the power structure, culture, and political values. Epistemo-
logically, knowledge (Haraway, 1991) and imagination (Stoetzler and Yuval-Davis,
2002) are embedded in the particular “situatedness” of the subject.
Stating a position that this book fully supports, Yuval-Davis poignantly argues
that it is insufficient to study only the hegemonic discourses of the nation that are
(re)produced in the official documentation or the media because “…the ways different
members of the collectivity experience the implications of these discourses as well
as interpret them can differ vastly, according to their intersected situated locations,
identifications and normative value system” (2011). As a corollary, this means that
the knowledge and imagination of a nation are informed by the situatedness or the
positionality of the subjects. Marginal positions generate constructions of Indonesia
that diverge from or challenge the dominant and official discourse.
A number of studies have dissected the role of positionality in the construction
of the imagined national community. An example is Glenn Bowman’s “A country of
words: Conceiving the Palestinian nation from the position of exile” (1994), a study
on the conceptualization of “Palestine” in the works of three Palestinian authors.
Although Bowman does not make an explicit reference to standpoint theory, he
implicitly shares the same principles about how conceptualizations of “Palestine”
are embedded in the position one is in. The three Palestinian authors come from
diverging backgrounds: one author is a refugee, one is an expatriate, and one is a
resident of the Occupied Territory. From the point of view of a writer-refugee, the
community of Palestinian people is first and foremost those who share the experience
of having been in a refugee camp, while the “Others” are not only the Israeli but also
the “Arab” and anyone who exploited them in their exile. This imagining is different
from that of the expatriate, an educated author who moved to another country before
the war with Israel started. The Palestinian community for him is marked by loss
and a sense of being away from home. Here, the Other that needs to be defeated
are not persons, but the states of forgetting and misinformation. For the third author,
who remains in the Occupied Territory, the Other is Israel, and the contrasting “us”
embraces a broader range of people: women, peasants, academics, and professionals.
Due to the different situatedness of the authors, they imagine “Palestine” and its
Others differently; this is a clear instance of how positionality shapes the imagining
of a nation.
Yuval-Davis herself also discussed what she calls the “politics of belonging”,
that is, the politics that deal with the construction of boundaries and the inclusion
or exclusion of groups by those who have power (2011). Examining the discourses
of Britishness over the course of several decades, she points out that there have
been three different political projects regarding the British identity. The first project,
right after the end of the World War and thus the end of the British Empire, is
propagated by the Conservative minister Enoch Powell who considers descent to be
the key marker of belongingness to Britain. Several decades later, a different set of
discourses of Britishness was promoted by Norman Tebbit, another Conservative
minister. In his view, belongingness to Britain is marked by assimilation, economic
contribution, identification, and emotional attachment. In the subsequent years, the
New Labor government espoused a different project of Britishness that centers not
only on solidarity and loyalty to Britain but also on certain political and ethical
values, like democracy and human rights. By attaching these emancipatory values
as the qualities of Britain or the British people, these values paradoxically form an
exclusionary boundary (Yuval-Davis, 2011).
This book shares the same assumptions with Bowman’s and Yuval-Davis’
research: the imaginings of the nation are informed by the situatedness from which it
is constructed. To use Laclau and Mouffe’s term, the chain of equivalence, including
its boundaries that are perceived by the people, is partly determined by the people’s
positions that are dictated by the hegemonic logic of equivalence. While Bowman and
Yuval-Davis look at individuals who belong to the “elite” group that is, authors and
their differing experiences of Palestine, and high-rank politicians and their visions
of Britishness, respectively, I am looking at the non-elite, young people who have
less political capitals and power. These are the individuals who were made national
subjects through the official discourse of “Indonesia”, and it is among them in partic-
ular that “everyday nationhood” is located. Realizing that there are so many positions
that could be considered (e.g., based on gender, social class, or cohort), the book
focuses on the individual’s position related to the city and region where one grew
up and resides, i.e., whether it is in the center or in the periphery. The inequality
between regions, cultures, and ethnic groups—so familiar to scholars of Indonesian
studies—structure the experiences and perceptions of the nation.
The use of the standpoint theory perspective is also a response to Hearn and Anton-
sich’s criticism of the current state of research in everyday nationhood (2018). They
point out that there is a substantial lack of details on the connection between agency,
which is the focus of everyday nationhood, and the larger societal structure. As they
remark, “…the centrality of the individual agency would not lead to a deeper under-
standing of nationalism unless it is studied in relation to the social organisational
context within which individual practices take place” (Hearn and Antonsich, 2018:
595). By using the standpoint theory perspective, agency (in the form of people’s
imaginings of the nation) is precisely seen in the context of the larger societal struc-
ture, i.e., the inequality between the regions and their inhabitants within Indonesia.
1.4 Organization of the Book
In presenting the key arguments and findings, the book proceeds in the following way.
In the next chapter, I provide a chronological account of how the Indonesian subject
is constructed in the early independence period, New Order, and reform era. This
includes the continuities and the discontinuities between different discourses and the
discursive strategies that created the division between the center and the periphery.
The elaboration is necessary to situate Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh within the
course of Indonesian nation-building and the state vision of Indonesia. Since the
early years of independence, a unitary Indonesia was a marker of anti-colonialism
and deemed an unnegotiable aspect of sovereignty. The discursive construction of a
modern and united Indonesia is exemplified by the retrospective significance given

to the Youth Pledge, and the establishment of Pancasila as the national principles,
both expecting the ideal Indonesian subject as less attached to their ethnolinguistic,
regional, or religious identities. The next regime, the New Order, focused on the
country’s development and assumed a patronizing attitude toward the “underde-
veloped” subjects, and this solidifies the center-periphery distinction. Across the
nation, the regime employed regulating tactics that percolated into various aspects of
everyday life, from religion to village organization, to the family. The ideal Indone-
sian subject is docile and loyal. The unitary state remained unnegotiable. The third
section examines the current era where there is substantially more freedom, including
to express sub-,and extra-national identities. Despite the changes, the previous eras
continue to provide the dominant narrative of Indonesia and what it means to be
Indonesian.
The third chapter elaborates on the research methodology that was employed to
gauge the imaginings of Indonesia among the non-elite youth. A number of chal-
lenges are identified, such as the difficulty to locate where and who exactly is the
“ordinary” youth, the abstract nature of the topic (the imagining of a country), and
the continuing strength of the dominant state discourse of Indonesia. Encountering
the first challenge, I decided that the “ordinary” or “non-elite” are those who are
not actively engaged in organized nation-building, while in an effort to address the
second and third challenges, I used photo-elicitation interview method. I further
explained the process of selecting photographs, the list of photographs used, and the
reasons behind the selection. The interviews were straightforward: I want them to
tell me about what they think are depicted in the photographs. I assured them not
to worry about the length, the quality, or the direct relation of the comments with
the pictures in question. Their interpretation can be lengthy, and each photograph
can cover a wide range of topics. By making the interview as casual and open as
possible, I aim to recreate everyday talk, which is one of the modalities of everyday
nationhood (Fox and Miller, 2008). In a way, this is a response to Elson’s (2008)
calling for a much-needed study on “…the popular reception (or otherwise) of the
idea of Indonesia among Indonesians themselves” (p.xxiv). To aid with analysis, a
more workable definition of “imagining” is considered to consist of two mutually
complementing dimensions: the inward gaze and the outward gaze. This is in line
with Laclau and Mouffe’s formulation of the logic of equivalence and the logic of
difference. Despite the simplicity of this categorization, each dimension is not mono-
lithic but contains a myriad of elements that not only interrelate but also intersect
with each other. Furthermore, employing critical discourse analysis, it is possible to
identify the social hierarchies, perceptions, and values that have become naturalized
within these dimensions.
The fourth chapter is the first of three chapters to concentrate on the imagining
of Indonesia in the different cities. The chapter focuses on Jakarta, the capital, and
discusses how its youth perceive the nation. It opens with a socio-historical account:
how Jakarta morphed from a colonial headquarter to a postcolonial showpiece for
modernity and progress. It is the ultimate Indonesian city that is simultaneously very
different from the other regions. This chapter shows that this position is reflected in the
1.4 Organisation of the Book 15
imagining of Indonesia. For those who grew up in Jakarta, Indonesia is an absolute

entity: it is not only unquestionable, but its non-existence is also unimaginable.
Gazing inwardly, the youth perceives Indonesia as consisting of Jakarta, surrounded
by indistinct, undeveloped regions. Somewhat paradoxically, the country is imagined
as possessing diverse traditional cultures. A strong sense of being active citizens
of Indonesia converges with the desire for cosmopolitan citizenship. Outwardly,
the imaginary “West”, and East Asia to a lesser degree serve as the omnipresent,
judgmental, and Desirable Other, while Malaysia is perceived to be the antagonistic
Other. The simplification of internal fragmentations, with a strong awareness of the
exterior (whether antagonistic as well as desirable), creates a solid imagining of the
nation.
Parallel to the previous part, chapter five starts by outlining the socio-historical
context of Kupang, the provincial capital of East Nusa Tenggara (NTT is the Indone-
sian acronym. Both terms are changed interchangeably in this book). During the
Dutch period, Kupang was a small administrative outpost. After independence, the
area was briefly part of the State of East Indonesia, before it was disbanded, as
Indonesia rejected federalism. It has been one of the poorest, most disadvantaged,
and overlooked regions. The majority of the population in East Nusa Tenggara are
Christians: Catholicism is dominant Flores, while the majority of people in West
Timor, where Kupang is, are Protestants. This effectively makes them a minority at
the national level. The inward gaze of youth in Kupang constructs Indonesia as a hier-
archical and fragmented nation, with power and resources distributed unevenly. In this
constellation, East Nusa Tenggara regrettably holds an inferior position. Furthermore,
diverging from the state’s discourse on cultural diversity, the participants in Kupang
understand the culture to be the moral and symbolic universe of sub-national groups,
thus culture is more than just the icons, and is not located in the national domain.
Despite the marginalization, the youth in Kupang are not interested to demand inde-
pendence like the neighboring East Timor, because it would lead to diminished access
to resources. There is thus an explicit instrumental reasoning behind belongingness
to Indonesia. This is also manifested in the normalization of neopatrimonialistic
practices, including vote-buying. The outward gaze in Kupang is the weakest of the
three cities. Indonesia’s or Kupang’s standing in the international community is not a
salient matter of concern, overshadowed by the desire to improve Kupang’s domestic
status.
The penultimate chapter presents the data from Banda Aceh, the capital of Aceh, a
province where state oppression and secessionist struggle only ended in 2005. Due to
the existence of a large body of literature on Aceh, the first section limits itself on the
socio-historical background of the city that is featured in the youth’s narratives. This
includes the pre-colonial sultanate period that is constructed as Aceh’s “golden age”,
the Dutch-Aceh War, and Aceh’s turbulent integration into Indonesia. The imagining
of Indonesia is more complex, substantially foregrounded by the imagining of Aceh
and its long historical heritage. Aceh is imagined as distinct from, if not superior to,
Indonesia. Gazing inwardly, Indonesia is imagined to be unjustifiably centered on
Java and Jakarta, not only in terms of resources, but also regarding culture, language,
and history. Two discourses circulate among the youth, the first is “Indonesia as an
antagonistic Other”, and the second is “Indonesia as a compromise”. Both prioritize

Aceh’s prosperity but differ in the envisioned strategy (i.e., whether to remain with
Indonesia or not) to obtain this prosperity. The outward gaze perceives Aceh as
having an international reputation that is separate from Indonesia’s, built on centuries
of Aceh’s alliances with other empires and kingdoms.
The final chapter provides a concise comparative view of the convergences and
divergences in the discourses of Indonesia in the three cities. Different subject
positions generate constructions of Indonesia that can replicate, diverge from, or
challenge the dominant discourse or the governments’ official narrative. While
Nana’s version of Sabang and Merauke is in direct contrast to Sukarno’s, other
subjects in Kupang, Jakarta, or even within Banda Aceh do not necessarily share
her views. The other half of the story is much more heterogeneous than one single
counter-hegemonic voice.
The last chapter also elaborates on the theoretical contributions of the book, partic-
ularly for the field of nation studies. It highlights three inferences that can be drawn
from the interviews that could potentially enrich the existing body of work on nation
studies. Studying the heterogeneity of the nation generates a better understanding
of multiple modes of Otherness and the multiple positions from which the nation is
constructed. This latter point is important, especially in contrast to the very commonly
used but dichotomous division of the elite versus the non-elite construction of the
nation. It also proposes that the notion “regularity in dispersion” might provide
a more refined understanding of the configuration of the imaginings. Despite the
heterogeneity, the imagining of the nation still forms a regularity, and not completely
disconnected imaginings. These points should direct further research.
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Chapter 2
Nationalism and the Making
of Indonesian Subjects
Abstract This chapter chronologically highlights the discursive practices of

Indonesia’s nation-building. Given the vast amount of existing work on Indonesian
political history, it principally aims to provide the context for readers who are less
acquainted with Indonesian political history. The chapter is divided into four histor-
ical periods. The first is the colonial era as a necessary precursor to the formation
of the Indonesian nation-state. Colonialism does not only provide a “model” of the
sovereign Indonesian state, but contemporary Indonesian nationalism continues to
look back and build on the anti-colonial movement. The second period is the years
under Sukarno’s presidency, thus the first twenty-one years of independence during
which the search for national identity was most intensive and the foundations of the
national identity were formulated. The third period is the thirty-three years of New
Order administration, where state discourses were comprehensively enforced in an
often-militaristic style. The fourth period is the post-authoritarian era that started in
1998 with the forced resignation of Suharto. It is marked by democratization and
decentralization, thus accordingly, more possibility for individuals to disagree with
the official narratives of nationhood. The participants of this research were born
during the Suharto period but were only seven or six years old when the reformation
era started.
Keywords Indonesian nation-building · National identity · Center-periphery

relations · National discourse · Indonesian political history
As with other postcolonial nations, Indonesia’s primary raison d’être is as a reac-

tion against colonialism. The colonial rule served as the common enemy against
whom “we” stood in unity to fight for self-determination. After independence was
obtained, and the colonial government no longer ruled, the state leaders were left with
the substantial task of building the nation. How should this unity be maintained in
the absence of the antagonistic force? What are the terms of belonging to this nation-
state? Is the shared experience of being colonized by the same imperial govern-
ment sufficient to define belongingness to the new state? In the case of Indonesia,
throughout almost seven decades of sovereignty, the need to create national subjects
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_2
20 2 Nationalism and the Making of Indonesian Subjects
has been the constant obsession of the succession of administrations. This chapter
provides a cursory overview of the trajectory of Indonesia’s nation-building and the
creation of national subjects.
The creation of Indonesian subjects is one of the priorities of many national
leaders, since the birth of the national consciousness until recent day Indonesia. A
few months before the declaration of independence, in an address to the Japanese
Committee to Investigate Preparations for Independence, Sukarno pushed for the
immediate independence of Indonesia, regardless of whether all the people in
Indonesia shared the same desire to form a sovereign state or not. In his words,
“…if each of the seventy million Indonesian has to be free in their heart before
we can achieve political independence…we will not have an independent Indonesia
until Judgment Day!” (in Kedaulatan Rakyat, 2017). He likened independence to a
bridge: once the people of Indonesia reach the other side, they can be “perfected” and
fully become Indonesians. Almost four decades later, the same notion of having not
yet created “Indonesians” remained. Ali Moertopo, a prominent military General
under Suharto, continued to consider it necessary to “Indonesianize Indonesians”
(Bourchier and Hadiz, 2003) through indoctrination programs. Even in contempo-
rary Indonesia, the urgency to create “Indonesians” continues to pervade the current
presidency. In 2017, Joko Widodo, the seventh president, signed a decree that would
regulate Character Education at schools to ensure that the young generation would be
able to maintain their virtues and culture in the face of globalization. The implemen-
tation of the decree would be a way to maintain national dignity and national identity
(Antara News, 2017). To refer to Billig’s (1995) famous metaphor, nationalism in
Indonesia might no longer be “hot”, but the metaphorical flag is still often waved and
saluted. These and other elite-driven nation-building practices are the contexts that
inform the construction of people’s imaginings of the nation. To comprehend how
citizens imagine “Indonesia”, it is necessary to know the various strategies to create
national subjects and the intended and unintended consequences of these strategies.
The chapter will chronologically highlight the discursive practices of Indonesia’s
nation-building. Given the vast amount of existing work on Indonesian political
history, this chapter will not be too elaborative and principally aims to provide the
context for readers who are less acquainted with Indonesian political history. The
chapter is divided into four historical periods. The first is the colonial era as a neces-
sary precursor to the formation of the Indonesian nation-state. As Aspinall (2016)
notes, colonialism does not only provide a “model” of the sovereign Indonesian state,
but contemporary Indonesian nationalism continues to look back and build on the
anti-colonial movement. The second period is the years under Sukarno’s presidency;
thus the first twenty-one years of independence during which the search for national
identity was most intensive and the foundations of the national identity were formu-
lated. The third period is the thirty-three years of New Order administration, where
the government instilled the state discourses in an often-militaristic style. The fourth
period is the post-authoritarian era that started in 1998 with the forced resignation
of Suharto. It is marked by democratization and decentralization, thus accordingly,
more possibility for individuals to disagree with the official narratives of nationhood.
2 Nationalism and the Making of Indonesian Subjects 21
The participants of this research were born during the Suharto period but were only
seven or six years old when the reform era started.
2.1 Precursors to Independence
Nationalism in the “last wave” nations is often the unintended consequence of colo-
nial rule. In the case of Indonesia, colonialism did not start as a political endeavor,
but as a commercial project centered on the extraction and distribution of spices.
The most significant commercial endeavor that would shape the trajectory of the
archipelago for centuries to come was the Dutch-based United East-Indian Company
(VOC) that was established in 1602. The first fleet succeeded in taking over the
Moluccas, the main source of cloves, from the Portuguese who had arrived earlier
in the region. A trading headquarter was established in 1619 in Batavia, chosen for
its strategic location. Over the course of many years, VOC explored and exploited
the surrounding islands, negotiating monopoly deals with local sultans and kings,
while keeping competition at bay. The range of goods varied: from Timor Island,
the VOC extracted sandalwood, while from Aceh, it negotiated for deals in pepper
and tin. In 1795, VOC was nationalized. Throughout the subsequent century, the
Dutch government mixed commercial with political interests, but their rule over the
area that would subsequently become Indonesia was uneven and patchy. Java was
the only territory that was comprehensively ruled by the Dutch before 1850, while
for the other regions, like Kalimantan, Sulawesi, and Sumatera, the Dutch rule only
started in the early twentieth century (Henley, 2013). The focus on Java provided the
blueprint for the division between Java and the Outer Island when, much later, the
archipelago achieved sovereignty as a singular entity. It was thus the colonial strate-
gies that started and solidified the state’s power configuration whereby Java became
the center while the other islands became the periphery (Haug, Rossler, Grumblies,
2017).
In the nineteenth century, their colonial strategy shifted and became more aggres-
sive as they started to aim for an absolute rule over the archipelago. It was during this
period that treatises were signed between the Dutch and other colonial powers that
would eventually demarcate Indonesia’s territorial boundaries. Particularly relevant
are the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824 partitioning of Riau-Johor Sultanate and the
Lisbon Treaty of 1859. The former divided the Riau-Johor Sultanate into two regions
under two different colonial powers, i.e. the British and the Dutch. The British side of
the strait would become Malaysia, while Riau, ruled by the Dutch, became Indonesia.
The latter that divided Timor Island into Dutch-ruled West Timor and Portuguese-
ruled East Timor. Both treatises disregarded the existing ethno-cultural entities in
favor of colonial interests.
In 1873, the Dutch invaded Aceh, and the war to subdue the region would last
30 years. When Aceh was subjugated in 1904, the person responsible for the success
of Aceh’s “pacification”, General J.B. van Heutsz, was promoted as Governor-general
to rule over the whole of Dutch East Indies. It was at this point that the Dutch finally
ruled over the territory that would become Indonesia.
The determination for territorial expansion and the military rule went alongside
a civilizing mission. In 1901, the colonial government implemented the “Ethical
Policy”, driven by a sense of unfairly having capitalized on the region’s resources in
the past three hundred years. The Ethical Policy entailed modernization, in the form of
science-based agricultural techniques, the irrigation of natives’ land, the mass trans-
migration from the overpopulated Java to less populated islands, and the availability
of education for the natives. Aiming to erect “tranquility and order” (rust en orde),
the policy translated into different forms in various localities. Thus, for instance, as
Farram (2004) notes in his dissertation on the political history of Timor, the civil
administrators instilled new regulations prohibiting headhunting, slave trading, and
possession of firearms, as well as designating fixed dwelling locations and dedicated
grazing areas for livestock. These changes were not all well-received by the locals
and caused frictions.
The most important unintended consequence of the Ethical Policy was the germi-
nation of the Indonesian national consciousness among the educated natives. Two
distinct elite groups emerged, both eventually becoming the forces behind the
independent movement (Kahin, 1952). The first one is the Sarekat Islam (Islamic
Union), an organization initially formed in Central Java to protect the interest of
native tradesmen against colonial and Chinese economic strategies. It later expanded
its interest to pan-Islamism and the spread of the Islamic Modernist movement,
a strand of Islam that aimed to synthesize Islamic teachings with modern values,
i.e., “…rationality, science, constitutionalism, and certain forms of human equality”
(Kurzman, 2002). Sarekat Islam was the first politically based nationalist organi-
zation and attracted people and at an extraordinarily rapid speed. The organization
aimed for the equal rights of the natives. Over time, the political aspect became more
emphasized than its religious aspect (Kahin, 1952).
As a counter-movement against the threatening pan-Islamism of Sarekat Islam,
the colonial government made Western education more accessible to the locals.
Ironically, it is these educated elites, sons of aristocratic families, who became the
other group behind nationalist movements in Indonesia. Exposed to Dutch education,
including a wide array of ideas from scholars like Lenin and Marx, the idea to eman-
cipate the Dutch East Indies from the discriminative acts of the colonial government
gradually crystallized.
Their discontent was significantly reinforced and validated by the inability, or
unwillingness, of the colonial government to provide a job market large enough to
absorb the growing number of educated natives (Kahin, 1952). Many of the educated
natives could not find positions that corresponded to their training, and even those
who secured government jobs received lower pay than their European or Eurasian
counterparts. A large number of them became teachers in Indonesian private schools,
in so doing finding channels to propagate nationalist sentiments (Kahin, 1952).
Aside from becoming educators, that as Gellner notes is a crucial position in
nation-building, the educated elites also contributed to nationalistic movements by
2.1 Precursors to Independence 23
refusing to replace their aristocratic fathers. They rightfully perceived the aristo-
crats as serving as the stabilizing mediator in the colonial governance, and therefore
complicit in the colonial oppression. This attitude effectively weakened the Dutch’s
indirect rule (Kahin, 1952) and provided the groundwork for an independence move-
ment that was not only anti-colonial, but also against tradition, aristocracy, and
feudalism.
One of the clearest indications of the growing national consciousness was the
Youth Pledge taken in 1928 by the participants of the second Youth Congress. The
pledge declared acknowledgment and belongingness to one homeland and one nation,
that is, Indonesia, and of one language, which is the Indonesian language. The last
pledge is particularly interesting. It exemplifies a literal meaning of the word “imag-
inary” because, at the time, very few of the delegates were able to speak Indone-
sian themselves. Even Malay, the origins of the Indonesian language, was the first
language for only five percent of the archipelago’s population in 1928 (Sneddon,
2003). The attendants of the congress were generally fluent in their respective regional
languages or in Dutch (Foulcher, 2000). In other words, for the people, to form a
nation was to decrease the use and importance of these languages and embrace a
language that they were not masters of yet. Foulcher notes that one of the speakers
apologized for his use of the Dutch language, remarking that “he himself, as a child
of Indonesia could not speak his own language.” (2000 p. 381). In later decades, as
it will be elaborated below, the Youth Pledge is deemed as one of the most essential
cornerstones of the nation.
The intervening years of Japanese occupation were crucial to the realization of
the importance of self-governance. Although the period only lasted a little over three
years (1942–1945), it had a significant impact on the consolidation and the spread
of national awareness. A significant factor was the harsh and direct rule through
which the Japanese governed Indonesia which was a radical shift from the Dutch’s
indirect and more moderate rule. The Japanese conscripted many people into labor
or military forces. Thousands who were enlisted into the romusha, the labor group,
were sent to other parts of Asia, and many never returned (Kahin, 1952). The shared
suffering and resentment generated nationalistic sentiments.
At the same time, eager to gain support from the Indonesians, the Japanese made
certain concessions that eventually backlashed. One of these concessions was the
establishment of the Center of People’s Power (Poesat Tenaga Rakyat, also known
as Poetera) in 1943, an organization that included various nationalist associations
based in Java and Madura (Kahin, 1952). However, for the nationalist leaders, the
Poetera’s chief goal was to work toward Indonesian independence, and the support
for the Japanese was only secondary.
The Japanese occupation did not only consolidate nationalist awareness, it also
inadvertently contributed to the unitary form of Indonesia (Reid, 2010). Regarding
Indonesian as the single national language, for instance, the Japanese prohibition
against using Dutch for public communication became the “single most signifi-
cant influence on the status of Indonesian in its history” (Sneddon, 2003 p. 111).
Initially, they had hoped that eventually, the Japanese would replace Dutch, but
because not many Indonesians were able to use Japanese fluently, the Indonesian
language was used in the meantime. The Language Commission was established to
expand the Indonesian language so that it can cover concepts common in the realms
in which the language had never been used before (Sneddon, 2003). This undoubt-
edly strengthened the language’s position as the national language. Similarly, the
establishment of various organizations (e.g., Muslim organizations, Christian orga-
nizations, or women’s organizations) decreased the importance of self-governing
rulers (Reid, 2010) as they provided group identities that were no longer based on
belongingness to the same ethnic group. Among all, the more critical factor was the
different treatments of three regions (Reid, 2010). As Reid notes, the only region
for which the Japanese envisaged independence was Java. They were hesitant about
Sumatera, only permitting the establishment of Sumatera-wide representative orga-
nizations in March 1945. For all the other islands, the Japanese did not intend them to
be independent. This meant that the preparation for independence was done mainly
by Java-based individuals, leading to a disregard of the interests of the people outside
of the region (Reid, 2010) and the strengthening Indonesia’s Java-centric feature. As
Elson reminds us, “… the whole was not created ex-nihilo. From the outset, it was a
Java-centered state to which things were added from the inside out. The ‘deep, hori-
zontal comradeship’ of ‘Indonesia’ that early Indonesian nationalists had imagined
was not imagined in similar terms by other inhabitants of the Dutch East Indies”
(Elson, 2006 p. 269), including those living in Banda Aceh and Kupang.
In mid-1945, the Japanese were completely defeated. The Allied forces were
supposed to return and retake their rule over Indonesia. In a swift move, capitalizing
on a window of opportunity, Sukarno declared Indonesian independence in August
1945. From then on, the history of Indonesia as a sovereign country started.
2.2 Independent Indonesia as a Unitary State
Once independent, one of the major tasks that lay ahead was the creation of a nation.
There were so many details that needed to be decided: where would be the geograph-
ical boundaries? What would be the form of the government? What would be the
nation’s ideology? These were issues in dispute, and the following years would be
defined by the search for conclusive solutions.
In December 1949, thus, five years after Sukarno’s proclamation of Independence,
the Netherlands agreed to relinquish sovereignty of the entire territory of the Dutch
East Indies, with the exception of West New Guinea. The power was to be transferred
not to the current form of unitary Indonesia, but to the federalist state Republic of the
United States of Indonesia or RUSI (Kahin, 1952) RUSI consisted of 16 states, the
most populous of which was the Republic of Indonesia that covered large parts of
Sumatera and Java, including Banda Aceh and Jakarta. Kupang, on the other hand,
was part of East Indonesia State (Negara Indonesia Timur, NIT).
Although federalism might seem a suitable way to govern over a nation as large
and diverse as Indonesia, one of the key issues was that RUSI was the brainchild of the
Netherlands. This led to the widespread perception that the Dutch continued to dictate
2.2 Independent Indonesia as a Unitary State 25
Indonesia (Kahin, 1952; Reid, 2010). This fear was expressed even by those who were
pro-federalism as they would rather have a federal system that was “home-fashioned”
(Kahin, 1952). Another more technical problem was the weaknesses inherent in the
states (Reid, 2010). A federal system would require a large number of individuals
who are capable of governing as well as bureaucratic responsibilities. However, with
the small number of educated Indonesians, this would have been very difficult to
achieve evenly in all states (Kahin, 1952).
With ideological and technical challenges standing in the way of federalism,
it was a planned and failed coup plotted against the central government of RUSI
that triggered dissolution (Kahin, 1952). The revolt was masterminded by Sultan
Hamid II of West Kalimantan and some officials of the Pasundan state, together
with a demobilized former Dutch military captain, Paul Westerling. Sultan Hamid II
was subsequently arrested and jailed, while the government of Pasundan state was
replaced by a RUSI Commissioner. The move was defused quickly, but significantly
weakened the position of federalism. The momentum for a unitarian movement grew
stronger.
One by one, the states dissolved into the Republic of Indonesia. By April 1950,
RUSI consisted of only four states: West Kalimantan, East Sumatera, East Indonesia,
and the Republic of Indonesia (Kahin, 1952). The historical and sociocultural condi-
tion of East Indonesia made its merger into a unitary state more difficult compared
to the other states. Many regions in NIT, like Minahasa and Ambon, have long been
strongholds of the Dutch Indies military. The majority of the population in Mina-
hasa, Flores, Timor, and the Moluccas are Christians. A mixture of military actions,
together with negotiations, and political restructuration in West Kalimantan, East
Sumatera, and East Indonesia eventually led to the complete dissolution of RUSI in
August 1950, less than a year after its establishment. Because NIT was one of the
last to join the unitary state, for decades to come, the common mockery of NIT is
that it stands for “Negara Ikut Tuan”, or “the state that follows the master”. In other
words, to be revolutionary was to fundamentally break with the colonial legacy. Thus
for many, a unitary state was an expression of revolution and anti-colonialism (Reid,
2010).
2.2.1 Nation-Building Narratives: Majapahit, the Youth

Pledge, and Pancasila
Alongside the military, legal, and political measures to protect the unity of the new
country, one of the most challenging endeavors in building the new nation was the
construction of national narratives and national subjects. The leaders of the new
nation aspired to create Indonesian citizens who are “modern” in an “Indonesian”
(and thus, not “Western”) kind of way. This is a fine line to walk between two
seemingly oppositional aspirations. “Modernity” entails allegiance to the nation-state
and dissociation from “traditional” ties in domains such as language and political
system. However, simultaneously, the “Indonesian” aspect requires that the national
narratives need to project essential “Indonesian” elements. At least three essential
narratives reflect this balance and form the building blocks of Indonesian nation-
building. These are Indonesia as a continuation of the pre-colonial empires, the
Youth Pledge, and Pancasila.
2.2.2 Indonesia’s Mythical Past
One of the strategies in constructing “Indonesia” as an imagined community is by

anchoring its origin in the pre-colonial empires that once was the predominant system
of government in Asia. In particular, the East Java empire, Majapahit, is portrayed
in the official nationalist discourse as the precursor of current-day Indonesia (Wood,
2005). Existing between the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, it reached its apex
under the rule of King Hayam Wuruk between 1350 and 1389. During this time,
Majapahit held some form of authority, albeit not one that is highly centralized,
and conducted trading with vassal states as far as Sumatera, the Malay Peninsula,
Kalimantan, and regions in Eastern Indonesia (Ricklefs, 2008). As one of the myths
go, Gajah Mada, the prime minister of Majapahit had taken a pledge to refrain
from consuming the palapa fruit until the whole archipelago has been united. The
current boundaries of Indonesia, therefore, is imagined to be a materialization of
this pledge. Furthermore, the national motto, “Bhinneka Tunggal Ika” (Unity in
Diversity) is derived from the writing of one of Majapahit’s poets, Mpu Tantular, who
advocated for harmony between the Buddhists and Hindus. In modern-day Indonesia,
the phrase is re-contextualized and considered to refer to the unity between the diverse
ethnolinguistic and religious groups.
Historically, the notion that postcolonial Indonesia is a continuation of Majapahit
is not wholly factual. As Taylor points out, places like Aceh was never a vassal state
of Majapahit (Taylor, 2003). Thus, as also suggested by Ricklefs (2008), the kind
of control Majapahit exerted was not as intensive and extensive as that of a modern
state. Moreover, there was no actual temporal continuation between Majapahit and
the arrival of the Dutch. When the Dutch arrived in the archipelago, Majapahit was
already long past its heyday. The current knowledge about Majapahit is not derived
from folk memory, but from Dutch scholarship (Henley, 2013).
2.2.2.1 The Youth Pledge
One of the most prominent foundational blocks in Indonesian nation-building is the

Youth Pledge (Sumpah Pemuda). As discussed previously, the pledge was declared
by the attendants of the second youth congress, many of whom were yet unable to
fluently converse in Indonesian at the time (Foulcher, 2000). It proclaims allegiance
to one fatherland, one nation, and one language. Over the years, subtle changes
in the wording and phrasing made the formulation much more forceful. While the
1928 version pledges to “hold up” the Indonesian language, this somewhat restrained
attitude was dispensed with, and the phrasing changed into a much more resolute,
“we have one language, Indonesian” (Foulcher, 2000). This then became the version
that was popularized and introduced to school children, while the earlier version
disappeared from the public’s memory. The man behind the subtle but substantial
shift, Mohammad Yamin, a poet, politician, and legal practitioner, was also one of
the most prominent ideologues during Indonesia’s early years. In a pamphlet written
in 1955, he asserted that the Youth Pledge revived the Indonesian language from
its earlier pre-colonial existence. Moreover, he put the pledge on a par with two
other oaths taken during Srivijaya and Majapahit empires as linchpins in the nation’s
trajectory (Foulcher, 2000). Srivijaya is another empire that is depicted in nationalist
discourses as the embryo of the nation. It is a Buddhist empire from the eighth to the
twelfth century, centered in current-day Sumatera. Due to the lack of archeological
findings, but also their focus on sea-based trading that is somewhat different from
the Javanese agricultural lifestyle, Srivijaya’s place in the national discourse is not
as central as the position of Majapahit (Wood, 2005).
The Youth Pledge, a modern and modernizing document, is framed as an inheri-
tance from the “Indonesian” ancestors. This is a prime example of how traditions are
invented. Sukarno intended for the Youth Pledge to cement a frail nation. During the
time, the new nation was internally threatened by many opposing groups that voiced
discontent over its form and ideology. Sukarno used the Youth Pledge as a metaphor-
ical weapon, and those who engaged in separatism were accused as deviating from
the national pledge (Foulcher, 2000).
2.2.2.2 Pancasila
Another cornerstone of Indonesian nation-building is “Pancasila”, the five core prin-

ciples of the state. Throughout Indonesia’s history, Pancasila is the official symbol
of the national identity. It is incorporated in the Preamble of the Constitution by
Sukarno’s administration and is a major part of Suharto’s indoctrination programs,
one of which was called “The Guidelines for the Implementation and Internalization
of Pancasila”. This program was compulsory for public officials, university students,
and school pupils alike, indicating that to be Indonesian is to have internalized the
principles of Pancasila.
Pancasila was introduced by Sukarno as the philosophical foundation of the future
state in a speech addressed to the fellow members of the Committee to Inves-
tigate Preparations for Independence1 (Badan Penyelidik Usaha-usaha Persiapan
Kemerdekaan, BPUPK) in June 1945. Later, he would assert that he was merely
communicating what had been already “…written in the heart of the Indonesian
people for a long, long time.” (Sukarno as cited in Darmaputera, 1988 p. 180), thus
1 This is a committee that is formed in March 1945 by the Japanese military government to set up
the initial stage toward becoming sovereign. It consisted of 62 Indonesian respected figures, such
as Sukarno, Hatta, and Yamin.
stretching the existence of Indonesia and its values back to times immemmorial. The
anchoring of Pancasila as part of Indonesia’s myth of origin is also implied in the
choice of name. “Pancasila” is drawn from two Sanskrit words: “Panca”, is “five”,
and “sila” means principles. The use of Sanskrit, a royal language that has not been
used for centuries, casts Indonesia’s origin to the Hindu-Buddhist cultural groups
that dominated the western part of the archipelago long before the colonial period.
Scholars generally agree that Pancasila is the result of compromises made during
the crucial gestation period of the nation, particularly between the nationalist-
secularist and the Islamic groups (Elson, 2009; Darmaputera, 1988). One of the
most controversial principles was related to the belief in God that had led to heated
debates between the nationalist-secularist group that would like to keep the religion
separate from the state, and the Islamic group that wanted to enhance Islamic values
to in the nation’s foundational principles. In Sukarno’s abovementioned speech that
was given in June 1945, the Belief in God was mentioned as the fifth and last prin-
ciple, to the disappointment of the Islamist factions within the Committee. A draft
of the preamble of the Constitution(intended to reflect the Pancasila), composed by
a smaller subgroup of BPUPK changed it into “The absolute singularity of God,
with the obligation to carry out the Islamic Syari’a for its adherence” (Darmaputera,
1988). This draft was subsequently known as the Jakarta Charter (Piagam Jakarta).
Not every member of the BPUPK received the specific mention of matters related to
Islam well, mostly for fear of the discriminative potential it holds against the non-
Muslims as well as the devaluation of the customary laws of many ethnic groups
(Elson, 2009). However, this formulation was agreed on by the BPKU at the end of
their second and last assembly in mid-July 1945. Under the auspices of the Japanese
administration, another task force was established, the Committee for the Prepara-
tion of Indonesian Independence2 (Panitia Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia, PPKI).
The committee had intended to meet on the 19th of August to finalize the consti-
tution as the declaration of independence was planned for September 1945 (Elson,
2009). However, the fast and unexpected global power shift in mid-August 1945
and the opportunity it opened for a declaration of Indonesia’s independence drove
the members of the PPKI to make hasty promises and compromises and caused the
controversial words to be eliminated from the preamble of the Constitution as well
as from Pancasila (Elson, 2009).
Looking back at the process through which Pancasila was formulated, it is clear
that compromises were made between diverging imaginings of how the nation should
be in particular to the position of religion in regards to the nation. Darmaputera sees
it as “the only viable alternative” to secular or Islamic ideologies “…if Indonesia is
to maintain its unity and diversity” (Darmaputera, 1988 p. 179). The wide range of
ideologies that Pancasila aimed to address is noted by Kahin as a “…a synthesis of
Western democratic, Modernist Islamic, Marxist, and indigenous-village democratic
and communalistic ideas” (1952 p. 123). None of the factions received unconditional
2 The group consisted of 16 members who were also in BPUPK, including Sukarno and Hatta.
However, PPKI is more diverse than BPUPK. While the latter mostly included people who were
already in Java, PPKI had members from Bali, Sumatera, and Sulawesi.
support, while no ideology is wholly rejected. Based on a need to mediate between

alternative discourses, this ideological tool comes close to defining Indonesia in terms
of what it is not (not an Islamist country, not Federalist state, or not Western oriented)
than asserting what it positively is (Elson, 2006). This makes the “emptiness” of
the nation as the empty signifier even more open to various interpretations, and
hence potentially more inclusive, than if the signifier had been one that was more
affirmative.3
2.2.3 Early Challenges in Nation-Building
Despite all the efforts to build the nation, the problems began to mount by 1957 and
led the new nation to a security and constitutional crisis. Frictions between different
regional, religious, or political factions put a strain on national unity. Rebellion
movements, as well as political parties, fought for their alternative visions of
Indonesia, what has been called “imagined decolonization” (Carnegie, 2015). These
are the perceived alternative national identities that the newly independent Indonesia
could have, instead of one espoused by the nationalist leaders from Jakarta. The
gesture of compromise that Pancasila is failed to satisfy any faction sufficiently.
During the first twenty years of Indonesia’s existence, at least twenty-one rebel-
lions against the state took place (Drake, 1992). In West Java, a group named DI/TII
(House of Islam/Islamic Armed Forces of Indonesia) aimed to establish an Islamic
state. They had been active since 1949 and managed to attract the loyalty of like-
minded rebel groups in Central Java, Kalimantan, South Sulawesi, and Aceh. In the
areas that were the Dutch’s former stronghold, the Moluccas, NIT’s former Minister
of Justice, the Ambonese R.S. Soumokil, declared the Republic of South Moluccas
(RMS) an independent territory. Another movement called the Permesta (Universal
Struggle Charter) demanded greater autonomy for eastern Indonesia. It was declared
in Makassar in 1957 and was headquartered in Manado, in North Sulawesi. Except
for RMS, these movements did not aspire for secession but to correct the course
of Indonesia and return to what they perceived to be the right trajectory for the
nation-state.
In Aceh, the disappointment and feeling of having been betrayed by the Indonesian
state also started to sink in. Prior to the Dutch’s conquest in the late nineteenth
century, Aceh has already developed a distinct identity as an Islamic polity with
strong trading links across the Indian Ocean. Before the 1940s, the anti-colonial
movement in Aceh was framed as the struggle for Aceh’s sovereignty and not for
the sake of “Indonesia”. It was only much later, after the Japanese withdrawal and
impeded by a growing friction between the religious leaders (the ulama) and the
3 Of course, one of the interpretations is that it is not respectful of the religious majority. In the
course of the Indonesian history, the erasure of the “seven controversial words” in Piagam Jakarta is
periodically brought up by some Islamist groups as a catastrophic watershed moment. Even in the
second decade of the millennium, the issue of the relation between the nation and religion remains
a contentious issue (see Chap. 7).
Acehnese hereditary chiefs (the uleebalang) who would prefer the Dutch to return,
that the former advanced the idea of “Indonesia” (Reid, 2006). Aceh shares more
cultural and linguistic features with the people of the Malay Peninsula than with other
parts of Sumatera or Java. The fact that Indonesia failed to materialize as an Islamic
state and that Aceh was integrated into the province of North Sumatera instead of
forming its own province was perceived as a negation of the Acehnese identity by the
central government. In the years to come, this episode was perceived as evidence of
Sukarno’s treason. The narrative of treachery is echoed in the interviews I conducted
(see Chap. 6).
Meanwhile, across West Timor, including Kupang, the people supported Permesta
because of the visible lack of basic infrastructure in Kupang in comparison with the
western regions of Indonesia (Farram, 2004). Participants of the movement identified
themselves by wearing red turbans, the “Destar Merah” (Red Turban). They aimed
to remove Muslims and Javanese teachers, police, and government officials from
the region (Farram, 2004). In 1958, Permesta joined forces with another movement
based in Sumatera, the Revolutionary Government of Republic of Indonesia (PRRI).
The movement is considered “the most serious of all the regional challenges faced
by the republic” (Elson, 2008 p. 155).
In the realm of formal politics, similar divisions emerged. Two years earlier,
in 1955, Indonesia conducted the first parliamentary election. While the turn-out
was surprisingly high (91.5%), the result of the election formally articulated the
sharp internal divisions (Elson, 2008). Four parties obtained almost 80% of the
votes: the nationalist PNI, the Islamist Masjumi, NU, a party formed by former
Masjumi members, and the communist PKI (Partai Komunis Indonesia, Indonesian
Communist Party). While PNI, NU, and PKI received the vast majority of their
votes from the people in Java, Masjumi was mainly popular in the outer regions, and
West Java (Feith, 1962), particularly among modernist Islamic groups and largely
supported the abovementioned PRRI movement. Instead of leading toward a solution,
the election deepened the political deadlock as no party received legitimacy (Elson,
2008). Consequently, the cabinet formed from these very diverging political positions
was unproductive, to say the least. The cabinet only lasted for less than two years.
In 1957, it was dissolved, and Sukarno declared martial law. Not long afterward
Sukarno introduced the so-called Guided Democracy.
2.2.4 Guided Democracy and the End of the Sukarno’s

Administration
The idiosyncratic “Guided Democracy” was Sukarno’s solution to the pitfalls of

parliamentary, or—as he liked to frame it—Western democracy. In this system, the
highest political power was concentrated on the National Council, the members of
which can only be appointed and dismissed by the president (Van der Kroef, 1957).
The president portrayed himself as the communicator of the will and soul of the
Indonesian people. According to him, the Western type of democracy is not suitable
for Indonesia’s culture because it causes “debilitating political oppositions” (Van
der Kroef, 1957). Regionalism, multi-partyism, and a focus on ethnic and cultural
identities are all considered to be a “cancer” to the nation (Elson, 2008). Instead,
according to Sukarno, a political system that is based on collaboration and consensus
is more suitable and in line with the Indonesian culture. The Guided Democracy came
in full force in 1959.
Over the subsequent years, Sukarno’s authoritarianism was manifested in a
number of strategies that would eventually lead to his downfall in 1966. The compo-
sition of the cabinet that was the result of the 1955 election changed: the PKI received
more seats, while those for Islamic factions were cut (Elson, 2008). In the 1960s, the
number of parties was cut from 28 to ten. By and large, rebellion movements were
crushed within the following decade. The leaders were executed, and their followers
punished. Military oppression was to be the course of action in the subsequent years.
In search of the essential Indonesian identity, strong measurements were taken
against those who were perceived to be foreign or Western. The Indonesians of
Chinese descent, who were often perceived as apolitical but privileged by the colonial
administration, were prohibited from engaging in economic activities in the rural
areas. They were forced to assimilate, and many had to change their names into
more “Indonesian”-sounding names, very often interpreted as “Javanese” names
(Vickers, 2005). The Chinese-Indonesians, however, continue to be perceived as
“not really” Indonesian (see Chap. 7). In 1961, Sukarno initiated the formation of
Non-Aligned Movement with leaders from India, Egypt, Ghana, and Yugoslavia.
The movement was launched as an alternative to existing power blocs, i.e., the US
and USSR. In 1963, Indonesia rejected the formation of Malaysia, accusing the
future state to be merely a proxy for British rule over the region, and hence is a
form of neo-colonialism. However, some scholars have suggested that aside from
this anti-imperialist reason, there were several other worries, for instance, that some
of the Outer Islands would find joining Malaysia a more attractive trajectory and that
a more prosperous, Westernized and capitalistic Malaysia would make Indonesia’s
socialism appear ineffective in comparison (Taylor, 2016). Indonesia subsequently
engaged in a number of low-level military actions against the would-be state of
Malaysia until 1966. This was referred to as “Konfrontasi” (confrontation). Decades
later, whenever there is a dispute between the two countries, Indonesian people,
particularly those living in the capital, would continue to refer to this episode to
argue for the fundamental incompatibility between the two neighbors (see Chap. 4).
In the meantime, the eastern boundaries of Indonesia have shifted. In 1962, a
campaign to integrate West New Guinea, a colony of the Dutch, as part of Indonesia
started. The Dutch surrendered West New Guinea to the UN that then demanded a
referendum to decide the fate of the region. The referendum was held under strong
Indonesian military pressure, and thus unsurprisingly, it resulted in integration. Ever
since a separatist movement has been present in West New Guinea (later called
Papua). The rest of the country would continue to consider the people of West New
Guinea as more backward, including by the participants interviewed in Jakarta and
Kupang (see Chaps. 4 and 5, respectively).
The intense focus on the narratives of the nation was not accompanied by economic
improvement. Severe inflation threw people into sudden poverty. Politically, the
fragile equilibrium between the different parties was no longer tenable, and Sukarno’s
growing closeness to the communist party drew aversion from other factions. The
state was moving toward a political climax. In September 1965, three military
generals were shot in their homes, while three others were kidnapped and tortured
to death. The incident dramatically hurdled the nation-state into one of its watershed
moments. The details of the incident remain unclear to this day, including the reasons
behind the attack or whether the killings were really what was intended to happen
(cf. Elson, 2001). The responsible parties were never held accountable. The commu-
nist party was accused of being responsible for the attacks. Those who were accused
as party members were imprisoned and murdered. The killings of alleged commu-
nists took place across the archipelago. Approximately half a million to one million
people lost their lives, and no official investigation has taken place to this day. The
crisis effectively wiped out PKI but also marked the breakdown of Sukarno’s invin-
cibility and legitimacy. It launched a new phase in Indonesian history and propelled a
Major General by the name of Suharto, into the most powerful position in the country
for three long decades. It was under his administration that PKI is cast as the nation’s
nemesis.
For all the turbulence and turmoil under Sukarno, his ideas of what Indonesia is,
and how Indonesians should be, remain crystal clear: to be Indonesian is to be against
imperialism and traditionalism simultaneously, it is to embody a type of modernity
that is quintessentially Indonesian. One of the lasting consequences was that ethnic
allegiances should be subsumed under the national allegiance.
2.3 The New Order: Stabilization and Homogenization
Between 1965 and 1967, a gradual shift in power position took place. Perceived
as being too close to the communist faction, Sukarno’s legitimacy and authority
weakened significantly. At the same time, Suharto, an obscure military figure who
has not engaged in the political arena before, took on himself the task of leading the
devastating crush of the Communist Party. In 1967, under the threat of impending
impeachment, Sukarno resigned from the presidency and was placed under house
arrest. Suharto took the stage, first in an ad-interim role, then as full president and
guarded this position for the next thirty-one years.
To signify a definitive break with the previous presidency, Suharto called his
administration the “New Order”, and retrospectively cast Sukarno as the “Old Order”.
In the New Order version of events, the 1965 killing of the generals was a failed
effort by the PKI to stage a coup. By preventing it from happening, the New Order
is depicted as the redeemer of Pancasila and Indonesia from the threat of commu-
nism. Throughout Suharto’s reign, and sadly reverberating long after, the demoniza-
tion of communism was so pervasive that it borders on outlandish paranoia that
2.3 The New Order: Stabilization and Homogenization 33
infiltrated into the everyday lives of Indonesians. A good example of the pervasive-
ness of paranoia is how a species of cheap and quickly grown vegetable, genjer
(Limnocharis flava), disappeared from Indonesian kitchens because of its connota-
tion with a folk song that was popularized (but not composed) by the PKI. As the
New Order’s narrative goes, the folk song Genjer-genjer, about the preparation of
the vegetable, was sung by members of the Indonesian Women’s Movement, the
women’s section of PKI, as they cold-bloodedly tortured the kidnapped generals to
death. In 2017, almost two decades after the end of Suharto’s reign, a seminar on
1965 was ransacked by groups of people who accused the participants of singing
the folk song (Wieringa, 2018). This deep-seated and longstanding paranoia against
communism and PKI is possible because, throughout the New Order period, the
public was constantly reminded of the “latent danger” of communism, lurking from
inconspicuous corners in the daily life.
At the same time, the New Order brought significant progress in Indonesia. The
number of people who graduated from elementary education rose by 65% (Drake,
1989). This development was partly attributable to the oil field discovered in several
regions, like in Lhokseumawe, Aceh, in 1971. The regions themselves, however,
received only a tiny percentage of the revenue. In Aceh, this resulted in general
discontent that would then crystallize into a separatist movement and a prolonged
conflict with the central state.
2.3.1 Military Style Homogenization
While Sukarno had tried to maintain the fragile balance between various factions,
Suharto, as ever the military man, categorically privileged the armed forces. In fact,
his whole approach to governance was militaristic. Suharto’s administration operated
on the conviction that military rule will lead to political stability that is necessary for
the state to develop (Crouch, 2007). The New Order implemented the so-called “Dual
Function” doctrine that bestowed considerable power to the armed forces. They were
not only responsible for defending and maintaining the order of the state, but also for
regulating and managing civilians. In the name of defending the order, the government
established the Operations Command to Restore Security and Order (Kopkamtib).
It the authority to suppress all forms of dissenting movements, including giving or
withholding permission for newspaper publications (Crouch, 2007).
Through the social aspect of the Dual Function, military figures were able to
occupy strategic positions. By 1971, twenty-two of twenty-six governors and two-
thirds of the regents and mayors were from the military (Crouch, 2007). East Nusa
Tenggara itself was governed by military officers between 1958 and 1998. In a similar
vein, financially profitable positions, like the heads of the State Oil and Natural Gas
Mining Company (Pertamina), or the National Logistics Board (BULOG) were held
by individuals from the armed forces. Anomalies in the financial management of
these companies were left uninvestigated, as the military was effectively above the
law.
In 1975, another substantial change happened. Indonesia took over East Timor
when the Portuguese abandoned the colony. East Timor, on the eastern side of the
Timor Island, became the last region to join the nation. As with West New Guinea,
the taking over of East Timor happened in dubious conditions.
At the same time as the rise of the armed forces and the strengthening of the
New Order, a systematic and gradual depoliticization of the civil arena took place.
Like Sukarno, the New Order saw politics as the cause for instability, a view that
they validated by pointing at the sectional conflicts during Sukarno’s period. The
military forces devised their own political machine to prepare for the 1971 general
election, and so the Functional Group Party (Golongan Karya, Golkar) was formed.
Golkar portrayed itself as being apolitical and does not overtly adhere to a distinct
ideology. Instead, the main electoral strategy was to make supporters of rivaling
parties switch to Golkar. This was done by forcing civil servants to sign statements
of “mono loyalty”, by offering funds to leaders of the Muslim parties for their pilgrim-
ages or for building Islamic schools, and by pressuring common villagers (Crouch,
2007). Golkar won the election with 62.8% (Elson, 2001). Not long afterward, the
government pushed the significantly weakened parties to dissolve. The Islamic parties
morphed into the Development Unity Party (Partai Persatuan Pembangunan PPP),
while the nationalist and Christian parties became the Indonesian Democratic Party
(Partai Demokrasi Indonesia, PDI). Golkar not only emerged as the winner of the
next six elections, but the percentage of votes it received continued to rise, with
the exception of a decline in 0.7% in 1977. Almost a decade later, in 1985, Suharto
ruled that Pancasila should be the sole foundation of every organization, a policy that
alienated many Muslim groups, such as the Development Unity Party (Carey, 1985).
This regulation radically limited the diversity of ideologies in the political arena.
2.3.2 Education as the Site of Indoctrination
Aside from the emasculation of the civilian political realm, the New Order system-
atically produced apolitical individuals through the institution of education. As a
precursor to this was the wave of criticism from students in the mid-70s, directed at the
New Order’s growing authoritarianism and rampant corruption. Mrs. Suharto’s pet
project, “Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park” (TMII, Taman Mini Indonesia Indah),
a theme park with cultural artifacts from various provinces of Indonesia (more on
the cultural significance of this later), was vehemently opposed by the students who
perceived it as financially inordinate. Students also demonstrated against the visit of
the Japanese Prime Minister in 1974, perceiving the event to be a sign of Indonesia’s
submission to the Japanese capital. The demonstration escalated into a riot, eight
people were killed, 35 were injured, cars and buildings were burned, and 50,000
stores damaged (Halloran, 1974).
The incident, known as Malari (Malapetaka Lima Belas Januari or Fifteenth
of January Disaster), marked the start of the New Order’s clampdown on students’
movement and free speech. Up to seven hundred people were interrogated and impris-
oned. Eleven newspapers and one magazine were banned (Aspinall, 2005). In 1978,
the state implemented a policy known as NKK/BKK (Normalization of Campus
Life/Campus Coordinating Body) that prohibited political activities on campus. This
included moving the universities away from the city center to facilitate control of
access points and the placing of government appointees in the universities to report
on potential dissent (Vickers, 2005). In a way, the participants I talked to are the
metaphorical and apolitical descendants of the generation that was subjected to the
New Order’s policy.
While for Sukarno, Pancasila was a compromise between different ideologies,
Suharto turned it into an ideology that is uncompromisable. The citizenship educa-
tion that has been a compulsory school subject since independence gradually became
a means to indoctrinate students with Pancasila. It was changed into Pancasila Moral
Education (Nishimura, 1995), a subject that was compulsory for students of all levels
for more than three decades. The course design favored rote learning and memoriza-
tion of formulaic principles instead of becoming a platform where complex issues
related to civics and citizenship, or majority-minority relations, could be discussed.
At the same time, official historiography underwent a comprehensive adjustment
to serve the needs of the growing authoritarian regime. One of the most important
figures in the construction of the official history was the academic Nugroho Notosu-
santo. A historian by training, he was employed by the state to construct the history
of the Indonesian military, resulting in the foregrounding of the military’s role in the
official Indonesian history (McGregor, 2007). In the early ’80s, he devised a course
called “History of the National Struggle” (PSPB) to inculcate nationalism and patri-
otism in school children. Another of his brainchild was another course called the
“Guidance to the awareness and enactment of Pancasila”, also known by its acronym
in Indonesian, P4 (Pedoman Penghayatan dan Pengamalan Pancasila). It was formu-
lated in 1978 and attendance to the two-week-long course was compulsory for every
civil servant ranked below cabinet minister (Morfit, 1981). Those who missed a day
had to re-do the entire course, regardless of their excuse (Morfit, 1981). Later on,
the P4 became also compulsory for students and teachers. In a similar vein, one of
the compulsory courses for tertiary students was “Military-Nationalist studies for
students” (Kewiraan untuk mahasiswa), the content of which was designed by the
National Security Agency (Lemhannas) together with the Ministry of Education and
Culture. It aims to instill the so-called “Archipelagic Vision” (Wawasan Nusantara),
a formulaic concept referring to the awareness or vision of the Indonesian identity
as a unitary nation-state based on Pancasila and the Constitution, that need to be
defended from internal as well as external threats.
If these courses were attempts to inculcate the state’s ideology, then inculcation did
not take place through convincingly arguing for the superiority of Pancasila (although
efforts to do so were made), but through forcing the students to memorize the state’s
official formulas, and the ability to recall normative answers. Being able to recite
every word of the Preamble of the Constitution or the sub-principles of Pancasila
were requirements to pass exams. The dogmatic pedagogical approach encourages
the formation of Indonesian subjects who obey the authority, at least outwardly
because opposing it could be detrimental. This latter point is important for this
research. Although the participants started school after the end of the New Order,
their teachers, parents, and other adults around them grew up during this particularly
dogmatic reign and might have socialized the participants into the same normative
narratives of how “nationalism” should be expressed.
2.3.3 Building the National Cultural Identity
In 1959, Yamin, the ideologue behind the importance of the Youth Pledge in
Indonesian historiography, envisioned the national culture to consist of a collection
of ancient and original regional cultures (Kitley, 2000). What counts as “ancient
and original” or “cultures” as well as what should be defined as “regional” was of
course defined by the central administration. During the New Order, national culture
was built through “…three entwined processes of cultural denial, affirmation, and
intervention which together have attempted to map a unitary and unifying cultural
identity” (Kitley, 2000). The areas in which these discursive processes took place are
comprehensive, but given the limited space, I will highlight three different instances
of the construction of national culture: The Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park
(TMII); the SARA injunction to discuss ethnicity, religion, race, and other groups;
and the prohibition to register surnames on birth certificates. All are three instances
of how certain elements of culture are denied, affirmed, or intervened to create the
imagining of a united Indonesia.
The Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park (TMII), Mrs. Suharto’s aforementioned
theme park that was opposed by student movements in the early 70s propagates
and showcases the idea of Indonesia as a country rich in “cultural diversity” . The
central piece of the park is a pond with miniature islands that represent the Indonesian
archipelago, designed to be admired from a certain height from a cable car. Further-
more, replicas of the traditional houses of each province were built, each serving as a
sort of museum, where traditional costumes, musical instruments, and other cultural
artifacts originating from the particular province are displayed. Within TMII grounds,
the places of worship of all the officially acknowledged religions are present. TMII
has been the go-to place for many Indonesians to learn about the national culture.
As Pemberton (1994) notes, the Department of Culture and Education publishes a
storybook about visiting TMII to be used in public schools to introduce Indonesian
culture to students.
In many ways, TMII exemplifies the cultural intervention, denial, and affirmation
identified by Kitley (2000) as the New Order’s core strategies. First of all, the inter-
vention takes place by assuming or treating culture as neatly located in the provincial
realm. The dynamic and fluid boundaries of ethno-cultural groups were forced to fit
in the rigid boundaries of the provinces. In other words, the administrative unit is priv-
ileged over the ethno-cultural unit. Secondly, ethno-cultural symbols and practices,
that might have existed prior to the nation-state, are subsumed under the banner of
“Indonesian culture”. The state “owns” these cultures. Furthermore, the state dictates
the set of categories that are defined as “culture”. As the pavilions in TMII show, this
means an affirmation of architectural style, ceremonial costumes, music instruments,
and weaponry but denial of other cultural expressions that are outside of the pre-set
categories, like belief systems.
For the ethnic groups, the imposing of the label “national culture” on their cultural
expressions means that the latter are decontextualized (Hellman, 1998). Accessories
that are reserved for particular ceremonies or songs that express idiosyncratic experi-
ences are reduced to become signs of “Indonesian culture” that needs to be preserved
and admired. A certain “flattening” of the cultural expressions takes place: symbols
and practices are essentialized, perceived to be static, and importantly, stripped off
of their agentic properties. Schefold (1998) calls this strategy the “domestication”
of culture. The state’s paradigm of cultural diversity effectively controls differences
by regulating them into supporting elements of national identity and simultaneously
ensuring that they will not threaten the unitary nation-state.
The New Order’s aversion and suspicion of differences are indicated by the prohi-
bition to discuss issues related to ethnicity, religion, race, and other groups (“Suku,
Agama , Ras, dan Antar-Golongan” known by its acronym as “SARA” in Indone-
sian). The SARA injunction was more than a regulation against hate-speech: it was
a means to prevent expressions of criticism and grievances against the government.
The implementation was often absurd. Seno Gumira Ajidarma, the former chief
editor of the magazine, “Jakarta Jakarta”, and literary writer, recounts the oppressive
environment that the media had to work in: the SARA injunction was so vague that
journalists had to estimate what materials would be interpreted as contravening the
rule. Innocent acts could be accused as transgressions, thus when “Jakarta Jakarta”
published a photograph of a model wearing a necklace with a crucifix pendant, it was
deemed as breaking the SARA rule (Ajidarma, 2003). A more memorable case was
that of the tabloid Monitor. In 1990, it conducted a seemingly inconspicuous survey
that asked its readers who they consider to be an important public figure. The result
of this survey noted that Monitor’s editor in chief, the poet, and writer Arswendo
Atmowiloto was ranked tenth, while the prophet Mohammad was ranked eleventh.
This was perceived as an offense against Islam. The tabloid was banned, and its chief
editor was imprisoned. The control of the state was always present. As Ajidarma
recalls, being summoned by infuriated officials from the Department of Information
or the Center of Information for Defense and Security (Puspen Hankam) was part
of his routine workday (2003). The state control produced active self-censorship of
media practitioners, a “journalism of fear” (Ajidarma, 2003).
Regulating cultural identity meant also repressing certain identities from
surfacing. The repression was comprehensive and detailed. For instance, since 1974,
the birth certificate no longer includes information of the child’s family names
(Harsono, 2010; Saraswati, 2002). This rule effectively repressed the identity of
the ethnic groups in Indonesia where surnames are part of the identity: the Chinese,
the Batak, the Manadonese, the Timorese, or the Dayak. However, it did little change
to Javanese naming practices that do not use surnames in the first place. For many
others, to have a birth certificate, thus to be formally registered as a citizen, was to
deny or erase a substantial element of one’s identity. Citizenship was conditioned
on the effacing of one’s ethnic identity, except for the Javanese. This was one of the
many instances of Java-centrism of the New Order administration.
The New Order’s militaristic mode of governance coerced homogenization. It
favored stability and unity. To be Indonesian was primarily to be docile and never
question Suharto’s governance. It was to shed the identities that were considered to
compete with one’s national allegiance. The narrow and well-defined space where
cultural differences can be expressed was celebratory and necessarily apolitical. To
go against the New Order’s policies was to be the enemy of Pancasila and the state,
and held very real consequences, as Atmowiloto has experienced. Despite the forces
employed by the New Order, homogenization in Indonesia was never absolute.
2.3.4 Uneven Belongingness to Indonesia
Despite the façade of national brotherhood, the unevenness of the colonial rule
continued to structure the country. One of the deep fault lines remains that between
Java and the Outer Islands (Taylor, 2003).
Several state strategies contributed to this disparity. Haug et al. (2017) identify
three consequential regulations. The first one is a 1979 regulation on village admin-
istration that forced all villages to re-structure in accordance to the Javanese model.
Local political structures had to be changed and integrated into the national system
of bureaucracy. Second, the transmigration program that already has been imple-
mented during the Dutch rule to relieve the population density of Java became a
tool to spread Javanese culture and nationalist visions. The third strategy was the
regulations on religion. As the state only acknowledges six world religions, other
traditional belief systems, including indigenous religions, are considered of a lesser
value and clustered together in the category “beliefs,” and their regulations fall under
the Ministry of Education and Culture instead of the Ministry of Religion. This sets
a dividing line between the urban followers of the world religions and the peasants
whose beliefs are considered of lesser worth (Haug et al. 2017)
In a work that sheds light on developmental unevenness, Drake (1989) assesses the
extent to which each province is integrated to the nation using four dimensions: the
historical and political experience, sociocultural, interactive, and economic aspects.
Except for the historical and political experience, insights into the other elements
are obtained from statistical data of 1980. These statistical data for the three other
dimensions deserve further elaboration. Overall, Drake’s exploration shows that the
New Order has made progress in terms of development, but this is very uneven and
patchy, concentrating in Jakarta and a few other cities on other islands. The pattern
of the discrepancy between Jakarta, Aceh, and NTT is persistent as the following
table indicates (Table 2.1).
Aside from markers of development, Drake also looks at more straightforward
indicators of integration into Indonesia. The use of the Indonesian language, for
instance, is used at home by only 11.9% of the population in the 1980s. Daily users
were mostly concentrated in Jakarta where 91.6% of people use Indonesian at home.
Table 2.1 Comparison of markers of development in Jakarta, in East Nusa Tenggara, and in Aceh in
1980, table based on Drake (1989)
Developmental markers National average Jakarta East Nusa Tenggara Aceh
People passing elementary 43.4% 65.9% 41.4% 47.0%
school
The ratio of hospital beds 6.7 19.5 5.4 4.4
per 10,000 people
Use of electricity in 14.2% 47.8% 4.3% 9.7%
households
Length of paved roads/sq 36.1 km 5,067.8 km 23.8 km 23.5 km
km
In Aceh, the number drops to 7.7%, while in NTT, it is 14.0%, somewhat closer to
the national average. Inter-provincial migration is another indicator of integration.
Forty percent of the population in Jakarta had lived in another province by 1980,
while only 6.3% and 2.1% of the people in Aceh and NTT had lived elsewhere. The
national average at this time was 7,8%.
Drake’s research indicates that the disparity between the provinces persists during
Suharto’s presidency. The three regions that are the focus of this book, i.e., Jakarta,
Aceh, and Kupang, represent this disparity. Jakarta is what Drake considers “the
most Indonesian province” (1989). East Nusa Tenggara consistently holds one of the
lowest ranks in almost all dimensions. The numbers from Aceh are generally closer
to the national average, except for its production of oil and gas (1989). Overall,
Drake’s research shows that development did take place under Suharto in the 1970s
and ’80s, but at an uneven rate across the archipelago. As a later section will show,
this disparity continues to impede development, even after decentralization laws were
implemented in early 2000.
2.3.5 The Beginning of the End
Through the 80’s Suharto’s authoritarian streak grew solid. The New Order has
silenced all political oppositions. Golkar has become a well-oiled political machine:
the 1987 election was considered by Elson to be “one of the least cantankerous,”
and the campaign period was shortened by twenty days (Elson, 2008). Pancasila
has become the sole base for every organization, and the media continue to avoid
publishing “sensitive” stories. As Elson (2008) noted, “The New Order worked as
the state of Indonesia had never worked since the period of high Dutch colonialism
in the 1920’s” (p. 253).
It was during this time that violence in Aceh intensified. The Free Aceh Movement
(Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, GAM) was formed in the 70s to protest against the small
revenue received by Aceh from the oil and gas field. Discontent about the social
injustice suffered by Aceh grew, and violence between GAM and the Indonesian
military escalated. Between 1990 and 1998, the central government designated Aceh
as a Military Operation Area (DOM, Daerah Operasi Militer), giving the military the
power to suppress the Aceh people in ways that often run against human rights. In
short, to keep the country from disintegrating, the administration did not hesitate to
employ violent, oppressive measure.
In 1993, Suharto decided to continue to rule for another term, a decision that
Elson (2001) considered as “a crucial step in his undoing” (p. 271). Suharto’s
rule quickly displayed elements of “sultanization” (Aspinall, 2005). As the name
suggests, in sultanization, the ruler’s power is “without restraint”, the decisions tend
to be more arbitrary, and corruption even more excessive. Loyalty to the ruler was
based on fear and a patrimonial system that negatively rewards disloyalty and oppo-
sition. It was during this period of time that the acronym ABS, standing for “Asal
Bapak Senang” (As long as it pleases the father, i.e., Suharto) became part of daily
parlance—and signs of everyday resistance. Indeed, discontent grew, first beneath the
surface but then gradually more palpable. According to Aspinall (2005), sultanization
characteristically marks the end years of an authoritarian regime.
It took another full term of Suharto’s reign before the New Order officially ended.
Between 1993 and 1998, social and political unrest grew (Elson, 2001). The growing
popularity of Megawati Sukarnoputri, Sukarno’s daughter, saw her elected as the
leader of the Indonesian Democratic Party (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia, PDI), to the
obvious dismay of Suharto. Her party’s, the PDI, headquarter was ransacked in 1996,
five people were killed, and over twenty remained missing. The Asian economic
crisis unfolded. Rupiah free-dived from Rp. 2,400 to Rp. 17,000 to a dollar within
six months in early 1998 (Elson, 2001).
Student demonstrations had begun since December 1997, and overt political oppo-
sition to Suharto’s rule was expressed by political figures (Aspinall, 2005). Yet, in
March 1998, an increasingly out-of-touch Suharto declared that he would remain
the president, to the apprehension of a growing number of people. Student protests
quickly escalated and became an everyday occurrence in Jakarta and other big cities.
In May 1998, four students from a private university in Jakarta, Trisakti, were shot
dead. Ethnic riots against the Chinese erupted in Jakarta and Solo the next days.
Chinese women were targeted for rape. The looting and burning of stores took
hundreds of victims. Students occupied the parliament building to force Suharto
from power. Even a number of Suharto’s previously loyal ministers conveyed the
same message. With support dwindling, on May 20th, Suharto resigned from a posi-
tion he had held for thirty years and appointed Habibie as his successor. He left a
nation that, despite soaring in optimism for the future, was less clear about what
exactly should replace the New Order and where precisely the nation needs to go.
2.4 The Reform Period
After Suharto’s resignation, the popular opinion was that Indonesia’s transition
should be gradual, hence the term “reform” (reformasi) instead of the more radical
2.4 The Reform Period 41
“revolusi”. The elites, both the ruling as well as the moderate opposition, had the same
inclination to follow the constitutional rule and avoid dramatic shifts (Ziegenhein,
2008). Despite the gradual transition, a period of instability and turbulence followed.
The economic crisis thrust people below the poverty line overnight. Violent inter-
group conflicts erupted in different parts of the country in the late ’90s and early
2000’s. An UNSFIR report noted that between 1998 and 2003, a total of 2,901
incidents took place resulting in 9,544 deaths. In comparison, in the previous six
years between 1992 and 1998, there were 631 incidences that led to 1,179 deaths
(Varshney et al., 2004). Religious conflicts were particularly contagious. Thus, for
instance, in November 1998, a riot targeting mosques and Islamic schools and neigh-
borhoods broke out in Kupang as a response to the attacking of twenty-two churches
in Ketapang, Jakarta.
At the level of the political elites, none of the first three presidents of the reform
era completed their terms. Suharto’s immediate successor was his former vice pres-
ident, BJ Habibie, the “accidental president” (Crouch, 2010 p. 21) who was widely
perceived as being a weaker extension of Suharto. Without a strong legitimacy, his
survival strategy was to compromise with popular demands for reformation (Crouch,
2010). Habibie oversaw a number of consequential policy changes. Restrictions on
the press and the number of political parties were lifted, a referendum was granted
to East Timor. Particularly important is also the one policy that changed the country:
decentralization.
2.4.1 Decentralization
In 1999, the government signed the law on decentralization. This decision was made
as a compromise to keep the country from disintegrating (Mietzner, 2014; World
Bank, 2003). The subsequent shift was radical, dubbed by some as a “Big Bang”
(cf. Hill, 2014; World Bank, 2003). Authority over political, administrative, and
fiscal matters was handed over to more than 400 districts and municipalities. The
local government is now responsible for a wide array of public services, like health,
education, public works, environment, and industry and trade. The provinces are
responsible for coordinating matters that affect more than one local government,
while the central government continues to have control over national defense, reli-
gion, international relations, justice, security, and monetary and fiscal regulations
(World Bank, 2003).
The result of decentralization is a mixed bag. In terms of economic growth and
development, most researchers agree that the results of decentralization have not
been as good as it could be (Pepinsky & Wihardja, 2009; Vujanovic, 2017), although
some remarked that gradual convergence in per capita income between provinces is
discernible (Vidyattama & Hill, 2014). However, even with their relative optimism,
comparing the per capita income in 1975, 1990, 2000, and 2010, it is possible to
identify provinces that are “consistently wealthy”, “consistently non-poor”, “very
poor”, and “slipping behind”, suggesting that the relative economic status between
provinces has remained the same before and after decentralization. The three cities in
the current study are spread across these categories. Jakarta is “consistently wealthy”,
with the gap between the capital and the national average widening: from double in
1975 to four times the national average in 2000 and 2010 (Vidyattama & Hill, 2014).
East Nusa Tenggara, on the other hand, is “slipping behind”; its per capita income is
less than half the national average and shows a decline from 1975 to 2010. Meanwhile,
Aceh does not fit into any of these categories: it has been relatively prosperous in
the ’70s until the early 2000 but has declined due to the tsunami and the civil unrest
with a trend toward recovery in more recent years. In other words, decentralization
has not yet been able to close off the gap that Drake identified in the 80s.
The disparity affects the local administration. In regions with low socio-economic
conditions where the general population is less educated and less politically aware,
the leaders will be held less accountable for their performance (Pepinsky & Wihardja
2009). Relatedly, it has been observed that the decentralization of power in Indonesia
leads to decentralization—thus the spreading—of corruption practices (Hadiz, 2004).
Another effect of decentralization is the rise of local identities (Mietzner, 2014).
Candidates vying for political positions at the sub-provincial level are expected to
show a level of familiarity with the local culture as voters undoubtedly prefer those
who could prove themselves to be so-called “putera daerah” (sons of the soil), a term
that has become popularized after decentralization. The growing prominence of local
identities is also indicated by the rising number of regional television channels that
broadcast programs in regional languages, in the uniforms of public officials that
incorporate elements of the local textile motif and the school curricula that now
includes the regional languages.
Although generally decentralization is considered successful in maintaining the
nation’s unity, there are two regions where decentralization is not wholeheartedly
accepted: Aceh and East Timor. Given the separatist movements in the two regions,
both were offered the status of special autonomy. However, the majority of people
in both regions refused the deal. Yet, it led to diverging paths: a referendum was held
in East Timor that freed the region from Indonesia , while in Aceh, it resulted in one
of the most oppressive episodes by the Indonesian army before the peace agreement
was signed in 2005.
East Timor’s secession had different consequences for different regions in
Indonesia. While for the “common” people in Jakarta and most other regions, the
separation did not impact their daily lives, things are different for the people in West
Timor. The neighboring province had to accommodate 250,000 refugees from East
Timor (Smith & Dee, 2003). Although about 110,000 were repatriated not too long
after, the number of the remaining refugees was still too large to be burdened to
West Timor. Conflict frequently erupted between the locals and the refugees, and
the tension remained well into 2010. When I conducted research in Kupang, people
would often express their dislike of the refugees (see Chap. 5).
For Aceh, on the other hand, East Timor’s secession became a “blueprint”
(Schulze, 2006) for their own independent struggle. Decades of being the target of
military actions did not neutralize GAM. On the contrary, after East Timor’s success,
GAM started to use the term “referendum” and proposed for negotiations under the
2.4 The Reform Period 43
supervision of UN, and also hoped that the international sympathy for East Timor
would cross over to their cause (Schulze, 2006). As it will be discussed below, Aceh’s
demand for referendum reached its apex during the administration of Megawati, the
daughter of Sukarno, who responded by once again designating Aceh as DOM.
2.4.2 Gus Dur, Megawati, and Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono
Habibie’s brief rule was followed by two other presidents who also did not complete
a full term. His successor, Abdurrahman Wahid, popularly known as “Gus Dur” is the
admired central figure of the largest Muslim organization in Indonesia, the Nahdatul
Ulama. One of his most significant policies was to abolish discriminative regulations
against the Chinese. He was impeached by the parliament in 2003 and replaced by
his vice president, Megawati Sukarnoputri.
Megawati is not only the daughter of Sukarno, but she is also the leader of
the Indonesian Democratic Party (PDI), one of the parties that were a relatively
vocal opposition during the New Order. When Aceh rejected the state’s offer for
regional autonomy and asked for a referendum instead, Megawati launched one of
the most offensive military invasions by the Indonesian army. The martial law was
implemented in Aceh for almost a year. As elaborated in chapter six, the participants
from Banda Aceh experienced the offensive firsthand. The experience undoubtedly
shapes their perceptions and ideation of “Indonesia”.
In 2004, Indonesia held the first direct presidential election. The winner of the
election, the military general Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (SBY), would rule the
nation-state for two terms, hence providing much-needed stability. It was also under
his auspices that the peace agreement with the leaders of GAM was signed in 2005,
in the aftermath of the devastating tsunami.
2.5 Conclusion
This chapter outlines the trajectory of the making of Indonesian subjects by polit-
ical elites and various state apparatuses. Following Barrington’s work that maps the
postcolonial nation-building strategies of various countries into tendencies towars
ethnic or civic nationalism (2006), Indonesia’s nation-building shows more features
of civic nationalism than ethnic nationalism. Unlike mainland Southeast-Asian
states, Indonesia and the archipelagic part of the region do not heavily depend on
shared deep-rooted ethnic features, like language, race, or religion. To borrow David
Henley’s identification of Indonesia’s nation-building, the political elites employ
strategies that strongly show features of integrative nationalism, where different
ethnic groups are merged into a single nation (Henley, 2013). Pancasila and the
Youth Pledge are expressions of the decision to build a nation that is founded on
core civic principles and commitment to work on the unity, respectively, and are thus
unambiguous instances to overcome divisions based on ethnic or religion.
These integrative strategies have not gone unchallenged. The course of Indonesian
nation-building has oscillated between civic and ethnic nationalism. This can be
because of the pressures voiced by groups who felt that their identities or values are
insufficiently acknowledged or accommodated in the civic narrative, or because the
civic narratives themselves continue to have imprints of the ethno-cultural features
of the dominant ethnic group, i.e., the Javanese. An instance of the former is the
continuing discontent among some Islamic groups with the formulation of Pancasila
that is too accommodative of secular values, while examples of the later are plenty.
Thus, the penchant to use Sanskrit words to convey authority in the national slogan
“Bhinneka Tunggal Ika” (Unity in Diversity), or the term “Pancasila”, as well as
the mythical founding state “Majapahit”, the Java-centric (Pemberton, 1994) Taman
Mini Indonesia Indah, all indicate the disproportionate emphasis on Hindu-Buddhist
and Javanese cultures in comparison to the other cultures (e.g., Islamic Malay cultures
like in Aceh, or other non-Hindu Buddhist cultures like in Kupang). Along with the
not-so implicit Java-centrism in the national narrative, there continues to be inequal
access to economic and political resources between the Javanese and/or those in Java
in comparison to people from other regions/ethnic groups.
To navigate this complexity, both Sukarno as well as Suharto opted to repress
complicated matters related to diversity and disparity. Both were aversive to differ-
ences of opinions. This is exemplified by Suharto’s silencing of SARA- related
issues. Voices that could destabilize the nation were suppressed or oppressed. In other
words, what Indonesia’s civic nationalism does is incorporating and simultaneously
regulating and controlling expressions of ethno-cultural identities. As a result, ethno-
cultural minorities might feel stifled and unacknowledged. As Barrington points out,
in civic nationalism, ethnic minorities often perceive the civic nation-building more
as an assimilation process than one that moves toward a melting pot (2006).
In short, despite all the civic visions, the trajectory of Indonesian nation-building
suggests that it has been also an exclusionary process. There are certain ideolo-
gies, histories, visions, and identities that are privileged and portrayed as the “ideal
Indonesian”, while others are denied, ignored, or repressed. In wanting to build a
well-integrated nation, hierarchies between identities are created based on the extent
to which it reflects this “ideal” image of the Indonesian. The youth in the three
cities studied represent people who are positioned differently in this hierarchy. The
differing positions will shape how Indonesia is imagined by the youth who grew up
and reside in each region. The following chapters will elaborate on how the youth in
each region imagine Indonesia.
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Chapter 3
Methodology
Abstract The chapter discusses the methodological strategies of the study on which
the book is based. It explains that the reason behind the selection of the three
research sites is because they represent different positions in the power configu-
ration of Indonesia, aside from the diversity of the sociocultural composition. The
chapter discusses the challenges encountered, particularly regarding the identifica-
tion of who exactly are the “ordinary youth”, the abstract nature of the imagining of
a country, and the strong residual nationalist discourse of the New Order. In light of
these challenges, the chapter proceeds to explain the rationale behind the use of the
photo-elicitation interview method. The chapter closes with the list of photographs
that were used in the interviews.
Keywords Photo-elicitation interview · Visual methodology · Multi-sited

research · Non-elite nationhood
While the research question itself is simple and straightforward, delving into the
conceptualizations about Indonesia and Indonesians by non-elite young people in
various cities of the country is a more challenging pursuit. How does one generate
responses about something as abstract as the mental construction of a nation? Who
exactly are the “non-elites”? Furthermore, which of the hundreds of cities should one
choose as research sites? This chapter elaborates on the methodological challenges
and the subsequent strategies that were employed in the research. It discusses the
challenges that were inherent in the study, as well as the rationales behind the choice
of research sites, the criteria for the selection of photographs, and the actual photos
that were used.
3.1 The Research Sites: Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh
The decision to study Banda Aceh, Jakarta, and Kupang is based on the diversity that
these three cities represent, given their different positions in the power configuration
of Indonesia, their ethnic and sociocultural composition, as well as their diverging
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_3
50 3 Methodology
colonial and postcolonial trajectories. The cities are located on three different islands
in Indonesia, namely Sumatera, Java, and Timor, respectively. Banda Aceh is the
capital of the westernmost province of the country, Aceh. Jakarta, the country’s
capital, lies approximately 1,800 km to the east of Banda Aceh, (approximately
1,133 miles) on the northern coast of Java Island. If from Jakarta one flies another
1,900 km to the east, one would reach Kupang, the capital of East Nusa Tenggara
(also referred to in this book by its Indonesian acronym, NTT). Geographically,
these cities lie closer to Indonesia’s neighboring countries than to each other. The
distances from Banda Aceh to Penang, Malaysia, Jakarta to Singapore, and Kupang
to East Timor, and to Darwin, Australia are all less than 1,000 km (approximately 621
miles), and it has been a widely shared habit of those in Aceh and Jakarta who could
afford the costs, to seek better qualities of health services or education in Penang or
Singapore, respectively.
The three cities were mainly chosen as research sites because the three regions
occupy different positions in the power configuration of Indonesia. Jakarta is the
political, economic, and sociocultural center of the country. It morphed from the
colonial headquarter, Batavia, to the capital of a postcolonial nation. Once the country
became independent, Jakarta becomes the showcase of Indonesia’s modernity that is
ironically and simultaneously very different from all the other regions of the country.
The city has always been much more developed than even its nearest neighbors, the
other cities on Java Island. Being the primary destination for internal migrants for
decades, Jakarta is ethnically and culturally more diverse than the typical Indonesian
city. While there is a wide range of regional languages that one could hear on the
streets of Jakarta, it is also the city with the highest number of native speakers of the
national language, Indonesian.
In contrast to Jakarta, the two other cities both belong to the “Outer Islands”, a
reductive term traceable to the colonial period that clusters all islands aside from
Java together. Among the two cities, Banda Aceh is more known in the national as
well as international scene. The province has long been nicknamed “the verandah of
Mecca”, and its population is overwhelmingly Muslim. Due to a confluence of several
historical factors, to be discussed in Chap. 6, Aceh was a turbulent region for many
decades. The fight for Aceh’s secession from Indonesia, as well as Indonesia’s violent
aggression against these separatist forces, dragged on for decades, even after the end
of the New Order. In 2004, a tsunami devastated the region as talks of negotiation
were ongoing in Finland. The confluence of these two major events resulted in the
signing of a peace agreement between Aceh and Indonesia a year later. Aceh remains
part of Indonesia, as a Special Autonomy Region that has the right to implement the
shari’a law within the province and to have their own regional political parties.
In comparison to the two cities, Kupang is much less known and is the least
developed. East Nusa Tenggara, the province of which Kupang is the capital, is
archipelagic, with more than 500 islands and numerous ethnic groups. Kupang shares
Timor Island with the newly sovereign East Timor, and the city continues to house
a significant number of refugees who fled East Timor during the turbulent secession
process almost two decades ago. Another large island in the province, Flores, is more
prominent than Kupang, including as the world’s only natural habitat of the Komodo
3.1 The Research Sites: Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh 51
dragons, and as host of a number of other tourist destinations. Unlike many other
regions, the population in Kupang is predominantly Christians. Thus, the dominant
religion in Kupang is the minority religion in the national context, a situation that
informs how people position themselves within the nation and shape their perception
and attitudes of the nation.
By choosing to compare perceptions of “Indonesia” among people in these
different cities, it is not the intention of the book to argue that there are no other
markers like religion, gender, or age that might play a part in how the nation is
constructed. However, given the hegemonic structure of the country that limitedly
acknowledge diversity to maintain a centralistic state, I have opted on this occasion to
emphasize the different power positions of the research sites. As Marcus points out,
“the juxtaposition among sites embedded in multi-sited strategies of following leads
and making connections tend to offset naturalizing categories and their bounding
of the world commonsensically” (Marcus, 1998 p. 17). This multi-sited research is
especially suitable to question the homogeneity of the nation. The different situ-
atedness of the three cities produces different knowledge and imaginations about
Indonesia.
3.2 Methodological Challenges
There are three methodological obstacles related to the research question. The first is
common in the study of the nation “from below”. It is related to the identification of
“below”; where exactly is “from below”, and who are the “ordinary people”? Dealing
with the same problem, van Ginderachter and Beyen (2012) conclude that there is
no universal answer to these questions and that the definition should be contingent
on the research context. They opted to define “ordinary people” as those “…who are
usually not actively or consciously engaged in concerted, organized nation-building
strategies, or who are supposed to play an executory role (e.g., lower middle-class
bureaucrats) in nationalizing policies designed by others” (p. 10). The people I
have interviewed for this research undoubtedly fit into this description. However,
as mentioned at the opening of this chapter, I prefer to use the term “non-elite”
to “ordinary”, “average”, or “common”, because the term implies contradistinction
with a sociologically defined group, that is, the elites. Thus, the non-elite in this book
do not actively or consciously engage in nation-building strategies, and are, relative
to their surrounding context, without an exceptional amount of resources, especially
those that are social or cultural in nature.
The second challenge is related to the abstract nature of the concept of nationhood
and of “the imagining of the nation”. Between the everyday hassles that being on the
transition to adulthood entail, the average young person living in a peaceful period
in a relatively established country would not find “the nation” a relevant or impor-
tant object to consciously reflect on. As Bowman (1994) stated in his study about
different imaginations of Palestine, a region that is definitively more controversial
than Indonesia, studying national identity as a discursive production implies that one
52 3 Methodology
should recognize it as connoted by the everyday experience although it is “never

actually evidenced in full” (p. 141). The methodological question is then how the
imagining of the nation could be made “evidenced”, and hence discernible. Fox and
Miller-Idriss’ identify the modalities ofeveryday nationhood (2008), especially how
the nation is instantiated in everyday talks and conversations. Even though reflections
and articulations about the nation are embedded within these daily concerns, relying
on observations of “ordinary” young people’s daily lives and looking for patterns
and “evidence” that imply their understanding of Indonesia might not be achievable
in one year (October 2009–September 2010).
The third challenge is the strong pressure to adhere to normative notions of the
nation, due to the socio-historical context of Indonesia. During the thirty-three years-
long administration of the New Order, nation-building strategies unfolded in a mili-
taristic fashion, employing various state institutions, from the media, and schools, to
village-level organizations. Good citizens were those who do not question or diverge
from the state’s narratives of Indonesia. In the educational setting, there was no space
to counter or to openly discuss hegemonic explanations of historical events (e.g., state
narratives about the 1965 mass-killings of accused communists remain unchallenged,
and the possibility of alternative narratives continue to be unimaginable to many).
Pupils were required to memorize various formulaic conceptualizations related to
the nation and the state (e.g., the 36 sub-principles of Pancasila). All questions about
nationhood were posed to youngsters by authoritative figures like teachers and are
expected to be responded to by the set of normative answers.
Although at the point of research, it has been eleven years after the end of the
authoritarian regime, and with freedom of speech fully guaranteed, the propaganda
instilled during the New Order continues to provide the resources and restrictions
as to what Indonesia and being Indonesians mean. Posing direct and overt questions
will generate responses drawn from the dominant and state-sanctioned notions of
nationhood. A good example of the pervasiveness of state-sanctioned discourse is
the winning essays of a yearly competition organized by the esteemed magazine,
Tempo. The theme of the competition is “Nationalism, my style” and is open to all
tertiary level students. An analysis of thirty winning entries between 2009 and 2011
shows that, with one exception written by an Acehnese student, nationalism (let alone
the legitimacy of Indonesia) is not questioned and is considered a taken-for-granted
attitude (Wardhani 2013). One should love their nation, and most of the winning
essays explore the various forms and expressions of this sentiment. The nationalist
attitude is the norm, and those with different ideas about Indonesia might be more
reserved to share their thoughts in a public competition. This research aims to make
space for expressions that negate, question, or indicate the absence of the nation.
In short, the main challenge of the fieldwork was to maintain the balance between
explicitly requiring informants to formulate their understanding of Indonesia and
avoiding mere repetitions of official discourses. It is with these issues in mind that I
decided to generate data using photo-elicitation interviews. Participants were shown
a number of photographs and asked to provide comments on them. Employing a less
conventional means of data collection, it is only necessary that a large part of this
chapter is spent addressing this method.
3.3 The Photo-Elicitation Interview Method 53
3.3 The Photo-Elicitation Interview Method
The photo-elicitation interview method (henceforward PEI) involves the use of a set
of pictures as points of reference on which interviewees are asked to comment. I
used photographs, as “stimulus text”, defined by Torronen (2002) as “devices that
encourage interviewees to talk about the topic” (p. 343). Stimulus texts “articulate the
phenomenon under examination to make it perceptible”. Thus, as stimulus text the
photographs should empower the participants “…to express their social experience
and cultural knowledge of the issue” (Torronen, 2002 p. 345).
PEI started to be explored in the 1950s by Collier, a photographer, and researcher
who used photographs in a study on mental health and changing communities (1957).
Collier argues that photographs could generate detailed information, as well as data
that are strongly emotional in nature (Collier Jr., 1957: 858). Subsequent works have
corroborated Collier’s assertion. PEI has been found to provide a detailed visual
inventory of a culture, including by bringing to the surface routine practices about
which the practitioners themselves have become unreflective (cf. Clark and Zimmer,
2001; Clark-Ibáñez, 2004; Croghan et al. 2008; Gotschi, Delve, & Freyer, 2009), to
aid articulations of abstract concepts (cf. Creighton et al., 2015), as well as emotional
ones (cf. Cretin et al., 2017). It has particularly been appraised for facilitating rapport-
building, and helpful in conducting interviews with children and young people (cf.
Clark-Ibáñez, 2004; Croghan et al., 2008; Allen, 2011; Smith, Gidlow, & Steel, 2012;
McCloy et al., 2016) or vulnerable groups (cf. Glaw et al., 2017; Sibeoni et al., 2017).
Aligned to the needs of this research, PEI has also shown to weaken the pressure for
participants to conform to social expectations. For instance, the work of Notermans
and Kommers (2013) shows how PEI can minimize the influence of official discourses
in regard to personal religious meanings, while Allen (2011) uses PEI to elicit stories
about sexuality in school settings that go beyond the normative expectations. As the
use of PEI has grown over the years, it becomes possible to assert that PEI’s strength
lies in the fact that it can obtain encyclopedic as well as projective data (Lapenta,
2011). PEI can serve as an inventory of the tangible and perceptible culture, as well as
dealing with more “subjective” aspects, like thoughts, perceptions, or sentiments. My
research capitalizes more on the projective and “subjective” data that PEI can elicit.
PEI’s potential to elicit projective data is attributable to at least four interrelated
features. First, the photographs serve as aid device in articulating abstract ideas.
Photographs depict actual objects around which discussions about abstract notions
can be spun (Hurworth, 2003; Hinthorne, 2012). They can simplify conceptual,
metaphysical, or hypothetical questions by having these questions represented in
concrete, visual objects. In this case, a complicated topic such as aspects of belong-
ingness (or not belongingness) to Indonesia could be represented by photographs
of school children in flag-raising ceremony or a photograph of a man holding the
electoral ballot.
Second, at the same time, the visual cues are polysemic. They can be interpreted
in multiple ways. Thus, although the question seems to be limited to a particular
photograph, theoretically the actual boundary is that of the interviewee’s mental
54 3 Methodology
horizon. As in projective tests, the nature of images entails that people interpret them
according to pre-existing beliefs and current preoccupations. In this regard, photo-
elicitation method shares similarities with projective techniques mostly used in the
setting of clinical and personality psychology. Harper draws similarities with the
Rorschach inkblot test (2012) while Hinthorne (2012), who used drawings to elicit
opinions about democracy in Madagascar, professed that her “Visual Interpretation
Narrative Experience1 ” (VINE), is inspired by modifications of the Thematic Apper-
ception Test (TAT) where subjects’ underlying psychodynamics are assessed based
on stories they create about a set of images. One major difference between photo-
elicitation method in sociology and anthropology, and the projective tests employed
in the field of psychology lies in the assumption regarding the relationship between
culture and interpretation. In psychology, it is assumed that there are normative,
culture-blind interpretations of the visual cues (in comparison to which one can
assess the “normalcy” of the individual tested), whereas in anthropology and soci-
ology, thus as used in this book, it precisely the opposite assumption that is used, i.e.,
that images and the interpretation of them are embedded in a system of knowledge
and beliefs that are specific to particular cultures and societies.
A third advantage of the photo-elicitation method is the shifting power structure
between the interviewer and interviewee (Parker, 2009). Although this is particularly
true in instances where photographs are produced by the interviewee (cf. Lapenta,
2011), the power asymmetry between the interviewer and the interviewee is softened,
even when photographs are preselected by the researcher. By asking interviewees to
provide interpretations of the visual cues, the pressure to provide “correct” answers
is significantly minimized, if not completely eliminated. As discussed in the previous
chapter, the Indonesian education system is one of the channels through which the
state inculcates its subjects to become nationalistic and patriotic citizens: through rote
learning, students are expected to know the right and normative answers to questions
related to Indonesian nationhood. In the context of this research, a “conventional”
question-and-answer interview would closely replicate the school setting where the
authority figure, in this case, the interviewer, expects certain normative answers to
questions regarding the nation. This would position the interviewees strongly within
the official discourse, and although this would be an interesting research subject in
itself, it is not the interest of this particular study.
Closely related to the previous point, the fourth advantage of PEI is its ability to
facilitate discussion about controversial issues and non-normative opinions. Because
photographs are generally considered to objectively and transparently depict reality,
any controversial interpretation would be attributed to the “real” meaning of the
visual cues. The interviewees’ opinions are projected onto the photographs, ensuring
a sense of distance from their personal opinions. The distance facilitates articulations
of ideas that deviate from what is socially expected or accepted. Issues like separatism
or strong negative sentiments against elements of the Indonesian state can be elicited
and discussed.
1 VINE is similar to PEI, the difference being that instead of using photographs, VINE uses drawn
vignettes.
3.4 Selection of Photographs and the Interview Process 55
3.4 Selection of Photographs and the Interview Process
There are three common sources of photographs in PEI: they can be selected by
the researcher prior to the interview, they can be produced by the participants as
part of the research project, or the photos can also be selected collaboratively by
the researcher and the participant during the research (Lapenta, 2011). Participant-
produced photographs, whether through collaboration with the researcher or not, is
particularly useful for ethnographic and participatory research. On the other hand,
researcher-produced photographs are necessary if the interviews aim to explore
“theoretical concepts” and “…to focus respondents’ attention on these researcher-
selected themes and subjects” (Lapenta, 2011 p. 205). Because I wanted to know how
youth conceptualize the nation (a theoretical and abstract concept), my fieldwork uses
researcher-produced photographs.
To be able to fully take advantage of the strengths of PEI, the selection process of
the photographs holds a very important role in the research. The photographs must be
connected to the informants’ lives, as part of the collective memory or experience. Yet,
they have to stay anchored to the research question, and contain elements that suggest,
but not enforce, discussions of nationhood. In short, the photographs need to be (1)
able to elicit attitudes/beliefs/opinions/perceptions of Indonesia that people do not
actively or consciously reflect on, and (2) minimize social desirability bias that might
inform informants to merely repeat the official discourse. Ideally, the photographs
should initiate discussions that, in terms of content, are similar to everyday talks. To
this effect, there were three areas from which I drew ideas for the photographs: the
local everyday lives of the interviewees (made after observation of the local youth
scene), popular or youth culture, and everyday instances of the “official” discourse
(e.g., school children during the flag-raising ceremony). Selecting the photographs
was a process that continued even after data collection has started. Photographs
that were “productive” (those with which the interviewees can relate to and that
elicit responses) in one city proved to be unproductive in another city and had to
be replaced. Of course, there can always be other photographs that “should” be
discussed; the options are practically infinite. However, the same criticism could
always be directed to the questions or the wording of the questions asked in any
word-based question-and-answer interviews.
The instruction during the interview is straightforward: I want them to tell me
what the photographs are about. I assured them not to worry about the length, the
quality, or the direct relation of the comments with the pictures in question. At some
points in the interviews, I would probe further or clarify. Their interpretations of
each photograph can be lengthy and cover a wide range of topics. It is, however,
essential to remember that the analysis is not about youth’s perceptions of particular
objects/events, but how these responses reveal their imaginings of Indonesia. Thus,
for instance, the analysis is not about what young people think about the Komodo
dragon but about how, or whether, their perceptions of the Komodo dragon imply a
particular conceptualization of Indonesia and sense of belongingness to Indonesia.
The responses to the photographs in each research site can be found in Appendix 1.
56 3 Methodology
By making the interview as casual as possible, I aim to recreate everyday talk,

which is one of the modalities of everyday nationhood (Fox and Miller-Idriss, 2008).
In a way, this is a response to Elson’s (2008) calling for a much-needed study on
“…the popular reception (or otherwise) of the idea of Indonesia among Indonesians
themselves (p. xxiv).”
3.4.1 Photographs Used in the Interviews
Fifteen photographs were shown in all three research sites. For each research site, I
have prepared an additional number of photographs that depict scenes idiosyncratic
to the site. These photos are then used, by way of rapport-building, at the start of
the interviews in their respective sites. In so doing, the role of the interviewee as the
more knowledgeable party is established. Out of the fifteen, three were only shown in
Jakarta, three others were only shown in Kupang, and one was only shown in Aceh.
These differences in photographs were either because they depict a local youth scene
(and so used as part of rapport-building and to ease into the interview by positioning
them as the experts in the interaction) or because some photographs failed to generate
responses in the particular city and had to be replaced with a photograph depicting a
similar issue. All photos were shown in size 5 R (5” × 7” or 12.7 cm × 17.78 cm).
Komodo
The photo depicts a Komodo dragon (Varanus komodoensis) basking in the sun. The
species is a prehistoric animal endemic to the Komodo Island, on the westernmost
part of East Nusa Tenggara. It is the provincial symbol. During 2007–2011, the giant
lizard was shortlisted as a candidate of the “New7Wonders of Nature”, a global
poll organized by the Swiss-based New7Wonders Foundation. With the heightened
visibility of the animal, the ministry of forestry had planned to move ten komodos
to the safari park in Bali, a region that has already dominated the tourism industry in
Indonesia. This move was rejected by the local government of East Nusa Tenggara,
citing that it would create dissent between the two provinces.
The picture of the komodo dragon was chosen because it could lead to discussions
about representations of the nation, expressions of nationalism, a sense of common
ownership over nature, but also interregional competition.
Print Advertisement for a Mobile Provider Depicting Manchester United
Players in Batik Shirts
The photograph is of an advertisement for a mobile provider owned by the multi-
national company Hutchinson Whampoa. It depicts a number of Manchester United
players wearing batik shirt, the traditional textile motif from Java. The print ad is
part of a larger campaign that also involves television commercials. In 2009, as
part of their promotion campaign, the company sponsored a friendly football match
between Manchester United and the Indonesian “All-Stars Team”. Three days before
the match was due to take place in Jakarta, two bombs exploded at the Ritz-Carlton,
where the team was scheduled to stay, and the Mariott hotels in Jakarta. Nine people
died, six of whom were foreigners. Due to security concerns, the match was canceled.
The picture opens itself up to multiple frames of interpretation. Football, as is well-
acknowledged in studies of the nation, is intertwined with a host of conceptualizations
and perceptions regarding the nation, while terrorist attacks against foreigners also
provide the avenue to interpret the picture in this regard. Interviewees were also able
to use batik as the main cue for interpretation. The motif that used to be seen as tradi-
tional and only reserved for formal occasions has started to be re-appropriated as more
casual wear. Moreover, it was also one of the main artifacts supposedly “claimed”
by Malaysia and that became one of the key symbols of popular nationalism.
East Timor
There are two photographs that were used to elicit discussions related to East Timor
and/or separatism, the country conducted a referendum in 1999 and became officially
independent in 2002. Initially, I used a postcard for an independent East Timor with
the words “Free Indonesia from East Timor” in Indonesian. The postcard was part of
the pro-independence campaign distributed by an Indonesian-based NGO. However,
after several interviews, it became clear that the choice of words was confusing.
I had to almost immediately probe in the direction of their thoughts about East
Timor. Given the general reaction to the initial photograph, I replaced it with another
photograph. The photo is of a man wearing traditional costumes with the flag of East
Timor serving as the background. This is the front cover of East Timor’s first official
stamps, although it cannot be expected that the ordinary Indonesian youth would be
aware of this.
Both photographs were chosen for their potential to generate discussions about
belongingness to Indonesia, discontent with the state, and the relation between the
center and the peripheries. It could elicit expressions that confirm or disrupt the idea
of “Indonesia” as it currently is.
Jakarta Skyline
The picture depicts the silhouettes of the high-rise buildings in Jakarta’s business
district at dawn. In the foreground but off-focus are dark patches of residential areas.
The photo was expected to elicit comments on Jakarta, its position in the country,
and differences or similarities between regions.
Flag-Raising Ceremony
The photograph illustrates elementary school children standing in-formation and
saluting the Indonesian flag as it was pulled up the flagpole. During the New Order,
this was compulsory and done weekly, thus it was part of the interviewees’ experience
during their primary education. After the end of the New Order, the flag-raising
ceremony was done to commemorate certain national occasions (Fig. 3.1).
The photo was chosen to elicit the youth’s opinions and experiences of the state
practices to instill nationalism among its subjects.
58 3 Methodology
Fig. 3.1 Legend: primary school students conducted the flag-raising ceremony in commemoration
of the Youth Pledge in 2009. Source Antonius Widyakristiatmoko
Suharto
The photograph is a typical portrait of Suharto that used to be hung in front of all
classrooms across the country.
The portrait was chosen in the hope that it would elicit the interviewees’ opinions
of the New Order, including how Suharto is remembered by the younger generation
with very limited experience of the New Order.
Students Taking Over the Parliament During the 1998 May Demonstrations
The photograph was taken from the headline of the Kompas daily on the 20th of
May 1998 when a large-scale student demonstration took place in the parliamen-
tary building. This was the demonstration that would eventually lead to Suharto’s
resignation. The picture itself depicts students on the stairs and roofs of the parlia-
mentary building and is accompanied by the words “Ten thousand students ‘sit on’
the parliament”.
The photo was chosen for its potential to bring up discussions about the New Order
and the days leading to its end, the opinions of the reform era, or the relationship
between the government and the people.
A Man Holding an Electoral Ballot
The photograph depicts a man holding up the electoral ballot during the counting of
the votes in the 2009 legislative election. The photo was selected because it could
elicit talks about political participation, including what they think are important
characteristics of public officials. For many interviewees, the 2009 election was their
first voting experience (Fig. 3.2).
A Mural of Post-tsunami Aid Distribution
The photograph is of a mural that depicts aid distribution after the 2004 tsunami.
People are pictured running to pick up the boxes of aid that were dropped from planes
and helicopters, and an ambulance parked in a corner, a long line of cars with the
Indonesian flag, and the word “NGO” were painted on them. In the foreground, a
sign with “weel come (sic) to tsunami area” can be seen, and next to it, a man shaking
hands with men with “foreign” features, i.e., a long nose. This photograph was taken
in Meulaboh in 2005. It was chosen because it was expected to initiate discussions
about national and foreign aid, or whether disasters are seen as a nationally shared
experience. In Aceh, this photo also aimed to elicit personal stories about the tsunami
and its aftermath (Fig. 3.3).
A Group of Friends from Various Nationalities
The picture is a group photo of 15 young adults from various “racial” groups. Two are
Caucasians, three are from the African continent, while the rest are from East, South,
and Southeast Asia. The photo was selected to initiate talks about other countries
and/or Indonesia’s relation with the international community.
Fig. 3.2 Legend: a man holds up an electoral ballot in the 2009 election. Source Hanantiwi
Adityasari
60 3 Methodology
Fig. 3.3 Legend: a photograph of a mural in Meulaboh, West Aceh, in 2005 that portrays aid
distribution by foreign agencies. Source Author’s own material
Photographs of Putri Indonesia 2009 and Miss Indonesia 2009

The photographs of Putri Indonesia 2009 and Miss Indonesia 2009 were shown in
sequence and often were discussed together due to the similarity of the topic.
The first photograph is of Putri Indonesia, Qory Sandioriva, waving to the audience
after she received the crown from the previous titleholder. Although she was born in
Jakarta, she represented Aceh in the beauty competition. She was eligible because
her mother is from the Gayo highland in Aceh. Qory became the first Acehnese to
win the beauty contest. Her participation was controversial because she did not cover
herself with a jilbab (a veil) the way that the Acehnese women are supposed to.
The second photograph is of Miss Indonesia 2009, Sunny Halim. She is Indo-
American and represented Jakarta in the competition. She has lived most of her life
abroad and does not speak Indonesian fluently.
The winners of these pageantries would go on to represent Indonesia on the
international stage. Putri Indonesia would continue to compete for the title of Miss
Universe, while Miss Indonesia would compete for the title of Miss World. Both
photographs were used to encourage discussions regarding the ideal notions of an
Indonesian person, as well as representations of the country on the international
stage.
Malingsia
The photograph that was shown to the interviewees was taken from a meme that
made fun of Malaysia’s tourism campaign logo in 2007. Instead of the original “Visit
Malaysia” , the meme says “Visit Malingsia”, and “Truly Maling Asia”. “Maling”
is “thief” in Indonesian. The verbal aggression was a reaction against Malaysia’s
tourism campaign video and a documentary serial about Malaysia that some people
in Indonesia thought to have presented cultural objects that “actually” belong to
Indonesia as Malaysian.
The photograph was chosen because it was expected to lead to discussions about
Indonesia’s relationship with Malaysia, Indonesia’s cultural boundaries, including
expressions of a sense of ownership.
As it turned out, while it has been easy in Jakarta and Aceh to elicit interviewees’
comments on Malaysia, this was not the case in Kupang where most interviewees
seemed to be unfamiliar with the meme or with the dispute altogether. Therefore,
I decided to replace the photo with that of a Balinese dance for the interviews in
Kupang because one of the disputed objects is a Balinese dance. In Aceh, the photo
of the dance was then added while the “Malingsia” meme was still used.
Legong Dancer
The photograph is a close-up of a female dancer doing the Legong Dance, a dance
from Bali. One of the cultural artifacts that were “claimed” by Malaysia was the Bali-
nese Pendet dance, thus not the Legong dance that was portrayed in the photograph.
The photograph can elicit notions of cultural commonness or reactions against it, but
also to encourage discussions on the same aspects as the “Malingsia” meme.
Baiturrahman Grand Mosque in Banda Aceh
The photograph of the front façade of the largest mosque in Banda Aceh was initially
intended to only be used in the interviews in Banda Aceh as part of the initial
photographs to build rapport. Along the way, I decided to show the photograph
in Kupang too. In Jakarta, this was then shown in the last interview (conducted after
I collected data in Kupang and Banda Aceh).
Photographs that Were Only Shown in Jakarta
Flooding
The photograph depicts flooding in central Jakarta with the national monument in
the background
Jakarta has always been very prone to flooding, largely due to the inadequate
urban planning and water management system. The photograph was chosen to elicit
discussions about living in Jakarta.
Urban Poor
The photo portrays three children playing in a waste collection area with high-rise
buildings seen in the background.
62 3 Methodology
It was selected for its potential to stimulate discussions about the wealth gap in
Jakarta and to see whether or not this would influence perceptions of the nation.
Trendy Young People
This is a group photo of young, fashionable people in a mall. The photo was used to
generate stories about the daily life of middle/upper-class young people in Jakarta.
Somewhat similar to the previous photo, this was intended to see whether their notions
and experiences of social class are intertwined with their constructions of the nation.
Photographs that Were Only Shown in Kupang
Bemo
“Bemo” is how the locals call a type of minibus that serves as the main public
transport in Kupang. Bemos are festively decorated with a wide range of objects:
from stickers of brand logos, funny words, or religious figures, to stuffed animals,
neon lights, and plastic flowers. Bemos also have stereo systems in their cars, and
the music could be heard from hundreds of meters away. The photograph was shown
at the beginning of each interview in Kupang. It was selected because it might elicit
stories about life in Kupang (Fig. 3.4).
Banner for Sail Indonesia with the Words “Welcome to Kupang. Sail Indonesia
2006”
The photograph is of a banner that welcomes the participants of an annual yacht
competition to Kupang. The 2006 competition starts from Darwin, Australia, and
ends in Bali, passing through many regions including Kupang. The photo was chosen
Fig. 3.4 Legend: Bemo, the extensively decorated public transport that is unique to Kupang. Source
Author’s own material
to start discussions about Kupang’s youth perception of the international world and
Kupang’s or Indonesia’s position in it.
The Photograph that Was Shown Only in Banda Aceh
A coffee-puller in action
The photograph shows a young man pulling coffee at one of the most popular cafés
in Banda Aceh. At the time of research, cafés lined up on the streets of Banda Aceh.
Young people would sit there for hours sipping beverages while using the free Wi-Fi
connection.
3.5 Note on Analysis
Data analysis for PEI follows the guidelines of qualitative data analysis. It starts
with transcribing the interviews, followed by the coding process. The latter was
done based on critical discourse analysis, considered to aptly capture the nexus
between politics and language (cf. Wodak and Forchtner, 2018). Then, I carefully
identified basic themes for each interview, based on what is explicitly mentioned.
Close attention was paid to deixis, these are the linguistic devices, or anchors, in
conversations that signifies the particular positioning of the speaker, such as “here”,
“now”, “us”, or “they”. Deixis is an important marker of subjective experiences
of the nation because they refer to an imagined totality that goes beyond what is
perceptible in the actual situation of the conversation (Billig, 1995; Shahzad, 2012).
The entire analysis models de Cillia, Reisigl, and Wodak’s analysis of the discursive
construction of the Austrian national identity (1999). For instance, I looked for themes
that signify the idea of “an Indonesian person”, a collective political history, culture,
present and future, and a “national body”. I also analyzed the positions of these
themes and categories vis-à-vis the hegemonic discourses of Indonesia, e.g., are they
reproductions, re-interpretations, or rejections, of the state’s narratives of Indonesia.
In the end, it was possible for me to compare the similarities and differences in how
Indonesia is imagined in the three different cities, and the extent to which these
imaginings are different from the state-sanctioned discourses of Indonesia.
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Chapter 4
Imagining “Indonesia” from Jakarta
Abstract The chapter focus on how “Indonesia” is imagined by young people living
in Jakarta. Nationalism is most palpable in Jakarta. For the youth at the center,
Indonesia is a natural and solid entity. The strength of this imagined Indonesia is
possible because of the erasure of the complexity of Indonesia. In general, there
is very little knowledge of, or interest in other regions outside of the capital. The
youth in Jakarta assign a single role to these other regions, i.e., as bearers of exotic
traditional cultures on which Indonesia’s identity as a country of cultural diversity
could be justified. Looking outwardly, there are two Others that constitute the youth’s
conceptualization of Indonesia. The first is Malaysia as the antagonistic Other, and
the second is the affluent and developed countries as the desirable Other. The youth
in Jakarta tend to constantly compare Indonesia to this desirable Other, leading to a
tendency to imagine Indonesia and Indonesians in an inferior position.
Keywords Youth nationalism · Jakarta nationalism · Indonesia-Malaysia

relations · Center-periphery relations · Imagined community · Non-elite
nationhood
In 2009–2010, the turbulent period that immediately followed the end of New Order
has subsided, and the country was getting ready for its second direct presidential elec-
tion. A revival of nationalistic sentiments took place across various areas: taking form
in strengthened military defense and economic protectionism, as well as assertions
of cultural ownership (Aspinall, 2016). The youth in Jakarta was mainly involved
in the latter. For them, the nation is anything but banal and invisible. Unlike the
state-dictated expressions of nationalism under the New Order, this time among
the youth in Jakarta, nationalism is (re-)produced in popular culture; in cyberspace,
film, fashion, sports, and music. The youth in Jakarta “owns” nationalism much more
than the previous cohorts of young people for whom nationalism was obligatory and
largely directed by the state through educational institutions.
Despite not being singularly produced by the state, this newfound nationalism still
disproportionately involves people in the capital, whether as producers and creators or
as the imagined main audience. Although my participants do not belong to the “elite”
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_4
68 4 Imagining “Indonesia” from Jakarta
group of influencers in popular culture, they still occupy a central position in this
nationalist wave, especially in comparison to their generational cohort in other parts
of the country as the two subsequent chapters will show. Given their positionality, it
is interesting to understand not only how young people in Jakarta imagine the nation,
but also issues like to what extent are there continuations or discontinuations with
the official nationalist narratives of the nation? How do these youth at the center
perceive the country’s diversity and disparity? Also, as the most cosmopolitan youth
group in the country, how do they see the international community? These are the
questions that drive this chapter.
Staying true to the standpoint theory perspective, the chapter opens with a brief
outline of the socio-historical trajectory of Jakarta. For many decades, it has been the
core location of nation-building: as the site where national consciousness germinated
and was articulated, and as a showcase of Indonesia’s progress. At the same time, it
has also suffered from failures and the inability to meet the ideal standards of a “world-
class capital” that many administrations aspired it to be. The crux of the chapter
addresses the inward and the outward gaze of Indonesia as perceived by the youth
in Jakarta, and provides a more detailed understanding of how the heightened sense
of nationalism looks like.
4.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Jakarta
Historical records of current-day Jakarta stretch back to the twelfth century when
the region was known with the name “Sunda Kelapa” and functioned as the main
port for traders. In 1527, the region was taken over by the neighboring Bantenese
sultanate that changed the name to “Jayakarta”. The year continues to be considered
as the year when the city was founded. In the 1600’s, the Dutch trading company, the
VOC, decided to move their base from Ambon to this city, that they then renamed as
Batavia. “Batavia” became the administrative center for their economic and political
endeavors. It became much more commercial and urbanized than the other parts of
the archipelago. This became the blueprint for the contemporary disparity between
the Jakarta/Java and the peripheries (Haug, Rössler, & Grumblies, 2017). This gap
becomes more imprinted as the city became the seats of power for the Dutch, and
after that, of the Japanese colonial administrations.
One of the persistent characteristics of Jakarta is its diverse population. Since
the Dutch colonial force turned the coastal city into their seat of administration, the
city has hosted a steady stream of migrants from surrounding parts of the archipelago.
In the nineteenth century, this migration was driven by financial or educational inter-
ests, and Batavia became the site of encounter between elite young students from
various regions of the Dutch Indies.
It was among these “pilgrims” of the education system that the imagining of
Indonesia as a sovereign entity was formed (Anderson, 2006). Important cornerstones
of Indonesian nation-building, like the second youth congress where the Youth Pledge
4.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Jakarta 69
was read, as well as the declaration of Independence, all took place in Jakarta. When
Indonesia became independent, the city continued to play a prominent role and
became the “birthplace” of the nation (Anderson, 1983). It became a place that has
been dubbed as the most Indonesian city (Castles, 1967) that is simultaneously also
very different from all other regions (Drake, 1989). Sukarno, as well as Suharto,
built the capital in accordance to their ideal images of the nation, an instance of what
Kusno calls “nationalist urbanism”, referring to their desire to create a “unifying
image of Jakarta as the center that represents the nation for citizens living in the city
(as elsewhere in the country)” (Kusno, 2004).
For Sukarno, Jakarta was the showcase not only of a new, independent nation
but also of what he called the “New Emerging Forces”, consisting of nations that
reject the rule of the so-called “old imperialist”, thus a symbol of a pan-national
anti-colonial movement. Sukarno insisted to “…build Jakarta into the greatest city
possible…” and envisioned it to become “…the beacon of the struggle of the whole
humankind…of the New Emerging Forces.” (Abeyasekere, 1987 p. 168). Physical
traces of Dutch colonialism were obliterated or left to decline and replaced by revo-
lutionary monuments and skyscrapers. As Abeyasekere (1987) noted, the absence of
colonial buildings in Jakarta is significant, especially when compared to other former
colonies like Singapore or India.
Suharto continued to use Jakarta as a nationalistic display but adjusted it to his
developmentalist approach. The anti-Western stance of Sukarno’s was replaced with
Western-oriented economics employing the discourse of development (Kusno, 2004).
This time, the physical makeover of Jakarta was not only as expressions of national
pride, but also implicit invitations addressed to foreign investors (Abeyasekere,
1987).
In terms of internal affairs, the New Order was a highly centralized government
and Jakarta was by far its most developed region. Eighty percent of the public total
expenditure of the provinces was distributed through the national budget, controlled
by government institutions in Jakarta (Drake, 1989). The discrepancy between Jakarta
and other regions was very significant. Drake noted that, in the early ’80 s, unlike other
regions where the average of urbanization was only 22.4%, Jakarta was thoroughly
urbanized, the economic growth rate was high, and there was a greater heterogeneity
of population compared to all other regions (Drake, 1989).
The city expanded throughout the 1980 s. Metropolitan Jakarta became the core of
an agglomeration that swallowed its suburbs, captured in the acronym “Jabotabek”
(an acronym for Jakarta, Bogor, Tangerang, Bekasi), and later, “Jabodetabek” (as
the agglomeration expanded to include Depok, West Java). It continues to attract
people from other parts of the country. The 1996 national census conducted in 1995
shows that 59.6% of migrants moved to Jakarta for employment, 35.5% for familial
reasons revolving around employment too, 2.8% for education, and 1.6% for housing
(McCarthy, 2003). Compared to the other provinces, endogamous marriages are the
least prevalent in Jakarta at 67% (Utomo & McDonald, 2016), suggesting that people
are more likely to marry a person from a different ethnic group than in other regions
of Indonesia. Unlike in all the other provinces, the Indonesian language is used in
daily conversations by 90.7% of Jakarta’s inhabitants, much higher than the national
number that stands at 19.9% (Na’im and Syaputra, 2011).
In 1998, Jakarta became the center stage for the string of events that led to Suharto’s
downfall. The people of Jakarta, including the participants involved in this study, were
not only actors and witnesses of the rare anti-government street protests under the
authoritarian rule, but also of the riots and violence that took more than 1,000 lives
between May 13th and 15th, 1998. Mobs looted and burnt down shopping malls and
businesses. Female Chinese-Indonesians became the targets of gang rapes. According
to the report by The Joint Fact-Finding Commission (Tim Gabungan Pencari Fakta),
the number of deaths following the riots in Jakarta varies between institutions. “The
Volunteer Team for Humanity” (Tim Relawan Kemanusiaan) noted that there were
1,207 casualties; the overwhelming majority died of fires in department stores. Data
obtained by state bodies like the regional police department, the regional military
department, and Jakarta’s regional office, however, show that the casualties were
significantly lower, 451, 463, and 288, respectively. The precise number of rapes
was never confirmed, and no party was held responsible.
In May 1998, as elaborated in the previous chapter, the authoritarian and central-
ized rule dissolved, and the society was radically unsettled. In its aftermath, there
was explicit discontent and distrust with the government, making it difficult for the
government to enforce their nationalist ideals on Jakarta (Kusno, 2004). The state
is no longer the sole authority. The participants from Jakarta are situated in this
particular historical juncture, while their imaginings of Indonesia are embedded in
the socio-historical condition of the city.
4.2 The Inward Gaze: Building a Chain of Equivalence

from Diversity and Disparity
If there is such thing as “the quintessential Indonesian person”, then perhaps the
participants in Jakarta could be labeled as such. These are the ideal national subjects as
envisioned and engineered by Suharto. Not only are they native Indonesian speakers,
but most of them can also only actively converse in the Indonesian language, having
no substantial exposure to the regional languages of their parents or grandparents.
All interviewees were born and raised in Jakarta, (except for one person who was
born in the US but moved to Indonesia not long afterward) and are the second or
third generation of domestic migrants from regions in Java and other islands.
In all the interviews in Jakarta, Indonesia is used as a point of reference to make
sense of the photographs (see Chap. 3 for the list of the photographs used and the
appendix for a brief but complete list of the responses generated by the photographs),
more so than in the two other cities, as the next chapters will attest. Thus, for instance,
the participants locate the distribution of aid after the tsunami, depicted in one of
the photographs, as something that takes place “in Indonesia”, instead of the more
specific “Aceh”. Similarly, the Balinese dancer and the Komodo dragon, that only
4.2 The Inward Gaze: Building a Chain of Equivalence … 71
lives in Komodo Island, East Nusa Tenggara, are generally commented as cultural
and natural icons of the nation, and not as an art form that is produced specifically
in the Balinese cultural context, or as an endemic species of the Komodo Island,
respectively. In a similar vein, the photograph of Sunny Halim, the beauty queen
from Jakarta who was crowned Miss Indonesia in 2009, was not seen in the context
of Jakarta but in the context of Indonesia as a whole. No single interviewee pondered
on whether Ms. Halim was the right representative for Jakarta or not, as they were
exclusively concerned with whether or not she aptly represented Indonesia. In short,
the prevalent reference to Indonesia to make sense of the photographs shows the
saliency of the nation as an interpretive structure. If Indonesia is indeed the main-
frame through which the world is perceived by Jakarta’s youth, then what does this
Indonesia look like? Oddly, although expectedly, it does not mean that “Jakarta”
becomes invisible and overshadowed by “Indonesia”, but on the contrary, it is their
understanding of “Indonesia” that is almost completely based on their experiences
of Jakarta.
I think, when I say I’m a nationalistic person, that sentiment is only valid in the context of
Jakarta, not the whole of Indonesia…I know it’s wrong, but all I can see is Jakarta..
(Tina, 19-year-old student)
For those who grew up in the capital, Indonesia is imagined to be similar, if

not completely identical, to Jakarta. The above quote is from an interview with
Tina, an exceptionally perceptive young student, who in the course of the inter-
view (as she discussed her impressions and experiences after visiting Sumatera),
became aware of the myopic vision so common among her peers. The nation for
most participants in Jakarta appears solid and monolithic, and is devoid of the messi-
ness and complexity that come with sociocultural differences, political discordances,
and economic disparities.
The narratives suggest that this “neatness” of the chain of equivalence is obtained
by three concurrent discursive strategies. The first is through essentializing “culture”.
This discourse of cultural diversity was actively propagated during the New Order
era1 , and interviews with youth in Jakarta indicate that the discourse continues to
dictate how the regions outside of Jakarta are perceived. The second is by naturalizing
and normalizing the socio-economic disparity and unequal power relation between
the dominant center and the dominated peripheries. The third strategy is by assuming
that there is “nothing” in the regions (aside, of course, from “cultural diversity”),
epitomized by the forgetting of East Timor.
The convergence of the three discursive strategies creates an imagining of
Indonesia as a legitimate and cohesive, albeit hierarchical, entity. Thus, in other
words, to use Laclau and Mouffe’s term, the “heterogeneous terrain” is made (to
appear) homogeneous by the essentialization, normalization, and the negation of the
heterogeneity.
1 See Chap. 2.
4.2.1 The Nationalization and Essentialization of Regional

Cultures
In many interviews in Jakarta, the photographs of the beauty pageants lead to conver-
sations about the ideal Indonesian women. Although mid-brown skin-color and the
ability to speak Indonesian were mentioned as the ideal characteristics of the person
who is to “stand-in” for Indonesia, the mentions were brief and unelaborated. On the
contrary, discussions about the importance of knowledge about culture were more
frequently discussed, and in a much more elaborated way.
The widespread attitude is expressed concisely by Ester, a 22-year-old student.
Ester identifies herself as a Batak although she does not speak the language. Her
parents migrated from North Sumatra to the capital where she was born. After
comparing both beauty queens, Ester told me,
I would rather have her (Qory) to represent the country if she has a strong knowledge of
Indonesia, like its culture and tourism….but if she does not, I would rather have the other
girl (Sunny Halim) do it…. (Ester, 22-year-old student)
For Ester, and many of her peers, “representing Indonesia” equals “promoting
Indonesia’s culture and tourism”. When I asked for examples of the culture that the
representative needs to know, the informants list the names of ethnic groups and/or
their cultural products. Another participant, Desi, a 21-year-old student, told me that
the pageants have to know “…the cultures of each region, like the Javanese culture,
the Batak culture, and so on.” Petra, also a 21-year-old student, listed as the things
that a beauty pageant has to know and share with the world, “…the Javanese wedding
ceremony, for instance, or the Padang wedding feast.… So that people know that
Indonesia is very diverse”. As discussed in Chap. 2, cultural diversity is always taught
to schoolchildren as sets of items that are fixed and unchanging and can be found
in all ethnic groups in Indonesia (e.g., songs, dances, weaponry, houses, costumes,
and music instruments). In the narratives elicited in Jakarta, this discourse of cultural
diversity is fully reproduced.
There are a number of reasons that underlie the importance of culture to the
imagining of Indonesia. The first reason is the most obvious and the most frequently
studied, i.e., the official discourse of cultural diversity. These notions are reiterations
of the state discourse on diversity. For young people in Jakarta, the elements in the
different traditions are considered to be equivalent to, and interchangeable with each
other, e.g., the Javanese wedding is equivalent to the Padang wedding, thus ignoring
the diverging sociocultural universes in which they germinated. Importantly, culture
is always eventually located at the level of the nation. It is not seen as a collective
system of beliefs, knowledge, values, or norms of a particular sub-national group,
but as something that is always “flagging” the national identity, that is, as a nation
that embodies “unity in diversity”.
The second reason why culture is important for the youth of Jakarta is the
neoliberal-based market logic that has seeped in and informed other discourses,
including nationalism. Whereas studies on the discourse of cultural diversity have
looked mainly at how it is a means to control a diverse state (Yampolsky, 1995),
in recent years, it is impossible to ignore the growing intimacy between the nation
and the market. Two manifestations of this intertwinement can be discerned, that is
the “nationalization of the commercial” and the “commercialization of the nation”
(Kania-Lundholm, 2014). “Nationalization of the commercial” refers to the way
advertisements and promotions of commercial products are associated with national-
istic sentiments (cf. Özkan & Foster, 2005; White, 2009; Screti, 2013) a phenomenon
that is also taking place in Indonesia but is outside the scope of this book (cf.
Nugroho, 2016). “Commercializing the nation” is the reverse, and nations are treated
as commercial products. This is epitomized by the global trend of nation branding
and leads to what has been termed “the commodification of culture” (Comarroff &
Comaroff, 2009).
For the participants in Jakarta, cultural diversity is considered as the nation’s
commodity in Indonesia’s effort to brand itself to enhance its position in the
global tourism industry. In discussing the two photographs (also the one on Bali
and Komodo), terms like “tourism” and “promotion” were frequently used. Cultural
items and artifacts are marketed as exotic objects and are expected to be exchange-
able with material gains, in other words, as property and framed in terms of national
ownership.
In the case of Indonesia, the importance of cultural diversity in the imagining of
Indonesia among the participants in Jakarta is a convergence between the pre-existing
New Order discourse of cultural diversity with the current widespread perception of
culture as capitals owned by the nation. In other words, the discourse of cultural
diversity serves the nation in two ways: to reduce the complexity of diversity into
a collection of cultural artifacts and thereby make the nation appear cohesive and
to strengthen Indonesia’s standing in the international community. The discourse of
cultural diversity for the youth in Jakarta is thus an instance wherein the inward gaze
is attached to the outward gaze (more on the latter below).
4.2.2 Politically and Economically Dependent Periphery
The heterogeneity of Indonesia is simplified not only by reducing different world-

views into mere cultural items but also by normalizing the power inequality and
economic disparity between the center and the regions.
An example is the responses given by Tina and Iwan on the photograph of East
Timor. The siblings are third-generation migrants. Their grandfather left Padang,
West Sumatra, for Jakarta, where he met and married their grandmother, who origi-
nally came from Solo, Central Java. Iwan, the older of the two, was born in the United
States when their father was studying for a master’s degree. He recalls little from
their time in the US. After obtaining his degree, their father worked as a lecturer at
Sriwijaya University, Palembang, where Tina was born. However, Tina also does not
remember much about Palembang. Relating East Timor to the larger issue of sepa-
ratist movements in Indonesia, I asked what they think of Aceh and Papua. Their
lengthy response is worth going through in detail, as it is exemplary of the youth’s

attitude toward the peripheries.
Interviewer: What about Aceh? There has long been an independent movement in Aceh.
Iwan: If there is a referendum in Aceh today, I am sure the majority will not vote for
independence.
Tina: In my opinion, the Acehnese themselves can’t decide what they want. Let them bluff.
It’s just a bluff.
Interviewer: But what if they do want to separate?
Tina: Honestly, I think none of the Sumatran regions should be let go.
Interviewer: Why?
Tina: I think that it’s us in the centre who are the ones who have to build their regions, they’ve
benefited a lot from that. Aceh is too…arrogant.
Interviewer: What about Papua?
Iwan: Well, in the case of Papua, I think it is Indonesia’s fault.
Interviewer: How so?
Iwan: Papua was thoroughly exploited for Indonesia’s needs, but the Indonesians don’t guide
(bina) them. It would be too bad if Papua separates, but we are not taking care of them. How
can we expect them to care about us if we treat them badly? We take their natural resources.
It’s the government’s fault. …
Iwan: But in the case of Aceh, I think Indonesia has been quite attentive to Aceh. It is one
of the three special regions: Jakarta, Aceh, and Yogyakarta. They already received special
status, it would be strange if they still want to separate.
(Iwan, 21-year-old office worker, and Tina, 19-year-old student)
First of all, the identification of these youngsters with Indonesia and the center
is unambiguous in the quote. The deictic markers “us” and “we” that are used by
both interviewees suggest that they position themselves as belonging to Indonesia
and the center, particularly in the context of regional secession (in a later section,
I will show how in other contexts, this identification with Indonesia does not take
place). Secondly, by positioning “Indonesia” in contrast to “Aceh” and “Papua”, the
implied assumption is not only that Aceh and Papua are different from Indonesia, or
even in opposition to Indonesia, but also that in the hypothetical event of secessions,
Indonesia will not disintegrate. The regions might become independent states, but
this will not have a major impact on the nation; it will still be “Indonesia” and not
“Java” or “Jakarta”. Interestingly, this also means that for the participants, unlike for
Sukarno, “Sabang to Merauke” are not necessarily the boundaries of the country.
Even if not flanked by these two cities, Indonesia will continue to exist. There is thus
unquestioning confidence in the nation.
Another feature that emerges in the interviews is the patronizing attitude toward
the regions in the peripheries . The center’s socio-economic and political domination
is considered as natural, while the peripheries are imagined to be dependent on the
center. For Tina and Iwan, as for other interviewees, whether a region’s separatist
aspiration is justifiable or not should only depend on whether or not the center
has provided them with political or financial support. If it has granted favors to
the region, like in the case of Aceh, then the aspiration for sovereignty must be a
mere grandstanding. If, on the other hand, the center exploits the region’s natural
resources while ignoring the welfare of the people, as what happened to Papua,
then the demand for independence is understandable. In the subsequent chapters
on Kupang and Banda Aceh, similar conditional belongingness to Indonesia is also
found in their imaginings of the country.
Also indicative of the normalized superiority of the center is the use of the term
“membina” (from “bina”). Bina is a formal term for “to guide” that is often used
in state discourses but very rarely in daily conversations, indicating that the partic-
ipant is appropriating a state discourse. Bina denotes a one-directional act wherein
more knowledgeable and experienced experts guide and decide on the objectives,
directions, and course of the process to passive recipients. The term is often used in
the names of government institutions, e.g., The Directorate General in the Guidance
of Regional Development, or The Directorate General in the Guidance of Nutrition.
Iwan’s use of bina, instead of the more common “bantu”, i.e., to help, or “suport”,
i.e., to support, is an excellent example of how he repeats the state’s parlance and
reproduces the government’s discourse about the superiority of the center vis a vis
the peripheries. To him, the center knows what is suitable for the peripheries. Decen-
tralization might have taken effect five years before the research, but it had yet to
change the way people in Jakarta perceive the regions.
4.2.3 The Regions as Negative Space
A third discursive act that simplifies the heterogeneity of Indonesia is by erasing or

negating the other properties or features of the peripheries aside from their cultural
items and the dependency on the center. These regions hence pose as the negative
space, a term I borrowed from visual studies referring to the empty space surrounding
an object that renders the focal object more visible.
An example of the region as negative space is the common assumption among the
participants in Jakarta that there is “nothing” in the regions. It is not easy for people
in Jakarta to conceive that there are things of interest in other regions, aside from
commodifiable tourist attractions. The idea that there is nothing outside of Jakarta is
identifiable in the conversation with Intan who divided her time between Pontianak,
West Kalimantan, and Jakarta. At that time, she was about to finish her studies in
journalism in a private college in central Jakarta. Intan finished her senior high school
in Pontianak, where her father worked, but would spend holidays with her extended
family in Jakarta. When we talked about Pontianak, she stated unambiguously,
There’s really nothing in Pontianak. It’s just because my parents are there…. oh, and my
younger sibling is there too. In Pontianak, I would only hang around in my parents’ bedroom.
If not for them, I would rather not go to Pontianak. (Intan, 22-year-old student)
A similar attitude about Pontianak was shown by Maya, Intan’s cousin, who has
lived in Jakarta throughout her life. During our talk, Maya repeatedly teased their
friend Rudi who was also present, he comes from Pontianak. Maya made fun of
Rudi’s hometown, especially of what she sees to be poor infrastructure, like cracked
roads and vast stretches of empty land overgrown with wild vegetation.
The interviews with other informants suggest that Intan’s and Maya’s belittling
attitude towards other regions is common among the youth in Jakarta. Another partic-
ipant, the 23-year-old Dyah described that in Banjarmasin, Kalimantan, where one of
her uncles was living, no public transport provides service after the Maghrib prayer
(after sunset), unlike in Jakarta where public transport runs for 24 hours. Another
interviewee, Petra, told me that she is always overcome by sadness whenever the plane
that brings her to her mother’s hometown, Medan, is about to land. Despite having
extensive experience in these regions, these interviewees remain unimpressed. The
criteria against which the regions are measured are the markers of Jakarta’s develop-
ment, that is, a functioning public transport and public amenities, and a wide range
of available entertainment and activities. Anything less than what can be found in
their city seems to be considered as insignificant.
Another, much more radical variant of the theme “nothingness” is the forgetting
of East Timor. All participants know that East Timor used to be a part of Indonesia
that opted to secede in the early years of the reformation. However, they have very
little knowledge or opinion about East Timor, its relationship with Indonesia, or the
political history of the two nations.
The following lengthy quote of a discussion between two friends reflects the way
East Timor is (not) remembered by the youth in Jakarta.
Liza: They (East Timor) have broken away, right?
Indah: Broken away? Oh, (you mean) East Timor
Liza: This is that thing with KD (short for “Krisdayanti”, an Indonesian singer who at that
time just married a business mogul from East Timor)
Indah: Huh? How did you get to KD? Well, it’s not wrong (laughs)
Liza: Yeah, that celebrity
Indah: You and your gossip shows!
Liza: Oh, this happened in 2002…well…I don’t really know. (The secession) should have
been prevented before it was too late …. Why did they separate? Was it because they were
not provided for?
Indah: What’s this symbol? (pointing to the flag)
Liza: I don’t know… Was it because Indonesia bombed them and things like that? Or was it
because the people were neglected? I don’t know.
Indah: So that’s why they separated…
Liza: It’s too bad for them, if they stay with Indonesia, they would receive aid in case
something like a tsunami happens. In their case…it will not be like that.
Indah: They were neglected.
Liza: Yes, too bad. Maybe they separated because they had thought, ‘I’m being neglected,
it’s better for me to separate….’ East Timor…ehh, a small town that is more crowded than
Jakarta, eh, I mean, Indonesia. But I don’t think East Timor is well-known. It’s not. It’s only
famous in gossip shows.
(Liza, 19-year-old student and Indah, 19-year-old student)
Interviews on the topic of East Timor are peppered with questions of what might
have caused the secession. Like Liza and Indah, most participants think that the sepa-
ration is driven by the negligence or inability of the central government to provide
financial and material support for East Timor, thus affirming the aforementioned
theme of the center’s responsibility to “provide” for the peripheries. While this is not
incorrect, it is only half of the picture. There are serious issues of human rights viola-
tions that do not feature at all in the comments of the participants in Jakarta, indicating
that many are unaware of the severity of the suffering of the people of East Timor.
The participants’ ignorance of the entire Indonesia-East Timor affair is also indi-
cated by the digressions into other, arguably lighter topics related to East Timor.
These topics are generally more contemporary and with which they thus are more
familiar. In the case of Liza and Indah, East Timor reminds them of the female singer,
Krisdayanti, also known as KD, whose marriage to an East Timor businessman head-
lined the tabloids and gossip shows for weeks in 2009. Other informants talk about the
cancelation of the screening of Balibo, a film recounting the story of five Australian
journalists who were executed in Balibo, East Timor, for reporting on Indonesia’s
invasion in 1975. The premiere of the film was to be held during Jakarta’s Inter-
national Film Festival in 2009 but was canceled close to the date. The national
board of censorship argued that the screening might potentially trouble the relation
between Indonesia with East Timor and Australia. Interestingly, although none of
the informants have seen the film or know its storyline, they do disagree with the
decision to disallow the film from being screened, citing the importance of freedom
of expression.
The “forgetting” of human rights abuses in East Timor among the participants in
Jakarta runs parallel to the state’s attitude regarding East Timor. The history textbook
for grade 12 students (the last year of junior high school) that is published by the
Ministry of Education in 2015 depicts East Timor’s integration with Indonesia in
1975 as based on the wishes of the people of East Timor, and—somewhat contra-
dictorily—the military operation that forced East Timor to submit to Indonesia in
1975 (Operation “Seroja”) was described as being quietly supported by the United
States. The 1999 referendum is portrayed as the result of a push from the international
world as well as from parties within East Timor. The textbook concluded that the
“sacrifices” and “development” made by Indonesia for East Timor were never fully
appreciated by the international community (Kementerian Pendidikan dan Kebu-
dayaan, 2015). The history textbook is thus more focused on the political aspects of
the entire affair than with human rights transgressions.
Although East Timor’s referendum and subsequent separation is a fundamental
negation of the official national narrative of a harmonious and cohesive Indonesia,
the youth in Jakarta do not harbor opinions or attitudes that parallel the gravity of
this separation. This is interesting because, while on the one hand it means that the
relation between the two countries is not as antagonistic as it could be between two
separating countries,2 on the other hand the “forgetting” of the affair means that
issues like injustices, inequality, and oppression in the center-periphery relationship
continue to be overlooked by the young generation at the center.
By ignoring the complexity of Indonesia’s relation with East Timor, the imagining
of Indonesia continues to be straightforward and devoid of complicated contradic-
tions (e.g., continuing to accept the notion that Indonesia is the subject of colonialism
and ignoring the possibility that Indonesia can also be a colonizing force). One could
evoke the famous words of Ernest Renan in his classic lecture on the nation from
1882, “Forgetting…is a crucial factor in the creation of a nation” (cited in Bhabha,
1990 p. 11). In the case of the mental construction of Indonesia by young people in
the capital, the forgetting of East Timor is a necessary strategy to avoid a rupture in
the imagining of Indonesia as a legitimate and cohesive entity.
The inward gaze of “Indonesia” among the youth in Jakarta shows that the chain
of equivalence is constructed by simplifying the center-periphery relationship. The
regions in the peripheries (or anywhere outside of the larger cities) are considered to
be inferior and dependent on the center without political or economic significance.
4.3 The Outward Gaze
In the first half of the chapter, I have addressed how the internal constitution of
Indonesia is imagined by the youth in Jakarta. This section moves to present how they
imagine what is outside of Indonesia. It is through the meaning-making processes of
comparing and contrasting with the outside world, or the “Others”, that the imagining
of Indonesia is constructed.
The interviews point out that different modes of Otherness are involved in the
construction of Indonesia. The first mode is the antagonistic Other; the exterior
archenemy that negates the completing of “our” destiny. In the case of the youth in
Jakarta, the antagonistic Other is embodied by the neighboring country, Malaysia.
The imagined negative features of Malaysia generate an imagining of “our” group
that is superior with many admirable characteristics.
Interestingly, the second mode of “Otherness” is not antagonistic. On the contrary,
it is desirable. This desirable Other serves as the model of how “we” should be and
provides benchmarks against which “we” are constantly compared. For the youth of
Jakarta, this second “Other” consists of a cluster of developed and affluent nations,
like the United States, Australia, or European and East Asian countries. These are
the models of how nation-states should function, and their citizens are exemplary.
Comparing Indonesia to the developed countries causes the participants to feel that
Indonesia as a country is inferior.
2 If this was a completely antagonistic relationship, the human rights violations would be considered
as just measures to “defend” Indonesia. This discourse is absent in the participants’ responses as
well as in the textbook mentioned.
4.3 The Outward Gaze 79
4.3.1 The Antagonistic Other: Malaysia
As discussed in more elaboration in the first chapter, numerous studies on group iden-
tity, of which national identity is an instance, have shown that it requires the imagined
presence of an archenemy who threatens “our” existence with “their” negative char-
acteristics. The archenemy draws the contours of “our” group identity by providing
contrast against which “our” group appears both favorable and homogeneous. Not
only serving the present and the past, the significance of this antagonistic Other
stretches out to the imaginary future. As Laclau and Mouffe propose, there is the
conviction that once the antagonistic Other has been annihilated, “we” will become
who “we” were destined to be (Laclau & Mouffe, 2001).
In the construction of “Indonesia” among the youth in Jakarta, the position of
the antagonistic Other is occupied by Malaysia, the neighboring country with which
Indonesia shares cultural similarities. The Indonesian public accuse Malaysia of
having unrightfully claimed Indonesia’s cultural heritage. The dispute started in
2007, when Malaysia’s Tourism Board launched a campaign that included the folk
song “Rasa Sayang” (The Loving Feeling), thereby asserting the Malay origin of the
song. Among the Indonesian public, however, “Rasa Sayange” is considered to be
“exclusively” Indonesian, it was taught in schools as a Moluccan (an ethnic group
in eastern Indonesia) folk song. Malaysia’s use of the song was hence perceived
as an act of theft by the Indonesian public. Similar accusations over a variety of
cultural expressions followed. The Malaysian lion dance, Barongan, is considered
as an imitation of Reog Ponorogo, a lion dance from Ponorogo, East Java. People
were upset that Malaysia also uses the term “batik” for their textile motif, confident
that this is evidence of Malaysia’s claim of Indonesia’s batik (the Javanese textile
pattern and mode of applying these patterns). Other items, such as the Balinese Pendet
dance and the beef-based rendang dish commonly thought in Indonesia to originate
from the Minangkabau ethnic group in Sumatera, were a few cultural products that
Indonesians argued were in one way or the other “stolen” by Malaysia (Chong, 2012).
The term “Indon”, a shortening of “Indonesian” that is used by the Malaysian press
and the public, is considered as derogatory in Jakarta and further proof of Malaysia’s
disrespect of Indonesia.
Indonesians retaliated to the perceived theft in various ways. In the diplomatic
sphere, public officials demanded apologies from their Malaysian counterparts, while
the public targeted their protests to the Malaysian Embassy. In the extralegal sphere,
hackers defaced Malaysian websites, and vigilantes raided the streets of Jakarta,
looking for Malaysian citizens (Chong, 2012).
In my research, unsurprisingly, the picture that parodied Malaysia’s tourism slogan
“Malaysia Truly Asia” into “Truly Malingsia” (“maling” meaning “thief” in Indone-
sian) elicited comments that show support of this mockery. As an example, upon
seeing the photograph, Intan stated, “Yes, I agree with this…. (they’ve) taken a lot
(of our) cultures.”
The following exchange between Liza and Indah is again insightful. Presented
with the photograph of the Balinese dancer, something that is arguably a quintessen-
tial representation of Indonesian-ness, the two girls associated it with Malaysia’s
wrongdoing instead.
Interviewer: tell me about this photograph (hands out the photo of Balinese dancer)
Liza: Malaysia…there are so many cases like this, like batik. (They are being) claimed (as
Malaysia’s)
Indah: This is a Balinese dance, is this kecak? Eh, no it’s not.
Liza: No idea, it doesn’t matter what the name of this dance is. It comes down to the same
thing. It’s really bad. We’re not even talking about the Indonesian domestic workers there.
Indah: Yes, they’re being colonized.
(Liza, 19-year-old student, and Indah, 19-year-old student)
Given that the Balinese culture is famous across the country, and Bali features
prominently in tourism campaigns, the photograph of the Balinese dancer is almost
self-evidently a representation of the country and/or of the region. This would have
been a perfectly expected response3 . However, interestingly, Liza’s first and sponta-
neous association is with Malaysia, thus with what Indonesia is not. Her fast response
indicates how the logic of equivalence and the logic of difference that beget the
antagonistic Other have become conceptually associated with each other.
The quote is also informative for other reasons. Indah’s misidentification of the
dance as Kecak dance4 and Liza’s subsequent reassurance that the exact name is not
a significant issue is telling of the construction of the chain of equivalence. Liza’s
offhand comment suggests that the significance of the dance is not derived from
features specific to the dance but from the context of the cultural dispute between
Malaysia and Indonesia. Thus, it is not the history, symbolism, or place in the Balinese
cultural universe that gives the dance meaning to the young people in Jakarta, but it
is its position as an item in the dispute with Malaysia. This becomes clearer in her
comment that “it all comes down to the same thing”: The dance could very well be any
other dance and is even considered equivalent to other “possessions” of Indonesia that
have been unjustifiably claimed by Malaysia. The strong sentiment against Malaysia
falls perfectly in line with the way culture is considered as “collectibles” of the nation,
as discussed in the section on the inward gaze.
The strong reaction against Malaysia’s “claims” of the cultural products cannot
be understood separately from the increasing importance of a nation’s international
reputation. Boosted by the growing tendency to treat the nation-state as a brand
(cf. Anholt, 2010), having cultural similarities with another country leads to the
weakening of the nation’s brand. In other words, Malaysia’s use of the same cultural
expressions challenges Indonesia’s assertion of being culturally unique and authentic.
Again, this is the nature of an antagonistic other: it stands in the way of who “we” are
3 Infact, these were the directions of the responses given to the photographs in Kupang and Banda
Aceh.
4 The Kecak dance is the Balinese monkey dance, performed by a large group of male dancers, thus
visually very different from the solo female dancer depicted in the photograph.
supposed to be, i.e., the world’s sole “owner” of batik, of the song “Rasa Sayange”,
and the Pendet dance.
In the above excerpt, as in many others, two seemingly disparate domains, i.e.,
culture and migrants, are often clustered together as subjects of Malaysia’s unjust
practices. Thus, similar to Indah, Hardi continues his disapproval of Malaysia’s claim
over Tari Pendet by pointing out how they have treated Indonesian migrants.
Hardi: Malaysians are bad people, at least in my view
Interviewer: why?
Hardi: Many Indonesians are abused there…a domestic worker was raped and killed her
boss, she then got the death penalty. (Hardi, 23 year old student and part-time office worker)
The issue of migrant workers is another thorn in the relation between the two
countries, one with more direct and concrete repercussions than the “cultural war”.
As unemployment in Malaysia grew, the Indonesian migrants were seen as threats and
perceived as criminals who built illegal settlements and stole water (Holst, 2007). In
2002, authorities conducted raids and expatriations of Indonesian migrants. However,
it has generated less uproar among the general public in Indonesia, including Jakarta’s
youth, in comparison to the dispute over culture. However, the dispute over culture
is perceived by the public as a continuation of the tension over migrant workers.
These excerpts together are good examples of how a chain of equivalence is
constructed from “our” possessions that are claimed by Malaysia, regardless of
whether it is a dance in Bali, a traditional ritual in Ponorogo, or a song from the
Moluccas. The chain of equivalence even stretches so far as to include migrant
workers. The differences between them are erased by a shared difference with
something threatening that is external to them.
Like the youth’s collective memory of East Timor, the accusation that Malaysia
falsely “claims” Indonesia’s cultural items is also based on “forgetting”. The socio-
cultural exchanges between current-day Indonesia and Malaysia that have lasted
centuries, and to which the similar cultural items could have been attributed, are
missing in the public discourse as well as in the responses of the participants. This
connection between the two countries long preceded the establishment of both nation-
states (cf. Abdul Rahman, 2015). In fact, at different points in the course of history,
parts of Malaysia and Indonesia could be perceived as forming an ethno-cultural
entity, like the Riau-Johor Sultanate that was divided by the Anglo-Dutch agreement
of 1824. Even during the growth of national consciousness, the idea of forming a new
postcolonial state that encompasses both Malaysia as well as Indonesia was widely
advocated by some leaders. This imagined nation never materialized partly because
before the talks about this new nation were through the Japanese had surrendered,
and Sukarno took the window of time to declare the independence of Indonesia,
and Malaysia was re-occupied by the British two weeks later (Abdul Rahman, 2015).
These linkages between contemporary Indonesia and Malaysia are completely absent
in the responses of the interviewees as well as in the general public’s discourse. This
forgetting serves to strengthen the chain of equivalence. Without acknowledging
the alternative configurations to the nation-state and how Indonesia’s territory could
have been very different from the current one, the contingency of Indonesia and the
“inchoate possibilities” (Laclau, 1990 p.31) could be ignored.
An important function of the antagonistic force is the strengthening of the chain
of equivalence. The growing dislike of Malaysia was accompanied by a growing
nationalism among the youth in Jakarta. The popularization of batik, for instance,
was driven by the dispute over its ownership. Participants emphasized that they have
started to wear batik more often to “show that it is ours”. Other participants took
stronger measures, as suggested by Liza.
In the dispute with Malaysia, the president only said, ‘we should be patient…he did not
do anything. Indonesia seemed to cower. I have a boyfriend who is a hacker. He blocked
Malaysia’s website to show, ‘Look, I’m Indonesian’…The police arrested him, but they were
also proud of him”. (Liza, 19-year-old student)
Nationalism in the reform era is no longer defined and dictated by the state. It is no
longer expressed through enforced weekly flag-raising ceremonies and the memo-
rization of the state’s constitution. After the end of the New Order, the young people
have the freedom to express their nationalist sentiments, as the hackers attacking
Malaysia’s websites have shown.
Although 2009, the time of the research, was a “particularly bad year” in the
relation between Indonesia and Malaysia, according to Clark and Pietsch (2014),
the uneasy relationship with Malaysia continues well into the following decade,
although at a weaker intensity and much-reduced frequency. A study done in 2014
on the perception of ASEAN countries about ASEAN and its countries show that in
Indonesia, Malaysia is associated with the words “thief”, “plagiarism”, and “rival”
(Thompson, Thianthai, & Thuzar, 2016). Years later, as this book was being written,
in August and September 2019, two separate incidents took place that indicate the
continuing volatile relationship with Malaysia. In August, a demonstration was held
at the Malaysian embassy by online motorcycle drivers in response to a commentary
made by the owner of a Malaysian taxi company who said that the online motorcycle
company could thrive in Indonesia because of the high poverty rate, whereas in
Malaysia, the young people are not poor enough to be willing to become motorcycle
drivers. A few weeks later, Indonesian football supporters attacked Malaysian players
in the World Cup 2020 qualification match between the two countries. Malaysia
remains the antagonistic Other to Indonesia, at least for the youth in Jakarta.
4.3.2 The Desirable Other: Affluent and Developed Countries
Although Laclau and Mouffe’s chain of equivalence only necessitates the presence
of an antagonistic Other as a contrasting entity, there are different types of Others
that contribute to the imagining of a collectivity. In the case of Jakarta’s youth, the
imagined international community is a very important Other in the construction of
“Indonesia”. In their interpretations of the photographs, the participants frequently
compare Indonesia to other nations, especially the “Western” nations (e.g., the United
States, European countries, and Australia), East Asian countries (Hong Kong, China,
Taiwan, Korea), and, geographically closer to home, Singapore. The imagining of
“Indonesia” is shaped by a constant looking at and up to other countries. Strik-
ingly, the confidence in Indonesia that is displayed when gazing internally or when
standing in offense against Malaysia is very different from when they see themselves
in comparison to these other countries. I call this the desirable Other because this
Other represents all the traits that the youth in Jakarta desire for Indonesia to have.
Being a desire, this Other also implies a sense of lack and absence.
The youth of Jakarta assess Indonesia’s performance as a nation-state in compar-
ison to the other nations across a wide range of dimensions, from politics to the
general quality of life. For instance, the photograph of the electoral ballot reminds
some informants of the electoral systems of the United States or the United Kingdom
that (some participants think) only involve two parties, thus more straightforward than
Indonesia’s system that in 2009 had forty-four parties.
If we compare Indonesia with independent states like the US, you see that there they only
have the Republican and the Democratic Parties. It is the same in the UK, there are only two
parties; the Labour and Conservative. Here, it’s really a mess, a total mess. (Intan, 22-year-old
student)
Other informants discussed the various aspects that make living abroad prefer-
able to staying in Indonesia. This ranges from overall better welfare, friendlier urban
designs that accommodate parks and bicycle lanes, traffic and waste management, to
the people who are better, e.g., more disciplined, less easily provoked, and respectful
of each other. Desi, one of the participants, explained that other countries are better
because they are not overpopulated and polluted like Jakarta. Nia, a student in Busi-
ness Administration, pointed out the lack of public parks in Jakarta by saying that
she wished for something
…like the Central Park in New York…so that people do not have to be in the malls during
the day. (Nia, 22-year-old student)
Interestingly, negative stereotypical images of “westerners”, like promiscuity,

were mentioned but only briefly, infrequently, and without substantial elaboration.
Undoubtedly for the youth in Jakarta, the positive aspects of the other countries
outweigh the negative ones.
This constant comparison with more developed countries put Indonesia and
Indonesians in an inferior position. Thus, for instance, Dyah, a 23-year-old admin-
istration staff in a multinational company, whom I interviewed in her house in one
of the narrow alleys in South Jakarta, commented the following on the photograph
of the international group. At this point, she was discussing whether it is difficult
for Indonesians to relate to foreigners or not. Her comments were based on her
perception of the interactions with her expatriate superiors at work.
Even those (Indonesians) who completed the higher education in Indonesia can still be very
narrow-minded, so they would not have anything to talk about to a foreigner. They might
feel awkward and not really know, ‘what should I talk about with a bule (Caucasian)? (Dyah,
23-year-old office worker)
Indonesians are often depicted negatively; the quote from my interview with
Dyah is just another example of a prevalent sentiment. Aside from being linguisti-
cally weak, other participants mentioned (in response to various photographs) how
Indonesians are easily provoked into joining mass riots, lack the ability to engage
in civilized discussions and debates, lack the necessary social awareness to not litter
in public spaces, mostly undisciplined and rude in traffic, inefficient and unprepared
when it comes to disaster management. In brief, Indonesia is defined by what it lacks.
Inadvertently, these imaginary encounters and comparisons with the desirable
outside world create a sense that “we” are also being watched by “the world”. The
participants often discussed how they have heard from their friends or relatives who
are abroad about the various difficulties in being accepted by the locals. In the inter-
view with Nia, as she was wondering to herself whether the pupils in other countries
also have to do similar flag-raising ceremonies, she suddenly asked whether there is
a “gap” (her term) between Singaporeans and Indonesians. As she said, “…in the
US, what I know is that Indonesians are looked down on, and the locals do not want
to mix with them. What about Singaporeans?” The anxiety of being looked down on
by the international world is pervasive.
What is striking is that across the interviews in Jakarta, there is a strong tendency
to use the third-person pronoun whenever a participant is discussing a negative side of
Indonesians or Indonesia as an entirety. In these contexts, they use the term “Indone-
sians” (orang Indonesia) or “they/them” instead of “us” or “we”.5 In the following
instance, an informant corrected herself, shifting quickly from “we” to “Indonesians”,
making evident the significance of her choice of pronoun.
When (the tsunami) happened, it was the Americans who helped (us). How come we are not
ashamed? Indonesians, I mean, are not ashamed of that. (The Americans) have been criticized
(by Indonesians), but they are the ones who eventually helped out. (Nia 22-year-old)
Describing a negative trait, i.e., ungratefulness, Nia found it necessary to change

from “we” to “Indonesians”. While the former would include her, the latter does
not. In this small, but pivotal discursive movement, she excludes herself from what
she sees to be an ungrateful group of people. This could be understood as an effort
to shield one’s self-concept by avoiding attributing negative traits to the self and
by also positioning the speaker as part of the more civilized group, as people who
know better and have more similarities with the desirable other. With chide reserved
for their fellow Indonesians who are less well-versed in the manners of engagement
5 Examples of the use of third-person pronoun when discussing negative characteristics and first-
person pronouns when discussing positive aspects of Indonesians are as follows:
“It was because these Indonesian people rioted, that’s why (it was canceled) (Liza on the cance-
lation of the friendly match against Manchester United), but” so that we remember history (Liza on
the importance of flag-raising ceremony).
Also, “They say Indonesians are friendly. Yeah right, they seem friendly but are actually the
kings of terrorism.” (Dimas, 24 years old, freelancer on the group photograph), but “The ceremony
to me is an expression of respect to the forefathers, to make us aware that we are Indonesians…”
(Dimas, on flag-raising ceremony).
with the global community, through a simple deixical shift from the first to the third-
person plural, the speaker takes distance from what she perceives to be a negative
trait of Indonesians and becomes part of the desirable other.
The constant comparison with other countries and the critical attitude toward
Indonesia and Indonesians are by no means new discourses. In 1977, Mochtar Lubis,
a famed journalist and novelist, gave a public lecture titled “Manusia Indonesia”
(Indonesian Humans). This was subsequently printed and published as a book. In
2012, the second edition of the book was reprinted because Lubis’ criticism of the
prototypical Indonesian has become all the more relevant and substantial during the
mercurial period of the reform era (Oetama in Lubis, 2012). In the lecture, Lubis listed
what he saw to be the strengths and weaknesses of the prototypical Indonesian. While
the strength noted is being artistic due to people’s closeness to nature, the weaknesses
include being inclined toward feudalism, hypocritical, irresponsible, superstitious,
and lacking integrity. Implied is the binary opposition between art/nature versus
modernity. It is possible to see a red line between Lubis’ imagining of “the Indone-
sian” with that of the youth in Jakarta. Both value the cultural and traditional products
of Indonesia but consider Indonesians to be inept at fulfilling the requirements of
modern society (i.e., to be egalitarian, accountable, and rational).
The attitudes of Lubis, as well as the youth in Jakarta, painfully reflect Fanon’s
exposition of the educated black man; as ever pursuing to be “white”, they internalize
inferiority and denigrate fellow blacks for not being “white enough” (Fanon, 1967).
In postcolonial states like Indonesia, “Visions of the future are predicated on this
sense of belated arrival, of being born into a world of nations competing against each
other, but in which the new arrivals are positioned in the starting blocks of a race
already underway” (Gupta, 2007 p. 275) understandably creating anxiety and sense
of inferiority. In the narratives of the nation elicited from the youth in Jakarta, this is
very obvious.
4.4 Summary and Conclusions
Like their city of residence, Jakarta’s youth seem to be the epitome of “Indonesian-
ness”: their first language is Indonesian, and they no longer harbor deep attachments
to their “traditional” ethnic groups and instead prioritizes progress and development.
Their “exceptional” situatedness informs the construction of Indonesia and sets it
apart from the imagining of Indonesia in the two other cities. The Indonesia that is
perceived from Jakarta is much more informed by the official discourse. Thus, even
though the views were constructed “from below” among the non-elites, the imagining
of Indonesia by the youth in Jakarta, especially the inward gaze, is relatively reflective
of the official nationalist discourse.
Echoing the official discourse, for the youth in Jakarta, Indonesia is an unques-
tionable entity. It is cohesive and legitimate, conceived in an immemorial past, and
will continue to exist in the faraway future. Its dissolution is completely unimagin-
able. The chain of equivalence that generates this imagining, is strong because of the
erasure of Indonesia’s complexity. There are three different modes of erasures identi-
fiable in the responses to the photographs: the essentializing of cultural diversity, the
naturalizing of economic and political inequality, and the forgetting and overlooking
of the regions. These modes of erasures generate a simplified yet solid construction
of “Indonesia”.
There is very little knowledge or interest in other regions outside of the capital.
The youth in Jakarta assign a single role to these other regions, i.e., as bearers of
exotic traditional cultures. This is an important role because cultural diversity is not
only a key part of Indonesia’s national identity but also a commodifiable brand in
the international tourism industry. The traditional cultures imagined are reduced and
essentialized to a set of fixed cultural products. No distinctions are made between
one ethno-cultural group and the other. Significant historical and political events, like
the separation of East Timor, are forgotten or were never considered to be important
in the first place. In the same vein, inequalities in development are interpreted as
natural occurrences, sometimes attributed to lower work-ethos of the people in the
regions, instead of systemic injustices that need to be redressed. Similar to Suharto’s
developmentalism, the value of a place is determined by the extent to which it displays
markers of modernization and development, embodied by shopping malls, car parks,
and the subduing of nature. The absence of these markers in the regions creates the
perception that there is “nothing” outside the center. In terms of the inward gaze of
Indonesia, the views of the youth in Jakarta closely reproduce the official discourses
that portray a coherent, yet centralized nation.
The outward gaze is formed by two modes of Othering that are somewhat interre-
lated. The first one is the antagonistic other, represented by Malaysia, that is perceived
as having wrongfully and unjustifiably claimed a number of Indonesia’s cultural
heritage, and by doing so negates Indonesia’s distinctiveness on the world stage
and becomes a competitor in the global tourism industry. Although the relationship
between the countries has been rocky at times, the current cultural dispute is heavily
influenced by the growing significance of nation branding. At the time of the research,
and for many more years afterward, Malaysia is considered to be the arch-rival in
the competition over international reputation.
The importance of Indonesia’s international reputation ties into the second mode
of Othering, that is, the presence of the international community as the desirable
Others. Jakarta’s youth constantly compare Indonesia to developed countries (mostly
Western, but also East Asian ones) and imagines Indonesia being judged by these
Others. This leads to a pervasive feeling of inferiority. In other words, the inward and
outward gazes of the youth in Jakarta suggest that although Indonesia is imagined
to be a concrete and monolithic entity, it is also a nation that has yet to meet the
standards of how nation-states should be.
References 87
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Chapter 5
Indonesia from the Periphery: Imagining
“Indonesia” in Kupang
Abstract This chapter discusses how Indonesia is imagined by the youth in Kupang,
East Nusa Tenggara (NTT). From the periphery, the imagining of Indonesia is multi-
layered, at times converging and diverging from the dominant discourse of Indonesia
as a well-integrated country. Unlike in the dominant narrative, for the youth in
Kupang, Indonesia is not held together by shared “given” features of language,
culture, or physical appearance. Differences between the customs and habits of
various sub-national groups are clearly visible from the point of view of youth in
Kupang. These customs, habits, and values can be incompatible with each other. The
idea of a “national” culture under which all these local cultures can be subsumed is
weak. The homogenizing forces that domesticate culture and downplay interregional
differences are present, but less internalized by the youth in Kupang than in Jakarta.
The absence of a firm conviction in shared “given” similarities is “compensated” by
an instrumental approach toward nationhood. Their belongingness to Indonesia is not
based on romantic notions of shared blood, culture, or destiny, but on an instrumental
approach that considers continuing integration within the country to be more strategic
than becoming independent, like East Timor. Furthermore, neopatrimonial practices
continues to be transferred from one generation to the other. The outward gaze in
Kupang is not as strong as in the two other cities. The youth in Kupang are used
to the fact that the international realm is mainly relevant for other, more prominent
cities of Indonesia, like Jakarta or Bali.
Keywords Heterogeneous nationhood · Imagined community · Non-elite

nationhood · Center-periphery relations · Kupang
“Do you know what NTT (the Indonesian acronym for East Nusa Tenggara) stands
for?” Mikael, a 27-year-old civil servant in NTT’s department of transportation asked
me, a few minutes after his friend introduced us. He had spent some years studying
and working in Jakarta but returned when decentralization regulations ensured that
a “putra daerah” like himself (literally, sons of the region, i.e., local people) would
be prioritized for the positions of regional public officials. Not bothering to wait
for my answer, he grinned, then continued, “Nasib Tidak Tentu, bahkan Nyaris Tak
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_5
90 5 Indonesia from the Periphery: Imagining “Indonesia” in Kupang
Terdengar, kita hanya berharap Nanti Tuhan Tolong” (Its fate is uncertain, it is largely
invisible, we only hope that God will help us). This was apparently a popular, self-
deprecating, pun among the youth in Kupang. Throughout my fieldwork in Kupang,
it became clear that Mikael’s perception of his regions is widely shared. Many in
Kupang were curious why I would be interested in their city, and asked me why I
went there in the first place.
This sense of being invisible follows from the fact that East Nusa Tenggara
has been subjected to multi-dimensional exclusionary and marginalizing forces1 .
The development in NTT has constantly been one of the slowest nationally, the
majority of its population are Christians in a Muslim-majority country, and they do
not belong to the Javanese, Indonesia’s dominant ethnic group. NTT is thus at least
thrice marginalized. As a result from this particular positionality, the imagining of
Indonesia in Kupang differs substantially from how the country is constructed in
Jakarta and Banda Aceh.
In Kupang, Indonesia is imagined to be fraught by interregional economic
disparity and sociocultural differences, although not to the extent that they threaten
the country’s integrity. Their belongingness to Indonesia is not based on romantic
notions of shared blood, culture, or destiny, but on an instrumental approach
that considers continuing integration within the country to be more strategic than
becoming independent, like East Timor. This instrumental approach is also the reason
why—in contrast to the data from Banda Aceh—the discontent in Kupang is not trans-
formed into antagonistic sentiments against Indonesia. Overall, what can be detected
in Kupang is what Wee (2002) describes as the “dual character” of the peripheries,
where there is a simultaneous coexistence of the national discourse that is formal,
textual, well-articulated, and “objective” and internal, local discourses drawn from
daily experiences.
Although Kupang features less prominently than Jakarta or Banda Aceh on the
national and international stages, the city represents a substantial part of Indonesia,
i.e., what van Klinken dubbed the “middle Indonesia” (2009). This refers to mid-
size provincial towns with a population between 50,000 and 1 million. This “middle
Indonesia" remains regrettably understudied, although there are at least 170 cities
with this characteristic, whose residents account for 25% of Indonesia’s total popu-
lation (van Klinken, 2014). These cities have been developed and sustained by the
state, resulting in a political dynamic that is driven by efforts to secure the state’s
resources (van Klinken, 2014). As this chapter will point out, this political dynamic
is also what informs the way its youth perceive and experience the nation in Kupang.
Before turning to the details of the imaginings of Indonesia that was elicited in
Kupang, the next part will provide an outline of the economic and socio-historical
condition of Kupang that to different degrees have informed the situated imaginations
of my informants. The two interrelated aspects of significance are the economically
marginalized position of NTT and the socio-political system of the NTT archipelago.
1 In addition, Kupang was also part of the federal state NIT that has been derided as an acronym for
“Negara Ikut Tuan” or “The country that follows the master” (see Chap. 2).
5.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Kupang 91
5.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Kupang
In comparison to Jakarta and Aceh, East Nusa Tenggara is considered to be of

lesser importance by the colonial and Indonesian governments alike. The Dutch
employed an indirect rule over the Western part of Timor Island—where Kupang
is located—and hence, the many small kingdoms were able to survive well into the
twentieth century. The exact number of kingdoms is difficult to verify. In 1777, the
Portuguese listed a total of 62 kingdoms on the island of Timor, while the Dutch’s
records of approximately the same period listed 48 kingdoms (Fox, 2003). The
Portuguese asserted control over the eastern part of Timor Island, while the Dutch’s
sphere of influence was mainly over the Western part of the island. In an agreement
with the ruler of the Helong kingdom, the Dutch used Kupang as headquarter and
erected the Concordia fort in 1653. The role of Kupang as a local headquarter of
the VOC, however, was minor. The fort was more often than not manned by less
than 100 soldiers (Hagerdal, 2012), and its influence did not exceed more than a
few miles outwards (Fox, 2003). As the headquarter, Kupang did not generate much
profit, if at all, for the VOC (Hagerdal, 2012). However, Kupang had more strategic
purposes: it prevented Portugal’s complete rule over the island, and it is also located
close to Banda and Ambon that were financially more valuable (Hagerdal, 2012).
Overall, the rule of both European forces over the polities in NTT is patchy, unstable,
and weak, to the extent that it was described as “fiction” by the Governor of Dili
in 1860 (Fox, 2003). Through a string of diplomatic arrangements between colo-
nial forces that ignored local ethno-cultural entities (not unlike the 1824 agreement
between the British and the Dutch regarding the Strait of Malacca), Timor Island
was eventually officially partitioned in 1914. The eastern part became the territory
of Portugal, and the western part was given to the Dutch.
It was only in the early twentieth century (Ricklefs, 2008) that Portugal and the
Netherlands succeeded in controlling the interiors of Timor Island. Under the Dutch,
West Timor was subjected to modernization and development efforts, underpinned
by their Ethical Policy. Farram (2004) notes that this included the surrendering of
weapons, registering of residents, the introduction of cattle from Java, the building
of roads, and the erection of telephone lines. A “native administration” consisting
of local kingdoms was established that was responsible for tax collection, slavery
management, and local judicial matters under the close supervision of the Dutch offi-
cials. These “developments” and the new mode of governing did not go uncontested
as locals did not feel that these rules were implemented in their interest. Oftentimes,
telephone lines were cut as a form of protest as people were aware of its role in
strengthening the colonial administration. This was a clear rejection of the infras-
tructure that makes up the colonial imagined community. These rejections, however,
were sporadic and revolved around local matters. A pan-Timor or pan-East Nusa
Tenggara movement against the Dutch was largely absent.
The condition changed in the 1920s. When national consciousness started to
germinate among the educated elite in Batavia and other major cities in Java, similar
movements—but at a much smaller scale—took place in Timor. Examples of the
organizations that are affiliated with national movements in other parts of the Dutch
East Indies are, for instance, the Timorsch Verbond, Perserikatan Timor, and Sarekat
Rakjat. Yet, as Farram further notes, large independence movements were largely
absent to the extent that in September 1945, many people in Timor were still unaware
that independence has been declared a month prior (Farram, 2004).
Regardless of the unawareness of the local population, West Timor became part
of the new state. During the brief period of federalism , Kupang was part of Negara
Indonesia Timur (NIT or East Indonesian State) that consists of Bali, Mollucas Timor
and its surrounding islands, and North and South Celebes. These five regions was
divided into 13 smaller autonomous regions. In this configuration, Kupang was a
district within the region “Timor and its surrounding islands” that included Sabu,
Alor, and other smaller islands. Flores was established as a separate region within
NIT (Agung, 1996). Although the NIT disbanded in 1950 due to a confluence of
factors,2 many regions in eastern Indonesia had supported it as a way to counter a
Java-centered state (Haug, Rössler, & Grumblies, 2017).
In 1958, Kupang became the capital of the province of NTT. One of the most
ethnically diverse provinces, NTT, covers 566 islands of which 42 are inhabited.
Sixty-one percent of the inhabitants of Kupang are Protestants, while 22.9% are
Catholics and 14.09% are Muslims (Na’im & Syaputra, 2010).
Under Indonesia’s rule, the province was one of the least developed. Analyzing
the 1980 census, Drake notes that together with West Nusa Tenggara (Nusa Teng-
gara Barat, NTB), NTT is “by far the least integrated and developed” region in the
country (Drake, 1989 p. 221). A decade later, in 1990, the per capita GDP of NTT
was 67% lower than the per capita GDP for the whole of Indonesia (Jones, Nagib,
Sumono, & Handayani, 1998). Barlow and Gondowarsito listed poverty, poor infras-
tructure, and distance from the markets among the key features of NTT (1991). This
trend continues in the reform era. The GDP of NTT in 2003 was one of the lowest
in Indonesia. Thirty-five percent of the GDP came from agriculture, followed by
service (26%), (Barlow and Gondowarsito, 2009). The latter is mostly provided by
government institutions, with private enterprises only accounting for 5–6% (Barlow
and Gondowarsito, 2009). Domestic private investment is low, and foreign invest-
ments are sporadic (Barlow and Gondowarsito, 2009). A survey on the perception of
business operators on the attractiveness of regional investment ranks Kupang as one
of the five least attractive municipalities in 2003 (Sahin, Lewis, & Lewis, 2012). A
similar survey in 2004 listed bureaucratic issues, illegal fees, and weak implementa-
tion of law and regulation as the main problems (Sahin et al., 2012). In 2011, NTT’s
Human Development Index ranked as 31st out of 33 provinces, only faring better
than West Nusa Tenggara and Papua (Na’im & Syaputra, 2011).
NTT is highly reliant on the central government. In 2002, the source of over 70% of
the provincial government’s income was the central government. The maintenance of
governmental institutions absorbs a large part of the routine provincial expenditure,
which was up to 78% in 2002 (Barlow and Gondowarsito, 2009). In 2007, 355
government institutions employed a total of 6,152 civil servants (Tidey, 2012). With a
2 See Chap 2
5.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Kupang 93
significant presence of government institutions, for the youth of NTT, the government
offers the most ideal and visible employment opportunities. Forty-five percent of the
informants interviewed by Jones et al. (1998) aspired to work as civil servants, or
PNS (Pegawai Negeri Sipil). In 1996, 30,000 applicants met the basic criteria for
only 301 PNS positions from NTT (Jones et al., 1998). The perception that the ideal
job is in the civil service remains common among my interviewees, as a part of this
chapter will address.
Although NTT is economically dependent on the central government, a closer look
reveals interdependency between the local bureaucrats and the state. As is common
in “middle Indonesia”, the state is appropriated and localized. As the later part will
show, the neopatrimonial logic and practices of the youth in Kupang are grassroot
instances of “…provinces striking back at the metropolitan capital Jakarta” (van
Klinken, 2009).
This section has addressed the various socio-political and economic backgrounds
of Kupang and NTT that inform the youth’s imagination of Indonesia. Given the
marginal position, it is unsurprising that the imagining of Indonesia in Kupang is
different from how their generational peers imagine the country in the capital. The
construction of Indonesia in Kupang is generated both by an awareness of the domi-
nant narrative of the nation as a homogeneous totality, and the realization, dictated
by daily experiences, that the nation is not only heterogeneous but also unjustifiably
hierarchical. Yet, what makes the data from Kupang stand out, in comparison to
the two other sites, is the pronounced practical considerations that underpin their
attachment to the nation.
5.2 The Inward Gaze: Coexistence of Hegemonic

and Counter-Hegemonic Discourses
The youth in Kupang can see two diverging viewpoints simultaneously: the hege-
monic imagining of Indonesia wherein they are positioned at the margins, and the
alternative counter-discourses generated by their daily experiences of being posi-
tioned as such. These discourses co-exist simultaneously. This is similar to what
Wee (2002) identified among her respondents in Riau as a duality in the discourse
from the periphery; it contains “an external meaning that is palatable to the center
and an internal meaning that is known only to those with local knowledge” (p. 500).
The odd coexistence of seemingly oppositional narratives is concisely reflected
in the response from Mikael to the photograph of Sunny Halim, the Indo-American
beauty pageant. Looking at the picture, he said,
How well does she (Sunny Halim) know the Indonesian culture? … (She has to know) at least
five cultures…If they’re in Java, they could learn the cultures of Banten, DKI Jakarta, West
Java, Central Java, Jogjakarta, East Java. They could go to Taman Mini (Beautiful Indonesia
Miniature Park) to study the cultures for two months and look around the place. There is a
miniature Indonesia, that’s where we can learn about the cultures, right? Indonesia does not
have its own authentic culture, there are so many cultures. We end up imitating the Javanese,
talking ‘nggak, nggak’ and ‘ngek, ngek’ (these are sounds he perceives to characterize the
Javanese language). It does not need to be this way.
(Mikael, 27-year-old civil servant)
In Mikael’s very dense response, the dominant rhetoric co-exists with the counter-
discourses almost seamlessly. In line with the hegemonic discourse on national
culture,3 Mikael portrayed culture as static, concrete products that can be neatly
assigned to discrete ethnic groups and provinces. Mastery of various cultures can be
achieved by simply perusing them in the miniature park for a relatively short time.
However, interestingly, Mikael’s next sentences effectively subvert other parts of the
dominant discourse. Instead of tacitly agreeing that the cultures of Banten or DKI
Jakarta all are parts of “Indonesian culture” and hence owned by the nation, Mikael
negated this by saying that none of them could be considered as such, given that
Indonesia as an entity does not have its own, “authentic” culture. For him, as for
many Kupang youth, cultures originate and belong to sub-national collectivities, and
not the nation. This is a major diversion from the state narrative that sees the nation as
self-evidently owning whatever is produced by the sub-national groups (e.g., ethnic
groups or regional groups).
Mikael went on to lament how people in Kupang always try to emulate the Javanese
way of pronouncing words. In so doing, he indicated that there is a pressure on people
who come from different cultural backgrounds to behave and act as if they belong
to this main, national culture, i.e., Java. Indeed, by subsuming a plethora of distinct
cultures into the singular category of “national culture”, it becomes very easy for
the culture of the dominant group to be treated as the national culture.
The responses to the photographs in Kupang convey a similarly complex inward
gaze. To them, it is possible to at once see the world through the dominant as well as
their peripheral lenses. In her study of Riau, Wee calls this the “dual character” of the
discourse from the periphery where a narrative that is aligned to the central discourse
co-exists with a narrative that is known mostly to the locals at the peripheries. While
the first one is official and formal, the latter is informal and more personal (Wee,
2002). Although, at times, it is difficult to separate the one from the other, the next
sections highlight how each narrative is present in the imagining of Indonesia in
Kupang.
5.2.1 Reproductions of Hegemonic Narratives
Most young people I talked to in Kupang submit to the hegemonic notion that the
regions and ethnic groups in Indonesia are positioned unequally. The capital city,
Jakarta, along with other parts of Java, represents the center of modernity, and as if
modernity radiates from this center, the farther a place is to the West or to the East
of Java, then the less modern it is.
3 See Chap. 2 on Indonesia’s national cultural identity.

5.2 The Inward Gaze: Coexistence of Hegemonic … 95
This is clear in the navigating of the life course. Relatively well-to-do parents send
their offspring to more developed cities to the West, like Bali, Surabaya, Jakarta,
or other cities where they have relatives. This pattern was also found among my
participants, some of whom went to Jakarta, Yogyakarta, and Mataram to study.
This orientation toward Jakarta is also identifiable in the domain of popular culture,
something that is highly relevant to the life of young people. The manager of a
radio station catering to the young people told me, the popular station intentionally
models their music repertoire, the show format, and the presentation styles of the
DJ to that of radio stations in Jakarta. Being “Jakarta-like” in ways of speaking
and behaving is considered “cool” in Kupang. This is, of course, a very common
social phenomenon, where places that are economically more developed also exude
stronger cultural influence over other places.
On the other hand, Papua seems to be considered as a less developed place.
Although the mental positioning of Papua is less visible in the daily lives of my
participants, their quips sometimes reveal this. Thus, for instance, talking about her
father’s experiences as a worker in a palm plantation in Papua, one of the partici-
pants told me that people in Papua engage in cannibalism and “walk around naked”.
A similar view is implied when Riska, another participant, told me with indigna-
tion that her friends in Mataram thought that people in Kupang are like Papuans, a
misidentification that she finds offensive (she is quoted more elaboratively below).
What these examples show is how the interregional hierarchy between the center and
the periphery is, to a certain extent, also shared by the youth in Kupang.
One of the interesting themes that surface in the narratives of Kupang’s youth
and not in the young people in the two other cities is the continued admiration for
Suharto’s ability to control and homogenize the highly diverse country. Suharto’s
New Order has been one of the most potent forces that kept the center-periphery divide
intact. It is thus interesting that people in Kupang remember Suharto as a positive
figure. Among the three cities studied, only in Kupang can one find a main road named
after Suharto. Many participants commented that he is the “father of development”,
and that he was more attentive to the needs of the lower socio-economic class than
his successors. As many informants pointed out, after the end of the New Order,
prices started to rise steadily, demonstrations have become a daily occurrence, and
riots erupted more frequently. Unlike his successors, Suharto was able to ensure
and enforce the order. As Willi, one of the participants, argued in response to the
photograph of East Timor, during Suharto’s period, if you asked any school-age child
in any region in Indonesia to make a drawing, they would undoubtedly draw the same
landscape; a straight road with trees or paddy fields on both sides that leads to two
mountains with the sun shining from between these mountains. To him, this indicates
a singularity of the minds of all children in Indonesia, something that Suharto was
able to enforce.
“Since we were small people were indoctrinated…this is how our country must be…one
idea, one imagination about a landscape.”
(Willi, 24 year old).
In comparison with Suharto’s era, Willi thought that allowing people to express too
many differences is detrimental for the nation’s unity, as attested by East Timor’s
separation.
Although the informants have internalized the hegemonic discourse of a hier-
archical Indonesia and display a positive attitude toward Suharto’s ability to
centralize the country, including propagating a singular notion of the nation, the
young people in Kupang are also able to perceive narratives about Indonesia that
diverge from, or run counter to, the official narratives of the nation. There are three
points of disjuncture that surfaced in their responses to the photographs: disagree-
ment with the dominant imagined geography that subsume all non-Java Islands
under the simplifying label, “Outer Island”, disagreement with the relocation of “cul-
ture” to the national realm, and a pragmatic base for belongingness to the nation (as
opposed to more romantic sentiments that usually form the base of official nation-
alism and patriotism). All these disjunctures stem from their daily experiences of
being “invisible”.
5.2.2 Inhabiting the Negative Space: Do You Know Where

Kupang Is?
The youth in Kupang are poignantly and painfully aware that most fellow Indonesians
know very little—if anything—about their city and NTT. Those who have lived
in other regions in Indonesia easily recall instances where they faced the locals’
ignorance of Kupang.
One of them is Vita, a sales promotion girl who had studied hospitality in a college
Yogyakarta, Central Java. She told me, as she held the photograph of Jakarta’s skyline
in her hand, that she once asked her fellow students in Yogyakarta whether they know
where Kupang is.
I asked them (my friends in college), ‘do you know where Kupang is?’ ‘Is Kupang in
Celebes?’ One of them asked me. (My friend) must have flunked their geography course!
(laughed) ‘Do you know NTT?’ I asked them. No, they don’t know it too. Most people in
Yogyakarta think that Kupang is part of Flores or East Timor. They asked, ‘oh, is (Kupang)
in Flores?’ I had to explain, ‘No, Flores is a district city, Kupang is the provincial city’.
(Vita, a 27-year-old sales promotion girl)
Many people in Kupang shared with me similar stories that reveal their awareness
of Kupang’s invisibility on the imagined national map of people in other regions,
or the stereotype of backwardness attached to their city. A friend, whom I met years
ago when she was studying in Java, and has since returned to Kupang, repeatedly
told me how she had to convince a Javanese friend, who was going to be in Kupang
to start her mandatory medical service in NTT, that Kupang is developed enough that
it will not be difficult to find places to eat in the city. Another participant, Riska, a
radio announcer who went to college in Mataram, West Nusa Tenggara, told me with
indignation, “back then during the first year of college, whenever someone would ask
me about Kupang, they always think that people in NTT are like the Papuans, with
black skin and frizzy hair”. As mentioned in the previous section, taking offense at
being considered similar to Papuans implies the notion that Papuans are more inferior
than people in Kupang. Yet, at the same time, the young people in Kupang are aware
that they too are invisible to the rest of the nation.
Although Kupang’s invisibility is mostly experienced by participants who have
lived in regions outside of NTT, even those who have not set foot outside of Kupang
were curious as to why I would be interested in their city, indicating that my interest
in Kupang is something out of the ordinary. Their disbelief that someone might be
interested in their city stands out in comparison with the participants in Aceh and
Jakarta, who did not ask me why I would like to know more about young people in
their respective cities.
Exposed to the Java-centric discourse means that the young people of Kupang are
aware that their region is reduced and clustered together with all the other regions
that are not- Java into simplifying signifiers, like “the Outer Islands”. Perceived from
Kupang, Indonesia’s internal variation is more heterogeneous that just the dichotomy
between Java and the Outer Islands.
5.2.3 Questioning Hegemonic Meanings of “Culture”

and “Diversity”
In Chap. 2, I discussed how the official narrative simplifies the complexity of interre-
gional and inter-ethnic differences by only acknowledging a fixed set of artifacts and
art forms as representations of “cultural diversity” and presents them as evidence of
the sociocultural heterogeneity of the country. Whereas the interviews from Jakarta
show that this rhetoric is indiscriminately reproduced by the inhabitants of the
country’s capital, it is not the case in other regions, like Kupang. For young people
in Kupang, each sub-national community, whether this refers to regional, ethnic, or
sub-ethnic groups, has its collective ways of being that not only differs from but
might be incompatible with those of other groups.
Two photographs that turned out to be exceptionally productive in eliciting notions
of the relationship between ethnic/regional culture and Indonesian-ness are that of the
Acehnese and Indo-American beauty pageants. As reflected in Mikael’s response to
the photograph of the beauty queens, most people agree that it is important to “know”
the Indonesian culture and “look” Indonesian to represent the country, hence they
prefer Qory Sandioriva, the Acehnese beauty queen, as the country representative.
Yet, discussing the matter a little bit further, it is clear that for the youth in Kupang,
the idea that the ethnic/local cultures all unproblematically “belong” to the “national
culture” is not as self-evident as in Jakarta.
A good example is the following quote taken from the interview with Miranda, a
24-year-old law graduate from Universitas Nusa Cendana, the national university in
NTT. She reflected on Qory Sandioriva’s relation with Aceh and the Aceh people, in
particular regarding the latter’s dislike of Ms. Sandioriva’s veil-less appearance as a

representative of Aceh.
Miranda: I think it’s because she does not live in Aceh that she dares to disregard their
conventions. It would have been different had she been born and had she been living in
Aceh. In that case, she would have been familiar with their rules. How could she not? If we
have been living with a particular set of conventions, it’s impossible to disobey them. We all
hold particular beliefs, it’s impossible to deviate from them…
Interviewer: And what about the protests of the Aceh people?
Miranda: You also can’t blame them, it’s their rules…I would not know how to solve this.
This is an issue of customs, of beliefs. These things are very difficult to change. So the people
in Aceh will continue to dislike her, but she will not be bothered because she was not born
there. Had she been born there, she would have understood why the Acehnese are against
her.
(Miranda, 24-year-old office worker)
According to Miranda, an individual’s sense of morality and norms is obtained

from their immediate social environment, thus mostly determined by the culture
of the locality where the person grows up. The particular set of beliefs, values,
and norms that one has and one uses to navigate through life is determined by the
beliefs, values, and norms of the society wherein they live. For the individual, these
conventions and beliefs are absolute and impossible to transgress, not because they
are inherently “true”, but because it is hard to perceive an alternative. Miranda
can perfectly understand that Qory and the Acehnese hold diverging viewpoints
regarding standards of behavior and morality because both are living in separate
cultural universes. While this is a textbook explanation of the interrelation between
the individual and culture, Miranda’s response is still remarkable for the fact that this
is usually not how culture is discussed in Indonesian schools or the media.
Implied in Miranda’s response is that sub-national groups (like the Acehnese and
the social group wherein Qory grew up) have different belief systems and sets of
values that can run counter to those of other groups within the nation. This is also
identifiable in the responses regarding Aceh. For the participants in Kupang, Aceh
is perceived to be religiously radically different and incompatible with Kupang and
NTT. This is indicated, for example, by Mikael’s comment that hypothetically warns
the Acehnese to “never dare to bring those rules to NTT”, or Boy’s uninterested
shrug when I asked him to comment on the photograph of the Baiturrahman mosque.
Despite being very talkative in his comments of other photographs, the 24-year-old
civil servant only briefly commented on the mosque by saying that he does not know
anything about it and will not try to find out either.
Another implication of this attitude is the idea that the primary social group that
serves as the source for one’s moral universe is not “Indonesia”, but more immediate
and intimate social surroundings. This is different from the participants in Jakarta,
who often attributed certain traits or habits, like fanaticism, ungratefulness, some-
thing as simple as improperly disposing of waste, to being “Indonesian” (see Chap. 4).
For Mikael, Miranda, and many interviewees in Kupang, the nation is much more
heterogeneous and complex than perceived from Jakarta. There is no such thing as
a monolithic Indonesian culture that dictates moral and behavioral standards.
5.2.4 A Pragmatic Belongingness to the Nation
The foregoing discussions have indicated that people in Kupang perceive that, firstly,
they are invisible to their fellow Indonesians, and that secondly, Indonesia consists
of different groups of people that are not tied by a singular cultural universe dictating
the belief systems, values, and norms. Given the absence of shared culture, it is
intriguing to know what they do see as strong justifications for their belongingness
to the nation.
One of the responses that indicates what it means to be a member of the nation
was given by Christo, a 27-year-old café manager. Responding to the photograph of
Suny Halim, the beauty queen who does not speak Indonesian fluently, he said the
following,
It is stated nowhere that being an Indonesian means being able to speak Indonesian…There
are people in the kampongs and villages who cannot speak Indonesian. They only know their
regional languages, like the language of Rote. But they are Indonesians, nonetheless. They
have an ID card, and they’re listed in the district office. It means they’re Indonesians citizens
although they can’t speak the language. There are so many people like them.
(Christo, 27-year old café manager)
Christo’s comment runs directly against one of the principles of the Youth Pledge
where belongingness to the nation is signified by the mastery and use of the Indone-
sian language. Furthermore, his comment also deviates from the views of the majority
of the participants in Jakarta and Aceh who are convinced that belongingness to
Indonesia should be based on phenotypical features, language, or culture. Although
Christo was the only participant to emphasize that linguistic markers are less impor-
tant than legal matters, there is a tendency among the participants in Kupang to under-
stand their belongingness to Indonesia as something that is based and sustained on
practical and instrumental considerations. Thus, instead of an affective connection
that is founded on shared primordial “givens”, like it is commonly perceived in Aceh
and Jakarta, the bond to Indonesia for the youth in Kupang is more pragmatic.
One of the photographs that was exceptionally useful in revealing Kupang’s
youth’s mode of belongingness to Indonesia is that of the East Timorese man.
Many participants regard the secession as a mistake, as the separation caused chaos,
displacement, separations, and killings for the people of East Timor. Moreover, when
East Timor separated, as Nixon points out (2004), the toll on West Timor was substan-
tial, second only to the price paid by East Timor itself. At least 250,000 refugees were
relocated to West Timor (ICG, 2011), creating social friction between the refugees
and the local residents. Thus, to the youth of Kupang, it was clear that sovereignty
does not necessarily lead to welfare, progress, and a higher quality of life in general.
This is the opinion expressed by Willi, who comes from a Chinese-Sumba business
family that trades in security-related goods. To describe the secession of East Timor,
he used a powerful illustration.
They want to be independent, but their human resources are not ready…. Immediately after
secession, things became chaotic. If they had been really prepared for separation, they would
have known which direction to go after independence. Let’s put it this way, it’s like someone
who walks out of a prison. It’s easy to walk out of a prison, but after that, what?
(Willi, 23-year-old entrepreneur)
Willi’s approach of the issue is utilitarian: it is better to be imprisoned but secure

than to be free without a clear aim. According to most participants, for the people of
East Timor (and maybe also for Kupang), it was better to be discriminated against
and marginalized than to be sovereign but plagued by social instability. Freedom in
itself is not a worthwhile goal because it needs to lead to overall economic and social
improvement. The issue of human rights violations in East Timor did not feature at
all in the comments elicited in Kupang.
In line with the pragmatic view and attitude, although the Tetun language is widely
spoken on both sides of the border in Timor Island, no participant mentioned socio-
cultural bonds as the reason why East Timor’s secession was a mistake. For them, it
is the practical matters, like the cost involved and benefits obtained, that determine
whether belongingness to a nation is justifiable or not. In other words, nationalism
in Kupang is less romantic than it is instrumental.
The emphasis on material benefit serves as the rationale and the basic framework
for how people engage with the state. From civic participation to the widespread
desire to join the civil service, the primary consideration is the extent to which it
would lead to material benefit.
The responses elicited by the photograph of the electoral ballot are indicative.
The overwhelming majority of the participants told me that in the 2009 election,
they voted for the candidates who could give material benefit in exchange for their
votes. This was explained by Velinda, whose father sells pork meat in the market,
My father asked (the candidate) for a lamp pole in front of our house. There is only one lamp
on the street and it’s a bit far from our place. So, when (the candidate visited) my father
asked, ‘well, there’s no lamp pole in front of our house. I will vote for you, but I suggest (I)
will get one.’. The next day, (people from) the PLN (National Electricity Company) came
and erected one. But once the Election Day arrived, my father did not vote for him (laughs).
So, you just have to outsmart them. After all, the candidate doesn’t know what takes place
inside the voting booth.
(Velinda, 21-year-old sales promotion girl)
Although Velinda’s father outsmarted the candidate, the normalcy of exchanging

votes for material goods that are state resources is remarkable and seems to be part
of the political socialization of Kupang’s youth that takes place within the family.
Thus, for those with family members running for political positions, the expectation
that they should vote for their own family members is clear.
Melly is a 21-year-old student who shares a family name with a high-rank officer
in the provincial government and whose father is also in the civil service. She told
me about the most recent local elections when her father had asked her to vote for
a relative. Melly rhetorically wondered—during our conversation—whether their
votes will be reciprocated, should this family member win a seat.
It’s okay if these people still remember us who are at the bottom, once they reach the top,
but what if they don’t? We have voted for them, and then they win, but what about us?
(Melly, 21-year-old, student)
Melly, and presumably her father too, expected the said relative to provide access
to jobs in the civil service as well as other forms of material resources in return
for their votes. While this seems to be the ideal exchange, the range of goods that
could be offered is wide, other participants have discussed political candidates who
promised free national ID cards in exchange for political support.
This exchange of votes for material goods is a two-way game, understood by both
parties. Riska, one of the interviewees, is a radio announcer and is occasionally hired
as the master of ceremony for various events. Given her public visibility, some of
the people she knows recommended that she should run as a legislative candidate for
the 2009 regional elections. She declined their suggestion and explained to me her
reason.
I don’t have the money. To be a candidate, first of all, you have to have the money to pay
people. Otherwise, it’s impossible. No one would vote for nothing in return, that would be
stupid. Of course, the candidates have to give the voters something. Based on my experience
here, sometimes candidates would give Rp. 20,000 per person, (roughly USD 2.15 at the
time of the interview) and that is enough to make people vote for the candidate.
(Riska, 25-year-old radio announcer).
From the point of view of youth in Kupang, the political vote is a commodity that
should be exchanged with economic capital. This viewpoint is shared widely, across
social classes, and transferred from one generation to the other.
In other forms of civic participation, like demonstrations and protests for instance,
the same instrumental approach holds ground. Millay, a 26-year-old office worker,
articulated this deeply ingrained logic of exchange. Millay responded to the photo-
graph of the student demonstrations in the parliament. When I asked him whether
protests like the one in the photograph also happens in Kupang, he said,
In Kupang, there is no one to pay people to join demonstrations. People in Kupang consider
the economic factor. Why would you walk under the scorching sun without getting anything
in return? You might get lucky if you could get the government would listen to you, but
what if you cannot? (Millay, 26-year-old)
The instrumental approach toward the state is also reflected in the ideal career of
many young people. For them, the main appeal of becoming a civil servant lies in the
long-term financial security it provides, combined with a relatively light workload.
This is explicitly expressed by Miranda, a graduate from NTT’s national university
and an office worker in one of the few multinational credit companies operating in
Kupang. After working for ten months, she still wished she could obtain a position
in the civil service. She confided,
It’s good to work as a civil servant, you get a pension after you retire. Here (in a private
company), you have to use your brain and perform; otherwise, you will get fired.
(Miranda, 24-year old office worker)
Although the strong association between any form of engagement with the state
and personal benefits only surfaces in the responses elicited in Kupang, and not in
Jakarta or Aceh, this might be a more common occurrence in other cities that were
not part of the research. Many other studies have elaborately discussed the clien-
telistic practices in Indonesian politics after the end of the New Order, once power
and capital are no longer centralized among a relatively small group of people (i.e.
Suharto and his cronies) but are instead dispersed and diversified. (cf. Simandjuntak,
2009; van Klinken, 2009; Korte, 2011; Berenschot, 2018). Like in Kupang, in many
other cities in Indonesia, the exchange of material goods for electoral support is
common, whether this is between constituents and candidates as well as between
candidates and political parties. Simandjuntak (2009) notes that the winner of the
local elections in Tana Karo, Sumatera, is the candidate who is closest to the central
government and who could channel the state’s resources to the local area, a fact
that highlights how valued it is to be able to redistribute capital for the local voters.
Indeed, the people might see the exchange as a “fair” means of capital transfer from
the center to the regions in the peripheries. As Erb’s (2011) study on corruption and
mining concessions in Flores (another island of NTT) indicates, the local discourse of
corruption distinguishes between “bad” and “good” corruption. “Good” corruption
is when the act is perceived as strengthening social bonds by “sharing the wealth”,
while “bad” corruption is when it reveals personal greed and selfishness (Erb, 2011).
According to this, vote-buying might well fall into the category of “good” corruption,
because this is a way in which well-to-do political candidates redistribute wealth to
their relatives and voters.
The ubiquity of this logic of exchange suggests that it is embedded in a well-
established and broader discourse that was already in place before the reform era,
such as—in this case—neopatrimonialism4 . In Indonesia, neo-patrimonialism, mani-
fested as webs of patron-client network, is the dominant and most pervasive mode
of governance (Brown, 2004). In a way, this was a strategy employed by the central
government to maintain unity, i.e., by rewarding the loyalty of the local governments
with financial resources (van Klinken, 2009). The neo patrimonialistic practices keep
the country together by weakening the potential “threat” to the national unity that
is posed by other identities like religion, ethnicity, or place of origins through the
privileging of patron-client networks (Brown, 2004).
While these studies have shown that patron-client relations dictate the dynamics
of the electoral arena, the data from Kupang suggest that the drive to obtain personal
benefit from various engagements with the state is pervasive and permeates the other
areas in life, from career preference to activism. Other alternatives, like valuing
freedom from oppression over stability, or choosing careers based on suitability with
ones’ skills, are not mentioned in the interviews in Kupang. Furthermore, based
on their comments, it was clear that this logic was introduced and encouraged in
society’s smallest unit, i.e., the family. While most studies on these tit-for-tat practices
have focused on big players and relevant power holders (cf. Berenschot, 2018), the
interviews in Kupang indicate that even for the non-elite young people, this has
become a taken-for-granted practice.
4 Neopatrimonialism is a concept derived from Weber’s patrimonialism that refers to a system of

rule that is an extension of the patriarchal structure where authority is bound by tradition (Guliyev,
2011). In neopatrimonialism, however, the role of tradition has eroded but the public rule is still
perceived and treated as a personal domain, and this practice has become institutionalized. It is
thus a mixture of “traditional” authority in communities with modern governance techniques and
apparatuses (Guliyev, 2011)
Importantly, the interviews in Kupang also suggest that neopatrimonialism and

clientelism do not just influence democracy, but they also structure people’s mode
of being Indonesian. In Kupang, being Indonesian is mostly experienced as a matter
of exchange, a notion that is most clearly identifiable in the participants’ opinion of
East Timor’s separation. Without favoring one mode over the other, I would suggest
that people’s attachment to Indonesia is much more instrumental than “romantic”.
While the idea that Indonesia is a nation because people share a common language,
history, or culture is remarkably absent, the transactional engagement with the state
partly explains the absence of strong separatist movements in Kupang.
5.3 The Outward Gaze: The Absence of the International

World as the Other
The outward gaze, or the saliency of other countries and the international community
in the construction of Indonesia is the weakest in Kupang in comparison to the two
other research sites. Several indications made this clear; the relatively brief responses
given to the photographs that are explicitly relatable to other countries (in comparison
with their responses to other kinds of photographs as well as the responses in Jakarta
and Banda Aceh to the same kinds of photographs), and the fewer associations to
other countries in the comments of other photographs. In other words, the absence of
the international world as the Other is evident in the lack of references toward other
countries or Indonesia’s position in the international community in the responses to
some of the photographs. This is one of the instances where meaning is indicated by
absence instead of presence.
One of the photographs that is telling of this absence depicts a banner welcoming
the participants of “Sail Indonesia” to Kupang. Sail Indonesia is an international
sailing event, involving mainly participants from Australia, that has been held almost
every year since 2001. One of the stops made by the fleet is in Kupang, where the
participants are treated to a welcome reception that includes an introduction to what
the region has to offer. The event is undoubtedly an opportunity to promote the local
cultural and natural resources, and the photograph was chosen to elicit comments
revolving around these issues. Against my expectations, “Sail Indonesia” did not
make people discuss Kupang’s or Indonesia’s cultural and natural strengths, nor did
it elicit comments on the importance of international recognition for the region and
nation. On the contrary, interviewees were mostly uninterested, claiming that the
participants only stayed in areas next to the beach and that the event did not involve
many locals. Miranda, for instance, the woman who aspires for a job in the civil
service despite having a career in a branch of a multinational company, said the
following about Sail Indonesia.
Miranda: This about that sailboat, right?

Interviewer: What do you know about this?
Miranda: Not much, I just know that the competition is held every year. That’s it. A sailing
competition? It’s in the Teddy’s bar.
Interviewer: Does it attract a crowd in Kupang?
Miranda: (I) don’t like to see the sea or water…
(Miranda,24-year old office worker)
Mikael, another participant who has proven to be exceptionally articulate when

commenting on other photographs, mainly emphasized the promotional nature of the
banner and the rivalry between different state departments in organizing the sailing
competition.
Mikael: Well, this is an event. Banners are part of the promotion for an event. So, I think this
is quite ordinary.
Interviewer: What about the activity itself?
Mikael: For the activity itself, as there are no other photographs of it I can only judge based
on this photograph.
Interviewer: Does it get crowded in Kupang when Sail Indonesia is being held?
Mikael: I wasn’t here in 2006, how would I know
Interviewer:What about the last time?
Mikael: In 2007? I don’t know.
Interviewer: and 2009?
Mikael: Oh, that was messy. Sail Indonesia was cancelled because of the different agendas
and interests between the city government, the provincial tourism agency, and the department
of tourism…. I’m not sure what each of them want, and which institution eventually got the
project. The ministry of youth and sports was also involved, the one at the provincial level.
So how do you form a task force (with this rivalry)? But this picture itself is quite normal.
In each event, you will find banners to promote it.
(Mikael 27-year-old civil servant)
The participants are evidently less interested in the sailing tournament, let alone
in its international aspect. Because this photograph was not shown in Banda Aceh
and Jakarta for reasons that are explained in Chap. 3, it is not possible to verify
that the responses in the two other places would be different. However, there are
at least three other photographs that easily elicited notions about the international
world and Indonesia’s position in it that were shown in these three cities, that is,
the photograph of the Balinese dancer, the Komodo dragon, and the group photo
of young people from different nationalities. The responses to these photographs
provide a comparison of how the international realm is perceived and experienced
among the youth.
The photograph of the Komodo dragon, an endangered animal that only lives
on Komodo Island, a part of East Nusa Tenggara, did not generate comments on
how Komodo makes Indonesia or even Kupang and NTT hold a special position
5.3 The Outward Gaze: The Absence … 105
in the world. It is somewhat odd and telling that the photograph of the Komodo
dragon elicits more nationalist sentiments in Jakarta than in Kupang, the capital
of the province that is also the only natural habitat of the animal. Although many
are aware that Komodo could generate revenue from tourism, the excitement was
noticeably absent in the interviewees’ responses as they tend to keep their comments
short and unelaborated. As Christo remarked, the Komodo “…is somewhere between
important and unimportant. Most people in Kupang do not find it interesting”.
The group photograph of young people generated a wide variety of comments.
Most participants relate the picture to the notion of unity in diversity. Many of them
also elaborated on their individual experiences with people from other countries,
e.g., distant family members who married foreigners, an offer that was not taken up
to work in Europe as an au pair, or the linguistic challenges they would encounter
when interacting with people from other countries. Interestingly, some participants
drew from their experiences of diversity within Indonesia. One of them is Bara. He
commented,
One of the problems in interacting with people from other regions is the language. Some
people are embarrassed of the intonation or the dialect, or just too shy to socialize. In my
university, I know some students from Flores, Larantuka who are really shy and keep things
to themselves.
(Bara, 20-year-old student)
Like Christo’s earlier comment, Bara’s response highlights an issue that is mostly
overlooked or repressed in the dominant discourse of the nation, that is, that many
people in Indonesia speak different languages and might not be able to converse
fluently with each other. The sociocultural distance between fellow Indonesians can
be as significant as that between Indonesians and foreigners.
Not surprisingly, as the international world is less visible in Kupang, the cultural
dispute with Malaysia is also less salient, as suggested in their responses to the photo-
graph of the Balinese dance. Although most participants are aware of the dispute,
there seems to be little emotional investment in the issue. This might be because the
items disputed are not from Kupang or NTT.
As Christo suggested,
“Had it been the Sasando (the traditional music instrument of NTT) that was claimed by the
Malaysians, we would have gone to war.”
(Christo, 26 year old)
The attitude is borne out of a perspective that clearly sees the heterogeneity of the
Indonesian culture, as discussed in the previous section. Batik, the Pendet dance, or
the song Rasa Sayange do not “stand in” for the whole of “Indonesia”. Therefore,
the participants in Kupang do not feel attached to these items and do not see any
reason to feel agitated by Malaysia’s presumable claim over them.
5.4 Summary and Conclusion
This chapter addresses the imagining of Indonesia by youth in Kupang. From the
periphery, the imagining of Indonesia is complex. Parts of the dominant discourse co-
exist and are visible at the same time as the counter-discourses that are embedded in
the participants’ everyday experiences of the nation-state. The paradoxes are plenty.
Thus, for instance, Indonesia is seen to be culturally diverse, like in the dominant
discourse of the nation, but, unlike in the dominant discourse, it does not truly “pos-
sess” any of these cultures as they belong to their separate ethnic groups. Another
example of a paradox is the fact that people dislike Kupang’s invisibility to their
fellow Indonesians, but simultaneously, they still hold Suharto, the person who was
partly responsible for this centralized structure, in high regards. These “duality” of
perception seems to be characteristics of the regions in the peripheries.
Diverging from the dominant narratives, the imagining of “Indonesia” among the
youth in Kupang is not founded on shared “given” features, like physical characteris-
tics, language, history, or culture. The homogenizing discourses that “domesticate”
culture and downplay interregional differences are less internalized by the youth
in Kupang than in Jakarta. Thus, from the point of view of the youth in Kupang,
differences between the worldviews, values, norms, customs, and habits of various
sub-national groups are clearly visible. The idea that there is a “national” culture
under which all these radically heterogeneous local cultures can be subsumed is not
present. To come back to Laclau and Mouffe’s formulation of how hegemonies are
constructed, “Indonesia” in Kupang is not based on a logic of equivalence that uses
shared culture as the key marker.
Despite the absence of shared similarities as the fundamental legitimacy for
Indonesia, the youth in Kupang do not consider separating from the country as a
feasible option. To them, it is much more beneficial to remain in Indonesia than to
be independent. This rationale features strongly in their mode of belongingness to
Indonesia. As this chapter has elaborated, various forms of engagement with the
nation-state are considered as forms of exchange through which they would obtain
material benefits. Belongingness to a nation is more about the personal benefits that
it brings, like financial security, avoidance of further adversity, or an improvement
in one’s quality of life. Although among the three cities this instrumental mode of
belongingness is only indicated by the youth in Kupang, it might actually be very
common in other places that are not part of this research but where neopatrimonialistic
practices are considered normal.
The following chapter will look at the imaginings of Indonesia in Banda Aceh
where, in contrast to Kupang, a strong ethnic identity is present and has disrupted
the hegemonic construction of Indonesia as a unitary nation-state that stretches from
Sabang to Merauke. The data from Kupang and Banda Aceh present two different
ways of how peripheral regions deal with the dominant power.
References 107
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Chapter 6
Deconstructing “Indonesia” in Banda
Aceh
Abstract Given Aceh’s strained relationship with Indonesia, the youth in Banda
Aceh imagine Aceh and Indonesia as two politically, culturally, and historically
distinct entities. For the youth of Banda Aceh, Aceh’s well-being and development
are the key priorities. This prioritization of Aceh’s interests leads to two diverging
imaginations of Indonesia. In the first imagining that I call “Indonesia as antagonism”,
Indonesia is portrayed as an antagonistic force that stands in the way of the fulfillment
of Aceh’s “real” destiny as a glorious, sovereign entity. The second imagining that I
termed “Indonesia as a compromise” considers that reconciliation with Indonesia is
a better and more realistic option, and it is through this avenue that Aceh will obtain
the prosperity it deserves. Concerning the outward gaze, the participants perceive
Aceh’s international reputation as not dependent on Indonesia’s international status.
This is substantially attributable to the international attention Aceh received in the
aftermath of the 2004 tsunami.
Keywords Aceh Nationalism · Aceh-Indonesia relations · Aceh youth · Non-elite

Nationalism · Center-periphery relations
Five years after the signing of the peace agreement in 2005, being an Indonesian is
not a taken-for-granted identity for the participants in Banda Aceh. All participants
were teenagers when Aceh was designated as a “Military Operation Zone” (DOM).
Narratives that reject the legitimacy of the Indonesian nation-state has circulated
widely in public for decades, and at certain points, secession was a real and viable
possibility. In 2010, these experiences continue to frame their perceptions of the
relation between Aceh and Indonesia.
Unlike in Jakarta, where Indonesia is used as the main framework to interpret the
photographs, or in Kupang where the youth employ many co-existing frameworks,
in Banda Aceh, the central point of reference is Aceh. After the peace agreement and
the tsunami, the Acehnese had the freedom to openly explore, build, or rediscover the
Acehnese identity. Unsurprisingly, one of the things that stand out in the interviews
is the prominence of Aceh in their interpretations of the photographs. Almost all
photographs are contextualized with reference to Aceh, even those that clearly depict
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_6
110 6 Deconstructing “Indonesia” in Banda Aceh
other places, peoples, or cultures. Indonesia appears in the interviews as an outside

entity. This is indicated, for instance, by the use of the third-person plural pronoun
to refer to the country (i.e., “they”), or more explicitly, by stating that certain issues
that are relevant for Indonesia are less relevant for Aceh and vice versa.
This does not mean that the peace agreement with Indonesia is on shaky grounds.
The data suggest that despite using Aceh as the main framework, secession is not
unequivocally perceived as an absolute necessity for Aceh’s progress and devel-
opment. The narratives about Indonesia from Banda Aceh that were elicited by
the photographs can be distinguished into two relatively distinct perspectives. One
constructs Indonesia as an antagonistic force that deprives Aceh of its right to self-
rule, while the other narrative views Indonesia as a separate entity, but one that is
not threatening Aceh’s identity or development. The first I refer to as “Indonesia as
antagonism” and the second one as “Indonesia as a compromise”. These narratives
are distinct, in the sense that the participants who articulate one particular narrative do
not express the markers of the other narrative. However, in both narratives, Aceh’s
progress and well-being are the most important goals. The difference between the
narratives lies more in the preferred routes to achieve these goals. In the first narrative,
the final goal can only be obtained through Aceh’s independence, while in the latter,
the continuing integration within Indonesia is considered to be the more realistic
avenue. Although these perspectives are distinct, I would carefully argue that these
are not discrete clusters of perceptions but should be comprehended as the two ends
of a spectrum.
In line with the inward gaze that puts Aceh in the foreground, the outward gaze
constructs Aceh as having its own international standing that is not necessarily
attached to Jakarta’s or Indonesia’s reputations. Interestingly, unlike in Jakarta where
there is a sense of anxiety about how other countries judge Indonesia, the youth in
Banda Aceh are much more confident about Aceh’s international reputation. The
global outpouring of sympathy to Aceh, combined with their personal experiences
of interacting with foreigners (e.g. aid workers and journalists) in the aftermath of
the tsunami, seems to be the source of this confidence.
To understand the context wherein this imagining of Indonesia and Aceh is formed,
a brief overview of the socio-historical background of Aceh is necessary.
6.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Banda Aceh
Although records from the sixth century described Aceh as a Buddhist polity, Aceh
has a strong Islamic identity since the religion was introduced in the region in the
thirteenth century. It was the site of the first Islamic kingdom in Southeast Asia, and in
the centuries that followed, Aceh became known as the center of Islamic scholarship
(Aspinall, 2009a). The seventeenth century was the pinnacle of Aceh’s glory. During
this time, Aceh was an important Islamic trading center (Missbach, 2010) and enjoyed
diplomatic relations with many states. Its leader, Sultan Iskandar Muda, ruled over a
centralized administration and enforced regulations of trade. The period continues to
6.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Banda Aceh 111
be referred to by the Acehnese as their golden age (Aspinall, 2009a). The interviews
attest to this, and the period is often mentioned by the participants as evidence of
Aceh’s inherent greatness.
Interestingly, unlike in chronicles from Banjarmasin, Malacca, Bali, or Makassar
that reflect Java’s substantial role in these regions, no such written records of Aceh
exist up to the seventeenth century (Reid, 2006b). In one of the most famous texts,
the Hikayat Raja-raja Pasai, there is a mention of a Javanese force, Majapahit, but
it seems that this was written for a Javanese ruler in Java (Reid, 2006b). Scholars
generally argue that the impact of the occupation by Majapahit or the Javanese was
not prominent (McKinnon, 2006). Unlike many other regions in the archipelago,
Aceh’s connection to Java was distant if not absent altogether. It had developed more
connections toward the peninsula, other Indian Ocean harbors, and centers of power
that were located even farther away like Britain, France, and Turkey (Reid, 2006a).
In the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, Aceh became more and more
incorporated in the trading system of the Malay Peninsula and Singapore that were
under the British auspices. However, in 1824, the Anglo-Dutch Treaty thrust Aceh
under the rule of the Dutch whose power grew in the final decades of the nineteenth
century. In 1873, the Dutch-Aceh war broke out and would last thirty years (Reid,
2006a). This war was framed as a Holy War against the Dutch infidels (Alfian,
2006) but also against the Aceh’s aristocrats (uleebalang) who are considered to be
more supportive of the Dutch (Robinson, 1998). In 1903, Aceh formally fell under
the Dutch rule although sporadic resistances continued. The fierce resistance against
outsiders, primarily framed by the Acehnese as unbelievers, becomes another “myth”
in the construction of the Acehnese identity (Aspinall, 2009a).
In the mid-twentieth century, Aceh became part of a wider movement across the
archipelago against the Dutch and the Japanese. The Aceh-Islam identity started to
merge into an Indonesian identity (Reid, 2004; Aspinall, 2009a). At this time, there
was no notion that the Acehnese and Islamic identities could be different from the
Indonesian identity (Aspinall, 2009a). In 1945, as part of the former Dutch Indies,
Aceh became integrated as one of the provinces of Indonesia. At this point, Aceh
was a strong supporter of Indonesia’s independence, as attested by the substantial
amount of money to fight the Dutch that was collected in Aceh (Robinson, 1998).
In 1949, Indonesian sovereignty was no longer disputed. However, fractures
between Aceh and Indonesia surfaced not long after. As Indonesia sedimented into a
more secular state, the Islamic state earlier envisioned by the Acehnese did not mate-
rialize. The Acehnese started to see that the Aceh-Islam identity is not necessarily
compatible with the Indonesian identity (Aspinall, 2009a). To aggravate matters, in
1950, Aceh’s status as a province was canceled and the region became part of North
Sumatra. In 1953, the former governor, Tengku Daud Beureu’eh launched a resis-
tance movement and proclaimed Aceh as part of a larger Negara Islam Indonesia
(NII), or the Islamic State of Indonesia (Sulaiman, 2006; Ricklefs, 2008), joining
several other regions (Robinson, 1998). As their preferred alliance suggests, at this
point, the demand was not for Aceh’s complete secession from Indonesia, but for
a redefinition of Indonesia as an Islamic nation. Pancasila, a result of compromise
and the embodiment of a more secular nation, was deemed insufficient as Aceh
demanded a more Islamic state (Aspinall, 2009a). By way of a response, in 1959,

the central government gave Aceh the status of a special territory, granting control
over religion, custom, tradition, and education as long as it is not in contradiction
with the Indonesian law (Robinson, 1998; Sulaiman, 2006). The insurgency lasted
several years before subsiding in 1962 (Robinson, 1998).
In 1976, the relation between Aceh and Indonesia soured once again. Hasan di
Tiro, a former member of the Indonesian mission in the United Nations in New
York, formed the “Free Aceh Movement” (“Gerakan Aceh Merdeka” or GAM) after
growing disappointed of Suharto’s Java-centrism, the secular application of Islam
and the New Order’s centralized and homogenizing governance (Sulaiman, 2006). In
his narrative, Indonesia and Java are portrayed as new oppressors (Robinson, 1998;
Reid, 2004) that replaced the Dutch. Di Tiro left the country to form a government in
exile, and a few years later, in 1982, the movement was defeated (Robinson, 1998).
In the late 1980’s, insurgences started to flare again, this time more intense than
before. The central government responded by turning Aceh into a Military Operation
Zone (DOM) in the 1990s. The International Crisis Group in 2001 noted that during
this time, between 1,000 and 3,000 people were murdered, while another 900 to
1,400 people disappeared (Aspinall & Crouch, 2003).
In August 1998, the New Order was overthrown, and Aceh entered a new chapter.
Like in other regions in Indonesia, university students led the movement. Initially,
their demands were national in nature, very much aligned with the demands of
other students in other regions. Only gradually became it much more focused on
local concerns, such as the human rights abuses during the DOM period (Aspinall,
2009a). As the central government failed to address these concerns and responded
to the revival of GAM with military violence, the relationship between Aceh and the
central government broke down once again.
The call for referendum attracted the support a wider public this time. In early
1999, students created the Sentra Informasi Referendum Aceh (“Centre for Informa-
tion on Aceh Referendum” or SIRA), encouraged by the referendum that had been
given to East Timor. However, the central government refused to grant a referendum
to the Westernmost province. Instead, replicating a strategy that had been done by
Sukarno, in 2002, Aceh was given a special status that facilitates multiple expres-
sions of Aceh’s distinctiveness (Bertrand, 2004), particularly in the field of religion.
A “Cessation for Hostility Agreement” (COHA) was signed in December 2002, but
it quickly disintegrated.
In 2004, another round of negotiations between Indonesia and GAM leaders took
place, this time mediated by the Crisis Management Initiative under the leader-
ship of Finland’s president. As the dialog was unfolding, the 2004 Indian Ocean
tsunami battered Aceh and significantly accelerated peace talks (Kingsbury, 2006).
The Helsinki peace agreement was signed by both parties in 2005. It decrees that
Aceh continues to be part of Indonesia, in return for substantial autonomy. In the
aftermath of the tsunami and the signing of the peace agreement, the Aceh society
experienced rapid and comprehensive changes that is often metaphorically described
as the “second tsunami”, one that is social in nature.
6.1 The Socio-Historical Context of Banda Aceh 113
The rebuilding of Aceh was a colossal endeavor under the auspices of the Agency
of Rehabilitation and Reconstruction for Aceh and Nias (Badan Rehabilitasi dan
Rekonstruksi). It coordinated up to 12,500 projects, funded by over 60 donors,
involving up to 700 Non-Governmental Organizations (Aceh Recovery Newsletter,
2009). Two years later, in 2006, the first provincial election was held, and an ex-
GAM combatant, Irwandi Yusuf, became the province’s governor. By 2007, ten
districts were led by GAM-affiliated individuals (Aspinall, 2009b). Furthermore, the
province possesses a significant amount of resources, totaling up to US$ 7.9 billion
in the period between 2006 and 2027 (Hillman, 2011) particularly from the revenue
from gas and oil trade.
Despite the high revenue, Aceh’s poverty index increased (World Bank, 2009;
Hillman, 2011). Economic activity after the tsunami was mainly in reconstruction
projects (e.g., transport, trade, construction), while other sectors were unable to revive
the economy after the reconstruction phase ended (World Bank, 2009). Although
policy goals were stated in the provincial government’s “Mid-term Development
Plan”, there were no detailed plans of longer-term strategies (Hillman, 2011). Post-
conflict politics created further obstacles among former GAM members who vie for
a piece of the revenue cake (Hillman, 2011; World Bank, 2009; Aspinall, 2009b;
cf. Ansori, 2012). Project tenders were often embedded in the patronage system
built during the conflict (World Bank, 2009). These practices are manifestations
of neopatrimonialism, but interestingly, unlike in Kupang, narratives indicating the
non-elite youth’s familiarity with neopatrimonial practices did not emerge in their
responses to the photographs. This could suggest that neopatrimonialism might not
have become the prevailing survival strategy at the point of the interviews.
This subchapter has given an overview of the socio-historical context of Aceh.
A strong awareness of Aceh’s history, a frail relation with Indonesia and the fast-
paced changes that are unfolding in the past half a decade, all contribute to how
Indonesia is imagined by the young generation in Banda Aceh.
6.2 The Inward Gaze
In Jakarta and Kupang, the inward gaze refers to the way the interviewees perceive
and conceptualize Indonesia as a nation-state, indicated by the use of first-person
plural pronouns (“us”, “we”) when referring to Indonesia. In Banda Aceh, this is not
the case. People use “us” and “we” when they talk about Aceh, but very rarely when
they talk about Indonesia. When talking about the country, they refer by its name
or use the third-person plural (“they”). This indicates that for the participants, Aceh
and Indonesia are perceived as two distinct entities. Their ethno-cultural identity
is also the primary lens that the interviewees use to interpret the photographs that
were shown to them. Even in instances where the photographs depict scenes that are
unambiguously located in other regions or cultures (like the Jakarta skyline or the
Balinese dancer), most informants would still use Aceh as the main point of their
comments by positively comparing Aceh to whatever the photographs are depicting
(e.g., explaining how their region could be as developed as Jakarta, or how it has its
own traditional dances too). It is difficult not to perceive this persistent reference to
Aceh as an indication of the strong ethno-cultural identity among the youth in Banda
Aceh that overshadows their sense of belongingness to Indonesia.
The prominent role of the Acehnese identity in structuring the youth’s perception
of the world is partly attributable to the relatively new freedom to explore the region’s
culture and identity. In 2010, the youth of Banda Aceh were exploring, rediscovering,
and redefining various aspects of what being Acehnese now means. Popular music
bands with distinctly Acehnese names like Kande, Seramoe Reggae, or Nyawong
have repertoires that consist of remakes of traditional folk songs as well as new songs
recounting local stories, whether it is about love, the holy war, or the tsunami. Social
and culture-oriented groups like The Cultural League of Tikar Pandan Community
(Liga Kebudayaan Komunitas Tikar Pandan) organize writing courses, hold foreign
film festivals and public lectures. In other words, the youth of Banda Aceh were
actively exploring their identity through culture.
6.2.1 Inhibiting the Negative Space: Aceh Culture Versus

Indonesian Culture
The imagining that Aceh is a separate entity from Indonesia is concisely expressed
in the responses to the photograph of Qory Sandioriva, the beauty queen who repre-
sented Aceh without covering herself with a veil. The majority of the participants
point out that for them, the question is not whether she is apt to represent Indonesia
or not, as long as she refrains from showing affiliation with Aceh, especially if
partaking in the international beauty competition means that Qory Sandioriva would
have to present herself in outfits that are even more immodest, like a two-piece
swimsuit, thereby digressing even further from Acehnese sensibilities. Here, people
make the distinction between Qory Sandioriva as a representative of Indonesia, and
of Aceh. For instance, Hamid told me,
I’m fine as long as she (Qory Sandioriva) does not represent Aceh. She can just represent
Indonesia.
(Hamid, 21-year-old student & freelance designer)
Similarly, Hasan, a 22-year-old man argues against Qory while tagging on the
stereotype of “Western” women who are used to dressing more seductively.
I prefer that she (Sunny Halim) would represent Indonesia. She is an Indonesian who was
born in the United States, so you could already guess how she would carry herself. I don’t
want an Acehnese (as representative). It would destroy Aceh’s dignity
(Hasan, 22 year-old office worker)
Like many people in Kupang, the youth in Aceh think that culture is located
at the sub-national level and can only be genuinely acquired through long-term
embeddedness in the society in which this culture developed. Qory, who had never
6.2 The Inward Gaze 115
lived in Aceh, is to them not a genuine Acehnese. This is exemplified in Aidil’s

response below.
She does not master the culture in a natural way, but by studying it. Look at her parental
background, her father is a Sundanese (an ethnic group in West Java), her mother comes from
Takengon (a highland region in Aceh with substantial cultural differences with the coastal
Banda Aceh). She lives in Jakarta and has not returned to Aceh. It is not the same for us
who live in the region. I live here, I know the Aceh culture naturally. She needs to study it
intentionally. (Aidil, 23-year-old student)
This stance regarding the significance of sub-national culture, whether it is ethnic

or regional, echoes the one held in Kupang, but is different from how youth in
Jakarta understand the ethnic/regional culture. For the people in Kupang and Banda
Aceh, their ethnic/regional cultures are not just as part of the collection that makes
up the “national” culture. The young people in Kupang1 and Banda Aceh are not as
convinced as the youth in Jakarta of the narrative of national culture as encompassing
all the cultures of the various ethnic groups.
6.2.2 Two Perceptions on Aceh’s Integration with Indonesia
Given the turbulent history between Aceh and Indonesia, it is understandable that the
Acehnese ethno-cultural identity and the region’s political and economic interests are
much more important than those of a distant “Indonesia”. While this remains true for
all interviewees, what is different among them is their opinion about how integration
with Indonesia will determine Aceh’s course of development.
The data suggest that there are two broad clusters of attitudes regarding Aceh’s
integration in Indonesia that are expressed by two different groups of informants. The
first group perceives Indonesia as the absolute antagonistic Other. In this cluster of
attitudes, Aceh should become independent from Indonesia because its pre-destined
greatness can only be materialized once again if the region is sovereign. On the
contrary, thesecond attitude considers that Aceh’s growth and prosperity could be
ensured by its continuing unity with Indonesia as this will provide the much-required
stability. I term this narrative “Indonesia as a compromise”. Both stances are based
on the prioritizing of Aceh’s interests. Yet, they differ in regard to whether they
perceive Indonesia as a conducive or destructive force for Aceh. The following part
identifies the elements that structure their differing perceptions of Indonesia in its
relation to Aceh.
1 Aselaborated in the previous chapter, the youth in Kupang do not perceive culture to be
unproblematically located at the national level.
6.2.2.1 Indonesia as Antagonism
For about half of the interviewees, Indonesia is imagined as an antagonistic force.

It is the Other that stands in the way of Aceh’s completion of its destiny. This
group perceives Indonesia’s existence as a continuation of colonialism, but this time
it is done by the Javanese. Unsurprisingly, East Timor’s separation is positively
perceived, and many argued that Aceh’s referendum should have followed that of
East Timor’s. This imagining of Indonesia as an antagonistic force is built on two
components: the idealization of the Aceh-Indonesia conflict, and the rejection of the
national hegemonic narrative of Indonesia. The narratives on which the antagonism
against Indonesia is based reflect closely those that have been identified as narratives
that form the backbone of Acehnese ethno-nationalism (cf. Aspinall, 2007; Drexler,
2007 ).
To perceive Indonesia as an antagonism, it is necessary to construct the conflict
between Aceh and Indonesia as well as the characteristics of both parties as fixed and
unchangeable, and so fundamentally unbridgeable. Indonesia is cast as the perpetual
aggressor, while Aceh is imagined to be the fiercely resisting victim. This narrative
eliminates the grainy details and gray areas that would disturb the homogeneous
appearance of both entities. Moreover, this narrative is valid for all Acehnese people,
whether they live in the present, or in an imaginary infinite past or future.
In her research from a fieldwork done in 1999, Drexler (2007) identifies conflict
narratives that extend the conflict, forecloses certain trajectories, and reduces respon-
sibility for the violent acts in the past. She concludes that there are stable binary posi-
tions of Indonesia and Aceh that “…are created and consolidated through discourses
and narratives that elide the dynamics that underlie their existence (2007, p. 964)”.
The current study shows that the same binary discourses and narratives circulate at
the grassroots level, among the “ordinary” youth of Banda Aceh, more than a decade
after Drexler’s study and a half-decade after the signing of the peace agreement.
An example of the narrative is expressed by Amalia whose parents are both civil
servants. Commenting on the photo of school children saluting the red and white
flag, she immediately associates it to the perceived treason and takeover perpetrated
by Indonesia against Aceh.
If you analyse the history closely, we’re not part of Indonesia. President Sukarno wanted us
to be Indonesians, but we fought our own independence fight (against the Dutch). After that,
Sukarno promised us many things, but we built everything ourselves. Sukarno once came to
beg to Daud Beureu’eh and cried for help, but after (receiving help) Sukarno forgot about
us. I think Hasan di Tiro was also disappointed in him…Actually, you should not take (over
a region) without the people’s permission…And look, now, we’re being disadvantaged.
(Amalia, 22-year-old student)
In a similar vein but with a stronger emphasis on Aceh’s position as the eternal
victim, Ilham, who graduated from Unsyiah and was a freelance journalist at the
time of research, expressed this in his response to the photograph of the East Timor
man.
All Acehnese are victims of the conflict. They have undergone mental, psychological or
physical violence…I remember how I got beaten up by a soldier back then…People were
witnesses to the torture and the killing of their family members. People in Aceh are now
blissfully oblivious to the past, because of the peace. The wounds have been forgotten. Yet,
I worry that these will be opened again one day because people cannot stand injustice…
(Ilham, 24-year-old, student)
To Ilham, and many of the informants in this group, the peaceful condition is but a
façade that hides people’s deep-seated dislike of Indonesia; it cannot be the genuine
mental condition of the Acehnese who have been extremely hurt by Indonesia.
Putting Amelia’s and Ilham’s comments side by side, the Aceh-Indonesia conflict
is imagined to stretch out uninterruptedly from the pre-independence period to the
imaginary future. This narrative has been identified as one of the most salient in the
weaving of Aceh ethno-nationalist sentiments. As argued by Aspinall (2007), the
“Acehnese identity became one founded in suffering at Indonesian hands. It was an
identity based on victimhood, albeit not a silently reproachful and helpless victim-
hood, but one that stressed Acehnese resistance and heroism (p. 962).” The turbu-
lence in Aceh-Indonesia relation that could alternatively be perceived as consisting
of separate episodes of power struggles, each of them embedded in particular socio-
historical concerns and contexts, is instead interpreted as a singular and longstanding
conflict that is definitive and forms the root of all other problems. This is how the
conflict is crystallized in the narrative of Indonesia as an antagonistic Other.
Aside from the crystallization of the conflict, another component in the imagining
of Indonesia as an antagonistic Other is the rejection of hegemonic narratives. The
national narratives of Pancasila, or of Majapahit as some sort of proto-Indonesia,
are countered and rejected for implying that Java is more important than the other
regions. Unlike the crystallization of the conflict where there are only Aceh and
Indonesia, the rejection of national narratives puts Java in opposition to many other
disadvantaged regions.
The following is an excerpt from the interview with Faizal, a student majoring
in Economics. His deceased father had worked as a civil servant in the department
of agriculture. Despite having a parent who had worked for the government, Faizal
did not have a positive impression of Indonesia. When he saw the photograph of
Jakarta’s skyscrapers, he commented,
One of the lecturers in my economic class said, ‘Think about the fifth principle of Pancasila;
social justice for every Indonesian. Because there are more Indonesians living in Java, the
welfare in Java is better than elsewhere’
(Faizal, 21-year-old student).
The response subverts the state’s imagination of Indonesia as a community of

equal members into one that is closer to their own experience, that is, as a hierarchical
structure where the interests of certain groups of people are prioritized over others’.
The resources of the state are concentrated in Java, depriving other regions of their
rightful share. A rejection of Java’s central position in Indonesia is also implied
in narratives that counter the official narrative highlighting the importance of the
Hindu Majapahit Empire that was centered in current-day East Java. As mentioned
in chapter two, the Majapahit Empire is portrayed as the embryo of the nation and
is thus part of the building blocks in Indonesia’s myth of origin. Zahra, a student in
Ar-Raniry and a radio announcer, repeatedly told me that Majapahit’s rule did not
stretch over a territory as large as portrayed in Indonesia’s history books. As she
pointed out,
Majapahit was very small! (The idea that it was otherwise) is a historical lie! Majapahit was
only the size of a district in Darussalam. That big was Majapahit!
(Zahra, 23-year-old student)
Criticisms of Java-centrism are prevalent in the narrative of “Indonesia as antag-

onism”. This critical stance is not only due to the socio-economic disparity between
Java and the other parts of Indonesia but also to the dominant usage of Hindu-
Buddhist symbolism as national icons. Thus, for instance, as Ridwan, a 24-year-old
participant pointed out to me, Indonesia has the Garuda (the mythical national bird
that is an adaptation of the vehicle of the Hindu god, Vishnu), while the Acehnese
are much more familiar with the Bouraq (a creature that served as the vehicle of the
prophet Muhammad). “We cannot deny,” he told me, “that sometimes we are forced
to acknowledge Java and (other regions of) Sumatra”. He implied that the ethnic
groups that are more influenced by the Hindu-Buddhist tradition, like Java, are seen
to be more privileged than the groups that are influenced by other traditions, in this
context, Islam.
This section has explored the narrative of “Indonesia as antagonism”, an imag-
ining that is undoubtedly informed by the years of conflict in Aceh. Among all the
imaginings of Indonesia that are obtained in this study, this is the one that is the most
antithetical to the official notions of Indonesia, and clearly shows a strong tendency
toward ethno-nationalism. In chap. 7, I will discuss briefly whether this discourse
continued to circulate in the following decade.
6.2.2.2 Indonesia as a Compromise
Interestingly, despite the conflict, approximately half of my informants in Banda

Aceh do not harbor strong anti-Indonesia sentiments. They are content with Aceh’s
continued integration with Indonesia because the stability is conducive to Aceh’s
economic growth. In other words, in this narrative, regardless of whether Indonesia
had treated them fairly or not, Aceh’s prosperity is not preconditioned on its inde-
pendence from Indonesia. It sees belongingness to Indonesia as a compromise. This
attitude echoes closely the one held in Kupang where belongingness to Indonesia is
more instrumental than ideological or romantic. What differentiates the one from the
other is that in Kupang, people tend to think more in terms of personal or familial
benefits, while in Banda Aceh, the salient group that is prioritized and whose interests
must be pursued is the Aceh people as a whole and the entire Aceh region.
In my analysis, I have identified two components that make up this particular imag-
ining of Indonesia. The first one is acceptance of the hegemonic nationalist narratives,
and the second one is a pragmatic appraisal of Aceh’s relation with Indonesia.
In this discourse of Indonesia as a compromise, counter-narratives against the
hegemonic narratives of the country are absent. On the contrary, some of their
comments are reproductions of the dominant discourse. The following excerpt

reflects this. Kamal, a 20-year-old student, commented on a photograph of the
multi-racial group of youth. He associated the photo with Indonesia’s diversity.
Kamal: In Indonesia, although there is a variety of ethnic groups, they all stay together
Interviewer: they do?
Kamal:Yes, for example, the people of Aceh, Medan, Jakarta. They stay together, Bhinneka
Tunggal Ika (Unity in Diversity)
(Kamal, 20-year-old student).
Kamal explicitly evoked the national slogan and situates Aceh as one of the regions
of Indonesia, conceptually imagined to be equal to Medan and even Jakarta. The use
of “they” instead of “us” indicates hesitancy in completely identifying himself or
Aceh as part of Indonesia. However, the aversion toward Jakarta or Java is absent,
and references to other regions in Indonesia are more often made. As the positive
remark on the national slogan indicates, this narrative contains either neutrality or
consent toward various popular practices and expressions of nationalism.
Another example of the imagining of Indonesia as a compromise is for instance
expressed by Yasin, who had moved to Banda Aceh from Meulaboh to study
computer science. He had worked for a while for an international Non-Governmental
Organization. He responded the following to the photograph of Komodo,
Yasin: I also voted (in the New Seven World Wonder competition). But I didn’t vote for
Komodo, I voted for Toba Lake and Kelimutu Lake
Interviewer: and why is that?
Yasin: Because Toba Lake is near here (it is in the adjacent province, North Sumatera) and
I like Kelimutu Lake
(Yasin, 24-year-old student)
In his response, there is a sense of ownership of these different natural resources.

Unlike in the narrative of “Indonesia as antagonism” where this expression of shared
ownership and belongingness to the nation is absent, for Yasin, Kamal, and many
other informants, it is possible to imagine themselves as Indonesians, and this identity
is not necessarily contradictory to being Acehnese.
Overall, there is no deep-seated dislike of the central government and Indonesia.
Photographs that have elicited negative comments on Indonesia in the narrative of
Indonesia as an antagonism are interpreted as neutral or even positive by this group of
informants. A prime example of this is the comments elicited by the photograph of the
flag-raising ceremony. Among the participants who agree that Aceh should remain
integrated with Indonesia, the photograph does not elicit comments that contain
expressions of dislike toward Indonesia. While not necessarily containing strong pro-
Indonesian nationalism, this absence of antagonistic sentiments indicates a different
attitude regarding Aceh’s relation with the central government. For example, Fitri,
whose parents are in the civil service, told me the following.
I remember we did this in elementary school, this is one of the most boring activities.
If we arrived late at school (the ceremony is held the first thing in the morning), we got
punished…I tried to faint (so that she does not have to take part in the activity) but never
succeeded (laughs). But in junior high, we stopped doing this because of the conflict…That
was good, we did not have to rush to get to school on Mondays.
(Fitri, 23-year-old student)
For Fitri, the flag-raising ceremony was not a symbol of Indonesia’s oppression
but merely an inconvenient part of schooling. Like the youth in Jakarta and Kupang,
this group of informants is not hostile to Suharto. Indra is a young man who had
finished his study at Telkom Institute of Technology in Bandung, West Java. When
we met, he was already accepted in a Master’s program in Engineering in Germany,
receiving a scholarship from Aceh’s regional government, and was preparing to leave
for Jakarta to take preparatory courses in German. His response to Suharto’s picture
was largely positive, highlighting Suharto’s ability to maintain progress and stability.
I admit that he has succeeded in his endeavour. There used to be the Repelita,2 the five-yearly
development scheme. There was a blueprint of development: what we have to do now, later
and in the future.
(Indra, 23-year-old student)
Due to Suharto’s controversial status in Aceh, the fact that some informants think
positively of him is significant. Of course, their positive sentiments are weaker in
comparison the sentiments in Kupang.
The second marker of the idea of “Indonesia as a compromise” is the pragmatist
worldview regarding belongingness to Indonesia. The current arrangement between
Indonesia and Aceh is preferable in comparison to the hardships that Aceh would have
undergone in the process of building a sovereign nation, had it chosen to become
independent. The peace agreement has brought stability and security. Past injus-
tices and violence aside, building a sovereign state would have required economic,
political, and social capitals beyond what Aceh currently possesses.
The next extract is taken from Indra’s response to the photograph of the East
Timor man. He explained why Aceh should not be sovereign.
I think it’s hard to build a country from scratch…Let’s say that we become independent, we
do not have sufficient human resources to drive the economy. Aceh would need to take in
workers from outside. Aceh can be independent (in terms of official status), but in its day
to day operation, it would still be dependent on outside forces. Maybe we could be more
independent one day, but we need more time.
(Indra, 23-year-old student)
Implied in this comment is a pragmatic take on the relationship with Indonesia,

drawing on what this group perceives to be a realistic assessment of Aceh’s condition,
that is, that they are not ready yet for complete independence. Their belongingness
to Indonesia is not based first and foremost on a sense of shared heritage, colonial
experience, and/or “blood”, but on the pragmatical sense that continuing to be inte-
grated with Indonesia is the better option for Aceh. Continuing to remain integrated
2 Repelita or the five-year development plan is a program instated by the New Order from 1969 to
1998, thus running from Repelita I to Repelita VI (unfinished). Each Repelita is focused on building
infrastructure for a certain part of development, e.g. agriculture, education, or free-trade.
in Indonesia does not mean Aceh’s interests are sacrificed. On the contrary, it is
a means to achieve Aceh’s prosperity precisely by avoiding straining its existing
capital. Thus in this narrative of compromise, although Aceh is still imagined as a
people of great tradition, the region itself is perceived as still lacking a sufficiently
capable workforce.
This group also perceives a weakening desire for independence among former
GAM members. Iqbal, whose father is Acehnese and whose mother comes from
Solo, commented.
I think now, the demand to separate is gradually weakening…those who were once disap-
pointed by Indonesia are now occupying (important) positions…There’s a saying that‘the
struggle ends with Innova (the brand of car used by Aceh officials, presumably those who
were GAM members before)…I’ve heard people, older people say that (the ex-combatants
and current officials) do not have the capacity (to build and manage an independent state).
(Iqbal, 19-year-old student)
In contrast with the narrative of Indonesia as antagonism, Aceh and Indonesia are
not cast in a fixed position: interests, priorities, and attitudes can change over time.
The Acehnese, as well as Indonesia’s central government, both have strengths and
weaknesses; none is perceived in a simplified singular role. The binary opposition
that strongly features the narrative of Indonesia as antagonism is missing in this
narrative of “Indonesia as a compromise”.
Importantly, the acceptance of Aceh’s pacification with Indonesia’s central
government does not mean that people are blind to, and ignorant of disparity. Like
in Kupang, people are aware of Indonesia’s pervasive geopolitical inequality. In line
with the pragmatic approach, this is tolerable as long as future improvement is a
realistic possibility. This is illustrated in the following comment made by Yasin, as
he looked at the photograph depicting the man from East Timor.
I’ve heard that Papua now also demands independence. It’s understandable because if they
remain with Indonesia, it will take some time before Papua is developed. Especially for
the regions that are far away from the centre, development is a bit uneven. Thus, it will
take longer for them (to develop). But at the same time, there is no guarantee that they will
progress and prosper after separation, right? Just look at what happens to East Timor.
(Yasin, 24-year-old student)
There is simultaneously awareness and acquiescence to the prevailing geopolitical

constellation. He accepted that the distribution of economic resources is unjustifiably
favoring the center. Material capital trickles from the center to the peripheries, and the
farther one is located from the center, the slower the progress will be. Although Yasin
understands why this is a reasonable ground to demand independence, he prefers to
endure the “wait” in return for guaranteed development. This seems to be a safer bet
than declaring independence and build a new nation-state.
6.3 The Outward Gaze: Aceh and the World
In line with the strong confidence in Aceh and the sense of the region being a distinct
community from Indonesia, the youth perceive Aceh to have its own international
reputation that is not dependent on Indonesia’s international status. This confidence
is partly caused by the large number of foreign aid workers who descended almost
overnight in Aceh in the aftermath of the tsunami, and with whom most participants
have had direct interactions. Thus, in comparison to the participants in Kupang and
Jakarta, the participants in Banda Aceh are more cosmopolitan. Unlike in Jakarta,
where the world is divided into “the west” and “us”, or “outside” and “us”, the
participants in Banda Aceh have a more fine-grained understanding of different
countries. To them, the “outside world” is concrete and near as they were relatively
well-exposed to the events that went on in the wider world. In and outside of the
interviews, young people shared with me anecdotes of their encounters with people
from other countries; about the first Singaporean they met, a soldier who to them
“looked very nerdy”, or how a French female journalist taught them how to be
confident when attending press conferences. In 2009, the new government allocated
up to US$ 100 million in scholarships for the Acehnese to receive education abroad
as well as in other parts of Indonesia (Hillman, 2011), providing a clearer path toward
education abroad, at least for the middle-class and educated Acehnese than for most
interviewees in Jakarta.
Consistent with how Aceh’s youth imagine Aceh’s position in Indonesia and on the
international stage, Indonesia’s cultural dispute with Malaysia leaves most Acehnese
disinterested. To them, this quarrel is mainly Indonesia’s problem. Aceh is culturally,
historically, and geographically closer to the people across the Malaccan Strait than
to their fellow-nationals in Java and the other Indonesian islands. This is exemplified
in Yusuf’s comment on the photograph that depicts the banner “Visit Malingsia”,
It’s very clear that this (banner) is not made by an Acehnese (laughs). An Acehnese would
not hold grudges against Malaysia. If you ask around, people in Sumatra generally do not
dislike Malaysia because we all speak Malay here, especially in Aceh. The local government
in Aceh is very close to Malaysia. Honestly, sometimes an Acehnese would prefer to go on
holiday in Malaysia than in Java because it’s cheaper. So yeah, if you say “Visit Malingsia”,
this is the manifestation of the anger of Indonesians.
(Yusuf, 21-year-old student)
Many informants have had direct interactions with Malaysians, either with those
who came to study in Aceh universities or with those they have met when traveling
to the other side of the Malaccan Strait. These personal interactions with Malaysians
in addition to the cultural and historical affinities prevent the formation of negative
preconceptions about Malaysians and so, all participants do not perceive Malaysia as
Aceh’s enemy. Note that this disinterest in the Indonesia-Malaysia dispute is slightly
different from how it is perceived in Kupang. Whereas the young people in Kupang
see this as an issue between Malaysia and the ethnic groups from which they have
claimed cultural artefacts, those in Aceh seem to gravitate to take Malaysia’s side.
6.3 The Outward Gaze: Aceh and the World 123
Despite the confidence in Aceh’s reputation and ability to interact internationally,

religion remains a strong boundary. Although most interviewees describe themselves
as tolerant of religious differences, this is not an unconditional attitude. They often
express how Aceh people will welcome foreigners as long as they do not threaten
the religious integrity of Aceh. Sensitivity regarding the latter is expressed in the
following excerpt from the interview with Nana.
Some people think that….after the tsunami, things in Aceh, especially Banda Aceh has
gone downhill because of foreign influences…They did not only bring aid but also bad
influences…Thus in one case, the books distributed to elementary school children had the
sign of a cross (seen as a symbol for the Christian crucifix) at the back. Also in the food
packages, (and also), many crosses were printed in the colouring books for children.
(Nana, 20-year-old student).
Overall, the participants seem to be more welcoming toward people from Muslim
countries, like Malaysia and Turkey, and are more wary of countries with a predom-
inantly Christian population. Once a group of foreigners is perceived as a threat to
Aceh’s religious integrity, they will be considered as invaders. As Kingsbury noted,
people in Aceh has the “…tradition of accepting outsiders as friends but fighting
them as invaders” (Kingsbury, 2006).
6.4 Summary and Conclusion
This chapter concentrates on the imagining of Indonesia in Banda Aceh, a society that
has challenged its integration into Indonesia since the early years of independence.
In 2010, only five years have passed since the peace agreement. Given the region’s
historical background, it was not unexpected that Aceh and Indonesia are imagined as
two politically, culturally, and historically distinct entities. Equally unsurprising,
Aceh -and not Indonesia- often is the foreground in the responses elicited: comments
on Indonesia are overshadowed by lengthier explanations of how the photographs
relate or do not relate to Aceh. To the youth of Banda Aceh, their chief interest is in
Aceh’s current and future well-being.
This prioritization of Aceh’s interests leads to two diverging imaginations of
Indonesia. In the first imagining, what I call the “Indonesia as antagonism”, the
country is portrayed as an antagonistic force that stands in the way of the fulfillment
of Aceh’s “real” destiny as a glorious, sovereign entity. The conflict is imagined as
unfolding between two fundamentally and essentially oppositional sides that negate
each other. While for the youth of Aceh, their region is the victimized party, Indonesia
is cast as treacherous and repressive. Within this imagining, the peace hides the latent
conflict, an idea that could foretell potential difficulties in the future. In the imagining
of Indonesia as antagonism, interregional inequality and injustices are absolutely
unacceptable.
The second construction imagines Indonesia as a compromise that is necessary in
order for Aceh to progress. Reconciliation with Indonesia is perceived to be a better
and more realistic option. Welfare will result not from the fight for independence
but from continuing to remain integrated in Indonesia. A pragmatic approach to
nationhood can be detected here, akin to what is also present in Kupang, although
in Kupang, the benefit pursued is at the individual or the familial, and not regional
level. This narrative agrees with articulations of Indonesian nationhood and implicitly
consents to interregional inequality. Whereas the narrative of antagonism takes a
more romantic/idealistic approach, the narrative of compromise is more pragmatic,
perceiving continuing integration with Indonesia as instrumental to Aceh’s progress.
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Chapter 7
Heterogeneous Constructions
of the Nation: Theoretical and Practical
Implications
Abstract The concluding chapter provides a comparative analysis of the imagin-

ings of Indonesia in Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh and shows the various patterns
that have surfaced in the interviews. Furthermore, it identifies the contributions of
this book to the field of nation studies, particularly regarding the way the nation as
a community is imagined by its members. Three points are highlighted that assert
the complex heterogeneity of the imagined community. These are, the importance to
take into account positionality and situatedness in the imagining of the nation, the
roles of multiple modes of Otherness, and the proposal to understand the construc-
tion of the nation as a “regularity in dispersion”. This latter notion accommodates
heterogeneity but continues to acknowledge that there is sufficient “regularity” to
make the nation function as a collectivity. The chapter concludes with discussions
of what the results of the study mean for Indonesia’s nation-building, the events that
unfolded after the end of the study that are relevant to the construction of heteroge-
neous imaginings of Indonesia, and the contemporary condition of the three research
sites.
Keywords Heterogeneous nationhood · Indonesian nationhood · Non-elite

nationhood · Multiple others · Regularity in dispersion
Through this book, I have called for the need to complement the existing body of
scholarship on nationhood with a much better understanding of how the nation is
perceived and experienced “from below”. The dominant theories in nation studies,
as well as the trend in research on the course of Indonesian nation-building generally
use a macro-perspective or take the point of view of the elite groups, and very often,
this results in homogeneous conceptualizations of the nation. Taking a different
stance, this work is positioned within the growing body of work that looks at
the production, perceptions, and experiences of the nation “from below”. This
scholarship is dominated by two perspectives: the first one is in line with Billig’s
notion of banal nationalism (1995) that aims to understand how national discourses
are reproduced in the daily life, and the second one is aligned to the concept of
everyday nationhood that focuses on how the ordinary people “creates” the nation
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8_7
128 7 Heterogeneous Constructions of the Nation …
in their daily practices. This book shares similarities with both approaches although
it cannot be fully categorized into either one of them. It is based on interviews that
aim to elicit conversations that are as close as possible to daily talk (thus similar to
the approach of everyday nationhood) and identifies presence or absence of the state
discourses within these conversations (somewhat similar to banal nationalism).
There are three criticisms directed at the current state of scholarship in banal and
everyday nationhood. The first is that in both constructs, the nation is still approached
and analyzed as a singular construction. Studies of the nation from below show
“…the tendency… to look at the material and performative reproduction of a stable
and monocultural nation (Hearn & Antonsich, 2018 p. 600). There is inadequate
engagement with the plurality of the imagining of the nation. The second limitation
is that the majority of research looks at the Western or post-Communist contexts
(Knott, 2015). The third limitation is the lack of elaboration on the connections
between the agency and the larger structure: while banal nationalism overly stresses
structure over agency (Knott, 2015), everyday nationhood puts more importance on
agency without putting it in the larger societal context (Hearn & Antonsich, 2018).
The book addresses these three concerns. The first and the second concerns are
addressed as this book specifically highlights and dissects the heterogeneity of the
imagining of the nation from below in a non-Western country. The fact that Indonesia
is a postcolonial country, or, to use Anderson’s term, a last wave nation, means that
the idea of the nation was introduced by a small group of the intelligentsia to the
rest of the colonial subjects who inhabit the geographical and political territory of
the former colonial rule. Fundamental questions like who is and is not an Indonesian
or what Indonesia is or should be are things that continue to be debated in the
daily life of the ordinary young people. Addressing the third concern about the
connection between the agency and structure, using the perspective of standpoint
theory, the similarities and the differences in the imaginings are attributed to the
positionality of the subject in the power configuration. While acknowledging that
there is a plethora of intersectioning positions that are at play (e.g., in regards to
stratification based on gender, religion, or age), the book’s main concern is with the
positionality that is attached to one’s city of residence in the context of Indonesia,
that is, whether it is at the center or the peripheries. To explore the imaginings of the
country as constructed in the different positionalities, photo-elicitation interviews
were conducted with “ordinary”, non-elite youth in three cities in Indonesia: Jakarta,
Kupang, and Banda Aceh. These three cities represent different positions in the power
constellation of Indonesia, i.e., the center (Jakarta) and the peripheries (Kupang and
Banda Aceh).
This closing chapter provides an overview of the various imaginings of Indonesia
in the three cities, including the various patterns in the heterogeneous imaginings
of Indonesia. It highlights three theoretical implications. These are the need to take
into account multiple modes of Otherness, the multiple positionalities that shape the
construction of the nation (thus not merely a binary “from above” or “from below”),
and a proposal to regard the construction of the nation as a regularity in dispersion.
The chapter closes with a brief exploration of the more recent developments in
7 Heterogeneous Constructions of the Nation … 129
Indonesia, particularly in terms of the shifts in the majority-minority relations and

what they could mean for the way “Indonesia” is constructed by its people.
7.1 Plural Imaginings from Below: The Center

and the Peripheries
Being an empty signifier, “Indonesia” means different things for the young people
in Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh. Comparing the imaginings from the three
sites, the construction of “Indonesia” among the participants in Jakarta is the closest
reproduction of the dominant, official discourse of the country than the constructions
in the two other cities. For the youth of Jakarta, Indonesia is a stable and coherent
entity to which they unquestionably belong. Nationalism has been on the rise in the
reform era, and this was very palpable among the youth in Jakarta. The inward gaze
in Jakarta is very myopic and highly centralized. This is not to say that the youth fail
to perceive differences, diversity, and inequality among the country’s population, but
these differences are trivialized, normalized, and negated, hence resulting in a clear
and coherent chain of equivalence. Thus, closely reproducing the official discourse
of Bhinneka Tunggal Ika (Unity in Diversity), “diversity” is mainly understood in the
context of ethnic groups and their respective cultural icons like dances and songs.
Importantly, for the youth in Jakarta as well as in the official discourse, all these
icons are considered to be national possessions that are also commodities in the
global tourism industry. The perception that culture is located in the realm of the
nation is something that is not shared by the youth in Kupang and Banda Aceh. To
them, culture is more than just the songs and the dances, but also encompasses the
moral universe as well as the daily practices and is located at the sub-national level.
From Jakarta, the economic and political inequalities between the regions in
Indonesia are less visible. Of course, the youth are aware that most other regions
are not as developed as Jakarta. Very often, the participants in Jakarta remarked that
there is “nothing” in the regions, referring to the fewer public facilities and entertain-
ment attractions. However, this disparity is attributed to the “inherent” differences
in people’s productivity and work-ethos. Along with the belittling attitude toward
the people in the regions, there is a sense that people at the center is responsible
for their well-being because they know better about what is best for the regions and
can envision how the regions should be. In short, there is a patronizing tendency
toward the regions. Critical episodes in the course of Indonesian history that might
undermine the very legitimacy of the nation-state, like East Timor’s separation, are
overlooked and forgotten.
In Kupang, it is harder to state clearly what Indonesia is than in the two other
cities. It is not a nation that is united by a shared language or culture or formed by
opposition to another entity. Indonesia is experienced as clusters of very diverse
groups; each group inhabiting their own cultural universe that does not necessarily
correspond or agree with that of the other groups. This cultural universe is compre-
hensive and dictates the daily practices and habits as well as the moral orientation
of the group. The celebratory forms of culture that are propagated in the national
discourse and reproduced in the narratives in Jakarta are just one part of how culture
is understood in Kupang.
In Kupang, similar to in the two other cities, Indonesia is also not imagined as
a community of equal brotherhood. The youth in Kupang are poignantly aware that
people in other regions are not familiar with Kupang and NTT, and that places like
Jakarta, Central Java, or Bali have a higher status, while Papua is ranked lower than
Kupang or NTT. This is not a hierarchy they fully accept, but the rejection is not as
strong as in Banda Aceh.
Whereas for the youth in Jakarta, the regions are imagined to be economically
dependent on the central government, what we can obtain from the narratives elicited
in Kupang is how this relationship is experienced from the vantage point of the
periphery. To a certain extent, the people in Kupang continue to have some agency
within their dependency on the center. For instance, activities of civic participation
that are part of their belongingness to the nation are perceived as opportunities to
obtain material goods for themselves or their families. This means voting for candi-
dates who are members of their extended family in the hope that the candidates’ win
would benefit them personally in the long run, or negotiating with candidates for
direct material goods in exchange for votes. Similarly, a career in the civil service
remains attractive to many for the long-term financial security (and relatively low
work pressure) that it provides. Demonstrations are also perceived as sensible only if
there are financial benefits to it (i.e., if they are being paid to hold the protests). I cate-
gorize these as instances of agency because, indirectly, these are ways to redistribute
financial or political capitals from the centers of power to the peripheries. Thus,
instead of turning away from Indonesia and be apathetic on all matters related to the
country, or turning against the national government in Jakarta, the young people in
Kupang continue to find ways to assert some agency, regardless of their disadvan-
taged position, by exploiting their kin relations and the weaknesses of the Indonesian
democratic system. This is how they differ from their neighbors in East Timor (and
in Aceh), who demanded independence. In fact, for many of the participants in
Kupang, East Timor’s secession was not the best course of action because they were
inadequately prepared for independence. Like in Jakarta, the youth in Kupang did
not discuss human rights violations as a possible factor for East Timor’s separation.
What is then identifiable from Kupang is that although the imagining of Indonesia
itself is not as sharply defined as in Jakarta or Aceh, the mode of belongingness to
the country is instrumental in nature; they belong to the national community in order
to economically survive, and in the hope of eventually prospering. In a way, this is
complementary to the narratives of the dependent region common among the partic-
ipants in Jakarta. In other words, although the people in Kupang are marginalized
in terms of ethnicity and religion, they have strategies in place that would still not
render them completely powerless.
7.1 Plural Imaginings from Below: The Center and the Peripheries 131
The imagining of Indonesia among the participants in Banda Aceh deviates

farthest away from the official imagining of the country. Most of the imagined char-
acteristics of Indonesia that have been taken for granted by the participants in Jakarta
are questioned in Banda Aceh. This includes the country’s legitimacy, its geograph-
ical boundaries, the slogan “unity in diversity”, the empires Majapahit and Srivijaya
as the nation’s myths of origin, as well as the relation between the regions. The quote
at the opening of this book from a conversation with Nana, that questions the extent
to which the metaphor “Sabang and Merauke” is reflected in reality, is an apt example
of the attitude toward Indonesia in Banda Aceh.
In comparison to the imaginings in Kupang and Jakarta, the participants in Banda
Aceh see Aceh and Indonesia as two distinct entities. Thus, the fact that Aceh is a part
of Indonesia is not a taken-for-granted notion. This is not surprising, as the majority
of the participants experienced firsthand the conflict between Indonesia and Aceh. In
fact, Indonesia is often perceived as the Other that negated Aceh’s sovereignty and
thus stands in the way of Aceh’s fulfillment of its great destiny. This is the narrative
that is used to imagine the historical course of the relationship between Aceh and
Indonesia. Among the participants in Aceh, “Indonesia” is often discussed as a single
entity, and the term is interchangeable with “Java” or “Jakarta", this is thus different
from the imagining in Kupang where “Indonesia” itself is experienced as consisting
of different groups and regions, or from Jakarta where “Indonesia” is also a singular
entity but is not perceived as antagonistic.
In current-day Aceh, this imagining of Indonesia leads to two different attitudes
regarding Aceh’s continuing integration with Indonesia. In Chap. 6, I called them
the narrative of “Indonesia as a compromise” and “Indonesia as the antagonistic
Other” . The first attitude sees the stable condition brought about by the peace agree-
ment as an essential prerequisite for Aceh’s progress. For this group of Acehnese
youth, it is better to remain with Indonesia because the stability will facilitate Aceh’s
development. Although Indonesia remains imagined as a separate entity than Aceh,
integration with Indonesia is regarded to be the best possible way to slowly work
toward the prosperity of their regions. On the other hand, “Indonesia as the antag-
onistic Other” argues that freedom and sovereignty are the keys to Aceh’s devel-
opment. Only by becoming an independent state could Aceh return to the golden
ages of the sultanate. The Acehnese youth who share this view also have a more
negative perception of Indonesia. To them, Indonesia is the antagonistic force. Both
attitudes prioritize Aceh’s progress and prosperity but diverge in the strategies of
how to achieve them.
Although the participants from Kupang and Banda Aceh are positioned at the
peripheries, they have diverging responses to the experience of systemic marginal-
ization. Even among the youth of Banda Aceh, we can find two different imaginings.
The imagining of “Indonesia as antagonistic Other” in Banda Aceh, where Indonesia
is perceived as the main opponent, is substantially different from all the other imagin-
ings, and its key points are almost in direct opposition to the imagining of Indonesia
from Jakarta. However, both imaginings tend to “romanticize” belongingness to the
nation, although for Jakarta, the nation is Indonesia whereas for the participants in
Aceh, what they consider to be their nation is Aceh. The imagining of “Indonesia
as a compromise” in Banda Aceh shares the same stance toward the nation with the
imagining of Indonesia in Kupang. In these imaginings, the belongingness is more
instrumental than romantic. Remaining with Indonesia, despite the inequality and
marginalization, is still better in the long run than having to build a new nation-state.
In Aceh, unlike in Kupang, the expected “benefits” are not for individuals and their
extended family members, but for Aceh as a whole. Thus, practices that see civic
acts as exchangeable for material goods are not prevalent among the participants in
Aceh, at least at the time of the research.
The differences of imaginings within the peripheries indicate that the center-
periphery division is not the only determinant in the construction of “Indonesia.”
Although the people in Kupang, as well as Aceh, experience structural inequality, a
host of other factors, like the historical trajectory and the diversity of ethno-cultural
groups within the region, their actual experiences of the state’s repressiveness, and
the influence of local power holders inform how Indonesia is imagined in the two
cities. Within Aceh itself, differing experiences of the conflict, or family background
might also inform the different stance on Aceh-Indonesia relation. The complexity
of all the factors that interplay makes the studying of the heterogeneity of the nation
all the more pertinent.
Indonesia’s complexity means that among the “ordinary” people, there is a diverse
range of perceptions, opinions, experiences, and meanings regarding what Indonesia
and being Indonesian is. Importantly, what this book does not argue is that these
imaginings that are presented here are static and unchangeable. Just as the standpoints
are fluid, moving in accordance with the larger context, so are the imaginings that
they generate. Had I gone to other regions and/or concentrated on other demographic
groups in the country, it is safe to assume that I would still encounter heterogeneous
conceptualizations of the nation. The main emphasis of this book is less in the
content of how Indonesia is imagined in Jakarta, Kupang, or Banda Aceh, than in
the exposition that the nation is imagined differently by different groups.
7.2 Multiple Modes of Otherness
One of the consequences of studying the heterogeneity of an imagined community is

that we have to take into account the heterogeneity of the constitutive Others that inad-
vertently surfaces. “Our” community is constructed through various types of relations
with those we imagine to be not quite part of “us”. As Yuval-Davis notes, “in identity
narratives that related to most daily situations, there were no such dichotomous divi-
sions between ‘us’ and ‘them’, and that people’s social worlds were of much more
complex natures, with a whole range of distinctions and relations between people,
from close identification and association, to total indifference, as well as rejection
and conflict (Yuval-Davis, 2010: 277).” In the imaginings of “Indonesia” in Jakarta,
Kupang, and Banda Aceh, it is possible to identify at least five modes of Otherness:
the internal and external antagonistic Other, the internal and external positive Other,
and the desirable Other.
7.2 Multiple Modes of Otherness 133
The antagonistic Other is the constitutive exterior that has been most comprehen-
sively dissected using the various terminologies of different fields, from philosophy,
literary studies, sociology, psychology, and indeed, nation studies. This is the Other
that provides the (imagined) contrast with which “we” define our “self”. In the words
of Laclau and Mouffe, the chain of equivalence requires the logic of difference to set
the boundaries of this chain by dictating who “we” are not. In this study, there have
been two clear-cut cases of the antagonistic Other. The first is Malaysia to the youth
in Jakarta, and the second is Indonesia to the youth in Banda Aceh who supports
Aceh’s independence. In both instances, the Other is perceived as an existential
threat to the imagined community with which the participants identify. Among the
youth in Jakarta, Malaysia is perceived as having falsely claimed Indonesian cultural
heritage and thus negated one of the most important characteristics of Indonesia,
i.e., as a nation that is culturally rich. For the youth in Banda Aceh, Indonesia’s
rule over Aceh hindered Aceh from fulfilling its grand destiny. In these narratives,
the presence of the antagonistic Other corresponds to the strength of the imagined
community (“Indonesia” in the case of Jakarta’s youth, and “Aceh” in the case of the
youth in Banda Aceh). The role of the antagonistic Other in the formation of both
imagined collectivities is more obvious when one compares them with the narratives
from Kupang. Among the youth in Kupang, there is no clear antagonistic Other, and
accordingly, the imagining of “Indonesia” is also less sharply defined.
Although both “Malaysia” as well as “Indonesia” are antagonistic Others, they are
not the same. Malaysia is another entity located outside the political unit, whereas,
regardless of what some of the Acehnese youth wished it could be, “Indonesia” is
not another entity that is separated from Aceh. This seemingly simple distinction
already calls for a framework that goes beyond the dichotomous “our” versus “their”
collectivity. In a study on Estonian national identity, Petersoo proposed a typology of
Others that encompasses those Others that are not necessarily perceived as a threat
nor are located outside the imagined community. Acknowledging the various roles
of the Others in the formation of national identity, he states that “…identities do not
have to be negative and mutually hostile, but they need to be perceived as different
and contributing to the crystallisation of a particular national identity in one way
or the other” (Petersoo, 2007). Petersoo then categorized the Other into positive
and negative internal Others (belonging to the same political unit) and positive and
negative external Others (belonging to a different political unit). Thus, Indonesia to
Banda Aceh is an internal antagonistic Other, because they are not separate political
units, and Malaysia to the people in Jakarta is an external antagonistic Other.
In the imaginings of Indonesia in the three sites, various non-antagonistic (or
“positive”, in Petersoo’s terms) internal Others can be identified. Positive internal
Others refers to a minority group within the same nation that is not considered to
be a threat by the majority, sometimes, they could even be treated as the metaphor
of the nation (Petersoo, 2007). In the narratives of the youth in Jakarta and Kupang,
Bali is an instance of this positive internal Other. Despite being a religious and ethnic
minority, Bali is perceived as a symbol of the country, and people generally have a
positive attitude toward the island. Another positive internal Other that is mentioned
in Jakarta and Kupang is Papua. It is an “Other” because at various points, the youth
in the two cities distinguish themselves from Papua. However, its position is much
more complicated than Bali. While Papua is not perceived to be a real threat to
Indonesia’s integrity or identity at the time of the research, it is considered a “lesser”
Other because of the perceived backwardness. By Othering Papua, a region within
Indonesia, the youth in Jakarta and Kupang imply that Indonesia is a stratified nation:
its members do not occupy the same status. Some, like themselves, have a higher
status, while others, like the Papuans, are lower ranked.
An example of a positive external Other can be found in the outward gaze of the
youth in Banda Aceh. As discussed in the previous chapter, the youth in Banda Aceh
is confident of Aceh’s relationship with other countries. Aceh became the center
of global attention after the tsunami, and various countries have joined forces to
re-build the region. Of course, as many participants have pointed out, this amica-
bility with the other countries is conditioned on the foreigners’ continuing respect
and non-interference with Aceh’s religious traditions. Should this change, then the
positive external Other would turn into the antagonistic external Other. Interestingly,
Aceh’s relationship to the international community is not imagined to be mediated
by Jakarta, and their international reputation is not attached to Indonesia’s reputa-
tion strengthening the idea that Aceh should or could be an independent country,
this is especially the case in the narrative of “Indonesia as an antagonistic Other”.
This shows that different modes of Otherness can converge to solidify the imagined
community. In the case of the narrative of “Indonesia as antagonism” in Aceh, the
positive external Other (the international community) and the antagonistic Other
(Indonesia) align and create a stronger vision of an independent Aceh with its own
international reputation that is not dependent on Indonesia’s.
The final “Other” that can be identified in this book is the international world for
the youth in Jakarta. In Petersoo’s framework, this would have been categorized as
the positive external Other because the participants look up to the other countries, for
example, of how a nation should be. The examples of the positive external Other he
provided relates to the sense of admiration among the nationalist of Estonia toward
Finland, and moreover, a mutual sense of affinity with the Scandinavian country
(Petersoo, 2007). In the case of Jakarta, the admiration is not perceived to be mutual.
On the contrary, what appears stronger is not the modeling on the other countries, but
the reflection of Indonesia one sees when failing to meet the standards shown by these
role models. These reflections depict an Indonesia that is underperforming and/or
inherently inferior. I call this the “desirable Other” to mark not only the desirability
of the Other, but also to highlight a sense of lack that is created by this desire. Thus,
although national identity is often thought to positively correlate with nationalism,
and pride in one’s nation, this relation is not straightforward among the youth in
Jakarta.
This negative image of “our” community because of the imagined Other has
not been sufficiently explored in the dominant theories of nation studies. This is
probably an effect of the disproportionate focus on Western countries, as previously
mentioned. A look at postcolonial nation studies, however, reveal that this sense of
7.2 Multiple Modes of Otherness 135
lack is common among the postcolonial nations. The postcolonial nation, as theorized
by Anderson, models the imperial nations. Coming later into existence, the ideal
imaginings of how a nation should be are based on what is already in existence, i.e.,
the Western nations. This modular imagining of the nation is what is implied in the
outward gaze of the youth in Jakarta. As Chatterjee states, “If nationalism in the
rest of the world have to choose their imagined community from certain ‘modular’
forms already made available to them by Europe and the Americas, what do they
have left to imagine?” (1993: 5). Chatterjee’s question was more rhetorical, based on
a disagreement with Anderson. Using the case of Bengal, he went on to argue that
the “inner domain” (e.g., art forms, esthetic conventions, schooling as well as the
family) was left untouched by Western nationalism. However, this “inner domain”
is not readily perceivable in the narratives of the youth in Jakarta, and the answer
to Chatterjee’s question is that they are left with the imagining of a country that is
constantly behind other nations.
7.3 Multiple Centers, Plural Dominant Discourses
While this book clearly shows the plurality of the non-elite imaginings of Indonesia,
it is important to acknowledge that these “everyday” imaginings are not discon-
nected from the elite discourse of Indonesia. These different imaginings from below
are instances of “situated knowledge” (Haraway, 1991) and “situated imagination”
(Stoetzler & Yuval-Davis, 2002) and are heavily determined and informed by the
socio-political conditions wherein the subjects are located. One of the influential
factors that make up the socio-political condition is the dominant local discourses of
Indonesia produced mainly by the local elites. These are the discourses of Indonesia
that are not produced in the center by the government, but are produced and circu-
lated within a particular locality. These are not quite “from below” because the agents
that mostly contribute to the discourse hold substantial power and are hence local
elites, e.g., high-ranked regional officials, local religious leaders and media figures,
or members of esteemed families. There is a need to recognize, especially in nation
studies, that in real life, power distribution does not fall neatly into two dichotomous
and oppositional categories. There are in-between agents and forces at play in the
construction of the nation.
Instead of understanding the construction of the nation as being generated at the
“top” or “from below”, the case of Indonesia suggests that the reality is much more
complicated, and that the mid-level dynamics play an important part in shaping the
youth’s conceptualization of the country. Thus, for instance, the instrumental sense
of belongingness to the nation that is common among youth in Kupang is embedded
in the neopatrimonial practices in local politics that seeps into their daily life through
their family. In Aceh, the strong antagonistic sentiments against Indonesia that are
found among some young people are informed by the larger conflict narrative that
stabilizes the mutual antagonism between Aceh and Indonesia, a narrative that is
produced and circulated by the parties involved in the conflict, policymakers, as well
as humanitarian workers (Drexler, 2007). To add to the complexity of power distri-

bution, although the participants in Aceh perceive themselves as being marginalized
and victimized by the center, what is less perceivable in their narratives is that Banda
Aceh itself is the regional center for people from the inland areas, who do not iden-
tify themselves as part of the Acehnese ethnic group but who were subsumed (in
national as well as in Aceh discourse) under the category “Acehnese”.1 In short,
in the context of Indonesia, it is even more important to acknowledge the power of
the local elites. One of the consequences of decentralization was the shifts in power
distribution, whereby more authority has moved to the regency level (Haug, Rossler,
& Grumblies, 2017). It is beyond the scope of the book to discuss in greater detail
the dynamics of the confluences of these dominant local discourses and the non-elite
constructions of the nation.
The call to study the nation from below is based on the presumption that there are
two main locations where the nation is constructed; that is at the top by the elite groups
and the state institutions, and at the bottom by the “everyday people” in their daily
practices. However, in reality, the positions from which the discourse is constructed
are not just these two opposing positions, as the local dynamics and the local elites
play significant roles in the heterogeneity of the imaginings of Indonesia. To continue
to assume that it would be otherwise, is to simplify the various positionalities from
which the nation is constructed.
7.4 The Nation as “Regularity in Dispersion”
As it has been shown repeatedly throughout this book, “Indonesia” is an empty signi-
fier that means different things to different people. Yet, to argue that the imaginings
are radically disparate to the extent that there are no common points on which to build
a “functioning” nation does not reflect the empirical truth. Despite the variations in
the imaginings of Indonesia, the vast majority of citizens are aware of their legal
belongingness to the nation and know that Indonesia is not any of the other nations;
no one interpreted the Indonesian flag-raising ceremony as the ceremony of another
country, and for all participants, it was evident that the general election we were
discussing was the Indonesian election. There has been a “functioning” collective
imagining of Indonesia for the past seventy years that will continue to exist in the
foreseeable future. How are we to understand this heterogeneous and yet functioning
imagining of Indonesia?
I would suggest that the imagining of the nation is similar to what Laclau and
Mouffe have identified with the Foucauldian term “regularity in dispersion”. To quote
their definition at length, regularity in dispersion is “…an ensemble of differential
positions. This ensemble is not the expression of any underlying principle external of
itself…. but it constitutes a configuration, which in certain context of exteriority can
1 The two largest ethnic minorities are the Gayo and the Alas. They have episodically asked the
central government permission to separate from Aceh and form their own province.
7.4 The Nation as “Regularity in Dispersion” 137
be signified as a totality” (Laclau & Mouffe, 2001 p. 106) (italics in original). The
unity of a discourse—in our case that of “Indonesia”—cannot be recognized based
on the reference to the same object or theme, shared style in producing statements or
consistency of concepts (Laclau & Mouffe, 2001 p. 105), but to a certain “regularity”
that can only be perceived in the context of a contrastive exterior, or in other words,
an outside that is perceived to be different from “us”.
This regularity is made up from several identifiable patterns. The first one is
the obvious acknowledgment of the collectivity named “Indonesia” that is distinct
from other nations. To illustrate, not a single one of the interviewees saw Malaysia
and Indonesia as one nation or failed to mentally perceive the boundary between
Indonesia with any other country, including East Timor. All these other nations serve
as the contrastive exterior. Of course, there are differences regarding the saliency
and the content of this contrastive exterior in constructing the idea of “Indonesia”, as
indicated in the variations of the outward gaze from the vantage points of the youth
in the three different research sites. Although the experiences of the youth in Jakarta,
Kupang, and Banda Aceh regarding the international world and Indonesia’s relation
to the international community vary enormously, they all imagine Indonesia to be
one definite nation that is not any other nation. In other words, Indonesia’s existence
is no longer questioned.
The second pattern tells us what kind of nation is imagined by the youth. Indonesia
is imagined as a diverse and stratified country in the three research sites. The ethno-
cultural, linguistic, and religious diversity of the country is well-emphasized in the
narratives of the participants. Yet, they are also aware that acknowledgment of diver-
sity does not automatically mean that all groups are treated equally. All participants
imagine Indonesia as a hierarchical society. The youth in Jakarta are aware that
they are at the center of the country and know that there is inequality between the
different regions. Those in Kupang know that they inhabit a peripheral position in the
country, and are relatively resigned to this fact. The youth in Aceh are aware of their
peripheral position, but express stronger resistance to it. All participants perceive
the presence of a hierarchy between regions, and no one proposed otherwise. More-
over, the participants in the three sites have the same expectation that the center
should be responsible for the welfare of the other regions. In Jakarta, this responsi-
bility is aligned with the sense of being superior and knowing better what is best for
the regions. In Kupang, there are practices that aim to exploit as much as possible
this dependent relationship on the center, including by vote-buying. In Banda Aceh,
the dependency is rejected in the “Indonesia as an antagonistic Other” narrative
but is accepted in the “Indonesia as a compromise” narrative. Without arguing that
this inequality is unproblematic (see more below), it is the one characteristic of the
nation that is “visible” to all informants. Thus, despite the diverging perceptions of
Indonesia, there is some sort of common pattern of ideas, a “regularity”, found in all
the three sites.
By understanding the construction of the nation as a regularity in dispersion, it
becomes possible to take into account the heterogeneous imaginings while acknowl-
edging that in certain contexts, there are sufficient similarities that make the nation
“function”. In the context of Indonesia, this is the acknowledgement that Indonesia
exists, and the shared imagining of the center-periphery relations between the regions.
It needs to be emphasized, however, that the two main themes that are shared across
the research sites are not exhaustive. These patterns are only those that emerged in
the context of this research, that is, those that were perceived by the participants to
be somewhat relatable or connected to the photographs that were used as prompts
during the interviews.
7.5 A Post-script: The Future of Indonesia as a Common

Project?
Anderson reminded us in his public lecture on Indonesian nationalism in 1999, not

long after he was allowed to enter the country again, that Indonesia is a “common
project” that is ongoing and could only be completed only if it is inclusive enough and
bravely faces the complexity and diversity of the people. As he described, during the
New Order, the state has treated regions like Aceh and Papua more as “possessions”
of Indonesia, seemingly almost regretting that these regions are inhabited by the
Acehnese and the Papuans. This attitude jeopardizes the integrity of the nation.
To continue the common project, as Anderson stated, it is imperative that these
regions are given genuine autonomy, and in his view, federalism was one of the
most obvious solutions. In 2009–2010, when the interviews were conducted, not
federalism but decentralization has been in place for a decade. It ensures that the
regions have substantially more autonomy than during the New Order. However,
what the imaginings in the three sites suggest is that the complexity and diversity
have not yet been fully acknowledged, let alone accommodated. As the previous
section has shown, one of the shared imaginings of Indonesia is that it is an unequal
nation. In other words, after a short ten years, the sense that Indonesia is a “common
project” that is yet to be completed remains.
If this is the case, then what happens in the following decade? And how might these
developments be responsible for the continuation and discontinuation in the power
distribution in Indonesia? How do these shifts inform the imaginings of Indonesia?
This closing section provides an overview of the developments in the second decade
of the reform period.
One of the most significant developments has been Joko Widodo’s meteoric rise to
the highest office of the nation in 2014. Unlike the previous presidential figures, Joko
Widodo’s background is neither from the military nor from longstanding political
dynasties. Coming from a local business family in Solo, Joko Widodo became the
mayor of the Central Javanese city in 2005 and was reelected in 2010. In 2012,
supported by the powerful Indonesian Democratic Party (PDI), he ran and won the
governorship of Jakarta. Two years later, he was a presidential candidate and was up
against an old-timer in the Indonesian politics, Prabowo Subianto, a former general
and son of a former minister during the Sukarno administration. His win was a
watershed moment. Joko Widodo provides a type of leadership that was unheard
previously. Known for his habit to do unannounced visits to poor and problematic
7.5 A Post-script: The Future of Indonesia as a Common Project? 139
areas or to governmental departments, he was perceived as “consultative, caring and

humble”, as part of “the people” (Tapsell, 2015)
Unlike his predecessors who used grand ceremonial gestures as signs of their
leadership, Joko Widodo’s administration has been much more hands-on and focused
on productivity.2 From the very beginning, Widodo’s presidential candidacy ran on
nine agendas (called the “Nawa Cita3 ”), one of which was “to build the nation
from the peripheries”. This was his strategy to reduce inequality between the center
and the periphery. Once Widodo assumed power, Nawa Cita was integrated into
Indonesia’s medium-term national development plan (RPJMN). Although the areas
of development are many, including education (7,000 teachers were sent to 114
schools most of which are located in the border regions in Widodo’s first two years),
the focus is still on infrastructure, especially related to transport (Kominfo, n.a.).
During Joko Widodo’s first year, it seems Indonesia was on its way toward the
reduction of inequality.
However, several years later, it became clear that Indonesia as a common project
would continue to be challenged by various boundaries of exclusion. Despite the
administration’s efforts to physically develop the peripheries and decrease the gap
with the center, other fissures widened. In line with the global current, identity poli-
tics has raised its ugly head in Indonesia. Hadiz marked 2017 as “year of democratic
setbacks” (2017). This was the point where the initial optimism in Widodo’s adminis-
tration radically shifted gear and turned into skepticism, if not altogether pessimism.
The Jakarta gubernatorial election was highly divisive. It is marked by many scholars
as Indonesia’s point of democratic regression (Hadiz, 2017; Power, 2018; Mietzner
& Muhtadi, 2019).
In 2017, the Chinese Christian Basuki Tjahaja Purnama (popularly known by his
Hakka nickname, Ahok) ran for the governorship. He was Widodo’s vice-governor in
2012 and ascended to governorship in 2014 after Widodo became president. Like Joko
Widodo, he was known for his pragmatic approach and anti-corruption measures.
Although Ahok seemed to be unbeatable, in a farcical turn of events, Ahok was
2 The yearly slogans for Indonesia’s national day are telling of his focus on productivity, and of the
media-savviness of his team. During Widodo’s administration from 2015 to 2017, the slogans were,
respectively, “Let’s Work!”, “Real Work”, and “Work Together”. In 2018, it was “Our Work, the
Nation’s Accomplishments”. These catchy slogans are very different from the lengthy multi-level
sentences of the previous years that are not memorable, and also comes across as too convoluted,
hence less genuine. As an example, the slogan for 2009 was “In the spirit of the 1945 proclamation
of independence, we will increase our maturity in the political and democratic lives and increase the
pace of the national economy toward a united, safe, just, democratic, and prosperous Indonesia.”
3 Widodo might have a different leadership style, but like his predecessors, he also likes to title
programs with Sanskrit-rooted terms to reflect additional authority. As it has been discussed in
Chap. 2, this habit of Indonesia’s presidents imply a continuing privileging of the cultures within
Indonesia that were the most influenced by India (e.g., Java and Bali) over the cultures that were
influenced by other parts of the world (e.g., Melanesian cultures in Papua, or Malay culture in
Sumatera).
accused of blasphemy.4 The anti-Ahok movement grew rapidly, driven by conserva-

tive Islamist groups that are politically backed by Prabowo Subianto. In December
2016, hundred thousands of people attended an anti-Ahok demonstration in Jakarta.
The controversy was not only felt in Jakarta. Across the archipelago, people were
divided over Ahok’s run for governor, either because they considered he offended
Islam, or that Muslims should not have a non-Muslim leader, or both reasons together.
Banda Aceh and Kupang stood in direct opposition. In Aceh, like in all provinces
where the vast majority of the people are Muslims, people were overwhelmingly
against Ahok. On the contrary, in NTT, like most provinces where the majority are
not Muslims (like Bali, and Papua) people were predominantly supportive of his
candidacy (Nugroho, 2018). In the end, Ahok not only lost the election to Anies
Baswedan and his vice-governor Sandiaga Uno, but was also imprisoned for blas-
phemy. This episode in the Indonesian history is symptomatic of the mainstreaming
of conservative Islam (Hadiz, 2017), and growing religious intolerance (Mietzner &
Muhtadi, 2019). Mietzner and Muhtadi’s analysis shows that after the gubernatorial
election, about a third of Muslims harbor strong intolerant views toward non-Muslims
and the Chinese (2019). However, as mutual antagonistic relations go, an increase
in religious identity politics is also clearly detectable in Christian-majority regions,
like East Nusa Tenggara (Tolo, 2019).
The same pattern of contestation unfolded in the presidential election in 2019.
Widodo once again ran against Prabowo. The former represented the nationalist
camp, while the latter used the Islamist ticket. Widodo won 55.5% of the votes,
leaving Prabowo with 44.5%. Overall, the votes in the presidential election are
divided based on religion (Islam versus non-Islam) and ethnicity (Javanese versus
non-Javanese), a pattern that is reminiscent of the 1955 election (discussed in Chap. 2)
that drew lines between the syncretic Javanese and non-Muslims (supporting PKI,
PNI, and NU) versus the non-Javanese Muslims that mainly were in favor of Masjumi
(Aspinall, 2019). Almost twenty years after the reform started, the diverging views
of the role of religion and the state re-surfaced.
Joko Widodo’s response to this has been mixed, but all of them belie an under-
lying move toward authoritarianism. As Mietzner (2018) notes, he is fighting “illiber-
alism with illiberalism”. To counter Islamic conservatism, he has promoted a hyper-
nationalism that regard the Unitary State of Indonesia and Pancasila as absolute
and unchallengable5 (Hadiz, 2017). This discourse echoes the way the New Order
curbed alternative understandings of “Indonesia” by labeling them as subversive, a
forceful strategy of nation-building that made this study pertinent in the first place.
At the same time, Widodo strengthens his Islamic credentials by accommodating
to the more conservative and exclusive Islamic groups (Power, 2018), thus further
mainstreaming the anti-minority views (Mietzner & Muhtadi, 2019). An example
4 Ahok’s political chances rapidly diminished after a video surfaced of a work visit in Jakarta’s
Thousand Islands wherein he quipped that he understands if people would not vote for him because
they have been taught that it is against Islamic teaching to have a non-Muslim leader.
5 Some examples that were noted by Hadiz were the proposal from Home Affairs for the universities’
rectors to be appointed by the president to ensure radical Islamism does not grow in campuses and
the establishment of the Work Unit for the Cultivation of Pancasila.
7.5 A Post-script: The Future of Indonesia as a Common Project? 141
of this was his choice for the vice presidency, the cleric Ma’ruf Amin and leader
of the largest Muslim group (the Nahdatul Ulama) in Indonesia, who was also an
expert witness against Ahok in court. A fine-grained analysis of district-level elec-
toral results by Shofia and Pepinsky (2019) shows that having Ma’ruf Amin as his
running partner contributed significantly to Widodo’s win, mainly by eliminating the
disadvantage Widodo had in the 2014 election in very populous districts where the
Nahdatul Ulama has a strong presence. In a further move that shocked Widodo’s
supporters, he included Prabowo in his cabinet as the minister of defense.
Across all three cities, in 2020, the national political contestation between the
nationalist Joko Widodo and the more Islamist Prabowo Subianto has left its mark,
but manifests in different ways as they are embedded in local concerns. In Jakarta,
reflective of what is going on at the national level, the youth are firmly divided into two
camps that constantly hurl offenses at each other, mainly on online platforms. One
camp is supportive of Joko Widodo and the relatively moderate-Islamic nationalist
approach he espouses. The other is supportive of Prabowo and the more conservative
Islamic approach. The former camp continues to support Ahok, while the latter stands
behind Baswedan. Aligned to the national trend, there is also a rise in the use of
Islamic pious symbols in the everyday life of the youth, particularly through popular
culture. For instance, Islamic themes have been taken up in movies, tv serials, and
songs. Utomo et al. (2018) noted in her longitudinal study of young people in Jakarta,
that 25% of her participants wore veils in 2010, while 37% did in 2014. Embedded in
an imagining of Indonesia as a taken-for-granted and unquestionable entity, this rise
in Islamic piety is not a rejection of Indonesia as a nation-state inasmuch as it is an
particular vision of how the country should be (i.e., more Islamic). Furthermore, what
would then be interesting is to understand whether the rise in Islamic piety among the
youth in Jakarta means that the West is no longer the only Desirable Other, or that,
aside from modernity, rationality, orderliness as the desired conditions of a nation-
state, people are also considering the adoption of a state religion as a marker of the
ideal nation-state.
In East Nusa Tenggara, as mentioned earlier, people are overwhelmingly
supportive of Ahok and Widodo. In the presidential election of 2019, Widodo won
with an overwhelming 88.57%. People support him not only for religious reasons,
but also for the tangible development of NTT under his administration. Whereas in
2010, only one or two buildings required escalators and elevators (the experience
of using them is impressive enough that this was a discussion in one of the inter-
views), when I returned to the city in 2020, many high-rise four-star hotels and malls
have dotted the cityscape. The job options have become more varied; although the
civil service is still considered the most valuable career track, young people now
also consider working for banks or NGOs to be desirable options. A ridehailing
service has become available in Kupang, providing additional job opportunities for
its youth. In line with the findings presented in Chap. 5, the sense of belongingness
of the youth is pragmatic and instrumental, centered on material goods and financial
stability. Thus, this optimism driven by economic development might have offset any
discontent that might stem from the rise of Islamism in other parts of the country.
Among the three research sites, it is among the youth in Banda Aceh that the
largest changes seem to have taken place within this last decade. When I went back
in 2020, thus fifteen years after the signing of the peace agreement, the antagonistic
sentiment against Indonesia and the desire to be sovereign have subsided. Talking
to someone I interviewed in 2010, and who had wanted to have a more sovereign
Aceh at that time, she says that the discourse of Aceh’s independence is no longer
of real interest to the public. Within the past fifteen years, the Aceh Party has been
in power, and many of its members were former GAM activists. As she told me, the
high hopes that she initially had gradually waned when, over the years, she saw that
the party was too busy with in-fighting (cf. Al Mubarak, 2019), and how some of its
members were also engaged in corruption. Her disappointment in the Aceh Party is
shared with the larger public. In 2019, the party won 18 of 81 seats, a significant drop
from 2009 when they won 33 out of 69 seats. However, while the popularity of the
Aceh Party has decreased, it is still enough to politically support Prabowo in Aceh.
In regards to the presidential election, Prabowo overwhelmingly won the majority of
votes in 2014 (46.99%) and in 2019 (achieving a meteoric rise of 85.54%). His appeal
mainly lies in the Islamic symbols that he overtly uses. Widodo, on the other hand,
was attacked with narratives of not being Muslim enough, and of being affiliated to
the Indonesian communist party (Zuhra, 2019). Prabowo’s political domination over
Aceh, even as it is mediated by the Aceh Party, is astounding. He was one of the main
military figures who served in Aceh during the DOM period. Barter (2013) suggests
that the coalition might indicate how “…money and power dominates in Aceh’s
politics, rather than principles or ideology”, and how like in many places in Indonesia,
“patronage represents a centrifugal force keeping the country together”. While this
might explain the behavior of the former combatants who are now members of the
Aceh Party, we know very little why the “ordinary” people are willing to vote for
Prabowo. Does the main appeal of voting for Prabowo or his party lie in the material
gains that people could personally receive? Or are they influenced by the political
endorsement of respectful public figures? Or is it the religious appeal of Prabowo,
and the lack of apparent religiosity of Widodo, that could explain their votes? These
are some of the basic questions that should be answered in a more detailed study.
Recent developments have indicated that religion has become an important factor
in how Indonesia is imagined and envisioned. The logic of equivalence and of differ-
ence are drawn based on the division between the center and the periphery that is
now interweaved with the division between the majority and minority religion. In
2020, the imagining of Indonesia continues to be heterogeneous, and still too little
is understood on how the nation is perceived from the vantage point of "ordinary"
people.
References 143
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Appendix
Regional Responses to Individual
Photographs
This appendix contains brief descriptions of the main responses to the photographs
that were shown in the interviews in each city. The themes that were highlighted in
the main chapters are inferred from these responses. To reiterate, the research is not
about how youth think about certain objects or events that were shown during the
interviews, but more about how their responses to these events and objects indicate
how or whether they used the nation as the interpretative frame.
There was no fixed sequence to the showing of the photographs, although I
employed a common pattern: I started with a photo of something from the local
daily life that is familiar to the youth and asked them to tell me more about what it
portrays, especially in Banda Aceh and Kupang where they readily perceived me as
someone who is not from the region. Aside from this, the photographs of the two
beauty queens are always shown in sequence to facilitate comparison. This resulted
in lengthy and productive discussions. Photographs of students’ demonstrations,
Suharto, and the election were also shown in sequence to imitate the chronological
string of events and so facilitate remembering. As it turned out, most interviewees
did not draw connections between the photographs, chronological or otherwise.
Responses to photographs of the komodo
Jakarta
Komodo was strongly associated with the nation by the youth in Jakarta. They
sounded excited when responding to the photograph. The fact that a prehistoric
animal lives in Indonesia is seen as evidence of the nation’s uniqueness. There was
a sense of national ownership. In comparison with the responses in Kupang and
Banda Aceh, the interviewees in Jakarta showed more enthusiasm and were more
elaborative in their comments.
Kupang
People responded that Komodo is the symbol of the provincial government. Aware
of the newly found fame of Komodo (at the time of the interviews), they mentioned
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8
146 Appendix: Regional Responses to Individual Photographs
how it could potentially increase the income for East Nusa Tenggara from the tourism
industry. Yet, there were no discussions that put Komodo on the national plane, i.e.,
as something that belongs to the whole of Indonesia. People mentioned that they
are proud, but there is little excitement observable (one interviewee explicitly said
that most people in Kupang are not interested in Komodo). Many mentioned how
they have never seen a live one (despite the animal being the provincial symbol).
Komodo Islands, where the animal lives, is far from Kupang, and as one interviewee
mentioned, it is easier to reach Java than to go to Komodo Island.
Regarding the proposed move of ten species to Bali, people were aware of the
issue and most did not support the move. However, there were no cues of strong
emotional indignation about the move, and the interviewees also did not elaborate
further, suggesting that this is not an issue that they feel strongly about.
Aceh
The youth in Aceh mentioned that Komodo is an endangered animal from Indonesia,
but there was no sense of pride or ownership in their responses. The discussions were
often redirected toward Aceh, e.g., the unique objects that Aceh has, or the fact that
the animal does not live in Aceh.
Responses to the photographs of a print advertisement of a mobile provider
depicting Manchester United players wearing batik
Jakarta
Most interviewees lengthily talked about the cancelation and how it was unfortunate
for those who had bought tickets, the vendors who already had planned to profit from
the event, and of course, the provider itself. Many interviewees had acquaintances
and friends who were planning to watch the match.
Another theme that also emerged in the responses was Indonesia’s generally disap-
pointing football performance. According to them, had the match taken place, the
Indonesian team would have lost the game. In line with the tendency to criticize those
in power, they blamed mismanagement for the poor performance of the national team.
Batik, on the other hand, was perceived as a positive symbol of nationalism.
Interviewees felt a sense of unity when wearing batik, seeing that so many others
were wearing it too. To them, it is an expression of national ownership.
The terrorist attack was discussed as something factual that took place and with
which they disagreed with. There was no elaboration regarding the political or
religious aspects of the attack.
Kupang
Although the youth in Kupang have seen the ad, knew about the bomb attack
and the subsequent cancelation of the match, the distance between them and what
had happened made the string of events less relevant to them. Most interviewees
mentioned the SIM card brand and the fact that it does not provide coverage in East
Nusa Tenggara.
Appendix: Regional Responses to Individual Photographs 147
In a similar vein, and similar to what happened in Aceh, people did not discuss
batik as elaborately as in Jakarta. Some described how the people in NTT has started
to also wear batik. There was a sense that batik comes from “outside”, but there were
no indications of negative sentiments. Batik was not seen as the national symbol, but
one of the cultural expressions of Indonesia.
Aceh
Interviewees generally responded by describing the visual cues in the photos (thus
something in the vein of; these are football players wearing batik and that it is part
of an advertisement). Many then talk about the football star Cristiano Ronaldo (not
pictured) who had visited Aceh in the aftermath of the tsunami and taken care of
Martunis, an Acehnese boy who was wearing the jersey of the Portuguese team when
he was found alone on the beach 21 days after the tsunami.
Like in the interviews from Kupang, there was also less interest in batik among
the interviewees in Banda Aceh. People mentioned that it is the traditional wear for
“Indonesia”, but notably, they never use the third-person possessive pronoun “our”.
There were no stories of how people in Aceh also started to wear batik. The difference
in the level of interest and sense of ownership of batik with the interviewees in Jakarta
is palpable.
Unlike in the two other sites where people unequivocally saw the terrorist act as
negative, there was an interviewee from Aceh who suggested that the government
should reflect as to why these acts of rebellion still take place.
Responses to the photographs related to East Timor
Jakarta
The vast majority of the interviewees in Jakarta was not familiar with the history of
Indonesia and East Timor. They did not know why East Timor separated and was
unaware of state oppression and human rights abuses perpetrated in the region. In
2009, East Timor appeared in their daily life in the form of news/gossips about a
famous Indonesian artist who recently was remarried to a businessman from East
Timor, thus this was frequently mentioned in the interviews. Furthermore, the discus-
sion led to the separatist movements in other regions (Papua and Aceh were often
named). There were two main considerations that were often mentioned by the youth
in Jakarta to decide whether separation is acceptable or not. The first is whether the
local population would still want to be part of Indonesia or not, and the second one
is whether the region is valuable for Indonesia or not (in terms of natural or human
resources, but also politically). In the case of East Timor, the answer to both questions
is negative, thus there is no regret identifiable in their responses.
Kupang
Due to the proximity and the shared cultural features, the youth in Kupang feels
that they are “relatives”. The impact of the separation was mainly in the form of
the refugees who came to Kupang and lived in the refugee camps. The relationship
between the refugees and the locals is less than ideal and prone to friction.
The interviewees were critical of the decision to leave Indonesia because—

according to them—the post-independence condition in East Timoris worse than
when they were still part of the country. According to them, the main consideration
of whether to demand independence or not should be whether the region is ready,
economically, politically, and developmentally, to build a country on their own or
not. Issues related to freedom from oppression were not discussed.
Some interviewees mentioned that East Timor’s breakaway from Indonesia indi-
rectly benefited East Nusa Tenggara, because, at least according to them, the material
resources that used to secure East Timor were re-allocated to the development of East
Nusa Tenggara.
Aceh
The photograph of East Timor invariably generated responses that drew parallels
between East Timor and Aceh. Both regions have demanded independence. The
large reserve of natural resources in both regions do not benefit the local population
directly, and moreover, they are also marginalized by the central government. The
discussions veered toward elaborations of Aceh’s separatist demands from Indonesia,
including the historical reasoning behind it as well as their daily experiences during
the conflict period.
Even the interviewees who did not readily agree with Aceh’s independence
movement and did not hold strong negative sentiments toward Indonesia show
understanding of the abovementioned reasons for independence.
Responses to photograph of the Jakarta skyline
Jakarta
The interviewees elaborated on the problems of living in Jakarta, like traffic jams,
flooding, and pollution. When asked whether they would want to move elsewhere,
they were willing to visit other places, but tended not to want to permanently
move because they could not imagine what they would be doing in another part
of the country (e.g., “there’s nothing there”, especially in terms of entertainment and
family/friends).
Kupang
The photograph reminded them of what is not present in Kupang, i.e., relatively reli-
able availability of electric power, elevators, and high-rise buildings. Many remarked
that these buildings must be consuming too much energy, something that they frowned
upon knowing the energy crisis that is hitting Indonesia (or at least, experienced in
Kupang where blackouts happens almost daily). A number of informants thought
that the photograph is of Malaysia, and not Jakarta.
The discrepancy between Jakarta and Kupang was discussed but in a more factual
manner, there were no strong emotions detectible.
When asked, they answered that they would like to go to other regions like Bali,
not necessarily Jakarta. Some interviewees mentioned that Jakarta is a place to work
where people care less about each other in comparison to a place like Kupang.
Aceh
Like in Kupang, some interviewees thought that the picture depicts Malaysia and not
Jakarta. Here, people also mentioned the stereotypes of life in a big city: how people
work hard and are competitive, the lack of communal life, the detachment to nature,
and the immoral lifestyle. Other interviewees expressed the wish that Aceh’s skyline
would someday become like Jakarta too. For some, Aceh’s great past indicates its
inherent potential to become as developed as what the picture portrays.
Responses to photograph of the flag-raising ceremony
Jakarta
The ceremony was discussed on two different planes simultaneously: one was a repro-
duction of state nationalistic discourses, and one was more based on their personal
experience.
On the first plane, youth in Jakarta argued that the ceremony is necessary to
“instill nationalism”. Now that it’s no longer done weekly, they thought nationalism
was weakening too. Responses on this plane were jargon-heavy (e.g., “so that we
remember history”, “so that we know UUD and Pancasila”). Some interviewees
discussed whether the same kind of ceremony is done in other countries to nurture
nationalism.
On a personal plane, people shared impressions that deviate from what the state
intended to achieve through ceremonies, e.g., their dislike of having to stand under
the sun, instances of fellow students fainting from the heat, or incidences where the
flag was raised upside down. They also talked about what they like about it, e.g., how
it cuts down on class hours, being able to sing, and becoming the center of attention
if one is tasked with certain duties for the ceremony.
Kupang
Although the youth in Kupang also thought that flag-raising ceremonies are important
vehicles to build nationalism, there were more stories about their negative experiences
in comparison with Jakarta, revolving around the heat, the tiredness, and the fear of
being punished for making mistakes or for forgetting certain attributes (hats and ties
are compulsory).
There were mentions of the positive aspects of the ceremony (e.g., remembering
the forefathers, being able to memorize Pancasila and the 1945 Constitution), but
these were mentioned not as frequently as in Jakarta.
Aceh
The majority of the responses were about the dilemma of conducting the ceremony
during the conflict period. While the Indonesian military asked schools to do it
weekly, (GAM) would intimidate and punish headmasters/mistresses who conduct
ceremonies (e.g., by kidnapping them). Other items that stood out from the data in
Aceh: (1) people were more critical of ceremonies, wondering whether it is indeed
an effective means to instill nationalism, arguing that it seems forced and ineffective,
(2) more than in the two other cities, the interviews bring up the forced adherence
to the strict rules that were demanded, e.g., “we have to wear the hat, we must not
be late, we must wear the right attributes, we cannot be late, etc.” Aside from these
idiosyncrasies, there were also responses that were similar to those given in the two
other regions, like mentions of the heat, cutting classes, and pride when tasked with
something. These similarities mainly were discussed by individuals who did not live
in conflict areas, like Sabang
Responses to the photograph of Suharto
Jakarta
Almost all informants grappled with trying to decide whether Suharto is a good or
a bad man. Despite knowing that Suharto was corrupt and repressive, for the youth
in Jakarta, his positive attributes seemed to outweigh the negative ones: he is the
“father of the nation”, people were then more respectful of the government, he was
able to uphold security, and goods were cheaper during his rule. Moral digressions
were attributed to either his wife or his children.
Only two informants unambiguously disliked Suharto: one is the son of a PKI
member who was incarcerated for 14 years in Buru Island, and the other one is the
daughter of a Chinese confection owner whose business was burned and demolished
during the 1998 riots and whose family had to escape to China for a year before
returning and rebuilding their life.
Kupang
The interviewees in Kupang think positively of Suharto, often highlighting how
during his time society was more stable as he was more authoritarian than his succes-
sors, and people were hence more controlled. He was the “Father of (national) devel-
opment”, and interviewees remarked how fatherly he was. During his rule, there
were no demonstrations, chaos, or monetary crisis. Interviewees also thought that he
cared more about the poor, providing more subsidies.
Aceh
The photograph elicited mostly negative reactions in Aceh. Suharto is considered to
be corrupt, authoritarian, and is responsible for the killings of many people.
A smaller number of people, however, mentioned Suharto’s positive sides too
(e.g., Suharto as the father of the development who was able to enforce a strong
rule). Some recalled that the worse times for them were not when Suharto was in
power, but when Megawati became the president.
Responses to photograph of students on the roof of the parliament during the
1998 May demonstrations
Jakarta
Most interviewees recalled their personal experiences during the turbulent period.
At that time they were in their early teenage years. These experiences ranged from
being told by parents to stay inside, watching the riots unfold on television, being
suggested by neighbors to come with them to get things from the supermarkets,
to having their family business burned down, and eventually having to escape the
country for a period of time. Very few mentioned the larger socio-political contexts,
like the end of Suharto’s reign, why the students were upset, and the targeting of the
Chinese-Indonesians.
Kupang
Memories of 1998 student demonstrations were understandably vague among inter-
viewees in Kupang. Young people were largely unsympathetic toward demonstra-
tions (not about the 1998 ones in particular) because they feel that demonstrations
are not effective, and demonstrators tend to destruct property (e.g., burning cars).
Like in Jakarta, there was very little opinion on the New Order and reform period
that were elicited by this photograph.
Aceh
Unlike in the two other cities, the interviewees in Aceh immediately related the
photograph to the students’ demand for Suharto’s resignation. People were in favor
of the demonstration, they saw it as a struggle to end a corrupt regime. Some relate
the photograph to the SIRA actions in Aceh that demanded a referendum.
Responses to the photograph of a man holding an electoral ballot
Jakarta
People did not have preferences regarding political candidates. Many were suspicious
of politicians and were overwhelmed by a large number of candidates and parties
to select from. Some interviewees negatively compared the numerous parties in
Indonesia with the seemingly simple two-party political scenes in the US and the
UK. The visions of political parties/candidates did not come across very clearly to
the young people. Many followed the suggestions of their parents to decide on their
vote.
Kupang
Just like in Jakarta, people did not have clear preferences. Many listened to their
parents for advice on whom to vote for. Most parents advised them to vote for
(distant) family members as it would be beneficial for their own family. Practices of
asking material goods in return for votes were also introduced by the parents to their
offspring and were considered normal.
Aceh
The young people were more knowledgeable about politics here than in the two other
sites. This was indicated, for instance, by their comments on how they learned about
a candidate’s vision through his/her writing in the mass media, how there was no
free direct election under Suharto and during the conflict in Aceh, that politicians
are supposed to work for the greater good. Candidates and parties were weighed
in regards to their stance toward Aceh. Megawati, the daughter of Sukarno who
according to the public narrative “betrayed Aceh”, did not have many supporters in
Aceh.
Responses to the photograph of a mural of post-tsunami aid distribution
Jakarta
Interviewees reported fears of the tsunami happening to Jakarta. Some were reminded
of more current earthquakes, like the ones that hit Yogyakarta and Padang. The youth
in Jakarta framed the tsunami as something that happened in “Indonesia”, instead of
just in Aceh. In line with the tendency to perceive the Indonesian government and
other Indonesians negatively, the youth in Jakarta was also quick to point blaming
fingers to the Indonesian government for not having coordinated the aid distribution
process, or for being less responsive to the needs of the local people in comparison
to foreign aid donors. They also criticized the aid receivers depicted in the mural for
being too undisciplined to wait in line.
Kupang
The photo elicits responses of what is factually depicted in the picture, i.e., people
dropping and receiving aid after the tsunami, or facts related to the tsunami. There
were expressions of sympathy with the victims.
Aceh
The photo elicited stories about what happened during the tsunami, the distribution of
goods, how it has affected them personally, and how it affected the Acehnese society at
large, e.g., the incoming flow of money causing people to become more consumptive
and more concerned about financial rewards, the international attention and their
experiences of meeting foreigners, whether these were Caucasians as well as people
from other islands in Indonesia, for the first time. There were mixed feelings about
foreigners; some were suspicious of their “real” intentions in terms of religion and
spreading “immorality” but also thankful for many new experiences. Some remarked
how the process of rebuilding the infrastructure had not been completed at the point
of interview.
Responses to the photograph of a group of young people from various
nationalities
Jakarta
In Jakarta, the photo elicited comments on possible differences between the youth
in Indonesia and the youth from other countries. The majority of the interviewees
did not have friends from overseas, although they had Indonesian friends who went
abroad to study or they have worked with foreigners. The interviewees talked about
how exciting it would be to be able to have friends from different parts of the world,
but they were also wary of the differences in customs, language, or sense of humor.
They have heard stories from their friends about how Indonesians are looked down
on in other countries.
It is interesting how despite there only being two Caucasians in the photograph,
most interviewees only considered “abroad” to mainly mean Western nations. There
was a collective sense that living in these countries is better than in Indonesia, and also
that foreigners are smarter, more disciplined, and more respectful of each other than
Indonesians. Yet, there were slight worries about the negative influences, especially
in the forms of “immoral” behavior.
Kupang
The photographs led some interviewees to talk about diversity. Interestingly, the
examples used were mostly from within Indonesia or even within East Nusa
Tenggara, thus differences and interactions between the ethnic groups in the country.
The photograph did not lead to discussions of the international community, or of
Indonesia/Indonesians’ position or relationships with people from other countries.
Mentions of the interracial nature of the people depicted in the photograph were
merely descriptive statements.
Aceh
Unlike in the two other places, youth in Aceh almost immediately talked about Aceh’s
connection to other countries or the interactions between Acehnese with people from
other countries. They drew from their own experiences of interacting with foreigners
in the aftermath of the tsunami and thus were able to move away from common
stereotypes. The countries mentioned were much more varied than in Jakarta, e.g.,
including Pakistan, India, or South Africa. In general, they assert that the Acehnese
is welcoming and open toward outsiders, as long as the foreigners are also respectful
of the ways of life in Aceh.
Responses to the photographs of Putri Indonesia 2009 and Miss Indonesia 2009
Jakarta
Responding to the photographs, the interviewees did not delve too long in the issues
that I thought would be relevant, i.e., the veil-less Putri Indonesia and the non-
Indonesian-speaking Miss Indonesia. The interviewees tended to see the wearing of
a veil as a personal decision, and hence Qory’s veil-less performance would only be
“bad” if she discards her veil only for the sake of competing in the beauty pageantry.
As for Miss Indonesia, interviewees regretted that she did not speak Indonesian well,
while simultaneously admitting that her fluent English would be beneficial to her and
Indonesia in general. The problem with Miss Indonesia lies more in the fact that she
does not “look” Indonesian.
Interviewees were more interested in discussing the criteria that need to be met
to be able to represent Indonesia. These include the ability to promote Indonesia’s
culture and tourism, a “genuinely Indonesian look, and intelligence.
Kupang
Regarding the Acehnese Putri Indonesia, the interviewees in Kupang discussed the
complex controversy resulting from oppositional stances held by Qory and the people
of Aceh. On the one hand, wearing a veil should be an individual’s decision, but on
the other hand, the interviewees understood that it is only normal that the people of
Aceh would require their representative to dress in accordance with their culture,
customs, and rules. They often mentioned that there is no easy solution to this. Some
interviewees discussed how beauty pageants representing NTT were also very often
“not really” from NTT and did very little for their region in return.
The “un-Indonesian” look of Miss Indonesia that was mentioned in Jakarta was
also mentioned in Kupang, what makes her un-Indonesian is not primarily her lighter
skin color or facial and bodily structure, but the fact that she is not of Indonesian
parentage. In regard to her Indonesian language ability, one of the interviewees argued
that being able to speak Indonesian is not a criterion of citizenship as there are many
people in the regions who also do not speak Indonesian. The criteria for citizenship
should be whether or not the individual is acknowledged by the law to be as such.
Like in Jakarta, interviewees talked about the ability to promote culture and
tourism as the most important ability in a representative of the country. There are
thus two understandings of “culture”; one is the collective predisposition and tacit
knowledge, and the other one is the state discourse of culture as discrete and concrete
expressions of collectivities.
Aceh
The majority of the interviewees in Aceh did not care too much whether Qory
Sandioriva would represent Indonesia or not, as long as she would not represent
Aceh, indicating a mental detachment between Aceh and Indonesia. Some were
worried that competing at the international level would mean that she might have to
compromise her modesty even more and bring more humiliation to Aceh. Intervie-
wees argued that Qory is not “really” Acehnese because not only has she never lived
in Aceh, she also does not speak the Acehnese language, or is familiar with “real”
Acehnese culture, like its cuisine.
Regarding Miss Indonesia, they found it strange that a non-Indonesian-speaking
girl could represent the country. But all in all, the interviewees in Aceh cared less
about Sunny Halim representing Indonesia than about Qory representing Aceh. If
Qory were to represent another region aside from Aceh, then they generally agreed
that she would be a better representative for Indonesia than Suny.
Responses to photograph of “Malingsia”
Jakarta
The interviewees in Jakarta were emotionally invested in the dispute, overall agreeing
with the accusation against Malaysia. They saw it not as a one-off misstep on the part
of Malaysia, but as a general tendency of Malaysia to mistreat Indonesia. Thus, they
related it to other disputes, e.g., to abuses of Indonesian migrant workers, to territorial
disputes over a number of islands, and to the conflict over Malaysia’s independence
from the British. Common cultural objects (either because of cultural exchanges
in the past or in the more contemporary period), such as the rendang dish, batik,
and Reog Ponorogo, a type of lion dance, were all seen as exclusively belonging to
Indonesia, and not Malaysia, and importantly, also not primarily to the ethnic group
from where it originate. More comprehensive knowledge about the colonial and pre-
colonial history of the two countries was absent. There was a sense of worry that
Malaysians are looking down on Indonesia.
There were a number of counter-attacks from the Indonesian side that were
mentioned, like popularizing of batik as a statement of national ownership, and
the hacking of Malaysian websites.
Kupang
Although people did not disagree with the accusation, they generally did not have
strong feelings about the dispute. Some informants were unable to distinguish “Mal-
ingsia” from “Malaysia”, indicating that their level of involvement is less than
their generational cohorts in Jakarta and Kupang. This failure for the photograph
to generate meaningful responses was why it was replaced with a photograph of
Balinese dance in Kupang.
Aceh
The interviewees in Banda Aceh were more familiar with the Indonesia-Malaysia
dispute than those in Kupang. More than in Jakarta and Kupang, the interviewees
here blamed Indonesia for failing to protect and acknowledge their own culture.
Many interviewees have Malaysian friends and thus were less anti-Malaysia. Some
interviewees explained that there is more affinity in the cultures between Aceh and
Malaysia, in contrast to between Aceh and Java.
Responses to the photograph of the Legong Dance
Jakarta
The photograph of Tari Legong was only shown in one interview (with two partici-
pants) Jakarta after the researcher returned from Kupang, where it was extensively
used to replace “Malingsia” and from Banda Aceh, where it was used along with
“Malingsia”. In this interview, one of the interviewee immediately associated the
dance with Malaysia, in fact, this was the first word she mentioned when seeing the
photograph. They went on to discuss the various disputes with Malaysia. One of
the interviewees asked the other interviewee about the name of the dance, but her
friend replied that it did not matter. To them, what mattered more was Malaysia’s
continuous dismissive treatment toward Indonesia.
Kupang
The youth in Kupang talked about Bali and how many things seem to be better there,
including the maintenance and promotion of the local culture. They talked about the
“folk” dances in Kupang, which are a part of their everyday life and about how there
is so much of the local culture that could be promoted–if not to the outside world,
then to other regions.
The photograph was associated with the dispute with Malaysia by a number of
participants, but people were not emotional about the issue and tended to blame the
Indonesian government for failing to protect its culture.
Aceh
The participants talked about how dances like this can be used and are being used to
attract tourists to the region. Some went on to discuss Bali’s prominence. Like the
youth in Kupang, a number of informants pointed out that other regions, including
Aceh, also have the same types of cultural artifacts that should be more nurtured
and used to promote the region. The dance was also associated with the dispute with
Malaysia. Similar to their stance elicited by the photo of the meme “Malingsia” and
similar to the responses from the people in Kupang, the youth in Aceh did not take
the side of Indonesia in the dispute.
Responses to the photograph of Baiturrahman Mosque
Jakarta
The interview in Jakarta was conducted with two participants at the same time. They
were friends from high school and come from a different religious backgrounds. One
participant was a Muslim, and the other, a Christian. At first, the photograph was met
with a relatively long silence as they seemed to struggle to find the appropriate words
to say. The first comment came from the Christian participant who said that it is no
problem if there is a mosque this size in Aceh as long as there is harmony between
different religions. There continued to be some hesitancy to discuss religion because,
as they readily admitted, they were scared it would be offensive. The discussion
became much lighter when they talked about how the mosque survived the tsunami.
Kupang
Most informants related the picture to the tsunami, and how the building survived
the deluge. Some participants seemed to be explicitly uninterested to discuss the
photographs; they gave very short comments and only glanced at the photograph.
Some interviewees talked about the riots in 1998 when a student demonstration
in Kupang against a religious clash in Jakarta (where Christians were attacked and
killed) ran out of control and led to the ransacking and torching of several mosques,
shops, and Muslim-owned houses. The participants blamed outsiders for starting the
riots.
Banda Aceh
The photograph elicited comments on how the grand mosque is an icon of the city;
if people from the countryside or other towns in Aceh visit the provincial capital,
one of their main destinations would be to visit the grand mosque. The interviewees
also talked about the history of the mosque.
The picture generated conversations about Aceh’s strong religious identity; how
their religiosity is peaceful, how foreigners are welcomed in Aceh as long as they do
not intervene with its religion.
Photographs that were shown in Jakarta only

Flooding: Most informants described the various ways in which they anticipated
and/or dealt with flooding. The local government is perceived as being unable or
unwilling to tackle the problem seriously.
Children playing in a waste collection area: The participants expressed
sympathy for the children’s way of life. They were concerned about their health
and education. At the same time, many participants were also distrustful of the urban
poor. Many mentioned that the beggars carrying children were only using the chil-
dren to appeal for sympathy. This is something many participants have seen in some
television show.
There seemed to be an incomprehension about the difficulties that the urban poor
encounters to access education or the job market.
A small number of participants talked about the wealth gap, but their responses
were more descriptive of the facts (i.e., that there is a contrast between the rich in
the high-rise buildings with how the children live).
Fashionable youth at the mall: Many interviewees seemed to distance them-
selves from a lifestyle that they see as being too lavish and too fashionable. There
were no discussions at all that could be related to their notions of Jakarta and/or
Indonesia
Responses to photographs that were shown only in Kupang
Bemo: The participants commented that bemos are “really Kupang”. The words on
the side of the bemo are the name of that particular vehicle. They told me that young
people often decide whether to get on a bemo or not based on the music that it is
playing (whether it’s a popular and/or trending song or not). It is through their choice
of bemo that the youth differentiate themselves from the older generation.
Some interviewees, particularly those who have been to other regions in Indonesia
or who have hosted visitors from other regions, said that people from other regions are
quite amazed with bemos. An interviewee explicitly made the comparison between
Kupang and Java, saying that in Kupang, people are willing to wait for the “right”
bemo to come along before they take a ride, whereas in Java, what matters most is
time so they do not care about decoration and music on public transport.
A Banner for “Sail Indonesia”: The interviewees have heard about the relatively
routine event, but were not really involved (emotionally or technically) in the event.
Many did not know very much about it, other than that it is when the “boats” are
coming in and spend some time at “Teddy’s Bar”, (a beachside café that used to be
popular with foreigners when there was still the direct flight from Darwin to Kupang)
to enjoy cultural performances from various ethnic groups in East Nusa Tenggara.
They told me that it is a good opportunity to promote Kupang but there was very
little enthusiasm detected in their responses.
The photograph that was shown only in Banda Aceh
Coffee-puller at a coffee shop

The interviewees told me that after the tsunami, cafés became the place where young
people hung out. The free Wi-Fi connection seemed to be the main appeal. At the
same time, they also told me that coffeehouses have always had a special place in
Aceh, thus connecting the trending habit to old-time tradition and identity. Before
the tsunami, these coffeehouses were mostly frequented by adult men, it is just after
the tsunami that they were modernized and attracted the younger generation.
Index
A C
Abdurrahman Wahid, 43 Center-periphery relations, 6, 13, 29, 30, 37–
Aceh-Indonesia peace agreement, 42, 43, 39, 42–44, 57, 68, 69, 71–75, 77, 78,
109, 110, 112, 116, 120, 131 86, 92–96, 102, 106, 115, 117, 118,
Ahok, 139, 140 129, 131–133, 137, 139
Anderson, Benedict, 4, 5, 8, 68, 69, 138 Chain of equivalence, 1, 9, 10, 13, 70, 71,
imagined community, 5, 12, 26, 91, 117 78, 82, 85, 129, 133
last wave nations, 4, 8, 135 Chinese-Indonesian, 31, 40, 43, 70, 139, 151
Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824. See Parti- Civil service, 93, 100, 101, 130
tioning of Riau-Johor Sultanate Colonialism, 5, 8, 14, 15, 19–23, 25, 28, 31,
Antagonism. See The antagonistic Other 38, 68, 91, 120
Committee for the Preparation of Indonesian
Independence. See Panitia Persiapan
Kemerdekaan Indonesia
B
Committee to Investigate Preparations
Badan Penyelidik Usaha-usaha Persiapan
for Independence. See Badan
Kemerdekaan, 20, 27
Penyelidik Usaha-usaha Persiapan
Bali, 56, 61, 70, 79, 80, 92, 111, 133, 140, Kemerdekaan
146, 148, 155, 156
Constructivism, 4
Basuki Tjahaja Purnama. See Ahok
Cultural diversity, official discourse, 15, 36,
Batak, 37, 72
37, 67, 71–73
Batavia, 21, 68, 91
Batik, 56, 79–81
Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park, 34, 36,
93
Beauty pageants, 72
D
Miss Indonesia 2009, 60, 71, 153, 154
Putri Indonesia 2009, 60, 153 Daerah Operasi Militer (DOM), 40, 43, 109,
112. See also DOM
Qory Sandioriva, 60, 97, 114, 154
Sunny Halim, 60, 71, 72, 114, 154 Daud Beureu’eh, 111
Belongingness to Indonesia, 7, 15, 23, 38, Decentralization, 7, 19, 20, 39, 41, 42, 89,
53, 75, 90, 99, 106, 118–120, 130, 136, 138
132, 136 Development Unity Party. See PPP
BPUPK. See Badan Penyelidik Usaha-usaha Dutch-Aceh war, 15, 22, 111
Persiapan Kemerdekaan Dutch rule, 21, 22, 68
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4242-8
160 Index
E I
East Timor, 15, 34, 42, 57, 73, 76–78, 86, 90, ID card, 99, 101
96, 99, 116, 120, 121, 137, 147, 148 Imagined decolonization, 29
Education Independence
during the New Order, 33–36 East Timor, 57, 148
educated elites and the birth of national Indonesian, 2, 13, 15, 19, 20, 23, 24, 27,
consciousness, 22, 23, 68 69, 92, 111
national character education, 20 movement in Aceh, 74, 110, 116, 133,
Elite, 20, 22, 43, 51, 135 148
definition of, 3 movement in Papua, 75
local, 136 Indonesia as a compromise, 16, 109, 110,
Elite point of view 115, 118, 119, 121, 123, 131, 132
in Indonesian studies, 2, 3, 6 Indonesia as a unitary state, 13, 23, 25, 35,
in nation studies, 3, 5, 13 37, 140
Empty signifier, 9–11, 29, 129, 136 Indonesia as compromise, 131
Ethical policy, 22, 91 Indonesia as federation, 15, 24, 25, 92, 138
Ethnicity, religion, race, and other groups, Indonesian Democratic Party. See PDI
prohibition to discuss. See SARA Indonesian language, 23, 24, 27, 38, 69
injunction Inward gaze, 11, 14, 15, 70, 86, 93, 110, 113,
129
F
Feith, Herbert, 6, 30 J
Fifteenth of January Disaster. See Malari Jakarta Charter, 28
Flag-raising ceremony, 57, 119, 120, 136, Japan, 20, 23, 29, 34, 68
149 Java, 21–24, 26, 30, 38, 44, 50, 68, 74, 91, 93,
Football, 146, 147 94, 96, 97, 111, 112, 116–120, 122,
Functional Group Party. See Golkar 130, 131, 140
Joko Widodo, 20, 138–140
G
Gellner, Ernest, 4, 5, 22
K
Golden age, Aceh, 15, 111, 131
Kahin, George, 6, 22–25, 28
Golkar, 34, 39
Kalimantan, 21, 26, 29, 75, 76
Golongan Karya. See Golkar
Guidance to the awareness and enactment of Killings of generals in 1965, 32
Pancasila. See P4 Komodo, 56, 70, 104, 119, 145, 146
Guided democracy, 30 KTP. See ID card
Gus Dur. See Abdurrahman Wahid
L
H Laclau, Ernesto, 9–11, 13, 14, 79, 82, 136,
Habibie, 40, 41, 43 137
Haraway, Donna, 11, 135 Lisbon Treaty. See Partitioning of Timor
Hasan di Tiro, 112, 116 Island
Hegemony, 9–11 Logic of difference, 9, 10, 80
Hobsbawm, Eric, 5 Logic of equivalence, 9, 10, 80, 106
invented traditions, 5
nation from below, 5–9, 128, 135, 136
Homogeneity M
emphasis on in Indonesian studies, 6 Majapahit, 25–27, 44, 111, 117, 118
emphasis on in nation studies, 3, 4, 127 Malapetaka Lima Belas Januari. See Malari
Homogenization, 10, 32, 33, 38, 71, 79, 89, Malari, 34
95, 106 Malay, 23, 26, 30, 79, 111, 122
Index 161
Malaysia, 15, 31, 57, 61, 67, 79–81, 83, 86, negative internal Other, 133
105, 122, 123, 137, 148, 149 positive external Other, 134
cultural dispute, 61, 79–82, 122, 154, 155 positive internal Other, 133
Konfrontasi, 31, 154 Outer Islands, 21, 31, 38, 50, 96, 97
migrant workers, 81, 154 Outward gaze, 11, 14–16, 78, 86, 103, 110,
territorial dispute, 154 122, 137
Megawati Sukarnoputri, 40, 43, 150, 151
Middle Indonesia, 90, 93
Military, dual function, 33
Military Operation Region. See DOM P
Modernism, 4. See also Constructivism Padang, 72, 73, 152
Moluccas, 21, 29 Palembang, 73
Mouffe, Chantal, 9–11, 13, 14, 79, 136, 137 Pancasila, 14, 25–29, 32, 34, 35, 38, 39, 43,
44, 111, 117, 149
Panitia Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia
N (PPKI), 28. See also PPKI
National consciousness, 4, 5, 23, 68 Papua, 2, 7, 31, 34, 73–75, 92, 95, 97, 121,
National culture, 36, 37, 61, 72, 94, 97, 114, 130, 134, 138, 140
129 Partai Demokrasi Indonesia (PDI), 34, 40,
Nationalism, 3 43. See also PDI
Aceh, 116, 117, 131, 136 Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (PPP), 34.
affect, 8 See also PPP
banal, 7–9, 128 Partitioning of Riau-Johor Sultanate, 21, 81,
civic, 43, 44 111
classic theories of, 3–6 Partitioning of Timor Island, 21, 91
ethnic, 43, 44 Pedoman Penghayatan dan Pengamalan
everyday, 7, 8, 13, 14, 52, 128, 135 Pancasila (P4), 27, 35. See also P4
Indonesia, 20, 22, 26, 35, 44, 52, 67, 69, Perennialism. See Primordialism
129, 138, 140
Photo-elicitation interview, 14, 49, 53, 55,
market logic, 72
63, 128
postcolonial, 19, 22, 23, 25, 69, 135
Piagam Jakarta. See Jakarta Charter
Negara Ikut Tuan (NIT), 25
PKI, 30–33
Negara Indonesia Timur (NIT), 24, 25, 29,
92 Pontianak, 75
Neo-patrimonialism, 93, 102, 113, 135 Popular culture, 67, 68, 95
New Order, 13, 20, 32–34, 36–40, 43–52, Portuguese presence, 21, 91
67, 69, 71, 73, 95, 112, 138 Positionality, 12, 68, 85, 90, 128
NKK/BKK, 35 Postcolonialism, 5, 8, 14, 19, 43
Non-elite, 3, 5–9, 13, 14, 49, 51, 132, 135 Primordialism, 3
definition of, 3
Normalization of Campus Life. See
NKK/BKK
R
Rasa Sayange, 79, 81, 105
O Referendum
Otherness, 12, 78 Aceh, 42, 43, 74, 112, 116, 151
antagonistic Other, the, 10, 11, 15, 67, East Timor, 42, 77
78–80, 82, 86, 109, 118, 119, 121, 123, West New Guinea, 31
131, 133 Reform, 13, 21, 40, 41, 58, 82, 85, 92, 138
desirable Other, the, 15, 67, 78, 82, 85, Reformasi. See reform
134 Regularity in dispersion, 16, 136, 137
Indonesia as antagonistic Other, 16, 109, Riau, 7, 21, 81, 93
110, 115–118, 121, 131, 135, 137 RUSI, 24, 25. See also Indonesia as federa-
multiple modes of, 132, 133 tion
162 Index
S Sulawesi, 21, 29
Sabang to Merauke, 2, 74, 106, 131 Sumatera, 21, 24–27, 30, 50
SARA injunction, 36, 37, 44 Sumpah Pemuda, 26. See also Youth Pledge
SARA. See SARA injunction Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, 43
SBY. See Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono
Separatist movements
DI/TII, 29 T
GAM, 39, 42, 43, 112, 113, 121, 149 Taman Mini Indonesia Indah (TMII). See
Permesta, 29 Beautiful Indonesia Miniature Park
PRRI, 30 Timor Island, 21, 22, 34, 50, 91
RMS, 29 Tourism, 56, 61, 72, 79, 80, 86, 104, 105,
Situatedness, 12, 13, 51, 70, 85 129, 146, 153, 154
situated imaginations, 90 Tsunami, 42, 43, 50, 59, 70, 76, 84, 109,
situated knowledge, 135 110, 112–114, 122, 123, 147, 152,
Smith, Anthony, 3–5 153, 156, 158
ethnies, 4
Social unrest in 1998, 58
anti-Chinese, 40, 70 U
killing of students, 40 Unity in diversity, 26, 44, 119
looting and burning, 40, 70
religious riot in Kupang, 41, 156
Special autonomy, 42, 43 V
Special autonomy region, 50 VOC, 21, 91
Standpoint theory, 11, 12, 68, 128, 132
Stimulus text, 53
Students demonstrations W
1974, 34 West, ideas of, 10, 25, 29–31, 69, 83, 86, 114,
1997–1998, 40 122
Suharto, 20, 27, 32–36, 38–41, 44, 58, 69, West New Guinea. See Papua
70, 86, 95, 96, 112, 120, 150, 151
Sukarno, 2, 5, 16, 20, 24, 27, 28, 30–35, 40,
43, 44, 69, 112, 116 Y
Suku, Agama, Ras, dan Antar-Golongan, Yamin, Mohammad, 27, 36
larangan. See SARA injunction Youth Pledge, 14, 23, 25–27, 36, 43

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Asia in Transition 9

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/13611

The Divergent Nation

ISSN 2364-8252 ISSN 2364-8260 (electronic)

in the eastern periphery, she uses photo-elicitation to encourage young Indonesians

Lian Kwen Fee

2.4.2 Gus Dur, Megawati, and Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono . . . . 43

6 Deconstructing “Indonesia” in Banda Aceh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109

Appendix: Regional Responses to Individual Photographs . . . . . . . . . . . 145

Keywords Imagined community · Non-elite nationhood · Indonesian nationhood ·

(Nana, a 20-year-old female student of a secretarial and administration college in Banda

In 1955, a decade after Indonesia’s declaration of independence, Sukarno in the

1.1 Emphasis on Homogeneity and Elites in the Study

In their introduction to the Oxford Reader on nationalism, Hutchinson and Smith

pre-modern collectivities that share certain essential “givens”, such as biological or

1.2 Prevalence of Homogeneous Elite Point of Views

The field of Indonesian studies has comprehensively covered the course of

1.3 Toward Heterogeneous Constructions of Everyday

In the canonical work on nationhood as well as in Indonesian studies, the “ordi-

1.3.1 The Construction of the Nation

1.3.2 Standpoint Theory and Situated Imagining

The standpoint theory was conceived as a feminist critique to the epistemological

1.4 Organization of the Book

modern and united Indonesia is exemplified by the retrospective significance given

imagining of Indonesia. For those who grew up in Jakarta, Indonesia is an absolute

antagonistic Other”, and the second is “Indonesia as a compromise”. Both prioritize

Anderson, B. (2006). Imagined communities (Revised ed). London: Verso.

Abstract This chapter chronologically highlights the discursive practices of

Keywords Indonesian nation-building · National identity · Center-periphery

As with other postcolonial nations, Indonesia’s primary raison d’être is as a reac-

2.1 Precursors to Independence

2.2 Independent Indonesia as a Unitary State

2.2.1 Nation-Building Narratives: Majapahit, the Youth

2.2.2 Indonesia’s Mythical Past

One of the strategies in constructing “Indonesia” as an imagined community is by

2.2.2.1 The Youth Pledge

One of the most prominent foundational blocks in Indonesian nation-building is the

Another cornerstone of Indonesian nation-building is “Pancasila”, the five core prin-

support, while no ideology is wholly rejected. Based on a need to mediate between

2.2.3 Early Challenges in Nation-Building

2.2.4 Guided Democracy and the End of the Sukarno’s

The idiosyncratic “Guided Democracy” was Sukarno’s solution to the pitfalls of

2.3 The New Order: Stabilization and Homogenization

2.3.1 Military Style Homogenization

2.3.2 Education as the Site of Indoctrination

2.3.3 Building the National Cultural Identity

2.3.4 Uneven Belongingness to Indonesia

2.3.5 The Beginning of the End

2.4 The Reform Period

2.4.2 Gus Dur, Megawati, and Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono

Hill, H. (2014). Regional dynamics in a decentralized Indonesia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast

Vujanovic, P. (2017). Decentralisation to promote regional development in Indonesia. OECD

Keywords Photo-elicitation interview · Visual methodology · Multi-sited

3.1 The Research Sites: Jakarta, Kupang, and Banda Aceh

3.2 Methodological Challenges

should recognize it as connoted by the everyday experience although it is “never

3.3 The Photo-Elicitation Interview Method

3.4 Selection of Photographs and the Interview Process

By making the interview as casual as possible, I aim to recreate everyday talk,

3.4.1 Photographs Used in the Interviews

Photographs of Putri Indonesia 2009 and Miss Indonesia 2009

3.5 Note on Analysis

Keywords Youth nationalism · Jakarta nationalism · Indonesia-Malaysia