Intelligence Agencies and Third World Militarization: A Case Study of Indonesia, 1966-1989, with Special Reference to South

Korea, 1961-1989


Richard Tanter

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Politics Faculty of Economic and Politics Monash University February 1991

This thesis contains no material which has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma in any University or equivalent institution, and, to the best of my knowledge and belief, contains no material previously published or written by another person, except where due reference is made in the text of the thesis.

In memory of Elizabeth Radcliffe

Of all of the organs of the state, the one most immediately and forcibly confronted with reality, the police force, has uniquely privileged access to knowledge which enables it to understand a multiplicity and diversity of socially deviant and anti-social forms of behaviour, structural defects in the society and the laws governing social mass behaviour. Dr. H. Herold Director, Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau West Germany I said to the Americans, "Don't you have a computer that we can put in someone's head so that we can know exactly what his ideology is?" Admiral Sudomo Kopkamtib Commander First we will kill all the subversives, then we will kill their collaborators, then their sympathizers, then those who remained indifferent, and finally, we will kill the timid. General Iberico Saint-Jean Argentina I was not, as I liked to think, the indulgent pleasure-loving opposite of the cold rigid colonel. I was the lie that the Empire tells itself when times are easy, he the truth that Empire tells when harsh winds blow. Two sides of an imperial rule, no more, no less. But I temporized, I looked around this obscure frontier, this little backwater with its dusty summers and its cartloads of apricots and its long siestas and its shiftless garrison and the waterbirds flying in and flying out year after year from the dazzling waveless sheet of the lake, and I said to myself, "Be patient, one of these days he will go away, one of these days quiet will return: then our siestas will grow longer and our swords rustier, the watchman will sneak down from his tower to spend the night with his wife, the mortar will crumble till lizards nest between the bricks and owls fly out of the belfry, and the line that marks the frontier on the maps of the Empire will grow hazy and obscure till we are blessedly forgotten." Thus I seduced myself, taking one of the many wrong turnings I have taken on a road that looks true but has delivered me into the heart of a labyrinth. J.M.Coetzee, Waiting for the Barbarians Intelligence? Well, now we're getting into pretty marshy territory, Mr. Tanter. Col. John Mussels United States Defense Attache Jakarta, June 1988

Abstract This dissertation is a study of the role of intelligence agencies in Third World states, in the form of a theoretical introduction and a case study of Indonesia in the late New Order period. In both sections the principal themes are militarization, surveillance and terror. Indonesian politics in the late New Order period is best understood in terms of an ambition towards totalitarian rule set in the specific context of rentiermilitarization. Rentier-militarization offers a powerful explanation of the great autonomy of the Indonesian state from the citizenry for more than a quarter of a century, with oil and foreign aid revenues relieving the need for taxation. Intelligence agencies in Indonesia and elsewhere have four possible roles: surveillance, political intervention, ideological management, and terror. Surveillance in the sense developed in Michel Foucault's work involves the monitoring of the activities of citizens as a general quality of all modern states, involving historically new forms of social control, is now a key element of rule in all societies, with domestic political intelligence agencies as but one variant, albeit ubiquitous. Domestic political intelligence agencies are one manifestation of this tendency, expressing a rationalization of political domination. Heightened surveillance and terror form the main elements of the tendential property of all modern states towards totalitarian rule. Terror as a form of rule is analyzed in terms of its cultural construction. In the Indonesian case, a highly developed system of militarised surveillance has been established, one that reaches to the lowest levels of rural and urban Indonesia. Moreover that system of surveillance is also linked to the application of varying levels of terror. The structure of the Indonesian intelligence complex is outlined in some detail. Case studies of the mix of intelligence activities in surveillance, political intervention, and terror are presented, dealing with East Timor, Irian Jaya, Islamic and other dissidents, former communist political prisoners, and increasingly, labour. The ambition to totalitarian rule may be ineptly carried out and thwarted in various ways, but it still represents a powerful drive in Indonesian politics, expressing the most modern elements of the world order in which that country is embedded.


Table of Contents [Note to web version: page references in this TOC refer to the original typed version. The web version has been formatted to reduce space.] Abstract Detailed Table of Contents List of Figures List of Tables Acknowledgements Glossary Part I Theoretical overview 1 Introduction 2 Militarisation: global, regional and national 3 Surveillance and the totalitarian ambition 4 Intelligence and the rationalization of domination 5 The empire of pain: terror as a form of rule Part II Indonesia: militarization, intelligence and terror 6 Oil, IGGI and US hegemony: the global pre-conditions for Indonesian p.1 p.25 p.61 p.92 p.129 p.v p.vii p.xii p.xiv p.xvi p.xx


rentier-militarisation 7 The hardening shell - Indonesian military revenues 8 The structure of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus: Part I - military organisations 9 The structure of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus: Part II - civilian organisations 10 Intelligence coordination and the coherence of the state 11 Theory and practice in intelligence and control operations: (1) Terror 12 Theory and practice in intelligence and control operations: (2) Surveillance Part III Conclusion

p.167 and force structures p.206






13 Conclusion Appendices

p.407 p.423


Detailed Table of Contents [Note to web version: page references in this TOC refer to the original typed version. The web version has been formatted to reduce space.] Abstract Table of Contents List of Figures List of Tables Acknowledgements Glossary Part I Theoretical overview 1 Introduction Prologue: Managing the "still unmastered past" The Indonesian intelligence state Militarisation, surveillance and terror in modern social theory The political economy of rentier-militarist state formation Outline of the thesis Note: research on intelligence p.1 p.v p.xii p.xiv p.xvi p.xx

2 Militarization: global, regional and national The effects of militarization



Militarization as a global phenomenon Difficulties with the classical notion of militarism "Militarism" and "militarization" Contemporary forms of militarisation: national, extended or imperial, and indirect Dimensions of national militarization

3 Surveillance and the totalitarian ambition Foucault and Giddens on surveillance Surveillance and the model of totalitarian rule Limitations of Giddens' model Privileging the European model Dismissing the Japanese model Modelling the path to totalitarian rule The place of world-orders The Japanese model of emperor-system fascism Ruling bloc



Passive mass-mobilization Domestic surveillance and limited terror Extreme terror in the periphery Conclusion: the relevance of the Japanese model

4 Intelligence and the rationalization of domination Intelligence agencies The functions of domestic intelligence agencies: surveillance, intervention, ideology and steering The isomorphic structure of national intelligence agencies Causes of isomorphic intelligence and security complexes Sources of variation The West German model The rationalisation of domination


5 The empire of pain: terror as a form of rule Varieties of modern terror Inducements to torture Crimen exceptum and the return of torture Terror and legitimacy Tempting the state: incommunicado detention The uncontrolled state The cultural construction of terror The corrosion of solidarity Semantic delirium Interruption: talking about torture Torture and language



Rituals of state Living in the space of death The progress of the state: scientizing torture Terror and memory

Part II Indonesia: militarization, intelligence and terror 6 Oil, IGGI and US hegemony: the global pre-conditions for Indonesian rentiermilitarisation Questions of method External pre-conditions of the Indonesian rentier-militarist state The structure of global power and peripheral state possibilities Global sources of legitimacy for a fortuitous statism The South Korean response: mercantilist militarism Conclusion: transformations of the rentier-state and the mercantilist state 7 The hardening shell - Indonesian military revenues and force structures Military revenues and expenditures: Domestic budgets Pertamina and other state enterprises Military enterprises Levels of spending Foreign military aid Force structure: plans, personnel and weapons systems The transformation: Force structure, 1968 p.206 p. 167


Force structures 1968-1974 Renstra I and the Timor expansion, 1974/75 - 1978/79 Renstra II, 1978/79 - 1983/84 Renstra III and the Moerdani Years, 1984/85 - 1988/89 Force structure, 1987

8 The structure of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus: Part I - military organisations Kopkamtib Legal status Aims and functions Powers and scope Structure and procedures KOPKAMTIB at war: Irian Jaya and East Timor Controlling labour: structures Operasi Tertib - Operation Order After Kopkamtib: Bakorstanas Strategic Intelligence Agency [Bais ABRI] Origins Structure Foreign activities Political activities Army Intelligence: from Aspam to Babinsa p.262


9 The structure of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus: Part II - civilian organisations State Intelligence Coordinating Board [Bakin]: History Structure and personnel Political role Opsus A private intelligence empire? Opsus personnel: thugs, spooks and "political technocrats" Opsus financial base National Police Intelligence Department of Home Affairs, Directorate-General of Social and Political Affairs Attorney-General's Department, Intelligence Affairs State Crytography Institute 10 Intelligence coordination and the coherence of the state Local intelligence coordination Central intelligence coordination Organizational rivalries p.342 p.303

11 Theory and practice in intelligence and control operations: (1) Terror The SESKOAD textbook models: Intelligence operations Territorial operations



Social and political operations Threat levels and the framework of intervention: Regional Security Management Intelligence and security operations in practice: Surveillance and terror in East Timor intelligence and security operations Irian Jaya intelligence and security operations Extra-judicial killings of alleged criminals, 1983-84 Provocation and terror against students, Timorese and Muslims

12 Theory and practice in intelligence and control operations: (2) surveillance Controlling labour First corporatist attempts Pancasila industrial relations Organisational tightening Intelligence and intervention Sifting the dust of history: mass surveillance techniques: East Timor: surveillance in war Penetrating labour Social science against Islam Communists: fantasies of science Part III Conclusion 13 Conclusion Indonesia: a totalitarian ambition in a rentier militarist state p.407 p.385


Intelligence regimes The end of rentier-militarisation? Intelligence and society The military and modernity, again Appendices 1 Indonesian intelligence and security figures, 1966-1989: biographical notes 2 Intelligence career paths 3 Notes on the history of Indonesian intelligence organizations, 1945-1965 4 Seskoad recommended model evaluation of territorial aims 5 Seskoad recommended model of territorial potential analysis 6 Seskoad recommended model of territorial development analysis 7 Kopkamtib questionnaire for oil industry workers 8 Kopkamtib questionnaire for factory workers 9 Indonesian military budget, 1978: detailed breakdown 10 Assistants for Intelligence to the Central Army Command, Department of Defence and Security Joint Command or ABRI Chief of the General Staff, 1965 -1985 p.530 p.520 p.523 p.525 p.527 p.424 p.487 p.500 p.513 p.517


11 First Assistant (Intelligence/Security) to the Army Chief of Staff, 19671985 12 The Armed Forces Leadership and Social Communication p.531 p.532




List of figures

3.1 3.2 4.1 6.1

The institutional clusters of modernity Anti-systemic movements Three models of internal security in a liberal state Indonesia, oil and aid funds as a percentage of total budget, 1974 - 1988

p.71 p.73 p.121

p.182 p.183 p.184 p.212

6.2 6.3 7.1 7.2

Indonesia, budget revenue sources, 1974 - 1988 Indonesia, oil as a percentage of exports, 1964 - 1985 Indonesia, military spending, current prices, Indonesia, military spending, constant prices, various SIPRI estimates, 1965 - 1985



Indonesia, military expenditure/personnel ratio, million rupiahs (constant) per armed forces member, 1971 - 1985 p.223


Indonesia, military development budget, constant (1980) rupiahs (thousand million), 1969 - 1985 p.228


U.S. military assistance and military sales to Indonesia, constant US$ mn. (1980), 1965 -1985


7.6 7.7

Indonesia, armed forces, 1968 - 1987 Indonesia, imports of major weapons, constant (1985) US$ mn. 1951 - 1985


p.252 p.263 p.272 p.289 organisation p.295

8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5

Indonesian intelligence organisations Kopkamtib organisation Bais headquarters organisation Armed Forces headquarters security and intelligence Military Area Command [Kodam] headquarters organisation



Army intelligence and security: staff and line organisation p.299 p.301 p.309 p.328 p.345 p.415 p.415

8.7 9.1 9.2 10.1 13.1 13.2

Military Sub-District Command [Koramil] organisation Bakin headquarters organisation Indonesian Police headquarters organisation Regional security organisation Domestic intelligence regime types (1) Domestic intelligence regime types (2)


List of tables

2.1 Deaths from war and state violence, Asia, 1960 - 1987. 2.2 Alliances of Asia. 2.3 Types of contemporary militarization in Asia. 2.4 Selected economic indicators, militarised capitalist states of East and Southeast Asia. 2.5 Military expenditure, Asia 1976 - 1985, constant prices (1980 US$ mn.). 2.6 Military expenditure, Asia 1976 - 1985: real growth rates. 2.7 Value of arms transfers, Asia, cumulative 1976-80 and 1981-85, by major supplier and recipient country, (current US$ mn.). 4.1 Sources of variation in intelligence regimes. 5.1 Killings by state and non-state terrorists. 6.1 Indonesia, oil exports 1964 - 1985. 6.2 Indonesia, balance of payments, FY1974 - FY1987. 6.3 Indonesia, central government budget summary, p.56 p.116 p.134 p.178 p.179 p.46 p.47 p.44 p.26 p.38 p.41

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FY1974 - FY1988. 6.4 Indonesia, central government budget: receipts, FY1974 - FY1988. 7.1 Indonesia, military spending, 1965 - 1985 varying SIPRI estimates, current and constant prices. 7.2 Indonesia, military budget, FY 1969 - 1983, current and constant prices. 7.3 Indonesia, military expenditure/personnel ratio, million rupiahs (constant) per armed forces member, 1971 - 1985. 7.4 Indonesia, military debt: alternative estimates of arms transfer credits as a percentage of net debt flows, 1971-1982. 7.5 Military development budget FY 1969-1985 current and constant prices. 7.6 United States military assistance to Indonesia, 1968 - 1982, (current). 7.7 United States military assistance to Indonesia, 1968-82, (constant). 7.8 Indonesia, armed forces 1968 -1987. 7.9 Indonesian and South Korean military expenditures









p.231 p.236


by sector, 1978. 7.10 Major Indonesian arms imports 1971-1985. 7.11 Indonesia, imports of major weapons, 1951 - 1985, constant (1985) prices. 8.1 Kopkamtib commanders, 1965 - 1988. 8.2 Conflict Prevention Executive Center, membership/organisation. 8.3 Heads of Pusintelstrat and Bais, 1970 - 1988. 8.4 Strategic Intelligence Body [Bais]: major divisions. 9.1 Heads of Bakin, 1967 - 1988. 9.2 Police intelligence organisations: Late Dutch colonial, Japanese Occupation, and Indonesian Republican. 9.3 Department of Home Affairs, Directorate-General of Social and Political Affairs. 9.4 Attorney-General's Department, Deputy AttorneyGeneral for Intelligence Affairs: directorates. 9.5 State Cryptography Institute: bureaus. 11.1 Levels of security disturbances.

p.245 p.253

p.256 p.268 p.278 p.287

p.288 p.307



p.336 p.338 p.363

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A-9. 1Indonesian military expenditure, detailed United Nations presentation, FY 1978. p.528

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Acknowledgements It is inevitable that in the course of writing a thesis that was originally planned to deal with four countries and several disciplines and which has been in production since 1984 I should have acquired many debts, intellectual and otherwise - perhaps more than most. One of the few genuine pleasures of the last throes of thesis-writing is the acknowledgement of those debts - and friendships. The work for this dissertation was carried out at Monash University in that university's Centre of Southeast Asian Studies. There are, of course, a number of such centres in other places, but I doubt that many can equal the CSEAS combination of superb Indonesian library resources, a lively and high-standard weekly seminar series, staff who facilitate and encourage one through the vicissitudes of research, and a first-rate graduate student body from Southeast Asia and Australia. I am grateful for all of these, and happy to acknowledge the assistance of the Centre's travel fund for two brief visits to Indonesia in 1986 and 1988. To the Centre's Research Director, David Chandler, I owe a great deal both personally and professionally, not least his friendship, criticism and the example of his committment to scholarship. In addition to solving innumerable small difficulties, the friendliness and perceptiveness of the Centre's administrative officers, Pam Sayers, Zuli Chudori and Ondine Spitzer, made life in an otherwise bureaucratic university bearable. They each have my thanks. Over many years, the Southeast Asia Collection of the Monash Main Library has been built up to its present fine condition. Helen Soemardjo, the Southeast Asian Librarian, found many rare or obscure pieces for me. My thanks to her for those occasions, and for the preservation and expansion of that remarkable collection. When I first came to the Politics Department at Monash, Professor David Kemp was supportive and helpful in the transition from political activism to research work. I am grateful to him for his support and assistance, and to the Department for assistance from its travel fund. The decision to write this thesis came after experiencing an extraordinarily fruitful sojourn at the Center of International Studies at Princeton University. I am

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grateful its head, Cyrus Black, and to Richard Falk for the invitation to work at the Center. Much of the early work on militarization was developed in papers for the Asian Peace Research Association and the United Nations University. For that and much subsequent help I am grateful to Sakamoto Yoshikazu, then Secretary-General of the International Peace Research Association, and to Mushakoji Kinhide, then Vice-Rector of the UNU and head of its Division of Peace and Global Transformation. Saul Mendelowitz and Robert Johansen of the World Policy Institute published some of that early material in the journal Alternatives, and I am grateful for their support. It would not have been possible to make the leap out of tenure which was necessary to write this thesis had it not been for the financial generosity of Diana and Jack Refshauge, and especially that of Alan Roberts. Belinda Probert, Judy Wajcman and Joel Kahn also subsidized the thesis work by tolerating an exceptionally unproductive research assistant during most of 1987-88. One of the sadnesses attached to the writing of this thesis is that it is impossible publicly to thank the large number of people in Indonesia who helped me in this work. By the nature of the study, it is at present impossible to reveal most of the sources of information for the sensitive portion of this work. Indeed, in many cases to do so would be to show base ingratitude. Many people took risks in speaking with me, not out of any particular personal regard for me, but from a sense of political decency and responsibility. In many cases, rich friendship developed. In all cases, they have my gratitude. I look forward to the day when it will be possible honour my debt to them all in public. Of course, there were many people in Indonesia who talked to me who it would be possible to name, and who should be thanked. However, to name some and not others is invidious. More worryingly, it opens the door to the possibility of guessing the identity of my sources (rightly or wrongly) by a process of elimination. Better to remain with that standby of the nuclear state: I neither confirm nor deny... However, Barbara Martin, Jim Schiller and Ron Witton at various times gave me a home in Indonesia, and much sympathetic but critical advice. I mention them only because, despite their great knowledge of Indonesia, they were not in a position to help me with the core empirical parts of the work. Nevertheless my debt, for their hospitality and the warmth of their generous talking and listening, is great. If I have so often ignored

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their advice, it was not from their want of trying to set on me on the right path. Like all researchers on the Indonesian military, I am extremely grateful to the editors of Indonesia for their steady compilation of information on senior commands, to Professor Harsja W. Bachtiar for his Siapa Dia? Perwira Tinggi TNI A.D.1, and to Major Harold W. Maynard USAF for his Indonesian Military Acronyms and Abbreviations2 The magnitude of each of these debts becomes clear when one tries to acquire information about individuals from other sources: especially officers outside the Army, civilians, and junior officers in general. Over several years I was lucky enough to be at the Centre of Southeast Asian Studies at Monash in the company of Krishna Sen, David Bourchier, Tan Sooi Beng, Frances Loh, Ken Young, Joel Kahn, all of whom shared the frustrations of social theorists who still want to talk about the real world. John Legge played the part of the grit in the oyster wuth characteristic elegance - no pearl has been produced, but I am grateful all the same. Ben Anderson read the first short pre-field work version of what has become Part 2 of this thesis. Reading his detailed critical comments in Jakarta not only saved me from more mistakes than I would otherwise have made, but encouraged me to go on with what was then seeming a rather impossible task. Harold Crouch kindly read a draft of Chapter 7. Pavla Miller read drafts of chapters in both Part 1 and Part 2, and with the sharp eye of one who knew little about Indonesia but a great deal about how to ask useful questions of theory (and about cats), helped enormously at a crucial stage. David Bourchier made the last eighteen months at Monash exciting not only because of our shared interests, but also because of his generosity in exchanging information and working over new pieces of the puzzle toghether. David also read drafts of Chapters 7, 8 and 9, and contributed numerous choice details to the Biographical Appendix. I would also like to thank Andrew Linklater, Pat Walsh, Lance Castles, Mohammed Slamet, Robin Luckham, Val Noone, Gavan McCormack, Nic Maclellan, Angus Macintyre, Andrew Mack, Chris Dureau, Robert Reid Smith, Tim Rowse, Brian

1. Jakarta: Grafitipers, 1988. 2. Second Edition, March 1982, DVP-2600-3003-82.

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Toohey, Jacques Leclerc, Olle Tornquist, Owen Wilkes, Wayne Robinson, Lim Teck Ghee, Jill Jolliffe, Dieter Senghaas, Robin Luckham, Sakamoto Yoshikazu, Nishihara Masashi, Simon Holberton, Wada Haruki, Dan Lev, Don Emmerson, Ruth McVey, Richard Falk, Saul Mendelowitz, Noam Chomsky, and Fred Bunnell. Sadly A.F.Davies died well before this thesis was complete, but was immensely encouraging in research in a field far from his own. In the two years of intermittent work on the thesis in Kyoto, Emma Malig's paintings of "The People in the Sky" - the disappeared of her native Chile and other countries - were a superb and moving illumination of much that I have felt unable to say adequately. A thesis exacts a great deal from the friends who put up with absence, dereliction of the duties of household and friendship, the joys of proof-reading, obsession, and illhumour: for tolerating all this, and providing more encouragement and support than I at times deserved, I am grateful to Belinda Probert, Pat Jessen, and Jack Gilding. There are six people in particular to whom I have a profound gratitude concerning this thesis. It would not have even been possible to contemplate this work without the efforts of Brian Mitchell all those years ago. At a crucial time, Boris Frankel gave me direction by demanding some answers. Peter Hayes and I shared a summer of interviewing together in Seoul, and many hours of talking there and in Australia. I am grateful to him for good friendship and telling criticism. Luisa Macmillan not only tolerated the last two years of thesis with intelligent encouragement and amazing good humour, but read the entire manuscript more than once, but made it possible to actually think of finishing the thesis as a real possibility. In the thankless position of supervisor, Herb Feith endured much and gave more. He has been a friend for the best part of two decades, and for me, as for many others, an inspiring - and exasperating - model of political commitment, intellectual insight, and an unmatched generosity of spirit. Finally, Elizabeth Radcliffe, to whose memory this is dedicated, not only demanded that it be written, but in her own life brought the light that showed the way of hope and grace beyond. To them all, my deepest gratitude. Richard Tanter Kyoto Seika University Kino-cho, Sakyo-ku, Kyoto 606, Japan

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ABRI AHM Akabri Aktekad AMN Amn ANSP APBN Apter Arhanud Armed ASEAN Asintel ASIO ASIS Askamtibmas

[Angkatan Bersenjata Indonesia] Armed Forces of the Republic of Indonesia [Akademi Hukum Militer] Military Law Academy [Akademi Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia] Indonesian Armed Forces Academy [Akademi Teknologi Angkatan Darat] Army Technical Academy [Akademi Militer Nasional] National Military Academy State Internal Security (Iraq) Agency for National Security Planning (South Korea) [Anggaran Pendapatan dan Belanja Negara] State Income and Expenditure Budget [Aparatus Teritorial] Territorial Apparatus [Artileri Pertahanan Udara] Air Defence Artillery Centre [Artileri Medan] Field Artillery Association of Southeast Asian Nations (Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand) [Asisten Intelijen] Intelligence Assistant Australian Security Intelligence Organisation Australian Secret Intelligence Service [Asisten Keamanan dan Ketertiban Masyarakat] Assistant for

. In deciphering the many acronyms in Indonesian military texts I have been grateful to a SESKOAD graduate, Major Harold Maynard of the U.S. Air Force, for his work in compiling Indonesian Military Acronyms and Abbreviations, (Second edition, March 1982; DVP-2600-3003-82), and to Harsja W. Bachtiar, Siapa Dia? Perwira Tinggi Tentara Nasional Indonesia Angkatan Darat, (Jakarta: Penerbit Djambatan, 1988), pp.xii-xvi. I am also indebted to Peter Britton for the aid of the bibliography in his Military Professionalism in Indonesia: Javanese and Western Military Traditions in Army Ideology to the 1970s, unpublished MA thesis, Department of History, Monash University, February 1983. Unless otherwise noted, all terms are Indonesian terms, or Dutch and Japanese terms used in Indonesia prior to 1945, or used virtually worldwide.

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Public Order and Security Askomlek Aslog Asops Aspers Asrenum Assospol Aster Asyawan Ba Tuud Bagian Intel Angkatan Perang Babek Babinkar Babinkum ABRI Babinsa Badan Pengamanan Penguasa Daerah Bais ABRI Bakin Bakorin Bakorstanas [Asisten Kominkasi dan Elektronika] Assistant for Communications and Electronics [Asisten Logistik] Assistant for Logistics [Asisten Operasi] Assistant for Operations [Asisten Personil] Assistant for Personnel [Asisten Perencana Umum] Assistant for General Planning [Asisten Sosial Politik] Assistant for Social and Political Affairs [Asisten Teritorial] Territorial Affairs Assistant [Asisten Kekaryawan] Assistant for Functional Affairs [Bintara Tata Usaha Urusan Dalam] Internal Administration NCO Armed Forces Intelligence Section [Badan Pembekalan] Logistics Agency [Badan Pembina Karyawan] Functional Affairs Management Agency [Badan Pembina Hukum] Armed Forces Legal Guidance Service [Bintara Pembina Desa] Village Guidance NCO Regional Security Authorities Body [Badan Intelijen Stratejis ABRI] Armed Forces Strategic Intelligence Agency [Badan Koordinasi Intelijen Negara] the State Intelligence Coordinating Agency [Badan Koordinasi Intelijen] Intelligence Coordinating Body [Badan Koordinasi Koordinasi Bantuan Pemantapan

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Stabilistas Nasional] the Coordinating Body for Assisting in the Maintenance of National Stability Bakorstanasda Bappenas Baurkonsos Baurwanra Berufsverbote BfV Binalindung Biro Khusus BKMC BKR BND BOSS BPI BPU Bundeskriminalamt bupati buruh chudancho Chuo Sangi-in ^^ CIA Area Bakorstanas Executive [Badan Perencana Pembangunan Nasional] National Development Planning Agency [Bintara Kondisi Sosial] Social Conditions NCO [Bintara Perlawanan Rakyat] Peoples Resistance Force NCO Banned employment [Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz] Office for the Protection of " the Constitution (West Germany) Development and Protection of Labour Special Bureau [Badan Koordinasi Masalah Cina] Coordinating Body for Chinese Affairs [Badan Keamaman Rakyat] People's Security Body [Bundesnachrichtendienst] Federal Intelligence Service (West Germany) Bureau of State Security (South Africa) [Badan Pusat Intelijens] Central Intelligence Body [Badan Pengawasan Undang-Undang] Legal Control Agency Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau (West Germany) regent worker/labourer company commander Central Advisory Council Central Intelligence Agency (US)

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Cointelpro CPM CSIS daidancho Dagri Dan Demin Kapolri Den Den Inteldam Deops Kapolri DINA Dipiad Dispen Humas Dit Intelpam Pol Dit Pamau DPKN DPR dwifungsi EEZ ELS

Counter-intelligence programme (US) [Corps Polisi Militer] Military Police Corps Centre for Strategic Studies battalion commander [Dalam Negeri] Home Affairs [Komandan] Commander [Deputi Administrasi Kepala Polisi Republik Indonesia] Deputy for Administration to the Chief of the National Police [Detasemen] Detachment [Detasemen Intelijen Daerah Militer] Military Area [Kodam] Intelligence Detachment [Deputi Operasi Kepala Polisi Republik Indonesia] -Deputy for Operations to the Chief of the National Police [Direccion de Inteligencia Nacional] National Intelligence Directorate (Chile) [Dinas Pelaksana Intelijen Angkatan Darat] Army Executive Intelligence Directorate [Dinas Penerangan Hubungan Masyarakat] Information and Community Relations Office [Direkorat Inteljen Pengamanan Polisi] Directorate of Police Intelligence and Security Affairs [Direkorat Pengamanan Angkatan Udara] Air Force Security Directorate [Dinas Pengawasan Keamanan Negara] State Security Service [Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat] People's Representative Council dual function Exclusive Economic Zone [Europesche Lager School] European Lower School


Estikhbarat FBI FBSI FMS FOSKO gabungan gali GBHN Gerwani GHS GPK GPL G30S/PKI Golkar gotong-royong GRU Hankam Hansip HF/DF HIS

Military Intelligence (Iraq) Federal Bureau of Investigation [FBI] Federasi Buruh Seluruh Indonesia] All-Indonesia Labour Unions Federation Foreign Military Sales (US) [Forum Studi dan Komunikasi] Forum for Study and Communication joint (unit, group) [gang liar] wild gang, gangster [Garis-Garis Besar Haluan Negara] Perspectives of the Course of the Nation [Gerakan Wanita Indonesia] Indonesian Women's Movement Geneeskundige Hogeschool [Gerakan Pengacau Keamanan] Security Threatening Elements [Gerakan Pengacau Liar] Wild Terrorist Gangs [Gerakan 30 September/Partai Komunis Indonesia] 30th September Movement/Communist Party [Golongan Karya] functional groups; Indonesian Government Political Movement mutual cooperation [Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye] Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff (USSR) [Pertahanan dan Keamanan] Defence and Security [Pertahanan Sipil] Civil Defence high frequency/direction finding [Hollandsch-Indlandsche School] Dutch Native School

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Hizbu'llah IKP IMET IMF Intelpampol ipolekososbud Irjen ABRI ITB Jabotabek Jaksa Tinggi Jamintel ka kabupaten Kadapol Kadin Sospol KAL Kamtibmas Kapolri karyawan Kasi

Army of God [Intelijen Kementerian Pertahanan] Defence Ministry Intelligence International Military Education and Training (US) International Monetary Fund [Intelijen Pengamanan Polisi] Police Intelligence and Security ideological, political, economic, social, cultural [Inspektur Jenderal ABRI] Inspector-General of the Armed Forces [Institut Teknologi Bandung] Bandung Institute of Technology Jakarta-Bogor-Tangerang-Bekasi region Senior Attorney (prosecutor) [Jaksa Agung Muda Bidang Intelijen] Deputy AttorneyGeneral (Intelligence) [kepala] head regency (administrative unit) [Kepala Daerah Polisi] Head of Police Area [Kepala Dinas Sosial Politik] Head of the Social and Political Affairs Office [Kelompok Aksi dilapangan] Field Action Groups [Keamanan dan Ketertiban Masyarakat] Public Order and Security [Kepala Polisi Republik Indonesia] Chief of the National Police someone who works, someone who performs a function [Kepala Seksi] Head of Section

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Kaskar Kaskopkamtib Kassospol ABRI Kasum ABRI KCIA kebathinan keimukan Kejaksaan Tinggi Keluarga Besar ABRI Kempeitai Kenkyuhan ^ Kesepakatan Bersama Lembaga Kerjasama Tripartit Nasional Ketertiban Umum Hansip KGB KIN KMA KMA KNI

[Kepala Staf Kekaryawan] Chief of Staff for Functional Affairs [Kepala Staf Kopkamtib] Kopkamtib Chief of Staff [Kepala Staf Sosial Politik ABRI] Chief of the Armed Forces Social and Political Affairs Staff [Kepala Staf Umum ABRI] Chief of the Armed Forces General Staff Korean Central Intelligence Agency spirituality, concern and cultivation of the inner self, Javanese spiritual practises Home Ministry police officials (Japanese) Senior Prosecutor's Office Greater Family of the Armed Forces Military Police (Japanese) Research Group

National Tripartite Labour Institute Accord Civilian Defence and Public Order Development [Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti] Committee for State Security (USSR) [Komando Intelijens Negara] State Intelligence Command [Koninklijke Militaire Academie] Royal Military Academy (Netherlands) Korean Military Academy (South Korea) [Komite Nasional Indonesia] Indonesian National Committee

x x x iii

KNIL KNPI Koanda Kobangdiklat Kodam Kodim Kohanudnas kokutai Komando Jihad Kopkamtib Kopur Linud Kopassandha Kopassus Koramil Korem Korp Komando A.D. Korpri Kostrad KOTI Kotis

[Koninklijke Nederlandsch Indische Leger] Royal Netherlands Indies Army [Komite Nasional Pemuda Indonesia] the National Committee of Indonesian Youth [Komando Antar Daerah] Inter Regional Command [Komando Pengembangan Pendidikan dan Latihan] Training and Education Development Command [Komando Daerah Militer] Military Area Command [Komando Distrik Militer] Military District Command [Komando Pertahanan Udara Nasional] National Air Defence Command form of national government (Japanese) Holy War Command [Komando Pemulihan Keamanan dan Ketertiban] Command for the Restoration of Security and Order [Komando Tempur Lintas Udara] Airborne Combat Command [Komando Pasukan Sandhi Yudha] Secret Warfare Force [Komando Pasukan Khusus] Special Forces Command [Komando Rayon Militer] Military Sub-District Command [Komando Resort Militer] Military Sub-Area Command Army Commando Corps [Korps Pegawai Republik Indonesia] Indonesian Government Officials Corps [Komando Cadangan Strategis TNI-AD] Army Strategic Reserve Command [Komando Operasi Tertinggi] Supreme Operations Command [Komando Taktis] Tactical Command

x x x iv

Kotto Keisatsu Kowilhan KRI ksatriya Kudarlap Kupalda Kyoikutai ^ Laksus Laksusda Lasuswil Lemhannas Linud LSN lurah Mahmillub MAAG MAD MAP Menko Polkam MPBI MB MPR

Special Police (Japanese) [Komando Wilayah Pertahanan] Defence Region Command [Kapal Republik Indonesia] Indonesian Ship knight [Kursus Dasar Lapangan] Basic Field Course [Kursus Perwira Lanjutan Dua] Advanced Officers' Training Course II Officer Training Unit [Pelaksana Khusus] Special Executive [Pelaksana Khusus Daerah] Area Special Executive [Pelaksana Khusus Wilayah] Regional Special Executive [Lembaga Pertahanan Nasional] National Defence Institute [Lintas Utara] Airborne [Lembaga Sandi Negara] State Cryptography Institute village head [Mahkamah Militer Luar Biasa] Extraordinary Military Tribunal Military Assistance Advisory Group (US) [Militarischer Abschirmdienst] Military Screening Service (West Germany) Military Assistance Program (US) [Menteri Koordinator Bidang Politik dan Keamanan] Coordinating Minister for Politics and Security Indonesian Labour Consultative Council [Markas Besar] Headquarters [Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat] People's Consultative

x xxv

Assembly MPRS mufakat Mukhabarat MULO musyawarah Muspida Negara Islam Indonesia NEFIS NIO NSA nubika NWFZ ONA OPM Opstibpus Opsus P3AD P4P/P4D Paban pao-chia [Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat] Interim People's Consultative Assembly consensus (Ba'ath) Party Intelligence (Iraq) [Meer Uitgebreid Lager Onderwijs] More Extended Lower Instruction consultation [Musyawarah Pimpinan Daerah] Leaders' Consultative Council Indonesian Islamic State Dutch Second World War intelligence service National Intelligence Office (Papua-New Guinea) National Security Agency (US) nuclear, biological and chemical Nuclear Weapon Free Zone Office of National Assessments (Australia) [Organisasi Papua Merdeka] Free Papua Movement [Operasi Tertib Pusat] Centre for Operation Order [Operasi Khusus] Special Operations [Pusat Pendidikan Perwira Angkatan Darat] Army Officers' Education Centre Central and Regional Councils for the Resolution of Labour Disputes [Perwira Bantuan] Aide family-based or village-based system of collective responsibility (Chinese)

x x x vi

Pam pamong praja Pancasila Pangab Pangdam Panitia Penelitian Pusat Panitia Pengawas Pelaksanaan Pemilu Pusat Paswalpres Pelatih Inti Pasukan Komando Angkatan Darat pembangunan pemuda pengamanan penggalangan penyelidikan Penyelidik Militer Khusus Pepolit Pertamina Peta petrus

[Pengawasan Aliran Masyarakat] Social Supervision "servants of the realm"; senior administrators Five Principles of the Republic of Indonesia [Panglima ABRI] Armed Forces Commander [Panglima Daerah Militer] Military Area Commander Central Investigation Committee

Central Committee to Supervise the Conduct of the Election [Pasukan Pengawal Presiden] Presidential Security Squad

Army Commando Nucleus Force Training development young man counter-intelligence, security covert action/psychological warfare intelligence, investigation Special Military Intelligence [Pendidikan Politik] Political Education Bureau [Pertembangan Minyak Nasional] Indonesian state oil company [Tentara Sukarela Pembela Tanah Air] Voluntary Army of the Defenders of the Fatherland [penembak/an misterius] mysterious killings/killers

x x x vii

PID PKI PKM PNI Polri Pom Pos Siaga Naker PPP Protap PRRI PSI PTHM PTIK Pucuk Pimpinan Pusat Pelaksana Pengecah Konflik Pusat Pengelola Tenaga Kerja Pusat Pengelolaan Krisis Masalah Ketenaga Kerjaan Pusbintal ABRI Pusdik Intel ABRI

[Politieke Inlichtengen Dienst] Political Intelligence Service [Partai Komunis Indonesia] Communist Party of Indonesia [Pengawasan Keamanan Masyarakat] Social Security Supervision [Partai Nasional Indonesia] Indonesian Nationalist Party [Polisi Republik Indonesia] National Police [Polisi Militer] Military Police Early Warning Posts [Partai Persatuan Pembangunan] Unity Development Party [Prosedur Tetap] Established Procedure [Pemerintahan Revolusioner Republik Indonesia] Indonesian Revolutionary Government [Partai Sosialis Indonesia] Indonesian Socialist Party [Perguruan Tinggi Hukum Militer] Higher Military Law School [Perguruan Tinggi Ilmu Kepolisian] Police Science College Supreme Staff Conflict Prevention Central Executive Labour Crisis Control Centre

Labour Crisis Control Centres [Pusat Pembinaan Mental ABRI] Armed Forces Mental Development Centre [Pusat Pendidikan Intelijen ABRI] Armed Forces Intelligence Education Centre

x x x viii

Pusintelstrat Pussenif Rapim Renseitai Renstra Repelita Rikugun Shikan Gakko RPKAD RTP rukun kampung rukun tetangga rukun warga SAB Satgas Intel Sathub Satpur SAVAK SD Seinen Dojo ^^ Seskoad Seskogab

[Pusat Intelijen Strategis] Strategic Intelligence Centre [Pusat Kesenjataan Infanteri] Army Infantry Weapons Centre [Rapat Pimpinan/Pangab] Armed Forces Commander's/Leaders' Meeting [Jawa Bo-ei Giyugun Kanbu Renseitai] Officer Training Unit ^ ^ [Rencana Strategis] Strategic (Defence and Security) Plans [Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun] Five-Year Development Plan Ground Forces Military Academy [Resimen Para Komando Angkatan Darat] Army Paratroop Regiment [Resimen Tim Pertempuran] Regimental Combat Team village/neighbourhood association neighbourhood association citizen/neighbourhood association [Staf Angkatan Bersenjata] Armed Forces Staff [Satuan Tugas Intelijen] Intelligence Task Force [Satuan Perhubungan] Communications Unit [Satuan Tempur] Combat Unit National Information and Security Organisation (Iran) [Sekolah Dasar] Primary School Youth Training Centre [Sekolah Staf dan Komando Angkatan Darat] Army Staff and Command School [Sekolah Staf dan Komando Gabungan Angkatan Bersenjata] Armed Forces Combined Staff and Command College

x xxi x

Seskopol Shiso Gakari ^ Shiso Gakari ^ Kempei Shiso Keisatsu ^ shodancho Si Siinteldim Sintelrem SIPRI SKBD SKI SCUT SMA SMP SMT sospol SPN Spri SPSI Srena

[Sekolah Staf dan Komando Polisi] Police Command and Staff College Thought Procurators (Japanese) Military Thought Police (Japanese) Thought Police (Japanese) platoon commander [Seksi] Section [Seksi Intelijen Distrik Militer] Military District Intelligence Section Staff [Staf Intelijen Rayon Militer] Military Sub-Area [Korem] Intelligence Staff Stockholm International Peace Research Institute [Surat Keterangan Bersih Diri] Certificate of Personal (Political) Cleanliness [Staf Koordinasi Intelijen] Intelligence Coordinating Staff [Staf Coordinasi Urusan Tjina] Coordinating Staff for Chinese Affairs [Sekolah Menengah Atas] Senior High School [Sekolah Menengah Pertama] Junior High School [Sekolah Menengah Teknik] Technical Middle School social and political [Sekolah Polisi Negara] State Police School Personal Staff [Serikat Pekerja SelurIndonesia] All Indonesian Federation of Workers [Staf Rencana dan Anggaran] Budgeting and Planning Staff


SSKAD SUAD Sum Kopkamtib Sus Kopkamtib Suslapa T&T tapol TBO Teperpu TGP

[Sekolah Staf dan Komand Angkatan Darat] Army Staff and Command School [Staf Umum Angkatan Darat] Army General Staff [Staf Umum Kopkamtib] Kopkamtib General Staff [Staf Khusus Kopkamtib] Kopkamtib Special Staff [Kursus Lanjutan Perwira] Officers' Advanced Course [Tentara dan Teritorium] Army and Territory [tahanan politik] political prisoner [Tenaga Bantuan Operasi] Operational Support Forces [Team Pemeriksa Pusat] Central Investigation Team [Tentara Genie Pelajar] Student Engineer Army

Tim Bantuan Masalah Perburuhan Labour Assistance Teams Tim Pembina Desa Tiningpu TJADUAD TKR TNI Todsapu Tokko ^ tonarigumi TRIP unit kerja Wa Village Guidance Teams (Kopkamtib) Screening Teams [Tjadangan Umum Angkatan Darat] Army General Reserve [Tentara Keamanan Rakyat] People's Security Army [Tentara Nasional Indonesia] Indonesian National Army [Tim Oditur/Jaksa Pusat] (Kopkamtib) Central Prosecution Team [Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu] Special Higher Police (Japanese) ^^ neighbourhood associations (Japanese) [Tentara Republik Indonesia Pelajar] Indonesian Students Army work unit Deputy


walikota Yon Zipur Yugekitai zaibatsu

mayor [Batalyon Zeni Pertempuran] Engineers Battalion [Boei Giyugun Tokusetsu Yugekitai, also known as I-go Kimmutai] Special Guerilla Defence Corps financial clique (Japanese)


Chapter 1 Militarization, surveillance and terror: the foundations of rule in a rentier-militarist state Prologue: Managing the "still unmastered past" In April 1978 Admiral Sudomo, the Commander of the Indonesian armed forces security organization Kopkamtib, was a practical military bureaucrat with a practical administrative problem. Sudomo was a tough navy man intensely loyal to President Soeharto. Like Soeharto, Sudomo had cultivated the ethos of "para" toughness by taking the paratroop-commando course at the age of 40. Now after five years as day-to-day head of Kopkamtib under Soeharto he was finally Commander in his own right, and faced with the difficult problem of judging the political opinions of tens of thousands of alleged former communist political prisoners, and more than a million of their unincarcerated family and former comrades. The problem was a large one. Before October 1965 the Communist Party of Indonesia [PKI] had claimed three million members, and was undoubtedly the largest party in the world outside China and the Soviet Union. Some twelve million people were said to have belonged to organizations regarded as aligned, openly or otherwise, with the party - organizations for farmers, unionists, women, young people, film-makers, performers, artists, writers, religious groups, and ethnic groups. A whole vertical slice of Indonesian society had, in one way or another, been red. In the months after October 1965 the problem had been dealt with directly: as a matter of policy the army under its new leader, Major-General Soeharto, had killed or sponsored the killing of a vast and unknown number of "reds": apart from those on lists of notables, anyone who was, or could be plausibly labelled as being, a member of the party or one of the aligned organizations was fair game for elite army death squads or Islamic youth groups egged on by the Army. Just how many died in the months of the holocaust is unknown. The Australian Prime Minister of the day, Harold Holt, summed up the judgement of the Army's foreign backers when he assured the well-lunched members of the River Club of New York in July 1966 that with 500,000 to 1,000,000 Communist sympathizers knocked off, I think it is safe to assume a re-orientation has taken place. Two years later, the Central Intelligence Agency, which had reason to follow events closely, plumped for the lower of Holt's figures, and an Indonesian general in a better position than most to make an educated guess suggested a figure somewhere in the middle. At some point in the next fifteen years more than a million and a half Indonesians were arrested as alleged communists, or interrogated and classified as such. In the years to come, after the killing abated, a kind of political caste system emerged, according to whose rules of pollution anyone associated with a Communist Party member by blood or marriage unto the third generation was to be regarded as communist until proven otherwise - if ever. Given the numbers still in prison, and the much larger number outside the camps still considered suspect, the government felt a need to differentiate between the "hard-core" believers and those who had seen the error of their ways. For the preceding two years Sudomo's army and university psychologists had been


working on the problem. At last by 1978 Sudomo was able to announce to a New York Times correspondent, Henry Kamm, that "his people" had the solution: a battery of psychological tests, which, when applied to the major group of political prisoners "gave a 70 to 80 percent assurance of detecting communists". Sudomo, good nationalist that he was, proudly boasted that even the much-vaunted U.S. Central Intelligence Agency had been unable to help: I said to the Americans, "Don't you have a computer that we can put in someone's head so that we can know exactly what his ideology is? ... They don't have it!" The battery was made up of three standard western psychometric tests, and two developed specifically for the unique Indonesian situation. The three western tests dealt with intelligence, firmness of conviction and capacity to influence others, and with political "tough/tender-mindedness". A team of military and academic psychologists had laboured to produce two all-Indonesian thematic differentiation tests. When the results of these tests were processed by computer, and combined with interrogation files and observations of the prisoners over more than a decade of confinement, it was said to be possible, with a high degree of reliability, to classify the chances of political "recidivism" from "diehard" to "zero". In due course the tests were presumably administered by the two hundred-odd assistants trained for the purpose - we do not know the details thereafter. In time, more than 100,000 former alleged communist prisoners were released, presumably after being processed in this way. Within a few years the same tests, or ones very like them, were being applied to a new wave of dissent - Muslims disenchanted with the New Order. When the tapols were released in their tens of thousands, they moved from physical incarceration in concentration camps into Indonesian, and particularly Javanese, society through which the Army had woven a dense web of military and civilian surveillance institutions. In theory, this military surveillance network reached from the Armed Forces intelligence headquarters right down through each military and civilian administrative layer to the villages in the countryside and the kampung neighbourhoods of Java's crowded cities. In each village and kampung there was a Village Guidance NCO [Babinsa] forming one leg of the base level of political intelligence, officially charged with routinely giving "guidance"; reporting on whatever happens, especially anything "unusual"; reporting on "social forces" (meaning any formal or informal social or political or cultural or economic organization or grouping); and of course carrying out active intelligence work as directed. Together with a nominally-civilian network of Neighbourhood Associations in the same villages and kampungs, and regular requirements for ex-prisoners to register and re-register for identity cards noting one's political background, the military intelligence system was designed to ensure that the ex-tapols simply exchanged one kind of prison for another. Perhaps the machinery of surveillance was unevenly applied and less than competently administered, but we must conclude that the development and application of such psychometric tools was undertaken to meet a felt bureaucratic need. Ideologically motivated or not, military administrators were faced with a vast problem (entirely of their own making) to solve: how are the large but finite surveillance resources of the state to be deployed to deal with hundreds of thousands of tapols and militant Muslims and their families? The sheer scale of the surveillance operation is astounding - and this was the case


even before the release of the tapols. If the tests' administrators are to be believed, each prisoner under went a battery of tests, the results of which were then scored and computer-analyzed, and then correlated with the results of observations during the period of incarceration (implying the existence of some system of individual surveillance and record-keeping during detention), and records of interrogation - which in some cases must have begun a decade or more before. Moreover this process was repeated on several occasions for each prisoner if Sudomo is to be believed. It is of course probable that in many cases records did not exist or had been misplaced or observations conducted in a completely useless way. But there is no reason to believe that something like what has been outlined did not actually took place, and that at least an attempt made to apply the results to the establishment of a grass-roots surveillance regime covering ex-tapols returning to their villages and kampungs. If it is true that more than 1.7 million (the figure varies) "G30S/PKI" [September 30th Movement/Communist Party of Indonesia]-connected people have been processed by the intelligence agencies in the past, then records must have been kept on at least a sizable proportion of them. Whether retained in manual card systems or in computer data banks, then in combination with data-gathering through questionnaires like this such activities represent an enormous ongoing surveillance capacity. One is left with an image of a densely woven mesh of prosaic and routine surveillance, carried out by a obsessive and relentless, if sometimes comically inept, military bureaucracy motivated at the top by a mixture of vindictiveness, ideological zeal, and gulping bad faith powered by concerns to protect positions of privilege and suppress the memory of the past.1 Thesis framework: theoretical concerns In Indonesia in the New Order period under President Soeharto from 1966 until the late 1980s, three separate political processes have come together to yield a distinctive and institutionalized pattern of control of the Indonesian population: militarization, comprehensive domestic political surveillance, and intermittent, but persistent, state terror. This thesis is a study of the central element of all three processes: the organizations that make up the Indonesian intelligence complex in the late New Order period. The empirical part of the thesis (in Part 2) provides an account of the structure and operations of Indonesian intelligence and security organizations in the latter part of the New Order, and an account of their relationship to the broader political and economic framework of rentier militarization. However it is not possible to understand the Indonesian case study without looking at wider patterns of militarization, state terror and institutionalized political surveillance in the form of domestic political intelligence agencies. The approach in the first part of the thesis engages with these broader concerns of social theory and the implications of the Indonesian example for the rest of the world. Militarization In the present world order, which remains defined by Pax Americana, the militarized state is the norm in the Third World, not the exception. And these states are in fact only part-states, by and large quite unable to survive in anything like their current form if excised from their location within the wider imperial economic and political pattern. The
1. The matters dealt with in this prologue are presented in greater detail in Chapters 6, 8 and 10. Citations are omitted here.


preoccupation of the thesis with militarization and its consequences, in Indonesia and elsewhere, comes from the sheer scale of death and the institutionalized threat of violent death in the latter half of the twentieth century. Of the 10,700,000 people in the world who died as a result of fighting within or across national borders between 1960 and 1982, more than half had lived, before their premature deaths, in East and Southeast Asia.2 How have the majority of countries in East and Southeast Asia been drawn into the historical process of rapid militarization? Why is it that the governments of the region have, in the past quarter century, diverted huge amounts of scarce resources to the finally wasteful activity of paying standing armies and buying ever-increasing amounts of weaponry? Why have those armed forces come to threaten their own populations more than neighbouring states? Why is it that more than half of the countries of the Third World have some form of military government? The first of the three core parts of the framework of the thesis, therefore, is that of militarization: of Third World states and their industrialized patrons within a system of global militarization. That global system expresses itself through three main types or modes of contemporary militarization: the familiar national form; the imperial or extended form typified by the United States and the Soviet Union; and the indirect form, of which the most important example in for the subject of this thesis, is Japan. While the ranks of military regimes are legion, they are mainly short-term in nature, alternating with more or less nervously civilian governments, or passing the burdens of office to others in khaki. But there are at least two important Asian exceptions. Indonesia has had a military government since 1966, continuously led by the same man - an almost unparalleled degree of militarized stability. And South Korea remains highly militarized, even though an elected (albeit military) president came to power in 1986 after twenty five years of military rule. Surveillance The second of the core concepts, surveillance, is taken from the work of Michel Foucault3. Linked with militarization and terror, surveillance is the key to understanding the nature and importance of intelligence agencies in contemporary Third World politics. Indeed, intelligence agencies epitomize the technically rational application of modern surveillance possibilities by the state. The roots of the issue of surveillance take us back in European history. After the internal pacification of Western European societies following the inter-related "military" and "fiscal" revolutions in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a dramatic shift in the nature of social control set in - the onset of the disciplinary society. This new social form was characterised by an increasingly dense mesh of norms of conduct managed by an ever-larger group of professionals whose authority was sanctioned by the state on the basis of a claim to specialized bodies of knowledges or disciplines, in the double sense. Most importantly this entailed the construction of an intellectual- and state-administrative machinery for the categorization, recognition, detection, and punishment of "deviance" - a "governmentalization of power" and social discipline.

2. Ruth Lever Sivard, World Military and Social Expenditure, 1985, (Leesburg, Va.: WMSE Publications, 1985), pp.10-11. See also Table 2.1 below. 3. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish, (London: Allen Lane, 1977).


Surveillance in turn is linked, in the work of Anthony Giddens4, to a refurbished notion of totalitarian rule, most importantly involving an "extreme focussing of surveillance", coupled with terror. Given the nature of contemporary Third World militarized state-forms, it useful to review Giddens' model of totalitarian rule in the light of the Japanese experience of emperor-system fascism. The Japanese model of an integrated transnational system of power between the home countries and the colonies, with varying types and levels of surveillance and terror at the centre and periphery of the system, is the best guide to the current hierarchical world-system of militarization. A central argument of this thesis is that Indonesian politics since 1965 are best understood in terms of a totalitarian ambition, albeit somewhat one which is unsystematic in conception and thwarted in practice. To this end it is helpful to re-think the questions of totalitarian rule and fascism. Domestic political intelligence agencies are the logical outcome of these processes in politics. By the late twentieth century virtually every nation-state had developed some type of surveillance bureaucracy for political purposes, in addition to those involved in externally-oriented activities, military or otherwise. The activities of such agencies are almost always adversarial, if not hostile; and may be either covert or open in form and aim, passive or disruptive and aggressive towards their targets. Domestic political intelligence agencies carry out a range of activities, which they may share with state and non-state-agencies. These activities include surveillance, political intervention (including terror), ideological propagation and maintenance, and political steering. Virtually all nation-states have agencies of this type, and indeed they show a striking isomorphism in terms of type and form around the world. The experience of liberal democracies, as well as other state forms, shows a constant tendency, unless otherwise checked, for such agencies to become autonomous and insulated from effective control either by social groups or other parts of the state executive, the legislature or the judiciary. Increasing levels of agency autonomy permit, and by temptation encourage, a shift from more passive intelligence activities to aggressive counter-intelligence in domestic democratic politics. The totalitarian variant is but the extreme of a more general pattern of the rationalization of domination.5 This pattern is built upon the capacity for increased and more effective surveillance, but is also dependent on the subsequent development of further forms of state intervention based on information derived from systematic surveillance of the citizenry. Intelligence agencies vary in their precise role here, and clearly are deeply involved in the surveillance and intervention aspects. However on occasion they may become - or seek to become - more deeply involved still in this wider pattern of rationalization of domination through a claim to insight into structural understanding of the society, the direction of social change, and the means of rectifying what are deemed undesirable changes. Domination in and through a state will always be based on a shifting balance between outright coercion, ideology, and increasingly, what Foucault called the "disciplinary technologies of power". Domestically-oriented intelligence agencies are
4. Anthony Giddens, The Nation State and Violence, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1985). 5. "Rationalization" is used here in the sense developed by Weber, referring to the systematizing of an activity, the removal of extraneous or inhibiting elements, and the development of the logic within a pattern.


involved in all three activities, but especially the last. Terror The third core concept, terror, is closely linked to the activities of intelligence agencies in most Third World countries. There, all talk of the "disciplinary society" is premature, even though the surveillance aspect of politics flourishes. Terror is remarkably little acknowledged as either a form or a persistent principal element of rule in general studies of Third World politics. Remarkably, this is the case even though the list of Third World countries cited for "violations of human rights" - a euphemism for arbitrary execution, harassment, torture, extreme intimidation, exile, imprisonment without trial grows ever longer. Terror, usually discussed in relation to the almost inconceivable histories of Nazism and Stalinist Russia, is in fact a normal element of rule in many if not most Third World countries. Few non-industrial countries have been spared the plague of torture in the past thirty years. The intensity, the ferocity, of the impulse of state terror varies from time to time, country to country, target group to target group. However, despite its terrible physical aspects, as a form of rule terror is primarily a cultural and psychological matter, and as such, is constituted by processes of cultural construction. The fundamental requirement for terror to take hold, to become a form of rule is the diffusion of suspicion of The Other as a normal state, a corrosion of solidarity. Deformation of the language of everyday talk accompanies this process, leading to what has been described as a "semantic delirium". Ordinary words may become laden with explosive connotations. Fantasy - of power or powerlessness may emerge: agents of the state begin to speak with a quality of baroque excess; and would-be victims are enervated by gossip and rumour. Equally, state agents may unconsciously protect themselves with a de-amplified language that permits a certain degree of denial (to the self) of what is actually happening. Torture itself, as a theatre of state power, also turns out to hinge on matters of language: the centrality of the question, the confession, and the obliteration of the world that accompanies such pain. Studies of the activities of death squads and intelligence agencies in different parts of the world show a remarkable similarity in the processes of abduction, detention, torture itself, and return to society - whether as a living person, as a body, or as a member of another category, the disappeared. This derives from the fact that these activities are in fact rituals, or more precisely pseudo-rituals of the totalitarian state, and as such show the remarkable similarities of ordered sequences of symbolic events like rites of passage of separation, transition and incorporation. It becomes clear, when looking at accounts of torture, that the generation of an effective culture of terror involves an assault on prior certainties of the ground of knowledge, or rather, the creation of what has been called an "epistemic murk". Most important in this process is access to "the space of death", a reality known to both victims and torturers, and a crucial part of the fiction of power of the latter. A final consideration in the construction of cultures of terror is memory, the inflection of the remembered, constructed past on the acts of the present and the considerations of the future. Terror and memory are intertwined: terror has its effects precisely in the realm of memory, memory re-charges the effects of the original act. Levels of terror can vary, and as current active terror diminishes, the effects of past acts may be sustained by state-orchestrated symbolic reminders. The mixing of such rehearsals of past acts and the selective suppression of alternative histories can become a powerful means of sustaining terror as a form of rule using only low-level acts of terror. In


Indonesia in the late 1980s, the holocaust of the months after late October 1965 was a matter of guilty or nightmarish memory for many, a whispered fable for many more. Yet it is none the less powerful an element of rule when reinforced by the selective use of extreme violence against particular groups unaccountably deaf to the siren calls of Guided Development. These theoretical concerns are important for a number of reasons. Remarkably few social theorists take the issue of contemporary militarization seriously. In so doing, they affirm the technocratic separation of social analysis from moral concerns which is so supportive of the anti-democratic tendencies of the modern state. Moreover they render their analysis partial and inadequate. The traditional concern of sociologists with "social control" should lead to the study of those parts of the state for whom social control, in the broadest and most literal sense, is their raison d'etre. Indeed, these state surveillance ^ agencies often consider themselves to be pursuing that quest in a highly technically rational form. Despite the current popularity of general surveys of "surveillance" and the "politics of the body" deriving from the work of Michel Foucault, there is remarkably little interest in linking such theorizing to the already rich store of empirical studies of state (and "private"/corporate) surveillance. As a result we are once again allowing a lacunae in our understanding of the social whole, with theorists lagging far behind the reality of state practice. This particular failing is especially important because it concerns that part of the state which is singularly concerned with steering the whole, and which, if we wish to consider the "retrieval of democracy" will have to be brought under democratic control in forms which have yet to be established effectively anywhere in the world. Rentier-militarization in Indonesia Before the institutional character of the Indonesian intelligence state can be explored, it will be necessary to answer one central question: How is it that such a state can survive for so long? Not only has the New Order state endured for more than half of the total period of Indonesian independence, but Soeharto, in a quite personal sense, has held power for a far longer time than Soekarno, whose only extended period of executive primacy was Guided Democracy, and whose power even then was substantially limited by comparison with his successor.6 R. William Liddle's explanation of the resilience of the Soeharto regime over more than two decades provides a powerful model of the predominantly domestic orientation of recent work on Indonesian politics, concluding The complex pattern of repression, performance legitimation, and symbolic legitimation has created and now sustains within and outside the political system, a solid basis of support that is likely to outlive Soeharto.7 However, pace Liddle, it can be argued that the explanation of the contemporary Indonesian state and economic structure has been overly pre-occupied with domestic factors, neglecting the explanatory importance of external factors.
6. This paragraph and those following summarize the argument presented at greater length in Chapter 6 below. See citations there. 7. R. William Liddle, "Soeharto's Indonesia: personal rule and political institutions", Pacific Affairs, 58,1 (1985), p. 87.


This thesis is in part a contribution towards an understanding of the contemporary Indonesian rentier-militarist state which stresses the external pre-conditions for its emergence and reproduction - and, in time, its possible transformation. This thesis takes as given a great deal of the mainstream analysis of Indonesian society and politics which stresses national and local explanatory factors - although there is room for a great deal of argument about the particulars. Comparative analysis is fruitful usually because of the illumination that comes from mixing elements of like and elements of difference. But what is required is comparison within a global setting, which seeks to compare not two or more separate or independent entities, but two parts of a larger whole. The differences and similarities that are discovered may well be due to internal factors, unrelated to dealings with the outside, or at the other extreme, due virtually entirely the location of the two part-societies in the wider whole - be it the international division of labour, the political ecology of the globe, or the location of each in planning for the next global war. Or some point in between. The same phenomenon - say, militarized capitalist growth - may in one case (Indonesia) be due to the subordinate integration of that economy into the dominant global system; whereas in another case (South Korea) it is due to a carefully managed neo-mercantilist distance from that pattern of domination. Comparison is always comparison within the wider pattern of global social relations, and set within an historical framework. Robert Cox has mapped out three levels or spheres of activity which must be analyzed historically if we are to understand contemporary global social relations in any part of the world: (1) the organization of production, more particularly the social forces engendered by the production process; (2) forms of state as derived from a study of state/society complexes; and (c) world orders, i.e. the particular configurations of forces which successively define the problematic of war and peace or the ensemble of states. Each of these can be studied as a succession of dominant and emergent rival structures.8 A great deal of the difference in the economic development of Indonesia and South Korea in the past can only be explained by contrasting, on the one hand, their respective locations in the global strategic order, and on the other, the differences in the character of their insertion into the global division of labour. Many of the same considerations apply beyond the purely economic. In the course of a bravura comparison of classic European and contemporary Third World state-formation, Charles Tilly reminds us that in the real world, legitimacy derives less from the assent of the governed than from the likelihood that the authority of one state will be confirmed by others. In the contemporary world-order, it is other national and supra-national authorities whose confirmation is crucial for the question of legitimacy. For Tilly, what marks out contemporary Third World state formation from its European precursors is the relationship between the acquisition of war-making capacity and subject populations on the one hand, and other states on the other. In Europe, he argues, armies were built up through sustained struggles with their subject populations, and by means of a selective expansion of protection to different classes within the populations.
8. Robert W. Cox, "Social forces, states and world orders: beyond international relations theory", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 10,2 (1981), pp.137-8. See also his "Gramsci, hegemony and international relations: an essay on method", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 12,2 (1984), and Production, Power and World Order: Social forces in the Making of History, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987).


Agreements on protection constrained the rulers themselves, making them vulnerable to courts, to assemblies, and to withdrawal of credit, services and expertise.9 The formation of Third World states in a system of nation-states reinforcing each other and projecting extra-territorial power to both support and modify each other meant that the requirement of a domestic process of adjustment and mutual constraint between social forces was often limited or even absent. The network of external military, economic, political or ideological support for peripheral states on an historically unprecedented scale provides the possibility that the new states harbor powerful, unconstrained organizations that easily overshadow all other organizations within their territories. To the extent that outside states guarantee their boundaries, the managers of those military organizations exercise extraordinary power within them.10 The argument is, of course, extremely general, and as a result under-estimates both the complexity of forms of transnational political-economic constraint and the degree of contestation of military power that has occurred in countries such as Indonesia. Yet in essence this describes precisely the situation in Indonesia under conditions of rentiermilitarization. For Indonesia, the combination of huge oil export revenues and fluctuating but substantial foreign aid revenues provided a material foundation without which the domestic florescence of a rentier-militarist state would have been impossible. Equally importantly, the survival of the Soeharto regime, and the pattern of its relationships with domestic social forces has been contingent on the location of that state in the wider world order established under American aegis after 1945. Most importantly, the United States orchestrated the allocation of Southeast Asia and Indonesia in particular in the Japanese sphere of influence. In no way does all this suggest that there has been no domestic legitimation. Rather, it is to argue that the requirement to achieve such legitimation has been greatly minimized by the external context. The peculiar quality of rentier-militarist regimes, understood in this externally-oriented sense, is their relative capacity to ignore, or at least postpone, cultivation of domestic support and the class compromises which that process requires. The external rentier-character of New Order state formation has generated a considerable degree of freedom of the state from constraint by the subject population. Moreover, the legitimation that has finally mattered in Indonesia, other than that of the army as the governing group, has been the balance of opinion of state-managers in Washington and Tokyo. That external legitimation, coupled with the material basis of the external rentiereconomy, has made possible the hypertrophy of the state vis-a-vis other social organizations and the capacity of the state to ignore any need for serious negotiation with subject populations - to say nothing of holocaust and terror. The Indonesian intelligence state
9. Charles Tilly, "War and the power of warmakers in Western Europe and elsewhere, 1600-1980", in Peter Wallensteen, Johan Galtung and Carlos Portales (eds.), Global Militarization, (Boulder: Westview, 1985), p.83. 10. Charles Tilly, "War-making and state-making as organized crime", in Peter Evans, Dieter Rueschmeyer and Theda Skocpol (eds.), Bringing the State Back In, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p.186.


Within the Indonesian military, the professional intelligence stream epitomized by General (Ret.) Benny Moerdani has been dominant since at least the early 1980s. President Soeharto established the oldest surviving agency, Bakin, in the early days of the New Order and was its head for much of its first decade. Political intervention - violent, intimidating, cajoling, seducing, or all these together - against a wide range of regime opponents was the hallmark of the "political modernization" campaigns carried out by Moerdani's mentor, Ali Moertopo, to establish Soeharto's dominance in the first decade of the New Order. And after the liquidation of the left in 1965-66, a massive apparatus of surveillance and political "cleansing" reaching into every village and city block was established to monitor and control the activities of millions of citizens associated with once-legal organizations - or their relatives and descendants by blood or marriage. By the mid-1980s the Soeharto regime's critics, most notably Muslims disenchanted with "development", were speaking of the negara intel - the Indonesian intelligence state. Just as the dominance of the military within the state yields the familiar Third World militarized state, so the particular character of the militarized state in Indonesia is given by that stream of the military which is dominant - the intelligence stream. The agencies of surveillance in Indonesia are both military and civilian, although all are set within a framework of a thoroughly militarized state. These surveillance capacities are matched by political intervention capacities, either within the same agency or another for example through the military's long-running instrument for selective application of effective martial law, Kopkamtib. Over the life of the New Order state, these agencies have changed in structure, assigned role, and political significance. In general however, there has been a clear pattern of centralization and professionalization of intelligence and of socio-political control generally, associated in particularly with the tenure of General Moerdani as Armed Forces Commander. What is striking is that in the Indonesian case this has been achieved concurrently with an expansion and professionalization of the conventional externally-oriented military forces structure. In addition there has been at least an attempt at scientizing the instruments of interrogation and surveillance of Communist and Islamic political prisoners and former prisoners, and possibly that of workers involved industrial disputes. In the Indonesian state, the intelligence apparatus attempts to carry out four activities to benefit the aims of the state as a whole: repression, surveillance, ideological correction, and steering. The first two activities are well-known and expected, the last two less so. The repressive role of the Indonesian intelligence agencies has often been documented, but surveillance has received less systematic attention, even though it is rather more important. The instruments of state surveillance are multiple, confused, and for much of the population, probably low-level, passive and somewhat ineffective. However, in intention they are not so, and for particular large sections of the Indonesian population they are effectively and comprehensively applied, and in such a way that they have implications for the remainder of the population. The Indonesian example helps to delineate different intelligence regimes. Militarization can proceed without the development of a domestic political intelligence capacity. It is also possible for a state to be extensively militarized and possess an extensive surveillance regime, but not use terror against its own population. What marks out the Indonesian case is the presence of all three elements - militarization, domestic political surveillance, and terror. By the late 1980s in New Order Indonesia, the primary terror was, for many


Indonesians, a matter of memory rather than direct experience - the memory of the holocaust in the six months from late October 1965 when upwards of 500,000 people were murdered by military forces or civilians supported and encouraged by the Army. Terror since that time has taken four forms, each far less comprehensive than the New Order's constitutive killings, but carrying potent effects for the population at large. In early 1983 the Strategic Intelligence Agency developed a plan for the murder of alleged petty criminals. In the next year approximately 5,000 were killed by army and police deathsquads using techniques that were "secret but open" that had the effect of heightening fear and mystery. In East Timor and Irian Jaya the Armed Forces have on numerous occasion committed appalling atrocities. In the government campaigns against Muslims who refuse incorporation into the Pancasila scheme of things, torture of those in custody has been widespread. And finally, as a means of invoking the spectre of the constitutive holocaust, prisoners allegedly involved in the September 30th Movement and/or the Communist Party of Indonesia who have been under sentence of death since the late 1960s have been apparently arbitrarily executed. Limitations of the study Something of should be said of what is not in this study. Four omissions are important, and deliberate. Although this is in part a study of Indonesian militarization, there is no detailed discussion here of the political involvement of the military in the state, doctrines of dwi fungsi, and the use of military officers in non-military positions. These are matters that have been adequately dealt with by a generation of foreign and Indonesian scholars. Without doubt there are gaps in that research to be filled in, and an updating to be carried on, but for the purposes of this thesis, the work of Anderson, Britton, Crouch, MacDougall, McVey, Mrazek, Sundhaussen, and Utrecht provides a platform from which to carry out a more limited and specialised research project.11 The second deliberate omission was accepted more reluctantly. Although it is the argument of this thesis that Indonesian rentier-militarization has flourished under the aegis of Pax Americana, there is no detailed examination of the question of the part played by the United States in the fall of President Soekarno and the holocaust of 1965-66. The decision to omit this aspect was difficult: it is well known that there was a substantial US intelligence interest in Indonesia throughout the 1950s and 1960s; that the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) played a major part in supporting, encouraging and
11. See Benedict R. O'G. Anderson, "Current data on the Indonesian military elite", Indonesia, 48 (1989), and earlier more or less annual reports with the same title signed by the editors of Indonesia, of which Anderson was always one; Peter Britton, Military Professionalism in Indonesia: Javanese and Western Military Traditions in Army Ideology to the 1970s, unpublished MA thesis, Department of History, Monash University, February 1983; Harold Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, (revised edition, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), and "Patrimonialism and military rule in Indonesia", World Politics, XXXI,4 (1979); John M. MacDougall, "Patterns of military control in the Indonesian higher bureaucracy", Indonesia, 33 (1982), and "Military penetration of the Indonesian government: the higher central bureaucracy", Indonesia Reports, 14 (1986); Ruth T. McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation of the Indonesian army, part I", Indonesia, 11 (1971), and "The post-revolutionary transformation of the Indonesian army, part II", Indonesia, 13 (1972); Rudolf Mrazek, The United States and the Indonesian Military, 1945-1965: A Study of an Intervention, Volumes I and II, (Prague, Oriental Institute, Dissertationes Orientales 39, 1978); Ulf Sundhaussen, "The military: structure, procedures and effects on Indonesian society" in Karl D. Jackson and Lucien W. Pye (eds.) Political Power and Communications in Indonesia, (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978), and Social Policy Aspects of Defence and Security Planning in Indonesia, 1947-1977, (Townsville: James Cook University of North Queensland, Occasional Paper No.2, 1980), and The Road to Power: Indonesian Military Politics, 1945-1967, (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1982); and Ernst Utrecht, The Indonesian Army: A Socio-Political Study of an Armed, Privileged Group in the Developing Countries, (Townsville, Queensland: James Cook University, 1980).


provisioning the PRRI/Permesta Revolt in 1958; that US military and civilian intelligence agencies were extremely active in the Guided Democracy period in sustaining relations with the Indonesian Army elite, and in sharing their considerable expertise in intelligence techniques and psychological warfare.12 There can be no doubt that little of the truth of the events of 1965-66 has emerged in an undistorted form as yet. But for all of the importance and fascination of the question of the American role in one of the twentieth century's crimes against humanity it seemed to me impractical, and, as result, foolish, to add to the agenda of the thesis as it already stood. Yet this decision to omit the area almost whole does not mean that I consider it either unimportant or impossible to study. On the contrary. The same considerations applied, although in a less conscious way, to the decision to abandon a serious attempt at an historical account of the development of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus. The deeper I moved into the subject (or rather, the closer I got to the subject - the people I interviewed) the more serious this omission appeared. This "decision" was in fact largely a matter of facing the inadequacies of research design, and, once the problem became clear during the interviewing period, of becoming reconciled to other priorities. But throughout the first thirty years of the life of the Indonesian nation, as well as the later period dealt with in this study, intelligence organizations were important political organizations. In the course of interviewing Indonesian military and intelligence figures - especially those who had retired - time and again the question of history was impressed on me. This was in part a consequence of their natural desire to have their story written down somewhere. Clearly, they were concerned about their version of the record. But there was also, especially amongst the older men, a concern just with the fact of the history as such - not just the facts. They were people whose biographies were fused with that of a nation, as well as a state, and concerned, perhaps in vain, to talk of the part played by individuals in high places (or dark ones) amidst the crushing conjuncture of structural forces that framed Indonesian society in their day. The final omission concerns the relationship between surveillance and the ideological activity of the state: in particular, the state's promulgation of Panca Sila as the ideological foundation of the nation.13 The same state that mounted a comprehensive apparatus of surveillance also invested considerable resources in the development, publication and dissemination of written and other materials based on the principles of Panca Sila. School "ethics" textbooks, "instruction" packets and courses tailored for most occupational groups from bureaucrats and prostitutes, graphic and written adumbrations
12. Peter Dale Scott, "The United States and the overthrow of Sukarno", Pacific Affairs, 58,2 (1985); Benedict R. O'G. Anderson and Ruth T. McVey, with Frederick R. Bunnell, A Preliminary Analysis of the October 1, 1965, Coup in Indonesia, (Ithaca: Modern Indonesia Project, Cornell University, 1971 [1966]); Benedict R. O'G. Anderson, "How Did the Generals Die?", Indonesia, 43 (1987); W.F.Wertheim, "Whose plot? - new light on the 1965 events", Journal of Contemporary Asia, 9,2 (1979); and Frederick R. Bunnell, The Kennedy Initiatives in Indonesia, 1962-63, Ph.D dissertation, Cornell University, 1969 (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, 1969), and "The Central Intelligence Agency - Deputy Directorate for Plans, 1961 secret memorandum on Indonesia: a study in the politics of policy formulation in the Kennedy Administration", Indonesia, 22 (1976); Britton, cop.cit., pp. 99-160; and David Ransom, "Ford country: building an elite for Indonesia" in Steve Weissman (ed.), The Trojan Horse: A Radical Look at Foreign Aid, (Palo Alto: Ramparts Press, 1975). 13. On Panca Sila see Michael Morfit, "Pancasila: the Indonesian state ideology according to the New Order government", Asian Survey, XXI,8 (1981); Syafruddin Prawiranegara, "Pancasila as the sole foundation", Indonesia, 38 (1984); Susan S. Purdy, "The civil religion thesis as it applies to a pluralistic society: Pancasila democracy in Indonesia (1945-1965),", Journal of International Affairs, 36,2 (1982); Douglas E. Ramage, "The political function of Indonesia's Panca Sila moral education", paper presented to the Southeast Conference of the Association for Asian Studies, (n.d.); and Marc Bonneff et al, Pantjasila: Trente Annees de Debats Politiques en ' ' Indonesie, (Paris: Editions de la Maison des Sciences de L'Homme/Archipel, 1980).


of the Panca Sila for military manuals, and most importantly, the coercion of all religious groups to accept Panca Sila as the sole foundation of Indonesian life - all these manifested the determination of the New Order state to attempt to influence - if not control - the thinking as well as the actions of its citizens. To be sure, for many Indonesians these were laughably shallow affairs, and the actual impact of the state's straining after hearts and minds unclear. But at the very least the apparatus of Panca Sila inculcation served as a kind of ideological fog unevenly blanketing the society, hindering the development or diffusion of alternative social ideas. Moreover, military manuals for social-political and intelligence operations made clear the concerns of the intelligence apparatus about the results of ideological deviance. The totalitarian ambition, thwarted though it may have been by ineptness, resistance and the sheer scale of the task, extended quite literally to matters of mind-control. However, all that is possible here is to draw attention to the question of the possible relationship between these twin concerns of the New Order state, and mark the area for future work. Note: Research on intelligence Any research study is necessarily limited, both in its aims and actual achievements. This study attempts analysis on of its empirical subject matter, intelligence agencies, on the basis of information that is clearly incomplete. It is very much a matter of the committee of five blind men describing their impressions of an elephant, with one discussing the texture of its skin, another its wonderful trunk, a third grasping its legs, a fourth swinging from its tail, and the last sitting atop the animal's head, and none of them able to see the whole beast. Another discouraging metaphor which came to mind during the work: it is as if the study of icebergs could only be carried out from above the water, and then only in darkness in high summer. Research on organizations such as intelligence organizations is likely to be more limited in its results than studies of most other political organizations because of the desire and capacity of such organizations to keep their activities, and their personnel, structure and organizational agenda somewhat hidden. In fact intelligence organizations vary in this regard: some are in the phone book and report to legislatures regularly and publicly. Others are little known, even within other parts of their governments. But from my experience, and on the face of the evidence of other researchers on intelligence matters cited in this thesis, the experience of others, it is possible to carry out useful research in this area. What is required, apart from patience, common sense, and a willingness to be wrong on more occasions than one would like, is an appropriate method of study. It is a commonplace of sociology that most of the discipline's research methods were devised to study people who could not resist inspection, beginning with the poor. In the case of intelligence agencies and like bodies what is needed is an investigatory research method to deal with groups and individuals who are able to deflect, deter and even punish attention to themselves. There are no great secrets revealed in the course of this study. Indeed, most of the material cited comes from the public domain. The amount of material already in the public domain is very considerable: all that is required is some diligent searching and compilation. The small amount of material not publicly available came in the course of confidential interviews, and from documents generally not available to the public which were made available as a result of those interviews.


It may be that some parts of the information presented here are incorrect, or the analysis based upon that information inept or incomplete. So far as possible, information and opinions were assessed in the usual ways. There are places where confirmation has been either impossible or unsatisfactory, but wherever I have had serious doubts about the validity of information I have indicated those doubts. If I have had doubts about the reliability of an informant, I have either balanced the views of that informant against those of others, or indicated the nature of the problem. There are, of course, places where more interviews, or re-interviews, would have been desirable. The process of interviewing began with a certain logic, based on guesses or deductions about who might know the answers to certain questions, and, within that group of possibilities, who might be prepared to talk to me about the matter. After that, access to such people depended very much on the avenue of approach to them, on introductions from trusted third parties, and on the predispositions of the people concerned. Some interviews were conducted in a cool, if not antagonistic atmosphere. Even so, such interviews were often helpful, intentionally or otherwise. But the great majority of the more than fifty interviews carried out for the project were conducted in a friendly and cooperative atmosphere, even when it was made clear that my political outlook and those of the person being interviewed did not coincide. I am grateful to the candour of such people, who were often simply concerned to have their views placed on the record. I hope that they are satisfied with the accuracy of the reporting, even though there may be inevitable differences over interpretations and frameworks of analysis. Other people shared their knowledge and insights at some personal or professional risk simply because of a sense of responsibility - intellectual, political, or professional. The only real limitation that is imposed on the reader of the thesis as a result of the nature of the study is in the matter of citing sources of information which came from interviews. Interviews for this work were conducted in Indonesia, Australia, Japan and South Korea between 1985 and 1988. Those interviewed (or corresponded with) included academic specialists, government and opposition politicians, government officials, military officers (serving and retired), retired and serving intelligence agency officials, journalists, non-government political activists, novelists and artists, and students. The conventional academic practice of citing sources by giving the names of those interviewed and the dates of interviews is desirable but, for the most part, has not been followed. In a very few cases, those who helped me have been named at specific places in the text; in other cases, especially those of fellow academics, a general expression of thanks has been given in the acknowledgements. However, for the overwhelming number of people in Indonesia and elsewhere who provided information, all details of the source of the interview materials have been withheld, and in a few cases, further disguised. Most, though by no means all, interviews were given on the basis of such confidentiality. I feel confident that in many, if not most, cases the source of the information is irrelevant to assessing the significance of the information for the tale. On the other hand there are other places where added significance would come if the author of a quotation were given. There are certainly more places where the name could be provided with little difficulty or objection from the source. But, as a little thought will show, the possible sources of information for most of these matters is relatively small. The number of people in Jakarta, Seoul or Tokyo who are in a position to provide such information is such that they are, for these purposes, very small towns. To name the small number who could be named without creating difficulties


for them then leaves open the probability that the names or positions of others could be inferred with reasonable accuracy. As a result almost all interview material is cited in numerical form, preceded by the prefix "PS", standing for Protected Source. My position then is that of most responsible journalists who must survive by subsequent evaluations of the information they provide from uncited sources and the interpretations they place upon that evidence. As I have already said, hopefully this will begin a process of inevitable correction of errors and enlargement of the theme. It is for others to decide whether this work reaches an acceptable standard, but I feel confident that it demonstrates that it is possible for work on this and like subjects to begin, and the task of enlargement and correction to follow in due course. Outline of the thesis The thesis is divided into three main parts. Part I presents a theoretical introduction to the thesis; Part II deals with the Indonesian case-study; and Part III presents a brief conclusion, and an afterword. Part I of the thesis deals with the three key ideas of the thesis: militarization, surveillance and terror. Chapter Two is a brief discussion of the concept of militarization, its effects, a model of its empirical dimensions, and a typology of forms of contemporary militarization. Chapter Three deals with the idea of surveillance and totalitarian rule, emphasizing the place of surveillance and internal pacification in modern states. Special attention is paid to certain aspects of the Japanese experience of emperor-system-fascism as a guide to the contemporary Third World model of peripheral capitalist militarization. Chapter Four deals with the most important forms of political surveillance in intelligence agencies, stressing the relatively uniform character of these agencies in most modern states. Their activities, as already suggested are primarily those of surveillance, repression and intervention, but the question of ideological formulation and political steering are also considered. Chapter Five is a discussion of terror as a form of rule, in situations of totalitarian rule and otherwise. It is emphasized that effective terror is culturally constructed in processes involving both the state and its victims. Part II presents the empirical core of the thesis. It opens with Chapter Six on the global pre-conditions for the different types of militarization in Indonesia and South Korea, stressing the place of external factors (strategic and economic) as pre-conditions for the better-recognized internal developments in the two countries. Chapter Seven is a discussion of Indonesian military force structure and budgets as a background to the subsequent exploration of the intelligence organizations of the state as a whole, which are, of course, controlled and dominated by the military. Militarization here is seen in the internal socio-technical and doctrinal characteristics of the military qua military. This chapter analyzes the development through the 1970s and 1980s of a dual emphasis in the Indonesian armed forces: the simultaneous development of a capital- and technology-intensive conventional combat force, with all of the common implications such force structures have for the national economy, together with a professionalization and deepening of the military-based apparatus of internal control. The remainder of Part II deals with the structure and operations of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus, both military and otherwise in later New Order period. Chapter Eight is a survey of the structure of the military intelligence agencies. It opens with a discussion of the Command for the Restoration of Security and Order [Kopkamtib] and its


successor organization, the Coordinating Body for Assistance in the Maintenance of National Stability [Bakorstanas], as the centrepieces of the intelligence and security complex. The remainder of this chapter deals firstly with the Strategic Intelligence Agency [Bais], and the Army Intelligence line organization reaching to the lowest administrative levels of Indonesian society which it caps. Chapter Nine deals with (nominally) non-military intelligence organizations: the State Intelligence Coordinating Board [Bakin], the late Ali Moertopo's now-defunct Opsus, National Police Intelligence and Security, the Department of Home Affairs Directorate of Social and Political Affairs, the Deputy Attorney-General for Intelligence Affairs, the labour surveillance role of the Department of Labour Power, and signals intelligence work of the State Coding Institute. Chapter Ten raises the question of how the diverse activities of these overlapping and often competing agencies are coordinated. This problem is evidently a persistent one, since there have been a number of different coordinating mechanisms established at various levels of the state. Chapters Eleven and Twelve move from questions of structure to questions of intelligence operation. Chapter Eleven opens with review of one state theory of intelligence activities, as seen in military textbook models for Intelligence Operations, Territorial Operations and Social and Political Operations. The directives and models set down there are then compared with the large amount of evidence about the actual practice of surveillance and intervention operations by the armed forces' intelligence organizations. In Chapter Eleven the emphasis is on the place of terror in such operations, as seen in East Timor, Irian Jaya, the mass killings of alleged criminals in 1983-84, and campaigns against student and Muslim dissidents. In Chapter Twelve the emphasis is on surveillancebased operations: in the war zone of East Timor; in a comprehensive program of labour control; and in an increasingly scientized programme of questionnaire-based surveillance of former communist political prisoners and Islamic prisoners arrested in more recent times. A number of detailed matters are presented in nine appendices of varying length. The first appendix provides biographical information on a large number of Indonesian military men and civilians involved in intelligence matters after 1945, and in particular in the 1970s and 1980s. Almost all the substantial information on these men (and they are all men) comes from open sources. Building on and collating the work of others provides a base for both tracking prominent individuals and noting more general patterns. Moreover, "naming names", even of those no longer active in intelligence circles, contributes in a small way to removing the immobilizing shroud of mystery and secrecy cultivated by intelligence agencies the world over. This mysteriousness, normally justified in raison d'e ' tat as a requirement of operating in the finally violent world of international anarchy also serves handily as a means of intimidating their own populations. Readers are urged to consult this appendix as an aid to the main body of the text. Other appendices deal with career patterns within Indonesian intelligence; a note on the history of intelligence agencies in Indonesia; translated Indonesian army training manuals dealing with domestic political surveillance and assessment; translated questionnaires for the surveillance of workers; a relatively detailed budget breakdown of Indonesian military expenditure provided to the United Nations; and listings of the Assistants for Intelligence and/or Security to the heads of the Indonesian Armed Forces, Ministry of Defence and Security, and Army.


Chapter 2 Militarization: global, regional and national

In the present world order, which remains defined by Pax Americana, the militarized state is the norm in the Third World, not the exception. And these states are in fact only part-states, by and large quite unable to survive in anything like their current form if excised from their location within the wider imperial economic and political pattern. The preoccupation in this thesis with militarization and its consequences, in Indonesia and elsewhere, comes from the sheer scale of death and the institutionalized threat of violent death in the latter half of the twentieth century. Of the 10,700,000 people in the world who died as a result of fighting within or across national borders between 1960 and 1982, more than half had lived, before their premature deaths, in East and Southeast Asia.1 (See Table 2.1.) How have the majority of countries in East and Southeast Asia been drawn into the historical process of rapid militarization? Why is it that the governments of the region have, in the past quarter century, diverted huge amounts of scarce resources to the finally wasteful activity of paying standing armies and buying ever-increasing amounts of weaponry? Why have those armed forces come to threaten their own populations more than neighbouring states? Why is it that more than half of the countries of the Third World have some form of military government? The most important part of the answers to these questions, therefore, is militarization: of Third World states and their industrialized patrons within a system of global militarization. While the ranks of military regimes are legion, they are mainly short-term in nature, alternating with more or less nervously civilian governments, or passing the burdens of office to others in khaki. But there are at least two exceptions. Indonesia has had a military government since 1966, continuously led by the same man - an almost unparalleled degree of militarized stability. And South Korea remains highly militarized, even though an elected (albeit military) president came to power in 1986 after twenty five years of military rule.

1. Ruth Lever Sivard, World Military and Social Expenditures 1985, (Leesburg, Va.: WMSE Publications, 1985), pp.10-11.



In this chapter, then, I will discuss the concept of militarization, which, together with surveillance and terror, is one of the core concepts around which this thesis is organised as a contribution to understanding the Indonesian state. The chapter begins with a description of the classical notion of militarism and the difficulties this notion presents for the analysis of contemporary politics. I will then review the debates about alternative terms, especially "militarism" as opposed to "militarization". The main types of contemporary militarization are then outlined: national, extended or imperial, and indirect forms of militarization. These are then related to variants according to socio-economic base. The main concern of the chapter then becomes the dimensions of contemporary Third World militarization, the normal form of peripheral capitalist states. This involves a change in the social organization of state violence, and its increased salience in the life of the state and society at large. These issues are then reviewed at length in the case of regional militarization in East and Southeast Asia. The classical notion of militarism and its difficulties The meaning and sense attached to "militarism" was set early: its first use by Madame De Chastenay in 1816 referred pejoratively to Napoleon I's recently defeated regime.2 Vagts' classic interwar study set out the history by which militarism has connoted a domination of the military over the civilian, an undue preponderance of military demands and emphasis on military considerations, spirits, ideals, and scales of value.3 In this tradition of political thought domestic militarism was associated with an aggressive foreign policy, backed up by an unwarranted and threatening military build-up, giving the capacity to exercise a preference for the use of force in resolving conflicts between states. The same emphasis appears in Klare's more recent definition: we can define 'militarism' as the tendency of a nation's military apparatus (which includes the armed forces and associated paramilitary, intelligence and bureaucratic agencies) to assume ever-increasing control over the lives and behaviour of its citizens; and for military goals (preparation for war, acquisition of weaponry, development of military industries) and military values (centralization of authority, hierarchization, discipline and conformity, combativeness and xenophobia) increasingly to dominate national culture, education, the media, religion, politics and the economy, at the expense of civilian institutions.4 Vagts and Klare accurately reflect the popular meanings of the term "militarism" in the twentieth century. However, two difficulties have emerged with this dominant use of the term. Studies of contemporary militarization in the United States and the Soviet Union have revealed the structural character of the "non-military" institutions contributing to militarist policy
2. Volker R. Berghahn, Militarism: The History of an International Debate, 1861-1979, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), p.7. 3. Alfred Vagts, A History of Militarism, (New York, 1959 [1938]), p.12. 4. Michael Klare, "Militarism: the issues today", Bulletin of Peace Proposals, 9,2 (1978), p.121.


outcomes in those countries: e.g. a military-industrial complex and the role of military research and development institutions and procedures as a somewhat autonomous factor in the contemporary arms race. To deal with this, peace researchers began to supplement the original policy/behaviour and ideology/culture dimensions of militarism with a "structural" or "systemic" dimension.5 The additional element recognised the degree to which contemporary superpower militarism is embedded in the domestic society, and its propensity to influence other elements in the global system in a militarist direction. As Kim put it: Militarism...has now achieved the status of a global ideology. Contemporary militarism differs from its historical antecedents in its global reach, the immediacy of its impact, the degree of its structural penetration, and the magnitude of its lethal power.6 This structural and systemic emphasis was an important step towards resolving the second, larger problem. In European and North American political thought, "militarism" has been overwhelmingly associated with two specific historical episodes: Wilhelmine Germany and Japan in the 1930s. These examples generated a paradigm focussing on the overt and illegitimate role of the officer corps in government, an attempt to inculcate an overtly martial spirit into the population of industrial societies, and what was held to be the unjustifiable use of military force in foreign relations. It is hardly accidental that these two examples represent a portrayal of the losers of two world wars by the winners in such a way as to attribute the origins of these conflicts to characteristics of the losers' domestic societies. Alternative or supplementary explanations of the outbreak of war that may deal with the international political and economic behaviour of the subsequently victorious states are thereby vitiated. Moreover, the term "militarism" is effectively reserved for one historically limited state type. While US or Soviet military spending, military industries, military capacity, and international political use of military force has been for over four decades comparable to Wilhelmine Germany, the use of the term "militarist" for the United States appears inappropriate if the basis of comparison is pre-1918 Germany and pre-1945 Japan. The appropriate response is to recognise the historically limited connotations of the dominant interpretations of "militarism", and redefine the term more broadly, and in openly ahistorical terms, as does Michael Mann in a preparation for a more historically specific analysis: I define militarism as a set of attitudes and social practices which regards war and the preparation for war as a normal and desirable social activity.7 What is then to be understood is that even in the twentieth century there have been a number of different types of militarist states which must now be identified. The German historian Volker Berghahn distinguishes between two fundamentally different forms of
5. Kjell Skjelsbaek, "Militarism, its dimensions and corollaries: an attempt at conceptual clarification", Journal of Peace Research, XVI,3 (1979); and Marek Thee, "Militarism and militarization in contemporary international relations", Bulletin of Peace Proposal, 8,4 (1977). 6. Samuel S. Kim, "Global violence and a just world order", Journal of Peace Research, 21,2 (1984), p.185. 7. Michael Mann, "The roots and contradictions of modern militarism", New Left Review, 162 (1987), p.36. Also in his States, War and Capitalism, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988).


twentieth century militarism. "Type I" is the paradigm of "classical militarism": Germany and Japan as "transitional" industrialising societies dominated by an officer corps, which is itself saturated with a martial ideology, pushing an increasingly armed and coercive state towards war with other states. The domestic political repression that accompanied the path to external aggression is a crucial element of the paradigm of classical militarism: There can be little doubt that a connection existed between the state of open or latent civil war within these transitional societies and those aggressive designs.8 "Type II", high technology militarism is characteristic of the major powers of the second half of the twentieth century, where nuclear weapons have to date precluded direct major wars. This type of militarism has a very different make-up, domestically and internationally: If Wilson was correct in assuming that the "spiritual element" is an essential ingredient of militarism, it appears to be absent from the "mass politics" of the high technology countries whose populations adhere overwhelmingly to a civilian life-style. They are consumer- orientated and openly fearful of war. There is no popular enthusiasm for paramilitarism and for programmes of territorial expansion. Attempts to organise people into militaristic associations meet, insofar as they are undertaken at all, with little success. War is not heroized into a Junger-like literature.9 Mann refines Berghahn's broad portrait of Type II contemporary high technology militarism by distinguishing at least three central components: the deterrence science militarism shared by elites of East and West; the militarised socialism predominating among the Soviet people; and the spectator sport militarism prevailing among Western citizens.10 The point here is not so much the detailed portrayal of the structure of the central elements of a globalised militarism as the distinction between these forms of contemporary militarization and those of classical militarism which have so shaped the dominant public perception. "Militarism" and "militarization" So far, the terms "militarism" and "militarization" have been used interchangeably. Is there any reason to prefer one to the other? Militarization is an awkward and ugly term, a social science neologism, an ugly noun derived from a recently invented and barely legitimate verb, itself derived from a noun. However it does potentially differ from "militarism" in several useful senses. Firstly, "militarization" clearly refers to a process, rather than to an end condition
8. Berghahn, op.cit., p.108. 9. Ibid, pp.108-9. Berghahn's otherwise excellent survey tends to treat contemporary western Type II militarism in terms which omit the profound cultural irrationalities underpinning its survival. For two different psychological portrayals see Joel Kovel, Against the State of Nuclear Terror, (Boston: South End Press, 1983); and Robert J. Lifton, The Broken Connection, (New York: Touchstone Books, 1979). 10. Mann, op.cit., p.36.


alone. Accordingly it allows exploration of change in state and society, change in a particular direction. It allows judgement of degree: one state may be more or less militarized than another; a given state may become more or less militarized over time. Secondly, the verb-noun form conveys a sense of interrelated socio-technical processes which, once initiated and established, carry with them a certain momentum. Such terms serve to remind us that we are talking of relations between people which unless actively resisted and restructured tend to develop a social logic of their own, and bend the unresisting will of society around them. Sakamoto argues further that "militarization" is to be preferred to "militarism" in as much as it refers to a dynamic process which goes beyond an aggregation of attitudinal, structural and functional facets of a system. It is a dynamic politico-military process linked with the process of economic development that runs through the history of the modern nation-state system in the last two centuries.11 This takes us beyond the issue of definition, but points the way towards the location of contemporary militarization as a global, systemic and structural set of processes tied closely to the macro-history of the world system in the modern era. Kim's metaphor of militarism as cancer is apposite here: Like cancer, militarism is an aggregate concept for a series of related diseases with different causes and consequences.12 Further discussion of the specific character of these processes goes beyond the question of definition. In any case, no broad, necessarily ahistorical definition can do more than roughly delineate the object of concern. The preference for "militarization" rather than "militarism" is not a strong one, but may be helpful in its connotations. What is necessary at present is to amplify the concept, and provide observable indicators of the presence or absence or variation in the phenomenon in a given historical period - in this case , the second half of the twentieth century. Global militarization "Militarization" here is used to refer to a particular process of change in the state and in the relationship between the state and civil society. Contemporary militarization is a global phenomenon - in three senses. Firstly, the structure of the contemporary world system implicates almost all states in a broad process of militarization - whether by autonomous choice, the pressures of external threat, the demands of alliance partners, or the follow-on consequences of technology-heavy force structures. Hence the isomorphic structures of armed forces and "defence" bureaucracies around the world, the relative standardization of equipment, personnel requirements, and even uniforms.13
11. Sakamoto Yoshikazu, "Research on militarization", paper presented to UNESCO Regional Training Seminar for University Teachers in the Field of Disarmament, Jakarta, September 1982, p.21. 12. Kim, op.cit., p.185. 13. See Robin Luckham, "Militarism: arms and the internationalization of capital", IDS Bulletin, (March 1977); "Militarism: force, class and international conflict", IDS Bulletin, (August 1977); and "Militarism and international dependence: a framework for analysis" in Jose J. Villamil (ed.), Transnational Capitalism and National Development, (Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1979). This standardization appears all the greater the longer the time period involved. At any one time there is a spectrum of "advanced" and "old"


Secondly, contemporary militarization is global in a social structural sense, involving and having an impact upon many if not most sectors of society, especially in the advanced industrial centre countries: in terms of manufacturing, employment, science, mass culture, education and gender relations, let alone the structure of the world system. The forms and processes of militarization therefore need to be specified as global, regional and local, and their inter-relations studied. Thirdly, there is a civilizational dimension to contemporary militarization, a quality that marks off the age as a whole, particular societies and states apart, from those which have preceded it. Mass killing is not new, but its scale is, as is the level of technological rationality applied in preparation for that end and the diminution of moral awareness of such events. But there is also a regional dimension to contemporary militarization, determined mainly by mutual threat-perceptions amongst neighbouring states. Arms build-ups are usually regionally or bilaterally based. Consequently there is a need to tie together three levels of analysis in the understanding of any instance of contemporary militarization: global, regional and national.14 Dimensions of national militarization Four predominantly internal dimensions are involved in national forms of militarization: expanded military force structure; military predominance in politics; a preference for coercive solutions to political problems; and cultural supports for organised state violence. A fifth dimension is the degree of offensively-oriented external military alignment, alliance, or war-fighting capacity. The core concern is with a change in the social organization of state violence, and its increased salience in the life of the state and society at large. Broadly speaking, a state or society will be understood to be undergoing a process of militarization if it exhibits at least one of the following five characteristics:15 (a)an increase in the size, cost and coercive capacity of a nation's armed forces, police and security agencies; (b)a greater political role for the military; (c)an increase in the state's reliance on organised force, domestically and abroad, to secure its policy goals, rather than ideological hegemony and bargaining; (d)a change in the culture in the direction of values and beliefs that more effectively support organised state violence; and (e)increasing external offensive military alignment or alliance with other states, or use of force externally.
technologies and force structures around the world. 14. See Chapter Six below. 15. This categorization is based on that set out in a survey of militarization of the countries of the Asian region in Richard Tanter, "Trends in Asia", Alternatives, (special issue on militarization), X,1 (1984). The alliance criterion, however, was not discussed there. The first four criteria are systematically applied to the countries of the region in that paper.


This use of the term "militarization" does have a number of difficulties which, though acceptable, should be remembered. Firstly, it presumes a "normal" role for the military and a "normal" level of military activity, against which the "militarized" condition of the state can be measured. In an international system in which standing armies are the norm and where, in the last instance in a nuclear-armed crowd, there is a need for self-protection, the relatively highly militarized deviants must undertake unusual activities to be noticeable. The definition implicitly accepts a certain level of state violence as inevitable under present historical circumstances. Secondly, the foundations of all stable states in the present world-system is a pact of compromise between dominant and minority social groups which limits the domain of issues and circumstances over which the state's violence is domestically used. Enduring societies survive their own capacity for violent self-destruction by restricting the moments when minority control over the means of violence is allowed to triumph over compromise, hegemony, ideological controls, and other forms of social control. Militarization refers to that historical moment when the balance moves rapidly towards the rule of force. Thirdly, the approach to militarization adopted here predominantly focuses attention on the internal affairs of individual states. The fifth dimension of militarization discussed on the previous page - increasing military alignment and alliance - is one attempt to refer to the fact that contemporary militarization occurs in a highly-structured world of armed and unequal states. More precisely, the militarization of individual states occurs in a global political system which generates structural pressures on individual states to behave within a constrained set of options. The obvious inequality of nations in terms of power can be thought of as involving descending levels of sovereignty, or increasingly asymmetrical dependence, or diminished distinction between the smaller national state and other, larger national or supra-national states. Militarization is a global historical process, but one which is manifest in the activities and choices taken by individual states. Varieties of contemporary militarization One way of dealing with this last difficulty is to distinguish several variants of contemporary militarization of individual states: national, extended or imperial, and indirect. The national form of militarization is the most familiar, and it is to this form that the dimensions of militarization set out above were aimed. The extended or imperial form of militarization refers to that small number of cases usually termed super-powers. Not only are these "super-power" states themselves profoundly militarized, but they possess considerable power over other states to induce or coerce them to move in a militarized direction.16 Finally, the indirect mode of militarization refers to those states which, while they are not themselves seriously militarized, provide substantial support and assistance for the militarization of other states and benefit from the results. A prime example of
16. See James Petras and Morris H. Morley, "The U.S. imperial state", Review, IV,2 (1980). The "hegemony" debate in current international relations writing deals with some aspects of this issue. See Robert Cox, "Gramsci, hegemony and international relations: an essay in method", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 12,2 (1983), and Production, Power and World Order: Social Forces in the Making of History, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987); Stephen Gill, American Hegemony and the Trilateral Commission, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); and Bruce Russett, "The mysterious case of vanishing hegemony; or, Is Mark Twain really dead?", International Organization, 39,2 (1985).


indirect militarization is contemporary Japan, which has provided considerable political and financial support to repressive Third World states, including both Indonesia and South Korea. The question Japanese state managers now face is whether to move from the indirect to the direct, national form of militarization. The three types of militarization (national, extended or imperial, and indirect) are found amongst both capitalist and state socialist countries. Variation derives not just from the mode of militarization, but from the characteristics of the economic system. Accordingly, the types of militarization are further distinguished into capitalist and socialist, and for the former, into mature and new industrial countries, rentier and agrarian economies. For example, national capitalist forms of militarization in South Korea, Indonesia and the Philippines can be distinguished as "New Industrial", "Rentier", and "Agrarian" respectively.17 Since there are no examples of socialist rentier states, this group is distinguished as mature and new industrial economies and agrarian socialist economies. Clearly, only mature industrial states have the capacity to exercise extended or imperial forms of militarization at present, but in time, new industrial countries will probably move into forms of both indirect and extended militarization. In the definition of militarization set out above, it was suggested that the presence of any one of five characteristics at the national level, would indicate a militarizing tendency in any given society. It is an open question as to which of these, if any, are themselves generative in that the presence of one is very likely to lead to the presence of others. The most closely connected, as means and ends, are increases in the socio-technical base (armaments, personnel and budgets) on the one hand, and the reliance on force [(a) and (c) above respectively]. Paradoxically, military rule is probably less central within contemporary patterns of militarization. The point is not so much that military governments are endemic, even the norm in the Third World. Rather, to argue otherwise misses the equally widespread militarization of nominally civilian-directed states. The cultural dimension is specified separately as a contingency that helps to maintain a distinction between militarization in a general sense and the classic European and Japanese patterns of the first half of the twentieth century as a particular and contingent historical form. If any one of the five dimensions may have a deeper, generative significance, it is likely to be the fifth: the increasing external military alignment. This is because alliance and alignment are not simply matters of military relations. Over time, a great many other ties between the two states and societies come to reach into the domestic structure of the subordinate partner, providing a structural impetus towards the set of options posed by the dominant partner - if not necessarily towards further militarization. The dimensions of militarization set out above need to be understood as at best a checklist of indicators stressing common elements. Such a list says little about the depth of militarization in a society, the particular historical path by which it emerged and which has shaped its character, the tenacity of the condition, or the possibilities for selftransformation. Only national histories written within a global framework can address such issues adequately. Simple models of "external" and "internal" influences are untenable in the contemporary world order. The militarization that characterises that world order has a
17. See Chapter 6 below for a comparison of Indonesia and South Korea in these terms.


variety of forms of intervention and influence - and equally there are as many forms of resistance and rebuff at the local level. The system of inter-state relations is itself reciprocally bound up with the global economic system driven by imperatives of capital accumulation, and limited by the global ecology.18 Regional militarization East Asia, South Asia and Southeast Asia are more or less distinct political, economic and military regions, with South Asia more separate from the other two.19 All three regions are highly militarized, in large part because of their location within either the global political-military alliance system or the global economy.20 For decades, the three regions have been framed by imported cold war alliance rivalries: since 1945-49 in East Asia, and from the 1950s in Southeast and South Asia. (See Table 2.2.) The end of the Pacific War left the United States with a network of bases in the Western Pacific, and the 1950s saw the extension an alliance structure based on relations with Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, South Vietnam, Australia, New Zealand, Pakistan, and the Philippines.21 The American wars in Korea and in Indochina, together with the military core logic of confrontation with the Soviet Union, hardened and extended the rationale for upgraded deployment of nuclear weapons in all three regions: from Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, to Clark and Subic Bases and other bases in the Philippines, Okinawa and other bases in Japan, Onsan and other air bases in South Korea, Guam and Hawaii and other bases in the Western Pacific. The Soviet alliance structure in Asia was always weak, and was weaker still after the end of cooperation between the Soviet Union and China at the end of the 1950s. Since the early 1960s, this consisted of dependent relations with North Korea and (North) Vietnam (weakly dependent and strongly so respectively), and later the lesser Indochina countries, in addition to the Soviet military supply relationship to India. The only Soviet military bases outside its own Pacific territories were the Vietnamese naval base at Cam Ranh Bay and the air base at Danang between the late 1970s and 1990. The period of Soviet naval expansion under President Brezhnev and Admiral Gorshkov produced a substantial counter-force to the US North-Western Pacific capacity, but little of any military consequence for the three regions in other respects. However the alliance structure strongly influenced the militarization of all three regions in other respects. South Korea's remarkable industrialization was a result of the ability of the Korean military leadership to capitalise on the strategic privilege of the country in the US alliance system.22 Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, very large US
18. See Chapter 6 for further discussion. 19. The matters dealt with in the following section are discussed in greater detail in two earlier papers: Richard Tanter, "The militarization of ASEAN", Alternatives, VIII:4 (1981); and "Trends in Asia", Alternatives, (special issue on militarization), X,1 (1984). 20. Only in the case of Burma is it plausible to point to primarily domestic factors as the cause of militarization. Even then, petty capitalist commodity production of opium is induced by external factors. See Alfred McCoy, The Politics of Heroin in Southeast Asia, (New York: Harper Colophon, 1970), chapter 7. 21. On the history of US Pacific basing and alliance policy see Peter Hayes, Lyuba Zarsky and Walden Bello, American Lake: Nuclear Peril in the Pacific, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986). 22 See Chapter 6 for a comparison of South Korea and Indonesia in this respect.


military assistance substantially paid for a series of military Force Modernization Programs which brought the South Korean military force structure to a point comparable to that of the United States forces with


Table 2.2 Alliances of Asia Dominant partner United States Subordinate partners Australia Japan Pakistan Philippines South Korea (Taiwan) Cambodia Laos Mongolia Vietnam


Notes 1. There are two sets of equal alliances: (a) North Korea has treaties with both the Soviet Union and China. (b) The Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) is made up of Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore and Thailand. 2, The relationships between the Soviet Union and Vietnam, Cambodia and Mongolia loosened after 1989.


which it was designed to conduct joint operations.23 But in addition to the economic and military consequences of alliance were the political ones: from the coup by Park Chunghee in May 1961 to the end of the Chun Doo-hwan dictatorship in 1986, the United States supported military government in South Korea, moderating its donation of legitimacy only in the most public of military excess (e.g. the death sentence against Kim Dae-jung) or at the point when it became clear by 1984-85 that the choice was either liberal reform or revolution. A comparable pattern, mutatis mutandis, characterised the US relation to the militarization of the Philippines. The differences between the two cases were firstly the front-line location of South Korea in the confrontation with the Soviet Union, compared with the Philippines rear supply-base role; secondly the very different characters of the economies and social structures of the two countries at 1945; and thirdly, the size and strategies of the opposition groups in the two countries. Indonesia, whilst not a formal participant in the US alliance structure and a leading member of the Non-Aligned Movement, has in fact been strongly aligned with the United States on most policy matters of mutual interest, and a major recipient of US military aid. Since the end of the colonial period Indonesia has been considered a strategic target for the United States. In 1954 the National Security Council secretly specified that "all feasible covert means", including the "use of armed force if necessary" was to be used to thwart a projected communist takeover of the economically significant part of the country.24 The United States intervened in 1958 by supporting the PRRI/Permesta rebellion, and most importantly through military aid and psychological warfare assistance in the critical 1964 - September 1965 period. Leaving aside the nature of that intervention, the vital US interests in Indonesia have been strategic and economic. The strategic interest has been a residual one, a function of Indonesia's population size and location across the sea-lanes from the Indian Ocean to the Pacific, rather than a function of any external challenge. It was a sense of domestic communist and nationalist threat to foreign-controlled enclave commodity oil and minerals production which most animated US policy-makers to commit themselves to a militarized resolution of Indonesian political difficulties in the 1960s.25 The US extended pattern of militarization also affected the internal structure of the communist governments in the regions, especially North Korea and Vietnam. The character of both states was largely determined by war or the threat of war from the US or its local ally. Table 2.3 sets out the pattern of East and Southeast Asian regional militarization. Extended militarization is primarily a matter of intervention by the United States, and to a lesser extent by the Soviet Union, in both cases in the form of military and economic assistance, commercial arms sales, direct military basing, and diplomatic support for client or allied governments with limited or no domestic legitimacy. The indirect militarizing role played by Japan, and to a much lesser extent, Australia, should not be
23. This included payment for the full costs of up to 50,000 South Korean combat soldiers in South Vietnam for more than five years. 24 National Security Council memorandum reported in United States, Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1952-1954, Volume XII, (Washington D.C.), p.1066, cited in Gabriel Kolko, Confronting the Third World: United States Foreign Policy, 1945-1980, (New York: Pantheon, 1988), p.174. 25 On the US and Indonesia more generally see Peter Dale Scott, "The United States and the overthrow of Sukarno", Pacific Affairs, 58,2 (1985).


underestimated - through small amounts of military aid in the Australian case, increasingly large amounts of economic assistance in the Japanese case, and strong diplomatic support from both countries. South Korea, the Philippines, Indonesia, and Thailand, as well as ASEAN in general, have been the prime targets of this approach.26 In national terms, five main types of militarization have been significant since the 1960s in East and Southeast Asia. Table 2.3 classifies the militarized states of East and Southeast Asia according to the following five types: a. New industrial capitalist states b. Rentier capitalist states c. Agrarian capitalist states d. New industrial communist states e. Agrarian communist states

26. See Chapter 6 on Japan-Indonesia relations. In general see Masashi Nishihara, The Japanese and Sukarno's Indonesia: Tokyo Jakarta Relations, 1957-1966, (Kyoto: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto University, and the University of Hawaii, 1976); ****************Economic and Political Authoritarianism, (Seoul: Sogang University Press, 1986); Kunio Yoshihara (ed.), Japan and Thailand, (Kyoto: Kyoto University, Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, 1989); and Kunio Yoshihara, The Rise of Ersatz Capitalism in South-East Asia, (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1988).



Militarization has been the norm rather than the exception in East and Southeast Asia throughout the 1970s and 1980s. While there are important variations, all except Burma could be described by Feith's term "repressive developmentalist".27 In general such regimes pursue rapid national economic growth through integration into the world capitalist system by greatly expanded trade and inflows of investment.28 The state generally expands greatly in size, complexity and infra-structural capacity.29 Resistance to the accompanying rapid social transformation and dislocation is met with pronounced political repression, although the target group and manner of repression will vary with the international political and economic situation, internal ethnic and class structure, and the actual type of resistance generated. The use of state force to resolve political crisis is distinctive, going beyond matters of temporary political intervention by the military to strengthen a faltering civilian hand. Paradoxically, while coercion is central, considerable efforts are made to secure at least a modicum of domestic legitimacy, and to replace preexisting symbols that have lost their political efficacy. This is pursued by cultivating adherence to developmentalist and statist ideologies, with ostensibly ideologically neutral and technically expert state managers playing a key symbolic role. At the same time, the primary requirement remains external military, ideological and political support - most importantly in these regions from the United States, and to a lesser but increasing extent, Japan.30 As a first estimate, Taiwan, South Korea, Indonesia, the Philippines, Pakistan, Thailand, and Bangladesh should be seen as militarized peripheral capitalist states. Malaysia, India and Singapore share some of this group's qualities, but not all, and should be regarded as being at some half-way point. Yet even the first group is not all of a piece. The militarized capitalist cases can be distinguished on the basis of distribution of Gross Domestic Product and the make-up of exports. (See Table 2.4.) Two tiers can be readily distinguished. The first group is made up of Taiwan, South Korea and Singapore. These are essentially industrialised countries with a substantial manufacturing sector, a large industrial workforce, markedly higher per capita national incomes than elsewhere in the region except Japan, and structurally committed to export-oriented industrialization at the higher end of the technological range.31 The second tier, more heterogeneous than the first, is made up of predominantly agrarian societies integrated into global markets for agricultural commodities, minerals or fuels, with relatively small, although growing, manufacturing sectors. All of these militarizing states are attempting to diversify into export-oriented industrialization by
27. Herbert Feith, "Repressive developmentalist regimes in Asia: Old strengths and new vulnerabilities", Alternatives, VII,4 (1981). Feith's term could equally be applied to North Korea.

28. See Chapter Six for a discussion of variations in forms of integration, and degrees of autonomy within integrationist strategies pursued by Indonesia and South Korea: rentier-militarist and mercantilist-militarist respectively. 29. See Chapter 6 on varying measures of "state-strength". 30. See Chapter Six below. 31. For a discussion of the implications of the dynamics of this structure in the South Korean case see Clive Hamilton and Richard Tanter, "The antinomies of success in South Korea", Journal of International Affairs, 41,1 (1987); and Richard Tanter, "The political economy of arms control and demilitarization: the case of South Korea", paper presented to the Conference on the Arms Race and Arms Control in Northeast Asia, Korean Association of International Relations, Seoul, 28-29 August (1986).


offering labour more cheaply than countries in the first tier.32 The second tier should be further distinguished: while the bulk of the Indonesian labour force is engaged in agriculture, the country's economy - and government finance even more so - is centred on rent income from oil and gas exports. Accordingly, it is better classified as rentier. Other sources of variation stem from the geo-political position of particular countries, and from unique aspects of recent history. South Korea's unique position is defined by its participation for more than forty years in a set of antagonisms that involved it in conflicts or alliances with the United States and the Soviet Union, China and Japan, as well as North Korea. The formative experiences of the Indonesian military in the revolutionary war against the Dutch colonial power distinguish its collective outlook from that of the Malaysian military, which grew directly out of the colonial forces. The central element in contemporary militarization is always an increase in military spending: money for the expanding material basis of coercion. Military expenditures (in constant terms) and growth rates in

32. Malaysia is clearly a border-line case in economic terms, and Burma is an anomaly in many respects.



such expenditures are shown in Tables 2.5 and 2.6 for all countries in the region. It goes without saying that in no country was military spending at the end of the decade lower than at the beginning. In East and Southeast Asia, real growth rates in the first half of the decade (1976-80) averaged 6.6% and 5.6% respectively, although both averages fell substantially in the latter period. Major countries such as North and South Korea, Malaysia and Thailand had very high growth rates in the first period. Malaysia and the Philippines actually had apparent negative growth in military spending in 1981-85.33 Arms transfer data somewhat modifies this picture. (See Table 2.7.) Increased spending can be used for more soldiers, more and better equipment, or both. Most importantly, it becomes clear that spending on armaments, as opposed to other types of military expenditure, rose more substantially than total military expenditure. One case in point is Malaysia. While its rate of increase of military spending became negative in 1981-85, the value of its arms transfers in the same period was 260% higher than the preceding five years. Even allowing for delays in equipment arrival, this suggests, as is evident from other countries in the table, that the pace of arms acquisitions was considerably greater even than is suggested by the military expenditure growth rates. Setting aside individual differences, these arms transfers have been characterised by: (a) a considerable increase in value throughout the 1970s, and a general slowing of the rate of increase in the 1980s; (b) an increase in the number of weapons systems transferred; (c) proliferation of weapons of greater technical sophistication and destructive capacity; (d) a spread in the range of imported weapons systems towards more complete industrial arsenals34; (e) a broad US dominance amongst suppliers, but with a tendency to diversification of sources of supply; and

33. See Chapter Seven for a discussion of the limitations of military expenditure data in such countries. 34. The spread of more complete industrial arsenals is a major change from earlier Third World patterns of reliance on a limited range of obsolete equipment. The change is important in terms of potential capacity for violence, costs, social resources devoted to complementary industrialised activities (e.g. training and logistical support), and the follow-on character of military technologies exported to peripheral countries from industrial centre countries, See Mary Kaldor, "The significance of military technology", Bulletin of Peace Proposals, 8,2 (1977).



Table 2.6 Military expenditure, Asia 1976 – 1985: real growth rates (percentage)

1976-80 South Asia Afghanistan Bangladesh India Nepal Pakistan Sri Lanka East Asia Hong Kong Japan Korea, North Korea, South Mongolia Taiwan Southeast Asia Burma Indonesia Malaysia Philippines Singapore Thailand Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos 4.2 21.4 2.6 2.2 4.3 5.1 10.6 6.6 33.0 4.6 7.8 9.5 2.6 8.3 5.6 11.1 2.3 12.4 -6.5 3.4 12.3 5.9

1981-85 6.0 .. 3.2 3.2 11.3 7.7 30.8 3.8 -6.8 4.2 7.1 3.4 5.8 4.4 1.5 1.3 5.7 -1.6 -4.8 8.8 6.6 4.3

Source: Derived from SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook 1986, (London: Taylor and Francis, 1986), Table 11A.3.


(f) establishment and spread of substantial capacities for licensed and indigenous armaments production. This must be understood as the primary element in militarization: the proliferation of the material basis for state coercion and warfare, foreign or domestic.35 The size of the armed forces of these countries showed complex changes over the same period. Some countries showed dramatic increases in the size of their armies and militias: e.g. the Philippines armed forces grew 240% between 1970 and 1982.36 While the size of the armed forces of the region as a whole grew throughout the 1970s into the middle 1980s, three heavily militarized states reduced the size of their military establishments: Indonesia, South Korea and Taiwan. Such reductions, since they were accompanied by increases in military spending, indicate a shift to a more technology- and capital-intensive and more highly-trained military force. The significance of this trend towards improved professional standing armies is enhanced by the proliferation of militarized police forces, border security units, industrial security units, narcotics forces and other para-military units.37 The predominant form of government in peripheral capitalist states in East and Southeast Asia through the 1970s and 1980s was one in which the military either held power alone, shared power with other civilian leadership groups, or provided the crucial support for a nominally civilian leadership (as in the Philippines under Marcos). Military leaders ruled for much of the period in Bangladesh, Pakistan, Burma, Thailand, Indonesia, Taiwan and South Korea. Political competition of course remained in every case, and over time, the base of competition broadened. But in every case, until the late 1980s, the military retained the whip hand. "The antinomies of success" in South Korea led to irresistible pressures for modification in the form of military rule in that country in 1986, although the depth of democratic changes should not be overestimated.38 Singapore maintained an effective one party parliamentary state. Only in India and Malaysia were there effective electoral contests between civilian elites. However, in each case the electoral process was suffused by coercion and control of state resources by incumbents, with continuity tending to become dependent on the use of at least para-military power. In each case, it is necessary to ascertain the precise role of the military: the depth to which military control of the state actually penetrates; the ideology which legitimates the political role of the military, both within the military itself, and for public consumption; and the coherence of the military as a political entity. This last is affected by the balance of political forces that the military must accommodate; its own internal character, divisions, and traditions; and the class project of the military as it develops in response to political crisis. The extent and duration of the institutionalising of the military's role also varies for much the same reasons.
35. It should of course be clear that data on arms imports and/or manufacture does not of itself provide an indicator of military strength. That is always something to be assessed relative to a given adversary. 36. The armed forces of the Philippines jumped from 33,000 in 1970 to 113,000 in 1982, according to The Military Balance, (London: International Institute of Strategic Studies, International Institute of Strategic Studies, various issues). 37. For the Indian example of diversifying para-military and military force structure see Government of India, India 1981, (New Delhi: Ministry of Information, 1981), pp.417-420. 38. See Hamilton and Tanter, op.cit.


Explanations There is no doubt about the seriousness of the picture drawn so far: the pre-dominant Asian state form is militarist or militarizing. The questions that now arise deal with explanations: why have events in one country after another, often starting from quite different historical positions, ended so uniformly? Are these outcomes historically contingent and readily reversible? Or are they the result of embedded social processes which will tend to reproduce the militarized condition for some time in the future? Do the explanations offered actually explain? For instance, governments often explain their need for expanded arms budgets by referring to developing internal security problems. Counter-insurgency campaigns are a state response to rural rebellion - and often in turn generate still deeper resistance, leading to calls for more arms, and so on. Similarly, military intervention in government is often seen to occur when (and because) civilian elites are divided and unable to carry on the work of government to the satisfaction of the military, or that of the country's foreign creditors, financial and otherwise. Both explanations are often appropriate, but they also beg the question as to why such situations should arise in the first place, and just why the military should attempt to resolve the conflicts in a particular direction. Three sets of explanation will be set out briefly for the peripheral capitalist (and equally, state socialist) forms of militarization. The first and most familiar deals with security threats to the nation-state. More precisely, militarization here is seen as a response to elite perceptions of threats to the integrity of the state from within in the form of insurgency, from without as actual or threatened invasion or attack, or again from without as a result of the "destabilising" consequences of the activities of larger and more distant foreign powers. The second set of explanations deals with the institutional interests of the military itself as a body, and related institutions such as the arms industries within core industrial countries. The final set of explanations locates militarization in the reproduction dynamics of the society as a whole. In each case, the question, as Albrecht puts it for the state socialist form, is whether militarization is understandable as an outcome of specific circumstances, explicable in terms that are either unique or contingent, or rather as "a variant of global militaristic development with its systemic indifference".39 If the answer is the former, then there is reason to believe that when the conditions that gave rise to the increased military spending and arms purchases, military rule, state terror, and militarist thinking pass, then so too will the results. Such a hope that the militarizing process is so readily reversed is less plausible if it is seen to arise from deeper social causes.40 The state system and threat perceptions are the most common explanation for militarization, the one offered most often by such states themselves. Internal or external threat requires a response by the state in the form of heightened externally-oriented defence preparedness or the development of expanded counter-insurgency capacity.
39. Ulrich Albrecht, "Red militarism", Journal of Peace Research, XVII,2 (1980), p.143. 40. This is not say that there is no hope in such cases: on the contrary, the tendency of structural models to present closed futures immune to political intervention should also be avoided. What is needed are explanations that emphasise contradiction, the structural sources of political possibility, and the emergence of political spaces that enable the mobilization of political will to change. But equally, what is to be avoided are explanations at too shallow a level, which give rise to false hopes of easy change.


Actual or threatened invasions were claimed by Thailand, South Korea, North Korea, Vietnam, India and Pakistan, amongst others. Substantial insurrections existed in many if not most of the repressive developmentalist states in the 1970s and 1980s. Counterinsurgency operations usually demand new armaments, and project the military more deeply into the everyday workings of the society, particularly as the military takes over the functions of the civilian police. In the repressive developmentalist case, insurrection is used to justify the shift in the professional and political roles of the military around the twin themes of national security and national economic development.41 Even where the arms appear to have been ordered with the alleged threat of invasion in mind, their deployment contributes to the sheer salience of the military as a potential instrument of intimidation of the domestic population.42 However, counter-insurgency requirements in themselves do not always constitute an adequate explanation. Firstly, there are examples where the militarization substantially predates the insurrection. This requires a careful scrutiny of such claims in terms of sequence, and also a separation of the elements of militarization and their phasing.43 Secondly, and more generally, the fact of counter-insurgency operations leading to militarization does not of itself explain why the insurgency developed when and where it did. For this it is necessary to examine the forces that lead to tribal or sectional revolt at a given point. Peasant rebellion, tribal resistance, and labour struggles all arise from inchoate decisions to armed resistance in the face of state indifference to or active supports for assaults on ways of life, standards of subsistence, or sheer survival. Throughout peripheral capitalist Asia, the causes of rebellion lie in movement in the nexus between the shifting relationships of the state and the local and world economy on the one hand, and the inter-ethnic and inter-regional social structure on the other.44 Militarization as a response to external threat is plausible in one case in East and Southeast Asia: the case of Vietnam. The country's birth in the war of independence, the twenty year war against the United States, the country's invasion of Cambodia and the subsequent invasion of Vietnam by China is undoubtedly the primary cause of the militarization of the country. It is possible, though implausible, to regard each of these events as an expression of an inherent drive to power by a militarist communist party bent on regional hegemony. A more plausible explanation, especially if the origins of the Cambodian episode are examined in the light of long-standing culturally and geographically rooted tensions between China and Vietnam, is that Vietnamese militarization is due to the persistence of a correctly perceived set of external threats. If this is true, then there is good reason to expect that if and when Vietnam can be extricated from
41. See Alfred Stepan, "The new professionalism of internal warfare and military role expansion", in Amos Perlmutter and Valerie Plave Bennett (eds.), The Political Influence of the Military, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980). 42. E.g. Thailand's imports of advanced fighter aircraft, tanks and anti-tank missiles after the Vietnamese occupation of Cambodia in 1979. 43. Indonesia is a useful example here. The fundamental militarization of the country occurred well before the counter-insurgency campaigns in Irian Jaya, East Timor and elsewhere in the 1970s and 1980s. On the other hand, as Chapter Seven will show, the failure of the initial invasion of East Timor led to a considerable expansion of arms purchases. 44. This is particularly the case for rebellions of ethnic minorities. See Cynthia Enloe, "State-building and ethnic structures: Dependence on international capitalist penetration", in T.K.Hopkins and Immanuel Wallerstein (eds.), Processes of the World System, (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1980).


this very powerful set of coordinated international pressures then the state should shift back to a less militarized condition. Institutional pressures in two forms contributed to the militarization of East and Southeast Asia in the 1970s and 1980s: the global armaments complex and the military as a national corporate body.45 Corporate interests of the military The corporate interests of the military derive primarily from what Kaldor has described as the "relations of force" in any given society. ...the techniques of force are the weapons and the way that they are used. The relations of force are the organization of men, the nature of the military hierarchy, the methods of recruitment. Together, they comprise the form of force.46 All existing armies have a hierarchical structure, and by the late 1980s, almost all are to a greater or lesser degree, industrialised. The commitments and opportunities that derive from commanding positions in the relations of force give rise to the corporate interests of the military. Just what these interests are in any given case cannot be predicted in advance in any simple way, except to say that there are no known examples of officer corps of industrial armies47 turning away from a hierarchical and industrially-based form of force. While usually the officer corps in Third World countries have intervened in favour of the maintenance or establishment of economic integration with the world economy, there are contrary examples. And even those that have intervened in such a direction have not always done so on the basis of "national surrender" to the global free market: the pre-war Japanese militarist ideology that Park Chung-hee brought with him to power led to the establishment of a mercantilist economic strategy, rather than a liberal strategy. Moreover, while the relations of force model points to useful institutional clusters of interest (amongst officers, officers of a given rank or service), it needs to be supplemented by other considerations, such as ethnicity, ideological predilection48, and prior experience of the military in political power and competing pressures.49 However, the corporate interests of the military, though they may rarely be entirely unitary in a given case, have had a powerful influence on the surge to power. Three considerations come to mind. The first is the claim in some cases (e.g. the pre-war Japanese military and the Indonesian military under Soekarno) that budgetary matters (within certain limits) and command appointments are a military prerogative, over which no civilian interference is tolerable. On such occasions, civilian meddling is said to "provoke" military intervention.50 A second substantial set of military corporate interests
45. A third institutional pressure that is active in certain cases arises from the proliferation of nuclear energy in many repressive developmentalist countries. 46. Mary Kaldor, "The military in development", World Development, 4,6 (1976), p.467. The relations of force could also include the political activities of the military officer corps, the relation between the military and the remainder of the state. 47. Kaldor distinguishes between "pre-industrial" and "industrial" armies in the Third World. Ibid., pp.468-469, and Kaldor, "Military technology and social structure", Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, 42,7 (June, 1977). 48. Miles Wolpin, "Socio-political radicalism and military professionalism in the Third World", Comparative Politics, XV,3 (1983). 49. Ulf Sundhaussen, "Military withdrawal from government responsibility", Armed Forces and Society, 10,4 (1984). 50. Ulf Sundhaussen, The Road to Power: Indonesian Military Politics, 1945-1967, (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1982).


is more profane: the simple matter of wealth and other rewards available from the state when other interests are unable to prevent military plunder, constitutionally organised or not. To be sure, the commercial instincts of the higher and better established portion of an officer corps may be at war with the unrewarded concerns for military professionalism in other parts of the military or the state as a whole, but there is no inherent reason to suppose that one will always prevail over the other. The third example of military corporate interest which may contribute to militarization may be in fact a confused blend of interest and ideology, but is the most important of all: the desire to establish or retain access to core nations' military and military-industrial systems. The establishment and maintenance of strong links between core-nation and peripheral-nation military and political elites is clearly a major aim of military assistance and training programmes. Despite the occasional left-wing coup by a US-trained officer, the general pattern seems to be that foreign training, familiarity and concern for advanced weaponry, the psychological and political rewards of at least partial inclusion in the intra-alliance clubs of intelligence-sharing and strategic discussion or planning, and the uneven but persistent consequences of the usual (but not uniform) higher-class origins of senior officers all lead towards a preference for political conservatism and integration into the world economy.51 Global armaments pressures The institutional pressures in the global armaments flow involve both "push" and "pull" factors. On the demand side there are local military elites who see arms imports (or domestic licenced assembly or production) as a solution to their political problems, or who have become dependent, economically or technologically, on a continued supply of military high technology. On the supply side pressures include industry promoters (military hardware shows; Lockheed-type bribery52; Military Assistance Advisory Groups), and supplying governments anxious to maintain their balance of payments or military industries' viability53, support friendly governments54, or maintain access to the military or those less friendly. As the data presented in Table 2.7 show, arms exports to East and Southeast Asia expanded rapidly in the 1970s, but then generally began to slow in the early- to mid-1980s. In the latter half of the 1980s exports slowed still further. US arms export and military aid policies and the global economy provide the main explanations of these secular changes. In the early 1970s, US arms exports to Third World countries expanded rapidly under the Guam Doctrine announced by President Nixon, according to which US allies in the Third World would undertake responsibility for their own defence, with US weaponry acquired through military grants, or later, as the US economy deteriorated, through concessional credits or commercial sales. Booming oil and commodity markets, in addition to US aid and credit, provided the opportunity for weapons sales. The Guam Doctrine was an attempt to solve two problems at once: increasingly hostile public
51. The Russians have had rather less luck with their trainees: perhaps for exactly these reasons. 52. The Lockheed scandal is often overlooked as a relatively well-documented example of effective weapons-pushing. Indonesia was one of the countries involved. See David Boulton, The Lockheed Papers, (London: Jonathan Cape, 1978). 53. Ron Smith, Anthony Humm and Jacques Fontanel, "The economics of exporting arms", Journal of Peace Research, 22,3 (1985), and Chris Paine, "Arms exports and the economy", Pacific Research, Jan.-Feb. 1977. 54. Michael T. Klare, The American Arms Supermarket, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1984), and Michael T. Klare and Cynthia Arnson, Supplying Repression: US Support for Authoritarian Regimes Abroad, (Washington: Institute for Policy Studies, 1981).


opinion ruled out the use of American ground troops for Third World intervention, and the purchase of US equipment promised to help rectify the balance of payments crisis caused by the Vietnam War. The politically mediated character of the US economy is important here. Government arms export decisions are affected by pressures from corporate lobbies, competing claims from the separate armed services in procurement and replacement costs for weapons systems also used by US forces, overall national economic considerations (such as balance of payments problems), in addition to the more obvious strategic concerns. The brief interregnum of the Carter Administration's restrictions on weapons exports was always selectively applied (as the Indonesian example will show), and in the last years of that administration, hardly at all in these regions. The slow-down in weapons sales of the middle and late 1980s which followed the boom period is sometimes attributed to a rising tide of Third World democratization. Luckham points to a more complex situation, in which commercial considerations and the politics of empire sometimes led in different directions. The decline of American sales during the mid-1980s was part of a general contraction in the international arms market brought about by low oil and commodity prices; the depressed economies of many developing countries; a lull in the weapons replacement cycles of major Third World purchasers; and the growing debt burdens of the latter (a not negligible share of which derive from military-related debt). It also resulted from the sales drives of European and Third World arms producers, who were entering the market place with weapons that were often cheaper, more aggressively marketed, more suited to local conditions, and less encumbered by political restrictions, than American weapons...The fall in weapons sales was also influenced by the United States' own military procurement cycle. By the mid-1980s the massive new acquisition programmes of the US armed forces had put severe pressure on existing production capacity. In consequence the major arms firms had less incentive to seek markets overseas. But when budget constraints brought the procurement boom to a halt, arms manufacturers once again went in hot pursuit of external markets; and this was soon reflected in increased arms export orders toward the close of the 1980s.55

55. Robin Luckham, American Militarism and the Third World: The End of the Cold War?, (Canberra: Peace Research Centre, Australian National University, Working Paper No. 94, October 1990). US arms exports (Foreign Military Sales plus commercial deliveries) declined constantly from $25 billion in 1982 until when they reached $10 billion in 1987. The following year they jumped to $18 billion. United States, Secretary of Defense, Annual Report to Congress, Fiscal Year 1990, p.67, cited in ibid., p.37




The consequences of arms inflows resulting from all of these pressures on Third World countries is considerable, although there are now markedly greater differences amongst "Third World" recipients than even a decade ago.56 But what ever the economic level of the country, the level of destructiveness in any conflict is increased, as is the human cost of resistance. The possession of such weaponry elevates the selfconfidence and prestige of ruling elites, adding to their intimidatory capacities, and providing visible evidence of external legitimation. perhaps the most important consequence is the creation of technological, economic and military dependence on industrial suppliers, and in turn, creating an imperative to mould the domestic economy in a such a way as to produce the required foreign exchange and to provide the appropriate socio-technical industrial supports.57 Militarization and the reproduction of social formations. The threats governments feel from the manoeuvrings of foreign powers, from external aggression and internal insurrection go some way to explain the flood of arms and soldiers in Asia. Similarly, arms industries pressure, the consequences of large-scale arms transfers, and the corporate interests of the military take the explanation further. But neither set of explanations is sufficient to explain so broad and recurring a pattern, and neither address the question of the potentially embedded and systemic nature of militarization. In the case of repressive developmentalist states, why does militarization coincide with widespread changes of a regular kind in the economic and social structures of these countries? In Dieter Senghaas' phrase, militarization needs to be understood in the context of the reproduction dynamics of total social formations which are structured antagonistically rather than consensually.58 What part does militarization play in the survival of the dominant groups in the society, and in the maintenance of the structure of domination and control as the society as a whole is transformed? Militarization of peripheral capitalist societies is most cogently understood as a response by a part of the state to crises of capital accumulation mediated by political crisis, and subsequent steps to secure the conditions of social reproduction under existing relations of domination. The military have a crucial role to play at moments of potential structural transformation, and when the political crises generated by such shifts threaten to imperil the survival of that system. The precise role of organised force - the class project of the military - will vary according to the character of the economy concerned, its past and shifting location in the international economy, and the character of the political and economic crises generated within a given historical setting.59 This may involve
56. Helen O'Neill, "HICs, MICs, NICs and LICs: some elements in the political economy of graduation and differentiation", World Development, 12,7 (1984); and Ulrich Menzel, "The differentiation process in the Third World and its consequences for the North-South conflict and development theory", Law and State, 30 (1984). 57. Mary Kaldor and J.Ansari, "Military technology and conflict dynamics: the Bangladesh crisis of 1971", in M.Kaldor and Asjborn Eide (eds.), The World Military Order, (London: Macmillan, 1979). 58. Dieter Senghaas, "Militarism dynamics in the context of peripheral capitalism", Bulletin of Peace Proposals, 8,2 (1977), pp.103109. 59. For a model of the national class projects in the military, see Robin Luckham, "Militarism: force, class and international conflict", op.cit. But see also his later paper, "Anarchy or transformation? Scenarios for change", IDS Bulletin, 16,4 (1985), which outlines various global economic-military state projects - mostly models for what I have termed extended and indirect forms of militarization.


providing physical security and maintaining the physical-political integrity of nationstate, intervention to resolve conflicts (manifest at the social, political or economic level) generated by the process of capital accumulation, shifts in regime, and temporary or prolonged military rule and/or administration. Furthermore, these considerations apply also to the global capitalist system and its struc-turally generated crises - for the resolution of which extended and in-direct forms of militarization are extremely important.60 The structural economic problems of the advanced capitalist world find expression in both global militarization and the economic restratification of the world. It may be argued that this is a reductionist approach making the military simple "instruments of capital", or one which denies the obviously contingent elements of political, not to mention military, life. There is obviously no a priori necessity for the success of conservative military class projects: alternative class projects emerge; domestic alliances waver; the nature of "the capitalist interest" becomes unclear; sectional loyalties interfere; the costs of military rule become too great. Shahs fall without a fight; Marcoses cannibalize too much of their own class; the Chuns of the world face the fact that their US partners will only accept so much bloodshed on television when the risk is revolution; Allendes do get elected. There is no a priori guide as to precisely which set of capitalist interests will receive the corporate support of the military. In all these senses, the class project of the military at any given time is emergent and contingent. There are no universal "functional requirements of the system" which override all other considerations. The military are not the simple instruments of capital - or complicated ones for that matter - waiting for the expression of the wishes of international capital. There have been radical military elites which have taken power with a different class project from the norm, and attempted to lay the foundations of national state capitalism, most notably the Peruvian interventions of the 1960s. As with any group, military corporate consciousness emerges slowly, sometimes behind the actions in which the group has become embroiled. It is conceivable for sections of an otherwise pro-western, pro-capitalist officer corps to come to think along radical nationalist or even socialist lines. Ideology is rarely a simple reflection of interests. The point is that such developments are uncommon for reasons that are not hard to understand. The difficulties of state capitalism are considerable, as the Peruvian generals discovered: there are yet more forms and media of foreign domination than direct foreign investment. The constraints of participation in the world market ultimately led to the abandonment of the Peruvian experiment, and no subsequent radical officer regime has done any better. The selection mechanisms culling out or deflecting such radical military thinking are considerable, both within most armed forces, and internationally, particularly with the development of ideologically sophisticated officer training establishments by both regional powers and the United States.

60. See Luckham, "Anarchy or transformation...", ibid.


Chapter 3 Surveillance and the model of totalitarian rule

This chapter is concerned with the second of the three core concepts with which this thesis is concerned, namely surveillance. Together with militarization and terror, surveillance is the key to understand the importance of intelligence agencies in contemporary Third World politics. In this chapter it is linked to the question of totalitarian rule, and an assertion that it is necessary to consider the question of contemporary Third World militarized states in the same light as the fascist experience which underlies models of totalitarian rule. The chapter begins with Michel Foucault's original discussion of the idea of surveillance in the shift in characteristic types of punishments in Western Europe between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. For Foucault the emerging carceral paradigm of punishment signalled the onset of a broader type of social control or policing based on surveillance and state processing of knowledge of citizens based on that surveillance "the disciplinary society". Internal pacification of the society was a prerequisite for the use of surveillance-based forms of control. On the basis of that internal pacification, surveillance and the creation, maintenance, intellectual analysis, and peopling of categories of deviance develop together - and recur in the development of more formalised agencies of domestic political intelligence in the twentieth century. Giddens takes Foucault's idea of surveillance as the basis for a reinterpretation of the concept of totalitarian rule, which he regards as a potential within all modern states. For Giddens, the key elements of totalitarian rule are an extreme focusing of surveillance; moral totalism; terror; and the prominence of a leader figure with mass support. This model is based on the German and Italian fascist states, and on the Stalinist Soviet state. I will argue that while Giddens' linking of surveillance and the potential for totalitarian rule is helpful, the value of his model of totalitarian rule is somewhat vitiated by a failure to consider the parallel episode of "emperor-system fascism" in Japan. The examination of the Japanese experience is important for several reasons. The Japanese experience modifies the claim that the European and Soviet history provides the only plausible account of pathways to totalitarian rule. It is particularly important because there are some aspects of that experience which provide an important guide to the situation in the contemporary peripheral capitalist state. This is particularly clear in Giddens' failure to consider the question of the role of world-orders in establishing conditions for potential totalitarian rule. The Japanese model of an integrated transnational system of power, with varying types and levels of surveillance and terror at the centre and periphery of the system is the best guide to the current hierarchical worldsystem of militarization. A central argument of this thesis is that Indonesian politics since 1965 are best understood in terms of a totalitarian ambition, albeit somewhat one which is unsystematic in conception and thwarted in practice. To this end it is helpful to re-think the questions of totalitarian rule and fascism.


Internal pacification and surveillance The era of militarization known as the "military revolution" of seventeenth century Europe was linked to three fundamental political shifts: the use of armies primarily for external expansion or defence; internal pacification within a more clearly geographically defined nation-state; and social control beyond the bayonet and belief through methods of policing based on surveillance. The character of the European state-system - the defining "world-order" of the day demanded that the new armies be used almost exclusively for external wars of defence and expansion. To be sure, all states rested then as now on the final resort to force in the shape of the army - whether at Peterloo or the Paris Commune. But the bread and butter work of generals came to be fighting generals and troops of other countries rather than their compatriots. The increasing powers of central national governments allowed - and then, in action-reaction fashion amongst neighbours - required, an externally-oriented military force. A state that wished to survive had to increase its extractive capacity over defined territories to obtain conscripted and professional armies. Those that did not were crushed on the battlefield and absorbed into others...No European state was continually at peace. A peaceful state would have ceased to exist more speedily than the militarily inefficient ones actually did.1 Equally these demands placed on the state by geo-politics forced the pace of what has been variously called "nation-building" (Bendix), the construction of "organic states" (Mann), or more realistically "internal pacification" (Giddens).2 Through contest and negotiation with subordinate states and contending or supportive social classes, central national governments, whether absolutist, parliamentary or otherwise, came to prevail as the dominant political form within which social life in a given territory was organized and which was the primary agent of geo-politics. Merchant and landlord capitalists entered and reinforced a world of emergent warring yet diplomatically regulating states. Their need for, and vulnerability to, state regulation both internally and geo-politically, and the state's need for finances, pushed classes and states towards a territorially centralized organization. State boundaries were heightened, and culture, religion, and classes were naturalized.3 On the other hand, as internal pacification meant that the resort to domestic military force became less frequent, forms of social control other than force and ideology - the bayonet or belief - were required. Religion and other forms of cultural control remained salient but were never sufficient to ensure order in societies undergoing rapid economic and social transformation. Amongst the most important changes in the form and depth of social control was regulation based on observation and the collection of information by the state and other bodies - surveillance. In the following centuries the manifold
1. Michael Mann, Sources of Social Power: Volume I - A history of power from the beginning to A.D.1760., (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), p.490. 2. Reinhard Bendix, Nation-Building and Citizenship, (New York: Doubleday Anchor, 1969); Mann, op.cit.; and Anthony Giddens, The Nation-State and Violence, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1985). 3. Mann, op.cit., p.514.


development of state surveillance generated a wide variety of state and para-state forms of social intervention and control yielding unprecedented capacities for state penetration of society, and, by the fusion of terror and surveillance, the possibility of a new form of rule - the totalitarian ambition. Foucault and Giddens on surveillance In two famous passages in Discipline and Punish, Michel Foucault provides vivid images of what he presents as the shift between the principal modes of social discipline in pre-modern and modern western history: the public infliction of physical pain to the body and the penitentiary.4 The book begins with a florid description of the awful fate of the regicide Damiens, who was butchered by the state in public and exemplary fashion in Paris in 1757. The baroque cruelty of the execution was, Foucault suggests, necessarily public, and necessarily a matter of the public visitation of state power on the body of the victim: a rite of state.5 The killing of Damiens stands, for Foucault, as a paradigm of preEnlightenment punishment and domestic statecraft. By contrast, Foucault presents Jeremy Bentham's proposal less than half a century later for a model penitentiary, where a single unseen guard could observe hundreds of prisoners. Bentham's original model, realized in numerous subsequent prison designs in the United States and elsewhere in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, envisaged a circular prison like a multi-storied wheel, with a single guard at the centre able to observe any of the many prisoners in cells on the rim of the wheel. These cells were to be arranged in such a way that at any point the lone guard would be able to observe the activities of any of the prisoners, without them being sure that they were being observed. The full potential of Bentham's idea was limited by the techniques of the mechanical age. Electronic forms of one-way communication and bio-electronic forms of coding and tracking bodies do greater justice to it. The new reformers' model involved the replacement of physical violence to the body (especially public execution) with imprisonment under what were hoped to be the reforming influences of closely supervised and depersonalised solitude, hard labour and religious indoctrination. Post-Enlightenment modes of punishment were, Foucault argues, a dramatic enhancement in state power over the bodies and minds of prisoners and of citizens generally through the combination of new modes of surveillance and sequestration. In Foucault's words: Hence the major effect of the Panopticon: to induce in the inmate a state of
4. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish, (London: Allen Lane, 1977). 5. The political role of the public body was not limited to the fate of criminals. It was a necessary part of kingship as well. The public and literally visceral fate of the unfortunate regicide Damiens had its necessary echo in that of the sovereign, Louis XIV: The king of France was thoroughly, without residue, a "public" personage. His mother gave birth to him in public, and from that moment his existence, down to its most trivial moments, was acted out before the eyes of attendants who were holders of dignified offices. He ate in public, went to bed in public, woke up and was clothed and groomed in public, urinated and defecated in public. He did not much bathe in public; but then neither did he do so in private. I know of no evidence that he copulated in public, but he came near enough, considering the circumstances in which he was expected to deflower his august bride. When he died (in public), his body was promptly and messily chopped up in public, and its severed parts handed out to the more exalted among the personages who had been attending him throughout his mortal existence. G. Poggi, The Development of the Modern State, (London: Hutchinson, 1978), pp.68-69, cited in Mann, op.cit., p459.


conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power. So to arrange things that the surveillance is permanent in its effects, even if it is discontinuous in action; that the perfection of power should render its actual exercise unnecessary; that this architectural apparatus should be a machine for creating and sustaining a power relation independent of the person who exercises it; in short, that the inmates should be caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers...Bentham laid down the principle that power should be visible and unverifiable.6 For Foucault the Panopticon was not just a prison, but a particular type of prison as a model technology of power based on surveillance "permanent in its effects even if discontinuous in action", since inmates/citizens would be observable at any time, but never sure of just when: a rationalization of domination through heightened surveillance. For Foucault and others7 the new prisons of the early nineteenth century signal the onset of a broader change in the mode of social control in the nineteenth century, towards what Foucault regarded as "the disciplinary society", where the two English-language senses of "discipline" manifest the new fusion of knowledge as power: The Panopticon functions as a kind of laboratory of power. Thanks to its mechanisms of observation, it gains in efficiency and in the ability to penetrate men's behaviour; knowledge follows the advances of power, discovering new objects of knowledge over all the surfaces on which power is exercised.8 It is possible, Foucault suggests, to speak of a "disciplinary society" emerging from this shift as "an indefinitely generalizable mechanism of `panopticism'". Not because the disciplinary modality of power has replaced all the others; but because it has infiltrated the others, sometimes undermining them, linking them together, extending them and above all making it possible to bring together the effects of power to the most minute and distant elements.9 And with the development electronic capacities for surveillance, the Panopticon image becomes hopelessly anachronistic, its functions performed on a much broader scale by computer-mediated social relations: The electronic grid is a transparent structure in which activities taking place at the periphery - remote working, electronic banking, the consumption of information and entertainment, tele-shopping, communication - are always visible to the electronic
6. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison, (London: Allen Lane, 1977), p.201. Elsewhere Foucault describes a quarantine during an epidemic as another paradigm of the disciplinary method: This enclosed space, observed at every point, in which the individuals are inserted at a fixed place, in which the slightest movements are supervised, in all events are recorded, in which an uninterrupted work of writing links the centre and the periphery, in which power is exercised without division, according to a continuous hierarchical figure, in which each individual is constantly located, examined, and distributed among the living beings, the sick and the dead - all this constituted a compact model of the disciplinary method. Ibid., p.197. 7. See Michael Ignatieff's discussion of Foucault and Rothman in "State, civil society and total institutions: a critique of recent social histories of punishment" in Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull (eds.), Social Control and the State: Historical and Comparative Essays, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell). 8. Foucault, op.cit., p.204. 9. Ibid., p.216.


"eye" of the central computer systems that manage the networks.10 However, while such dramatic amplifications of surveillance capacities are important, we should beware of to easy an acceptance of the totalising claims of omniscience which abound here. Total systems of surveillance are, fed by well-nigh universal fantasy, easy enough to imagine. But there are clear inhibiting factors relevant to all such systems, in all ages. The number of files may be limited, by technical considerations or by limits imposed by legal or practical difficulties. Files may not be available to those who need them - either held centrally but required on a de-centralised basis, or vice-versa. The flow of information between users, or between collection and use may be impeded, and there may be less than technically optimum opportunities for surveillance of subjects within a given system.11 These are all contingent points of inefficiency, and opportunity for exploitation by resistance. Moreover, all this is not to suggest that surveillance was a new element of state power: far from it. Rather that the combination of the absolutist state and the uneasy coexistence of capitalist and feudal social relations allowed a pattern in which savage and arbitrary order sat beside a degree of freedom from state surveillance surprising to modern citizens. "Law and order" was maintained previously by a combination of traditional mechanisms and those expressing the new authority of the central state. They comprised an amalgam of military violence, a spectacular and brutal penal code and a deferential social hierarchy of patronage constituted by personal relations of dependence and surveillance. Within these structures of social control, subject populations had routine freedoms from the surveillance of state administrators because the impact of market society was more than the traditional structures of community regulation and the new penal powers of the state could accommodate.12 The onset of the "disciplinary society" involved a double shift: a shift in the character of punishment went together with a great expansion in the number of formal rules of society: The creation of a perceived need for "law and order" is the reverse side of conceptions of "deviance" recognised and categorised by central authorities and professional specialists.13 Surveillance and the creation, maintenance, intellectual analysis, and peopling of categories of deviance develop together - and recur in the development of more formalised agencies of domestic political intelligence in the twentieth century. The subsequent debates over Foucault's "archaeology" of forms of social control in
10. Frank Webster and Kevin Robins, Information Technology: A Luddite Analysis, (Narwood, N.J.: Ablex, 1986), p. 366. See also Mark Poster, Foucault, Marxism and History: Mode of Production versus Mode of Information, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1984), pp.102-3. 11. See Christopher Dandeker, Surveillance, Power and Modernity: Bureaucracy and Discipline frm 1700 to the Present Day, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990), p.40. 12. Dandeker, op.cit, p. 58. 13. Giddens, op.cit., p.184.


contemporary industrial societies have substantially modified the dichotomous emphasis of his original bravura portrait. The notion of a "disciplinary society" has rightly been much criticized. Foucault does not provide anything like a comprehensive account of the state. Indeed he maintains that the concept of a disciplinary society and his emphasis on micro-technologies of power and the politics of the body renders such a theory obsolete. In fact, other societies outside Europe had developed comparatively effective surveillance systems over very wide areas based on methods such as family registration, traditional spying, and legal systems of collective familial responsibility.14 Some have noticed the functionalism latent in Foucault's exposition which leads him to assume the efficacy of power structures he otherwise claimed to wish to see demolished.15 Foucault's insight, suggests Edward Said, was not so much an imagination of power as an imagination with power.16 While acknowledging that other "modalities of power" remain, Foucault's curious faith in the efficacy of surveillance-based social policing ignores the continuous inputs of brutality required to keep central institutions of the modern disciplinary society, such as the prison system, from collapsing completely. For the present, however, the deficiencies of omission or exaggeration in Foucault's account are not particularly relevant.17 The establishment of surveillance-based state administration was necessarily preceded by internal pacification of the societies in question. On the one hand military power came to be associated with external conflict, and on the other hand domestic control was carried out by a variety of non-militarized police and other government agencies based on increasingly bureaucratic systems of surveillance. Internal pacification of the domestic society by the modern nation-state progressively diminished the place of internal violence, even if was not eradicated. Giddens has taken Foucault's broad idea of surveillance18 to refer to "the mobilizing of administrative power - through the storage and control of information" - which he sees
14. For example the various versions of the Chinese imperial pao-chia system, later taken up by the Japanese in Taiwan and elsewhere. See Chen Ching-Chih, "Japanese adoption of the `Pao-Chia' system in Taiwan, 1895-1945", Journal of Asian Studies, XXXIV,2 (1975), and "Police and community control systems in the empire", in Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds.), The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895-1945, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). 15. See Michael Waltzer, "The Politics of Michel Foucault", in David Couzens Hoy (ed.) Foucault: A Critical Reader, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986); and Michael Ignatieff, "State, civil society and total institutions: a critique of recent social histories of punishment" in Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull (eds.), Social Control and the State: Historical and Comparative Essays, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985). 16. Edward Said, "Foucault and the imagination of power, in David Couzens Hoy (ed.) Foucault: A Critical Reader, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), p.152. With this profoundly pessimistic view went also a singular lack of interest in the force of effective resistance to it, choosing particular sites of intensity, choices which, we see from the evidence on all sides, always exist and are often successful in impeding, if not actually stopping, the progress of tyrannical power...[The paradox is] that Foucault's imagination of power was by his analysis of power to reveal its injustice and cruelty, but by his theorization to leave it go more or less unchecked. Ibid. pp.151,153. 17. For a sample of sympathetic critics of Foucault's history see Ignatieff, op.cit., Steven Spitzer, "The rationalization of crime control in capitalist society" in Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull (eds.) Social Control and the State: Historical and Comparative Essays, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), and Mark Poster, Foucault, Marxism and History: Mode of Production versus Mode of Information, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1984), and on his philosophy more generally the selection in D.C.Hoy (ed.) Foucault: A Critical Reader, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), especially pieces by Said, Walzer, and Hoy himself. 18. Giddens notes that the original title of Discipline and Punish is Surveillir et Punir.


as constitutive of the nation-state.19 Disciplinary power, for Giddens, has two senses. The first is the establishment of locales of regularized observation of the population - most importantly the work-place, but also prisons, asylums, schools and so on - as a means of control of recalcitrant groups. The second is a growth in disciplinary power linked to, and expressive of, the sanctions that those in the state apparatus are able to wield in respect of "deviance". It is this second aspect that is most closely meshed with the development of surveillance as the policing of the routine activities of the mass of the population by specialized agencies separate from the main body of the armed forces.20 In all of these cases disciplinary power operates by the creation of a norm, and then the establishment of procedures to detect and then rectify deviations from the norm. Hence the centrality of surveillance - of law-breakers, norm-violaters, and in time, not only those who may potentially take such paths, but those who are in a position to allow such things to occur. Thus the circle of those potentially subject to surveillance tends to become ever larger. This surveillance capacity has developed, in different nation-states, intertwined with the trajectory of class domination, but not reducible to it, as "an independent source of institutional clustering". Furthermore, Giddens argues that the modern state's surveillance capacity has benign as well as negative consequences: the welfare state is founded on detailed knowledge of the citizen population. Surveillance in the documentary sense creates not only the possibility of control from above but also the opportunity for new forms of democratic resistance. Surveillance and the model of totalitarian rule What is important for the present purposes is Giddens' extension of this modified application of Foucault to the question of contemporary forms of rule, most importantly the troubled but historically central category of totalitarianism. Or more precisely, totalitarian rule as a tendential property latent in all modern states. Moving from the classic debates over the Nazi and Stalinist state, Giddens treats totalitarianism as a form of rule characterised by (a) an extreme focusing of surveillance; (b) moral totalism; (c) terror; and (d) the prominence of a leader figure with mass support.21 In Giddens' model of totalitarianism, surveillance is central:
19. Giddens, op.cit., p.181. Giddens argues (p.178) that There is a fundamental sense in which all states have been "information societies", since the generation of state power presumes reflexively monitored system reproduction, involving the regularized gathering, storage and control of information applied to administrative ends. 20. Ibid., p.187. 21. Ibid., p.303. Here Giddens is modifying Carl Friedrich's famous list of six properties of totalitarianism: (1) a totalist ideology; (2) a single party based on this party usually led by a dictator; (3) a highly developed secret police; (4) a monopoly over mass communications; (5) a monopoly over weapons; and (6) monopoly control over all organizations. See Carl Friedrich, Totalitarianism, (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1954).


The possibilities of totalitarian rule depend upon the existence of societies in which the state can successfully penetrate the day-to-day activities of most of its subject population. This in turn presumes a high level of surveillance...- the coding of information about and supervision of the conduct of significant segments of the population. Totalitarianism is, first of all, an extreme focusing of surveillance, devoted to the securing of political ends deemed by state authorities to demand urgent political mobilization.22 Terror, in Giddens' model of totalitarian rule, flows from the combination of surveillance generating "deviant" groups and industrialized weaponry for policing - plus extremities of sequestration in the concentration camp. Giddens' own account of totalitarian rule proceeds to a discussion of modernity and the modern state around four "institutional clusters" associated with modernity. (See Figure 3.1.) In keeping with Giddens' general position of post-marxian methodological pluralism23 the four clusters are seen as interdependent in their development in specific cases, but finally autonomous. Class and private property (legal or effective) generates one institutional dynamic in an essentially Marxist model of political economy. One dimension of

22. Giddens, op.cit., p.303. 23. See Erik Olin Wright, "Giddens' critique of marxism", New Left Review, 138 (1983) for an excellent discussion of the method in Giddens' Contemporary Critique of Historical Materialism (London: Macmillan, 1981) from the position of analytical marxism.



the "relative autonomy" of the state is the second source of social structuring - militarized violence in the hands of the states formed both in reference to a domestic populace and other states in particular types of world orders - the bureaucracies and force structures of the warfare state. The other aspect of state autonomy which generates yet another cluster of institutions are those of surveillance more properly associated with domestic social and control - the bureaucracies of the welfare and corporatist state, Keynesian or otherwise. And finally there is the project of transforming nature, the institutions (usually previously unseen) that are built upon variable assumptions about the character of the human relationship to nature. Each institutional pole of the modern universe in turn becomes the ground of political contestation. (See Figure 3.2.) For the present purposes, three points should be made. Firstly, Giddens provides an entirely appropriate emphasis on the ecological foundations of modernity: the human relationship with nature embodied in global, uneven industrial "development".24 Secondly, the place of military power is also appropriately emphasized, although there is no real attempt to examine the issue of the relationship between military and other forms of state power at the level of the world order. Thirdly, each of the four dimensions is seen as a realm of contestation, where otherwise extremely strong tendencies within the state are subject to contingent outcomes resulting from the clash of state institutions with socially-based political activity. Limitations of Giddens' model The great virtue of Giddens' approach is that he brings the central issues of middle and late twentieth century history onto the agenda of social theory otherwise concerned with "domestic" issues. Forms of rule of "extreme" or "exceptional" states are brought together with domestic "master-trends" in all modern states. The morass of studies of totalitarian and fascist rule and theory are surveyed and the despair generated by their incoherence swept away with the assertion of a clear and relatively simple model of totalitarian rule.

24. It is no accident that ecological/"development" issues have become a major concern for intelligence organizations in both advanced industrial and nuclear states, and in the newly industrializing countries.



Yet there are several difficulties with Giddens' reformulation of totalitarian rule which vitiate its usefulness both for the purposes he has in mind (which are, to be sure, limited and schematic in intention) and for the purposes here: viz. on the one hand, the explanation of the dominant form of Third World state; and on the other, the relationship between the contemporary expression of surveillance and terror which are central to his model. Four problems seem important here: (a)the distortions in the model of totalitarian rule introduced from its privileging of the European and Soviet experience; (b)the resulting lack of consideration of the Japanese model; (c)the lack of specification of conditions for a move towards totalitarian rule; and (d)the lack of consideration of the influence of world-orders on the form of rule. While Giddens' model is clearly not intended to be comprehensive, attention to these issues could extend its usefulness in understanding contemporary issues. Privileging the European model Firstly, what is immediately clear against the background of the voluminous studies of both totalitarianism and fascism is that Giddens has decided that the conceptual advantages of collapsing the separate historical sequences of Italian fascism, German Nazism, and Soviet Stalinism into a single category of rule outweigh the costs.25 Obviously this is done with an awareness of the long debate for and against this approach. In recent years, the approach Giddens takes has by and large been rejected as either too limited by its Cold War ideological baggage, where the advantages of conceptually tying the Soviet Union to fascism are obvious; and/or as eroding awareness of the historical specificity of each, particularly in misinterpreting the character of Stalinism as opposed to the Italian and German experiences. For Giddens, the value of emphasising the common elements (extreme surveillance, terror, moral totalism, and the prominence of a leader figure) outweigh the disadvantages. However it is finally only the elements of surveillance and terror that are tied back to the broad concerns of his general theory of modernity. The role of the leader figure, introduced as part of an explanation of the relative popularity of totalitarian regimes with significant parts of the domestic population, is accounted for in a disappointingly thin rehearsal of the Freud/Le Bon theory of regressive identification of a mobilized population with the single leader.26 This is not to suggest either that the historically specific individual is irrelevant to a general model of totalitarian rule, or that particular psycho-social patterns of leader-follower relations should be ignored. However, the European model, and especially the case of Hitler, may be misleading in this regard, elevating a particular psycho-social leaderfollower pattern and its innovative organizational exploitation into a general

25. See Les K. Alder and T.G. Paterson, "Red fascism: the merger of Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia in the American image of totalitarianism (1930s-1950s)", American Historical Review, (1970) for a discussion of the development of the Nazi-Soviet model. 26. Giddens, Nation-State and Violence, op.cit., p.305.


requirement27. Surveillance and terror are much more central requirements than a particular leader-follower relation. While moral totalism would seem an ideal support for totalitarian rule, it is possible to imagine less hysterical, more technocratic alternatives. Such criticism leads towards a re-formulation of Giddens' criteria of totalitarian rule (in particular the ideological and leadership elements) rather than an immediate retreat to the comforts of historical specificity. Dismissing the Japanese model Giddens' limitation of the bases of his model to Italy, Germany and the Soviet Union in the 1930s is a choice that echoes an equally long debate: the marginalising of the Japanese example, or, to put it another way, the privileging of the European experience. Giddens' approach reflects what is probably the dominant interpretation: that fascism is a specifically European phenomenon of the first four decades of this century. Its Europeanness lies mainly in two elements: the saturation of fascist ideology with promises of renewal and rebirth in the face of the trauma and degradation of war, defeat and economic depression; and mass movements that brought fascist leaders to power in German and Italy (and close to it elsewhere), which gave material form to the vitalist promise of fascist ideology in organizations that had revolutionary - or at least radically anticapitalist and anti-aristocratic/plutocratic -overtones28. What is at issue is not fascism but totalitarianism - or rather its theoretical revival without its Cold War baggage. And there, the exclusion of Japan from consideration is more serious. If Stalinism is to be included in the resources from which the model is constructed, then the Japanese "emperor-system fascism" is also worthy of consideration. The Japanese example in fact provides a clearer link than the European fascisms to the contemporary Third World militarized state - where the label of "fascism" is seen as radically inappropriate because of the lack of an ideologically aroused mass base.29 The Japanese model is in fact compatible with Giddens' broader concerns, and may lead to a more satisfactory general model of totalitarian rule. Modelling the path to totalitarian rule A third weakness of Giddens' general model of totalitarian rule is in his conception of that outcome as "a tendential property" of all modern states - because of their capacities for extreme surveillance and militarized assaults on their populations. This has the virtue of removing the presumption that totalitarian rule is something radically deviant from the general experience of modernity, something that occurs to The Other. What is omitted, however, is consideration of the circumstances under which that tendency is
27. On Hitler's construction of the Nazi appeal on a quasi-religious basis in the particular context of post-Versailles Germany see Arno Mayer, Why Did the Heavens Not Darken? The "Final Solution" in History, (London: Verso, 1990), pp. 90-110. 28. The literature of obviously vast. For a sampling see Walter Laqueur (ed.), Fascism: A Reader's Guide, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979). Note especially Renzo De Felice, Interpretations of Fascism, (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1975), and Fascism: An Informal Introduction to Its Theory and Practice, (New Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1976). Gavan McCormack, "Nineteen-Thirties Japan: Fascism?", Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, 14,2 (1982) provides a useful review prior to his principal discussion of the Japanese experience. On Stalinism see the useful volume edited by Robert C. Tucker, Stalinism: Essays in Historical Interpretation, (New York: Norton, 1977), especially the contributions by Tucker, Stephen Cohen and Moshe Lewin.

29. See, for example, Patrick Flanagan's "U.S. imperialism and the `third world'", Journal of Contemporary Asia, 12,1 (1980), an attack on Chomsky and Herman's use of the category of "sub-fascist" in their The Political Economy of Human Rights, Volume I: The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism, (Boston: South End Press, 1979). Note Herman's reply.


actualized. When, how and why do modern states move towards this type of rule - highly unstable though Giddens takes it to be?30 In Europe, fascist movements were, above all else, counter-revolutionary, responses to a prior mobilization of democratic and socialist forces (albeit in the particular European post-war context). Japanese emperor-system fascism, disparate though its origins were, arose in part within the bureaucracy and the military in response to the popular mobilization of the Taisho period amidst profound social change generated by capitalist transformation.31 Giddens, following Arendt, gives some clue by emphasising the relationship between terror and legitimacy (and its first cousin, apathy), at least of a limited and transient kind, and consequently terror and deviance. Mass terror in the Nazi and Soviet cases followed, rather than preceded, the establishment of the power of the rulers. Wildt, distinguishing between totalitarian systems (e.g. under Stalin) and totalitarian regimes, links mass terror to legitimation derived from overcoming deep-seated problems of accumulation: The fact that it [fascism] temporarily succeeds in solving these problems provides the totalitarian system enough legitimation to develop the terror sufficiently to prevent all effective opposition. Stalinist mass terror has fulfilled its historical function of depoliticising the population and rendering it apathetic long enough to stabilise the specific class structure of Soviet state capitalism under conditions of extreme accumulation problems.32 In totalitarian regimes of Eastern Europe, even with Stalinist terror in their establishment phases, sufficient apathy was not generated for such system stabilization to occur. Occupation by the Red Army was a prerequisite for the survival of Eastern European state capitalism.33 This in turn brings us to the question of world-orders as a problem in the analysis of fascism - and contemporary Third World militarization. The place of world-orders Finally, Giddens' discussion of totalitarianism is restricted to the internal analysis of the nation-state. While his approach has the great virtue of linking previously disagreeably separate "political science" and "sociological" discourses34, he does not explicitly link the tendential capacity for totalitarian rule to his earlier discussion of the nation-state system or to the industrialization of war, although the stage is certainly set. The most important lacunae is precisely a discussion of world-orders, and in particular, the present global world-order in which the globalization of social relations
30. Again, there is a vast literature, both liberal and left, on the question of the causes of fascism, and it is surprising that Giddens has not addressed the more abstract and schematic question of the circumstances under which a tendency to totalitarian rule is invoked (although such conditions would probably be at one level of abstraction lower than the general theory). 31. And of course, resistance to Japanese colonial rule in Taiwan, Korea and Manchuria provoked the most extreme response. As will be argued below, the Japanese model (then and now) is a necessarily transnational one: moderate repression at home, and extreme and violent counter-insurgency programmes abroad. 32. Andreas Wildt, "Totalitarian state capitalism: on the structure and historical function of Soviet-type societies", Telos, 41, (1979), p.54. My emphasis. 33. Ibid., p.56. "It [Eastern European state capitalism] cannot therefore be called totalitarian with regard to the genetically and structurally conditioned constitution of social consciousness, but only with regard to its political constitutions." 34. "The nation-state, let me repeat, is the sociologist's `society'".


renders the nation-state a subordinate element in a wider "society". We have already seen the importance of world-orders in the shaping of the "military revolution" and the subsequent rise of internally-pacified central states in Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It is impossible to analyze what Giddens would have to regard as contemporary trends towards totalitarian rule (however incomplete they may be) without distinguishing at least three components of global social relations: (1) the organization of production, more particularly the social forces engendered by the production process; (2) forms of state as derived from a study of state/society complexes; and (c) world orders, i.e. the particular configurations of forces which successively define the problematic of war and peace or the ensemble of states. Each of these can be studied as a succession of dominant and emergent rival structures.35 The great majority of Third World militarized and authoritarian states came into existence within the framework of U.S. support; most remain in existence only because of external support. Many of the rest came into existence as part of a somewhat parallel structure of Soviet support. More to the point, the global presence or absence of terror and/or heightened domestic political surveillance as an element of rule is generally not explicable by primarily domestic factors. This is as true for relatively peaceful (but in most cases, substantially militarized) First World states in Western Europe, North America and the Pacific as of the endemic low-level terror in the Third World militarized state. As the earlier example of Japanese imperialism pre-saged, relative calm under surveillance at home can be coupled with extreme repression in the closely-related periphery. Lack of world-order analysis leaves Giddens wrong-footed on the contemporary echoes of totalitarian rule in the Third World. The Japanese model of emperor-system fascism These difficulties become clearer in the light of the pre-1945 Japanese experience. It will be seen that in many respects the Japanese model, while possessing several important unique features, provides a rather better guide to contemporary Third World state formation than does the European experience. This will also be helpful in separating the contingent from the necessary or general parts of a model of totalitarian rule.36 The term "emperor-system fascism" refers to a system of power that emerged gradually from a process of renovation of the ongoing structure and cultural traditions of the Meiji state37, without the radical disjuncture of the pre-existing "normal" bourgeois state that characterized the European experience of fascism. It was a matter of
35. Robert W. Cox, "Social forces, states and world orders: beyond international relations theory", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 10,2 (1981), pp.137-8. 36. The following summary draws heavily on the extended reviews of recent Japanese scholarship by Herbert Bix, "Rethinking `emperor-system fascism': ruptures and continuities in modern Japanese history", Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, 14,2 (1982), and McCormack, op.cit. On the issue of thought control see also Okudaira Yasuhiro, "Some preparatory notes for the study of the Peace Preservation Law in pre-war Japan", Annals of the Institute of Social Science (University of Tokyo), 14 (1973); and Richard H. Mitchell, Thought Control in Prewar Japan, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1976). Peter De Mendelssohn, Japan's Political Warfare, (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1944) gives a lively account of the bureaucratic organization of the system of mass mobilization. 37. Indeed, those Meiji cultural "traditions" were themselves the epitome of the "invention of tradition", however embedded in preexisting cultural forms. See Carol Gluck, Japan's Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985).


fascism by instalments, by and through the process of strengthening absolutism...incomplete [and] tension-ridden, a transient, incomplete, composite and `recomposed' dictatorial form.38 The most distinct disjuncture, the final assumption of executive leadership by the military in 1936, often leads to the characterization of the epoch as militarist rather than fascist. Yet, as will be seen, both the periodization and the characterization are misleading. Four elements define the essential quality of the system of emperor-system fascism, growing from the late twenties (some would put it earlier) with continual modification and intensification throughout its life until 1945: (1) a sustained coalition of autonomous elements which made up the system: bureaucracy, military, zaibatsu capitalists, and the emperor and the imperial household subordinating all others; (2) bureaucratically-controlled passive mass mobilization through intermediate bodies combined with cultivation of domestic and foreign political crisis manipulation; (3) a bureaucratic legally-based system of repression based primarily on pre-emptive surveillance and intimidation aimed at progressively broader categories of "holders of dangerous thoughts"; and (4) a coupling of this domestic mode of surveillance and low-level terror at home with a ferocious amplification of the same model against the contiguous colonial populations. Ruling bloc For the present purposes, the composition of the ruling bloc is not a major concern, except in two respects. The first is to note Bix's conclusion that despite the very considerable autonomy of the military over its own affairs and over the administration of the colonies and the conduct of the Pacific war, the absolutism of the imperial system was real. The emperor (in practice representative of the upper segments of the capitalist class, at some points in alliance with large landlords) held substantial actual power: Never was the military able to successfully defy the emperor's will; nor were military commanders ever able to strengthen their authority beyond the will of the emperor. Neither, until the very end of the war, could they bring the zaibatsu to heel by defying the zaibatsu in their own sphere of influence. Thus in peacetime as well as in wartime Japan, the ultimate nerve-center of decision-making never ceased to be `civilian' in coloration.39 This is important in so far as it diminishes the temptation to reduce Japan after 1936 (if not before) to a matter of "militarism", while leaving open the question of fascism.40 It also reiterates the point that militarization may go hand in hand with "civilian" leadership
38. Bix, op.cit., pp.8-9, 5, 19. 39. Ibid., p.10. 40. It was neither "civilian" nor "military", but an integrated mix in which the meaning of the term "civilian" had connotations quite different from other post-absolutist states in capitalist societies.


(in this case emperor/bureaucracy/zaibatsu) in which the crucial element was the "totalitarian" combination of more or less constant extreme surveillance and a repressive terror at a varying, but rarely extreme level (in Japan itself) - under civilian auspices. Secondly, the position of the emperor and the suffusing of the political culture with values of emperor-worship based on the Meiji constitution, coupled with a driving pressure for renovation of that emperor system from within the state bureaucracy itself, provided much of the dynamic energy for change in a fascist direction otherwise provided in Italy and Germany by a mass movement with (counter-) revolutionary overtones. Passive mass-mobilization The second distinctive feature - bureaucratically controlled passive mass mobilization - is important in the same context. While there were various movements by young military officers that had important political effects at various points (especially in the assassinations of the 1930s), there was no parallel to the Italian and German mass mobilization from below in counter-revolutionary parties, and there was no comparable rupture with existing state forms. Particular elements at the core of the state themselves initiated the establishment of intermediate groups to which in time the whole population was required to belong, beginning with the formation of civilian air-raid defence groups in Japanese cities in 1932 against the background of the sense of crisis engendered by the Army-initiated "Manchurian incident".41 However mobilization proper in the form of the National Spiritual Mobilization Movement initiated by Prime Minister Konoe did not get under way until after the invasion of China met heavy resistance. In this sense much of the mobilization from above was a state-reaction to war, intended to slow social trends that had been developing for decades. Labor conscription, media controls, altered school curricula, commodity rations, and campaigns to lift the birth-rate were based on a conservative social vision predating the mass consumer economy.42 Mobilization was intended to be total, and "mass" in that sense, but was always mediated through intermediate groups of a top-down character and designed to orchestrate loyalty to the emperor-system. Mass spectacle meetings were designed to combine arousal of feelings of loyalty with structural passivity. A leading Home Ministry "reformist" reflected in 1933 that in "thought policy" the mass psychology in meetings and demonstrations, the feelings of celebration, the feelings of tension in ceremonies and the like, play an important role in mobilizing propaganda which arouses the people's spirits.43 A series of state-initiated and state-orchestrated movements throughout the 1930s led up to the adoption of the "General Mobilization of the Nation" in 1938: ...the role of civilian rightists was to envelop the whole people in a harmonious
41. See De Mendelssohn, op.cit. Of course in Germany in the months after the Nazi accession to power most if not all civilian groups were "coordinated" into a Nazi Party organizational framework. See William Sheridan Allen, The Nazi Seizure of Power, Revised edition (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984), pp.218-232. 42. T.R.H.Havens, "Japanese society during World War II", Kodansha Encyclopaedia of Japan, Volume 8, (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1983), p. 278. 43. Cited in McCormack, op.cit., p.31.


atmosphere, suppressing or reducing to submission resistance to the national defense state. The people were organized in small groups capable of mutual control and mutual surveillance.44 This applied equally in the colonies. In Korea for example, after the Manchurian Incident local police organized residents into "current [political and military] situation discussion groups" for indoctrination purposes.45 Just how effective this repressive system of mobilization and control was in practice can easily be over-estimated: bureaucratic ambition should never be accepted as reality. But there can be little doubt that the system was totalitarian in intent. Domestic surveillance and limited terror The third element of the system was domestic surveillance and repression. The centre piece of the repressive apparatus was the Peace Preservation Law, enacted in 1925, and serving as the organising legislation for a variety of existing and subsequent legislative and administrative thought control measures.46 The initial concern of the Peace Preservation Law was intellectual and working class-based communist and anarchist currents, and the peasant movements channeling rural unrest. In time, however, a great range of other groupings and bodies of opinion beyond the left were considered to be harbouring "dangerous thoughts" - from Shinto reform groups ("heresy annihilation" began in 1936) through to proposers of Esperanto. Labour movements and their attached cultural organizations were considered extremely important for surveillance and control, as were the subjects of students' researches. Public opinion was closely monitored by the Ministry of Home Affairs to ascertain potential impediments to the conduct of state policy, especially foreign war.47 Mass arrests followed the enactment of the law - 18,397 in 1933.48 The number of dissidents placed on trial was relatively small in comparison to the numbers arrested, though large in absolute numbers. Despite the fearsome reputation of the repressive apparatus, there were no executions under the Peace Preservation Law in Japan itself, although it was a distinctively different matter in the colonies.49 Prosecution
44. Furuya Tetsuo cited in McCormack op.cit., p.31. 45. Chen Ching-chih, "Police and community control systems in the empire", in Ramon H, Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds.), The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895-1945, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), p.233. 46. This law was aimed at "anyone who has organized an association with the objective of altering the kokutai or the form of national government or of denying the system of private property", or anyone aiding, instigating, encouraging or discussing such matters. The Peace Preservation Law was amended several times and re-written in the last years of the war, and supplemented by the Thought Criminal Probation Law of 1936. 47. Okudaira, op.cit., pp.49-50. 48. Bix, op.cit., p.6. 49. Okudaira, op,cit., p.50. Mitchell, op.cit., p.191, makes the same point in a more apologetic fashion: "No mass application of terror, no Japanese executed in Japan under the provisions of the Peace Preservation Law (prior to the single exception in 1944), no deportations or use of forced labour and no category of non-persons. If executions and prison terms are chosen as the yardsticks by which to measure repressiveness, then Japanese thought-control policies appear mild. The reasons for this softer Japanese approach ... may be summarized as a feeling that all Japanese were brothers under the Emperor, and that no offender was beyond salvation." This deceptive phrasing elides the question of terror in the colonies and the widespread use of torture in Japan itself as means of inducing renunciation of beliefs.


and trial were not the usual end the state had in mind: The main objective of Peace Preservation Law became to "brainwash" the possessors of "dangerous thoughts" and let them "tenko" [recant sincerely] through various ^ means such as incessant inspection and observation of possessors of "dangerous thoughts" or their organized groups, sweeping round-ups which did not necessarily pre-suppose indictment, and severe examinations and torture toward those who were under restraint so that they would hold the "right" Japanese spirit...Although the Peace Preservation Law was in its form a criminal law, it was utilized more in the actual exercise of authoritative power (surveillance, observation and arrest) through administrative measures than in the application of punishment after trial.50 A unit within the Central Police Bureau, the Special Higher Police [Tokubetsu Koto ^^ Keisatsu, or Tokko] (often referred to as the Thought Police [Shiso Keisatsu]), was ^ ^ responsible to the Ministry of Home Affairs to carry out constant, secret surveillance over groups and individuals on the blacklist.51 In addition to the Peace Preservation Law system there was the separate military police or Kempeitai formed in 1882 as a combination of political police and general internal intelligence. The Kempeitai and the Justice Ministry's Thought Section operated in parallel. As the Pacific War widened, torture in prison, and especially by the Kempeitai, became more extensive. Within the military itself, the Kempeitai acquired greater independence, and were responsible directly to the minister.52 By war's end the Kempeitai had 75,000 members, one-third of whom were officers. According to Deacon The Kempei Tai were responsible for checking on any Army personnel who might be suspected of harbouring "dangerous thoughts", and they could not only arrest soldiers three ranks higher than themselves, but carry out instant punishments on their own initiative.53

50. Okudaira, op.cit., pp.51,54. Mitchell provides an extensive account of efforts to achieve renunciation of beliefs. Richard Deacon's account in his A History of the Japanese Secret Service, (London: Frederick Muller) p.160, based on Mitchell goes rather further to speak of a "positive, tolerant and detached quality" of the Thought Police, as with "a somewhat sorrowing priest or doctor". 51. There was in fact competition between the Special Higher police responsible to the Ministry of Home Affairs for preventing thought disruptions to public order and the Judicial Police responsible to the Ministry of Justice who dealt with actual violations of social and public order. See Okudaira, op.cit., p.55. Bix op.cit., p.7 points out that in the late twenties the intensification of this system got underway in a crisis atmosphere "with the appointment in all prefectures of `thought procurators' (shiso gakari), `special higher police' ^ (tokko keisatsu), `military thought police' (shiso gakari kempei), Home Ministry police officials (keimukan), and specially-deputized ^ ^ `police assistants' (keimukanho)." The Military Thought Police was established to counter the effects of leftwing activities within the army itself which materialized in the mid-20s. 52. In 1931 the head of the Kempei Tai in Manchukuo was Lt.Gen. Tojo Hideki. See Robert J.C. Butow (1961), Tojo and the Coming of the War, (Stanford: Stanford University Press), pp.72-73. 53. Deacon, op.cit., p.163. For the wartime role of the Kempei Tai in Indonesia and Malaysia, see the memoirs of its members in National Federation of Kenpeitai Veterans' Associations (1986), The Kenpeitai in Java and Sumatra, (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia project, Cornell University, Translation Series No.65); and also Anthony Reid and Oki Akira (eds.), The Japanese Experience in Indonesia: Selected Memoirs of 1942 - 1945, (Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1986). In addition to these military and civilian police agencies there was a separate system of Special Service Organs specializing in political intrigue. They were attached to all Japanese garrisons overseas and were usually housed blatantly in substantial concrete buildings of their own. [T]hey worked closely with all agencies of Japanese subversion including the Opium Board, the Secret Police [Kempeitai], Military Intelligence, and Japan's shadowy supra-governmental Civilian Spy Service. The Special Service Organs were responsible to the Second Department (Intelligence) of the Army General Staff. David Bergamini, Japan's Imperial Conspiracy, (London: Heinemann, 1971), pp.362,374.


The surveillance capacities of the various police organs were greatly enhanced by the establishment of the system of tonarigumi or Neighbourhood Associations with the coming of World War II. The tonarigumi system was linked to the Air Raid Warden system that had been established in the late 1920s, and to the wartime rationing arrangements. Branches in each block or building were made up of 10 families, and the head of each reported to a higher grouping. Each head was responsible for reporting on "dangerous thoughts" within the group and preferably eradicating them by persuasion. This system of domestic surveillance and control was a modification of the centuries-old Chinese pao-chia system of collective responsibility the Japanese revived and perfected for modern urban and rural conditions in Manchuria and Taiwan with devastating effect.54 Extreme terror in the periphery The final distinctive element of Japanese emperor-system fascism was the coupling of this low-level mode of domestic surveillance-based terror with a more extreme form in the contiguous colonies. Japanese fascism was transnational from the beginning, developing in an unbroken line from the first expeditions to Korea in the middle Meiji years, and operating in an empire which included, even before the invasion of China proper in 1937, Korea, Taiwan, Manchuria, the Marshall islands and southern Sakhalin. Japanese colonial rule was unusual in a number of respects: it was historically anachronistic, a late arrival on a stage dominated by established rival western colonial powers. More importantly, the territories Japan colonized were immediately contiguous to the centre country, and mostly societies with which Japan had historically had complex relations of cultural and military competition. Most important of all, Japan was the only colonising power to locate heavy industry in its colonies: by 1945 about a quarter of Japan's industrial base was located abroad.55 In colonial Korea the spurt of industrialization in the 1930s led to a forerunner of subsequently typical cases of enclave over-development. This was a period of considerable labour mobility, both from rural to urban sectors, but equally to forced labour and otherwise outside the country.56 An urban working class formed, in addition to a Japanese-sponsored landlord class. Japanese policy towards Korea fluctuated, but from the mid-20s onwards moved in an increasingly repressive direction, until the brutal and thoroughgoing Japanization policies of Governor-General Minami after 1936.57
54. See Chen, "The Japanese adoption of the `Pao-Chia' system in Taiwan, 1895-1945", op.cit. and "Police and community control systems in the empire" op.cit. The Indonesian rukun tetangga/rukun kampung system is a direct continuation of the tonarigumi system established by the Japanese occupation forces. See John Sullivan, "Kampung and state: the role of government in the development of urban community in Yogyakarta", Indonesia, 41 (1986). 55. Bruce Cumings, "The origins and development of the Northeast Asian political economy: industrial sectors, product cycles and political consequences", International Organization, 38,1 (1984), pp.482, 487. In the Korean case, the spurt of industrialization in the 1930s led to a forerunner of subsequently typical cases of enclave over-development. 56. By 1945 11.6% of the Korean population was living outside Korea, and 20% residing outside their native province. Ibid., p.490. 422,000 Koreans were sent to Japan in enforced labour-service regulations between 1939-1944. Chen, "Police and community control systems in the empire", op.cit., p.232. 57. Kang stresses the depth of Japanese attempts at cultural controls in addition to sheer repression and the establishment of procolonial counter-revolutionary movements. This included, as Kang shows, an attempt at a comprehensive re-orientation of Korean Confucianism. Minami's Japanization policy contained three principles: [T]he clarification of the essence of the Imperial System; the oneness of the Japanese and Korean peoples; and Training for Endurance. Upon his appointment he ordered all Koreans to worship at Korean shrines. In 1937, he forced the `Oath of the


Simple terror was a frequent tactic in the colonies, often on a massive scale.58 The most famous such case was the month-long terrorist campaign known as the "Rape of Nanking", in December 1937 in the capital of Republican China. This was not, as is sometimes suggested, a matter of ill-disciplined victorious troops taking advantage of a defeated people. Rather, in the month after the city fell on December 12th, Japanese occupying forces followed a policy of organized mass murder and rapine. The rape of Nanking was a deliberate policy designed by officers closest to the Emperor, with the intention of creating an atmosphere of extreme terror in China, which would hopefully lead to the collapse of Chiang Kai-shek's leadership over Nationalist Chinese forces. The political strategy failed, but not before the city was systematically looted of any thing of value, and the proceeds mainly directed Imperial Japanese Army revenues. More to the point, a policy of killing all Chinese prisoners and executing tens of thousands of civilians led to the murder by Japanese forces of between 150,000 and 200,000 Chinese citizens, at least 50,000 of them civilians.59 Never again was terror employed on such a scale, but the precedent and model were established. The system of thought crimes and thought reform established at home under the Peace Preservation Law was implemented far more harshly in the colonies (especially Korea) than in the home country. Large numbers of colonial resisters were executed, and following the invasion of Manchuria, counter-insurgency campaigns in Manchuria were intense, often against Koreans as well as Manchurians and Chinese. Thousands of Korean and Chinese communists were imprisoned and executed.60 In these Manchurian anticommunist counter-insurgency campaigns the tactics used included
Imperial Subjects' upon the Koreans to test the Korean reaction to his policy ... Then he recruited Korean army service volunteers to test loyalty to the Japanese emperor...The abolition of Korean language courses followed. His last test was carried out in 1940 when he changed the Korean kin-names. Except for a small number of people, the majority of Koreans adopted Japanese-style family names. It was an unbearable insult for Koreans. Thomas Hosuck Kang, "The changing nature of Korean Confucian personality under Japanese rule", in C.I.Eugene Kim amd Doretha E. Mortimore (eds.), Korea's Responses to Japan: The Colonial Period 1910-1945, (Center for Korean Studies, Western Michigan University, 1975), p.309. More than 800,000 Koreans "volunteered" for the Japanese Army's Special Volunteer Service between 193843, under a recruiting system administered by the colonial police. See Chen, "Police and community control systems in the empire", op.cit., p.232. Note that only 17,664 were taken into the Army proper. 58. Even prior to the Peace Preservation Law arrangements Koreans had been special targets of Japanese terror tactics. Japan sent 70,000 troops to occupy the Soviet Far East between 1918 and 1922. In Vladivostok, Korean nationalists joined the revolutionary forces against the Japanese and the counter-revolutionary Russian White Army. On April 4, 1920, Japanese troops began an offensive against the Koreans in Vladivostok: "Sinhanch'on [the Korean section of Vladivostok] was hit mercilessly. The Japanese committed all manner of atrocities. They beat and slaughtered the people and set fire to the school. About three hundred Koreans were killed and another one hundred arrested and taken away. Both Russian and Korean captives fell prey to bloody reprisals. While....leaders of the Revolutionary Army were handed over to the White Guards and burned alive in a locomotive firebox, the Koreans were punished by the Japanese at their own discretion. ... They bundled together the Korean victims and sank them with old rails in the Bay of Ullis, near Vladivostok." Hara Teruyuki, "The Korean movement in the Russian Maritime Province, 1905-1922", in Dae-sook Suh (ed.), Koreans in the Soviet Union, (Honolulu: University of Hawaii, Center for Korean Studies, 1987), pp.17-18. 59. The International Military Tribunal in Tokyo accepted Chinese claims of 200,000 murdered and 20,000 women raped. David Bergamini states that after reviewing the original data and weeding out Chinese statistics, believes it fair to say that not less than 100,000 war prisoners and 50,000 civilians were executed within 37 miles of Nanking and that at least 5,000 women were raped, many of them repeatedly and on several occasions. Op.cit., p.44. 60. Okudaira, op.cit., p.50; Cumings, op.cit., pp.493-4.


(1)para-military "special operations"; (2)direct efforts to separate the insurgents from the masses; (3) "purification" and administered reform of towns and villages; (4) reconstruction and rejuvenation of towns and villages; and (5)propaganda and pacification.61 By 1937, five and a half million people had been relocated in "defence hamlets" in Manchuria. Local civilians and surrendered insurgents were used for special operations "gathering intelligence, eliminating guerillas, and performing counter-intelligence functions".62 "Purification" of the towns and villages involved an extreme intensification of surveillance to yield "control of the local population", using measures such as: registration of the residents, issuance of residence certificates, regular and unscheduled checks and searches of residents and travellers, organization of the paochia and the self-defense corps systems, and confiscation of unauthorized weapons.63 These four elements hardly exhaust the specificity of the Japanese emperor-system fascism, but for the present purposes they establish the importance of consideration of the Japanese model for a re-evaluation of Giddens' model of totalitarianism. Firstly, surveillance is central, as Giddens proposed. However, Giddens' emphasis on a mass movement is contradicted by the Japanese experience. Mass mobilization was achieved, but in a structurally passive form controlled from above from the very beginning. It would seem that the only reasons for the inclusion of this criterion in a general model would be to explain the degree of popularity achieved by the European fascisms with a certain, substantial section of the population, at least for a period of time. The Japanese experience suggests that a mass movement was not the only way this could be achieved. Finally, Japanese emperor-system fascism operated on a transnational basis: repression in the colonies was different in tone and severity from that at home, but part of an integrated political (and economic) system. This was a function of the characteristics of the East Asian segment of the prevailing late colonial world order. The different forms of repression in Japan and in the colonies pre-supposed each other: neither would have been either possible or necessary without the other. A colonialist form of imperialism required massive direct repression by Japanese state forces; but equally the ability to sustain that colonialist drive required control of dissident elements at home. This was achieved by a combination of low-level but widespread terror and high levels of surveillance, criminalization of dissenting thought, and bureaucratically-controlled passive mass mobilization.64
61. Chong-sik Lee, Counter-insurgency in Manchuria: the Japanese Experience, 1931-1940, (Rand Corporation, prepared for Advanced Research Projects Agency. Memorandum RM-5012-ARPA, 1967), p.v. 62. Ibid., p.v. More precisely, the role of these groups was to exterminate communists by assassination and disruption of their groups by covert means. See Lee, ibid., pp.13-21 on the Hsueh-chu-hui operating in the Chintao region after 1934. 63. Ibid., See also Chen, "The Japanese adoption of the `Pao-Chia' system in Taiwan, 1895-1945", op.cit., and "Police and community control systems in the empire", op.cit., for a detailed discussion of the Japanese revival and restructuring of the Chinese paochia system, and an evaluation of its success. 64. A second consequence of the prevailing world-order for the emergence of Japanese emperor-system fascism (and for the Italian


Conclusion: the relevance of the Japanese model Why has it been necessary to present this sketch of totalitarian rule and the Japanese variant of fascism at such length in a discussion of contemporary Third World militarization and intelligence organizations? The primary reason, which will be discussed at length in Parts 2 and 3 below is that some aspects of Indonesian politics since 1965 are best understood in terms of a totalitarian ambition, albeit somewhat one which is unsystematic in conception and thwarted in practice. Reviewing the Japanese experience provides the basis for a refinement of the essential elements of such an ambition in government. But there are three other reasons for this preoccupation with the totalitarian model, and with the Japanese variant in particular. The first objective was to provide a means for linking two widely separated bodies of thinking: the huge corpus of writing about the experience of European fascism and the origins of the Second World War on the one hand; and the smaller but still large body of writing about Third World militarization over the past quarter of a century. These two historical phenomena may appear incommensurable: the decade to 1945 saw tens of millions of dead in war, concentration camps and forced collectivization. Third World militarization has not as yet had this result - although the wars of Indochina and the eight years of war between Iran and Iraq may give some pause.65 But there is something a little wrong here. The defeat of fascism certainly cost twenty million or more souls, and million of Jews and others died in the Nazi Final Solution, and more millions in Stalin's crimes - but are these unprecedented events to be the only standards of historical judgement? It has been suggested that one reason why the Nazi and Stalinist crimes figure so large in the collective imagination is that they provide so unreal and demonic a model of historical evil that almost anything subsequent appears to be of such lesser importance that we need not feel the sting of judgement. Beside such crimes, the invasions of Vietnam and Afghanistan, or the establishing mass murders of Democratic Kampuchea and New Order Indonesia seem so much the less. There has as yet been no war to eradicate any Third World militarized state, so we cannot know what the cost would be in human life, but it should be understood that on a world scale the normal pattern of government that we are calling Third World militarization is of no less significance than the fascism of Central and Southern Europe in the 1930s. The second reason for exploring the Japanese variant on the totalitarian model is that it provides the best historical guide to certain aspects of contemporary Third World militarization. As will be argued below in Chapter Six, the Indonesian pattern of militarization over the past quarter century is quite impossible to understand removed from the global context - economically, politically and militarily. However wedded we may be to the analysis of the domestic political, economic, social and ideological determinants of contemporary Third World affairs, the Indonesian example shows the clear primacy of explanations from a global and transnational perspective. (As does the
and German fascisms for that matter) was the structural blockage experienced by late-comer imperialist nations. 65. It is worth recalling that some eight and a half million people are estimated to have died in the Indochina Wars between 1960 and 1980, and almost one million in the Iran-Iraq War. See Ruth Lever Sivard, World Military and Social Expenditures 1985, (Leesburg, VA: WMSE Publications, 1985), pp.10-11; Samir al Khalil, The Republic of Fear: The Politics of Modern Iraq, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), p.259.


South Korean example in a different manner.) The Japanese model of an integrated transnational system of power, with varying types and levels of surveillance and terror at the centre and periphery of the system, is the best guide to the current hierarchical worldsystem of militarization. And finally, there are direct historical links between the Japanese experience up to 1945 and the Indonesian (and South Korean) intelligence state of the 1980s. As is well known, the main body of the Indonesian Army officer corps from the Revolution through until the 1970s received their basic training either directly from the occupying Imperial Japanese Army or during the Revolution from those of their comrades who had done so less than two years earlier.66 The military men of Soeharto's generation were trained by the Japanese, and their influence prevailed in important respects over the earlier influence of the small Dutch colonial army - the KNIL. Moreover, in the field of intelligence and covert action/special forces warfare, the overwhelming influence was Japanese.67 It is not the purpose of this dissertation to trace such influences on the development of the Indonesian intelligence state, and while claims of such a Japanese influence, or indeed, provenance, are often plausibly forwarded, I do not wish to make such a case. I only wish to maintain that if any foreign historical influences are to be found, then they will be Japanese, and for that reason alone, if for no other, it is to the Japanese experience - and model - of fascism that we should look.

66. See Joyce C. Lebra, Japanese-Trained Armies in Southeast Asia, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1977); Benedict R. O.G. Anderson, Some Aspects of Indonesian Politics under the Japanese Occupation: 1944-1945, (Ithaca: Modern Indonesia Project, Cornell University, 1961); "Japan: `The Light of Asia'" in Josef Silverstein (ed.), Southeast Asia in World War II: Four Essays, (New Haven: Southeast Asian Studies, Yale University, 1966); Java in a Time of Revolution, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1972). 67. See Appendices 2 and 3.


Chapter 4 Intelligence and the rationalization of domination

Of all of the organs of the state, the one most immediately and forcibly confronted with reality, the police force, has uniquely privileged access to knowledge which enables it to understand a multiplicity and diversity of socially deviant and anti-social forms of behaviour, structural defects in the society and the laws governing social mass behaviour. Dr.Horst Herold, Director, Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau, West Germany

This chapter is concerned with intelligence agencies as a contemporary mode of state control, particularly domestic political intelligence agencies. By the late twentieth century virtually every nation-state had developed some type of surveillance bureaucracy for political purposes, in addition to those involved in externally-oriented activities, military or otherwise. The activities of such agencies are almost always adversarial, if not hostile; and may be either covert or open in form and aim, passive or disruptive and aggressive towards their targets. Domestic political intelligence agencies carry out a range of activities, which they may share with state and non-state-agencies. These activities include surveillance, political intervention (including terror), ideological propagation and maintenance, and political steering. Virtually all nation-states have agencies of this type. Indeed the similarity in agency type and form around the world is striking. This chapter explores the activities of intelligence agencies within the state, the reasons for their striking isomorphism around the world, and offers some explanation for the differences that can be observed. This structural isomorphism can be explained in terms of (a) common responses to common problems; (b) common internal pressures for agency proliferation; (c) international influence and cooperation; (d) opportunities afforded by advances in disciplines and technologies of power, or more precisely those of surveillance and repression. Conversely, the variations amongst intelligence agencies can be explained by the following factors: (a) state structure and traditions; (b) strategic situation and alliance pattern; (c) source and level of perceived state security threat; (d) agency conception of mission; (e) organizational and socio-technical character; and (f) any extraneous responsibilities the agency may have, such as protection of political leaders of political parties positions of influence. On the surface liberal democracies would appear to have an aversion to domestic surveillance activities. In fact however, all the major liberal states have such agencies,


and have had them for much of this century, usually established in conditions of emergency but maintained on a more or less permanent basis subsequently. One model of such internal security in liberal democracies was presented. Developed by Keller on the basis of the history of the US Federal Bureau of Investigation [FBI] between the 1940s and the 1970s, this model highlights the capacity of such agencies to become autonomous and insulated from effective control either by social groups or other parts of the state executive, the legislature or the judiciary. Increasing levels of agency autonomy permit, and by temptation encourage, a shift from more passive intelligence activities to aggressive counter-intelligence in domestic democratic politics. This model is followed by a case-study of West German domestic political surveillance activities, which are amongst the most comprehensive in the world, penetrating into German society to a great depth. The development of such a widespread and increasingly widespread and deep global system of state surveillance of domestic populations is a logical development of the generalized place of surveillance discussed in the preceding chapter. The totalitarian variant is but the extreme of a more general pattern of the rationalization of domination.1 This pattern is built upon the capacity for increased and more effective surveillance, but is also dependent on the subsequent development of further forms of state intervention based on information derived from systematic surveillance of the citizenry. Intelligence agencies vary in their precise role here, and clearly are deeply involved in the surveillance and intervention aspects. However on occasion they may become - or seek to become more deeply involved still in this wider pattern of rationalization of domination through a claim to insight into structural understanding of the society, the direction of social change, and the means of rectifying what are deemed undesirable changes. Intelligence agencies The domestic political role of intelligence agencies is often neglected by mainstream political science, including some of those who have provided otherwise excellent studies of externally-oriented intelligence organizations. Richelson's important study of the United States "intelligence community" cites a standard U.S. military definition of intelligence as: the product resulting from the collection, evaluation, analysis, integration and interpretation of all available information which concerns one or more foreign nations or areas of operation which is immediately or potentially significant for planning.2 Richelson immediately qualifies this with the inclusion of counter-intelligence and covert action: Counter-intelligence is the acquisition of information or activity designed to neutralize hostile intelligence services...Covert action can be defined as any activity or operation designed to influence foreign governments, persons or events in support
1. "Rationalization" is used here in the sense developed by Weber, referring to the systematising of an activity, the removal of extraneous or inhibiting elements, and the development of the logic within a pattern. 2. Jeffrey Richelson, The U.S. Intelligence Community, (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger; second edition, 1989), p.2, citing the Dictionary of United States Military Terms for Joint Usage, (Washington D.C.: Departments of the Army, Navy and Air Force, May 1955), p.53.


of the sponsoring government's foreign policy objectives while keeping the sponsoring government's support of the operation a secret.3 The problem is not that Richelson is unaware of the fact of domestic political surveillance: he provides a short but useful account of some such U.S. activities. Rather, his work reflects the general presumption that intelligence is principally a matter of external relations between states.4 Accordingly he categorizes types of intelligence as political, military, scientific, sociological, economic and environmental - but with an almost wholly external perspective.5 This may on balance be an accurate depiction of the intelligence complexes of the major powers, but it is rather less accurate for Third World countries. And in any case such approaches tend to understate the role of domestic political surveillance in the advanced industrial countries. Donner's account of domestic "adversarial intelligence systems" in the United States provides a more balanced and neutral definition: "Intelligence" is best understood as a sequential process which embraces the selection of the subject (an organization or an individual) for surveillance, the techniques, both overt and clandestine, used in monitoring the subject or target, the processing and retention of the information collected (files and dossiers), and its evaluation in the light of a strategic purpose (the intelligence mission). Intelligence also includes an aggressive or activist aspect, specifically designed to damage or harass the target. But whether formally classified as passive data collection or aggressive intelligence, the intelligence function is dominated by a punitive or proscriptive purpose.6 At the activist end of the spectrum, domestic intelligence activity blurs into other forms of political and military intervention by states against segments of their citizenry. The
3. Ibid., p.2. Note the qualification of these definitions of counter-intelligence and covert action below. 4. This international relations paradigm of intelligence is reflected in the organization of bibliographies and data bases as well. Calls for sources on "intelligence" and "intelligence agencies" almost wholly deliver material on foreign-oriented activities. The only important exception deals with the revelations of domestic political surveillance and intervention by civilian and military intelligence agencies in the United States during the late Vietnam period. On the other hand, such a narrowing of focus is not limited to mainstream analysts. One of the few systematic peace research approaches to intelligence is an early paper by Owen Wilkes and Nils Petter Gleditsch, "Research on intelligence or intelligence as research", (Oslo: International Peace Research Institute, Oslo (PRIO), S-16/79). This too has a resolutely external orientation. 5. Richelson, op.cit., pp.7-9. 6. Frank J. Donner, The Age of Surveillance: The Aims and Methods of America's Political Intelligence System, (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1980), p.3. A study of U.S. police political intelligence surveillance units defined political surveillance as those activities by any organization, either authorized by or in cooperation with the state, which are intended to monitor, record, disseminate, or process information upon the legitimate, legal political expressions or beliefs or actions of persons not otherwise engaged in criminal activity. Jim Thomas, "Class, state and political surveillance: liberal democracy and structural contradictions", [publication details missing], pp.47-58. While this is an important and neglected study of local police surveillance in the United States between 1950 and 1974, this definition does not help all that much, since in many cases what many would define as legitimate political activity is defined as criminal by the state. Plate and Darvi's discussion of secret police centres on units of the internal security police of the state with the mandate to suppress all serious threatening political opposition to the government in power and with the mission to control all political activity within (and sometimes beyond ) the borders of the nation-state. Thomas Plate and Andrea Darvi, Secret Police: The Inside Story of a Network of Terror, (London: Abacus, 1982) p.8. This shifts attention too far in the other direction, emphasising the goal of control without attending to the distinctive feature of the contemporary intelligence and security apparatus: information as the root of control.


distinction between police and domestic military activity is similarly ambiguous. Police normally resort to lethal force less rapidly than do the military, and are normally trained to use a variety of non-lethal forms of intervention. Yet the differences in many states have been eroded by para-military police units and practices, and by specialist military forces (as in Northern Ireland after some years) trained to raise the threshold of lethal response.7 In a similar fashion, there is no clear division between intelligence operations and those of the remainder of forces of state repression or violence. All that can be said is that in general they are more closely related than are others to the requirements of surveillance and the sources of information and to the requirement of covert operation. Political surveillance of the domestic population is mainly carried out by state agencies, military or civilian.8 In recent years the benign-sounding term "intelligence community" has been used to refer to a common cluster of state agencies involved in all three elements of intelligence operations: information-gathering and evaluation, counterintelligence and covert operations.9 The more neutral collective name, intelligence agencies, also has problems. The general use of the term "intelligence" displays the military origins of the term in tactical and strategic intelligence, and when applied to
7. Two common distinctions between police and military are probably not accurate. The first is that the military, as Enoch Powell said of the British Army in Northern Ireland, are there for only one purpose: to kill; whereas the police are there for other purposes. As the British Army itself discovered in Northern Ireland as elsewhere, that was not the case. Secondly, it is sometimes argued that the distinction has more to do with the legitimacy of their domestic role. One conservative British commentator was close to the mark when he said that the police must operate with a substantial measure of public acceptance for a more or less legitimate state. Sending in the Army, he said, was an announcement that legitimacy was irrelevant in a situation where the very basis of the rule of the state was in question. Such a view would be held by most state managers. Amy W. Knight, The KGB: Police and Politics in the Soviet Union, (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1988) treats the modern KGB as a policing agency in the broader sense, in much the same way Dr. Herold thought of the West German security agency he headed. 8. However it is important to note the increasing importance of non-state intelligence work. There are five main variants. In countries such as the Philippines, Guatemala, and El Salvador, numerous "private" armies (usually allied to elements of ruling coalitions) and vigilantes conduct terror operations against other citizen groups, with varying degrees of prior surveillance. Secondly, para-state groups of nominally off-duty military personnel made up death-squads in Chile and Argentina, in addition to the large "official" activity. Thirdly, Japanese intelligence in the early part of this century was commonly conducted by nominally civilian associations such as the patriotic group the Kokuryukai [Black Dragon Society] or the Sakurakai [Society of the Cherry] formed in 1930 by the future head of the Kempeitai. According to Deacon, "membership of the Black Dragon eventually ranged from Cabinet Ministers and high-ranking army officers to professional secret agents, blackmailers, and hired killers." Richard Deacon, A History of the Japanese Secret Service, (London: Frederick Muller, 1982), p.44. Fourthly, there is the very considerable expansion of corporate information and security services in the capitalist democracies. See Donner, op.cit; and Nigel South, Policing for Profit: The Private Security Sector, (London: Sage, 1988). Fifthly, and most importantly, there has been a trend in the United States and to a lesser extent in Western Europe towards privatization of what were formerly exclusively state intelligence and intervention activities. There now seem to be regular cross-overs from the state sector to the private "security" industry, and back again, as well as regular "contracting out" of government intelligence and special operations work. See Jim Hougan, Spooks: The Haunting of America - The Private Use of Secret Agents, (New York: William Morrow, 1979); Jonathan Marshall, Peter Dale Scott, and Jane Hunter, The Iran-Contra Connection: Secret Teams and Covert Action in the Reagan Era, (Boston: South End Press, 1987), esp. pp.19-49, 194-198; Duncan Campbell, "Salesmen of the secret world", New Statesman, (22 February, 1980); and South, op.cit., pp.95-98. 9. The appropriation and distortion of language by and for state surveillance and terror has been remarked on by many from Orwell onwards. For contemporary usage in the U.S. sphere abroad see Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, The Political Economy of Human Rights, Volume I: The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism, (Boston: South End Press, 1979); Edward S. Herman, The Real Terror Network: Terrorism in Fact and Propaganda, (Boston: South End Press), and "U.S. sponsorship of international terrorism: an overview", Crime and Social Justice, 27-28 (1987). See Donner, op.cit., for domestic U.S. usage. "Intelligence community" is a perfect example, connoting an inward-referring group, with benign intentions, keeping an esoteric knowledge to themselves like good, but slightly odd, neighbours. It is a term used by writers close to the state agencies about which they write, and may reflects use within these agencies. The term "anti-languages" has been coined by linguists to refer to exclusivist language strategies defining group boundaries and providing cohesion. See Gordon L. Clark and Michael Dear, State Apparatus: Structures and Languages of Legitimacy, (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1984), p.91. The important point here is the colonization of wider linguistic communities by elements of particular anti-languages as a means of structuring political discourse and distorting communication.


domestic political affairs, provides a measure of displaced legitimacy to activities formerly known by less flattering terms such as "political police" or "secret police". "Internal security" is a common alternative, and in practice it is, as the Indonesian example will show, difficult to draw a distinct line between the information-gathering and evaluation activities and the operational ones, especially covert.10 Agencies may be roughly divided according to auspice (civilian or military); lines of responsibility (directly responsible to head of state or other official); area of responsibility (foreign or domestic; military, political or economic); or predominant mode of operation (information-gathering, evaluation, operations). In practice, most major agencies cross a number of these boundaries, at least over time. Thus the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) is an ostensibly civilian agency reporting directly to the President. In practice it has conducted minor wars. Although limited by legislation to foreign operations only, throughout the 1960s and early 1970s, the CIA was involved in substantial domestic intelligence-gathering and covert operations. What is described as an "intelligence community" is usually a complex of sometimes cooperating, sometimes autonomous, always competing state bodies, with varying degrees of specialization of role. The functions of domestic intelligence agencies: surveillance, ideology and steering intervention,

Domestic intelligence organizations in contemporary states have at least four potential roles, sometimes carried out alone, at other times shared with other state agencies, or not carried out at all: (a) surveillance and the provision of information considered useful to state policy formation and execution; (b) political intervention, either in the form of overt repression or covert action; (c) generation and maintenance of normative or ideological systems; and (d) steering of the state and society towards specified system goals. Surveillance Surveillance is the fundamental activity of intelligence agencies, domestic or external. It may be carried out in secrecy, or by deception as to its purposes, or in much the same way as any other kind of open research. It may be a matter of directed questioning of or about target groups or individuals, or it may be more general surveillance on a preventive basis of large parts of a population. It may be carried out as "human intelligence" - unmediated by technology; or through various forms of targeted or general electronic surveillance11. The information may be provided voluntarily,
10. Knight, op.cit. provides a fine discussion of the domestic activities of the KGB in terms of "political police" or "security police", based on Brian Chapman, Police State, (London: Macmillan, 1970). 11. That is, the difference between the bugging of the telephones of particular people, as opposed to general filters of all telexes or fax messages in which certain specified key words appear.


consciously or otherwise, or under extreme duress. Surveillance for political purposes grows out of and builds on less obviously political forms of state and corporate monitoring of populations. The utility of surveillance in domestic political intelligence is obviously dependent on the quality of analysis. The "life cycle" of domestic political intelligence from policy formulation, targeting, execution of surveillance, data collection, data analysis, through to policy evaluation is as liable to break downs in effectiveness as in the better known examples of foreign intelligence. It would be foolish to presume from the sophistication of much of the collection procedures that the analysis is equally so. Yet certain types of contemporary intelligence agencies are, at least in intention, closer in their analytical approach to "social science" models of society than to simplistic caricatures of heavy handed fascists looking for "reds under the bed", though there is often much of that as well. At the extreme of such models, it is "society" that is under surveillance, not just suspected portions of it.12 Therefore it becomes important to look at just how the fruits of surveillance are interpreted and analyzed - both in terms of institutions and intellectual frameworks, as well as looking at the actual quality of the data evaluation. By comparison to surveillance, political intervention is less fundamental to intelligence agencies, but extremely common. Partly it is a matter of the official specification of organizational responsibilities: some agencies are purely engaged in collecting data. Others have various kinds of executive powers. Others still arrogate such powers to themselves. The types of political interventions that may be carried out are extremely diverse, ranging from the outright murderous through the illicit and dirty to open and legal participation in public life. Political intervention Political intervention here refers to domestic activities usually included under the heading of either counter-intelligence or covert action when dealing with external intelligence activities. Counter-intelligence has come to have a somewhat elastic meaning beyond the basic "defensive counter-intelligence" notion of detecting and neutralizing agents of enemy (or simply foreign) intelligence organizations in times of war or peace. The "positive" notion of counter-intelligence current official US government thinking stresses the "counter" aspect and lets the term "intelligence" represent activities below the conventional military level...Such a view essentially mixes traditional counter-intelligence with positive intelligence designed to counter any form of hostile activity short of conventional military operations (e.g. terrorist attacks, illegal acquisition of advanced technology, sabotage) with a framework of analysis (counter-deception) for the analysis of positive intelligence.13 Covert action operations by the United States in recent years have included

12. See Duncan Campbell, "Society under surveillance", in Peter Hain (ed.), Policing the Police, (London: John Calder, 1980). "Society" may be under surveillance in a double sense. On the one hand, so many individuals and groups are targeted for surveillance that it adds up to the whole of society. Or surveillance agencies conceive of their task as the surveillance and analysis of the social body as a structural whole, in order to detect signs of unwelcome structural change. This is discussed further below in relation to the "steering role" of intelligence. 13. Richelson, op.cit. p.317.


(1) political advice and counsel; (2) subsidies to an individual; (3) financial support and technical assistance to political parties; (4) support to private organizations, including labor unions and business firms; (5) covert propaganda; (6) training of individuals; (7) economic operations; (8) paramilitary or political action operations designed to overthrow or support a regime; and (9) attempted assassination.14 Many if not all of these types of counter-intelligence and covert action activities have been carried out in domestic political action programmes conducted by domestic intelligence agencies in the US and Western Europe. Amongst the very few welldocumented examples of domestic political counter-intelligence operations were those carried out by the US Federal Bureau of Investigation between 1960 and 1972. It is reasonable to assume that these operations are a good guide to the larger number of operations of this kind in liberal democracies (to say nothing of the other states) about which less information is available, or which remain secret. At least eight separate FBI counter-intelligence programs (Cointelpro in FBI jargon) were initiated between 1960 and 1972, when these unauthorized programmes were suspended. They were aimed at disrupting or neutralizing groups or individuals: Communist Party of the U.S.A. Cointelpro (1960) Socialist Workers Party Cointelpro (1961) Puerto Rican Nationalist Counterintelligence (1962) White Hate Groups Cointelpro (1964) Operation Hoodwink Cointelpro (1964) Black Nationalist-Hate Groups Cointelpro (1966) New Left Cointelpro (1968) Black Panther Cointelpro Intensification (1968)15 The intention of such Cointelpro operations was made perfectly clear by one of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover's directives concerning "Counter-intelligence Program/Black Nationalist/Internal Security". Hoover directed FBI agents to expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit or otherwise neutralize the activities of black nationalist, hate-type organizations and groupings, their leadership, spokesmen, membership and supporters, and to counter their propensity for violence and civil disorder.16 The methods employed by the FBI in these campaigns were a model of the art of
14. Ibid., p.333. 15. William W.Keller, The Liberals and J. Edgar Hoover: the Rise and Fall of a Domestic Intelligence State, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), pp.161-2. Operation Hoodwink was a counter-intelligence operation designed to create conflict between the CPUSA and organized crime. The operation was conceived by FBI administrators alone, and its existence known only to FBI personnel. Ibid., p.173. 16. Cited in ibid., pp.186-7.


domestic counter-intelligence: Standard Cointelpro operations included anonymous communications, use of fictitious organizations, forwarding financial data to the IRS [Internal Revenue Service], character assassination, confronting of friends, employers and relatives, electronic surveillance, providing confidential or fabricated information to reporters, constant interviewing of the subject, disinformation, innuendo, overwhelming and aggressive informant penetration, twenty-four hour stakeouts, and [in the words of an FBI Cointelpro director] "other methods too numerous to mention".17 Listed in summary form such methods of subversion of democratic politics sound dry, somewhat innocuous or faintly ludicrous. Ludicrous they may have been, but they were anything but innocuous in their effects on the fragile social and cultural networks that underpinned the social movements of the time. In concert with related large-scale political surveillance programmes, these counter-intelligence campaigns were effective in undermining the activities of a wide range of legal organizations which enjoyed considerable public support in a liberal democracy. It is important to maintain the distinction between agencies involved in collection of information and those that have executive powers. While the provision and structuring of information to the rest of the executive is obviously a matter of considerable potential power, those agencies that have legal or de facto executive powers are much more likely to expand their mission, move out of the control of supervisory bodies, and undermine the foundations of democratic government.18 Ideological activity The ideological role of intelligence agencies is often under-estimated, yet J.Edgar Hoover's "G-Men" provided (at Hoover's active behest) the material for half a century's Hollywood pulp. More actively, in the Soviet Union, campaigns against "ideological sabotage" were a major KGB responsibility throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Going further still, KGB officers are used in active propagandizing in many areas of Soviet domestic life.19 In the Indonesian case since 1966 it will be seen that there has been a parallel and interlinked development of domestic surveillance apparatus and the statepropagated ideology of Pancasila. Political steering Finally, intelligence agencies have, in some cases, a role in steering the state. The former West German domestic intelligence chief Dr. Horst Herold presented a clear statement of such a role. Of all of the organs of the state, the one most immediately and forcibly
17. Ibid., p.164. See also Christy Macy and Susan Kaplan, Documents, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1988). 18. All governments must worry about the servant displacing the master in matters of intelligence agencies, not just democratic governments. But one of the most fascinating political interventions by an intelligence agency came in a recent statement by the KGB. According to a Los Angeles Times story (The Age (Melbourne), 3 March 1990), members of the KGB's Moscow headquarters staff sent a letter to President Gorbachev and to members of the Soviet Parliament warning that the leadership is responding to crises too slowly, and of the consequences of political division and opportunism in the Communist Party. Cheka collectives say they are perplexed because the leading organs of the country, while possessing the data that anticipated negative phenomena, clearly lagged with vitally important political decisions and are still too slow and indecisive. On the KGB and the Soviet state and party control, see Amy W. Knight, op.cit., pp.79-113. 19. Knight, op.cit., pp.203-208.


confronted with reality, the police force, has uniquely privileged access to knowledge which enables it to understand a multiplicity and diversity of socially deviant and anti-social forms of behaviour, structural defects in the society and the laws governing social mass behaviour.20 As a result, Herold exhorted, the police must transform themselves from a subordinate object with merely executive functions into initiators of social change, ...[which requires] a firm move away from the restrictions of their traditional functions, a radically new intellectual start, the acceptance of a quite different a sort of social hygiene.21 The intelligence agency (in this case, police intelligence) is seen as holding a unique position of intellectual privilege from which to discern, in a scientific manner, the "subliminal changes" at an early stage that belie the underlying direction of change in the society. Criminality in this context is no longer his main opponent; he conceives of it rather as an indispensable indicator of a trend, the signals of which he has to "evaluate".22 On this basis such agencies are then able to either recommend to the state as a whole steps which should be taken (a social monitoring role), or actually take steps themselves to either redress the situation or encourage change in the direction of a preferred social model. Such a steering role is particularly clear when such agencies operate with overtly cybernetic models of society or more simplistically with a model of the preferred society drawn from, say, an ideology such as the Indonesian state ideology Pancasila. "The state", remarked Durkheim in a fascinating but misleading comment, "is society become conscious of itself." More accurately he wrote, the state is a group of officials of a special kind, within which ideas and decisions are evolved which involve the whole of society without being the creation of society.23 Characteristically, Durkheim elides the question of power, but at the same time points to a certain kind of self-consciousness - or rather a self-consciousness of society which is also in practice a self-consciousness of the state itself. This is manifest in the activities of steering society by the state. Social steering can be carried out democratically, according to what Habermas terms discursive will-formation. Instead, Durkheim's remark describes precisely the activities, and increasingly the self-conception, of the more autonomous and ambitious intelligence agencies' understanding of their structural and steering responsibilities.

20. Cobler, op.cit., p.148. 21. Ibid. 22. Hans Magnus Enzenberger, "A Determined Effort to explain to a New York audience the Secrets of German Democracy", New Left Review, 118 (Nov.-Dec. 1979), p. 12. 23. Cited in Steven Lukes, Emile Durkheim - His Life and Work: A Critical Study, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1975) p.269. Durkheim's remark on the state and social self-consciousness is in his essay on Socialism.


The isomorphic structure of national intelligence agencies Intelligence agencies are part of every contemporary national state. Not all nationstates have their equivalent of the U.S. National Security Agency which primarily collects and evaluates external electronic intelligence. Not all nation-states have political intelligence organizations as comprehensive and sophisticated as the West German Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau or Office for the Protection of the Constitution.24 And assuredly, not all have domestic security agencies that use the techniques of terror and torture associated with Chile's DINA or South Africa's BOSS or the Korean Central Intelligence Agency.25 But equally, there are virtually no countries that do not have state agencies with some or all of these functions. In the isomorphic patterns of state formation induced by participation in the present world order, intelligence and security agencies are a remarkably uniform product. As Robin Luckham observed of military organizations more generally, the present world order renders them remarkably uniform and internationally comparable despite their ostensibly national orientation.26 Although there are considerable variations for reasons that will be examined below, their similarities in structure, assigned task and even name are striking. They are intense in their pursuit of what their heads conceive to be the national interest. Of all of the repressive agencies of the state, it is the agencies oriented to domestic political surveillance that have repeatedly shown themselves to be carriers of an ideology under which they are conceived as the true protectors of the final interests of the state and nation, beyond the vicissitudes of electoral processes. On the other hand, like the military, their "national" orientation often leads them to substantial involvement with agencies of other states - as directing partners or junior clients or simply being cooperative.27 The US intelligence apparatus provides a guide to the possible range of formal organizations. In 1985 the combined budget of its domestic and external elements was $25 billion, reflecting a 3-fold increase in 10 years.28 The main parts of that enormous apparatus have been usefully defined in a U.S. government regulation as follows: The Central Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, the Offices within the Department of Defense for the collection of specialized national foreign
24. On the Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau and the Office for the protection of the Constitution see Cobler, op.cit.; also Richelson, Foreign Intelligence Organizations, (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger, 1988), pp.145-7. 25. This organization was re-named as the Agency for National Security Protection in 1980 but is still known commonly as the KCIA. 26. Robin Luckham, "Militarism: force, class and international conflict", IDS Bulletin, (August 1977). 27. The Australian security agencies provide an excellent example. An ASIS [Australian Secret Intelligence Service] officer was appointed to the Indonesian State Intelligence Coordinating Agency [Bakin] in 1977. See Jeffrey Richelson and Desmond Ball, The Ties That Bind, (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1985), p.172. Information is regularly exchanged between Bakin and both the Australian Office of National Assessments [ONA] and the Australian Secret Intelligence Service [ASIS]. (Confidential interview, Jakarta, June 1988.) The primary domestic Australian security agency ASIO was set up by the Director of Britain's MI5. Even into the mid-1980s, it remained highly oriented to the needs of its major collaborator, the CIA, to the point where its former director, Harvey Barnett, testified that the agency's pursuit of an Australian Labor Party lobbyist and former secretary David Combe was initiated because of Combe's criticism of alleged CIA involvement in the dismissal of ALP Prime Minister Gough Whitlam in 1975. David Marr, The Ivanov Trail, (Melbourne: Thomas Nelson, 1984), pp.101ff. 28. Keller, op.cit., p.198.


intelligence through reconnaissance programmes [a euphemism for the National Reconnaissance Office], the Bureau of Intelligence and Research of the Department of State, the intelligence elements of the Military Services, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Department of the Treasury, the Department of Energy, the Drug Enforcement Administration and the staff elements of the Director of Central Intelligence constitute the intelligence community.29 Other countries, with the possible exception of the Soviet Union, have smaller and less complex intelligence apparatuses. The reasons why their structures vary are examined below, but the US example, allowing for differences in size, military-political situation, and historical accident, is a reasonable guide to similar apparatuses, with the exception of death squad-types of organization and organizations devoted to the protection of the personal and party interests of political leaders (including communist parties). Such isomorphism is not only a matter of their existence and role, but equally of their internal organization. There are really only two principal organizational types of domestic intelligence agency: the relatively small number of personalistic, highly interventionist agencies typified by the Indonesian agency Opsus (and like Opsus, oriented to the illegal and violent end of the spectrum, often in association with death squads), or the more common and usually larger bureaucratic type (which may or may not be involved in killing). Bureaucratic intelligence organizations almost always have comparable internal structures, organized in line and staff form, with division according to social, political or geographical region of operation, technical function and administration.30 The United States Central Intelligence Agency provides one model of such an organization31. In very broad and formal terms, the CIA is headed by a Director chosen by the President, together with a Deputy Director and Executive Director. These senior officers are assisted by staff support offices dealing with matters such as legislation, public relations, legal affairs, financial affairs, and an inspectorate-general. The core activities of the organization are carried out by four divisions: Administration, Science and Technology, Operations, and Intelligence, each of which is headed by a Deputy Director. The Directorate of Operations is organized by function and area. The Deputy Director (Operations) is assisted by a functionally organized staff dealing with Foreign Intelligence, Covert Action, Counter-intelligence, and Evaluation, Plans and Design. These staff offices monitor and cooperate with the activities of the area divisions. The Directorate of Intelligence has a similar organizational structure. The Deputy Director (Intelligence) is assisted by a set of staff offices: Management and Analytic Support,
29. DIA [Defense Intelligence Agency] Regulation 50-17, "Release of Classified DOD Intelligence to Non-NFIB [National Foreign Intelligence Board] U.S. Government Agencies", July 26, 1978, cited by Richelson, The U.S. Intelligence Community, op.cit., p.9. 30. See, for example, the standard organizational charts in Richelson, Foreign Intelligence Organizations, op.cit., and The U.S. Intelligence Community, op.cit.; and Knight, op.cit., and the Indonesian examples in Chapters 8 and 9 below. To be sure, such charts may be reflections of organizational myth rather than practice, but at the very least demonstrate that these state agencies are isomorphic even in their daydreams. 31. The following paragraphs on the CIA are based on Richelson, The U.S. Intelligence Community, op.cit., pp.11-25.


Collection Requirements and Evaluation, Arms Control Intelligence, Nuclear Proliferation Intelligence, Community Assistants. There is also a Senior Review Panel. The bulk of the Directorate's work is carried out by two series of offices: one organized geographically, and the other problem-oriented or functionally-organized: Global Issues, Imagery Analysis, Scientific and Weapons Research, Leadership Analysis, Information Resources, and Current Production and Analytic Support. Such organizational maps are of course always somewhat misleading. A more complex and less tidy mapping of informal networks of power and communication paying due regard to the internal political realities of large organizations would serve better as a guide to actual structure and practice.32 But official organization charts reflect the preferred self-image of organizations, or at least their management, and it is models such as these which recommend themselves, or are recommended, to other agencies. Causes of isomorphic intelligence and security complexes The global isomorphic replication of organizational mission and structure of national security complexes has four main sources: (a) common responses to common problems; (b) common internal pressures for agency proliferation; (c) international influence and cooperation; (d) opportunities afforded by advances in disciplines and technologies of power, or more precisely those of surveillance and repression. Common responses to common problems The character of the international system causes states to face comparable needs at roughly the same time or stage of development. Common internal security problems breed common responses, as do the intrusions, real or imaginary, of other states or the external difficulties they generate. Hence a common need for information and evaluation and operational capacity. More importantly, the kinds of problems that are faced by states require the same sorts of resources that in other epochs have either been unnecessary or has been provided by other means. The expansion of the state in advanced capitalist societies has been driven by the expanding requirements of capital and the consequent simultaneous needs for greater control over the populace (both extensively and intensively), combined with greater legitimacy to provide the resources (financial and social) for governability. Formal institutions of liberal democracy have been combined with effective centralization of administrative power under largely depoliticized circumstances in such a way that popular control over the state is seriously limited. The generation of structural contradictions to system reproduction invites the application of political technocracy by states engaged in perennial crisis management. The citizenry becomes another object of attempted strategic control by the state.33
32. For one account of the politics lying over the CIA's neat organizational chart in the Reagan years see Bob Woodward, Veil: The Secret Wars of the CIA, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987). 33. See, for example, Jurgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, (London: Heinemann, 1975). Habermas' distinction between strategic and communicative interaction is also helpful for understanding the characteristic pattern of thinking about social and political manipulation in intelligence agencies. Strategic interaction is essentially a matter of treating other people in the same way as objects in the natural world are treated. Communicative interaction by contrast permits "discursive will-formation" - a democratic and unhierarchical process of collective determination. See ibid, and Thomas McCarthy, The Critical Theory of Jurgen Habermas, (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1978).


A principal requirement of such technocracies of control is information on the citizenry at hitherto unprecedented levels, in part to control without violating the limits of legitimacy formation. This is an expression of what Shils called the "factual hunger", or more precisely, the "cognitive passion" of all government bodies.34 Crucially, as Giddens argued, there is a dialectical relationship between the establishment of such systems of surveillance and other methods of internal pacification and the generation of new categories of deviance - and with them, new disciplines and specialists of control.35 Systems of surveillance - whether immediately political in character or otherwise provide a secondary system of protection of system reproduction in the face of late capitalist states' simultaneous experience of crises of governability and a need to maintain institutions of formal democracy.36 In the United States, Donner argues, the key role of domestic political intelligence stems from the need to maintain the structural status quo whilst adhering to the forms of liberal democracy. This is a modification of a standard functionalist interpretation of institutional differentiation and reintegration whereby the state takes over tasks formerly carried out by non-state institutions. Hence, the need for political socialization within the confines of the economic system - a need once served by the media, the family, schools, and private associations - has become a major responsibility of government, and in particular its political intelligence organizations.37 In state socialist societies such as the Soviet Union, the major domestic intelligence agencies have had conflicting objectives in recent years. On the one hand, there is the primary objective of ensuring communist party rule. On the other hand, these same communist party rulers have been trying to reduce the level of arbitrary rule and establish a normative legal order in which police powers are somewhat limited. The contradiction leads to predictable simultaneous incompatible policies, and/or sudden, politicallydetermined shifts in the balance from one approach to the other. The steering role of such agencies has in practice always been subordinated to that of the ruling party.38
34. Edward S. Shils, "Privacy and power" in his Center and Periphery: Essays in Macrosociology, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), p.329. Another comment by Shils nicely fits the standard intelligence outlook: The expansion, intensification, and enlivenment of the cognitive impulse entail an ambition to be in contemplative contact with all that is essential. But unlike the religious relationship to the essential, which is content in the contemplation of an exhaustively known or ultimately inscrutable essential power which has previously disclosed or `revealed' what is essential and therefore needs to be known, this phase in the new development of man's cognitive powers entails a belief in the possibilities of continuously deeper and more revealing, more deeply reaching penetration into the inexhaustible essential. At the same time it moves to the essential through the active contemplation of the immediate and the particular. More minds and greater efficiency in their organization and activity produce continuously deeper disclosures - or revelations - in ever greater quantities. Ibid., pp.317-318, my emphasis. 35. Giddens, op.cit., p.183. Shils, op.cit., pp.325 ff. provides a brief but acute summary of the corporate and state audiences applied psychology and sociology found for themselves in the early twentieth century. 36. Donner is speaking of the United States, and the argument could be equally applied to Britain and West Germany. But Knight stresses that the same is true of the KGB in the Soviet Union. The attempt to rationalize the leadership's desire to maintain power without use of terror has lead to the KGB's coercive and prophylactic tasks being supplemented by a considerable ideological one - both negative (in campaigns against "ideological sabotage") and positive (propaganda for all sorts of Soviet community groups including children. See Knight, op.cit., pp.203-9. 37. Donner, op.cit., p.3. 38. See, for example, Knight, op.cit. on the KGB.


Of course, in the present world order, similar intelligence and security complexes are found in countries of quite different political or socio-economic character. There is in general little difference between the range of organizations found in capitalist and communist states at various economic stages: the technocratic information-gathering agency and the death-squad, the para-military security force and the intellectuallysophisticated intelligence thinktank can equally be found in left and right versions. There may well be longterm or subtle differences between capitalist and communist systems in terms of surveillance and terror, but they are generally subordinate to the commonalities of a logic of attempted state-superordination over the populace.39 Common internal pressures Within state structures, there have been common pressures for proliferation and diversification: a preference amongst state-managers for multiple sources of advice and minimal concentration of possible centralization of adversary power; an ever-widening array of potential threats which require surveillance, assessment and forms of political intervention best carried out covertly; internal inter-bureaucratic competition; and, as the Indonesian example will show, a repeated need to counter these centrifugal tendencies by attempts at integration of control and function. The bureaucratic tendency to continuous expansion, to seek autonomy from control, and the elevation of means to ends follows the patterns outlined by Michels and Merton: This seems true of surveilling organizations and personnel who, in our own society, have tended to integrate the means of surveillance into routine organizational activity, and then create continual justification for the tasks by expanding the mandate, scope, powers and duties of their particular form of information gathering.40 The cognitive appetite, as Shils perceptively remarked, is anomic and insatiable, and the process of institutional expansion is driven hard by career motives: The key to promotion is a good record - and a good record is almost invariably measured by quantifiable achievements: how many surveillance targets, reports,
39. This is not to deny the particular horrors of the Stalinist or Kampuchean holocausts, or that in an arithmetic sense more of the twentieth century murdered died from "red" bullets, than from, say, German or Indonesian or Timorese ones. Rather, it is to question the simpler versions of some formulations of the relationship between the rationalization of domination that characterises most contemporary industrial societies and the underlying motive force of change. For example, Steven Spitzer amalgamates changes in relations of production and in relations of state domination: While slavery-based, feudal and monarchic structures of domination were dependent on extensive, indirect, and ceremonial forms of coercive regulation, capitalism was able to transform relations of production and domination in such a way that controls could become far more intensive, direct, and banal. Spitzer, "The rationalization of crime control in capitalist society" in Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull (eds.) Social Control and the State: Historical and Comparative Essays, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), p.315. While the changes in capitalist production are, in general, clearly related to changes in the forms of social control by the state, the question is more complicated. Firstly, as is being increasingly noticed, the classical automatic association of capitalism with free labour is being questioned as the global organization of capitalist servile and various forms of gender- and ethnically-defined unfree labour are being documented. Secondly, these same forms of social control are found, mutatis mutandis, in communist industrial societies. Labelling such societies as state- capitalist simply postpones the issue. Giddens' formulation of a number of inter-related but finally independent institutional axes with different patterns or even logics of development is helpful here. A political movement addressing class-relations will then necessarily have a different agenda from one addressing the relation of the state to the populace. The late Peter Sedgwick made the same point about the emergence of the "medical attitude" amongst psychiatrists: such an approach was correlated with the growth of class relations, but finally has its own autonomous base, "a separate instance of the domination of mental over manual labour, undertaken as part of the conditions of any society's reproduction". Op.cit. p.138. 40. Thomas, op.cit., p.55.


informers, photographs, file entries.41 Intelligence organizations also have an inbuilt tendency to proliferate and to increase in size because of the expansive but untestable character of their claims to effectiveness. As Cohen said of the welfare sector: The social problems industry is organized, staffed and financed on the assumptions of permanence and longterm growth. Every problem has to be seen simultaneously as more or less intractable, yet more or less under control... Insolubility is built into the language of social problem definition.42 While the establishment of such systems of control is, from the state's point of view, an attempt at crisis-management and, on occasion, structural political transformation, it should often more properly be seen as the social phenomenon Illich labelled iatrogenesis - the medical term for disease caused by medical intervention itself. The crises these agencies are set to manage are oftentimes either the consequence of structural contradictions of the social system whose structural reproduction is to be maintained, or the unforeseen consequences of earlier political actions by state agencies.43 This is particularly the case in most peripheral capitalist states within the western alliance where the structural problems the intelligence agencies are established to address are profound and the methods of surveillance and intervention often conditional on the maintenance of a subordinate relationship to the sponsoring power.
41. Donner, op.cit., p.289. Donner was discussing the huge, secret and illegal US Army political intelligence programme during the Vietnam years until its ostensible halting in 1970. The system as a whole is marked by a quality of excess reflected most notably in its gargantuan coverage. Individuals from every area of dissent, leaders and followers, were surveilled and dossiered; literally every organization of a liberal or a radical hue was similarly covered. This same passion for excess was reflected in the Army's intelligence resources. An intelligence unit may have impressive operational capability, but only limited authority and resources for planning; manpower to collect information, but meager technical equipment to process it; reasonably efficient overt surveillance facilities, but no clandestine capability; its own information input, but no access to other systems (liaison intelligence) or opportunities for operational collaboration with other units; extensive files, but no resources to evaluate their content...But few, if any, shortcomings marred Army intelligence structures. Unlimited funds, ample field manpower, specialized command personnel, planning and training resources, and the most sophisticated communications and data-processing capability ensured a unique versatility." Ibid, pp.287-288. 42. Stanley Cohen, Visions of Social Control, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1985), p.171. Cohen's discussion of the profession-alization of the "helping professions" is, as one would expect after Foucault's work, appallingly apt. Cohen's comment on the unpublished work of John Seeley has echoes of the Indonesian intelligence discussion of that country's "threats to order and calm": "Seeley has well described the functional necessity to define social problems as vaguely as possible. `Poverty', `health', and `crime' become shifting ambiguous terms. There are hints about vast numbers of undiscovered deviants - dark figures. We are told to watch out for early warning signs, latent problems, potential and at-risk populations. These groups must be brought into the net. And the hardest group to do anything about will always be the `5 percent' (or whatever amount can be absorbed at the lower tail of whatever distribution curve we are talking about). These are the hardcore, the dangerous, the sickest (the ones who really need their tonsils removed). Here is Seeley's macabre example: `If we were to attempt a radical solution by simply shooting those now held to be mentally retarded, it is unthinkable that anything would happen to the problem except that psychologists would need to rescore present intelligence tests so that they again found mean, median and mode at 100.'" 43. See Cohen, op.cit., p.169. The claim to iatrogenesis for intelligence and security agencies raises the issue of their effectiveness in achieving the goals the state hopes for them. The unquestioning acceptance of their own claims to potency are, of course, part of their power: a reputation for omniscience discourages even the thought of resistance. I will return to this issue below. For the present, however, it is simply worth noting Ignatieff's comment on his own early work on prisons and that of Foucault as embodying "the assumption of society as a functionally efficient totality of institutions. When applied to prison history, this model implies that prisons `work', whereas the prison is perhaps the classic example of an institution which works badly and which none the less survives in the face of recurrent scepticism as to its deterrent or reformative capacity." Michael Ignatieff, "State, civil society and total institutions: a critique of recent social histories of punishment" in Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull (eds.), Social Control and the State: Historical and Comparative Essays, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), p.96.


International influences Global alliance structures have been one of the principal means by which large centre countries have cloned comparable intelligence agencies around the world. The organization of global alignment means that states at low levels of industrial development are able to acquire intelligence and security complexes comparable to those of industrially more advanced states (and sponsored by them) which have not grown out of the state's social base. Within the predominant alignments of the existing global order there is an increasing trend towards integration, change and mutual learning. The well-documented patterns of military training by the major powers are the prime example of this. Military intelligence training is a particularly important and influential component, as is police training. For example, the Iraqi Amn or State Internal Security was established by the then Minister for Internal Security, Saddam Hussein, on the basis of an agreement in 1973 with the then Head of the KGB, Yuri Andropov, which provided for (a) re-organization of all aspects of internal security on the recommendations of the KGB; (b) supply of sophisticated surveillance and interrogation equipment; (c) training for Iraqi personnel in KGB and GRU [Military Intelligence] schools in the Soviet Union; (d) exchange of intelligence information; and (e) provision of assistance by Iraqi embassy personnel to Soviet agents operating in countries where the Soviet Union has no diplomatic relations.44 International intelligence cooperation is significant, even outside the superpowerclient relationship.45 Joint operations are not common, but certainly occur.46 Personal networks between security managers appear to be important for the exchange opportunities they provides - for example, the influence Moerdani's time in South Korea is alleged to have had on the subsequent expansion of the Indonesian intelligence and security apparatus. Not the least important of these international influences is the growth of ideologies and intellectual techniques to assist the intelligence and security complexes. The broad ideology of national security and the aid to the diffusion of one version of it through U.S. military and police training has often been documented.
44. Samir al-Khalil, Republic of Fear: The Politics of Modern Iraq, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), pp.12-13. There are two other important Iraqi intelligence agencies. In addition to normal military duties, Estikhbarat [Military Intelligence] deals with foreign operations in general, including those against Iraqi nationals abroad, which have included a number of assassinations. Mukhabarat [Party Intelligence], the most powerful and feared agency among the three, is a meta-intelligence organization designed to watch over the other policing networks and control the activities of state and corporate institutions like the army, government departments, and the mass organizations (youth, women, and labour)...Unlike other policing agencies, the Mukhabarat is a distinctly political body, not merely a professional organ of the state charged with safeguarding national security. Ibid, p.15. 45. See, for example, the discussion of the worldwide network of international cooperation that makes up the UK-USA agreement for electronic intelligence gathering. See Richelson and Ball, op.cit.; and James Bamford, The Puzzle Palace, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1982). Australia has formal liaison arrangements with almost all of the ASEAN states. See Richelson and Ball, op.cit., p.172. Intelligence liaison between the ASEAN states is sometimes mentioned as one of the few concrete achievements of the association, but there is as yet little hard evidence on the nature of the cooperation. 46. E.g. Israel's Mossad cooperating with Pahlevi's Iranian Savak. See Plate and Darvi, op.cit., pp.54,68.


Disciplines and technologies of power More specifically, domestic political surveillance, evaluation and covert operations of various kinds have been greatly assisted by the development and diffusion of particular types of modes of social inquiry and explanation.47 At the very least, as Cohen says of criminology, social sciences in the service of security act as alibis which allow the functionaries of the system to work with a semblance of good conscience, humanitarianism, even scientific status.48 These intellectual techniques (or disciplinary technologies of power as Foucault regarded them) overwhelmingly originate from the advanced industrial capitalist countries, and carry with them the legitimating aura of (western) modernity.49 In the history of European state-formation, Giddens notes: Social science...has from its early origins in the modern period been a constitutive aspect of that vast expansion of the reflexive monitoring of social reproduction that is an integral feature of the state.50 The intellectual practices underpinning the broad spectrum of information-gathering and evaluation, as well as many of the techniques of covert (and open) political intervention51 rely on a wide repertoire of advanced social sciences - as well as the most elementary and base types of political state-reasoning. The character of the "reflexive monitoring of social reproduction" undertaken by such agencies may be epiphenomenal or structural in character, competent or otherwise. For Perry Anderson, the intellectual underpinnings of such expanded but conservative notions of agency run even deeper in western political philosophy. Modern political thought in the West owes its origins to these brittle guide-books of domination: what else is the form of Machiavelli's The Prince? Optimistically, he continues Bismark, Cavour, and Ito were the supreme exemplars of this major enlargement of the pattern of conscious super-ordination. But their lucidity remained operational rather than structural.52

47. This will be seen in the example of the uses to which social survey research and psychology have been put by Indonesian intelligence and security bodies. See Chapter 11 below. 48. Cohen, op.cit., p.176. 49. Foucault's phrase bears on the old notion of "knowledge is power", but in a particular way which is relevant here: For Nietzsche and Foucault the "is" connecting knowledge and power does not indicate that the relation betwen knowledge and power is one of predication such that knowledge leads to power. Rather, the relation is such that knowledge is not gained prior to and independently of the use to which it will be put in order to achieve power (whether over nature or over other people), but is already a function of human interests and power relations. Douglas Couzens Hoy, "Power, repression, progress: Foucault, Lukes, and the Frankfurt School", in his Foucault: A Critical reader, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), p.129. This formulation echoes that of Habermas, Knowledge and Human Interests, (London: Heinemann, 1972). 50. Giddens, Nation-State and Violence, op.cit., p.180. 51. See Peter Watson, War On the Mind, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1978), part 5. 52. Perry Anderson, Arguments Within English Marxism, (London: Verso, 1980), p.24.


Why this should necessarily be so is not clear. On occasion, contemporary intelligence and security analysts have seen their agencies' goals in structural terms, lucidly and accurately or otherwise. Whether the type of structural analysis is adequate to the set purpose of state reproduction is another matter. But certainly there is a degree of reinforcement provided to the operations of these agencies of conscious superordination and rationalized domination by certain strands of social science theory and methods. This may account for a degree of common orientation and cross-fertilization of techniques of domination. Finally, changes in technologies of surveillance and torture create common possibilities and organizational pressures. This is most obvious at the level of electronic intelligence. While it is true that it is political pressure that generates the applied research to expand say, capacity for visual or audio surveillance at great distances as with satellites, the fundamental developments in electronics, computing and satellites created the possibilities for entirely new modes of surveillance: witness the development of very large electronic intelligence agencies, exemplified by the US National Security Agency [NSA].53 Domestically, electronic information storage made possible by computing combined with electronic surveillance created the possibility of enormous expansion of datacollecting bodies. The application of medical and scientific knowledge to practices of torture has similarly created new bureaucracies in security agencies where these disciplines are refined.54 More generally what is involved is the relationship between the forbidden and the techniques of control available: Surveillance activity thus reflects not simply the activity of "capitalist agents" or the interests of a "ruling class", although this is certainly part of its content. It reflects especially social relations between techniques for social control and the thoughts and activities that are perceived to require controlling; it reflects as well the manner in which control systems function in this type of society.55 Speaking of the US Army domestic political intelligence programme during the Vietnam War, Donner makes a more cynical though relevant point: The wheel of excess is spun faster by the Army's passion for redundancy, duplication of bureaucratic structures, and gadgetry. The fact that an activity lends itself to both elaborate bureaucratization and technology would seem to make it almost self-justifying in the military mind.56

53. See Bamford, op.cit. 54. There is as yet little knowledge of the internal the practice of scientifically infliction of pain. Particular instances will be dealt with below in Chapter 5. However, a certain amount is known about the organization of one instance: the use of psychiatric and psychopharmacological knowledge for the purpose of in the Soviet Union. See Sidney Bloch and Peter Reddaway, Soviet Psychiatric Abuse: the Shadow Over World Psychiatry, (London: Gollancz, 1984). 55. Thomas, op.cit., p.55. 56. Donner, op.cit., p.289.


Sources of variation The great majority of Third World militarized and authoritarian states came into existence within the framework of U.S. support; most remain in existence only because of external support. Many of the rest came into existence as part of a somewhat parallel structure of Soviet support. More to the point, the global presence or absence of terror and/or heightened domestic political surveillance as an element of rule is generally not explicable by primarily domestic factors. This is as true for relatively peaceful (but in most cases, substantially militarized) First World states in Western Europe, North America and the Pacific as of the endemic low-level terror in the Third World militarized state. As the earlier example of Japanese imperialism pre-saged, relative


Table 4.1 Sources of variation in intelligence agencies

(1) State structure and traditions e.g. Need to combine surveillance and selective repression with formal democracy. e.g. Degree of internal autonomy of intelligence agencies from sources of control within the state and the society. e.g. Variations in state robustness and infrastructural capacity (2) Strategic situation and alliance pattern e.g. Location within an alliance with resultant intelligence-sharing and/or military training agreements. e.g. Generalised war or notional peace. (3) Source and level of perceived security threat e.g. External or internal threat? e.g. Small or large number of domestic target groups? (4) Agency conception of mission e.g. Primarily external or internal? e.g. military or political? e.g. Primarily information-gathering, intervention, and/or planning/steering? (5) organisational and socio-technical character e.g. Bureaucratic or personalistic e.g. technology/capital intensive, or highly reliant on informer sources? e.g. Variations in the technical capacities of the state as a whole, and the social relations prevailing in surrounding society. (6) Extra responsibilities e.g. KGB border guards. e.g. Political protection lf leader, party or ideology.


calm under surveillance at home can be coupled with extreme repression in the closelyrelated periphery. The major sources of variation in intelligence regime types in general are summarized in Table 4.1. Variations amongst intelligence agencies can be explained by the following factors: (a) state structure and traditions; (b) strategic situation and alliance pattern; (c) source and level of perceived state security threat; (d) agency conception of mission; (e) organizational and socio-technical character; and (f) any extraneous responsibilities the agency may have, such as protection of political leaders of political parties positions of influence. Clearly state structure has a great influence, especially the degree of autonomy the state as a whole has from domestic political opinion, and the extent that an intelligence agency can diminish the control exercised by other parts of the state over its activities. Most communist and Third World dictatorships have little need to consider questions of legitimacy, and there is correspondingly less inhibition on autonomy. The most common result is extreme aggression in political intervention, and varying levels of terror. The position of the state in the international system may produce the same result: the need for legitimacy may be diminished by external financial and/or political support. Moreover membership of an alliance structure provides an avenue for intelligence agency cloning according to the character of the dominant partner of the alliance. Differences in intelligence agency type and structure according to imperial origins are not clear, except in so far as Soviet-derived versions are much more likely to be linked to surveillance by and of members of governing parties holding a monopoly of political power. For example, the North Korean Ministry of Public Security overlaps in its activities with a political cadre structure within and beyond the ministry itself.57 Needless to say, the North Korean domestic intelligence system takes its character both from the highStalinism of the Soviet influence at the time of the system's establishment in the late 1940s, and the predispositions of the leadership of the Korean Workers Party, which has kept the system under close party control. The source of the perceived threat clearly influences the agency's mission. Thus agencies may be primarily domestic in concerns, or primarily external; military in organization and concerns, or civilian and political. They may be by charter or practice concerned only with information-gathering, or primarily political interventionist or quasimilitary special forces. The source of the perceived threat will be the main determinant, although countervailing factors are also relevant. Thus, for example, the US offensive intelligence/special forces capacity was diminished during the late 1970s more because of public response to the crimes of intelligence agencies revealed in the mid-1970s by Congressional investigations, than because of a perceived lack of need for such forces. Finally, the organizational and socio-technical character of the agency can vary a great deal. The most important organizational distinction is between those based on personalalistic or patronage relations on the one hand, and those which are bureaucratically organized. In the Third World today, and in other societies in the past, intelligence bodies have often been loosely organized groups formed around a particular person, and operating through more or less informal networks and procedures, often
57. Robert A. Scalapino and Chong-sik Lee, Communism in Korea: Part II - The Society, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972), pp.818-844.


dependent on patronage relations for both their existence and operations. Ali Moertopo's Opsus is a good example of this type of organization.58 Some, but by no means all, Third World death squads and vigilantes seem to have such bases, although others come from the planning of large bureaucracies.59 Patronage relations are obviously important in many if not all Third World states although with the increasing economic differentiation of the Third World with the impact of closer integration into global capitalist relations, this is becoming less true. However, where the state's infrastructural capacity is relatively weak, and where neither market relations nor kinship are completely dominant, then patronage systems are important within the state.60 Not surprisingly, Opsus flourished at a transitional point in the development of the Indonesian state - from the period of following the violent establishment of the New Order to the rise of the more firmly bureaucratic and rationally organized apparatus of Moertopo's sometime protege, Moerdani.61 The more normal form is bureaucracy, military or civilian. Both forms may coexist, but it is likely that bureaucratic forms are associated with increasing age of the intelligence system, deepening influence of a major alliance partner, and increasing technical requirements. Indeed one line of variation is the question of technological sophistication, which is itself affected by alliance position, general socio-technical sophistication of the remainder of the state and the society, and the particular type of activity undertaken. Thus Third World countries deemed of critical importance by senior alliance partners are likely to have more sophisticated equipment, as are agencies in advanced industrial countries in any case, and as are organizations specifically concerned with electronic intelligence, especially foreign-oriented. A model of internal security in a liberal state Looking at the domestic intelligence activities of the FBI William Keller has sketched three models of internal security in liberal states: a domestic intelligence bureau, a political police, and an independent security state. A domestic intelligence bureau is an agency based on powers specified and limited by legislation, following policies publicly known and subject to effective ministerial control, and acting in a manner that is consistent with established constitutional norms and other legal requirements. Such an agency does not use aggressive or disruptive intelligence methods, and is restricted to carrying out information-gathering activities only. Its primary function is to gather information related to criminal prosecution of
58. See Chapter 9 below. 59. On the latter, see, for example, the discussion in Chapter 11 below of the Indonesian military death-squads employed in a campaign against criminals by the Armed Forces Strategic Intelligence Centre [Bais ABRI] in 1983-84. 60. On patronage and surveillance, see Christopher Dandeker, Surveillance, Power and Modernity, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990), pp.43-49. Dandeker adds a more subtle note here: Under arrangements of patronage, surveillance activities and the reproduction of systems of rule are tenuous social processes characterized by personalism as well as the anonymous or impersonal features prevalent in modern societies. At the same time, surveillance activities are performed by specialist intermediaries who are autonomous from both the controls of the subject population and of the discipline normally imposed by modern bureaucratic systems. Ibid., p.46. 61. See Chapter 8 below.


persons and groups that pose a threat to internal security. It is responsive to the legislative process, to higher executive authority, and to the decisions of the courts interpreting a body of security law.62 A political police carries out intelligence activities beyond a minimum necessary to protect the state. Such an agency is more autonomous from legislative and judicial control, although it may often be highly responsive to executive requirements. Specific legislation or even executive direction may be loose or absent. Most importantly, intelligence activities against adversaries of the government of the day will be pursued aggressively. Despite this relative insularity from review by other parts of the state, Kirchheimer suggests that under a constitutional government where the political police's action is limited by normal life satisfactions, public opinion and access to the courts for the government's foes...the police keep a measure of similarity with a normal governmental bureaucracy.63 An independent security state is defined by the absence of external controls of any kind, and is accordingly incompatible with constitutional or democratic state forms. [The independent security state] is distinguished from the political police, because its goals and methods may not coincide with those of political elites and central decision-makers. Its administrators exercise discretionary authority over its programs and methods. The primary function of the independent security state is to investigate and neutralize ideological enemies of the parent state, as identified by administrators within the agency itself.64 Keller distinguishes these three models using two principal variables: the relation of the intelligence agency to the state, and the mode of intelligence activity. (See Figure 4.1.) The fourth cell of Keller's figure, referring to an agency characterized by use of passive intelligence methods while having autonomy from the rest of the state and other forms of control, is, he suggests, a transitory and unstable case. Once an agency gains a degree of autonomy it is unlikely to remain satisfied with simply supplying information: it will tend to employ more and more aggressive and disruptive techniques.

62. Keller, op.cit., p.13. 63. Otto Kirchheimer, Political Justice: The Use of Legal Procedure for Political Ends, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), p.204, cited in Keller, op.cit., p.15. 64. Ibid., p.15.



Keller's model, derived from his study of the FBI, is a linear one: a political police could carry out the activities of a domestic intelligence bureau, but not vice-versa; and that political police's activities could be carried out by an independent security state, but not vice-versa. Keller's study shows the development of the FBI through each of these stages, although always with shades of grey. The middle 1960s marked the turning point in this pattern: It consisted of the addition of new programs that designated an increasing number of persons for intensive investigation, and potential summary detention, and involved the infiltration and disruption of their political and organizational activities.65 Keller's model is a useful guide to the understanding of domestic political intelligence agencies in liberal states. More work is needed to extend the model to other state forms, especially militarized Third World countries where constitutional powers are weak. Part 2 of this thesis attempts to provide a basis for such modelling. The West German model Of all of the examples of domestic political intelligence in the advanced capitalist countries, the West German system of state surveillance is the most comprehensive and penetrates most deeply into the society.66 A brief examination of the two main organizations responsible for domestic political intelligence and security, the Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau [Bundeskriminalamt - BKA] and the Office for the Protection of the Constitution [Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz - BfV] brings together " 67 some of the themes of this chapter. The BKA and BfV were set up in 1950 and 1951 in a climate of intense Cold War antagonisms imported into West German domestic politics.68 Both organizations had substantial limitations on their powers imposed both by positive restrictions and by the federal structure of the administration. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s there were proposals to expand the size and mission of both organizations. However it was not until the intense domestic political pressures of the late 1960s that these plans were realized in a rapid series of legislative and administrative changes, leading up to the Radical Decree passed in January 1972. The budget of the BKA expanded from DM16 mn. in 1966 to DM149 mn. a decade later, with its core staff jumping from 832 to 2,424. The BfV expanded from 832 core

65. Ibid., p.155. 66. A possible exception is the British intelligence apparatus for Northern Ireland. 67. The following paragraphs are based largely on Cobler op.cit., Richelson, Foreign Intelligence Organizations, op.cit.; Enzenberger, op. cit.; Duncan Campbell, op.cit.; and Campaign Against the Model West Germany , Under Observation: The Computer and Political Control, (Bochum, FRG; n.d.). 68. Another organization, the Federal Intelligence Service [Bundesnacrichtendienst - BND] is responsible for both external political intelligence and domestic counter-intelligence. However it also is involved in domestic political surveillance. The BND grew out of the intelligence organization established after 1945 by the former Nazi intelligence officer, Gehlen. On the Bundesnacrichtendienst see Richelson, Foreign Intelligence Organizations, op.cit., pp.145-7. There is, in addition, the Military Intelligence Service [MAD]. Ibid., p.141.


posts in 1966 to 1,628 in 1976, and the budget jumped from DM 22.2 to 80.8.69 One of the principal activities of the BfV is to determine the political character of all applicants for positions with the Federal civil service. Under the so-called Berufsverbote legislation, no-one may be employed in the civil service - including as a teacher - if they are or have been a member of a proscribed organization, principally the German Communist Party and a shifting list of other left (and some fascist) organizations. In carrying out such assessments the security services conducted 1.5 million checks on applicants between 1973 and mid-1975. In only 3,000 cases were previous activities considered sufficient to bar the application. But in finding those 3,000 another 1,497,000 security files were opened, investigations conducted in lesser or greater depth, and the concept of a private sphere of life that much further eroded.70 Such investigations were carried out for the BfV by its Background Investigations section. Seven other principal sections (in the late 1980s) included Administration, RightWing Radicals, Left-Wing Radicals, Counterespionage, Secrets Protection, and Terrorism.71 The West German agencies expanded the use of computing developed for domestic political intelligence data handling in the United States at the height of the Vietnam War by US Army Intelligence and the FBI. All of the West German agencies, together with Military Intelligence (which retains information on all conscripts) have substantial interlinked computer systems. The BfV computer system acquired files on some 2 million citizens in its first three years of operation to 1975. Such systems produce extraordinary expansion of centralization of information while at the same time facilitating rapid decentralized usage: With the filing card system of storing information used until now, the time lapse between question and answer or registration of new data and distribution to further departments was considerable. For example, in 1972, it still took 10 to 25 days for notification that a particular person was wanted to go from the local police station to the state criminal investigation department; another 15 to 25 days went by before the wanted person was registered in the 80 West German wanted persons catalogues; yet another 4 to 6 weeks were necessary before the name of the wanted person appeared in the wanted persons registers issued to the border authorities and police departments throughout the country. The use of computers reduces this time lapse to a matter of 4 - 6 seconds.72 Technological changes of this kind exemplify the capacity for a "focussing of surveillance" that underlies the potential for totalitarian rule. While the legislation that resulted in the explosion of the two agencies activities was
69. Cobler, op.cit., pp.171-2. 70. Private firms are also able to consult the BfV computer. See Campaign Against the Model West Germany, op.cit., pp. 8,14. The organizations which were considered suspect in due course became extremely broad. After Amnesty International began to criticize the West German government's action, civil service candidates whose security file showed an Amnesty involvement were labelled, in a phrase reminiscent of earlier German governments, as being involved in activities "prejudicial to the State". Cobler, op.cit., pp.64-66. 71. Richelson, Foreign Intelligence Organizations, op.cit., pp.144-7. 72. Campaign Against the Model West Germany, op.cit., p.11.


not enacted until 1972, such measures had long been under consideration and were, as Cobler puts it, "tailored to allow for growth". In the late 1960s, the crisis of legitimacy in West Germany was as great as that in the United States, and was fueled by the US alliance connection at the height of the Vietnam War. The rapid growth of the German economy was highly dependent on the exploitation of "guest workers" from peripheral European and Africa and the Middle East. The core legitimacy of the state was corroded by the still unreconstructed elements from the Nazi past. The eruption of armed insurgency from a small number of left groups, most notably the Red Army Faction, aiming at both the US presence and the German corporate elite, provided the stimulus (or excuse) for the avalanche of repressive and pre-emptive legislation that followed.73 The most important measures were those that moved the operational basis of the two agencies from predominantly target surveillance to preventive surveillance. The expansion of the Berufsverbote provisions accomplished part of this. However the most characteristic piece of legislation came in 1976 with the Law for the Protection of Communal Peace. The intent of the law, according to its preamble, was to "to curb violence and its verbal preliminaries". Penalties would be incurred by anyone who displays, suggests, presents or otherwise makes accessible, produces, procures, supplies, stocks, offers, announces, or recommends, seeks to introduce into the area covered by this law or to export from it...matter likely to disrupt the peace...[in order] to use it or enable another to use it [with an intention hostile to the state].74 The "peace" that was to be protected by this law was defined as follows: It means the "internal security" of the community. It has to do with the stabilization of collective arrangements, reliability and confidence in the existing social order, a generalized attitude of confidence among people in the formally existing situation, and with the prevention of a general lack of confidence.75 These changes did not mark any kind of return to fascism, since the open terror of the Nazi past was missing, so much as a constitutionally-orchestrated removal of constitutional limits on state power in the direction of a police state. Although a certain amount of intelligence illegality accompanied these legislative changes, the main thrust was the maintenance of the legally-based legitimacy of the state while at the same time expanding state powers. In the acute words of the Justice Minister of the time: The constitutional state is being tuned to the actual situation.76
73. Cobler, op.cit., pp.38-50 describes the atmosphere of state-stimulated moral panic used to justify the measures. His chapter headings in Part 2 ["Channeling Emotions"] summarize the process: "Public Enemies", "Permanent Horror", and "Call to a Witch-hunt". 74. The meaning of the intention to criminalize advocacy of actions deemed harmful to the state was adumbrated by a Federal judge : First, there is advocacy in the form of an indirect appeal, second advocacy in the form of an apparent distancing of oneself, thirdly the description of criminal actions which invite imitation, fourthly advocacy in the form of giving approval to an historical event with the intention of presenting a model to be imitated, fifthly advocacy in the form of an announcement or prediction of acts of violence that invite imitation, and sixthly advocacy of violence in the form of reproduction of the opinions of others in which the author identifies himself with that opinion in order to produce a particular impression. Ibid., pp.92,97. 75. Neue Juristische Wochenschrift, 1972, p.1791, cited in ibid., p.196. 76. H.J.Vogel, 1975, in ibid., p.143.


The model that came to prevail in West Germany in the 1970s was very much what Duncan Campbell described in the parallel case of preventive surveillance by British police as "society under suspicion".77 The key, however, was not so much the particular powers of the intelligence agencies as the organizational climate and attitudes of the domestic intelligence managers. In part this was a matter of organizational tone and style. "Gestapo" images of black-coated goons were misplaced in an era of cool social-science informed security technocrats. This was related to the shift in the basis of consent in the establishment of "the progressive system of social control" described ironically by Enzenberger: Delusions of the kind traditionally indispensable for German politics -like antisemitism or the consciousness of a national mission - recede and give way to egotistical calculation. Everyone who gets onto a plane has an immediate interest that the machine should not be hijacked or blown up; he will therefore accept the security checks and even welcome them. The gurus of the progressive police generalize this model. They place little store by the mobilization of the masses, such as Fascism needed; they merely urge us to be "sensible". The civilization on which our continued existence depends, they say, is extremely complicated and very vulnerable. Its success is bought at the price of risks that increase daily: crimes, crises of scarcity, sabotage, wildcat strikes, psychological disturbances, environmental pollution, radioactive poisoning, drug addiction, economic crises, terrorism, and so forth...The loss of a sacrosanct private sphere is accepted and the surveillance agency can, without encountering massive public resistance, prepare and store data on an entire population which "after all, has nothing to hide".78 But more important is the shift in self-conception of the intelligence managers. The archetypal intelligence chief of the period, the long-serving head of the Federal Criminal Investigation Bureau, Dr. Herold staked the claim of the intelligence agencies to steer the state on the basis of objective and privileged social scientific knowledge.79 This is not necessarily a matter of the intelligence agencies seeking autonomy from the rest of the state in an illicit manner, though it may turn out that way. Rather it is a matter of shifts in the character of the state itself as a result of the requirement to simultaneously secure control over actual or projected sources of political (or perhaps even more importantly "non-political"-political) opposition generated by the contradictions of the social system it is designed to protect, while at the same time maintaining the aura of legally-based democratic legitimation.

77. Campbell, op.cit. 78. Enzenberger. op.cit., p.13. Shils, op.cit., provides a subtle account of the flux of privacy and intrusion, transparency and opacity in social relations in the modern period. 79. See the quotation from Herold already cited at the head of this chapter; Cobler, op.cit., p.148.


The rationalization of domination The type of political surveillance demonstrated in the West German example represents a new level in the rationalization of political domination. "Rationalization" is used here in the sense developed by Weber, referring to the systematising of an activity, the removal of extraneous or inhibiting or functionally irrational elements, and the development of the logic within a pattern. Domination in and through a state will always be based on a shifting balance between outright coercion, ideology, and increasingly, what Foucault called the "disciplinary technologies of power". Domestically-oriented intelligence agencies are involved in all three activities, but especially the last. While spying on enemies, watching the subjects of the sovereign, and listening to the mood of political gossip in the market are ancient arts of the state, late twentieth century efforts have changed these arts into sciences. Surveillance by nation-states is now more deliberate, more comprehensive, more intense (albeit uneven, even in the most highly surveilled states), more scientifically-based, and technologically-mediated than ever before. Bureaucratic application of scientific approaches in the technology and organization of surveillance has substantially amplified the state's capacity to watch and listen to an ever-larger proportion of its citizens. This rationalization of one mode of domination has shifted the balance of power between state and citizen towards the state, yielding images of a New Leviathan, liberal or otherwise. Yet it would be wrong to conclude from this development that such shifts are not contested by citizens or that the balance does always or will forever more lie with the state. As Weber often pointed out, neither formal nor substantive rationalization ever proceeds in a straight line or is unimpeded or uncontested. Giddens is helpful when he notes that each of the four institutional clusters of modernity he identifies is the site of a set of political - and, one should say, cultural - contests. Thus the transformation of nature is contested by ecological critique; class and private property by labour; militarization by peace movements; and, most importantly for the present concern, surveillance and bureaucratic power by democratic movements. The particular character of such democratic resistance will obviously vary and its strengths wax and wane. But there is no inherent reason to maintain that the rationalization of one mode of domination will not in time be met by effective forms of resistance. Were it otherwise we would have been living constantly - rather than intermittently - in the belly of Leviathan for a very long time. What is needed is study of the rationalization of such democratic resistance in the face of new challenges. That study could well begin by recalling Raymond Williams: However dominant a social system may be, the very meaning of its domination involves a limitation or selection of the activities it covers, so that by definition it cannot exhaust all social experience, which therefore always potentially contains space for alternative acts and alternative intentions which are not yet articulated as a social institution or even project.80

80. Raymond Williams, Politics and Letters: Interview with New Left Review, (London: Verso, 1979), p.252.


Chapter 5 Empires of pain: terror as a contemporary form of rule

The truly intractable problem of modernity in a country like Iraq is coming to terms with the emergence of a polity made up of citizens who positively expect to be tortured under certain circumstances. Samir al-Khalil For the English jurist Blackstone, writing in his Commentaries on the Laws of England (1769), the rack, the medieval symbol of state torture, was "an Engine of the State, not of Law".1 Today, after more than two centuries of apparent liberalization of attitudes towards state cruelty, systematic torture is used in many countries, and by no means only in the Third World. The description of the grotesque public cruelty visited on the regicide Damiens with which Foucault opens Discipline and Punish2 may well have been characteristic of an era soon to be replaced by a new rationalized model of control, but torture now has the endemic - and indeed, epidemic - character, in Sartre's words, of "a plague infecting our whole era".3 And the diffusion of the infection of torture, along with its abiding partners arbitrary arrest, disappearances and political killings by governments, is the core of the contemporary form of terror as a mode of rule. The emphasis placed by Foucault and Giddens on surveillance as the primary form of modern social control must, if totalitarian rule is to be considered as a tendential property of modern states, be more closely linked with contemporary practices of violence to the body than either theorist has considered. Giddens nominates terror as a component of totalitarian rule, but does not deal in any detail with its relation to surveillance. For Foucault the issue does not really arise - "the disciplinary society" embodies what is for him an overwhelming power, even omnipotence. Yet the "survival" of torture in the modern world suggests that it is deeply embedded in the social fabric.4 This chapter moves on from the preceding discussions of militarization and surveillance to the question of terror as a form of contemporary rule. Beginning with a brief review of types of contemporary state terror according to intensity, type of terror, direction or type of target group and mode of effectivity, the chapter then reviews the principal factors associated with the prevalence of terror, and in particular, torture. These include the criminalization of certain categories of political activity under the general heading of the "exceptional crime", whose alleged violators have no protection in practice; either a preliminary "bank" of political legitimacy by majority groups that
1. Edward Peters, Torture, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), p.113. 2. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison, (London: Allen Lane, 1977). 3. Jean-Paul Sartre, "Preface" to Henri Alleg, The Question, (London: John Calder, 1958), p.20. 4. One clue to Foucault's blind spot about the pervasiveness of state political violence is suggested in his original example. The dreadful death visited on Damiens which he takes as his paradigm of the ancien regime of social control resulted specifically from his status as a regicide. To be sure, non-political criminals suffered in commensurable ways at the time, and, in the modern period, political prisoners are not butchered in the baroque manner of Damiens' death. But for political prisoners of many countries today, this is a matter of degree only. The limitation may also have been connected with Foucault's disinterest in political resistance.


accepts the use of torture against minority groups, or some functional substitute for the need for domestic legitimacy, such as external support in lieu; widespread incommunicado detention; and lack of effective control over state security agencies by the judiciary or public groups. The second half of the chapter deals with the question of the nature of terror, arguing that it is in fact, despite its all too terrible physical aspects, primarily a cultural and psychological matter, and as such, constituted by processes of cultural construction. The fundamental requirement for terror to take hold, to become a form of rule is the diffusion of suspicion of The Other as a normal state, a corrosion of solidarity. Deformation of the language of everyday talk accompanies this process, leading to what has been described as a "semantic delirium". Ordinary words may become laden with explosive connotations. Fantasy - of power or powerlessness may emerge: agents of the state begin to speak with a quality of baroque excess; and would-be victims are enervated by gossip and rumour. Equally, state agents may unconsciously protect themselves with a de-amplified language that permits a certain degree of denial (to the self) of what is actually happening. Torture itself, as a theatre of state power, also turns out to hinge on matters of language: the centrality of the question, the confession, and the obliteration of the world that accompanies such pain. Studies of the activities of death squads and intelligence agencies in different parts of the world show a remarkable similarity in the processes of abduction, detention, torture itself, and return to society - whether as a living person, as a body, or as a member of another category, the disappeared. This derives from the fact that these activities are in fact rituals, or more precisely pseudo-rituals of the totalitarian state, and as such show the remarkable similarities of ordered sequences of symbolic events like rites of passage of separation, transition and incorporation. It becomes clear, when looking at accounts of torture, that the generation of an effective culture of terror involves an assault on prior certainties of the ground of knowledge, or rather, the creation of what has been called an "epistemic murk". Most important in this process is access to "the space of death", a reality known to both victims and torturers, and a crucial part of the fiction of power of the latter. New techniques for the infliction of pain are being scientifically devised, and increasingly being deployed by governments. Medical and psychiatric professionals are involved on a positive basis in the facilitation of torture, the discovery and recommendation of new forms of physical torture, the administration of chemicals to affect the mind, and the development of sensory-deprivation techniques which have the effects of physical torture, but leave no physical evidence. A final consideration in the construction of cultures of terror is memory, the inflection of the remembered, constructed past on the acts of the present and the considerations of the future. Terror and memory are intertwined: terror has its effects precisely in the realm of memory, memory re-charges the effects of the original act. Levels of terror can vary, and as current active terror diminishes, the effects of past acts may be sustained by state-orchestrated symbolic reminders. The mixing of such rehearsals of past acts and the selective suppression of alternative histories can become a powerful means of sustaining terror as a form of rule using only low-level acts of terror.


Varieties of modern terror For our purposes, terror is an integral part of any concept of totalitarian rule, and a part of militarization when the object of that process is the population of the country concerned.5 In the modern era, the application of state terror is closely bound up with the establishment and development of more or less permanent national security states epitomized by domestic political intelligence apparatuses. While it is often the case that intelligence agencies and their personnel are not directly involved in torture and political killings, in a very large and diverse number of cases they are. As has already been said, there is a spectrum of types of intelligence and security agencies - some "cleaner" and others "dirtier", some more concerned with intelligence assessment and data collection than covert action and killing, firmly under constitutional and legal controls rather than a law unto themselves. But as the Indonesian example will show, even when torture or disappearances are carried out on an administrative basis by regular combat personnel the intelligence services have at least a direct or indirect role in the provision of information on victims - or as in the case of the killings of criminals in 1983-84, in the conceiving of the very plan and orchestrating operations.6 In reality, the activities of the intelligence apparatus of the state have a symbiotic relationship with terror in many militarized states today. In many countries, in the words of one Arab analyst, we are dealing with investigatory institutions whose organizing principle is torture (whose criterion is not the number tortured any more than the number of executions defines a system of capital punishment).7 It need hardly be said that while there are variations in the forms of terror as rule, they are not reducible to the political character of the states involved. Sartre's conclusion from the Algerian war is bleak and relevant to the world at large: "Appalled, the French are discovering this terrible truth: that if nothing can protect a nation against itself, neither its traditions nor its loyalties nor its laws, and if fifteen years are enough to transform victims into executioners, then its behaviour is not more than a matter of opportunity and occasion.8 State terror varies according to intensity, type of terror, direction or type of target group and mode of effectivity. The actual levels of terror employed in contemporary states vary considerably. Most common is simple casual brutality by the soldiery or police of a country, moving on through stages from disappearances and extra-judicial killings towards civil war (against some or many groups in a society) through to a sustained
5. Of course, even when the militarization is turned primarily outwards, as in the case of the United States and the Soviet Union, the nuclear basis of their force structures ensures that terror - of what may happen rather than has happened - is a daily, if not always conscious, experience for their own populations. See Joel Kovel, Against the State of Nuclear Terror, (Boston: South End Press, 1983), and Robert J. Lifton, The Broken Connection, (New York: Touchstone Books, 1979. This has probably been the case since the advent of long-range weapons of mass destruction and doctrines of total, industrialized war - the earlier years of World War 2. One might go further and say that there is no sustained militarization without a degree of terror for the domestic population - whether it is the object of the militarization or the nominal beneficiary. 6. Chapter 11 below. 7. al-Khalil, op.cit., p.66. 8. Sartre, op.cit., p.12.


administrative practice of torture. Civil war, states of emergency, rule by decree bring their own types of fear. The terrorist extremes are the Soviet Union under Stalin, Germany under Hitler, and Pol Pot's Cambodia. Yet the extremes do not exhaust the scales. Indonesia underwent its own holocaust in the six months after October 1st, 1965, during which at least half a million people and probably more were simply murdered. Large scale murder has not been not common in Indonesia itself (as opposed to East Timor) in the subsequent two decades, with two extremely important exceptions: the intelligence-directed campaign of death squad killings of alleged criminals in 1983-84, and the murder of an estimated 5,000 political prisoners in late 1968. Since that time, killings and disappearances have been unusual occurrences rather than the norm, but have often been used as a political signal by the regime. The Indonesian examples demonstrate the place of historical rhythm and memory: low-level terror gains potency by feeding off the memory of the more extreme versions. Terrorism is usually thought of as a weapon of the weak, a strategy pursued by groups out of power. Yet this is far from the case - state supported terror of the types already mentioned far outweighs "private" terror. (See Table 5.1.) Chomsky and Herman usefully distinguish between the "retail terror" of small non-state groups and the "wholesale terror"



of the state.9 Terrorism by non-state groups usually fits into one of two broad categories. The best-known instances of contemporary retail terrorism (at least in western countries) are associated with either left wing guerilla groups in the advanced capitalist countries (e.g. the Red Army Faction) or national liberation movements (e.g. the Irish Republican Army [Provisional], or the Palestine Liberation Organization and its rival groups). The second type is more commonly associated with right-wing urban terrorism in Europe: the "strategy of tension" involving apparently random bombings and killings designed to push democratic governments in a fascist direction by panicking citizens and ministers alike. Contrary to the claims in the mass media and by governments, the evidence is clear that in industrial countries this type of right-wing terrorism has been much more prevalent in the past thirty years than its left-wing or national liberation counterparts.10 However state terror remains the central issue. Table 5.1 shows the magnitude of the disparity between "retail" and "wholesale" state terror, and the range of types of terror involved in large-scale, "wholesale" state-terror. "Counter-insurgency" campaigns provide the setting for almost all of the large-scale examples Herman lists - except that these "campaigns" were really protracted wars against primarily civilian populations, that often lasted for years, moving through cycles of different types of terror. Petras has usefully distinguished several different types of state terrorist activities, which vary according to "the density of social organization in civil society and the level of self-mobilization", and according to the particular character of the crisis in the economy, more specifically, accumulation crises.11 Drawing on the experience of Central and Latin America, Petras distinguishes four types: 1. The initial period of extermination and destruction of social movements, popular institutions, and regimes; 2. The reconsolidation and institutionalization of the state terror network and the recomposition of the socioeconomic forces in command of the accumulation process; 3. Forcible implantation of the new accumulation process...and the violent measures to contain the contradictions engendered at the social and political level; and 4. Deepening economic crises, leading to divergent responses from local and international terror networks; the decomposition of the state terrorist regime and the revival of social movements leading to an escalation of state terrorism or a
9. See Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, The Political Economy of Human Rights, Volume I: The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism, (Boston: South End Press, 1979); and Edward S. Herman, The Real Terror Network: Terrorism in Fact and Propaganda, (Boston: South End Press, 1982), and "U.S. sponsorship of international terrorism: an overview", Crime and Social Justice, 27-28 (1987). 10. See, for example, Geoffrey Harris, The Dark Side of Europe: The Extreme Right Today, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press). The most virulent and "successful" cases in Europe have been Turkey and Italy. In both cases violent campaigns designed to erode public confidence in the police forces and legal system were aided by alliances between the terrorist groups and senior officials in the intelligence and police services. 11. James Petras, "Political economy of state terror: Chile, El Salvador, and Brazil", Crime and Social Justice, 27-28 (1987), p.107. For a more wide-ranging and precise delineation of types of accumulation crisis and state responses, see also Robin Luckham, "Militarism: force, class and international conflict", IDS Bulletin, (August, 1977).


tactical retreat. In the latter case, electoral systems are superimposed over the terror apparatus, which retreated and reconsolidates for future reactivation.12 This dynamic model, while too compressed and arguable in detail, is useful for understanding the shifts from one mode of terror to another - from mass terror to selective terror, from covert terror to overt terror. Iraq provides one further example, and an indication that the type of terror depends in part on the character of the preceding terror, and its mass psychological results. Iraq since the commencement of the second Ba'athist government in mid-1968 has been controlled in part through a carefully-orchestrated pageant of cruelties that has moved and altered over time, according to the difficulties and needs of the regime. The Ba'ath came to power in a Pan-Arabist fury a year after the Israeli defeat of neighbouring Arab states in the June 1967 war. Within months the regime discovered a network of "Zionist spies", who were soon tried, publicly executed in a carnival atmosphere in Baghdad amidst hundreds of thousands of onlookers, and their corpses left to swing on view for days. The enthusiasm of the gallows-watchers slowly abated as the pace of executions quickened and the range of target groups expanded. The thrill of public confessions, often televized, began to give way to the dulled fear of inadvertent, or even unavoidable, complicity in acts that rendered ordinary citizens liable to surveillance or even torture. In time the regime began to cannibalize itself. After a decade as head of internal security, Saddam Hussein seized power from the former Ba'athist president, and commenced a profound purge of the party leadership. The first confessions of former leaders were filmed and, according to some reports, shown to an audience of several hundred party leaders. A grief-stricken Saddam addressed the meeting with tears running down his cheeks. He filled in the gaps of Rashid's testimony and dramatically fingered his former colleagues. Guards dragged people out of the proceedings and then Saddam called on the country's top ministers and party leaders to themselves form the firing squads.13 The story cannot yet be verified - and therein lies part of its power, as the tale raced through the party hierarchy, and leaked slowly beyond the party to an already cowed populace. Inducements to torture The obvious prerequisite for the existence of torture is the human capacity for sadism, or at the very least, the capacity to rationalise away the obvious facts of human pain. But in its contemporary, state-organized mode, terror and its paradigmatic expression, torture, seem to be associated with the prevalence of six main conditions: (1) the criminalization of political activity under the category of the exceptional crime to which otherwise prevailing standards of criminal procedure do not apply;

12. Petras, op.cit., p.89.
13. al-Khalil, op.cit.,, p.72. Al-Khalil goes on to remark, "Neither Stalin nor Hitler could have thought up a detail like that...Can anyone devise a more brilliant tactical move to implicate potential foes in their personal ascent to immortality, assuming brotherly love is put aside as a consideration?"


(2) either initial domestic legitimacy to permit use of terror against minority groups, or high levels of foreign support in lieu of domestic legitimacy; (3) a perceived extreme level of threat in the eyes of agencies holding themselves responsible for the security of the state, and a perception that existing legally-based forms of rule are inadequate to deal with that treat; (4) legal sanctioning or at least acceptance of long periods of incommunicado detention; (5) aggressive political intelligence operations against citizens; and (6) low levels of accurate public knowledge of, and responsible government control over, security agencies. Crimen Exceptum and the return of torture Perhaps the most important factor in the prevalence of torture is the criminalization of political activities through the doctrine of the exceptional crime. The concept of the crimen exceptum was developed in Europe during the medieval period - a category of crime of such danger to society and outrage to God that otherwise unheard of latitude in its prosecution was tolerable in good faith.14 Torture for ordinary crime declined in Europe in the great abolitionist reforms of the late eighteenth and nineteenth century. Political crime prior to that time was generally treated under the ancient and broad heading of lese majeste. According to Cardinal Richelieu ' There are some crimes which it is necessary to punish first, then investigate. Among them, the crime of lese-majeste is so grave that one ought to punish the ' mere thought of it.15 Richielieu's treatment of thought crime has been adumbrated by Papadatos, in a statecentric manner no doubt appreciated by state-managers: The supreme interest of the State in defending its existence, as well as the functioning of its fundamental political institutions, has obliged the legislator in criminal matters to intervene much earlier than usual in the criminal process, in order to attack the crime against the state in its germinal stage and before it is too late. He attacks the crime at the stage of preparation and even in the simple external manifestation of the criminal resolution, so that it is stopped at the very threshold of the conscience, that is, at the very first stage, at the internal phase which embraces the conception and the criminal resolution not yet externalized.16 Richelieu also spelled out the shift in the qualities of proof necessary in such crimes, anticipating the treatment of the "exceptional crime" on an administrative basis in dozens of states today:
14. Peters, op.cit., p.6. 15. Cited by Barton L. Ingraham, Political Crime in Europe, (Berkerley: University of California Press, 1979), p.26. 16. Cited by Ingraham, ibid, p.29


In normal affairs the administration of justice requires authentic proof; but it is not the same in the affairs of state...There, urgent conjecture must sometimes take the place of proof; the loss of the particular is not comparable with the salvation of the state.17 The subsequent French treatment of political crime between the Revolution and the end of the nineteenth century viewed dissident activities somewhat differently. Under the influence of positivist legal doctrines and the erosion of ancien regime certainties of rule French law allowed relatively favourable treatment for political prisoners, abolishing the death penalty for most political crimes, and drawing a distinction between political opposition to the government of the day and treason to the state. After the slaughter of the Communards such liberalism on the part of the French state waned. The rise of transnational class- and ethnic-based political movements, together with institutionalized and state-orchestrated working class nationalism18, produced, in the period from the First World War and the post-1945 colonial wars, a withering of nineteenth century leniency towards "moral crimes".19 The nuclear state and the Cold War generated a still greater absolutism of "nationalist" (in fact bloc) feeling. In the colonial wars in Algeria, Vietnam, and Afghanistan and in the domestic behaviour of a host of countries, torture was reintroduced in administrative fact and military practice for exceptional crimes.20 Terror and Legitimacy Writing about modern states, Peters points to their "unsettling combination of vast power and infinite vulnerability" in a generalization of the exceptional crime as justification (implicit or brazen) for torture: Paradoxically, in an age of vast state strength, ability to mobilize resources, and possession of virtually infinite means of coercion, much of state policy has been based on the concept of extreme state vulnerability to enemies, external or internal.21 For many Third World states there is no paradox at all: their domestic levels of legitimacy are low, and the survival of the state is dependent on external legitimation and
17. Cited by Ingraham, ibid, p.30. 18. C.f. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1983) on state "invention of tradition" in the late nineteenth century, especially the concluding paper by Hobsbawm. 19. See Ingraham, op.cit., pp.229-245; and Peters, op.cit., p.120. 20. The French case needs complementing with the different histories of the treatment of political crime in other states - liberal democracies and otherwise. There is however, a remarkable amount of convergence of policy towards a strengthening of state powers amongst the liberal democracies in areas such as military secrecy, nuclear affairs, and a generally growing restriction on diffusion of state "secrets". Ingraham discusses the quite different histories in Britain and Germany. The British practice, Ingraham argues, since at least the mid-nineteenth century, has been to use the considerable legislative powers of the state in a preventive manner, "avoiding the issues raised by the political opposition at all costs, shunning direct confrontations whenever possible, smothering the opposition in a morass of humdrum regulations, harassing them with arrests and prosecutions for petty offences, and above all, shrinking from the glare of publicity. In this way the English have been able to maintain their reputation as an oasis of political liberalism in an age in which liberalism in the management of political crime is dead." (op.cit., p.314) One should not be surprised after such a passage to discover that Ingraham's conclusion is that "the legal and discriminating use of repression, joined with other political measures, can be, and has been, be effective in pacifying revolutionary movements" and that this can be done without establishing a "permanent police state". (1979:319) For less complacent views of that history and its contemporary outcomes see Corrigan and Sayer 1985, Bunyan 1976, 1981, Ackroyd et al 1977, Thompson 1979 and Duncan Campbell's numerous accounts of the British intelligence state. 21. Op.cit., p.6.


support.22 Of thirty five countries examined by Chomsky and Herman which were using systematic torture in the 1970s, three-quarters (twenty four states) were militarily and politically aligned with or dependent on the United States.23 The Soviet Union has a smaller number of client or allied states outside Europe but a number of those (most prominently Iraq and North Korea) have or have had similar practices.24 Both superpowers have aided the spread of state terrorism - by direct or proxy invasions to install or protect clients, by subversion of disliked governments, and most importantly, by the provision of support for governments practising terror through financial and military aid, and diplomatic support.25 The role of the United States agencies in spreading the practice of torture itself is quite clear: There is a great deal of evidence of U.S. training in methods of torture and provision of torture technology, which has been diffused throughout the system of U.S. client states. Electronic methods of torture, used extensively in Vietnam, have been adopted throughout the U.S. sphere of influence. A.J. Langguth claims that the CIA advised the Brazilian military on the limits that would prevent premature death in the use of field telephones for interrogation. A recently published interview with a Salvadorean death-squad officer shows that officials from the Salvadorean police and intelligence services have received intensive training in interrogation methods from the United States, including advice on the use of torture.26 The stress placed on the role of superpower patrons by writers such as Chomsky and Herman is often rejected by analysts of Third World militarization. Yet this is to defy repeated evidence. The Indonesian case will be analyzed in Part 2 below. The importance of external support was clear to the Argentinian military. In 1981, General Camps discussed "The Defeat of Subversion" in a newspaper article: In Argentina we were influenced first by the French and then by the United States. We used their methods separately at first and then together, until the United States' ideas finally predominated. France and the United States were our main sources of counter-insurgency training. They organized centres for teaching counterinsurgency techniques (especially in the U.S.) and sent out instructors, observers and an enormous amount of literature.27
22. See Charles Tilly, "War and the power of warmakers in Western Europe and elsewhere, 1600-1980" in Peter Wallensteen, Johan Galtung, and Carlos Portales (eds.) Global Militarization, (Boulder: Westview, 1985); and Tilly, "War-making and state-making as organized crime", in Peter Evans, Dieter Rueschemyer and Theda Skocpol (eds.), Bringing the State Back In, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985). 23. Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, op.cit., frontispiece. 24. See Amnesty International, Torture in the Eighties, (London: Amnesty International, 1984) for specific countries, and annual Amnesty reports. On North Korea see the report by Bruce Cumings in Asia Watch, Human Rights in Korea, (Washington: Asia Watch, 1986). On Iraq see al-Khalil, op.cit. 25. This sentence paraphrases Herman's discussion of the United States: "U.S. sponsorship of international terrorism: an overview", Crime and Social Justice, 27-28, (1987), p.10. While the great majority of cases are well inside the U.S. camp, the Soviet role over the same period was limited mainly by capacity, not ambition. 26. Ibid., p.16. 27. Cited in Nunca Mas [Never Again]: A Report by Argentina's National Commission on Disappeared People, (London: Faber and Faber, in association with Index on Censorship, 1986), p.442.


In the more autonomous examples, terror is usually employed against minority groups by governments enjoying the general positive or at least pragmatic support of a substantial section of the population - even if the particular policies of selective terror are not approved of.28 This is certainly true of both the Soviet Union under Stalin and Germany under Hitler, at least in the early phases. It is less true for Cambodia, where sheer military dominance played a role, in addition to the complete fragmentation of noncommunist opposition after the defeat of the Lon Nol regime and Pol Pot's skill in playing off and eliminating intra-party factions. In South Africa external assistance has played a significant part in enabling a minority to control a majority, though the element of autonomy, rooted in control over a resource-rich economy, is very great.29 And the use of terror to develop domestic legitimacy, and the type of terror employed for this purpose, depends on the history of the relations between the government and the different population groups. Public terrorist spectacles that foster, if not actually create, legitimacy in the early days of a regime may become risky at a later stage when the terror has spread more widely.30 Tempting the state: incommunicado detention A crucial condition for the widespread use of torture in a state is the legal sanctioning of, or at least an inability to prevent illegal use of, long periods of incommunicado detention, arbitrary arrest, and the suspension of the principle of habeas corpus. One of the common first responses to serious threats to the state today is the enactment of legislation or regulations which permit precisely a lengthening of the period of incommunicado detention and an abrogation of such habeas corpus provisions as may exist. This may either be done on a universal basis, or provided "only" for those arrested in connection with "exceptional" crimes. Incommunicado detention, secret detention, and `disappearance' increase the latitude of security agents over the lives and well-being of people in custody.31 This may seem tautological: abuse of prisoners is possible because state officials are allowed to abuse prisoners. The point is that reliance upon substantial periods of incommunicado detention, legally-based or otherwise, is the only condition under which
28. Noam Chomsky makes the point that in the extreme case of Hitler, the fact of his considerable personal appeal should not be mistaken for support for his genocidal projects: "In an important study of this matter, Norman Cohn observes that even amongst Nazi Party members, in 1938 over 60% `expressed downright indignation at the outrages' carried out against the Jews, while 5 percent considered that `physical violence against Jews was justified because "terror must be met with terror"'. In the Fall of 1942, when the genocide was fully underway, some 5% of Nazi Party members approved the shipment of Jews to `labor camps', while 70% registered indifference and the rest `showed signs of concern for the Jews'. Among the general population support for the Holocaust would have surely been still less." All that was required was passive compliance, and the hint that repression might come closer. Noam Chomsky, The Culture of Terrorism, (Boston: South End Press, 1988), p.255, citing Norman Cohn's Warrant for Genocide. 29. A general point here is that "client" is too simple a term to describe the complex balance of autonomy or subordination of, for example, Indonesia or South Africa in relation to the United States. This is a difficulty with Chomsky and Herman's discussion of "client-fascism" (op.cit.). See Patrick Flanagan, "U.S. imperialism and the `third world'", Journal of Contemporary Asia, 12,1 (1980) for a critique which has its own exaggerations. Tilly 1985a, 1985b distinguishes between "clients" and "clones" according to the degree of economic autonomy (specifically concentration of trade) from the political and military patron state. The difficulty is that Indonesia, for all of the basically welcoming attitude to western foreign investment and trade, is hardly a structural clone of the United States. What is cloned is the relation of general subordination shared with others in the world system but with varying degrees, bases and domains of autonomy. 30. See the example of public executions in Iraq discussed below. 31. Amnesty International, Torture in the Eighties, op.cit., p.11.


security officials can carry out interrogations using torture on a sustained basis. If incommunicado detention periods are non-existent or brief, then outside individuals and groups remain able, either directly or through victims' lawyers, to monitor the condition of prisoners reasonably effectively and appeal for redress of abuses through the courts, the press, or through personal networks within the state. The work of sustained torture is possible only in legal night - under the cloak provided by the acceptance of "reasons of state".32 Governments, even the most dictatorial, usually feel the need to offer justifications for actions that they know to be immoral or unsavoury. Torture, however, is one pattern of action that government representatives hardly ever try to justify publically. There are, however, many euphemisms and codewords, usually employing masculine imagery of strength and hardness, always coupled to vague allusions to the regrettable things necessary for the preservation of order. General Jacques Massu, a French army commander in Algeria, was an exception. He did in fact justify the use of torture by his troops - in order to save lives, etc. - giving rise to the term "Massuisme".33 In addition, state-oriented writers have begun in recent years to offer "hypothetical" justifications for torture in the context of non-state terrorism against the West under idealized and sanitized scenarios - "the world is being held to ransom, and you are faced with the choice of inflicting a limited amount of pain on one person in order to save ...". Such positions are usually linked with doctrines of "counter-terrorism" now flourishing and contribute, as Peters suggests, to the classic argument for retaining torture: the possibility of the heroic, unemotional torturer in the service of the state on behalf of innocent victims.34 Peters cites a document attributed to a French army officer in Algeria, providing regulations for torture which reflect these attitudes: 1. It is necessary that torture be properly conducted. 2. It must not take place in front of children. 3. It must not be performed by sadists. 4. It must be done by an officer or another responsible person. 5. It must be humane, that is, it should cease immediately when the type (sic [fellow or chap]) confesses. And above all, it should leave no marks.35

32. In the course of a dialogue with the democratic Spanish government in 1985, Amnesty International was able to persuade that government to revise its Anti-Terrorist Law and habeas corpus provisions, but was still contesting the fact that prisoners held incommunicado were not allowed to appoint counsel of their own choice, have family or friends (or consular officials) informed of their whereabouts), or have a private interview with their court-appointed lawyer. "Amnesty International still considers that the perpetuation by law of prolonged incommunicado detention, even with improved safeguards, is the crucial factor in facilitating the torture and ill-treatment of detainees." Spain: The Question of Torture, (London: Amnesty International, 1985), pp.4-5. 33. Peters, op.cit., p.177. 34. Ibid., p.177; see also Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 35. Peters, op.cit., p.178.


The uncontrolled state A final set of conditions concerns the constraints on security agencies, or rather, the lack of them. This is a matter of both lack of control by nominally supervisory authorities within the state, and lack of information to enable public bodies of citizens to demand that such controls be established and implemented. Even in liberal democratic states, foreign policy, defence policy and political intelligence are the parts of government least subject to democratic influence. The lack of reliable information about the activities of terrorist agencies of the state is an element of their power, inflating their claims of influence, encouraging rumour, gossip and fantasy of state omniscience and omnipotence. As argued in the preceding chapter, intelligence and security agencies have a built-in capacity and propensity to arrogate power to themselves, and to claim that their interpretation of their agency's mission is validated by reasons of state which override responsibility to the elected government of the day. The degree of insularity of these agencies' activities from the rest of government varies from case to case. In general, the greater the insularity of the agency from outside scrutiny, the more likely it is that torture will be employed. The secrecy that surrounds such agencies in "peacetime" in liberal democracies is amplified in states under stress. The size, budgets and actual missions of particular intelligence and security agencies are almost always never disclosed. "National security" justifies minimal disclosure. This secrecy prevents proper scrutiny of their activities - by the public, legislatures, or most other executive agencies. Once abuses of citizens' rights begin in such agencies, there are fewer levers of influence from within the remainder of the state available to those who would attempt to reduce their autonomy. These qualities of intelligence and security agencies in the liberal democracy apply without question in much greater degree in communist and most Third World states. The cultural construction of terror Terror, and its most effective component, torture, is usually thought of as a palpably physical matter. Yet the foundation of terror as a form of rule is not the direct fear of the torturer, but a more indirect consequence of the empire of pain: suspicion. What is most powerful is the effect that the induced fear has on relations of ordinary solidarity between people. The primary fear becomes fear of the identity of the other. Terror, rooted in such physical extremities, is finally a cultural and psychological construct. To understand the effectiveness of terror, it is necessary to try to disentangle some of the cultural processes of its construction. The corrosion of solidarity The Argentinian National Commission on Disappeared People stressed the place of isolation and silence in the construction of effective terror: A feeling of complete vulnerability spread throughout Argentinian society, coupled with the fear that anyone, however innocent, might become a victim of the never-ending witch-hunt.36 This condition is found in a diverse group of twentieth century states employing, or attempting, totalitarian rule. Conquest, for example, writes of the Soviet union under Stalin:
36. Nunca Mas, op.cit., p.3.


Right through the purge, Stalin's blows were struck at every form of solidarity and comradeship outside that provided by personal allegiance to himself. In general the Terror destroyed personal confidence between citizens everywhere.37 Not only does this inhibit the basis for political resistance, it also corrodes the foundations of sane daily intercourse amongst strangers. Kapuscinski tells an Iranian story of an elderly man at a bus stop remarking on the oppressive heat of the day: The other people at the bus stop had been listening in dread, for they had sensed from the beginning that the feeble elderly man was committing an unpardonable error by saying 'oppressive' to a stranger.... For a moment, for just an instant, a new doubt flashed through the heads of people standing at the bus stop. What if the old man was a Savak agent too? Because he had criticized the regime (by using 'oppressive' in conversation), he must have been free to criticize... The ubiquitous terror drove people crazy, made them so paranoid that they couldn't credit anyone with being honest, pure, or courageous. After all, they considered themselves honest and yet they couldn't bring themselves to express an opinion or a judgement, to make any sort of accusation, because they knew punishment lay ruthlessly in wait for them... In this way terror carried off its quarry - it condemned to mistrust and isolation anyone who, from the highest motives, opposed coercion. Fear so debased people's thinking, they saw deceit in bravery, collaboration in courage.38 This parable (Kapuscinski is hardly a reporter of facts) provides an extreme example of the foundation of the effectiveness of institutionalized terror in a diffuse and corrosive uncertainty about the conduct of daily life. Gregory Henderson, testifying to Congress in 1976 about the Korean Central Intelligence Agency (KCIA) in the late Park period, focussed on the question of induced cynicism as a prop of that regime: It is impossible for most Americans to imagine to what an extent this giant state-within-a-state has set man against man, sown suspicion throughout the land, atomized constructive political endeavour, transformed one of the world's most avid and ancient political traditions into the cynicism and apathy of separated, suspicious, and fearful men.39 Two decades of Ba'athist terror in Iraq produced an endemic "self-withdrawal" in the 1970s, both inside the country and amongst exiles: This kind of fear reduces human beings to a bundle of reactive sensations, all keyed up for the next blow. With its emergence, all civic values, comradeship, nationalism, any sense of community, and even the private capacity to reflect disappear. Silence, suspicion and isolation assault ordinary feelings of solidarity abruptly, as this type of fear arising from an unavoidable awareness of "rampant institutional cruelty" void both the normal moral expectations of daily life and the otherwise universal expectation that there is some ground for "innocence" and legal safety:
37. Robert Conquest, The Great Terror: Stalin's Purge of the Thirties, (New York: Macmillan, 1968), p.282. 38. Ryszard Kapuscinski, Shah of Shahs, (London: Picador, 1986(), pp.44-45. 39. U.S. Congress, Activities of the Korean Central Intelligence Agency in the United States. Hearings before the Subcommittee on International Organizations of the Committee on International Relations, House of Representatives, 94th Congress, 2nd Session, Part 1, (March 17 and 25, 1976.), p.10.


These sensibilities do not gently fade away; they are obliterated the instant fear of this nature takes grip of the psyche and irrespective of how highly cultivated they may once have been.40 The kind of fear to which al-Khalil refers in Iraq from the mid-1970s was not the immediate response of that country's citizens to the advent of Baa'thist power. In the beginning the Ba'athist target was the Other - "Zionist and imperialist spies" - and the initial killings were designed to achieve a kind of celebratory complicity for the largest possible number of Iraqi citizens. In the first executions in January 1969 seventeen victims were publicly hanged in Liberation Square in the capital. Their corpses were left to swing, carefully spaced seventy meters apart, "increasing the area of sensual contact between mutilated body and mass", a mass estimated between 150,000 and 500,000 people who had been encouraged to come to the carnival by the press and media. Every month or so for the next year the ghastly show was repeated, though over time enthusiasm diminished as the plausibility of accusations declined and awareness of the spreading risks of becomong a victim increased. 41 This early Ba'athist "theatre of power" gained a large part of its potency, according to al-Khalil, from the feeling of moral exhaustion and political gullibility that was in part induced by Ba'athist ideology in the decades after the first Ba'athist government in 1958, and which gathered pace after 1968-70. ...between 1958 and 1968 the self-assurance of the masses gave way to a debilitating moral vacuum as they lost or at least questioned all instinctual knowledge of themselves accumulated over several decades of a slow political emergence. Their own "truth" could no longer be taken for granted, and was open to being managed or shaped into something else...In such a setting, terror laced with culpability, the fear of death becomes an inordinately powerful and positive force for holding the body politic together.42 Semantic delerium Distortions of language are an important element of the working of sustained terror, within the wider society, amongst the ranks of torturers and their superiors, and in the cells. "Surely", Taussig writes, it is in the coils of rumour, gossip, story and chit-chat where ideology and ideas become emotionally powerful and enter into active social circulation and meaningful existence.43 This is part of the operation of what the Argentinian National Commission on the Disappeared referred to as the "semantic delirium" that smothered Argentinian society for a decade. Kapuscinski's Iranian parable stressed the theft from language of innocent meanings for everyday words and expressions.
40. Samir al-Khalil, The Republic of Fear: The Politics of Modern Iraq, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), pp.65-66. 41. al-Khalil, ibid, p.61. 42. Ibid, p.60, 43. Michael Taussig, "Culture of terror - space of death. Roger Casement's Putumayo Report and the explanation of torture", Comparative Studies in Society and History, 26,467-497, (1984), p.494.


Experience had taught them to avoid uttering such terms as oppressiveness, darkness, burden, abyss, collapse, quagmire, putrefaction, cage, bars, chain, gag, truncheon, boot, claptrap, screw, pocket, paw, madness, and expressions like lie down, lie flat, spreadeagle, fall on your face, wither away, gotten flabby, go blind, go deaf, wallow in it, something's out of kilter, something's wrong, all screwed up, something's gotta give, - because of all of them, these nouns, verbs, adjectives and pronouns, could hide allusions to the Shah's regime, and thus formed a connotative minefield where you could get blown to bits with one slip of the tongue.44 The semantic delirium often extends to the discourse of the state officials. Jacobo Timerman reports interviewing an Argentinian naval officer he knew, prior to Timerman's own arrest. The officer expressed a visceral hatred for the guerillas, not least animated by his own wounded pride, defending his vision of controlled extermination: "But if we exterminate them all, there'll be fear for several generations." "What do you mean by all?" "All...about twenty thousand people. And their relatives too - they must be eradicated - and also those who remember their names."45 The Governor of Buenos Aires expressed the same compulsive exterminist fantasy in even more baroque - and insane - terms: First we will kill all the subversives, then we will kill their collaborators, then their sympathizers, then those who remained indifferent, and finally, we will kill the timid.46 Within the ranks of the torturing bureaucracy at the point where the practitioners of torture deal with members of the related bureaucracies at several removes from the torture itself (but accepting its "benefits"), distorted language has the familiar function of deamplifying what is in fact occurring. Just as the Nazis referred to genocide as "cleansing" and the extermination camps as "labour camps"47, and the nuclear planners employ an array of euphemisms to distance themselves from the reality of their work, so too do torturing bureaucracies employ a de-amplifying language. Lifton's comments on the language of genocidal bureaucracies is applicable to intelligence and security bureaucracies more generally:
44. Kapuscinski, op.cit., p.44. 45. Jacobo Timerman, Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number, (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1981), p.48. 46. General Iberico Saint-Jean cited in Gregory and Timerman, op.cit., p.69. National variations in the ideological ferocity and tone of state terrorist regimes are important. It is possible that Argentina's (and that of other Latin American cone countries) combination of Latin catholicism, an infusion of post-1945 Nazism, and thriving anti-semitism gave its fascist language a particular flavour. Comparing the Brazilian and Argentinian regimes of the time Mainwaring and Viola argue that the Argentinian was much more radical in its intention to change the political culture permanently. The level of terror helped reinforce extremely hierarchical authority relations, from the elementary schools to the universities, from the workplace to the jails...All forms of `non-conforming' behavior were subject to punishment: homosexuality, long hair for males, beards and mustaches, pants for women, unmarried men and women living together. The regime wanted to implant a more nationalist, militarist political culture, based on the values of machism, female subordination, heroism, and patriotism ... Like the Brazilian regime, but in more extreme and self-conscious ways, it attempted to destroy knowledge and concern about democracy." Scott Mainwaring and Eduardo Viola, "New social movements, political culture, and democracy: Brazil and Argentina in the 1980s", Telos, 61 (Fall 1984), pp.25-26. 47. Of course, some of the death camps were also labour camps with factories attached. Jorge Semprun's meditation on his own incarceration in Buchenwald, What a Beautiful Sunday (London: Secker and Warburg, 1982), stresses the fact that "reform through labour" was a common theme of the Nazi and Stalinist camps.


This de-amplification of language, with its attendant numbing, denial and derealization - may extend to the point of relative silence, thereby maintaining the mixture of part-secrecy and "middle knowledge" likely to surround genocide.48 "Part-secrecy and middle knowledge" is a useful phrase to describe the kind of knowingness of the existence of the practice of torture amongst the personnel of totalitarian regimes at several removes from the actual business. For Lifton, "middle knowledge" refers to a kind of denial which is never total, but rather "a partial awareness ... side by side with expressions and actions that belie that awareness." Lying between full awareness and unconsciousness, middle knowledge is particularly relevant to analyzing situations of bad faith in the construction and maintenance of repressive regimes, which is summarized by Wellmer's phrase (speaking of Germany) "a still-unmastered past". It is particularly appropriate for the kind of institutionalized bad faith rooted in the politically necessary repression of memory and other sources of awareness which the practice of torture requires to proceed.49 Language is also important in the discourse of torture itself, the terms used for torture and the torturers - mostly, if not always, invented by themselves and sometimes used by their victims. Such terms always reify the relation of executioner and victim and the experiences of the latter, and function to legitimate the torture and broader terror. Consider, for example, the connotations of the term the Argentinian military prefers to use for the 1970s - the "Dirty War". This phrase supports the self-image of the Argentinian officer corps through its masculine connotations of a distasteful but necessary task performed by basically honourable men who would rather be involved in a clean war. Reports from a number of countries provide examples of torturers giving themselves nicknames with a dramatic tone: in Argentina, for example, "Shark", "Snake", "Blondie", Rotbelly", "Dummy".50 Similarly, particular tortures are given slang names - often animal ("the parrot's perch" - [Chile] suspension down from a horizontal pole placed under the knees, with the hands tied to the ankle); alimentary ("le petit dejeuner" - [Zaire] the victim drinking their ' own urine); technological - benign ("the conveyor" - [Soviet Union] keeping the victim awake and under interrogation for days or even weeks on end; "the telephone" - [Chile] blows with the palms of the hands to both ears simultaneously), or otherwise ("the submarine" - [widespread] submerging the victim forcibly and repeatedly in foul water or excrement).51
48. Robert J. Lifton, The Nazi Doctors, (New York: Basic Books, 1986), p.496. The question of numbing brings up the issue of the practitioners of torture - their recruitment, training, and the consequences for them as much as for their victims. This will not be dealt with here, but see especially the superb clinical sketches in Cases 4 and 5 in Series A of Frantz Fanon's "Colonial War and Mental Disorders" in his The Wretched of the Earth, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971), pp.212-217. The remainder of that paper deals with the profound psychological and psycho-somatic effects of the French war against Algeria on the Algerian population. 49. Lifton briefly discusses the concept of "middle knowledge" in his The Broken Connection (New York: Touchstone, 1979: p.17) in his advocacy of a formative-symbolizing perspective on death derived from Otto Rank. The paragraph from which the above quotation is taken is helpful in further understanding both the situation of torture and the survival of regimes of terror: "But that denial [of death, such as Freud emphasized] can never be total; we are never fully ignorant of the fact that we die. Rather we go about life with a kind of `middle knowledge' of death, a partial awareness of it side by side with expressions and actions that belie that awareness. Our resistance to the fact that we die - the numbed side of our middle knowledge - interferes considerably with our symbolizing process. We, in fact, require symbolization of continuity - imaginative forms of transcending death - in order to confront the fact that we die." 50. Nunca Mas, op.cit., p.25. 51. Scarry (op.cit., p.44) points out that the slang names for tortures in fact are made up from three "spheres of civilization" - mimesis of technology, cultural events, and nature or nature civilized.


Interruption: talking about torture It is vital to pause here, to interrupt the flow of reading from a distance, to recall precisely what is being signified. I have felt more than uncomfortable when preparing this section of the work: reading about torture is a peculiar experience, not least because one's own latent sadism is mobilized in cognition (as in much drama or fiction). Moreover, analysis by its nature is, at least in its first moments, deeply insensitive to the uniqueness of each person, searching for generalizations, and worse, apt phrases. One can only hope that the movement of synthesis yields some reparation. I have always felt particularly uncomfortable about the assignment of names to particular techniques, and their use in what aspire to be emancipatory writings about torture.52 It has always seemed to me to involve a kind of short-circuiting of experience, an objectification that permits an unackowledged vicarious participation in the activity, an acceptance of the world the torturer presents as real to his victim. A letter from a Paraguayan former prisoner gives voice to the experience of "the submarine": They made me sit on the edge of the trough at its highest part, having first tied my feet with ropes and my hands behind my back. I was stripped of my clothes. Suddenly they grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me to the bottom of the trough. I held my breath while making desperate efforts to get my head out of the water and take in some air. I managed to free my head but they submerged me again, and when my efforts to get out became violent, the heaviest members of the group trampled on the top part of my body. I could no longer bear the lack of air and began to swallow through my mouth, nose and ears. My ears started to hum as the water made its way in. They seemed to be blowing up like a balloon. Then came a sharp whistling, very loud at first, which has not yet completely gone and which I hear when there is complete silence. The more I swallowed the more my struggles to breathe also increased and they all pressed me down to the bottom of the trough - my head, chest, hands... I must have swallowed 8-10 litres of water. When they took me out and laid me on the ground, one of them trod heavily on my stomach; water poured out from my mouth and nose, spurting like a jet from a hose...53 Scarry's response provides the vital element of reparation here, To attach any name, any word to the wilful infliction of this bodily agony is to make language and civilization participate in their own destruction; the specific names chosen merely make this subversion more overt.54 This is the empire of pain [Coetzee]. Even the quotation of accounts of torture "documentary realism" - has an attendant risk. Although it was not to such uses of language as this that Teodor Adorno was referring in his often misquoted remark that
52. Thomas Plate and Andrea Darvi list and detail a great many procedures in "A Torture Glossary", Secret Police: The Inside Story of a Network of Terror, (London: Abacus, 1981), p.312-324. While their intentions are admirable, there is something curiously disturbing about the listing - perhaps because of the distancing from the experience of victims that such listings generate. 53. Cited by Scarry, op.cit., p.43. 54. Scarry, op.cit., p.43.


after Auschwitz poetry could not be written, his point should be felt viscerally by emancipatory researchers. There is something dishonourable, Adorno said, about using suffering as the source of art, "thrown as fodder to the world that murdered them." The so-called artistic representation of naked bodily pain of victims felled by rifle butts, contains, however remote, the potentiality of wringing pleasure from it.55 There is no simple response: to keep silent is clearly the greater sin. Shifting narrative modes from analysis to victims' accounts provides some chance guarding against the effects of reification of the experiences and provides more opportunities for the mobilization of empathy and insight. Torture and language Torture is inextricably linked to language through interrogation - the question. Torture always coincides with interrogation, the apparent inquiry for information, evidence, and above all, confession. Elaine Scarry has subtly analyzed the phenomenology of torture in terms of conversion of real pain into a fiction of power through three steps that make up "the unconscious structure" of "moral stupidity, here as in its less savage forms": First, pain is inflicted on a person in ever-intensifying ways. Second, the pain, continually amplified within the person's body, is also amplified in the sense that it is objectified, made visible to those outside the person's body. Third, the objectified pain is denied as pain and read as power, a translation made possible by the obsessive mediation of agency.56 The spectacle of power is created by a perceptual shift: The physical pain is so incontestably real that its seems to confer its quality of "incontestable reality" on that power that has brought it into being. It is, of course, precisely because the reality of that power is so highly contestable, the regime so unstable, that the torture is being used.57 Many people have noted that although the nominal purpose of torture is always the obtaining of information allegedly possessed by the victim, such acts are very often committed against those who could not possibly know anything. Something else must be involved, whether the victim is in fact knowledgable or not. The minimum and universal objective is degradation, humiliation and the destruction of elemental human dignity and identity. Scarry's account takes us further into the remarkably uniform structure of torture by concentrating on the place of the relation between the physical pain and the verbal interaction. To the victim, intense pain is literally world-destroying. In compelling confession, the torturers compel the prisoner to record and objectify the fact that intense pain is world-destroying. It is for this reason that while the
55. Adorno cited in Lawrence L. Langer, The Holocaust and Literary Imagination, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975), p.1. 56. Scarry, op.cit., p.28. 57. Ibid., p.27.


content of the prisoner's answer is only sometimes important to the regime, the form of the answer, the fact of his answering, is always crucial.58 Timerman's account confirms Scarry's intuition about the final incommunicability of "world-destroying pain": One might logically assume that I thought I knew it all, knew what a political prisoner was, how he suffered in jail, the things a tortured man felt. But I knew nothing. And it's impossible to convey what I know now. In the long months of confinement I often thought of how to transmit the pain that a tortured person undergoes. And I always concluded that it was impossible. It is a pain without points of reference, revelatory symbols or clues to serve as indicators.59 Most importantly, Scarry's focus on voice, question, and confession pinpoints two complementary, politically significant, emotional responses to the victim who confesses that of the torturer and that of the wider society. The starting point is the difference between responses to the physical and verbal elements of torture, a perceptual shift made not only by torturers but shown in the disdain for victims who are often described as having "betrayed" their friends and associates. Almost anyone looking at the physical act of torture would be immediately appalled and repulsed by the torturers. It is difficult to think of a human situation in which the lines of responsibility are more starkly or simply drawn, in which there is a more compelling reason to ally one's sympathies with the one person and repel the claims of the other. Yet as soon as the attention shifts to the verbal aspect of torture, those lines have begun to waver and change their shape in the direction of accommodating and crediting the torturers.60 This occurs, she suggests, through two conventional interpretations of pain and confession, both interest-laden and both in an important sense, false. "The question" is mistakenly understood to be the motive; "the answer" is mistakenly understood to be "the betrayal". The first mistake credits the torturer, providing him with a justification, his cruelty with an explanation. The second discredits the prisoner, making him rather than the torturer, his voice rather than his pain, the cause of his loss of self and the world. These two misinterpretations are obviously neither accidental nor unrelated. The one is an absolution of responsibility; the other is a conferring of responsibility; the two together turn the moral reality of torture upside down.61 I have quoted at length from Scarry's work because she illuminates ordinarily unexamined aspects of what is usually taken to be a self-revealing act of brutality. Yet a surprising number of characteristics common to widespread contemporary torture practices are made more clear in the process. Scarry's last observation on this small theatre of power begins to make the links to the wider political theatre through which the
58. Ibid., p.29. 59. Timerman, op.cit., p.32. 60. Scarry, op.cit., p.35. 61. Ibid., p.35.


baffled screams of the victims resonate and amplify. This form of social unreason has a structure, an unconscious one with elements of ritual which help to constitute and reproduce rule by terror.62 Terror as ritual of state Torture in this view can be seen as a "pseudo-ritual" that illuminates "the essential relationship of the totalitarian State to society".63 Gregory and Timerman point to the remarkable similarities of ordered sequences of symbolic events like rites of passage of separation, transition and incorporation, from arrest to death or release, in their case in Argentina, but in fact, much the same in the Soviet Union under Stalin or South Korea under Park or Chun. Arrest usually occurred at night at the victim's home, although sometimes at other times of the day and on the street or at the workplace. In Argentina the men carrying out the arrest were organized as heavily-armed groups of plain clothes operatives known as "work groups". Local police would be warned off from interfering in such operations, rendering the area around the victim a "free zone" or a "green light zone".64 Unmarked cars and plain clothes operations in such zones intentionally served only to shout the "secret that everybody knew": the work groups were not skulking criminals but ritual specialists operating in the sacred space, or "free zones" of the totalizing State which, through their activities was creating itself through the cannibalization of society. The message that was conveyed to Argentinian society through the concealment of the identity of the abductors was not that the acts being committed were "illegal" and reprehensible; quite to the contrary, the message, dramatically staged, was that these acts were legal in an absolute sense and expressed the quintessential exercise of State power, stripped of its institutional trappings.65 Somewhat similar stories could be told of KCIA pick-ups of activists in Korea, or the killing work of Kopassus commandos in the campaign against criminals in Indonesia, or the para-state death squads in Central America or the Philippines.66 Characteristically the
62. Despite the importance of the subject in both political and moral terms there are remarkably few reliable comprehensive studies of contemporary torture and terror. Two of the small number are Amnesty International's Torture in the Eighties (London: Amnesty International, 1984) and Political Killings by Governments (London: Amnesty International, 1983), Peters' Torture (op.cit.) and on surveillance and state terror more broadly Plate and Darvi's Secret Police (op.cit.). Amnesty International's series of national reports are without equal. Three extremely important national reports are Nunca Mas: the Report of the Argentinian National Commission on Disappeared People (op.cit.) Solzhenitsyn's multivolume The Gulag Archipelago I and II, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1974), and Amnesty International's Torture in Greece: the First Torturers' Trial, 1975 (London: Amnesty International, 1977). 63. Gregory and Timerman, op.cit., p.63. I would say "embodies" rather than "illuminates", emphasizing the fact that torture (and related acts like abduction and arbitrary arrest) are the principal ways in which the wider society is terrorized - indirectly. 64. Cases of military or police officials attempting to prevent such abductions taking place are not uncommon. For example, the attempted intervention of a naval officer in the abduction of Selma Julia Ocampo, reported in Nunca Mas, op.cit., pp.13-14. 65. Gregory and Timerman, op.cit., p.65. 66. The Iraqi secret police have developed a macabre variant on the ritual of abduction, torture and disappearance. The government does not deny complicity; on the contrary. What one assumes to be the corpse is brought back weeks or maybe months later and delivered to the head of the family in a sealed box. A death certificate is produced for signature to the effect that the person has died of fire, swimming or other such accident. Someone is allowed to accompany police and box for a ceremony, but at no tiome is he or she permitted to view the corpse. The cost of the proceedings is demanded in advance, and the whole thing is over within hours of the first knock on the door. The gap between the formality and the reality of such a death can henceforth be acted out as a gigantic lie by all


abducted person then becomes one of the disappeared - an absolute rupture creating an amplifying mirror of anxiety and terror in the minds of the abducted and those left behind.67 In the prison cell, "safe house" or army barracks prisoners, even when not being tortured, are treated in a remarkably uniform manner: what the Argentinian journalist Eduardo Luis Duhalde described as the disintegration of personal identity, or cosificacion (that is, the becoming of a thing). In an extreme application of the techniques of dehumanization and attempted annihilation of personality common to "total institutions", the symbolic and material transition from freedom to abduction to unalterable location in the "secret" detention centres68 was organized materially and psychologically to destroy the human identity. The "cosificacion", fruit of the isolation and the loss of time, added to permanent inactivity, leads the prisoner to a loss of his identity. There is no place where he can organize the "space of I". Inert and without anything that belongs to him, he cannot elaborate any kind of individual relation to the environment.69 Torture itself, the annihilation of identity intended through it, and the mode of detention together constitute a social death following the separation from society through abduction. The defiling of the body of the victim comes to signify both the power of the regime and the "`living proof' of social death"; or as Gregory and Timerman stress, the reification of these negated social relations [that make up the identity of the victim] and the physical matter through which the State constituted its totalitarian identity.70 As in other rituals of life transition, there is a complementary relation between the processes of disintegration and reconstitution of identity in a new form undergone by the individual and the broader processes of constitution and re-affirmation of the structure of the society. In the process of torture the totalizing State simultaneously created both law and crime through the cannibalization of society as vested in the social identity of its victims. This transformation of human beings into "disappeared ones", symbolized by and reified in the bodies of its victims achieved its end not in the physical death of the victim, but in the destruction of the body as an object to be buried and remembered.71
concerned, including the victim's family who are now able to announce the event and carry out the appropriate public mourning ceremony." al-Khalil, op.cit., p.64. 67. On abduction see Nunca Mas, op.cit., pp.10-19, Solzhenitsyn, op.cit., and numerous accounts throughout Plate and Darvi, op.cit. Of course, in some cases, such as the killings of criminals, disappearance was shortlived - the bodies turned up quickly. But the lack of certainty is in itself literally terrifying. See the Chilean exile Ariel Dorfman's novel Widows (London: Abacus, 1984) for a superb nonnaturalistic account of a response by the women of one village. 68. The numbers and diversity of secret detention centres discovered after the fall of the dictatorship in Argentina would be difficult to believe without the testimony and evidence. Their reporting covers almost one hundred and fifty pages in Nunca Mas. 69. Duhalde, cited in Gregory and Timerman, op.cit., p.66. 70. Ibid., p.67. 71. Ibid., p.68.


For torturers and their superiors, for victims and bereaved, for activists and by-standers, the cycle of abduction, torture and uncertainty is the centre of the diffuse culture of terror whose effects grip the society, immobilizing so effectively. The idea that through such activities the state constitutes itself by cannibalizing society is one part of the explanation of certain qualities of excess that often overtake totalitarian regimes, especially when they see themselves under severe threat.72 In that circumstance they expand the numbers and range of categories of "enemies of the state", even to the point of risking the goodwill of previously quiescent or supportive social groups. Accounts of torture regularly demonstrate an eerie obsessiveness. In part this can be explained by the fact that the information that allegedly supplies the motive for the question is often either not known to the victim (and hence cannot provide an adequate answer) or is a minor part of the torturer's actual concerns. As Sartre said, it is the executioner who becomes Sisyphus. The purpose of it is to force from one tongue, amid its screams and the vomiting up of blood, the secret of everything...It is the executioner who becomes Sisyphus. If he puts the question at all, he will have to continue forever.73 Gregory and Timerman have an additional explanation in terms of the character of rituals. "Rituals of the state", they maintain, do not create cultural meanings. They do not resolve the fundamental contradictions posed by the existence of the individual as a discrete and, hence, identifiable member of a society. Such rituals lack the resolution that primitive rituals achieve through reincorporation and, therefore, require an endless, obsessive, compulsive repetition in order to achieve their vicarious effect.74 Such reincorporation into Argentinian society as did occur was "as abstract and unidentifiable members of a Platonic category" rather than as socially mediated individuals. The ritual of torture is, they argue, only an ersatz pseudo-ritual, thereby robbing the totalizing state of the victory its seeks. While this contribution to the explanation of compulsive repetition makes a great deal of sense, the optimistic implication does not seem to follow.75 It is not clear that state-constructed rituals are necessarily epistemologically incomplete, emotionally unsatisfying, or existentially inadequate. In the context of the legitimation difficulties of advanced capitalist states Habermas makes a related claim: There is no administrative production of meaning...Cultural traditions have their
72. The prevalence of metaphors such as the "purification" of the nation hints at these qualities - as in the South Korean usage after Chun came to power for "purification camps" and the "special law on political purification". (Asia Watch, Human Rights in Korea, op.cit., pp.50-52) On the "myth of purified identity" in another context which is relevant here see Richard Sennett, The Uses of Disorder, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974). 73. Sartre, op.cit., p.23. 74. 1986:69. Immediately after Chun came to power in South Korea in 1980, thousands of real or alleged dissidents were arrested and tortured as of a matter of course. "Even confession was insufficient to stop the torture, since many had to write and rewrite them a dozen times - an Orwellian experience more commonly associated with Communist states than the `free world'." (Asia Watch, Human Rights in Korea, op.cit., pp.33-34.) Conquest commented on the Stalinist purges: "When we read, in cases of no particular importance, and ones never to be made public, of the use of the `conveyor' system tying down team after team of police investigators for days on end, the impression one gets is not simply of vicious cruelty, but of insane preoccupation with a pointless formality. The accused could perfectly well, it seems, have been shot or sentenced without this frightful rigmarole." (op.cit., p.146) 75. Gregory and Timerman draw on Stanley Diamond's, "Subversive art", Social Research, 49,4 (Winter, 1982).


own, vulnerable, conditions of reproduction. They remain `living' as long as they take shape in an unplanned, nature-like manner, or are shaped with hermeneutic consciousness.76 As with Gregory and Timerman's claim this is an unproven and politically optimistic view that runs the risk of romanticizing "natural cultures". Tyrannical regimes do fall, oppression is never as total as it proclaims, and resistance survives even under the most painful dominion. Yet, as Gregory and Timerman point out, for a decade after the eruption of the counter-insurgency programmes against the Argentinian left, there was "negligible" domestic resistance to the junta.77 The final fall of the junta was caused, immediately at least, by economic collapse and political over-reaching in the Falklands-Malvinas war. There seems to be a gap in the analysis between the structure of the experience of abduction, torture and disappearance and the wider structures of the cultures of terror of which they are constitutive. Terror is both a physical, physiological fact, and a cultural construct. The unconscious structures revealed in the limited range of variation in practises of torture by agents of totalitarian rule are part of a still wider cultural construct of terror as a form of rule. I have stressed already the central part played in this process by the corrosion of everyday forms of solidarity, the inflation of mistrust, and the expectation of debased motives. Terror rules through the word, the sense of acts, rather than through the acts themselves. Living in the space of death Deeply dependent on sense and interpretation, terror nourished itself by destroying sense.78 The stress on terror as a form of sense, a structure of feeling, involves a cultural construct that partakes of the themes of the cultures of the dominator and the victim in "a distorted yet reciprocating mimesis" (Taussig). Writing about both the massacres of Putumayo Indian rubber-workers in British-owned plantations in Colombia in the decade before World War I and the terror of the Argentinian junta in the 1970s, Taussig goes to great lengths to restrict the place of rational choice in the explanation of the motives for terror. In the case of the Putumayo, the slaughter of Indians was economically disastrous: what started as a means of subordinating hunter-gatherers to the dull compulsion of capitalist economic relations became an end in itself. In the Argentinian case, we have already seen evidence of the obsessive, compulsive, non-rational dimensions of the driving ideology. To be sure, in both cases, there are supplementary explanations to be provided based on the demands of the material circumstances various groups faced. The militarization of Argentina and the counter-insurgency actions can be explained with reference to the military elite's perception of what was necessary to "restore order and calm" on the one hand, and at some level of mediation, to restore the conditions for
76. Jurgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1976), p.70. Emphasis in the original. 77. However, perhaps the most important resistance was an act of ritual: that of the Mothers of the Disappeared in their regular and frequent acts of witness in the Plaza de Mayo. "It was this essential relation, that of a mother to her child, that quietly erupted within the space of death as the single most indelible and indestructible tie of the disappeared ones to society, and of society to humanity." (Gregory and Timerman, op.cit., p.71) This extraordinary phenomenon also contained qualities of ritual, and was imbricated in relations of gender and age, qualities of witness as a form of power, the place of the mass media, and the relations between national and global society. 78. Taussig, op.cit.,, p.128.


effective accumulation of capital. But neither of these explanations is sufficient to explain the actual processes that then ensued - especially why the savagery took the forms of baroque excess it did, and just how a culture of terror actually operated. Above all, Taussig stresses, ... cultures of terror are based on and nourished by silence and myth in which the fanatical stress on the mysterious side of the mysterious flourishes by means of rumour and fantasy woven into a dense web of magical realism.79 Despite all of the profane reality of incommunicable pain to human bodies, the fundamental issue of terror is one of epistemology, or more accurately, the construction of knowledges out of pain and threat to induce terror and immobilization. The executioner needs the victim in order to realise his fantasies, or at least, objectify them.80 Terror invokes a particular mode of being, the space of death: The space of death is crucial to the creation of meaning and consciousness, nowhere more so than in societies where torture is endemic and where the culture of terror flourishes...The space of death is pre-eminently a space of transformation: through the experience of death, life; through fear, loss of the self, and conformity to a new reality; or through evil, good. Lost in the dark woods, then journeying through the underworld with his guide, Dante achieves paradise only after he has mounted Satan's back.81 Reading the accounts of the survivors of the torturer's hand the importance of the motif of the space of death jumps out, as for example in this Argentinian testimony by Dr. Norberto Liwsky: I began to feel that I was living alongside death. When I wasn't being tortured I had hallucinations about death - sometimes when I was awake, at other times while sleeping...The most vivid and terrifying memory I have of all that time was of always living with death. I felt it was impossible to think. I desperately tried to summon up a thought in order to convince myself that I wasn't dead...I had the sensation of sliding toward nothingness down a huge slippery tube where I could get no grip. I felt that just one clear thought would be something solid for me to hold on to and prevent my fall into the void. My memory of that time is at once so concrete and so personal and private that the image I have of it is an intestine existing both inside and outside my own body.82
79. Taussig op.cit., p.469. Here Taussig is drawing on Walter Benjamin's essay on surrealism in his One Way Street and Other Writings, (London: New Left Books, 1979): "Any serious exploration of occult, surrealistic, phantasmagoric gifts and phenomena presupposes a dialectical intertwinement to which a romantic turn of mind is impervious. For histrionic or fanatical stress on the mysterious side of the mysterious takes us no further; we penetrate the mystery only to the degree that we recognize it in the everyday world, by virtue of the dialectical optic that perceives the everyday as impenetrable, the impenetrable as everyday." (p.237) "Magical realism" is often used to define the rhetorical and narrative mode of Latin American political novelists such as Miguel Asturias, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Alejo Carpentier. See, for example, the discussion of "The Politics of Eternal Return" by Robert Boyers, Atrocity and Amnesia: The Political Novel since 1945, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985). 80. There is very little work on the basis of torture in gender relations. For one avenue see Theweleit's study of the themes of fantasy amongst German Freikorps militants, Male Fantasies: Volume 1 - Women, Floods, Bodies, History, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987). 81. Taussig, op.cit., pp.467-8. 82. Reported in Nunca Mas, op.cit., p.23.


The space of death is equally a cultural reality to the torturers, something to be fantasized about, a place to which the prisoner must be introduced by name, as a threat but also as part of the construction of the perceptual shift that must be accomplished to achieve the "fiction of power": The first time they took me to be interrogated they told me: "If you don't sing we'll take you to the very edge of death. Then we'll pull you back from the edge, and push you back, again and again. If we overdo it we'll put you in a nylon bag and throw you in the Cemeterio del Norte." The background music to this speech, apart from the radios playing at full blast, was the screams of those being tortured in the adjoining rooms.83 Here the transformation to take place played a clear part in the make-up of the fiction of power: the torturers describe the space of death and their esoteric knowledge. Note the pseudo-scientific claim, the agent as instrument, and the merging of the themes of science and control in the space of death ("then we'll pull you back from the edge..."). The generation of a culture of terror through the application of techniques of abduction, disappearance, and torture in such a manner finally depends on what Taussig rightly calls "epistemic and ontological murk": To an important extent all societies live by fictions taken as reality. What distinguishes cultures of terror is that the epistemological, ontological and otherwise purely philosophical problem of reality-and-illusion, certainty-anddoubt, becomes infinitely more than a philosophical problem. It becomes a highpowered tool for domination and a principal medium of political practice.84 The progress of the state: scientizing torture Yet it is important to remain aware of the fact that acts of torture are in some respects highly purposive actions by agencies of modern states. The unconscious elements of pseudo-ritual and mimesis of reciprocating savageries are a powerful force in structuring the experience of the individual in detention and the society suffused by a culture of terror. But there are other forces involved, bringing highly conscious planning and consideration into the practice of torture and the spreading of terror. Earlier in this chapter I referred to the role of external assistance and planning for client states, and in the preceding chapter I discussed the application of social science within the framework of domestic political intelligence. Two core modern disciplines - and frameworks of everyday meaning - are most intimately involved with the contemporary plague of torture: medicine and law, although social sciences are finding their application in the broader sphere of propagation of terror under the heading of psychological warfare. Medical workers, especially physicians, are associated with the practice of torture in two ways. The first is in a permissive, facilitating, and legitimating role - by falsely certifying the well-being of prisoners subject to torture, or more directly by assisting in the infliction of torture by advising on the limits of pain of the individual concerned. Former prisoners in many different countries have reported such roles for doctors and
83. Extract from anonymous testimony from the Batallon de Infanteria, No. 13, Uruguay. Amnesty International, Uruguay: Deaths ' Under Torture, 1975-77, (London: Amnesty International, 1978), p.6. 84. Taussig, op.cit.,, p.492.


nurses as commonplace.85 The second way in which medical workers are assisting the work of torturers is by devising new and, from the state's perspective, more appropriate forms of inflicting pain and distress - by scientizing torture. A Uruguayan political prisoner reported a doctor supervizing torture in a prison, and during interrogation, I heard him advising the torturers on which part of the body to hit a person who had got some illness. However, an even more disturbing trend is emerging as awareness of torture spreads and with it, the diagnostic skill of doctors in detecting the subsequent physical signs of torture. New methods of torture, particularly using psychopharmacology and methods of cognitive manipulation such as sensory deprivation are a response to the needs of states to use methods of torture which are both more "efficient" (in terms of time and labour to produce a given result) and less detectable. The use of drugs in interrogation was particularly prevalent in the detention of Soviet political prisoners in psychiatric hospitals in the 1960s and 1970s, but is now becoming more widespread in the Third World.86 Sensory deprivation techniques so far seem to be the monopoly of the advanced industrial countries - Britain, Germany, the Soviet Union - and South Africa. The two best-known examples are the use of a modified form of sensory deprivation procedure by British interrogators in Northern Ireland, and the extensive use of such techniques in the design of the West German prison at Stammheim to hold the Baader-Meinhof group. At Stammheim all walls and furniture were painted white, lights were always left on, prisoners were under constant electronic surveillance, and floors were designed to be silent to footfalls (hence the name Tote Trakt [silent floor]).87 The result was the suicide of Ulrich Meinhof and Holger Meinz starving himself to death. The British use of the modified sensory deprivation techniques was mixed with sleep deprivation and beatings for infractions of instructions. When not being actively interrogated, these men had their heads hooded in a tightly woven black bag; they were subjected to noise of 85-87dB - "like the whir of helicopter blades"; and they were forced to stand with their hands above their heads against the wall.88 The results of this scientific work were so terrifying that almost all of one group of twelve men treated in this way suffered overt psychological illness, and three became psychotic within twenty four hours ("loss of the sense of time, perceptual disturbance, leading to hallucinations, profound apprehension and depression, and delusional beliefs").89 The
85. For a survey see Plate and Darvi, op.cit., pp.151-162. See also the Amnesty International Danish Medical Group, Evidence of Torture, (London: Amnesty International, 1977); Ethical Codes and Declarations Relevant to the Medical Profession, (London: Amnesty International, n.d.); and Alfred Heijder and Herman van Geuns, Professional Codes of Ethics, (London: Amnesty International, 1976). 86. See Plate and Darvi, op.cit., pp.151-2) on the systematic use of a variety of drugs in Chile. 87. Peter Watson, War on the Mind, (Harmondsworth: Penguin,1978), p.276. 88. Watson, ibid., p.274. 89. Ibid., p.278, based on the work of Tim Shallice. Robert Lifton discusses the paradigm case of medical participation in genocide in his Nazi Doctors: Medical Killing and the Psychology of Genocide, op.cit.


effectiveness of these techniques is such that they can be expected to begin appearing in the Third World in due course. Terror and memory A final consideration in the construction of cultures of terror is memory, the inflection of the remembered, constructed past on the acts of the present and the considerations of the future. The subject is huge, and little written about.90 Paul Fussell has shown something of the profound effects of the First World War on "modern memory", meaning the period after that war and before the outbreak of the next European war.91 Terror and memory are intertwined: terror has its effects precisely in the realm of memory, memory re-charges the effects of the original act. The actual armed forces of domination cannot be everywhere at once. One central aim of terror is to leave traces in memory, to flourish "in the coils of rumour, gossip, story and chit-chat", "to flourish by means rumour and fantasy woven into a dense web of magical realism". In Indonesia or South Korea today the terror which matters most is not what is manifest in day-to-day social relations for the majority, which is uneven, diffuse and lowlevel in its effectivity. Rather, it is the memory of past suffering at the hands of those those still in power. In Indonesia, there is the memory of the deranged time of 1965-66, when political allegiances, alleged or actual, determined not just one's outlook on the state and neighbours, but the possibility of violent death or guilty life. Hundreds of thousands perhaps half a million - were killed, hundreds of thousands arrested and imprisoned without trial for a decade or more, yet more purged from state and quasi-state employment, and millions forced into longterm cowed passivity for nothing other than active association with a hitherto wholly legal political party. In an uneven, varying pressure and tempo, the weight of the "still-unmastered past" (Wellmer on Germany) bears down on the living in Indonesia. The state has been extremely active in rehearsing and cultivating its preferred history of its coming to power and continuing raison d'etre (which amount to the same thing in practice). It has also effectively suppressed the means by which the silent but thunderous effects of that holocaust can be voiced and, perhaps, mediated and transcended. Through the promulgation of the state ideology of Pancasila, the content of state-orchestrated cultural production, the surveillance of former political prisoners and their families, and the castelike regulatory purification rituals such as requirements of certificates of personal (political) cleanliness (meaning lack of involvement with the pre-1965 Communist Party or its associated organizations of women, workers, peasants, etc.), the triumphalist New Order state has used the memory of holocaust, an unmastered past, to sustain a latent terror in contemporary political and social discourse and to limit the possibilities of a discourse of reparation.92
90. On the interplay between individual memory, collective memory and historical memory see especially Maurice Halbwachs, The Collective Memory (New York: Harper Colophon, 1980). Halbwachs died in Buchenwald in 1945. 91. Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972). Something comparable has yet to be written on the shifts in the structure of that collective European-American memory as a result of the 1939-45 war and, especially, the war against the European Jews. 92. Lifton's remark above about the characteristic de-amplification of language within genocidal bureaucracies, and its contribution to "maintaining the mixture of part-secrecy and `middle knowledge' likely to surround genocide" (Nazi Doctors, op.cit., p.494) is relevant again here, in several ways. Firstly, the distribution of knowledges about the holocaust in Indonesian society is uneven in extent and


Chapter 6 Oil, IGGI and US hegemony: the global pre-conditions for Indonesian rentier-militarization

The concept of oil perfectly expresses the eternal human dream of wealth achieved through a kiss of fortune, and not by sweat, anguish, hard work. In this sense, oil is a fairy tale, and like every fairy tale, a bit of a lie. Ryszard Kapuscinski, Shah of Shahs This chapter presents an analysis of the roots of contemporary Indonesian militarization in that country's economic and political relationship to the dominant world order. In particular I want to discuss the nature of Indonesia's rentier economy in the New Order period, stressing that it is impossible to analyze the well-known domestic rentier phenomena without at the same time looking at their external base - both economic and political. Considering Indonesia from the viewpoint of relations between state and civil society is, as many will all too willingly point out, an enterprise fraught with difficulties. The history of the concept of civil society is intimately tied to western European modern political and economic development over more than three centuries.1 Moreover, the concept refers to the social and economic underpinnings of capitalist economies which are presumed to be logically, if not historically, prior to the state system that has flourished alongside or above civil society. These are profound problems for any analysis of contemporary Indonesian society, even granted the explosive growth of immediately capitalist social relations (as opposed to diverse non-capitalist forms of production for the world market over three centuries) throughout most of the archipelago during the past quarter century. In an effort to illuminate the general question of the relations between state and society in contemporary Indonesia, especially as conditioned by capitalist economic activity, I want to focus on one particular problem in what is intentionally a rather onesided manner. The concept of civil society is generally employed within the framework of nation-state analysis. Yet the national systems within which questions of "state-civil society relations" are posed have never been simple monads, and today are enmeshed in an extremely complex set of global social relations in which both state and economic activities blend the national and the international, the transnational and the sub-national. Explaining the political-economy of Indonesia in the last years of the twentieth century requires a more serious consideration of the international, or rather the global, context than has been usual in the analysis of Indonesian politics. In recent years, such external emphases in the explanation of Third World politics have become unfashionable. The economic differentiation of peripheral capitalist countries since the mid-1960s has exploded the "Third World" into a more complex set of categories, differentiated by level

1. On state and civil society see, for example, Boris Frankel, Beyond the State? Dominant Theories and Socialist Challenges, (London: Macmillan, 1983); John Keane, Democracy and Civil Society, (London: Verso, 1988) and Keane (ed.), Civil Society and Democracy: New European Perspectives, (London: Verso, 1988).


of national income and distinctive economic structures2. In the process, the emergence of middle income peripheral industrial capitalist countries discredited the simpler versions of dependency theory according to which structural relations of subordination between the centre and periphery of the global political economy constituted an insurmountable obstacle to peripheral industrial growth. Unfortunately, the demise of these crude forms of dependency theory often led to a premature foreclosure of interest in the external preconditions for the emergence and reproduction of the diverse types of regimes of capitalist accumulation and state forms that actually emerged over the past twenty years. Moreover, the accompanying revival of interest in the economic role of the state has, by and large, been confined both theoretically and empirically to the national level and below. And yet now more than ever, questions of state-society relations, and the conditions for the emergence and reproduction of national social formations can only be effectively understood in a context which is both national and global. This chapter is a contribution towards understanding the contemporary Indonesian rentier-militarist state which stresses the external pre-conditions for its emergence and reproduction - and, in time, its possible transformation in a more democratic and demilitarized direction. Let it be clear at the outset that this chapter takes as given a great deal of the mainstream nationally- and regionally-oriented analysis of Indonesian society and politics - although there is room for a great deal of argument about the particulars. But what is needed is an analysis which is both global and national, rather than either/or. The argument commences with a review of the nature of rentier states in general, and the application of the concept to New Order Indonesia. The emerging paradigm of Indonesia as a rentier state in its internal political economy is then extended in two ways. First, by stressing the militarist qualities of the rentier state; and second, by arguing that these internal rentier characteristics are dependent on the prior condition of an essentially rentier external orientation to the world economy. Hydrocarbon revenues and foreign aid have provided the underpinnings of both the Indonesian state and the broader economy for the quarter century of the New Order. Moreover, it has been the supply of external sources of legitimation, combined with the relief from the requirement of serious domestic taxation, that has enabled the Soeharto government to rule with only a modicum of substantial legitimacy. The significance of the external pre-conditions for Indonesia's rentier militarism can be seen by briefly reviewing the parallel emergence of South Korean mercantilist militarism over the same period. While it is true that internal differences were significant, the most important single difference between the two versions of peripheral capitalist development is their location in the global strategic pattern. South Korea's mercantilist emphasis on national control of export-oriented industrialization was made possible by South Korea's importance - indeed indispensability - to the U.S. strategic outlook in the crucial period. Finally, I wish to argue that the constitutive power of the external relations of the Indonesian economy and state has not been lessened with the passing of time, and that the choices facing those who would shape Indonesian society are themselves being shaped by an increasingly complex relationship between a partial Indonesian social formation and a partly national-based,
2. For discussion of this more differentiated "Third World" see Helen O'Neill, "HICs, MICs, NICs and LICs: some elements in the political economy of graduation and differentiation", World Development, 12,7 (1984) and Ulrich Menzel, "The differentiation process in the Third World and its consequences for the North-South conflict and development theory", Law and State (Tubingen), 30 (1984).


partly transnationalized global political and economic structure. Questions of method. Three issues of method are worth exploring very briefly: the unit of analysis within global social relations, the character of explanations of those relations, and the nature of comparative method within such a framework. The first problem is just what it is that we are looking at? What is the object of our analysis? Area studies work presupposes that there is a more or less discrete unit of analysis, or rather, one which is more discrete rather than less - in this case the Indonesian nation-state. In the world of nation-states this is convenient inasmuch as the fictions of sovereignty of the national political system reinforce our common-sense preference for confining our analysis to that national level or below. Inquiries beyond the national level are usually seen as a residual - the study of external factors. Or, in the complementary but equally misleading approach, they are dispatched to the quite distinct discourse of international relations where the reverse problem applies - there, the domestic is the residual and unexamined. Looking at virtually any aspect of Indonesian history in the past four hundred years, it is difficult to avoid the issue of the international context - whether we are talking about the political ecology of Java or the development of Minangkabau class formation, the ultimate success of the struggle for national independence or, as I will argue a little later, the flourishing of the contemporary rentier-militarist state. Whatever we are looking at, we are on safe ground if we work from the presumption that the "external" influences are not residual, the subject of a passing note, but fundamental and constitutive. Here it is worth remembering Georg Lukacs' injunction that Marxism's chief methodological imperative was the examination of the totality, and its complex internal relations. In our case, it means considering Indonesian domestic political and social formations as, in one of their aspects, a product of the total pattern of global social relations. What we need is a method of analysis which takes the global and the national and the sub-national or regional as three potentially equally powerful levels of analysis. The key word here is "potentially" - the blindness that resolutely allows us to ignore the global dimension will not be cured by the reverse move: what has been rightly called "the tyranny of globalism" that emerges from some versions of world systems analysis.3 The primacy of the totality is one of method, not explanation. The actual relations between wholes and parts - say, the power of the world market to shape peripheral class structures versus the effectiveness of local resistance and class struggles - are entirely a matter of historical inquiry, not one of a priori presumption. The only requirement is that the regional and the local are understood to be embedded in a larger context that is both national and global. The starting point is the study of global social relations. The task is to learn to move easily from the global to the national to the local, and back again. The second issue I want to raise concerns that deceptively simple phrase, "global social relations". I prefer that as the starting point over the presently fashionable "world capitalist system" or plain "world system", or even the venerable but still worthy "imperialism" or "American (or Japanese or whatever) imperialist domination". Here too my preference is for a framework which is open rather than closed, and expansive rather
3. James Petras and Howard Brill, "The tyranny of globalism", Journal of Contemporary Asia, 15,4 (1985).


than restrictive as to what element of the whole is to be labelled as determining. The study of global social relations, and the implication of any one particular part of the globe within them, is potentially a matter of looking at five major domains of influence economic, political, military, cultural and ecological. What the pattern of influence will be, we don't know beforehand. Nor do we know how strong the influence will be - "mere influence" in the soft sense, or clear determination in the strong sense? Most importantly, we cannot presume to know a priori in any given situation whether the finally dominant influence will be economic, political, military, cultural or ecological. This is not, I should add, an argument for atheoretical empiricism - on the contrary. Nor is it in itself a rejection of the claims of primacy for an historically-oriented materialist explanation. Rather, as I will argue by a comparison between the recent economic and political histories of Indonesia and South Korea, the present character of global social relations does not allow a clear assertion of the primacy of economic factors over strategic military factors. Nor is it possible to assert, for example, that the relations between humankind and the rest of the natural realm are reducible to the dynamics of the capitalist mode of production alone: leaving aside the mystical elements of the Gaia hypothesis, no-one can really doubt that in that very lonely hour of the last instance, Gaia will outrun both the law of value and the strategic nuclear planners. Let us hope we never find out for sure. What is needed is an expanded theoretical horizon, one which abandons the constraining consequences of identifying the material basis of human existence with the economic, and which is based on historical inquiry into each of the five elements I have identified. All of the debates within Marxian theory today about the character of the relations between the state and civil society at a national level are replicable at the global level. Take the familiar debate about the parameters of relations between state and capital within advanced capitalist societies. At the global level, we must ask whether we are dealing with a world capitalist system in which the logic of capital and class relations is the principal source of explanation. Or are we dealing with at least two analytically distinct systems - one certainly powered by the logic of capital and the law of value, but with relations between states, especially in the militarily qualitatively distinct nuclear age, capable of a quite separate, though obviously inter-related, trajectory? Without pursuing the issue much further here, we can note the framework Robert Cox has mapped out, which applies the historical method to three levels or spheres of activity: (1) the organization of production, more particularly the social forces engendered by the production process; (2) forms of state as derived from a study of state/society complexes; and (c) world orders, i.e. the particular configurations of forces which successively define the problematic of war and peace or the ensemble of states. Each of these can be studied as a succession of dominant and emergent rival structures.4 This may appear distant from the ordinary explanatory concerns of Indonesianists; but
4. Robert W. Cox, "Social forces, states and world orders: beyond international relations theory", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 10,2 (1981), pp.137-8. See also his "Gramsci, hegemony and international relations: an essay on method", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 12,2 (1984), and Production, Power and World Order: Social forces in the Making of History, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987).


that is the problem. It is only with such a framework and the distinctions I have suggested that the differences between the South Korean and Indonesian economies can be explained. A great deal of the difference in the economic development of the two countries in the past can only be explained by contrasting, on the one hand, their respective locations in the global strategic order, and on the other, the differences in the character of their insertion into the global division of labour. The question of comparison brings up the final point of method I want to make. Comparative analysis is fruitful usually because of the illumination that comes from mixing elements of like and elements of difference. But what is required is comparison within a global setting, which seeks to compare not two or more separate or independent entities, but two parts of a larger whole. The national is not a space juxtaposed to the international space; it is an organic part.5 The differences and similarities that are discovered may well be due to internal factors, unrelated to dealings with the outside, or at the other extreme, due virtually entirely the location of the two part-societies in the wider whole - be it the international division of labour, the political ecology of the globe, or the location of each in planning for the next global war. Or some point in between. The same phenomenon - say, militarized capitalist growth - may in one case (Indonesia) be due to the subordinate integration of that economy into the dominant global system; whereas in another case (South Korea) it is due to a carefully managed neo-mercantilist distance from that pattern of domination. Comparison is always comparison within the wider pattern of global social relations, and set within an historical framework such as Cox's hierarchy of social forces, forms of state, and world orders. External conditions of the Indonesian rentier-militarist state The main problem on which I want to focus is the place of global social relations in the explanation of the remarkable survival and stability of the New Order state for almost a quarter of a century. Not only has the New Order state endured for more than half of the total period of Indonesian independence, but Soeharto, in a quite personal sense, has held power for a far longer time than Soekarno, whose only extended period of executive primacy was Guided Democracy, and whose power even then was substantially limited by comparison with his successor.
5. Ominami's epigram is even more pointed in its context of an assertion of the need for a theory of crises (plural) in the Third World, rather than a single crisis theory.: "Une theorie des crises doit donc partir de la reconnaissance du conflit permanent entre l'internationalization et les facteurs d'autonomization relative des processus nationaux d'accumulation. Les crises dans le tiers monde ne sont pas le simple resultat de la diffusion internationale de la crise des PD [Pays Developees]. En liaison avec ' ' ' les effects mecaniques de la propagation internationale de la crise du centre, c'est la dimension endoge ` ne des crises qui doit etre prise en compte. Mais celle-ci ne peut pase tre consideree d'une maniere isolee ^ ' ' ` ' par rapport aux tendances fortes de l'internationalization. Le national n'est pas un espace juxtapose a ' l'espace international; il est au contraire unpartie organique. Les crises dans les PED [Pays En De ' veloppement] illustrent tres clairement ce point de vue. Ce que nous appelerons les effets en retour de ' l'internationalization se trouvent justementa l'intersection des effets purement mecaniques de la ` ' diffusion internationale de la crise dese conomies dominantes et des facteurs de crise proprement endoge ' ` nes aux PED." Carlos Ominami, Le Tiers Monde dans Le Crise: Essai sur les transformations recentes ' des rapports Nord-Sud, (Paris: Editions La Decouverte, 1986), p.153. '


Liddle's explanation of the resilience of the Soeharto regime over more than two decades provides a powerful model of the predominantly domestic orientation of recent work on Indonesian politics, concluding The complex pattern of repression, performance legitimation, and symbolic legitimation has created and now sustains within and outside the political system, a solid basis of support that is likely to outlive Soeharto.6 Liddle's analysis is compatible with the emerging paradigm of the Indonesian political economy which sees Soeharto's Indonesia as a rentier economy, usually meaning one where the dominant factor in capital accumulation comes not from productive investment (manufactures, increased agricultural productivity, value-added processing of minerals and other natural resources, etc.), but from unproductive appropriation of a portion of the economic surplus by a group of rentiers. Army officers use military resources for private benefit; state officials "rent" the prerogatives of office to private partners; privileged individuals derive income from monopoly control over the imports of particular goods or services; and so on. All this has been well analyzed for us by Olle Tornquist, Richard Robison, Steven Jones and Raphael Pura of the Asian Wall St. Journal, and most recently in an ASEAN-wide context by Yoshihara Kunio under the heading of ersatz capitalism.7 There are, however, two substantial modifications to be made in the Indonesian rentier paradigm. The first, and less important here, is to stress that the Indonesian state is both rentier and militarist, and that the two qualities are in this case tied together. As Tornquist especially has argued it is the role of extra-economic force that characterises the primary relations of production in New Order Indonesia. Without the unprecedented mobilization of state violence available to the Soeharto government, the domestic rentier economy would not be sustainable.8 The domestic rentier militarist elements have, to date, been symbiotic and inseparable. The other modification to this emerging paradigm is to extend the rentier analysis from the domestic sphere to that of Indonesia's external economic relations with the world economy. Indonesia should be considered as a rentier-state in two senses, one derived from its characteristic internal political economy, and the other from its location and strategy in the international division of labour. Crucially it is the external economic regime which renders the domestic rentier class structure possible: the florescence in the 1970s and early 1980s of a wide variety of unproductive forms of domestic accumulation
6. R. William Liddle, "Soeharto's Indonesia: personal rule and political institutions", Pacific Affairs, 58,1 (1985), p. 87. 7. See Richard Robison, Capitalism and the Bureaucratic State in Indonesia, unpublished Ph.d thesis, University of Sydney, (1977), and his Indonesia: the Rise of Capital, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin/ASAA, 1986); Stephen Jones and Raphael Pura, "Suharto-linked companies hobble economy", Asian Wall Street Journal, November 24, 25, 26, 1986; Olle Tornquist, "Struggle for Democracy: A New Option for Indonesia?" Akut 33, (1984) and his "Rent capitalism, state and democracy: a theoretical proposition", in Arief Budiman (ed.) State and Civil Society in Contemporary Indonesia, (Clayton, Victoria: Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Monash University), forthcoming; and Yoshihara Kunio, The Rise of Ersatz Capitalism in South-East Asia, (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1988). Two critical assessments of Robison's account in are Jeffrey Winters, Review of Richard Robison, Indonesia: the Rise of Capitalism, Indonesia, (1988), and Richard Tanter, Review of Richard Robison, Indonesia: the Rise of Capital, ASAA Review, (1988). 8. See Tanter, Review..., op.cit., and "Militarization: trends in Asia", Alternatives: A Journal of World Policy, X,1 (1984).


was conditional on the maintenance of the external elements of the rentier-state. Analysts of oil-producing countries have approached the question of rentier states somewhat differently from the primarily domestic orientation of the Indonesian debate. There the focus has been on the character of the exchange between the domestic and foreign economies - the flows inwards and outwards and the activities within the domestic economy related to those flows. For there, as in Indonesia, the problem is to explain the consequences of what is essentially, unearned national income. Thinking about income derived from geographical opportunity such as the Suez Canal, or from the gift of oil, Mahdavy writes: Rentier states are defined here as those countries that receive on a regular basis substantial amounts of external rents. External rents are in turn defined as rentals paid by foreign individuals, concerns or governments to individuals, concerns or governments of a given country. What is perhaps more important is to recognize that however one looks at them, the oil revenues received by the governments of the oil exporting countries have very little to do with the production processes of their domestic economies. The inputs from the local economies - other than the raw materials - are insignificant that for all practical purposes one can consider the oil revenues almost as a free gift from nature or as a grant from foreign sources.9 Mahdavy suggests that in addition to rents derivable from mineral exports or a monopoly of certain geographical features, foreign assistance can effectively be considered as a "rent". In their economic characteristics, external rents and foreign grants are very similar (although there is rather less security and continuity attached to grants) leading him to treat Israel and Jordan as rentier states dependent to a considerable extent on foreign aid.10 The rent-like character of foreign aid becomes clearer still when considering the capacity of highly valued foreign aid recipients to bargain for more aid for example, by persuading the donor that there are more threats to be defended against.11 Marx's remark on the pre-condition of ground-rent is applicable to the political service that is sold through foreign aid: The price of things which in themselves have no value, i.e. are not the product of labour, such as land, or which cannot be reproduced by labour such as antiques and works of art by certain old masters, etc. may be determined by many fortuitous combinations. In order to sell a thing, nothing more is required than its capacity to be monopolized and alienated.12 Foreign aid is, for the most part, a rental payment for a political service to the recipient
9. H. Mahdavy, "The patterns and problems of economic development in rentier states", in M.A.Cooke (ed.) Studies in the Economic History of the Middle East, (London: Oxford University Press, 1970), pp.428-9; my emphasis. 10. Ibid., p.430. 11. Mahdavy is the only writer I know of to consider foreign aid as equivalent to rent. There is a great deal to be thought about here about the place of foreign aid in this particular world order. See the discussion of Tilly below. 12. Cited by Chibuzo Ntate Nwoke, "World mining rent: an extension of Marx's theories", Review, VIII,1 (1984). p.32. See also Robin Murray, "Value and the Theory of Rent: Parts One and Two", Capital and Class, 3 and 4 (1978). Nwoke and Murray use Ricardian and Marxian approaches to ground rent to discuss the more general issue of global mineral rents.


country based on its political or geo-strategic value to the donor country.13 New Order Indonesia is appropriately considered a rentier state in this externallyoriented sense, since the great bulk of both national income and state revenue in the New Order period has been derived from oil revenues and foreign aid - in the form of grants or loans.14 (See Tables 6.1 - 6.4 and Figures 6.1 - 6.3.) The essential pattern has been that either oil or aid or both have been the national economic base for a quarter of a century, with only the relative mix varying. Corporate tax on oil rose from 55% of central government domestic revenues in 1974 to a high of 71% in 1981 before falling to 40% betweeen 1986 and 1988. Foreign aid was vital in the first years of the New Order, then fell away somewhat as large oil revenues came on stream, but rose slowly in the late seventies and early eighties; and has returned with a vengeance as oil revenues have collapsed and debt repayments have escalated. There is, of course, a political history of the intertwining of oil and aid which has been recounted by Robison and in greater detail by Wayne Robinson. At its simplest, when oil revenues have been strong, the need for foreign aid has been lessened, and the hand of economic nationalists, or those who claim that mantle, has been the greater.15 Mahdavy's model illuminates Indonesia well in other ways. Not only have oil and aid been the dominant sources of state revenue for the past quarter century, but oil has, in the usual way, had very little to do with the rest of the national economy. Sritua Arief has shown that while oil rents are enormously important to Indonesia, remarkably few local inputs other than the raw materials are utilized. Oil exports, he remarks, slip out of the country without leaving much of a trace in the rest of the economy in terms of linkage with domestic sectors.16 Both oil and aid, as the basis of state revenues are, like all good rents, a matter of having the good fortune to command access to a natural resource that someone else wants. But that "someone else" has a particular place within a determinate structure - in Cox's terms, in the

13. The determination of that value to the donor country may proceed in diverse ways, as can be seen from the pattern of US aid to Middle Eastern countries. Most recipients, such as Egypt, have received aid because of judgements by state-managers as to US strategic interests. Israel, on the other hand, has been a massive recipient in spite of conflicts amongst state elites about the strategic wisdom of aid in such quantities, because it is one of the few areas where U.S. voters, albeit a minority, have any influence on the foreign policy process. 14. There is of course the huge and messy question of undeclared state revenues - or more precisely, undeclared revenues accruing to parts of the state, such as the military, or transferred from one part of the state to another - most importantly, from Pertamina to the military. However, this does not affect the argument, since we are still in the domain of unproductive profits, one way or the other. 15. Robinson has a much more complex tale on the Japanese side, but that is not to the point at the moment. See Wayne Robinson, The Politics of Japanese-Indonesian Energy Cooperation, unpublished Ph.D thesis, Monash University, (1980); and his "Imperialism, dependency and peripheral industrialization: the case of Japan in Indonesia" in Richard Higgot and Richard Robison (eds.) Southeast Asia: Essays in the Political Economy of Structural Change, (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1985). 16. Sritua Arief, The Petroleum Industry and the Indonesian Economy: an impact study, (East Balmain: Rosecons, 1982), p.86.









social forces of global production, in the present state-forms, and in the prevailing world order. The motivations behind the huge amounts of foreign aid to Indonesia that have come through the International Governmental Group on Indonesia [IGGI] and other channels are obviously complicated and have varied over time and between donors, but there can be little doubt that the dominant theme has been the desire to support a government that maintains domestic tranquillity of a kind, and which accepts an asymmetrical involvement with the world economy. Until recently, foreign donors have required very little from the Soeharto government beyond what it would like for itself - a domestic rentier state, more or less unencumbered access for foreign capital, and reliable access to particular raw materials.17 As the oil rush runs down somewhat, that may all change as foreign donors alter their requirements and the domestic aspects of the rentier economy obstruct continued capital accumulation. This external component of the rentier-state is an indispensable one - and in fact is logically prior to the domestic manifestations. It is possible to imagine a state dependent on rent-income from oil exports which has no domestic rentier elements, where the foreign rent income is applied by the state, directly or otherwise, to the restructuring of the domestic economy in a productive direction through investment in industry and infrastructure which will become the basis of future domestically-generated economic strength. But it is hard to imagine the converse, at least over any reasonable period: a state with an internal class-coalition dominated by a rentier-group, but which has to pay its way in the world economy through the productive labour of its people. Most enduring cases of domination by a domestic rentier-class are dependent on sustained external sources of rent - in the form of mineral rents, aid, or, as in the case of nineteenth century Britain, rents from abroad. As Syngman Rhee and Ferdinand Marcos discovered, the combination of devouring the productive elements of the capitalist class, fostering unproductive investment, plundering the state coffers, in the context of limited utility in the world economy, is not an enduring option, even though foreign aid may hold off the day of reckoning. In the Indonesian case, the domestic rentier-components have been closely interwoven with, and dependent upon, the external foundations. It is the external source of rent which determines the domestic possibilities. Ominami makes the point that as a result of the characteristic dualism of the petro-rent states, oil rents circulate through an "administrative" form of articulation between industrial sectors: The State budget constitutes the point of articulation between this industry and the non-oil sector of the economy.18 It is this which creates the possibility of the establishment of a domestic rentierphenomenon. As Mahdavy puts it rather dryly: The temptations of a government bureaucracy to turn into a rentier class with its
17. The restrictions that have periodically been applied to foreign investment have never reached the degree of seriousness of, say, South Korea where foreign capital is subordinate to the state and national capital. See Robison Indonesia, op.cit; Capitalism, op. cit., on Indonesia; and on South Korea see Cho Dong Sung, "Incentives and restraints: government regulation of direct investments between Korea and the United States", in Karl Moskowitz (ed.) From Patron to Partner: the Development of U.S. - Korean Business and Trade Relations, (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1984). 18. Carlos Ominami, Le Tiers Monde dans Le Crise: Essai sur les transformations recentes des ' rapports Nord-Sud, (Paris: Editions La Decouverte, 1986), p.127). '


own independent source of income are considerable.19 In conclusion, then, Indonesia under the New Order should be understood as a rentier-capitalist state primarily because of the character of its relation to the global political economy, and only secondarily because of the domestic regime of accumulation in which rentier elements predominate. The second characteristic is dependent on the first: it is the relation to the world political economy which sets the outer limits of domestic economic and political possibilities in Indonesia.20 The structure of global power and peripheral state possibilities The external rents in oil and aid revenues that were the pre-condition in Indonesia for the emergence of the rentier-militarist state in the domestic sense were a function of Indonesia's location in the broader pattern of United States Asia-Pacific hegemony that shaped the region in the postwar period. Above all, the growth of the rentier-militarist state was influenced by the postwar US-Japan relationship, the centrepiece of US hegemony in the Pacific. It is the uniquely contradictory character of this American hegemony that explains both the possible emergence of Indonesian rentier-militarism, and the emergence of a quite different mercantilist-militarism in South Korea over the same period. Here the Indonesian phenomenon is to be set not just within the global social forces of production, but within the particular world order that has characterized the American era. In his commanding analysis of the origins of the Northeast Asian political economy Bruce Cumings delineated some of the peculiarities of US hegemony - by which he means not a Gramscian sense of class ethos, but hegemony as a characteristic relation of dominance: the demarcation of outer limits in economics, politics and international security relationships, the transgression of which carries grave risks for any nonhegemonic nation.21
19. Mahdavy, op.cit., p.467. Of course, it is precisely because of the administrative articulation of sectors of the economy that the possibility remains of an alternative, benign allocation of national income to ends which establish the basis for long-term national economic autonomy through productive investment. 20. Tornquist remarks that such an approach leaves us with a rather static view. It is hardly the origin of the resources, but rather the monopolization of them, that is basic...And even if state incomes dry up (like oil revenues in contemporary Indonesia), there is still the option for influential persons within the state apparatus to demand rent from outsiders, who need "favourable" regulations and/or can give something in return for getting access to the remaining resources." "Rent capitalism...", op.cit. It is certainly true that my emphasis on the external requirement is a partial view, and one that is otherwise compatible with the detailed examination of domestic rentier phenomenon provided in Tornquist's own work, as well as that of Robison and Yoshihara. However, these two particular claims are less supportable. The trajectory and composition of external rent does explain the limits of opportunity and possibility for the New Order - though not more than that. Moreover, it is most implausible that the level of unproductive domestic rentier-activity characteristic of Soeharto's Indonesia to date could continue if external rents decline further - or even if they do not rise substantially. Part of the difficulty with Tornquist's comparison of India and Indonesia is that no clear indication of the scale of political rentier activities in the two cases is given. 21. Bruce Cumings, "The origins of the Northeast Asian political economy: industrial sectors, product


The hegemony that the US established in postwar Asia was, Cumings argues, essentially triangular: United States (core), Japan (semi-periphery) and Southeast Asia (periphery). The crucial decisions were taken in the late 1940s at the time of the Reverse Course policies leading to the abandonment of demilitarization and limitations on full-blown democratization of Japan (if not earlier). George Kennan, realist of empire, made quite clear the choice for the United States regarding Japan as ally at a 1949 meeting of the Policy Planning Staff of which he was the head: You have the terrific problem of how the Japanese are going to get along unless they re-open some sort of empire to the south... If we really in the Western world could work out controls...foolproof enough and cleverly enough exercized really to have power over what Japan imports in the way of oil and other things ...we could have veto power over what she does.22 Kennan's comments were no offhand quip: they were a summation of a programme that when implemented established the framework for more than three decades of Japanese postwar political economy, domestic and foreign. In his Memoirs Kennan himself described this programme to re-establish Japan as "the sole great potential military industrial arsenal of the Far East" as, after the Marshall plan, the most significant constructive contribution I was ever able to make in government. On no other occasion, with that one exception, did I ever make recommendations of such scope and import; and on no other occasion did my recommendations meet with such wide, indeed almost complete, acceptance.23 The model Kennan commended to Macarthur, and which provided the base for the postwar hegemony, involved the dismantling of the demilitarization and democratization projects; the re-establishment on a subordinate basis of Japanese domestic and maritime security forces; and the revival of an essentially unreconstructed Japanese capitalism with an orientation towards trading interests in Southeast Asia. The hegemony that Washington organized had, in Cumings' words, the quality of a
cycles and political consequences", International Organization, 38,1, (1984), p.6. There is a large debate about both the nature of hegemony in the global system, and the interpretation of the ongoing US decline. Cox, "Gramsci,..." op.cit., employs a Gramscian approach which stresses the moment when domination does not require coercion. A powerful example of the mainstream interpretation of U.S. global decline is Andrew Mack, "The political economy of global decline: America in the 1980s", Australian Outlook, 40,1 (1986). Two strongly dissenting voices are Bruce Russett, "U.S. hegemony: gone or merely diminished, and how does it matter?" in Takashi Inoguchi and Daniel I. Okimoto (eds.), The Political Economy of Japan: Volume 2 - The Changing International Context, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988); and Stephen Gill, "American hegemony: its limits and prospects in the Reagan era", Millenium: Journal of International Studies, 15,3 (1986). 22. Cited in Cumings, op.cit., p.18. See also Jon Halliday, A Political History of Japanese Capitalism, (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1975), pp.186ff.; and John Dower, "Occupied Japan and the American lake, 1945-1950", in Edward Friedman and Mark Selden (eds.), America's Asia: Dissenting Essays on Asian-American Relations, (New York: Pantheon, 1969), pp.173-183). Note that Halliday cites the same passage, but ascribes the second half of the remarks to Owen Lattimore. Lance Castles has reminded me of the point that should be obvious: while my argument is true enough for the Japan Southeast Asia relationship, it appears to be anything but true for Japan itself. Yet that is precisely the problem involved in predicting the future course of the U.S. - Japan relationship. 23. George Kennan, Memoirs: 1925-1950, (Boston: Little, Brown, 1967), cited in Dower, op.cit., p.178.


"grand area". Within that area nations oriented themselves toward Washington rather than Moscow; nations were enmeshed in a hierarchy of economic and political preferences whose ideal goal was free trade, open systems and liberal democracy but which also encompassed neo-mercantile states and authoritarian politics; and nations were dealt with by the United States through methods ranging from classic negotiations and trade-offs (in regard to nations sharing Western traditions or approximating Western traditions or approximating American levels of political and economic development) to wars and interventions (in the periphery or Third World) to assure continuing orientation towards Washington.24 The unique quality of the American hegemony, revealed in the latter stages of the Vietnam war and full blown in the fierce trade struggles subsequently is that it is a style of hegemony (a world order in Cox's terms) that has outer limits sufficient to keep countries in the system, but not sufficient to protect the home economy against destructive competition, and not sufficient to maintain effective dependency relationships or a frozen hierarchy. The system permits upward mobility.25 In Indonesia those outer limits of the American hegemony were struck by Soekarno's Guided Democracy around September 1963 with the burning of the British Embassy in Jakarta. Whatever the actual degree of US direct involvement in the affairs of October 1, 1965 may have been, there can be no doubt that various agencies of the United States had been working towards facilitating something like the outcome that finally obtained.26 And once Soeharto demonstrated his firm control by the second half of 1966 by making sweeping pro-capital economic reforms, the cornucopia of IGGI funds began to open up, albeit not until the policies recommended by Soeharto's advisors reached standards set by an IMF team. With the removal of Soekarno, the re-orientation of Indonesian politics and the establishment of ASEAN, United States policy demands on Indonesia subsided, allowing the development of the new growth-oriented military dictatorship to develop unimpeded. Japanese investment and trade with Indonesia outstretched that of the US itself before long, as the original design Kennan had in mind for the region was achieved. Japan's need for oil and its outward surge of foreign investment in the 1970s provided the second prop for the consolidation of rentier-militarism - still within the framework of American hegemony.27 Within the outer limits determined by the United States (and increasingly supported only by its military power), it was Japan which was the dominant force over Indonesia within two decades. By the mid-1980s Indonesia became part of the Japanese economic sphere of influence, as indicated by trade, investment and loans. In the late 1980s Indonesia sent half of its exports to Japan, mostly oil and liquid natural gas (LNG), for
24. Cumings, op.cit., p.6. 25. Ibid., p.20. 26. For a comprehensive review of the publicly available evidence to date see Peter Dale Scott, "The United States and the overthrow of Sukarno", Pacific Affairs, 58,2 (1985). 27. The Japanese story is, of course, much more complicated than I am allowing here. Wayne Robinson, op.cit. provides a fine portrait of the problems faced by Japanese investors in the early New Order period, particularly rivalry with the United States within IGGI and in influencing Jakarta policies.


which Indonesia was Japan's third largest supplier despite inroads from Chinese nonOpec oil and the prospect of declining overall consumption of oil as Japanese industries re-structured.28 Japanese direct foreign investment in Indonesia made up 33% of the cumulative total between 1969 and 1984, making it far and away the dominant foreign investor29. Conversely, Indonesia has for many years been the second largest host of Japanese foreign investment after the United States: in 1988 the cumulative total of Japanese investment in Indonesia was US$9.218bn.30 By the mid-1980s, when Indonesia once again became an international policy problem because of its growing debt and balance of payments problems, it was the Japanese, not the Americans, who lead the rescue activities. Whereas in 1970, the United States had provided almost half (47%) of Indonesia's foreign aid and Japan about onequarter (27%), by 1984 the positions were reversed: Japan provided 37% of a rather larger aid budget, and the United States figure had declined relatively and absolutely to only 15%.31 In 1987/88 the United States pledged US$190 mn., and Japan US$606 mn.32 But in mid-1988 in what may be the largest single annual aid transfer to date between two countries Japan committed $2.3 bn. in soft loans specifically to ease Indonesia's balance of payments problems (with more to follow in project grants).33 This external framework has not lead to a simple foreign dominance of the Indonesian economy. As Robison and Yoshihara have argued in slightly different ways, the dominant elements of the Indonesian corporate economy are at least as much Indonesian as foreign capital - in the form of state-capital and Indonesian Chinese capital. Yet, in Yoshihara's view, a new version of industrial capitalist dependency has developed in Indonesia, for three reasons connected with industrial production, the crucial area for capitalist growth in world markets. Firstly, most industrial development has taken place in firms that are nationally owned and controlled, but are often dependent on the flow of state funds the oil boom permitted. ...the state sector is out of all proportion to the private sector, dominating in
28. Charles E. Morrison, "Japan and the ASEAN countries: the evolution of Japan's regional role", in Inoguchi and Okimoto, op.cit. But note that despite the increased Chinese share of Japanese crude oil imports, Indonesia's share still rose 11.5% in 1986 to 13.4% in 1987, as well as in petroleum products. See Jetro (Japan External Trade Organization), White Paper on International Trade - Japan 1988, (Tokyo: Jetro, 1988), table 30. 29. Kinoshita Toshihiko, "Japanese investment in Indonesia: problems and prospects", Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies, XXII,1 (1986), p.42, citing data on approved foreign investment from the Indonesian Capital Investment Board. Kinoshita notes, however, that in recent years Japanese investment has been slowing down. 30. Keizai Koho Center, Japan 1989: An International Comparison, (Tokyo: Keizai Koho Center, 1989), p.56, citing Japan Ministry of Finance data. Note that there are important differences in classification and definition between Japanese and Indonesian government sources of data on direct private foreign investment. 31. Morrison, op.cit., p.440. Note that the U.S. data exclude military assistance. 32. USAID [United States, Agency for International Development] USAID Program in Indonesia, (March 1988), p.4. 33. Interview with Japanese embassy official in Jakarta, 31/6/88. The $2.3 bn. loan was in several parts, mostly at about 2.7% interest (with the Tokyo prime rate at the time at about 6%). David Bourchier has pointed out to me that the original name for the International Governmental Group on Indonesia was to have been the Tokyo Club. See Masashi Nishihara "Japan: regional stability" in James W.Morley (ed.) Security Interdependence in the Asia-Pacific Region, (Lexington: D.C.Heath, 1986), p.70.


particular the capital-intensive upstream sector of industry (especially petrochemicals and steel), which sells high-cost or low-quality products to the downstream private sector. In addition, it has a monopoly on fertilizer production, it dominates shipbuilding, and it has a large stake in cement and pulp production. Despite access to low-interest loans from government banks and various other privileges (including some monopoly rights), many of these state enterprises are running at a loss.34 Secondly, a number of the private industrial capitalists producing complex machinery such as motor vehicles are in fact Japanese (or other foreign producers') compradores: e.g. William Soeryajaya's Astra group is Toyota's compradore, and Sjarnoebi Said's Krama Yudha group is Mitsubishi's. The South-East Asian capitalists are essentially the distributors of Japanese cars, with the difference that they have assembling plants. Technologically, however, they are almost 100 per cent dependent on their Japanese licenses, and, under the present set-up, it would be impossible for them to become technologically independent and start exporting their products. Their technological dependency is not temporary, but being structural, semi-permanent.35 Thirdly, another large group of industrial capitalists, especially in textiles, steel, cement and downstream petro-chemicals, are not compradores - but their complex plants are mainly imported, often as turnkey operations and with foreign engineers and technicians. The crucial difference with earlier generations of Asian industrializing countries is that unlike Japan and Korea, Indonesia (and most other ASEAN countries) lacks substantial numbers of skilled and technically educated workers.

34. Yoshihara Kunio, The Rise of Ersatz Capitalism in South-East Asia, (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1988), p.108. See also Thee Kian-wie and Yoshihara Kunio "Foreign and domestic capital in Indonesian industrialization", Southeast Asian Studies, (March 1987). Yoshihara points out that exports from a number of these plants are no sign of commercial health. Mostly such exports are possible because export prices charged do not cover costs. op.cit., p.109. Clearly this is not an enduring option. 35. Yoshihara, op.cit., p.112.


What this suggests is that the forms of transnational economic dominance are more complex than a simple matter of foreign direct private investment, but remain extremely potent. The outcome of the past two decades of Indonesian involvement in the world economy has been to generate considerable wealth and some important changes in the Indonesian economy, not least rice self-sufficiency and some improvements in basic welfare as the result of an expansion of state-provision of health and education services. What did not happen was the utilization of oil rents to establish the foundation of national economic autonomy through thorough-going social transformation for auto-centric industrialization. Global sources of legitimacy for a fortuitous etatism In addition to the material foundations to the state provided by hydrocarbon revenues, a final element in the global pre-conditions for the emergence and survival of the rentier-militarist state has been the provision of foreign support for states with limited domestic legitimacy. In the course of a bravura comparison of classic European and contemporary Third World state-formation, Charles Tilly reminds us that in the real world, legitimacy derives less from the assent of the governed than from "the probability that other authorities will act to confirm the decisions of a given authority".36 In the contemporary world-order, it is other national and supra-national authorities whose confirmation is crucial. For Tilly, what marks out contemporary Third World state formation from its European precursors is the relationship between the acquisition of warmaking capacity and subject populations on the one hand, and other states on the other. In Europe, he argues, armies were built up through sustained struggles with their subject populations, and by means of a selective expansion of protection to different classes within the populations. Agreements on protection constrained the rulers themselves, making them vulnerable to courts, to assemblies, and to withdrawal of credit, services and expertise.37 The formation of Third World states in a system of nation-states reinforcing each other and projecting extra-territorial power to both support and modify each other meant that the requirement of a domestic process of adjustment and mutual constraint between social forces was often limited or even absent. The network of external military, economic, political or ideological support for peripheral states on an historically unprecedented scale provides the possibility that the new states harbor powerful, unconstrained organizations that easily overshadow all other organizations within their territories. To the extent that outside states guarantee their boundaries, the managers of those military organizations exercise extraordinary power within them.38
36. Charles Tilly, "War-making and state-making as organized crime" in Peter Evans, Dieter Rueschmeyer and Theda Skocpol (eds.), Bringing the State Back In, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p.171. 37. Charles Tilly, "War and the power of warmakers in Western Europe and elsewhere, 1600-1980", in Peter Wallensteen, Johan Galtung and Carlos Portales (eds.), Global Militarization, (Boulder: Westview, 1985), p.83. 38. Tilly, "War-making and state-making...", op.cit., p.186. The fact that the normal condition of the present world order is for the major powers to guarantee the borders of their main allies and subordinate


The argument is, of course, extremely general, and under-estimates both the complexity of forms of transnational political-economic constraint and the degree of contestation of military power that has occurred in countries such as Indonesia. Yet the process Tilly discusses is exactly what has characterized the Indonesian military in the New Order (and in the Guided Democracy period for that matter). After 1949 significant military actions were conducted by the Indonesian armed forces, but none involved a response to a serious threat to the integrity of the borders of the state. In both the revolution of 1945-49 and the campaign for the decolonization of Irian Jaya US diplomatic and economic pressure on the colonial power played a central part. Only in East Timor from 1975 to the present has the Indonesian Army mounted a sustained foreign campaign. The borders of Indonesia have been defined by and protected by the United States (and more generally by the industrial capitalist alliance) diplomatically, and as a reserve force, by the Seventh Fleet.39 And in the case of East Timor, the willingness and capacity of foreign governments (especially the United States, Japan and Australia) to legitimate the ongoing war or nullify the effects of democratic opposition in their countries has been a central Indonesian political resource. Despite its large armed forces, foreign war-making has not been an important activity for the Indonesian armed forces, East Timor apart. As a result the state has not been required to entertain the political compromises that would be entailed in a domestic revenue base.40 As Liddle and others have argued, the Soeharto regime is not without domestic legitimacy, both in the form of positive affirmation for the government, and approval of its performance in a number of different ways. But the crucial elements that make possible even this level of domestic legitimation are, as Liddle says, repression (particularly to the extent that what Liddle terms "performance legitimacy" depends on both state resources to "perform" and on the exclusion of alternatives) and the remarkable distance the regime has from general domestic public sanction because of its foreign backers and external rentier base - oil plus IGGI. Mahdavy's analysis of the consequences for government of national rentier income fits Indonesia well: The oil industry's major contribution is that it enables the governments of the oilproducing countries to embark on large-scale public expenditure programmes without resorting to taxation and without running into drastic balance of payments
states was paradoxically revealed by the Iran-Iraq war. Although most major arms producers were involved in supplying one or other or both sides, what was striking about the protracted and horrific war was that unlike most recent wars, the major powers did little to arrest its progress. The point is all the clearer in the aftermath of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. 39. The most important work on foreign support for Soeharto remains Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism: Volume I of The Political Economy of Human Rights, (Boston: South End Press, 1979), a source continually ignored in mainstream writings on Indonesian politics. 40. Tilly's thesis is confirmed by the South Korean experience. The large-scale expansion and upgrading of the South Korean armed forces after 1965 was funded almost entirely by United States assistance for successive Force Modernization Programs, in addition to funds for the ROK Army units in South Vietnam. It is significant in this regard that it is only with the longrunning East Timor war that the Indonesian armed forces have moved beyond territorially-based operations towards a substantial technology-heavy conventional military capacity. While oil-revenues and foreign military aid allowed the government to proceed with the war the restraint of without serious taxation of the Indonesian population, the military costs of the protracted campaign have induced internal changes in the armed forces.


or inflation problems that usually plague other developing nations. And since oil revenues typically increase at a faster rate than the GNP of the local economies, the public sector of the oil-producing countries expands rapidly. This need not result in some kind of socialism, but may turn into what can be considered as a fortuitous etatisme.41 Mahdavy points accurately to the two crucial political consequences of external rents: the removal of two sources of pressure for political change. the Rentier states the increasing welfare and prosperity (of at least part of the urban population) acquired through government expenditures and large imports pre-empts some of the urgency for change and rapid growth encountered in other countries. The blatant inequalities of income and wealth may create frictions, but not so much as in other countries since exploitation of a natural resource rather than direct exploitation of the people is the main source generating the disparities.42 A government that can expand its services without resorting to heavy taxation acquires an independence from the people seldom found in other countries. In political terms, the power of government to bribe pressure groups or coerce dissidents will be greater than otherwise. By the same token, this power is highly vulnerable, since the stoppage of external rents can severely damage the government finances.43 In no way does this suggest that there has been no domestic legitimation in the way that Liddle suggests. Rather that the requirement to achieve such legitimation as has developed has been greatly minimized by the external context. The external rentiercharacter of New Order state formation has generated a considerable degree of freedom of the state from constraint by the subject population. Moreover, the legitimation that has finally mattered in Indonesia, other than that of the army as the governing group, has been the balance of opinion of state-managers in Washington and Tokyo. That external legitimation, coupled with the material basis of the external rentier-economy, has made possible the hypertrophy of the state vis-a-vis other social organizations and the capacity of the state to ignore any need for serious negotiation with subject populations - to say nothing of holocaust and terror. The economic dimension of external legitimacy has been rooted in the opinion of international institutions such as the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, as well as the attitudes of the governments making up the IGGI group. This external economic legitimacy did not come easily in the first months of the New Order in 1966. Even after the holocaust against the PKI and strong indications by the new leadership of a reorientation in economic policy, the United States and other western powers held off from more than a "low-profile" (Marshall Green) approach until the acceptance of a stabilization package devised by an IMF team in consultation with the government's economic advisors led by Professor Wijoyo Nitisastro. Mas'oed remarks of the most
41. Mahdavy, op.cit., p.431. 42. Ibid., p.437. 43. Ibid., p.467. Indonesian military capital spending is largely dependent on foreign military assistance and on hidden subsidies from sources such as Pertamina. According to official budget figures (which may well account for only half or two-thirds of total military spending), foreign project aid funded one-quarter of the military development budget during the expansion period of 1981-85. Examination of US and other foreign military assistance to Indonesia over the same period suggests the actual figure is still larger.


important outcome of the IMF visit: If the March 11, 1966 transfer of power is seen as the milestone for the New Order politics, the economic regulations of October 3, 1966 are for the economy.44 The Australian Prime Minister of the day, Harold Holt, summed up the judgement of the Army's foreign backers when he assured the well-lunched members of the River Club of New York in July 1966 that with 500,000 to 1,000,000 Communist sympathizers knocked off, I think it is safe to assume a re-orientation has taken place.45 Since 1966, Indonesian economic policy formation has involved somewhat shifting policy positions, as already mentioned. "Nationalist" policy positions became more prominent effective at the height of the oil boom, and a great variety of ad hoc regulatory regimes were set up, to the benefit of political rentier-capitalists. After the decline in oil revenues beginning in 1979 and declining rapidly after 1986, the influence of marketoriented positions within the Indonesian state and more importantly, within the World Bank and International Monetary Fund began to swell once more. Under foreign pressure, and with significant domestic support, "deregulation" of import monopolies and privileged licensing and quota arrangements have become a dominant item on the Jakarta agenda, along with a slow build-up of pressure for some regularization of business practices.46 However, these processes, as in 1966, have two important aspects. On the one hand, they involve a renegotiation of the terms of external economic legitimacy - what will the international state and corporate financial community require in order to agree to meet Indonesia's needs? On the other hand what is also involved is a renegotiation of the terms of state-civil society relations both within Indonesia and transnationally. In the African context, Fontaine has pointed out that a great deal of the IMF pressure for economic liberalization and deregulation of state economic involvement glosses on a rhetoric of "the retreat of the state". IMF monetarist packages in the African context have involved governments taking responsibility for the attainment and maintenance of certain political conditions (as a result of changing domestic economic policy) - as a precondition for the granting of loans, and so on. Hence state `disinvolvement' appears now as a more complex matter. Clearly it amounts both to a shift in the domestic forms of public intervention, from purely economic intervention - in the sense of based on the tenets of economic analysis to political intervention - in the sense of playing on internal struggle and opposition - and to a renegotiation of spheres of sovereignty, through a shift in the balance of considerations of an internal versus international nature, the internal "disinvolvement" being matched by an international "overinvolvement" of the
44. Mochtar Mas'oed, The Indonesian Economy and Political Structure during the Early New Order, 1966-1971, Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Ohio State University, (1983), p.115. Mas'oed provides an extremely useful account of the economic diplomacy of 1966. 45. New York Times, 6 July 1966, cited in Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, The Political Economy of Human Rights, Volume I: The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism, (Boston: South End Press, 1979), p.217. 46. Robison, Indonesia..., op.cit.; Robison, "After the gold rush: the politics of economic restructuring in Indonesia", in Richard Robison, Kevin Hewison and Richard Higgot (eds.) Southeast Asia in the 1980s: the Politics of Economic Crisis, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1987); World Bank Indonesia: Adjustment, Growth and Sustainable Development, Report No. 7222-IND, (1988).


state. Obviously these two shifts are related, and have some correspondence to each other, as the "politicization" of state intervention is a facet of the internationalization of monetary control.47 In the present circumstances in Indonesia, many critics of the regime see a connection between economic deregulation and opportunities for political liberalization and demilitarization - a generally benign form of "shift in the forms of public intervention". Since the First Family is pre-eminent amongst political rent capitalists, so the argument goes, any international pressure for regularization of business practices and for the application of market-principles to economic policy will weaken the power-base of the palace. Certainly, the hope is understandable, and with the overall aging of the original New Order establishment, any loosening is desirable. But what must always be borne in mind is that both the New Order and its desired transformation are in that case a function of the location of Indonesia in the global political economy, and such steps away from the current pattern of militarization are founded on yet another round of diminution of domestic political control. External influence may not be a matter of outright external control, and influence is never uncontested, but the new phase of the internationalization of the Indonesian state thus produced renders the relation between "state" and "civil society" more complex. It also becomes more difficult to bring under popular control, since the structure of the system of nation-states limits the effects of democratic controls mainly to the national level or below. The South Korean response: mercantilist militarism The contrasting pattern to these external conditions and domestic response can be seen with South Korea, which began its decolonization at the same time as Indonesia. Like Indonesia, South Korea is a deeply militarized society, with a large militarily-led state. Both are capitalist economies, oriented internationally towards the United States, and both have developed to their present positions within the US postwar Pacific hegemony. There the similarities stop. Korean economic growth has not only been faster and greater than that of Indonesia, but has made the crucial leap to a reasonably wellrounded industrialization (albeit with serious under-development of the domestic sector). Moreover, unlike Indonesia (or any other capitalist NIC for that matter), South Korea has a remarkably high level of domestic control over its productive sector. Levels of direct foreign investment are quite low, although they have recently begun to rise in the face of US pressure. Where Indonesia has, for the most part, been content to live off the oil rush with relatively little internal transformation, the South Korean state has taken an active mercantilist posture in the international system, coordinating capitalist and state investment and trade activities with a view to optimizing Korean national welfare in the international system.48 The outer limits of the system of US hegemony were such, as Cumings argued, as to keep South Korea in the system, but "not sufficient to maintain effective dependency relationships or a frozen hierarchy".49
47. Jean-Marc Fontaine, "Evolving economic policies and disinvolving states: notes in an African context", IDS Bulletin, 18,4, (1987), p.18. Gill, op.cit., places the issues of the internationalization of monetary controls and the global exercise of US influence to achieve economic liberalization in the context of a complex attempt by the United States under the Reagan administration to reconstitute US hegemony on a new post-Keynsian, post-Fordist basis. 48. On the South Korean state see Stephan Haggard and Moon Chung-in, "The South Korean State",


But it has been the military-strategic aspects of that hegemony which best explain the paths the two nations have followed. The single most important difference between the two countries has been their location in the global military order, and specifically in United States requirements for the containment of communism and preparations for global war fighting. The Korean War not only devastated both parts of the country physically and in human terms, but provided the impetus to complete the transformation of the rural class structure begun by the Japanese in the colonial period. By the end of the Korean war, the landlord class in the South had been dissolved, and that landed capital transformed into merchant capital. Throughout the 1950s United States aid paid for the bulk of South Korean imports - 90% by 1959. Under Syngman Rhee, rentier-activities flourished through bureaucrat-capitalists and their entrepreneurial allies, as the USfunded state ballooned and the economy floundered50. Rhee's fall owed as much to the US desire to cease paying the bill as to the student demonstrators who finally pushed Rhee out. The April 1960 student revolt pre-empted a planned military coup under Park Chung-hee, but Park seized power anyway in May 1961. After an initial period of uncertainty of direction on both the South Korean and United States sides, within three years the foundations of the Korean mercantilistmilitarist state were in place with American blessing: a bureaucratically effective state; state control of the financial system; effective closure of possibilities of profitable unproductive investment; limitations on foreign investment; and a plan for industrialization based on subsidization of manufacturing exports, control of imports and foreign exchange.51 The influence of civil society could not have been less important: the state - national Korean or U.S. imperial - was virtually all. Korean mercantilism was made possible by the importance the United States placed on South Korea's stable participation in the Northeast Asian anti-communist alliance, and specifically as a bulwark against North Korea, China and the Soviet Union, and as an ally in the Vietnam War. Park's rightwing statism was a revenant pre-war Japanese militarist fusing of strong national security and a strong, nationally controlled, economy. The bulk of capital was provided by massive foreign borrowings funnelled through the state-owned (until 1981) banking system. Domestic manufacturers were offered subsidized loans, on the effective condition of accepting government economic planners' "guidance" on investment allocation - with the alternative of borrowing at unsubsidized rates elsewhere. Foreign investment, while not completely locked out, was never given a free rein52. The result was that South Korean economic development
in John B. Ruggie (ed.), The Antinomies of Interdepedendence: National Welfare and the International Division of Labor, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), although there are some differences between their analysis of South Korean mercantilism and my own. I say "national welfare" without negating the domestic maldistribution of wealth and wellbeing that has accompanied this growth. 49. Cumings, op.cit., p.20. 50. Clive Hamilton, Capitalist Industrialization in Korea, (Boulder: Westview Press, 1986). 51. See Cumings, op.cit., Hamilton, op.cit., Richard Luedde-Neurath, Import Controls and ExportOriented Development, A Reassessment of the South Korean Case, (Boulder: Westview, 1986), Peter Evans, "Class, state and dependence in East Asia: lessons for Latin Americanists", in Frederick Deyo (ed.), The Political Economy of the New Asian Industrialization (1988), and Clive Hamilton and Richard Tanter, "The antinomies of success in South Korea", Journal of International Affairs, 41,1 (1987). 52. Cho, op.cit., and Hamilton op.cit. The comparison with Indonesia is striking. Even though South Korea is a much more important trading partner for Japan than is Indonesia, Japanese foreign investment by 1988 (even with several years of recent investment liberalization) still only totalled $2.7bn compared


remained largely under Korean national control, and to a surprising degree, under effective state direction to a degree unknown in other peripheral capitalist countries. Looking at South Korea from the perspective of Latin American debates on asymmetrical dependency, Evans argues that in fact the Korean experience demonstrates the importance of an early period of controlled withdrawal from international markets if industrialization is to succeed with any degree of autonomy. The Japanese colonial period, followed by the Korean war, U.S. capital's lack of interest in the aid-supported economy of the 50s, the effects of the U.S.-sponsored land reform, and the effects of the massive strategically-motivated aid programme itself all went to lay down the preconditions for Park's successful drive towards autonomous state-directed capitalist growth53. It is only necessary to add that it was Park's capacity to exploit the possibilities of that foundation and the opportunities inherent in Korea's special position within the US alliance structure which triggered the translation of potential into history. Part of the reason for Park's strategy lay in the character of the South Korean military; or rather, the political and economic consequences of its integration into the US command and strategic planning. The South Korean military, while hardly free of scandal and a certain degree of corruption, held the upper echelons of state power, but never entertained a Korean parallel to the Indonesian political and economic involvement throughout the state and the economy. Their primary task was set by the Mutual Security Treaty with the United States, and the Joint Command structure that integrated the bulk of South Korean combat troops under a US commanding general. The South Korean military, unlike their Indonesian counterparts, operated to American standards, and performed as frontline nuclear-capable fighting troops not only in Vietnam over the best part of a decade, but in the most tense zone of the global Cold War for more than thirty years after the end of the Korean War. Military revenue has been limited almost entirely within the state budget: Indonesian-style extra-budgetary sources of unit income have not been institutionalized. From the early 1960s onwards, the rentier-option was never a possibility within the conjuncture of the external mercantilist strategy and the US alliance: Park's Japanesemodelled drive for national security in terms of a strong, industrially-based economy and strong defence precluded any further toleration of the rentier-phenomena of the Rhee period. In any case, by the late 1950s the United States was no longer prepared to provide the external rent through massive foreign aid. Moreover, its strategic requirements of the South Korean military were such that it could not tolerate military incompetence of the level encouraged by political rent capitalism at an Indonesian level. Within the broad and diffuse structure of US hegemony, South Korea has been tied economically to Japan, with a large proportion of Korean manufactured exports composed of Japanese semi-finished imports. As Japan moved up the industrial hierarchy, South Korea (and Taiwan) moved up behind it, to the point where after Japan, both South Korea and Taiwan constitute a strong threat to US industry. The irony is that the very elements of success have generated their own antinomies: in domestic class terms, South Korean mercantilist industrialization has created a powerful and politically experienced urban working class, as well as a large and diverse entrepreneurial and salaried middle class; export growth in higher industrial export niches has provoked a hostile response from the protector; and Korean officer corps resentment
to the Indonesian total of $9.2bn. (Keizai Koho Center, op.cit.,pp.56,40.) 53. Evans, op.cit.


to US command has reached the point where the survival of the alliance demands some redress of the inequalities built into the US-dominated command structure. The foundations of the Park and Chun dictatorships were undermined by their very success, leading first to the liberalization measures of 1986, and then the holding of reasonably fair elections in 1987.54 Analytically, what has emerged is the re-establishment of the primacy of class forces over statist ones: civil society is now a meaningful concept in South Korea. In a reversal of the defining pattern since 1961, the internal dynamics of South Korean politics will now largely be determined by the inter-relationship with the state of a powerful capitalist class, a politically powerful and mature industrial working class, and a diverse middle class. The differences with Indonesia are clear, and are largely explicable by the location of the two states in the pattern of global social relations - as understood in terms of production, the forms of state, and the particular pattern of world order that has characterized the American era. The importance that the United States placed on South Korea in the global containment of communism during the Park period permitted the formulation of the basic pattern of state-directed export-oriented capitalist industrialization. Moreover, that industrialization was attempted at a time when the postwar expansion of global trade was still on the upswing, and the number of competitors for the status of "newly industrializing country" was very much smaller than will face Indonesia in the near future. Finally, the issue of "the strong state" should be examined, if only briefly, since the term is so frequently used about both countries. At least four senses of "strength" are usually conflated in that term. Both Indonesia and South Korea are "strong" in the sense of repressive or "tough". Both are capable of exerting considerable pressure of specific parts of their societies - they have a long reach. Both are numerically and proportionally big states. But there are three important senses of "the strong state" on which they differ robustness, administrative effectiveness, and autonomy. The South Korean state has demonstrated great capacity to weather the pressures exerted from a changing world economy. It is not yet clear just how robust the Soeharto state will prove to be under challenge from changes induced in the external economic environment. Secondly, the South Korean state has a prodigious administrative efficacy; indeed, once demilitarization begins to take place this will prove immensely important (for example through the ability of a relatively disciplined and competent state bureaucracy to deal with the social aftereffects for particular communities of the withdrawal of US ground troops). Finally, strength for a state may also involve a high degree of autonomy from would-be sources of
54. Hamilton and Tanter, op.cit. What remains to be addressed in South Korea is the issue of fundamental demilitarization. While an elected government is in place and there is a broader range of political rights than for more than two decades, one of the most important generative causes of militarization - the structure of the economy - remains untouched. A need for repression of labour is built into the economic structure which binds economic growth to continued expansion of industrial export markets. South Korean exporters are caught between two powerful forces which are reducing their room to manoeuvre: the rising wave of protectionism in the United States, the major export market; and strong competition from a diverse group of less advanced imitators working with lower cost labour. South Korea's capacity to adapt is considerable, and a number of strategies are being orchestrated by government. However until this fundamental distortion of the economy is balanced by expanding the domestic sector, especially by increasing domestic purchasing power, the structural imperative for militarization will remain, always pulling against the limited liberalization and democratization.


pressure to change direction. For the first two decades of Korean industrialization, the state held a distinct position of autonomy from domestic capital and, on a number of economic issues, from U.S. state pressure. While the Indonesian state is quite autonomous from most sources of domestic pressure (certainly from capital), it is highly vulnerable to external sources of pressure and to erosion of the external rent which permits the domestic posture. Conclusion The argument of this chapter is that the explanation of the contemporary Indonesian state and economic structure has been overly pre-occupied with domestic factors, neglecting the explanatory importance of external factors. This is not an argument for a universal causal priority for the global over the national or local, or vice versa. Simply, it is clear that in both the Indonesian and South Korean cases over the past quarter century, external factors have so structured the limits of domestic possibility that they must be assigned such a causal priority. What was then important was the manner in which the two states manoeuvred within those limits, to the point where, in the South Korean case, dependency was reversed, unlike Indonesia. For Indonesia, the combination of huge oil export revenues and fluctuating but substantial foreign aid revenues provided a material foundation without which the domestic florescence of a rentier-militarist state would have been impossible. Equally importantly, the survival of the Soeharto regime, and the pattern of its relationships with domestic social forces has been contingent on the location of that state in the wider world order established under American aegis after 1945. Most importantly, the United States orchestrated the allocation of Southeast Asia and Indonesia in particular in the Japanese sphere of influence. The full manifestation of that structure is only now emerging as Japan leads the international support for the Soeharto regime in the face of a decline in the price of oil and rapid rises in levels of debt repayment.55 The peculiar quality of rentier-militarist regimes, understood in this externallyoriented sense, is their relative capacity to ignore, or at least postpone, cultivation of domestic support and the class compromises which that process requires56.
55. That Japan is now the principal economic power in Southeast Asia and sponsor of the Soeharto government is clear. What is rather less clear is what that means in terms of Japanese power. As is repeatedly pointed out, Japan's capacity to replace the United States as regional hegemon is severely constrained by the fact that in terms of power projection capacity it is militarily insignificant in Southeast Asia, politically vulnerable due to the memory of the war and domestic resentment of Japanese economic power, and lacks any serious autonomous cultural suasion. (See, for example, Morrison's account, op.cit., of the evolution of Japanese Southeast Asian policy). As Johan Galtung pointed out almost two decades ago, Japanese imperialism walks on one-leg, the economic, while the U.S. variant in its heyday walked on at least four - the political, military, economic and the cultural: see his "A structural theory of imperialism", Journal of Peace Research, (1971). What remains to be seen, however, is just how skilfully Japanese donors and Southeast Asian recipients are able to manoeuvre against each other in the politics of aid, trade and investment. 56. This raises the question of the actual degree of domestic legitimacy of the Soeharto government. Emmerson focuses on the large Golkar vote in 1987, stressing that while considerable coercion was employed in gaining that vote, it cannot be said "the 62.4 million who voted for GOLKAR were coerced into doing so against their will. What the results of the election demonstrate is the sheer authoritative nature of Soeharto's regime and the absence of a workable alternative". Donald K. Emmerson, "Invisible Indonesia", Foreign Affairs, 66,2 (1988), p.380. See also his "The military and development in


Comparisons are often made between Indonesia and South Korea, mainly based on the fact that both countries were former Japanese colonies that, after an initial period, experienced right wing military coups about the same time, followed by a prolonged period of political stability and capitalist economic growth. The limited democratization that has taken place in South Korea has encouraged many to hope for a comparable retreat of the military in Indonesia. However, the burden of this chapter is that there are few grounds for comparing Indonesia and South Korea, or seeing "a South Korean" path for Indonesia - either in terms of strongly mercantilist industrial growth or limited democratization related to economic change. The external conditions that made possible the Korean growth out of dependency - the coinciding of US strategic requirements and opportunities in the global economy - do not apply to Indonesia at present. It is likely that Indonesian non-oil and gas exports will grow substantially in the coming years, but it is rather less likely that manufactured exports will grow at the rates achieved in South Korea, or that they will grow under a regime of accumulation that allows a great deal of national autonomy. Indonesia is of considerable strategic importance to the United States and Japan, but is under no strategic threat whatsoever. It is difficult to imagine a functional equivalent for Indonesia of the strategic privilege Park was able to exercise.57

Indonesia", in J.Soedjati and Yong Mun Cheong (eds.), Soldiers and Stability in Southeast Asia, (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1988. But as he goes on to point out the regime fundamentally rests on the external supports of oil and foreign aid combined with the regime's skills at he accurately terms "coercive deterrence". One of the most important consequences of that "coercive deterrence" - ranging from the slaughter and detention of hundreds of thousands of communists after 1965 to the skilful use of psychological warfare operations by ABRI's Strategic Intelligence Agency [Bais] - has been precisely to prevent and deter the evolution of a workable alternative. The argument of this paper is that the external supports vitiated the need for extensive domestic support, and provided the leeway for the establishment of a large and complex apparatus of political monitoring and intervention, part of whose task was the prevention of any disturbance to the "order and calm" of the society - in other words, political mobilization other than that approved by the government. 57. This chapter is stressing the external aspects of the issue. There are, of course, a great many internal differences to be assessed. One of the most important is the level of education amongst the two populations, and the implications of that difference for rapid development of manufacturing. On the other hand, in the South Korean case, the growth of technical skills was partly a benefit of the Japanese period and partly a matter of Korean cultural values. But equally important was the pressure for raising technical standards from the continuous influx of conscripts into the 600,000-man armed forces operating with relatively advanced weapons-systems.


Chapter 7 The hardening shell: Indonesian military revenues and force structure

When Louis XIVth asked his Milanese adviser Trivulzio how the success of his invasion of Italy could be ensured, he received this reply: "Most generous King, three things are required: money, money, and still more money". A great deal of detailed work over the past two decades has provided a fine-grained portrait of the politics of the Indonesian armed forces, its internal elite workings, and its relations with the wider state and society, both in the pre- and post-1965 period. These institutional accounts have largely been elite focussed, and have been able to provide an unusually rich understanding of the place of the military in the political history of the past quarter century or more in Indonesia. But it is not clear that these studies tell us all that is needed to understand the full impact of the military today. Partly, this is a function of the greatly reduced access that foreign scholars have had to serving officers in recent years. But equally important, I would argue, has been the general disinterest in the armed forces as a specifically military organization, one using its military capacities for control of the domestic population. This chapter will outline the sources and levels of military spending in the New Order period, the force structure planning that has been undertaken to guide the military's sociotechnical development, the size and composition of the armed forces, and the pattern of weapons acquisition, either imported from abroad or produced domestically. It will argue that the larger than usually recognized increases in real military spending have been used to expand the capacities of the Indonesian military in what are usually two strongly contrasting and, to a certain extent, mutually exclusive directions: capital-intensive external conventional military capacity and internally-oriented professionalized modes of population surveillance and control. Military revenues and expenditures Perhaps the most difficult area to investigate in the organization of Indonesian military and political affairs is the military budget - both in terms of revenues and expenditures. All published national military budgets should be treated circumspectly, but the Indonesian military budget is remarkable for its brevity and lack of information, and for the lack of unofficial knowledge of the subject. Blackaby and Ohlson report the experience of the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) that of the more than 150 countries in the world (W)e have only only about 25 countries where we would rate the statistical series for military expenditures as "good". "Good" in that sense means that we know the coverage of the figures, and changes in the coverage; and we feel reasonably confident that items are not omitted, and that we believe the year-to-year movements in the published figures properly represent the changes in military expenditure that have taken place.1
1. Frank Blackaby and Thomas Ohlson, "Military expenditure and the arms trade: problems of data", Bulletin of Peace Proposals, 13,4 (1982), p. 296.


Since so little is known of the level and composition of the budget, it may be helpful to summarize the findings of researchers on difficulties of estimating military spending in other Third World countries, and also on the slightly different problem of arms transfers to such countries.2 In attempting to research these issues, the following problems need to be addressed. Definitions of military and other expenditure. The usual assumption is that expenditures for military purposes are categorized under headings such as "Defence outlays". Yet significant relevant spending may be classified in other ways - as outlays for science and technology (military research or research associated with military industrial production), for state-operated industry (e.g. domestic arms production), for police forces (para-military or internal security), state finance (pension funds) and so forth. Moreover some parts of what is labelled military spending in some countries may be considered civilian elsewhere - e.g. civil aviation or aviation control. All these may be quite innocent classification decisions. Less so is the deliberate hiding of relevant items of military expenditures in unlikely or out of the way places, or in extremely vague or residual categories - the proverbial "other" category.3 Double book-keeping. This is a matter of a double set of accounts for military expenditure: one set for public consumption; another, very much more detailed set, for internal use. Ball cites US intelligence and diplomatic officials confirming such practices by a number of Third World countries, and systematically under-stating military spending in their annual reports to the IMF.4 There may be more involved than one false set of public books and one valid and reliable set of in-house accounting. Even within the military there are likely to be struggles over the accuracy of reporting, particularly where extra-budgetary sources of revenue are at stake and are not wholly under the control of the central military finance authorities. Extra-budgetary accounts. This is usually thought of as a problem of accounting for revenues, but given the
2. The following section draws on a number of sources. The most systematic and helpful are Nicole Ball, "Measuring third world security expenditure: a research note", World Development, 12,2 (1984), "The security sector, the budget and development", IDS Bulletin, 16,4, (1985); and Michael Brzoska, "The reporting of military expenditures", Journal of Peace Research, XVIII,3 (1981), "Arms transfer data sources", Journal of Conflict Resolution, 26,1 (1982), "Third world arms control: problems of verification", Bulletin of Peace Proposals, 14,2 (1983). See also the statistical notes accompanying military expenditure and arms trade time series in the recent editions of SIPRI (Stockholm International Peace Research Institute), World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook, (London: Taylor and Francis, annual); United States, Arms Control and Disarmament Agency [ACDA] (annual), World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers, (Washington: ACDA); and the IMF, Balance of Payments Manual, (Washington: IMF, 4th edition, 1977) and later editions. In addition see Clare Mundy and Dan Smith, "'Facts' about the military", Journal of Peace Research, XVII,3 (1980); Blackaby and Ohlson, op. cit.; Edward A. Kolodziej, "Measuring French arms transfers", Journal of Conflict Resolution, 23,2 (1979); Amelia C. Leiss, "International transfers of armaments: can social scientists deal with quantitative issues?", in Sheldon W. Simon (ed.), The Military and Security in the Third World, (Boulder: Westview, 1978): Edward J. Laurence and Ronald G. Sherwin, "Understanding arms transfers through data analysis", in ibid.; and Edward J. Laurence and Joyce A. Mullen, "Assessing and analysing international arms trade data", in David J. Louscher and Michael D. Salomone (eds.), Marketing Security Assistance, (Lexington: D.C.Heath, 1987). 3. One student of the Indonesian military budget suggested that the foreign exchange costs of considerable amounts of Indonesian foreign military purchases are hidden in the annual "Errors and Corrections" to the national accounts. [PS/34] 4. Ball, "Measuring third world security expenditure", op.cit., p.158, and "The security sector, the budget and development", p.45. Ball cites one State Department official to the effect that one country following this practice had two completely different sets of books, with the internal books showing expenditures several times larger than those reported to the IMF. See Nicole Ball, "Measuring third world security expenditure...", op.cit., p.158.


extent of rentier activity by Indonesian military personnel some thought should be given to estimating the value of the non-military uses to which military resources are put. Military assistance. Military assistance, in its various forms, is usually reported by the donor government. When these reports are compared with the published references by recipient governments, there are often considerable discrepancies. Not all assistance involves arms transfers, but since the 1970s many military aid programmes have consisted of concessionary terms of credit for imported military equipment. Military-related external debt. Using Brzoska's (1983) estimation procedure for the military-related component of new foreign debt in Third World countries, it is possible to indicate the probable order of magnitude of the unreported military component of foreign debt.5 This can often be remarkably high. Indonesian military revenue sources Difficulties in analyzing the military budget are in part due to the most distinctive property of the Indonesian military, which is also the best known - the diverse institutionalized sources of extra-budgetary revenue which make up a large proportion of total military revenue. There is no reliable estimate of the size of the extra-budgetary revenue, and, in any case, the proportion has certainly varied over the years. Different observers in the 1970s and early 1980s placed the proportion of the total budget accounted for by these unacknowledged sources from 30% to 60% of total military spending. In 1970, an editorial in the ABRI newspaper Angkatan Bersenjata claimed that the routine budget of the military met only half of its needs.6 A year earlier the Army Deputy Chief of Staff for Administrative Affairs, Major-General Hartono said that the official budget supplied only 40% of the Army's requirements. A year later the Navy Chief of Staff said his service's official budget allocation covered only 30-40% of its actual spending7. Further outbreaks of budgetary honesty have been rare, and subsequent estimates have been based on the judgements of outsiders. In 1972 Wirjasuputra and Rieffel reported estimates of the extra-budgetary revenues at 30% to 50% of the total.8 In 1980 Jenkins reported estimates of extra-budgetary sources at 50% to 60% of the total.9 By 1986 the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute announced that its own estimates of actual Indonesian military spending were arrived at by adjusting published official data for the 30% of spending believed to come
5. See Brzoska, "Third world arms control", op.cit. 6. Angkatan Bersenjata, 4 March 1970 cited by Harold Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, (revised edition, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978), p.274. Since the armed forces development budget at the time was negligible, this implies that the actual military budget was twice the size of the published one. 7. Pedoman, 30 September 1969 and Indonesia Raya, 28 March 1970 respectively, cited in Crouch, op.cit., p.274. 8. Aninda S. Wirjasuputera and Alexis Rieffel, "Military enterprises", Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies, VIII,2 (1972), p.106. 9. David Jenkins, "The military's secret cache", Far Eastern Economic Review, February 8, 1980, P.70.


from extra-budgetary sources.10 (See Table 7.1 and Figures 7.1 and 7.2.) Such extra-budgetary sources of revenue consisted of at least three major types: (a) revenues made available to military bodies from state-controlled companies ostensibly unrelated to the military, such as Pertamina, the state oil company; (b) revenues accruing to parts of the military organization from the participation of military personnel in trading and production enterprises, often in concert with private capitalists; here a distinction can be made between revenues generated primarily for the direct use of military organization as such, and revenues appropriated for the personal benefit of the officers controlling the enterprises though in fact the boundaries between "general" military benefit and "private" personal benefit are fluid and subject to change; (c) the direct appropriation of local resources by military personnel in village and kampung settings.11 Domestic budgets The fact that so large, and unknown a proportion of the total military budget is known to come from extra-budgetary sources often results in a reluctance to discuss what is known from official sources, and an unwillingness to consider the implications of existing data. This is understandable, but may be unnecessarily restrictive. For the purposes of this discussion, I will assume that the extra-budgetary sources, unless otherwise stated, do not alter the

10. SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmaments, 1986" op.cit., p.146. This is a most conservative estimate, but adds to the standing of SIPRI's approach. 11. These revenues are in at least two forms. Firstly, a number of "self-propelling" civil defence arrangements are financed by the local population, not the central military authorities. See Dorodjatun Kuntjoro-Jakti and T.A.M. Simatupang, "Indonesia: defence expenditures in the period of the New Order, 1967-1985" in Chin Kin Wah (ed.), Defence Spending in Southeast Asia, (Singapore: Institute for Southeast Asian Studies, 1987), p.131. Secondly, soldiers are able to appropriate varying levels of local surpluses for their own use.





conclusions drawn from this review of the budgetary sources. It may then be possible to be more precise about exactly what information is being withheld, and what restrictions need to be placed on this discussion based on official budgetary information. Official data on the military budget in the New Order period have been published in at least three series in Indonesia: the papers for the annual State Income and Expenditure Budget [Anggaran Pendapatan dan Belanja Negara - APBN], the Financial Notes [Nota Keuangan] and the Five-Year Plan [Repelita] reports. The basic data for military spending from FY 1970 to FY 1983, according to these sources, are set out in Table 7.2 (current and constant [1980] rupiahs). The division of total expenditures into "routine" and "development" is common to all categories of Indonesian government spending in the period, although the definitions may vary from sector to sector. In the case of the military, "routine" expenditures appear to include pay and allowances, maintenance and travel.12 Development spending (which is financed partly domestically and partly from foreign military aid) covers spending on physical infrastructure for the military (barracks, soldiers' facilities, military installations and the like), military equipment, and weapons systems. However, it is also claimed by some observers that the "development" budget is divided into "internal" and "external" spending. Internal spending covers the items mentioned, plus at least part of the wages of military personnel on "karyawan" duties. External spending includes military spending on "non-military" social services - such as "ABRI masuk desa" ["The Armed Forces enters the village"]; contributions to village facilities, mosques and roads; and some portion of the costs of the transmigration programme, including costs of ex-ABRI security personnel attached to transmigration programmes, and in a few cases, special all-ABRI family transmigration sites in Sumatra and Irian Jaya.13 This claim is plausible, though it does not correspond to the evidence in the only known example of a detailed breakdown of the official budget, provided by the Department of Defence and Security

12. Jenkins, op.cit., p.70. 13. PS/10.



[Hankam] to the United Nations in 1980.14 Most likely there are at least two accounting systems used in Hankam: one, based on publicly acknowledged sources of revenue, which necessarily omits various items of revenue and expenditure since they cannot be admitted publicly; and another which is more complete on both the revenue and expenditure sides.15 Pertamina and other state enterprises The state-owned corporate sector, "the largest and most crucial element of domestic capital in Indonesia"16, provides the fiscal basis for the military in two crucial ways. Firstly, for the bulk of the New Order period, publicly-acknowledged state revenues have been overwhelmingly derived from taxes and royalties on natural resource exploitation funnelled through state-owned enterprises, especially Pertamina. Secondly, as Robison put it, State corporations sit astride strategic sectors of the economy and have constituted important sources of revenue for political factions and military commands as well as providing a basis for the accumulation of personal wealth by individual political power-holders.17 This second stream of finance through military hands is partly privatized by the officers administering the activity, and partly "public" - in the sense of being made available for use by military organizations. In some cases, the revenues are available only to a particular unit or section of the military - the Diponegoro division, or Kostrad (Army Strategic Command), for example - in other cases to an element of the organization with broader responsibilities - such as the Department of Defence and Security itself. The Indonesian state oil company, Pertamina has long been regarded as the single most important source of unattributed revenues for the Indonesian military.18 Three features of Pertamina's operations have made it particularly suited to funding of foreign military purchases. Firstly, Pertamina receives huge foreign currency revenues. Secondly,
14. See Appendix 9. 15. It is of course possible that there is only one accounting system, and that it is quite misleading even for internal use on both the revenue and expenditure sides. For example, it may well be against the interests of military controllers of extra-budgetary resources to reveal the full extent to the military finance section. The assumption of the rational and coherent state is least plausible when large amounts of secret unaccountable monies are involved. Senior officials in economic and planning departments claim to know little of the actual make-up of the military-budget. "They are just given the bottom line in the broad categories." [PS/13] If this is true it must make a number of normal fiscal and budgetary measures extremely difficult, particularly given the impact of the military budget on the government's foreign exchange obligations. There is almost certainly two more or less constant struggles over money: between military finance officials and other economic planners on the one hand; and on the other between central military finance officers and officers who effectively control non-budgetary revenues. In recent years the latter conflict has been intense as service heads have been attempting to regain control over what were once military companies that subsequently become effectively privatized. [PS/14, PS/23] 16. Richard Robison, Indonesia - The Rise of Capital, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1986), p.211. 17. Ibid., p.212. 18. On Pertamina generally see Leon Howell,"Indonesia: economic prospects and the status of human rights", International Policy Report, II,3 (1976); Robison, op.cit., p.233-241, and Capitalism and the Bureaucratic State in Indonesia: 1965-1975, Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Department of Government, University of Sydney, 1977; Peter McCawley, "Some Consequences of the Pertamina Crisis in Indonesia, Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, IX,1 (1978); and H.W.Arndt, "Oil and the Indonesian economy", Southeast Asian Affairs 1983, (Singapore: Institute for Southeast Asian Studies, 1983). On Pertamina's role as military purse see, in addition, Rieffel and Wirjasuputra, op.cit.; Harold Crouch, "Generals and business in Indonesia", Pacific Affairs, 48,4 (1975); and Jenkins,"The military's secret cache", op.cit.


Pertamina was for a long period under the direct control of General Ibnu Sutowo, a financial officer with close personal connections to General Suharto. Thirdly, prior to Ibnu's fall, the Pertamina financial activities were virtually unscrutinised either by other parts of the Indonesian state or by international state financial institutions. Although the reforms after Ibnu's departure rectified many of the abuses of his tenure, many aspects of the organization's financial operations have remained hidden from public accountability.19 While there were suggestions after Ibnu's fall that the company was no longer "the army's pot of gold", discussions with foreign officials involved with armaments purchases by the Indonesian military in the mid-80s confirmed the longtime presumption that Pertamina has remained one route by which large sums of foreign currency are made available to the military.20 Military enterprises One highly distinctive characteristic of the Indonesian military is the direct involvement of members of the officer corps in large numbers of private businesses, in addition to their appropriation of a proportion of the revenues of state-owned corporate enterprises. As with the latter, there is a "private"-"public" continuum of beneficiaries: some military-controlled enterprises operate almost solely to the personal benefit of their controllers, others operate under central military authority to the benefit of the sponsoring military organization, with many gradations in between where the central military authorities have lost control of ostensibly military businesses. Moreover there have been many changes over time in the extent of military involvement, the degree of privatization tolerated by the central authorities, and the business success of the companies concerned. The purpose of this section is not to discuss the structure of military business activities in detail: suffice to point to four stages in the development of these activities. Their origin in the early and middle 1950s lay in the smuggling activities of individual units and commanders. These activities derived from a mix of need and opportunity: on the one hand, the resources available in the state budget for military needs were inadequate; and on the other hand the opportunities unrealistic exchange rates made possible for smuggling and other black market operations were difficult to resist. A second stage came with the takeovers of Dutch enterprises in 1958, which led to a direct military role in the management of large numbers of formerly Dutch plantations, trading houses, banks, shipping firms and so on. In 1965-67, military enterprises benefitted from the confiscation of assets controlled by former Sukarno supporters, and from re-allocation of forestry exploitation rights from state-enterprises to military enterprises. Finally, and most importantly during the New Order period itself, military enterprises flourished, usually in concert with Chinese partners, through the privileged access the military domination of the state allowed to government contracts for supply and construction and, in the context of a dense network of "nationalist" economic controls, import licenses and credits.21
19. For details of the financial maneuvers, and the political struggle against unrestricted military appropriation, see Robison, Indonesia: The Rise of Capital, op.cit., pp.234-238. One United Nations Center for Transantional Corporations observer claimed that in Ibnu's time a significant proportion of Pertamina's revenues and expenditures simply did not pass through the national accounts. 20. PS/45; PS/22. 21. Robison, Indonesia: the Rise of Capital, op.cit., p.254.


It is impossible to know just what financial contribution the military-owned companies made during the past three decades to either overall military revenues or to those of specific sections. Robison argues that the military-owned enterprises reached their peak in the late 1960s and early 1970s, declining subsequently for two reasons. Firstly, most of the firms were under-capitalised and poorly managed. Their controllers displayed a lack of ability (or interest) in consolidating the economic gains made by this essentially primitive capital accumulation by mercantile means into ongoing reinvestment and the development and management of productive activities. The companies served primarily as terminals for the exploitation of politically secured monopolies and concessions, and military companies have been notorious for allowing a run-down of capital stock.22 Secondly, the military administration itself has become more centralized over the life of the New Order and, Robison suggests, this has led to a declining tolerance on the part of ABRI and Hankam financial staffs of the effective privatizing of privatizing of what were originally military revenue sources by individual military commanders23. In the middle and late 1980s, this secular centralizing tendency was strengthened by the hunger for revenue felt by the military as falling oil revenues led to a decline in resources for the military. The overt military funding from the budget begin to shrink, and the share of funds going to general military coffers (rather than those of individual officers) from state-corporate enterprises and from military-owned enterprises declined along with the rest of the economy.24 Consequently, it is not possible to say how much of the proportion of extra-budgetary military funds at any one time has come from the state-corporate sector, and how much from the military-owned sector. Both sectors have come under closer scrutiny in recent years, by other parts of the state and by the military seeking greater regularization, greater efficiency, and reduced levels of military privatization. However it is at present difficult to say very much more at present. It is not known whether the decline in the overt budget as a result of declining oil revenues was accompanied by a comparable decline in revenues from Pertamina. It is not known whether extra-budgetary sources in the late 1980s still accounted for over half the total revenues of the military as they had a decade earlier. It is not yet known whether the efforts of central military authorities to regain control over privatized former military enterprises and to improve efficiency have counter-acted the effects of the general economic decline. Until these questions are answered, attention will remain concentrated on the observable and documented parts of the military budget - the acknowledged military components of the annual state budget and the overt components of foreign military aid. For the rest, it is likely, but not certain, that the extra-budgetary sources, especially those from direct military enterprises, have declined substantially, and are increasingly the
22. Ibid., p.268. 23. For example, the Army under Rudini as Chief of Staff was attempting to remove uncooperative retired Army officers from the control of companies onto whose boards of management they had been placed as part of their Army duties. [PS/13, PS/30] 24. The decline in military enterprises has also been linked to a deepening of capitalist development: the resources that some military groups were able to contribute to their enterprise were simply inadequate in a more complex commercial environment.


subject of political competition. What remains remarkable, however, is how little public intra-elite debate on the military budget takes place and, apparently, how little occurs in private planning debates. And yet a very considerable proportion of national spending remains allocated to de facto military purposes. Levels of military spending In Table 7.2, military spending from the official budget is presented in current rupiahs, and in constant (1980) rupiahs.25 Given the continuous inflation of the New Order period (low though it is by comparison to the hyper-inflation of the last years of Guided Democracy), only constant price data are useful for comparison over time.26 As already pointed out, the real levels of military spending are unknown because of the variable contribution made by extra-budgetary sources, but have probably never been less than one-third as large again, and for a number of years more than twice the level of the overt funding.27 The common claim that the Indonesian military have not used their control over the state to dramatically increase their share of institutional resources is partly supported by these official data. While the total official budget grew more than 6-fold in real terms over the 1970-83 period, the official military budget grew (in constant 1980 prices) by less than half that, from Rp.589 bn. to Rp.1,366 bn. As the total government budget grew, the military budget grew, but at a much slower rate, apparently consuming an ever smaller share of government resources - 29% in FY 1969, declining to 9.7% in FY 1985. However, leaving aside the issue of extra-budget sources of revenue, it must be pointed out that even on official data, the absolute size of the military budget in real terms did grow very substantially, reaching a high point in 1981 before the impact of declining oil revenues began to cut deeply into all sectors of government spending. The two most rapid jumps in military spending occurred in the middle and late 1970s, when state revenues on oil showed their greatest annual jump28.
25. Table 7.1 and Figures 7.1 and 7.2 show variations in estimates by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute [SIPRI]. 26. The difficulties of generating reliable time-series data on military spending in general are discussed in well-known. The general point is that the representation of the meaning of data is inextricably linked to the intention behind its preparation. No single representation will reveal all meanings, and none is, in an unreflective sense, "the truth". For the present purposes, an Implicit Price Deflator Index for the area of Government Final Consumption (from the United Nations series of National Accounts Statistics, (New York: United Nations [earlier editions under the title Yearbook of National Account Statistics]), was applied to the current price data from the annual budgets. The tables and graphs based on this provide a more accurate representation of the internal fiscal significance of military spending than either current price data, or the common practice of converting Indonesian current price data into constant US dollars by one of several different methods. See, for example the different methods used in SIPRI , World Armaments and Disarmament, 1986, op.cit.; ACDA, World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers, (Washington: Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, 1985), pp.145-147. The former practice is usually meaningless over time - and are often used in misleading ways. The latter technique is intended to assist in international comparisons. However for the purposes at hand - the internal significance of military budgets - the technique also includes the effect of variation in exchange rates, which in the Indonesian case, have been considerable. With the exception of purchases of military equipment from abroad, most official budgetary (as opposed to extra-budgetary) spending is domestic, and approximates in character the broad range of government final consumption. 27. Harold Crouch, one of the closest watchers of this issue over many years, has taken issue with this assumption if it includes the late 1980s. He has suggested that it is likely that in absolute terms the non-budgetary sources have remained static or even declined. (Personal communication) 28. Richard Robison, "After the gold rush: the politics of economic restructuring in Indonesia", in Richard Robison, Kevin Hewison and Richard Higgot (eds.), Southeast Asia in the 1980s: the Politics of Economic Crisis, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1987), Table 2.5.


If it is assumed that, on average over the New Order period, the official budget accounted for 60% of the total military budget, then the share of social and state resources appropriated by the military is very much greater than usually acknowledged on the basis of official statistics. If by the official figures military spending in FY 1970 accounted for a little more than a quarter (27%) of state expenditures, the actual situation was that the military consumed almost two-fifths (38%) of the resources potentially available to the state as a whole. By FY 1983, when the state budget had grown more than five-fold, the official level of military spending had declined as a proportion of the total budget to only 11%, but the actual spending accounted for more than a sixth (16%) of this much larger total. The most striking feature of the official military budget over this period, apart from its general rise, has been the growth of the development budget, from a negligible level in the late 1960s and early




1970s, to a small but significant development budget in the middle 1970s, and a major expenditure trend from FY 1978 on. At the high point of 1981, development spending was almost a third of the total official military budget, and was still more than a quarter by FY 1983. While the precise make-up of this is unclear, there is no doubt that the armed forces spent a great deal more on internal military infrastructure and on the acquisition of weapons systems and other military equipment through irregular channels. Even on the basis of the official data, the shift of spending priorities from personnel to capital equipment is clear. Over the period 1971 to 1983 the amount of money spent for each member of the armed forces (in constant 1980 rupiah) jumped from Rp.1.8 million to Rp.5.3, before declining slightly in 1984. (See Table 7.3 and Figure 7.3.) The changes are still dramatic even when the decline in the numbers of military personnel is taken into account. Estimating Indonesian military debt A final register of the burden military spending places on the Indonesian economy is the proportion of the external debt due to military purchase. A full accounting of the level and cost of credits for military purchases is impossible without detailed knowledge of (a) unpublicized equipment purchases and unknown prices, and (b) unknown terms of credit. However a procedure devised by Brzoska produces a reasonable estimate of how much of Indonesia's external debt is related to military purchases.29 In Table 7.4 the procedure has been applied to ACDA data for Indonesia for the years 1971-1982. These calculations suggest that in the early and middle 1970s, when Indonesian arms purchases were very restrained, the military-related component of the country's external debt was very small - not exceeding 4% between 1971 and 1977. However, once arms acquisitions began in earnest in the period after 1978, the proportion of military purchases in the country's reported external debt jumped to 10% in 1978 and 33% one year later. Of course, the impact of

29. Brzoska "The military related external debt of third world countries", Journal of Peace Research, 20,3 (1983), Appendix 1. See also Rita Tullberg, "Military-related debt in non-oil developing countries, 1972-82", in SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook 1985, (London: Taylor and Francis, 1985), p.457.



debt is not a one off affair: its effects are manifest over the lifetime of the debt. By the early 1980s 60% of new debt was required to pay debt service on the old.30 Between 1979 and 1981, the proportion of Indonesia's external debt accounted for by military purchases averaged 28% of the reported total. This is one dimension of the burden placed on the economy by unnecessary high-technology military spending. This took place without significant public discussion.31 Foreign aid According to official data, foreign military project aid accounted for none of the very small development budget prior to FY 1978, but by 1980 and thereafter accounted for up to a third of the money spent on physical expansion. (See Table 7.5 and Figure 7.4.) These figures are inaccurate, as can be seen from the levels of military assistance inflows recorded in the data supplied by the United States and others donors. (See Tables 7.6 - 7.7 and Figure 7.5 for US data.) Either such inflows were not accounted for in the published budget, or were allocated to the routine military budget. Either way, actual inflows of military assistance were higher than acknowledged in the official budgets. However, it is important also to notice that the published budget plans each year in that period anticipated still greater contributions from foreign sources to military expansion - as evident in the difference between the planned figure for project aid and the realized figure. Indonesia, during the New Order period, has not been one of the large recipients of military aid from its major allies, the United States, Japan and Australia, compared either to the levels of Soviet aid in the

30. Table 7.4 provides an estimate of the military-related component of two measures of net flows of external debt. The first, reported in line 7, is based on levels of debt reported by the IMF in the World Debt Tables, (Washington: International Monetary Fund, annual). The second, reported in line 8, adjusts this figure by a factor of 10% due to the fact that the IMF data do not necessarily include military debt. This procedure is that adopted by the OECD in its attempt at a more reasonable portrayal of Third World debt. See Tullberg, op.cit. The amount of direct gifts from countries other than the United States (such as Australia) is reported in line 3 as "not known". On the basis of the comparatively small Australian donations, it could be surmised that full knowledge of this item would slightly lower the figures in line 4, arms to be paid for. 31. By contrast, when the Thai military announced their decision to purchase F-16 aircraft in 1984 pressure against the purchase was intense even within the state. The Ministers of Finance and Economics both stressed the burden that would be placed on the level of debt and the balance of payments. Although the purchases finally went ahead, a National Debt-Policy Committee was set up to control foreign and domestic borrowing, although there have been suggestions the body is unable to control military borrowing. See SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook 1986, op.cit., p.222.




early 1960s, or the massive aid from the United States in the New Order period to Asian allies such as the Philippines, South Korea and Pakistan. But foreign military assistance, particularly from the United States, has been substantial. Given the small size of the military development budget in the first years of the New Order, foreign assistance has made an important contribution to the material development of the Indonesian military, a contribution which grew substantially through the first decade and a half of the New order period.32 With the decline in state revenues available to the military, and consequential smaller budgets, the contribution of foreign military aid to the development budget may well grow once more (especially through credits). As already noted, there is a discrepancy between the negligible project aid component of the military development budget prior to 1978 and the known substantial inflows of foreign military aid from the United States, Australia, Britain and elsewhere between 1966 and 1978. It is not yet clear whether this discrepancy is a consequence of a change in the budgetary accounting categories (of "project aid"), or part of the wider pattern of concealment. Force structure: plans, personnel and weapons systems The history of the Indonesian armed forces in the New Order years has been well told in terms of the political significance of internal organization, geographical demarcation of territorial authority, the relationship of power centres in the Armed Forces Headquarters and the Department of Defence and Security, the centralization of power over the regions, and the expansion and consolidation of command dominance by ethnic Javanese.33 While each of these elements is important for an explanation of the broader place of the military in Indonesian politics, here I will focus on the relatively neglected aspects of forcestructure, weapons-systems acquisition, and changes in institutional doctrine. While these were considerably affected by the re-organizations of ABRI in 1969, 1973-74, and 198385, those re-organizations have mainly been interpreted

32. In this light, even the quantitatively small Australian military contribution has been more significant than would otherwise be thought. 33. See Ulf Sundhaussen, The Road to Power: Indonesian Military Politics, 1945-1967, (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1982); Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, op.cit.; David Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1984); and the more or less annual assessments and reports on the Indonesian military elite by the editors of Indonesia, "Current Data on the Indonesian military elite": "Current data..." hereafter.





from the point of view of command organizations and the implications for internal military politics, and hence, given the political position of the military, for control of the state in general34. What follows is a different story. The transformation The gathering swell of spending on the military, within and beyond the official budget, has been used, especially after 1975, to effect a radical transformation in the force structure of the Indonesian armed forces. The new strategy involves an attempt to establish a politically dominant but professionalized military force, with a force structure appropriate to executing two tasks: sophisticated pacification of the domestic population and an externally-oriented conventional strategic military organization. The new stance, associated primarily with the tenure of Moerdani as Armed Forces Commander, represents a break from the earlier Indonesian doctrine of total defence based primarily on the capacity for popularly-supported guerilla warfare, towards a mix of that system and conventional professional military defence. Equally, the new orientation is different from what 1960s observers of the Latin American military referred to as "the new professionalism" - meaning a switch in the roles of the officer corps of that continent from defence against external attack to defeat of internal subversion; from an ideal of military subordination to civilian control towards the presumption that the military must intervene in political life; from a narrowly "military" conception of security to a totalistic concept of the security of the nation as many-faceted - economic no less than military, cultural and ideological no less than policing.35 The new stance attempts to embody both sides of these sets of apparent opposites: professionally trained in advanced military technology, and politically involved; highly concerned with domestic security in the broadest sense, and with an externally oriented conventional defence strategy; consolidating the framework of "total people's defence and security" based finally on a defensive-offensive guerilla strategy, and acquiring the capital-intensive weapons systems appropriate for defence-at-a-distance strategies and conventional strategic warfare. This shift marks a new point in the internal Indonesian military debate about force structures. The Indonesian military have always been politically involved, but the commitment to technologically accented professionalism was for a long period, seriously contested. McVey discusses the origins of the October 17, 1952 attempted coup de force as partly originating from the attempts of the PSI-oriented (and largely Dutch KNILtrained) high command to dismiss a senior Javanese officer, Colonel Bambang Supeno for his criticisms of proposals to halve the numbers of the swollen post-revolutionary army and establish a smaller, highly trained mobile "cadre force". The arguments on both sides at the time were, as McVey reminds us, a mingling of "romance and reality", and considerably influenced by considerations such as the relative powers of central and regional groupings within the army. However the choice that was posed at the time was one which bears powerful implications not only for military force structures themselves, but for the form of relation to the world economy likely to be favoured by the military,
34. On the re-organizations and their interpretation see the successive analyses in "Current Data..." (various years). 35. See Alfred Stepan, "The new professionalism of internal warfare and military role expansion", in Amos Perlmutter and Valerie Plave Bennett (eds.), The Political Influence of the Military, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980).


and the relations between the military and the wider society. Arguments for a large, mass army emphasizing human and political resources such as Bambang Supeno presented are often successfully portrayed as irrational or romantic, especially as, in Bambang Supeno's case, he invoked the nostalgia for the revolution. However, the arguments Bambang Supeno adduced at the time have some cogency, not just for Indonesia at the time, but a great many states in the global system: Bambang Supeno stressed that for Indonesia manpower was cheap and locally produced, while heavy equipment would cost a great deal in scarce foreign exchange and require skills and servicing which the country was by no means equipped to provide. That the proponents of a cadre army, for their part, were not unmoved by romantic considerations is evident from their monument-building assertions (in the light of the national budget) that they sought to provide Indonesia with an armed force of internationally recognized excellence - not to mention the eventual acquisition of a great deal of impressive, expensive and unnecessary materiel. To the opponents of a highly equipped army, this course promised debt and dependence on foreign powers, just as it seemed to the more westernized army leaders with their emphasis on expertise, technological advancement and discipline, to be the natural choice.36 The end result of the 1952 affair was that the proponents of a cadre army around Nasution over-reached themselves, and Nasution was out of power for four years. However, by the late 1950s the influx of Soviet military aid provided the opportunity for the beginning of the technological commitments Nasution wanted to make. However, in the late 1970s, a more complex and firmly based commitment occurred, one which coincided with a professionalization of the type of political-military controls over the population which had in the meantime come to preoccupy the Indonesian army in lieu of either of the two options McVey discussed. Force structures: 1968 - 1987 In the remainder of this chapter I will discuss changes in the force structure of the Indonesian armed forces - the numbers and quality of personnel, their organization, and the weapons systems they are expected to use. I will then discuss the evolution of military planning since 1968 and the development of the Strategic (Defence and Security) Plans [Rencana Strategis - Renstra] after 1974. The doctrinal shifts and the central domestic emphasis will not be discussed here. The numbers in the Indonesian Armed Forces have fluctuated substantially in the New Order period. (See Table 7.8 and Figure 7.6.) The waves of rationalization of the 1950s37 had shed a fair portion of the revolutionary generation, but by 1968 340,000 still remained on the military payroll - indeed, two years later the size reached a high point of
36. Ruth McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation of the Indonesian army, part I", Indonesia, 11 (1971), p.145. Sundhaussen gives a more detailed account of the conflict between Bambang Supeno and the command group around Nasution, although he does not discuss this particular issue. The proponents of a cadre army did have a point at that time, as a consequence of the aging of the large numbers of revolutionary fighters. Not only was there a budgetary crisis exacerbated by a large wages bill, but some 40% of soldiers were physically unfit for service, and the average age of the army was 32 years. At the time of the 1952 incident B.Supeno was close to Soekarno, and in the first Seskoad seminar in August 1966, Bambang Supeno opposed Soeharto's claims for the need to expand the political mission of the army. See Sundhaussen, op.cit., p.243. 37. McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation...", Part I, op.cit.


365,000. The army made up the great bulk of that figure - 275,000 (with further 100110,000 in the militia). Cuts in the army reduced its size to 180,000 by 1976, a level at which it stabilized for a few years before moving back up towards 216,000 by 1985.38 The size of the militia was stable for many years at 100,000 until 1979, when it was dropped to a stable 70,000. The size of the navy was more or less stable at around 40,000, but including 12-14,000 marines. The size of the air force was similarly stable at around 25-30,000, including air defence units and

38. All services were subject to purges in the years after 1965, perhaps most importantly Soeharto's own division, the Diponegoro.




paratroops under air force command. The police mobile brigade was cut from 20,000 to 12,000 in 1974, and has remained at that size ever since.39 In numerical terms, military control of the government has not led to an expansion in the size of the armed forces. However, given theinflated size of the revolutionary generation cohort, the efforts throughout the 1950s to reduce their numbers, and the lack of serious external threats, this is not surprising. Neither is it particularly important in military terms. What matters more than raw numbers is the organization of troops into appropriate organizational forms, their level of training, and their capacity to utilize weapon-systems acquired for them. Force structure in 1968 It is convenient to take 1968 as a base year from which to observe the effects of the subsequent planning. By 1967/68, the Armed Forces considered the PKI/G30S enemy to be sufficiently under control to set about "fixing itself up"40. By that time the Indonesian armed forces were divided into three clear services, each headed by a commander or chief of staff and staff to go with the position. In the army, 275,000 men were organized into about 100 battalions, which in turn made up 16 infantry brigades.41 These brigades, in turn, were organized into the major territorial divisional commands - Diponegoro, Siliwangi, Brawijaya in Java, and others elsewhere. These divisions were primarily involved in internal security duties under the doctrine of territorial management developed in the 1950s, and later came to be termed "bulk divisions" or "Family [rumpun] divisions".42 Divisional pride rivalled allegiance to the army as a whole. In organizational terms, these units were divisional in name only, lacking the internal unit differentiation of functions that characterizes most modern military units of that name. They were quite incapable of operating at brigade level, let alone divisional level - and had never been called upon to do so. In operational terms, the most important parts of the army in 1968 were not the large numbers of territorial troops, but the rather smaller number of better-trained troops allotted to the elite Strategic Reserve, Kostrad [Komando (Cadangan) Strategis TNI-AD] and the RPKAD, the Army Paratroop Regiment [Resimen Para Komando Angkatan Darat]. Four brigades, mainly paratroops, were assigned to Kostrad, the strategic reserve
39. Personnel data in this paragraph are drawn from The Military Balance (various issues). These are not altogether satisfactory. It is only in recent years that the publisher of The Military Balance, the International Institute for Strategic Studies [IISS], has provided significant notes on methods of organizing data. For an assessment of The Military Balance series on armed forces size see Blackaby and Ohlson, op.cit. On other data series see the important critique by Clare Mundy and Dan Smith, "'Facts' about the military", Journal of Peace Research, XVII,3 (1980); and Michael Brozska "The reporting of military expenditures", Journal of Peace Research, XVIII,3 (1981). Writing about IISS series on military expenditure, Brzoska concludes that "[t]he use of IISS milex figures for LDC [Less Developed Countries] therefore can only be discouraged." Ibid., p.26. Crouch provides a comparable but slightly different set of figures. See his The Army and Politics in Indonesia, op.cit., p.198. 40. Indonesia, Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun Keempat - Repelita IV, , 1984/85 - 1988/89, (Jakarta: Republik Indonesia, 1984) Buku 3, p.476. 41. Data on personnel and equipment are drawn from IISS, The Military Balance, (London, Institute for Strategic Stuides, 1968). For details of force organization see Ruth McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation of the Indonesian army, part II", Indonesia, 13 (1972), pp.174ff. 42. Atmadji, "Untuk pertama kali TNI-AD mempunyai divisi infanteri yang `lengkap'", Sinar Harapan, 3 October 1985. Prior to 1961 divisions were in fact made up of battalions, with territorially-identified regiments above them. That year marked the beginning of a system which distinguished between those units in a division to be used for territorial duties and those to be used as a more mobile (and elite) force, within the division's territory and outside. See McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation..." Part II, op.cit., p.175.


which had evolved from its predecessor TJADUAD [Army General Reserve] in the early 1960s. Kostrad originated from the enthusiasm of officers trained in the US Staff and Command College at Fort Leavenworth for a full-scale airborne strategic reserve corps made up of divisions comparable to the US Army's 82nd Airborne - and from the experience of the PRRI rebellion and the West Irian campaign.43 While Kostrad was nothing like its American models, its troops were better-trained and better-equipped than their territorial peers.44 There was also the small but genuinely elite shock troops of the RPKAD, with roots in the Army's Commando Corps [Korp Komando A.D] in the early 1950s and in the Army Commando Nucleus Force Training course [Pelatih Inti Pasukan Komando A.D.].45 By 1968, just two years after the ending of Soviet military aid, there were substantial shortages of spare parts. While these were less debilitating for the personnel-heavy army than the navy and air force, they certainly reduced the utility of the seven tank battalions equipped with Soviet PT-76 light tanks (although some had French AMX-13s). Small arms consisted of an unplanned and inconsistent mix of Western and Soviet or Eastern European origin, and were often quite ancient. The huge wave of Soviet-bloc equipment funnelled into the technology-based navy and air force had been an important source of the prestige and relative autonomy of these services from the army during Guided Democracy - a product in large part of President Soekarno's desire to find a balance against the otherwise dominant army. The navy, on paper at least, had some 187 combat vessels in 1968. This was, by comparison with its neighbours' fleets, a very large force. This armada included 6 ex-Soviet W-class submarines, an ex-Soviet Sverdlov-class heavy cruiser, and seven ex-Soviet Skory-class destroyers, to say nothing of support vessels and lesser attack craft. In 1968 the air force was similarly exceptionally large on paper, made up of about 550 aircraft. In fact only about 200 of that total were in operational service, but even so, this was a very considerable force. It included 25 Tu-16 medium jet bombers, some with airto-surface missiles, 18 B-25 and B-26 piston-engined light bombers, 55 MiG-15,-17,-19 and 16 MiG-21 interceptors, the last being then very advanced aircraft. But these very large reported naval and air force levels were quite misleading: the sundering of relations with the Soviet Union, the lack of funds for spare parts from other sources or for the few US aircraft, and the low technical level of maintenance kept most
43. See McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation...", Part II, op.cit., pp.174-178 for the development of the elite units which were eventually to become controlled by the central Army leadership as the strategic reserve. See also Atmadji, "Untuk pertama kali TNI-AD mempunyai divisi infanteri yang `lengkap'", Sinar Harapan, 3 October 1985, "Peperangan modern menuntut kecepatan pemindahan pasukan", Suara Pembaruan, 6 March 1987; "Kostrad, satuan-satuan elite yang digunakan secara sembarang", Suara Pembaruan, 21 August 1987. Kostrad, formed in 1963, was preceded by Army Corps I/Army General Reserve [Korps Tentara I/Tjadangan Umum Angkatan Darat - Korra I/Tjaduad], formed 6 May 1961, with Deputy Army Chief of Staff Brigadier-General Soeharto as the first commander. 44. I am grateful to Harold Crouch for reminding me that Kostrad did not have its own exclusive troops until the re-structuring of the mid-1980s. Rather, it drew from units within the three Javanese divisions ear-marked for its use, at the call of the Kostrad commander. 45. See McVey, "The post-revolutionary transformation...", op.cit., p.174. She remarks later: The KOSTRAD, formed following the dissolution of the Mandala Command in May 1963, initially had jurisdiction over the RPKAD and the first three infantry brigades which it had inherited from the TJADUAD. However, unlike the regular army divisions, the KOSTRAD underwent no period of temporary retrenchment following the end of the Irian campaign; instead it expanded very rapidly, adding cavalry and artillery brigades, upgrading its infantry components, and strengthening the RPKAD. Ibid., p.177.


of this equipment out of action. Even in 1968, for the six submarines still in service, another six were in mothballs. Within two years, The Military Balance judged that The operational strength of the Navy and Air Force is well below the number quoted. It is thought that only the active fleet submarines, and the light strike and transport aircraft are fully operational.46 By 1970 the Air Force admitted that only 15-20% of its aircraft could be flown, and the navy inspector-general said that 60% of the fleet could not be used.47 In sum, by 1968 the navy and air force were of very limited operational use, and the army, while experienced at small-unit counter-insurgency operations over a decade and a half, was primarily a force for domestic control, inflated in size compared to its resources and actual military duties, and with important exceptions, poorly trained and poorly equipped. The basis of defence planning prior to the mid-1970s is unclear. The defence ideology of "People's War" from the Guided Democracy period, and the earlier doctrines of "territorial management" developed by Nasution and others out of the army's experiences during the revolution and the counter-insurgency campaigns of the 1950s and early 1960s sat oddly with the huge imports of aging and increasingly inoperable eastern bloc military technology. Whatever the planning involved, the period from 1966 - 1974 was characterized by very small rises in the military budget in real terms, a minimal military development budget, low levels of US military assistance, and limited foreign purchases of major weapons. Most of the military aircraft and ships obtained in that period were provided by the United States or Australia as military aid, usually as grants or for nominal cost (e.g. the four US Claud Jones Class frigates). While some combat aircraft were provided, they were aging excess stocks from the donor countries (Australian Korean War vintage CA27 Sabres and United States WWII vintage F-51 Mustangs). Even these required considerable ongoing foreign assistance to be maintained at some operational level. Renstra I and the Timor expansion, 1974/75 - 1978/79 The first National Strategic Plan - Renstra I [Rencana Strategic Nasional] began in 1974, timed to coordinate with the Second Five-Year Development Plan [Repelita II] According to a sketchy summary published subsequently, Renstra I (1974/75 - 1978/79) had few implications for force structure despite great need, being severely limited by the scarcity of resources. It was concerned with "consolidation" and "regrouping", concentrating on rehabilitating the limited weapons systems and support equipment left over from the period of Soviet largesse, with "limited replacement".48 This may have been the original intention behind Renstra I, but the resulting pattern of spending, arms purchases and expansion of support facilities was quite different. In real
46. IISS, The Military Balance 1970, op.cit. p.63. 47. Crouch, The Army and Politics..., op.cit., p.240. In 1971 a parliamentary commission described the fleet's condition as "extremely sad". 48. Indonesia, Repelita IV, op.cit., Buku 3, p.476. See also the discussion in Dorojatun and Simatupang op.cit. Unfortunately their analysis does not discuss the discrepancy between the limited growth planned for in Renstra I and the great expansion that began to get underway after 1975. The summaries published in the subsequent Repelitas also do not burden the reader with the truth.


terms (1980 prices), the ABRI official budget jumped from Rp.638 bn. in 1973/74 to Rp.994 bn. two years later, and reached Rp. 1067 bn. by the end of Renstra I in 1978/79. The military development budget showed an even more spectacular jump from Rp.31 bn. to Rp.180 bn. over the life of the plan, reflecting the expansion of the arsenal and physical infrastructure that began in 1975. United States military aid, which had been small and steady in the late sixties and seventies suddenly expanded in 1975 and remained well above pre-1975 levels thereafter, reaching a high in 1978. The deviation from the plan had one major cause - the failure of the invasion in East Timor; and had one facilitating factor - the revenues from the dramatic oil price increases of 1974 that began to be available to the military.49 The invasion of East Timor in December 1975 was meant to be a quick and limited military campaign to overcome the FRETILIN-led nationalist government which had grown stronger rather than weaker as a result of the radio campaigns and intelligence operations of Ali Moertopo.50 There was little indication of planning for the war which was to last more than a decade, and which was to amount to the most substantial military operation ever undertaken by the nominally large Indonesian military. The debacle of the invasion and the first two years of the subsequent occupation led to substantial re-orientation of weapons acquisition policy, an influx of new and increasingly sophisticated weapons, improved training, a regeneration of support and transportation equipment and gradual changes in force structure. (See Figure 7.7.) The list of major equipment orders between 1975 and 1979 shows quite clearly the results of this period of planned "consolidation" and "limited replacement": 400 U.S. and French light tanks, armoured personnel carriers and mechanized infantry combat vehicles; 200 plus Exocet ship-to-ship missiles and 96 Sidewinder air-to-air missiles; 3 Dutch and 1 Yugoslavian frigates, 4 Korean fast attack craft and 2 Tacoma landing ships, and 2 German submarines; Boeing, Lockheed Hercules, Fokker and King Air transports; a squadron each of OV10 Bronco counter-insurgency aircraft, A-4E Israeli fighter/bombers, F-5E and F-5F fighter/trainer aircraft and British Hawk jet trainer/strike aircraft; in addition to more Nomads for maritime patrol and helicopters.51 The cumulative effect only began to meet the needs of the war in Timor and to begin to repair the low operational capacities of the Armed Forces as a whole. But the out-ofplan expenditures marked the beginnings of a significant change in force structure and
49. Dorojatun and Simatupang mention another factor: the acquisition of a number of advanced weapons systems (F-5 fighter aircraft and naval equipment) in the 1975-76 period following the fall of Saigon. Op.cit., p.121. Just how important this effect was is not clear and calls for work on both the Indonesian and U.S. ends of the arms transfers of the time. 50. See Hamish Macdonald, Suharto's Indonesia, (Melbourne: Fontana/Collins, 1980); and Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, op.cit. Richard Tanter, "The military situation in East Timor", Pacific Research, January 1977 attempted an assessment of the first year of the war. 51. See Table 7.10 Major arms imports, Indonesia, 1971 - 1987.


sheer military capacity. Renstra II, 1978/79 - 1983/84 Renstra II coincided with the appointment of Mohammed Jusuf as Defence Minister and ABRI commander. Jusuf, a devout Muslim Buginese aristocrat who had spent the previous thirteen years in non-military duties, came to office in 1978 promising an overhaul of the armed forces. In highly publicized inspection tours he spoke of the need to improve the lot of the common soldier and to dampen the enthusiasm of senior officers for conspicuous consumption. The reason was clear: Remember the past...We slept in the homes of the people in the villages. We ate in their kitchens. We even got cigarettes from them. They covered long distances to tell us of enemy movements. Now we no longer need to trouble the people. We have houses of our own, rice and cigarettes. And then there are explosions in churches and mosques. No people come to give information to the police or the intelligence assistant. We must reflect why this is so.52 This also led to the beginning of the upgrading of what Jusuf referred to as "territorial cultivation" - social-political control of the Kodams as a priority.53 But equally there was the debacle in East Timor. Jusuf visited the war zone fourteen times in his first eleven months (his predecessor Maraden Panggabean visited twice in two years). Reports of the Indonesian failure to subdue the Fretilin "bandits" were beginning to reach wider circles. The incompetent reality behind the well-cultivated prestigious ABRI image was showing through at a time of rising disenchantment with the military's domestic behaviour. Jusuf's solution in East Timor was a mixture of increased training and discipline amongst troops, utilization of the weaponry coming on stream, and application of a ferocious military policy on the ground in East Timor. One difficulty in analyzing Indonesian military developments is the lack of public data about the composition of military spending, apart from its total. This makes comparisons over time difficult. However, as already mentioned, the Department of Defence and Security supplied the United Nations with a breakdown of military spending for the fiscal year of 1978.54 This allows comparison between the pattern of spending in the Indonesian armed forces at the time, and other countries. Table 7.9 sets out for the military budgets of Indonesia and South Korea the proportions of the (reported) total military budgets allocated to personnel, operations and maintenance, and to procurement and maintenance.55
52. David Jenkins, "General Jusuf: a man from the past leads the march to the future", Far Eastern Economic Review, March 2, 1979. 53. Ibid., p.19. 54. See Appendix 9. 55. The categories in the two sets of data are not wholly compatible. accordingly the results should be treated as a basis for broad comparisons only. For the Indonesian data see Appendix 9. The South Korean data are drawn from Charles Wolf, Jr. et al, The Changing Balance: South and North Korean Capabilities for Long-Term Military Competion, (Santa Monica: Rand Corporation, R-3305/1 NA, December 1985), p.47. The Korean figures for personnel spending and operations in 1978 are calculated estimates on the basis of reliable data up to 1975. The figure for procurements is a residual based on deducting the figures for personnel and operations from data for total spending supplied by the Korean Institute for Defense Analysis [KIDA].


The figures in Table 7.9 show the relative technological underdevelopment of the Indonesian armed forces compared with South



Korean forces. The Korean forces had undergone several Force Improvement Programs from the mid-1960s, as well as the benefits of a number of years operating in South Vietnam and operations in South Korea under an integrated U.S.-Korean command. Whereas the South Korean budget allocated only 38% of its spending to personnel costs, the Indonesian figure was 48%, and the technology-poor army higher still at 59%. By contrast, the South Korean military allocated more than one-third of their budget to new equipment and construction: the Indonesian armed forces allocated 23%, and the army only 14%. Even if it is assumed that extra-budgetary spending by the Indonesian armed forces was allocated primarily to procurement and construction, the data still demonstrate how far the Indonesian force structure in 1978 was from the profile of a modern, technologyand capital-intensive force. This was the pattern Jusuf and Moerdani intended to change during the periods of Renstra II and III. The summary of Renstra II offered in the Third Five-Year Development Plan [Repelita III] set out the following programs of development: A. Major Defence Force Program, concentrating on economy and efficiency, with the army emphasizing the Territorial Defence Force and building up a reserve force, and the navy and air force emphasizing central forces and central transport capacity. B. Security Forces Program, aimed at building police regional and central forces, as well as police mobility, community security support programs, and intelligence. C. General Support Major Program, made up of research and development, education, administration and logistics. D. Program Utama Bakti ABRI. The Army portions of the major defence force program, were two-fold: improving army striking power at the centre, in terms of equipment, training and mobility; and the Territorial Defence Program, the Army's long-standing prime interest: The priority for the Army is the development of all corners of the national territory to reach a stable territorial condition, able to develop the village as a base for total people's defence; developing territorial defence striking capacity, including supply and preparation, improving the capacity of the intelligence apparatus from the Kodam level to the Koramil level, so that (it) is able to watch and monitor, obstruct, localize and centralize each disturbance or threat as quickly as possible.56 Renstra II marks the beginning of the decade-long concern to simultaneously develop both technologically-powerful combat strike forces and village- and urban-based territorial forces to control the population. This is reflected in the intelligence priorities of the plan as a whole - in the Territorial and Police programs as already mentioned, and in the strategic concerns of the separate Intelligence and Central Communications Program, which sought increased strategic intelligence through an increase in the existing personnel capacity
56. Indonesia, Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun Ketiga - Repelita III, 1978/79 - 1983/84, (Jakarta: Republik Indonesia, 1979), Buku 3, p. 313.


and an addition of expert resources, plus increasing surveillance and appreciation of the strategic environment, both within the country and abroad, in the fields of politics, the economy, society and culture, psychology and military affairs, so that these changes are able to be identified.57 A year later, Jenkins maintained that there were plans, presumably implementing Renstra II, to upgrade 50 of the Army's near 100 battalions, plus the six Marine and four Air Force Kopasgat (Quick Reaction) battalions to create at least 60 top grade battalions, leaving the other 40 for territorial duties.58 The period of Renstra II (1978/79 - 1983/84) marked the apogee of ABRI's budgetary and material expansion - greatly outstripping the first period of expansion in the late seventies, and ending with the budgetary stringencies of the collapse in oil prices from 1982-83 onwards. In the first two years of Renstra II, the total military budget had increased in real terms by 50%, reaching Rp.1589 bn. in 1981-82, before beginning to decline slowly. Most of this increase came from a further sharp jump in military development expenditure, from Rp.180 bn. in 1978-79 to Rp.485 bn. four years later - by then amounting to over 30% of the total official military budget.59 In that same year, 1981, foreign subsidy of military expansion also reached its apogee, making up 29% of the military development budget.60 At the same time, army numbers began to increase, rising from a stable 180,000 in 1979 to 210,000 by 1983. The great expansion in funds flowed mainly into weapons and support systems: the pattern of arms imports established in the middle 1970s continued to rise, before beginning to decline at the end of the decade.

57. Ibid., p.315. This was the beginning of the restructuring of the military intelligence organizations under Moerdani's leadership. In 1983 the relatively small Strategic Intelligence Centre [Pusat Intelijens Strategis - Pusintelstrat] was abolished in favour of the Strategic Intelligence Body [Badan Intelijen Strategis - Bais], both under Moerdani's command. The character of this most important shift will be discussed in the next chapter. 58. David Jenkins, "Taking a defensive position", Far Eastern Economic Review, July 13, 1979, p.15. Dorodjatun and Simatupang (op.cit., p.115) quote Renstra II as aiming at 100 "First-Line Battalions". 59. The availability of money for military hardware was a function both of need (East Timor and the general movement towards a technology-intensive military force) and the second wave of increases in oil revenues. Oil export earnings jumped from US$1,609 mn. to $5,211 mn. between 1973 and 1974, and again from US$8,871 mn. in 1979 to $12,850 mn. a year later. See IMF, International Financial Statistics, (annual summary volume) (Washington: International Monetary Fund, 1987), pp.398-399. Eleven months after Jusuf assumed office Jenkins reported that the need for money for improved training, ammunition and other supplies meant that Jusuf was deferring the acquisition of high cost, high technology equipment such as two squadrons of A-4 Skyhawk jet fighter/bombers. See Jenkins, "General Jusuf..." op.cit., p.21. In fact 16 were purchased from the Israelis in 1979 and were delivered the next year, and another sixteen were ordered in 1981 and arrived in 1982. (See Table 7.10.) The rise in oil income must have cleared away the obstacle, since the purchases in the intervening years of Jusuf's tenure were extensive. 60. See Table 7.5 the difference between the planned and realized project aid (i.e. foreign) components of the military development budget is revealing. These figures, drawn from the annual budgets, show, for all but one year, continual high shortfalls in expected project aid. Whereas a shortfall in actual versus planned spending in the rupiah budget can be interpreted as cost savings and efficiency (as Dorodjatun and Simatupang suggest), the shortfall in foreign aid suggests that military planners regularly expected much higher levels of aid than actually arrived.


Renstra III: the Moerdani Years, 1984/85 - 1988/89 The pattern that began to unfold during Jusuf's tenure as ABRI commander and Minister for Defence flourished under his successor as Armed Forces commander (1983 1988), Benny Moerdani. A re-shaping of the ABRI structure announced in 1985 centralized the ABRI commander's control over elite land forces and over naval and air operational commands. It was underpinned by a continued acquisition of technologically sophisticated weapons and the ongoing development of elite forces. Side by side with this essentially externally oriented capacity, the professionalization of security control over the population continued apace. Renstra III recognized the limitations imposed by declining state revenues, but also sought to continue the earlier expansion. A primary commitment in the plan was to the upgrading of the quality of military personnel and of facilities for their use, the "capital of the Armed Forces". But a note of caution was sounded: Technological advance and modernization bring more rational thinking and attitudes, but this must never be allowed to push out the values of struggle of the Indonesian Armed Forces.61 Most important of all in this plan was the expansion of the police force, and an improvement in its professional quality. In 1981 the Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib had said that the fight against crime was to be carried out within the doctrine of the Total People's Security Defence by the police component of ABRI. For this the police were undergoing an expansion in personnel and equipment, and an internal tidying-up.62 Earlier in the year the police had received new handguns, and a decision was taken to upgrade police rifles.63 In an interview six months after taking office, Moerdani stressed his desire to expand the size of the police force, because men on the ground could not be replaced by technology.64 Material investment would be directed towards: *the most urgently required weapons systems, especially replacements; *major equipment and operational support facilities for the air force and navy to achieve "completeness" for particular weapons systems; *troops quarters, especially for operational units meeting soldiers' basic needs;65 *headquarters' facilities, with priority for territorial command, the intelligence apparatus and the police executive apparatus in an effort to raise operational capacity of the police;
61. Repelita IV, op.cit., Buku 3, p.480. 62. Kompas, 15 October 1981. 63. Kompas, 20 May 1981. 64. Tempo, 15 October 1983. Of course, the intelligence- orchestrated death squad operations against alleged criminals was proceeding apace through the year of 1983. 65. Jusuf had highlighted the poor living conditions of many soldiers and announced priority plans for their upgrading. In his first year in office, Jusuf had begun this process: "The daily food allowance of the Indonesian private has already been raised twice from Rps 470 (75 US cents) since Jusuf took charge and is due to go up to Rps 500 on April 1. Soldiers who were lucky to get one new uniform a year will now get four new sets of clothing." See Jenkins, "General Jusuf..." op.cit., p.19. Jusuf also took steps to make sure that the these monies and allowances actually reached those for whom they were intended, and were not "redirected".


*development of base facilities for the navy and air force; and *improvement in education and training facilities, and logistical facilities.66 One of the broad aims of Renstra III was to increase the country's capacity to fight a conventional war, rather than simply engage in counter-insurgency and internal security activities. This was reflected in the actual programmes proposed, leading off with the Central Forces component of Operational Forces Development: (1) "National Air Defence Capacity, able to detect, identify, shadow, escort/shadow landings and pursuit, as well as destroying air targets and other foreign air objects, which endanger or could endanger the national interests of the Republic of Indonesia, including development projects and vital objects which are the fruits of development. (2) Strategic Strike Capacity, able to carry out aerial surveillance and strategic air attack, able to watch and control each enemy move and activity, as well as able to destroy land and sea targets, whether in enemy territory or parts of Indonesia occupied by the enemy, as well as able to mount airborne and amphibious assaults in all parts of the country."67 The development of air and sea assault capacity was described in like terms, including a capacity to clear Indonesian waters of mines, as well as a Strategic Transport capacity. The other side of the coin was the development of methods of controlling threats to the state on Indonesian soil. The Territorial Forces (as distinct from the Territorial Management Apparatus) were to be developed further, firstly through a conventional military Land Assault Capacity68 and a Territorial Control/Surveillance Capacity, including Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) and important economic installations. But the internal control role of the military (including the police) was equally important with the Society Ordering Capacity, which involved firstly: precisely and quickly identifying situations giving rise to disturbances to general security and community order; carrying out general security preparations by implementing combined operational preventive measures in accord with legallyenacted decisions; and carrying out community order in accord with enacted laws and developed norms, mainly based on the consciousness of the people themselves.69. Secondly, it involved a Law Upholding Capacity, to be able to carry out the detection of the causal factors of criminality by investigating the types of violations and criminality; carrying out the prevention of violations and
66. Repelita IV, op.cit., Buku 3, pp.481-482. 67. Ibid., Buku 3, pp.488-489. 68. One interesting objective of Renstra III is "protection against the use of nuclear, biological and chemical [Nubika] weapons by the enemy" See Repelita IV, Buku 3, op.cit., p.490. A Seskoad army manual speaks of operating in such environments, and Haseman mentions a Chemical/ Biological/Nuclear Branch Center under the Army Education, and Training Development Command. In the face of close Indonesian interest (along with many other nations) in the use of chemical weapons by Iraq against Iran this should be taken as of more than passing interest. See Seskoad [Sekolah Staf dan Komando], Vademecum: Pengetahuan Pertahanan Keamanan, (Bandung: Markas Besar, TNI-AD, Sekolah Staf dan Komando, Cetakan Dua, (1982), pp.260-261; and John Haseman, "The dynamics of change: regeneration of the Indonesian army", Asian Survey, XXVI,8 (1986), p.890. 69. Repelita IV, Buku III, op.cit., p.491.


criminality by giving service, support and protection to the community; restricting each threat to security and social order; carrying out high quality measures in limiting criminality, even if small in size, but frustrating and posing a high threat; carrying out counter-measures to tackle organized crime on the basis of special provisions of the criminal procedure; carrying out scientific investigation and collection of evidence in accord with technological advances and the Criminal Law.70 And thirdly a Capacity to Take Action Against Security Threat, which included a capacity for counter-measures to criminal activities in the seas under Indonesian jurisdiction, counter-terrorist measures for all forms of terror; counter-measures to prevent and put down mass unrest/agitation quickly and with an awareness of the possibility of certain subversive elements riding on its back; as well as putting down any form of armed rebellion or guerilla activity71. The Territorial Management Apparatus proper was to be developed further, including the basis for Territorial Management in the fields of economy, culture and politics to aid national development as the basis of national defence and security; development of the Strength and Potential of Social Wellbeing and Order, and Maritime and Air Strength and Potential. Finally the Armed Forces Social and Political Role was to be strengthened as "dynamisator and stabiliser" of the society, responsible for securing and making a success of national objectives. Once again, the Strategic Intelligence Apparatus was to be further developed, raising the skills and resources of staff, for use in security and in national development.72 Further development of control and coordination and communication went with both the high technology and social control aspects of the military's tasks, as well as logistics. This then was the public face of the plans for the Moerdani tenure, building on what had been achieved under Jusuf. What were the results in terms of force structure and operational capacity in 1987, two decades after the starting point of this review? Force structure, 1987 The level of the official military budget rose steadily in the mid-1980s, with development spending making up about a quarter of the total. As the domestic budget tightened, foreign subsidies for military spending became more important than ever: in FY 1984 foreign project aid rose to 36% of the total development budget, an all-time high. Weapons acquisition from abroad continued, but at lower levels than during Renstra II. The expansion in size established at the same time was maintained during the mid1980s. The shrinking budget slowed the rush of major armaments purchases in the mid1980s. (See Table 7.10 and 7.11 and Figure 7.7.) After 1983, no aircraft orders were placed until the huge and controversial decision of 1986 to purchase 8 F-16A fighter/strike and 4 F-16B fighter/trainer aircraft at a cost of US$432mn. But, as with the F-16, such purchases as were made were generally in the high technology sector.
70. Ibid., Buku III, pp.491-2. 71. Ibid., Buku III, p.492. 72. Repelita IV, op.cit., Buku III, p.495.


Negotiations with Britain led to a massive order for 600 advanced Scorpion light tanks in 1987. Four (secondhand) Dutch Van Speijk Class frigates and 2 minehunters joined two modern West German Type 209 submarines, Australian patrol craft and three older British Tribal Class frigates. More important still were the weapons systems placed on these platforms: 116 AIM-9P Sidewinder air-to-air missiles for the F-16s; and Harpoon and Seacat ship-to-ship launchers and missiles for the Van Speijk and Tribal Class frigates. Finally, and marking most clearly of all the change in defence posture, a stream of orders for ground based air-defence missiles: Swedish RBS-70 portable SAMs in 1981, 55 Rapier mobile SAM systems and 660 Improved Rapier land mobile SAMs to equip them.73 The costs of the F-16 aircraft and the missile systems acquired between 1984 and 1986 could not have been less than US$1 bn. Even without the enormous Scorpion tank deal, something of a similar order would have been involved in the acquisition of the frigates and submarines - a huge total by Indonesian standards. In addition, there are the unknown costs

73. The total costs of these systems are not available. The first twenty five Rapier SAM systems were costed by SIPRI at $128mn. at that rate the total cost would be about $300 mn. The second order of 120 Improved Rapier SAMs cost $100mn. and the third of 120 $60mn. See SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament, SIPRI Yearbook 1987, op.cit.







of licensed production.74 The details of the financing arrangements for these arms deals are not known, most importantly the terms of soft loans.75 By the end of Moerdani's tenure as Armed Forces Commander, the force structure of the Indonesian military and the resources available to implement its tasks were quite different from the situation in 1967. Numerically, the core of the Army remained the territorial forces, 39 battalions reorganized in 1985 to allocate at least one battalion to each Korem as a local "strike force", plus one to each of the ten Kodam commanders (down from 16 previously). The brigades of infantry from the 1960s were done away with - Indonesian troops had neither fought nor trained at brigade level in any case. During counter-insurgency campaigns crushing revolts from 1950-1963, military operations virtually never involved mobile forces of more than a battalion.76 Internal security operations like the crushing of the PRRI, the cleaning out of the Blitar South region or operations in East Timor do indeed require forces in large numbers in total, but the actual maneuvres/movements have been executed at battalion or company level. "In East Timor I never mobilized a force of more than two companies," said a four-star officer. "Whereas I had under me a brigade-sized force!"77 But the great change for the combat army was the establishment of two fully operational elite divisions within Kostrad, the Strategic Reserve. These were composed of the following elements:78 1 armoured cavalry brigade (=2 separate cavalry battalions) 3 infantry brigades (9 battalions) 2 airborne infantry brigades (6 battalions) 2 field artillery regiments (6 battalions) 1 anti-aircraft artillery regiment (2 battalions) 1 field engineer regiment (2 battalions)
74. The question of Indonesian domestic arms production has not been addressed in detail in this thesis. There has been an arms industry for a number years, an industry which became more significant from the late 1970s onwards. See Ronald Huisken, Defence Resources of Southeast Asia and the South Pacific: A Compendium of Data, (Canberra: Australian National University, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1980). By 1986, several different government plants were producing a range of small arms of indigenous design and under license; assembling French Puma and Super Puma helicopters, U.S. Model 412 helicopters, West German MBB 105 and BK117 helicopters, Spanish CH-212 light transport aircraft; and a small number of West German PB-57 Type patrol craft. The helicopters were being assembled in large numbers, but not at a great rate. See SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI yearbook 1986, op.cit., pp.279-280. More detailed work is required on items produced, levels of skill required for the assembly work and the impact of associated technological education and training programs, and the economics of the licensing arrangements and the production plants and research facilities under the control of the Minister for research and Technology, currently Dr.B.J.Habibie. Exports were small: some of military versions of the CN-212 transport aircraft were reported sold to Thailand and Saudi Arabia. See SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI yearbook 1985, op.cit., p.416. 75. The F-16 deal is most important because of its size. According to a senior U.S. military official in Jakarta, no FMS credits were involved in the deal. PS/46, Interview, 3 June 1988. However, it is most unlikely that it was a straight cash deal. 76. Atmadji, "Untuk pertama kali TNI-AD mempunyai divisi infanteri yang `lengkap'", Sinar Harapan, (3 October 1985. 77. Atmadji, "Melangsingkan tubuh TNI-AD tanpa menimbulkan efek samping", Sinar Harapan, 16 March 1985. Of course, the other reason for liquidating the brigade structure was the unnecessary cost. 78. IISS, The Military Balance 1987, op.cit.


In addition to a number of independent specialist battalions, Kostrad was supported by three Kopassus [Komando Pasukan Khusus - Special Warfare] groups, a Kopassus antiterrorist detachment, and, since 1984, the Fast Reaction Strike Force [Pasukan Pemukul Reaksi Cepat] (Green Berets) intended to provide an immediate response to external attacks of any kind.79 After more than a decade of substantial replenishment and development, the navy and air force are serious forces to be reckoned with externally, as well as making powerful contributions to domestic counter-insurgency campaigns. While the territorial structure remains a central feature of all Indonesian military planning, it no longer guides the future direction of development. The changes in force structure and the weapons acquisition programmes of the past decade and a half have laid the foundations for the change in orientation sought after in Renstra III. In addition to a counter-insurgency capacity and an unprecedented development of territorial control structures (to be discussed in the following chapters), the Indonesian armed forces have a comprehensive, if far from complete, conventional war capacity. During the largescale re-organization of the armed forces in 1985, General Moerdani made the rationale for this quite clear. The historic task of the Indonesian armed forces, he maintained, has changed. Its task now was to protect the fruits of development, a shift with very important implications. As one observer put it: This means that ABRI must be capable of guarding and securing the numerous and costly "assets" of the country. They must be capable of securing, for example, the LNG projects at Arun and Bonang, as well as protecting the maritime wealth of eastern Indonesia from foreign ships.80 A prime example of such a policy is the deployment of expensive surface-to-air missile systems around industrial centres in Jakarta and elsewhere, and around highly vulnerable natural resource projects, such as Arun and Lhok Semawe.81 Similarly, the acquisition of F-16 fighter aircraft, amongst the most advanced in the world, indicates that external considerations are very high in the minds of defence planners. The choice of the F-16 over the more cost-effective F-20 or upgraded F-5 is often perceived as inappropriate for a nation with no serious external threat in the next decade, and facing severe budgetary constraints. Vietnam, with advanced Soviet MiG-23 fighters, is relatively distant from all parts of Indonesia, with the exception of the Natuna Islands. In any case, relations between the two countries are comparatively good, with limited bases for conflict in the near future, other than the Natunas. The real reason for choosing the F16, in this line of criticism, was because two neighbouring ASEAN countries, Thailand and Singapore had acquired them, and so Indonesia had to do so for reasons more of national prestige than military necessity.82
79. The actual status of the Fast Reaction Strike Force is not clear. According to one well informed journalist writing in 1985, "ideally the PPRC should form a stand-alone force for that purpose. But because of cost restrictions and for reasons of efficiency, its main unit is taken from Division I, Kostrad." Atmadji, "Untuk pertama kali...", op.cit. 80. Atmadji, "ABRI akan membeli sistem senjata modern untuk mengamankan pembangunan", Sinar Harapan, 1 October 1985. 81. PS/15. 82. There was some public debate in Indonesia about the F-16 purchase, but this was a small and restricted affair compared with the large-scale debate in Thailand in 1984 and 1985 over proposed purchases. There the Ministers of Finance and of Economics opposed the


Whatever the merits of this line of criticism, the new acquisitions bear three extremely important implications for future Indonesian military policy. The first is that to service and support such complex technology, the military will require a much higher level of technical training of both combat crews and support staff. The Air Force began an upgrading of crews, pilots and ground staff in 1981 in Operation Ganesha, and such programs will have to expand still further. Inevitably the ratio of combat to support staff will change still further in the air force and navy.83 The second consequence is a familiar one in the recent history of all militaries acquiring advanced weaponry, as well from Indonesian military history (after the sundering of contacts with the eastern-bloc suppliers). Once a state is embarked on a policy of commitment to technically advanced weapons systems justified by reference to potential external enemies armed with comparable systems, it is extremely difficult to avoid the follow-on process, a step-by-step escalation of systems acquisition. The F-16s will, in a decade or less, come to be seen as inferior in performance to those aircraft held by Australia, Vietnam or Singapore - and their replacement will be more complex and expensive still.84 Equally, the military logic that views Indonesian defence needs through the prism of high technology deficiencies in one area (strike aircraft; air defence, etc.) will inevitably turn its gaze in other directions, requiring new "gaps" to be plugged with comparably expensive and complex equipment. Such demands for more equipment will presumably not always be met by those deciding the allocation of scarce state resources but the important point is that an autonomous socio-technical structure of demand has been established. The final consequence is implicit in the new policies, but not yet fully realized. The basic Indonesian defence policy of "total people's defence and security" has always been posited on the participation of the people in active support of a military force that, in the event of invasion, could move from a stance of direct, conventional military resistance in the face of a technically superior invader, to one of guerilla war on prepared ground. Leaving aside the question of the political relationship between the Indonesian state and the Indonesian people, the new policy of capital- and technology-intensive externallyoriented military forces will slowly erode support amongst the military for the policy of "total people's defence and security". To be sure, there are some states that have pursued policies of total defence (Sweden, Switzerland) which have integrated capital-intensive and popularly-supported non-military forms of defence, but they are so far relatively few. Most importantly, there are no examples of such a system where the military themselves
purchase because it would exacerbate the balance of payments problem. See SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook 1986, op.cit., p.222. Singapore announced its intention to purchase F-16s in August 1985. 83. See Repelita IV, op.cit., Buku 3, pp.479-497; and Atmadji, "ABRI akan membeli sistem senjata modern...", op.cit. Two questions are relevant here. Firstly, how is the country's overall supply of technically skilled personnel developing? What are the effects of the technical education programmes in the military industries under the control of Minister of Science and Technology Habibie? Secondly, are the these effects of the acquisition of advanced weapons systems going to continue to be mainly limited to the air force and navy as in the past? Are the SAM systems operated by the army or the air force? Do these and other missiles (e.g. anti-tank TOW under consideration) require comparable levels of technical support? 84. Robin Luckham, "Militarism and international dependence: a framework for analysis" in Jose J. Villamil (ed.), Transnational Capitalism and National Development, (Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1979), and "Regional security priorities and disarmament in Africa", paper presented to the International Conference on Disarmament, Development and Regional Security in Africa, Lagos, July 1981; and Ronald Huisken, "Disarmament and development" in SIPRI, World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook 1978, (London: Taylor and Francis, 1978).


have retained a dominant political role. Assuming that the army succeeds in maintaining its role as a dominant element of the government, it is likely that the old defence posture will either be abandoned or eroded to a shell of rhetoric, one which disguises the ongoing development of a re-furbished and professionalized intelligence and security apparatus for control of the populace as a whole - the other side of the Moerdani tenure, to which we now turn.


Chapter 8 The structure of military intelligence and security organizations.

Kopkamtib is a concept as much as an organization. It is the cover for internal military action if needed. In a sense, it doesn't exist - it's another way of organising the same people without military legal restraints.1

Over the life of the New Order period a number of specialized military and civilian organizations have been established and/or further developed for the purpose of surveillance and control of the Indonesian population. The next four chapters deal with the structure and organization of the Indonesian intelligence and security organizations in the 1980s. (See Figure 8.1.) Chapters Eight and Nine discuss the structure of "military" and "non-military" organizations respectively. Chapter Eight begins with a discussion of Kopkamtib and its successor Bakorstanas. The remainder of this chapter deals with the Armed Forces Strategic Intelligence Agency, Bais, and the associated service intelligence organizations, particularly the territorial Army Intelligence and Social-Political systems. Chapter Nine begins with a discussion of the State Intelligence Coordinating Board [Bakin] which, though nominally civilian, has strong military connections. Thus the division of the two chapters should be regarded as a matter of convenience rather than principle. The intelligence activities of the National Police are also dealt with under a civilian heading, even though the police have been integrated into the Armed Forces of Indonesia for some years. Opsus, the now defunct independent intelligence organization once controlled by Ali Moertopo, is also discussed in Chapter Nine, along with the two extremely important civilian bureaucracies of the Attorney-General's Department and the Ministry of Home Affairs. Chapter Nine finishes with a brief discussion of the State Cryptography Institute. Chapter Ten deals with the question of coordination between these multiple agencies of surveillance and control as an aspect of the wider question of the coherence of the state. The operations of these organizations are discussed in Chapter Eleven. Of the military organizations, some, such as Kopkamtib and

1. PS/35.



Bais, are New Order creations; others, notably the Army Intelligence and SocialPolitical branches, are somewhat older, although they only reached their present high stage of development after 1966. KOPKAMTIB - the Command for the Restoration of Security and Order The centrepiece of the manifold Indonesian intelligence and security apparatus for the first twenty three years of the New Order period was Kopkamtib - the Command for the Restoration of Security and Order. One might even say it was the centrepiece of the entire New Order state. Through Kopkamtib, the nominally civilian government apparatus was bypassed at any point deemed appropriate by the head of state, to allow direct military rule. Moreover, the procedures under which Kopkamtib operated allowed it to work free of the existing legal restraints on the armed forces itself. By the employment of its considerable military resources in the service of extraordinarily vague and broadly-defined political ends, Kopkamtib was the means by which Indonesia was ruled by what amounted to permanent martial law, intermittent and uneven in application, but constant in doctrine and potential. In September 1988 President Soeharto announced the abolition of Kopkamtib, and its replacement with Bakorstanas - the Coordinating Body for Assisting in the Maintenance of National Stability [Badan Koordinasi Bantuan Pemantapan Stabilitas Nasional]. The new body is charged with the task of "restoring, maintaining and reinforcing national stability", and will be advisory in character, headed by the Armed Forces Commander who will report directly to the President. Before assessing the significance of the new arrangements, however, it would be best to understand the full dimensions of its predecessor, which dominated the Indonesian state for almost a quarter of a century, and which in many important respects, lives on in its successor. The following sections examine the legal status, organizational structure and operating procedures of Kopkamtib. A detailed case-study of its role in labour control will be deferred until Chapter 11. Kopkamtib was created on October 10, 1965 in the immediate aftermath of the October 1, 1965 coup to deal with the claimed threat to national security posed by the Communist Party of Indonesia [PKI] and the September 30 Movement in the armed forces. However, the organization remained in existence for almost a quarter of a century, the executive core of the militarized state. As Anderson has pointed out, what Kopkamtib had been attempting to restore, apparently without notable success, for twenty three years, was the Dutch rust en orde [peace and order] - with an extremely broad concept of unacceptable disturbances to that peace and order. In fact, Kopkamtib was a de facto long-term martial law command with a mandate to use all the resources of the Indonesian state to destroy whatever it conceived to be a threat to the state, the Pancasila state ideology and the 1945 Constitution, or to economic development. For this reason, special attention should be paid to the terms in which Kopkamtib was presented, its legal mandates, and its conception of its own role. Kopkamtib did not exist in any separate organizational form from the Armed Forces. Essentially, Kopkamtib was a concept more than an organization, an ideological formulation that allowed the re-organization of Armed Forces resources for total internal warfare and social engineering without legal restraints. Legal status


Kopkamtib's legal status was vague but potent. The government's preferred legitimation for Kopkamtib was always President Sukarno's Instruction of 11 March 1966 [Surat Perintah Sebelas Maret - Supersemar] to Major-General Suharto empowering him to take all steps necessary to guarantee security, order and stability of government. In 1973 the MPR [People's Congress] resolved [t]o give power to the President/Mandatory of the People's Congress, to take necessary steps in order to safeguard and to maintain the unity and integrity of the nation and to prevent the re-occurrence of the PKI/September 30th Movement and other threats of subversion, in safeguarding national development, the Pancasila Democracy and the 1945 Constitution.2 The next year the President designated Kopkamtib as the vehicle for this responsibility.3 But when the 1982 Basic Law on Defence and Security was passed by the parliament, Kopkamtib was not mentioned.4 In organizational and legal terms, Kopkamtib was in the stream of emergency militarized internal security agencies that began with the declaration of martial law in 1957. These organizations gave regional military commanders greatly expanded powers over the civilian population. At that time, army regional commanders were designated Regional War Authorities [Peperda], responsible to the army Central War Authority [Peperpu] until 1959 and then to the Supreme War Authority [Peperti]. With the lifting of martial law in 1963 Peperti and Peperda were dissolved. In September 1964 army regional commanders acquired new security powers as Regional Authorities to implement Dwikora [Pepelrada]. The Pepelrada were responsible to the Supreme Operations Command [Koti]. The Koti and Pepelrada were abolished in July 1967.5 This was followed by the designation of army regional commanders as Special or Regional Executives [Pelaksana Khusus - Laksus] of Kopkamtib in August 1967. Aims and Functions The original mandate to "restore order and security" after the 30th September 1965 affair was somewhat transformed over the years. On the basis of the relevant Presidential Decisions apparently governing Kopkamtib's organization and procedures, a 1982 Army Staff and Command School manual set out the aims of Kopkamtib at that time quite clearly: Kopkamtib forms a Government facility aiming to protect and increase order, security and stability, in the context of achieving national stability as an essential
2. TAP MPR No.X/MPR/1973, cited in Indonesia, Kopkamtib [Komando Pemulihan Keamanan dan Ketertiban], The Role and Function of Kopkamtib in the National Security System, (Jakarta: Komando Pemulihan Keamanan dan Ketertiban, January 1977), p.3. 3. Presidential decision No.9, March 2, 1974. See also Presidential Decision No. 47/1978. Both are cited in Indonesia, Seskoad [Sekolah Staf dan Komando], Vademecum: Pengetahuan Pertahanan Keamanan, (Bandung: Markas Besar, TNI-AD, Sekolah Staf dan Komando, Cetakan Dua, 1982). 4. Melinda Cooke, "National security", in Frederica M.Bunge (ed.), Indonesia; A Country Study, (Area Handbook for Indonesia, Department of the Army, DA Pam 550-39), (Washington: American University, 1983), p.261. 5. Harold Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, (revised edition, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), p.355.


condition for the successful implementation of the Five Year Development Plans in particular and Long-Term Development in general.6 Kopkamtib's general functions were specified as follows: 1. Coordinating the implementation of policy in the protection of security, stability and national order. 2. Preventing the activities of and crushing the remnants of the 30th September Movement/Communist Party [G30S/PKI] subversives, and other extreme groups who threaten security and social order and who endanger the wellbeing and integrity of the state and the nation based on the Pancasila and the 1945 Constitution. 3. Inhibiting the moral and mental influences emerging from the G30S/PKI and other cultural streams which are opposed morally, mentally and culturally to the Pancasila. 4. Guiding the society towards more active participation and responsibility in protecting security and order.7 These guidelines, which amplified the 1973 People's Congress resolution, amounted to a comprehensive mandate for political control of the entire society - or more directly, the security of the state against the society. The breadth of the category of enemies of the state in the second paragraph was practically without limit because of the undefined (if not undefinable) character of such categories of people (as opposed to specific acts). Kopkamtib's tasks were both preventative and repressive, and remarkably ideologically defined. Not only was its work defined using the key legitimating terms of the New Order, but the work that Kopkamtib was required to carry out - in addition to clear physical repression - was by definition ideological: inhibiting the "moral and mental influences" of opponents of the state and guiding the society to a more appropriate relationship to the state. Powers and scope As coordinator of government policy in the area of security Kopkamtib was preeminent within the state in its role. This pre-eminence was underlined by the powers granted to the Kopkamtib commander: to use all instruments of state and elements of the government apparatus, as well as taking all other measures in accord with and based on legal decisions which observe security rights in keeping with the Pancasila and the 1945 Constitution.8

6. Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., p.408. Chapter 3.8 of the Seskoad manual is entitled: "Kopkamtib Organization and Procedures - In Accord with Presidential Decisions Number 9, 1974 and Number 47/1978". Ibid., pp.408-412. 7. Ibid., p.408. 8. Ibid., P.411.



Just what the final clause means is unclear - as is the term "security rights". There were, in reality, few legal limits on the powers of the Kopkamtib commander and his officers. Certainly a number of commentators maintained that, as Cooke put it [Kopkamtib's] powers of interrogation, arrest and detention were not subject to the restriction of the nation's regular legal channels.9 Certainly the nation's regular legal channels were irrelevant to Kopkamtib. But it also seems that were no actual legal limits whatsoever on its activities. While the statements of powers quoted above refers to limits set by the Pancasila and the 1945 Constitution, neither documents contains any specific limitations. In any case, such constitutional restrictions would, in practice, have to be specified in legislation or regulation and enforced by an independent judiciary. There was little positive law that restricted the role of the security agencies in general or Kopkamtib in particular.10 In 1978, Yoga Sugama, then both Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib and Head of Bakin (see Table 8.1), made his powers clear with a telling comparison: What I would like to say is this: the position given to me has never had any precedent in any country, not before. The only precedent was during Himmler's time and was given by Himmler [sic] - only with a great difference - that Himmler is doing it subjectively, because he has the power to do that and he is a powerful man who can do anything on earth, responsible to Hitler himself. While me, I am doing this and like to be responsible to the parliament and the government.11 In practice Kopkamtib had extraordinary (literally and figuratively) powers of definition of criminality and subversion; arrest without warrant and unlimited detention without trial; use of torture and brutal forms of interrogation as normal practice; manipulation of judicial procedure and trials; incarceration in inhuman prison conditions; monitoring and harassment of ex-tapols.12
9. Cooke, op.cit., p.261. Hugeng Imam Santoso, a former Chief of the National Police dismissed by Soeharto for excessive zeal in the investigation of corruption emphasized the terror that flowed from this lack of legal restraint: The Kopkamtib has the power to instruct the police on what they should not do. It is a kind of `super police force'. People in Indonesia tend to be terrified when they hear the name Kopkamtib. The general feeling is that Kopkamtib can do whatever it likes. And that means in the first place they can arbitrarily arrest people. "Former police chief speaks out on regime", Tapol Bulletin, 13 (December 1975), p.7. Hugeng was appointed National Police Chief in October 1968, but was moved aside in May 1971. 10. It is useful to compare the Indonesian situation with that in the Soviet Union, where, after its establishment in 1954, the KGB (as the successor to a series of political police organizations from 1917 onwards) was subjected to a series of positive legal restrictions embodied in the RSFSR Code of Criminal Procedure, and the oversight of a Special Department of Supervision of Investigations by the State Security Organs within the USSR Procuracy in April 1956. To be sure, the officers of the Procuracy tempered their commitment to socialist legality with their greater loyalty to the party in cases of "political crimes", especially as the leadership called for greater repression of dissent, and the real restraints on the KGB came with changes in leadership enacted as a result of Communist Party controls. However, especially during the Kruschev period, the moderation of naked terror by something more than a figleaf of law was an important innovation. See Amy W. Knight, The KGB: Police and Politics in the Soviet Union, (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1989), pp.5762. 11. "Indonesia: Power and Justice", Tapol Bulletin, 31 (December-January 1978-79), p.7. Yoga was speaking in English in a Dutch television interview. At the time he was simultaneously Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib and Head of Bakin. 12. This listing is based on Julie Southwood and Patrick Flanagan, Indonesia: Law, Propaganda and Terror, (London: Zed Press, 1983), ch.5. Despite the difficulties in this book deriving from the extraordinarily misleading classification of human rights activists as "collaborators" with the regime, Southwood and Flanagan provide an excellent and powerful review of the workings of the intelligence/security network - in fact, it is the only serious study of the subject.


Kopkamtib's involvement in media and information control in the early 1980s as presented by Plate and Darvi will serve to illustrate the general character of Kopkamtib's activities at the height of its powers (though some of the details of media control altered subsequently)13: In 1974, Kopkamtib's power to review a publisher's licence, previously confined to certain geographical regions of Indonesia, was extended to include all of Indonesia. All press licenses now go through annual Kopkamtib review, and they may be summarily suspended at any time on the authority of a regional Kopkamtib commander. Secondly, a reporter may be at any time summoned to appear before Kopkamtib agents and interrogated. The nature of the interrogation is left to Kopkamtib officials to decide upon, but beatings during such sessions are not uncommon. And the secret police may threaten the reporter's employer with loss of licence as well as physical harm. Thirdly, all new publications must have the approval of the Minister for Information (since the 1974 crackdown only one new licence has been issued). Fourthly, all government advertising will be withdrawn, and pressure put on private companies to withdraw their advertising, when Kopkamtib officers believe a threat to national security - or government prestige - exists. Fifthly, and by contrast, government newspapers, which reflect the official line to the last comma, face no circulation worries: government departments are required to have their personnel subscribe to the official newspapers. Sixthly, Kopkamtib officers hold official briefings for reporters on most matters of national importance (such as the invasion of East Timor, the status of political prisoners, and elections), at which attendance for reporters is deemed advisable. While these briefings have no formal legal force, in the pervasive climate of intimidation in Indonesia, they of course have the intended effect of ensuring that the Kopkamtib line is clearly conveyed to the public.14 Since that summary of press control was written, many of the details have changed, especially following amendments in 1982 to the Press Act 1966. However, despite the changes in that Act Kopkamtib retained its legal powers to ban papers and magazines, although in practice warnings and suspensions (which turn out to be permanent) issued by the Ministry of Information under the Press Act's licensing requirements have been the preferred way of intimidating the press in the 1980s.15 Structure and procedures The Commander of Kopkamtib from 1983 until its abolition in September 1988 was General (Ret.) Benny Moerdani, who became Kopkamtib commander at the time of his appointment as Commander of the Armed Forces.16 The Commander of Kopkamtib was responsible to the President for the execution of his duties. At different
13. For a more recent account of media controls see Asia Watch, Human Rights in Indonesia and East Timor, (Washington: Asia Watch, 1988), p.267-316. 14. Thomas Plate and Andrea Darvi, Secret Police: The Inside Story of a Network of Terror, (London: Abacus, 1982), p.251. 15. For an excellent review of the assault on freedom of the press in the 1980s see Asia Watch, op.cit., pp.267-298. 16. When Moerdani retired in early 1988 as Armed Forces Commander he did not pass on Kopkamtib to the new Armed Forces Commander, General Try Sutrisno.


times in the New Order, the Kopkamtib Commander was responsible to the Minister of Defence and/or the Commander of the Armed Forces on a day-to-day basis.17 Between 1974 and 1983 the Kopkamtib commander was assisted by a Chief of Staff [Kaskopkamtib] appointed by the President. (See Figure 8.2.) With his Personal Staff [Spri Kaskopkamtib], this officer made up the Command Assistance Echelon. It is not clear whether or not that position was in fact filled during Moerdani's tenure. The point was important to the extent that it appears that the position of Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib was the only senior position in Kopkamtib which was

17. This section is based on the following sources: Indonesia, Kopkamtib 1977, The Role and Function of Kopkamtib, op.cit., an English-language public information pamphlet; Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., pp.408-412; and confidential interviews conducted in Jakarta in May-July 1988, especially PS/7, PS/10, PS/14, PS/15, PS/22, PS/30, PS/35, PS/38, PS/40.



specific to that organization, rather than a matter of an incumbent senior armed forces staff officer doubling in a Kopkamtib role.18 The remainder of the Kopkamtib staff consisted of three elements: the General Staff Echelon, the Special Staff Echelon, and a Staff Service Echelon. Firstly, the Kopkamtib General Staff Echelon [Sum Kopkamtib] was made up of five people, four of whom were two-star generals. Three were members of the staff of the Armed Forces Chief of Staff [Kasum ABRI] doubling as Kopkamtib General Staff [Sum Kopkamtib]. These were: Intelligence Assistant [Asintel Kasum ABRI], Operations Assistant [Asops Kasum ABRI], Territorial Affairs Assistant [Aster Kasum ABRI]. The Kopkamtib Assistant for Social and Political Affairs appears, at least in 1988, to have be drawn from slightly lower down the ABRI staff hierarchy: within the Armed Forces Staff, the Assistant for Social and Political Affairs [Assospol ABRI] was responsible to the Chief of the Staff of the Social and Political Affairs Staff [Kassospol ABRI]. Under the Assospol ABRI was the Head of the Social and Political Affairs Office [Kadin Sospol]. It was this officer who in recent years doubled as Assospol Kopkamtib.19 In 1988 the Kopkamtib Assistant for Public Order and Security [Askamtibmas Kopkamtib] was not the Askamtibmas ABRI but rather the Head of the Armed Forces Legal Guidance Office Service [Ka Babinkum ABRI], reporting to both Kasum ABRI and Kassospol ABRI.20 The Kopkamtib Special Staff [Sus Kopkamtib] consisted of the Commanders and Heads of the various Kopkamtib Central Executive Echelon bodies. These were: Intelligence Task Force [Satgas Intel Kopkamtib], Information and Community Relations Office [Dispen Humas Kopkamtib], Communications Unit [Sathub Kopkamtib], Central Investigation Team [Teperpu], Central Prosecution Team [Todsapu]. These bodies varied considerably in size, lines of responsibility and the character of their work. The Armed Forces Assistant for Communications and Electronics [Askomlek ABRI] in fact oversaw the work of the Commander of Kopkamtib Communications [Dan Sathub Kopkamtib], a colonel. Information and Public Relations was a substantial normal unit operating under Kasum ABRI with about sixteen officers.21
18. During interviews in Jakarta in mid-1988, a number of otherwise well-informed sources differed over the existence of the position of the Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib. Most maintained that Moerdani had been the last incumbent. However, according to one informant, as of 28.IV.88 the Kepala Staf Kopkamtib was Major-General Suharto, who was also Assistant-1/Security to the Army Chief of Staff [Aspam Kasad]. [PS/22] One former incumbent argued that Moerdani decided that the position was redundant and followed the double-hatting principle and assigned those tasks to the Chief of the Armed Forces General Staff [Kasum ABRI]. [PS/38] 19. PS/22. 20. PS/22. 21. PS/22.


The Kopkamtib Assistant for Public Order and Security [Askamtibmas Kopkamtib] in mid-1988, Major-General Djaelani, was head of both the Central Investigations Team [Teperpu] and the Central Prosecution Team [Todsapu], which were formed as and when necessary and staffed accordingly. Satgas Intel [intelligence Task Unit] was a widely used term, referring to any intelligence groups formed for a particular purpose. In the same way, Satgas Intel Kopkamtib groups appear to have been formed, both at a central and at a regional level, as and when required.22 There were, in addition to the Personal Staffs of the Kopkamtib Commander and Chief of Staff, small offices of the Secretariat [Set Kopkamtib] and the Finance Officer [Paku Kopkamtib]. These made up the Staff Service Echelon. The double-hatting principle of Kopkamtib organization extended away from the centre to the regional level and below: the primary regional representatives of Kopkamtib were the Military Area [Kodam] Commanders doubling as Kopkamtib Area Special Executives [Laksusda]. The function of the Laksusda was to execute the policy of the Kopkamtib commander, although he may also have accepted orders from the President through the Commander of the Armed Forces. As far as is known, all Kodam commanders were also Laksusdas. The Laksusda was assisted by the Kodam staff.23 Accordingly, the Asintel Pangdam, a colonel, became the Asintel Laksusda. The Asintel Laksusda usually controlled an Intelligence Task Unit for Kopkamtib affairs (structured and staffed as necessary, sometimes more or less permanent and distinct from other Kodam intel groupings), headed by a lieutenant-colonel [designated Komsatgas Intel].24 Two points are significant, here. Firstly, these powers provided the Kodam staff, and the Asintel in particular, with executive authority, including the right to arrest. This was the basis on which Kodam Satgas Intels conducted most interrogations and arrests, and political interventions. Secondly, the Asintel Laksusda normally worked directly with the Strategic Intelligence Body [Bais], (presumably apart from reporting direct Kopkamtib operations to the regional Kodam/Kopkamtib commander). Kopkamtib essentially had no separate intelligence structure.25 Several interview sources claimed that there were special financial provisions for officers doubling as Kopkamtib Area Special Executives, to be distributed all the way down the line to the Koramil. The figure mentioned for Kodam commanders amounted to a virtual doubling of nominal salary. The reasoning for this, it was claimed, was that Kopkamtib officers needed to be, at least relatively speaking, independent in income, not reliant on outside sources. Given the manifold extra-budgetary sources of unaccountable financing that have been available to Kodam commanders, this rationale might be doubted. If the suggestion was correct it would mean that there were
22. PS/22, PS/14. In the early years of the New Order, the investigation and prosecution teams, together with "screening" teams [Tiningpu/Triningpu], were very important in the crushing of G30S/PKI and the ongoing purges of the late 60s. Prior to taking over as head of Bakin, Sutopo Yuwono was Program Director for these three teams, in addition to being Asintel Kopkamtib. [PS/40] 23. Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., p.412. This manual sets out the formulation of responsibilities prior to the disbanding of the Kowilhan structure in 1985. At that time, the Kowilhan Commander was designated the Regional Special Executive [Lasuswil]. (See also Figure 8.2). 24. PS/14. 25. PS/7. The activities of Laksus personnel are reported at length in Asia Watch, op.cit..


important formal pay differentials (as opposed to informal benefices of office) built into the structure of the Armed Forces in favour of the security and intelligence streams rather than combat and other functional streams. The same sources maintained that these funds were more strictly accountable to the Kopkamtib Financial Officer than were mainstream ABRI funds.26 Kopkamtib at war: Irian Jaya and East Timor There was an important difference between the long-term active role played by Kopkamtib in counter-insurgency in Irian Jaya and its apparent absence from East Timor occupation operations. In Irian Jaya intensive security and counter-insurgency campaigns seem to have been under Kopkamtib auspices from at least the late 1960s or early 1970s, with the Kodam Commander functioning (as elsewhere) as the Area Special Executive [Laksusda] for Kopkamtib. Most Indonesian military documents that have come into the public domain from Irian Jaya show some Kopkamtib auspice. Moreover, the very large numbers of Papuan testimonies critical of the Indonesian military, have usually referred to Kopkamtib as the dominating agency of the Indonesian military presence.27 East Timor, however, was, as of 1988, treated as a full war zone and is controlled through an East Timor Operational Command, the head of which was the commander of Kostrad Division I (Airborne), and whose staff provided planning and coordination for Timor operations.28 Kopkamtib was apparently considered inappropriate for dealing with the fourteen year-old war in East Timor, although with the "opening" of East Timor announced in 1988, a Bakorstanas role may emerge.29

26. PS/22. The verification of this claim bears on the general question of Kopkamtib officials and money. Personal reports of extortion by intelligence officers against ex-tapols are commonplace in conversation. It also seems, from such reports, that it is possible for at least some groups of people, on at least some limited occasions, to buy their way out of trouble with intelligence personnel (Kodam Satgas Intel officers and NCOs are most often mentioned). Needless to say, this must impair the operating efficiency of those parts of the intelligence complex. Just who is able to do this and in what circumstances is unclear. Knight op.cit. writes that one of the means by which the KGB is kept loyal to the current party leadership is by pay rates several times higher than those of comparable services such as the police and the military. 27. See Chapter Eleven. There is now a great deal of evidence, some partisan, some impartial, of the virtually constant policy of brutality adopted by Indonesian military forces in Irian Jaya for over twenty years. For our purposes, the most important single source is Robin Osborne, Indonesia's Secret War: The Guerilla Struggle in Irian Jaya, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1985). Much of Osborne's material itself comes from the Papua New Guinea intelligence services - both military intelligence and the National Intelligence Organization [NIO]. See also Asia Watch, op.cit.; and the Amnesty International reports cited there. 28. PS/15, PS/22, PS/14. The commander of Kostrad Division I in 1988 was Major-General Mantiri. Korem 164/Wira Dharma is responsible for day-to-day operations. 29. See "Timor Timur Terbuka, Sekarang", Tempo, 2 July 1988 and "Menko Polkam Sudomo: Timor Timur Bukan Wilayah Tertutup", Kompas, 29 June 1988.


Kopkamtib and labour Since the late 1970s labour relations has been identified as an ongoing potential threat to "economic development and national security", to be dealt with by a coordinated mix of surveillance, prevention and repression. Kopkamtib has been deeply involved in efforts to control an expanding and increasingly assertive industrial labour force. In concert with the Department of Labour Power, headed from 1983 to 1988 by the former head of Kopkamtib, Admiral Sudomo, and government-controlled union groups and client business groups, Kopkamtib has established a comprehensive system of labour surveillance and intervention capacities, especially in the industrially vital Jakarta-Bogor-Bekasi-Tanggerang region. Under Sudomo, Kopkamtib and the Department of Labour Power became intertwined through the establishment of series of inter-agency surveillance and intervention "teams" and procedures. The first attempts at Kopkamtib coordination of an intelligence- and security-coordinated corporatist approach were apparently inadequate, and in mid-1982 Sudomo, still at Kopkamtib, announced that all labour disputes should be notified directly to Kopkamtib. In early 1983 Sudomo, by now heading the Ministry of Labour Power, issued a Notice of Decision30 which established Labour Crisis Control Centres [Pusat Pengelolaan Krisis Masalah Ketenaga Kerjaan] as a means "of improving the implementation of development" by preventing labour conflict in a manner suitable to Pancasila Labour Relations. Labour Crisis Centres were intended to prevent industrial conflicts arising, and, if such a "crisis" should occur, prevent its spreading, and "facilitate a quietening down and bargaining between the parties in dispute". The new organizations in the Ministry were to operate at two levels: a Policy Centre and Field Action Groups. Two related sets of bodies were established at the same time. The Labour Crisis Control Centre was to be chaired by the Minister, and to include representatives from various sections of his department, from the employer groups and the governmentcontrolled trade union peak organization FBSI. The second body was the Conflict Prevention Central Executive - not mentioned in the general document. This regional

30. Indonesia, Menteri Tenaga Kerja, Pembentukan Pusat Pengelolaan Krisis Masalah Ketenaga Kerjaan, (KEP-130/MEN/1983, Tanggal 21-4-1983).



-level body was controlled by Kopkamtib - which provided both the chairperson and the secretary. (See Table 8.2.) A year later, Sudomo's department announced the establishment of Early Warning Posts [Pos Siaga Naker] for "24-hour non-stop [Eng.] monitoring and resolution of labour affairs" in the industrial concentration of Jakarta-Bogor-Tangerang-Bekasi (Jabotabek). These offices of the Department of Labour Power would be able to handle reports direct from the public, or as raised in the press.31 Workers have been, in practice, regularly hauled before the local intelligence sections of the police, or before Kopkamtib officers.32 Indoc reports the case of PT Textra in 1980, where not only did the Kopkamtib Area Special Executive act as the company spokesman against workers, but actually signed the employer's "Data on the Reason for the Dismissals".33 Opstib [Operasi Tertib] The abolition of Kopkamtib went together with the abolition of a relatively obscure organization, Opstibpus [Operasi Tertib Pusat]34 - Operation Order - with that organization's functions being dispersed to all government departments and agencies. Opstib was established in September 1977 by Presidential Instruction 9/1977, following a request in June of that year by the President to Kopkamtib to assist the government in dealing with widespread corruption, especially illegal charges and tolls and bribes.35 The Minister for Reform of the State Apparatus was responsible for coordination of the operation, with assistance to be provided as required by the Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib (Admiral Sudomo at the time).36 The first head (1977-1986) was Major-General E.J. Kanter, a military lawyer.37
31. "Pos Siaga Naker Siap Bantu Pengusaha dan Karyawan", Kompas, 8 June 1984. 32. See many examples reported from the late 1970s onwards in INDOC, Indonesian Workers..., op.cit., Indonesian Workers...March 1983 Update, op.cit. Kronologi PT Central Star Knitting Corporation, (Bogor: FBSI, Januari 1983) shows the involvement of the local Police Security Intelligence [Intelpampol] unit. In the case of striking workers at P.T. U.I.P.I. at Cimanggis, Bogor, a territorial operation was carried out by government apparatus consisting of: Village Guidance NCOs [Babinsa], Village Social Leadership NCOs [Binmas Desa], District officials [Kecamatan], Village Heads [Kepala desa], and local Neighbourhood Association [RT/RW] officers coordinated by the Military District Chief of Staff [Kasdim] 0621 Bogor Kabupaten, Social and Political Regional Staff, as well as the Cimanggis Police Commandant. (Ibid., p.11) 33. See INDOC, Indonesian Workers..., op.cit., pp.5-22. This case parallels Korean reports of the KCIA signing labour dispute settlements as a party to the dispute. See Choi Jang Jip, Interest Groups and Political Control in South Korea: A Study of the Labor Unions in Manufacturing Industries, 1961-1980, (Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Political Science, University of Chicago, August 1983). In Indonesia, one constant means of harassment of labour organising is the accusation of involvement (even of workers unborn in 1965) in the 30th September Movement/Communist Party of Indonesia. See, for example, Kronologi P.T. Central Star Knitting Corporation, op.cit., pp.18 ff. 34. Opstibpus and Opstib are used interchangeably here as in most references to the organization, although Opstibpus seems to have been the official title. 35. "Mengenang PO Box 999", Tempo, 17 September 1988. 36. For the Presidential Instruction, and Opstibpus's own explanation of its original task see Indonesia, Kopkamtib/Opstibpus, (n.d.) Operasi Tertib, (Jakarta: Kopkamtib, Operasi Tertib Pusat). On its abolition see "Opstib dibubarkan sebagai tinjak lanjut pembentukan Bakorstanas" Jayakarta, 8 September 1988. 37. Harsja W. Bachtiar, Siapa Dia? Perwira Tinggi Tentara Nasional Indonesia Angkatan Darat, (Jakarta: Penerbit Djambatan, 1988), p.161.


At the time of its abolition, the Centre for Operation Order was headed by a Coordinator, Air Force Major-General Kahardiman SH, who earlier had been Acting Secretary of Kopkamtib. Opstibpus had a reputation for being tough and clean - helped by high wages, good facilities, and perks such as private cars.38 According to government sources, the first five years of Operation Order yielded Rp.700 milyar to the government.39 Later, Opstib's operations broadened somewhat. One exercise commonly referred to was Opstib's assistance in overcoming difficulties encountered in the compulsory acquisition of land for construction of a ring-road around Jakarta Operasi Pembebesan Tanah. Opstibpus brought in its own surveyors and accountants to ensure that proper compensation was paid to those actually entitled.40 Although Opstibpus was publically associated with attempts to regularize the government apparatus, it was in fact involved in a somewhat broader range of activities. When Admiral Sudomo announced the establishment of Labour Assistance Teams in 1981, Opstibpus officers were named as regular members of the teams.41 It is not clear whether they had any role in the successor organizations to these teams. As part of these wider operations Opstibpus was also reported to undertake substantial surveillance activities.42 After Kopkamtib: Bakorstanas The demise of the twenty-two year-old Kopkamtib had been expected from early 1988. When Benny Moerdani stepped down as Armed Forces Commander in favour of General Try Sutrisno, both Moerdani and the then State Secretary Sudharmono spoke in the press about the need to reconsider the suitability of Kopkamtib for the tasks of the present period.43 The reasons for the removal of Kopkamtib and its replacement with Bakorstanas are not yet completely clear. Some were external - such as the need to assuage foreign criticism of government repression that even surfaced in the backrooms of the 1988 IGGI meeting, and Suharto's to date fruitless pursuit of the chair of the Non-Aligned Movement. Others were internal - including the desire of Moerdani and other military leaders for the army to retain control of Indonesian society from a less prominent and visible position. According to Try Soetrisno, it was simply a matter of Kopkamtib having done its job well, and circumstances having changed: Kopkamtib had served a "preventiveeducational" role, and a limited repressive one in the past, and had "restored security and order". Now what was needed stability - something "which must always be good 38. PS/14. 39. Indonesia, Kopkamtib/Opstibpus, op.cit. 40. PS/14. See "Opstib jamin ganti rugi utuh pada yang berhak", Kompas, 7 July 1988. 41. Kompas, 28 August 1981. 42. PS/22. 43. See, for example, Sudharmono's comments at Moerdani's retirement as Armed Forces Commander, Kompas, February 28, 1988.


stability that is dynamic". Soetrisno went on to specify the kind of stability that Bakorstanas is intended to achieve: Stability broadly speaking, covering political stability, economic, social, cultural, and defence and security stability. Broad, wide-ranging. That stability becomes the responsibility of the government - that is departments and agencies - and the whole society.44 While the details of the elite military debate are not known, it is certain that at least one grouping of serving and retired generals had advocated the abolition of Kopkamtib for some time, arguing that it had done its work, and now brought Indonesia only international disrepute and domestic resentment.45 The half-year wait between the first public intimations that change was on the way and the announcement of the new body may well have reflected wider intra-state conflict over the future direction of the regime symbolized in the military's campaign against Vice-President Sudharmono. Certainly the changeover was announced in the midst of the most strenuous anti-communist campaign in over a decade - which was certainly in part a military factional tactic aimed at Sudharmono. Kopkamtib was abolished on 5 September 1988, and replaced by Bakorstanas the same day, with General Try Sutrisno as its chairperson.46 Bakorstanas is ostensibly to be advisory in character, and responsible directly to the President. The body is described as "non-structural" - like Kopkamtib. Kodam Commanders switched from being the Area Special Executives [Laksusda] for the Kopkamtib Commander to being the Area Bakorstanas executives [Bakorstanasda]. State Secretary Moerdiono explained that Bakorstanas would coordinate efforts by government departments and agencies towards the restoration, maintenance and reinforcement of national stability in the face of various obstructions, challenges and threats... Soetrisno stressed the limitations on the new body: From this Presidential Decision Bakorstanas has the function of monitoring data and information. I have the authority to document existing or now issues.47 The basic work towards these objectives, Moerdiono said, would be done by the various departments and agencies of the government. But if "fast and effective measures" needed to be taken, especially in the face of physical threats to national stability, then the President could authorize the Armed Forces Commander to use the powers at his disposal. Any department or agency facing difficulties or obstructions, he
44. "Bangsa ini memerlukan pertahanan total" Tempo, 17 September, 1988, p.29. 45. PS/37, PS/38, PS/40, PS/14. Gen. (Ret.) Sumitro claimed he advocated its abolition during his tenure as Kopkamtib Commander. (Interview, Jakarta, 9 June 1988) See also Sumitro's comments on the change in Kompas, 13 September 1988. 46. Presidential Decisions No.29/1988 and No.252/M/1988. The following paragraphs are based on the account in Kompas, 7 September 1988 unless otherwise noted. 47. "Bangsa ini..." op.cit., p.30.


said, may request the assistance of the Armed Forces. The board of the agency is chaired by General Sutrisno. Permanent members include the Secretaries of the Coordinating Ministers for Political and Security Affairs, Economy and Finance, and People's Welfare, delegates from the Armed Forces Headquarters, the various services (including the National Police), the AttorneyGeneral's Department, and from Bakin. Other members will be co-opted as necessary. A Secretariat is located at Armed Forces Headquarters, and headed by a senior officer responsible to the Armed Forces Commander. The cost of central Bakorstanas activities will be paid out of the Armed Forces budget; that of its technical and regional operations will come from the budgets of the departments concerned, including that of the Armed Forces. Most importantly, until there is specific legislation to the contrary, the web of regulations proclaimed under Kopkamtib auspices over the past two decades remain in force, and Kodam commanders retain their effective authority as Laksusda. Yet after its first year of operation the hope evoked by the passing of Kopkamtib has been dampened, if not stamped out. Bakorstanas in practice has turned out to have many of the characteristics of its unlamented predecessor. During student protests at the Bandung Institute of Technology [ITB] soldiers acting under Bakorstanas authority, working with police, raided student buildings and homes, arrested students without warrants, and held them in detention without either warrants or charges. According to a student document students held by Bakorstanas for interrogation have been beaten and bashed, kicked, burned with cigarettes, and several afterwards admitted to hospital in intensive care after suffering bayonet gashings and stamping by jackboots which caused them to vomit blood from internal injuries.48 Another ITB document refers to "Bakorstanas torturers". These cases suggest that the announced promises about Bakorstanas' "coordinating" role have yet to be honoured. Yet the fact that certain promises were made, and that Kopkamtib was abolished does to some extent render the security apparatus more vulnerable. Demands can be made that the new agency act within the procedures set down in the criminal code - and from the response to the ITB incident, it appears that students and lawyers have been asserting those rights in direct criticism of Bakorstanas violations of the law. Human rights activists have been provided with a little more leverage in their battle with Leviathan. BAIS ABRI: Armed Forces Strategic Intelligence Agency By the late 1980s Bais ABRI [Badan Intelijen Stratejis ABRI] had become the most important element of the Indonesian intelligence structure proper.49 It is the military body formally responsible for the collection of intelligence, both external and domestic, military, political and social, with the term "strategic" understood to refer to the broad interests of the state, rather than a narrow definition referring to military affairs or international geo-politics. Bais is a centralized operational intelligencegathering body closely articulated with the resources of the Armed Forces Commander
48. From a Pernyataan Sikap issued from a Kerja Nasional Forum Komunikasi, Senat-Senat Mahasiswa Institut Keguruan Ilmu Pendidikan (IKIP) Se-Indonesia at Cibubur 8-11 September 1989. 49. Note that in the case of Bakin and Bais, the term "badan" which is usually translated as "body" has been rendered as "agency".


(who was, until early 1988, the Commander of Kopkamtib). It is the peak of the separate service intelligence structures. In particular, it is at the apex of the line of army intelligence assistants from the office of the Army Chief of Staff down through the Kodams and Korems and Kodims (where the Asintel structure stops) to the local Koramil captain or warrant officer and finally to the Babinsa [Village Guidance NCO] in the villages and kampungs. Origins Bais epitomises the effects of Moerdani's efforts to transform the Indonesian military, particularly the intelligence and security streams. It was formed in the reorganization of 1983 out of the smaller Strategic Intelligence Centre [Pusintelstrat], which had existed in some form under the same name since at least 1970.50 Apart from being larger and more comprehensive in role than its predecessor, Bais is a manifestation of two significant long-term trends in the structure of the intelligence and security system under Moerdani: centralization and professionalization. With the change of name came a shift from the Ministry to the Armed Forces Commander's headquarters staff. The new name - "body" [badan] rather than the old "centre" [pusat]51 - signified a major upgrading: As Sinar Harapan describes it, the term Badan in ABRI parlance refers to an institution that imposes centralized control in its "field" throughout the Armed Services. Pusat, on the other hand, refers to an institution which replicates at the central level partly autonomous organizations within each of the service. Thus "Bais-ABRI probably will perform those intelligence functions within ABRI's domain which up to now were probably carried out by each of the services' intelligence chiefs". In effect, the creation of Bais, its titling and status, represent a concentration of "intelligence capabilities" in institutional terms which until now has only existed in personal terms --i.e., Benny Moerdani's simultaneous holding of three key intelligence positions. Bais's concerns parallel those of the previously pre-eminent intelligence organization, Bakin [Badan Koordinasi Intelijen Negara - the State Intelligence Coordinating Agency] - that is, military and political intelligence, foreign and domestic. Unlike Bakin, however, Bais is solely military in personnel, and has, assuming the Kopkamtib arrangements are unchanged in practice, an operational arm through the Laksusda structure that Bakin lacks. The new organization manifests Moerdani's drive to professionalize the intelligence system under military control. Its hierarchical and formal structure is the antithesis of the amorphous personally-controlled Opsus empire employed on an almost private basis by Ali Moertopo from the mid-sixties to the late seventies. Unlike Moertopo's practice of drawing the best operatives from the existing political
50. "Current data on the Indonesian military elite after the reorganization of 1969 - 1970", Indonesia, 10, (1970), p.194. 51. "Current data on the Indonesian military elite..." Indonesia, 37, (1984), pp.149-150 (hereafter "Current data..."). At the time Murdani simultaneously held the positions of Assistant for Intelligence [Asintel] to the Chief of the ABRI General Staff (and before that, to the Minister of Defence and Security), Deputy Head [Wakil Kedua] of Bakin, and Head of Pusintelstrat [Kapusintelstrat], as well as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces (Pangab) and Commander of Kopkamtib from 1983. Between 1978-1983 he had also been Assistant for Intelligence at Kopkamtib (Asintel Kopkamtib): see David Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1984), p.27.


environment (or from amongst his former enemies), the development of Bais has been prepared for with the establishment of an Armed Forces intelligence school. The ABRI Intelligence Development Centre [Pusat Pengembangan Intelijens ABRI] at Ciomas near Bogor was intended to supplement the existing, less sophisticated service schools, especially the Army's Intelligence School nearby at Ci Kemeuh in western Bogor.52 Structure From 1983 - 1988 Bais was under the command of its Head, who was also the Commander of the Armed Forces, Benny Moerdani. (See Table 8.3.) As of mid-1988 his successor, Try Sutrisno had not taken on the position of Head [Kepala] of Bais. Instead, Moerdani's Deputy Head, Major-General Sutarjo, remained in that position as the effective, if not the formal, head of the organization. What is striking, however, is that (at least during the transition period) Sutarjo reported to both the Minister for Defence and Security and the Armed Forces Commander.53 At the centre, Bais consists of three echelons - ten sections, a number of administration detachments, and five operational units. The sections, their heads as of mid-1988, and the number of subordinate units in each, are set out in Table 8.4 and Figure 8.3. The work of Section I is not known, but it has been suggested that it may refer to East Timor operations. The work of the Vietnamese Management section was under the supervision of the organization's deputy head (and effective head), and reportedly under Moerdani's direct control. As in much of the rest of the intelligence system, most of these senior officers hold powerful positions elsewhere, often several. Major-General Nugroho, for example, was appointed Director A (Internal Affairs) Bais in 1983. Between 1984 and 1988 he was Deputy Attorney-General (Intelligence) [Jaksa Agung Muda Bidang Intelijen] until early in 1988 when he moved to become the Secretary-General of the Department of the Interior [Dalam Negeri]. Between 1986 and 1988 he was on the Expert Staff of the Kopkamtib Commander.54 Throughout this period Nugroho remained as head of the key Internal Affairs [A] section of Bais.

52. The new ABRI Intelligence School (sometimes referred to as Pusdik (Intel?) ABRI) runs a six-month course for all services, with army entry at captain level. 53. PS/22, PS/14. 54. Most of the central Jakarta offices of Bais are located in Tebet, except for the Bais A [Dalam Negeri] offices, which are on Merdeka Barat, close by the Departemen Dalam Negeri headquarters.





Similarly, the Director G (Intelligence Production) Bais, Major-General Sudibyo, was simultaneously the Assistant for Intelligence to the Armed Forces Chief of the General Staff [Asintel Kasum ABRI] and automatically, Asintel Kopkamtib.55 In late 1987, Sudibyo became the Deputy Head of Bakin, while retaining his position as Director G (Intelligence Production) in Bais.56 Air Force Major-General Teddy Rusdi, was simultaneously Director E (Planning and R & D) Bais and Assistant for General Planning (and Budgets) to the Armed Forces Commander, an extremely important bureaucratic position literally controlling the purse-strings of the Armed Forces.57 In other words, the senior Bais officers sit at the very centre of the intelligence and security system and are intertwined with Kopkamtib, the ABRI Staff, Bakin, and the most politically significant "civilian" departments, Interior and Attorney-General's. The administration detachments at Bais headquarters are straightforward Headquarters Detachment, Communications Detachment, Secretariat, Finance, Laboratory Services, Cypher/Coding Services and Photo Laboratory Services. More important are the five operational units or teams, distinct from the staff level sections. These are Strategic Intelligence, Basic Intelligence (Records, Archives, etc.), Domestic Intelligence, Foreign Intelligence, and Technical Intelligence (Electronic Intelligence, etc.). This Bais central staff and unit structure is then positioned atop the line of service intelligence branches, especially the Army's Asintel line, reporting upwards from the Kodim to Korem to Kodam and then Bais. Foreign Activities There are five possible significant areas of foreign activity for Bais: running military attaches in Indonesian embassies; strategic military and political assessments of the external environment; foreign intelligence operations; cooperation with friendly foreign intelligence agencies; and counter-intelligence at home against foreign services. Directorate B (External Affairs) is in charge of running of military attaches abroad. Both Bais and Bakin produce annual assessments of the strategic situation facing the Indonesian state, both in domestic and external terms, with at least part of the Bakin assessment circulating in non-military circles. In recent years there has been considerable rivalry between the two organizations, partly expressed through these annual assessments. The Armed Forces Commander's annual Leaders' Meeting [Rapat Pimpinan - Rapim Pangab], at which the Kodam commanders, the ABRI staff hierarchy and the commanders of the elite units, together with the Armed Forces Commander [Pangab], debate the coming year's outlook, base their discussions on the Bais assessment.58 Cooperation with the intelligence agencies of friendly foreign countries is shared
55. In April 1988 Sudibyo was reportedly replaced as Asintel Kasum ABRI by Rear-Admiral Sumitro. [PS/22] 56. On Sutarjo and Sudibyo see Bachtiar, op.cit., p.408 and p.324 respectively, though there are errors in both entries. As is often the case with younger senior intelligence officers, both biographies show long gaps - up to twenty years in Sutarjo's case. See Appendix 2 for the careers of these and other intelligence and security officers. 57. One source claimed that as of April 1988 Rusdi had been replaced in both jobs by Major-General Sugeng Subroto, Commander of Kodam V/Brawijaya. By mid-June, however, both were still at their old posts and no new posting for Rusdi had been announced. 58. PS/14; PS/15.


by Bais and Bakin - probably along a notional "military"/"civilian" distinction. Since Indonesia receives military assistance from a wide range of western countries there is probably a comparable range of base level contact - with military attaches at least through Bais. More intimate contact seems limited to the United States and several of the ASEAN states. With the latter, there are annual meetings and exchanges of discussion papers.59 There is no evidence of active external intelligence operations by Bais to date, though it is reasonable to assume that they are conducted. In the past Bakin has regularly operated abroad, often on offensive covert operations.60 Not only does Indonesia face a hostile external environment from foreign governments and citizens' groups critical of its domestic political repression and its occupation of East Timor, but Indonesian military doctrine positively recommends such operations. According to the Army Staff and Command College manual: 1)Strategic intelligence activities and operations include investigation, counterintelligence and psychological warfare/supportive action efforts, covert and open. 2)Foreign targets are dealt with covertly. Domestic targets are dealt with covertly or openly.61 One area where Bais foreign operations could be expected would be in PapuaNew Guinea, against both the OPM [Organisasi Papua Merdeka - Free Papua Movement] and their supporters in that country. It is likely that there is now either a Bais dominance on Papua-New Guinea, or at least some degree of competition with Bakin. The confirmed bribery of the important Papua-New Guinea political figure, Ted Diro (then Defence Minister), by Moerdani indicates the ability of Indonesian intelligence to intervene in its neighbour's political life beyond the question of the OPM. Another area of Bais concern would be Lisbon, a large centre of East Timorese refugees. Finally, Australia would be an important intelligence target for Bais, both because of the Timorese connection, and because of the general strategic situation of the two countries. Political activities Although it is a military organization Bais is highly oriented towards political analysis - in line with the general ABRI concern for social engineering and social control. Its Internal Affairs (A) and Internal Security (D) Directorates operate on an archipelago-wide day-to-day monitoring of all social conditions deemed politically significant - what Indonesian military terminology dubs Ipoleksosbudmil matters (Ideological - political - economic - social - cultural - military). Here there is a close integration with the Army's Social and Political Affairs and Territorial Staff structure, and with the Social and Political and Special Directorates of the Department of the
59. PS/15. One area yet to be explored is possible electronic intelligence cooperation between Indonesia and other countries. See footnote 83 below. 60. PS/13. 61. Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., p.311 and chapter 2.18 - "Intelligence Operations".


Interior and the office of the Deputy Attorney-General (Intelligence). But there are still some important matters which are unclear. On the one hand, a number of informants, targets of intelligence agency activities, claimed that there were many military intelligence agents and informers in political organizations, religious groups, universities, non-government organizations, and so on. Yet for understandable reasons, most victims were unable to distinguish between Bakin and military watchers, or different parts of the military out of uniform. Other informants believed that Bais now does have a widespread informer and agent network, but believed that Bais does not have the kind of covert action and "dirty tricks" capacities for which Bakin (and especially Opsus) were notorious in the 1970s. More specifically, these observers believed that Bais does not have an effective apparatus for political intervention equal to that of Ali Moertopo's Opsus. Some observers suggested that the lack of such a capacity (and raw political skill compared with Moertopo) was a factor in Moerdani's recent political difficulties. The generalized use of terror by military intelligence will be dealt with in Chapter Eleven. For the moment, it is enough to say that Bais is the peak of the Army Asintel structures, which employ torture and abuse of legal rights on an administrative basis. But the question of Bais's political operations is still open. The comparison between Moertopo and Moerdani does raise a further question. What is the net political effect of the kind of bureaucratic centralization and professionalization Moerdani has put in place? Are there in fact certain types of covert political operations and certain types of political judgement that have to be exercised somewhere within the state apparatus of permanently militarized states? In South Korea, the KCIA was purged and its influence shredded by Chun Doo Hwan in 1979-80 after the director of the KCIA assassinated President Park Chung-Hee. Yet within four or five years, the agency had returned to something like its former position, reportedly because of the inability of its main rivals, Army Counter Intelligence (latterly the Defense Security Command) and the National Police, to come up with the political, as opposed to the sheer repressive, goods. Army Intelligence: from Aspam Kasad to Babinsa The effectiveness of Bais as a body engaged in comprehensive surveillance and preventive and repressive intervention rests on its articulation with the Kopkamtib legal structure on the one hand, and the personnel and organization of the Armed Forces Intelligence, Social and Political Affairs and Territorial lines on the other. Headquarters intelligence and security staff Since the re-organization of 1983, the command and staff picture has been as follows. At the headquarters staff level, there are two structures: the staffs of the Armed Forces Chief of the General Staff and Chief of the Social and Political Staff, and the staff of the Army Chief of Staff. Directly responsible to the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces [Pangab] are the Chief of the ABRI General Staff [Kasum ABRI], the Chief of the Social and Political Affairs Staff [Kassospol ABRI] and the Inspector-General of the Armed Forces [Irjen ABRI].62 (See Figure 8.4.) Amongst the Assistants responsible to these
62. The Chief of ABRI General Staff is responsible for most of the staff activities found in "normal" armies - operations, intelligence, personnel, logistics, communications, plus territorial affairs and public order and security in the Indonesian internal security emphasis. The Chief of the Social and Political Staff manages the social and political affairs structure and the whole Armed Forces supply of


positions are those for Intelligence [Asintel ABRI] Operations [Asops ABRI] Territorial Affairs [Aster ABRI] Communications and Electronics [Askomlek ABRI]63 Security and Social Order [Askamtibmas ABRI] Social and Political Affairs [Assospol ABRI] Each of these coordinates some area of the intelligence/ security system for ABRI. Bais is responsible directly to the Commander in Chief as was Pusintelstrat before 1983. For our purposes the most important of these ABRI intelligence-related positions is the Assistant for Intelligence [Asintel ABRI]. This position has been maintained, mutatis mutandis, through all the re-organizations of the Department of Defence and Security [Hankam] and Armed Forces Head Quarters since the mid-1960s. The position now labelled as Assistant to the Chief of the General Staff is apparently

officers and NCOs to civilian agencies where they work as karyawan. This officer also manages their political direction. 63. The role of the Assistant for Communications and Electronics (to the ABRI Chief of the General Staff) [Askomlek] is rarely commented upon in relation to intelligence. Since Indonesia is not known to be party to any international military or intelligence sharing agreements (of the UKUSA Agreement-type) this may be understandable. But conventional military electronic surveillance is probably considerable vis-a-vis Malaysia and Singapore and East Timor. Certainly Indonesia, with considerable overseas aid, has invested a great deal in upgrading both civilian and military electronic communications in recent years. There may be a measure of cooperation with Malaysia for electronic surveillance of the Straits of Malacca. The role of computer data-bases in internal surveillance is considered later in this thesis, and this office may be involved.



equivalent to the Assistant for Intelligence to the Central Army Command from the early 60s (the incumbent from 1962 - 1965 was Major-General S. Parman, a key target on October 1, 1965) to 1970 (when Sutopo Juwono was in charge); and to the Assistant for Intelligence to the Joint Command in Hankam from 1970 (Yoga Sugama) to sometime around 1985. As already noted, the Asintel ABRI from 1985-88 was also the Deputy Head of Bais, Sutarjo. Below the level of the Armed Forces headquarters level, there are the service headquarters and their staffs and operational units, the most important of which are those of the Army. The separate social and political staff found at the ABRI level disappears here64, although the function is carried out at every level down to the village koramil post. For present purposes, the important positions are those of Assistant for Security to the Army Chief of Staff [Aspam Kasad] and Assistant for Territorial Affairs [Aster Kasad], especially the former, where pengamanan is understood to include intelligence. The Asintel structure - Kodam to Koramil Beyond the small Jakarta headquarters intelligence staff is the intelligence (and social and political affairs) organization which actually does the work of surveillance and preventive and repressive intervention, and which is linked to the control and direction of Bais above, and which was given executive authority in Kopkamtib mode. The bureaucratic arrangements, as laid down in formal Decisions of the Army Chief of Staff, display the manner in which intelligence and social and political control concerns increasingly dominate the army structure the closer it gets to the village and kampung level. These are as follows: At the Military Area Command [Kodam] level, the Commander is assisted by an Intelligence Staff, usually headed by a Colonel, responsible for carrying out supporting staff activities in investigation, counter-intelligence and covert action/psychological

64. It is not clear just how the work of the ABRI Social and Political Affairs Staff is articulated with the intense social and political concerns of army commands from kodam to koramil level, and to the Social and Political Affairs Directorate in the Department of the Interior. Harold Crouch recalls that Social and Political Affairs staff were present in the old structure, which ran (from his memory) A-1 (Intelligence), A-2 (operations), A-3 (Personnel), A-4 (Logistics), A-5 (Social and Political - i.e. Territorial), A-6 (Kekaryaan), A-7 (Finance). (Personal communication.) There is also the problem of the nominally civilian bureaucracy in the Department of Home Affairs. This is briefly discussed in the next chapter.



warfare. (See Figure 8.5) Accordingly they are to plan and coordinate the Kodam's intelligence policies, operations, units, and resources for each of these areas. This staff coordinates with the Kodam Intelligence Detachment [Den Inteldam], a unit which carries out intelligence operations, and which also continuously updates information on security-related social conditions [Ipoleksosbud] for such operations and for the Kodam commander.65 Similarly at Military Sub-Area Command [Korem] level (see Figure 8.6) there is a Korem Intelligence Staff [Sintelrem], with a Major as Head of Intelligence Section [Kasi Intelrem], and an Intelligence Platoon headed by a company grade officer.66 At the Military District [Kodim] level, the Kodim Intelligence Section Staff [Siinteldim] is led by a junior officer, usually a captain [Pasi Inteldim], with a couple of warrant officers for assistants. But at this level, the military district command, the intelligence, territorial and social and political affairs functions are fused. In addition to the local version of the intelligence duties set out above, this unit is responsible for: a) Development of geographic, demographic and social conditions to produce reliable locations, instruments and conditions of struggle. b) Development of the Armed Forces as a Social Force, including the organization of the Armed Forces Sacred Duty [penyelenggaraan Bhakti ABRI] in that area. c) Development of the Armed Forces functionaries [karyawan] and the Greater Family of the Armed Forces in the area. d) Assisting the arrangement of the management of social and political conditions in the area. e) carrying out communications with the community and organising the authority in the event of a state of emergency being enacted according to law.67

65. See Indonesia, ABRI, Markas Besar, TNI-AD, Pokok Pokok Organisasi dan Tugas Komando Daerah Militer (Kodam), Keputusan Kepala Staf TNI-AD, (Markas Besar, TNI-AD, No. KEP/4/I/1985, Tanggal 12 Januari, 1985), Pasal 10 and 49. 66. The total Korem Intelligence Section personnel is about ten - a major, a captain, a brace of NCOs and one or two privates. See Indonesia, ABRI, Markas Besar TNI-AD, Organisasi dan Tugas Komando Resort Militer (Korem)", op.cit., Pasal 9 and 28 and appendix. 67. Indonesia, ABRI, Markas Besar TNI-AD, Organisasi dan Tugas Komando Distrik Militer (Kodim): Keputusan Kepala Staf TNI-AD, (Markas Besar, TNI-AD, No.Kep/2/I/1985, Tanggal 10 Januari 1985), Pasal 9 and appendix.



Finally, at the base of the entire edifice of territorial management and control is the Military Sub-District Command [Koramil], headed by a Captain or by a Warrant Officer, who in turn commands a small headquarters staff made up of three NCOs - one for administration [Ba Tuud], one for Peoples Resistance Force activities [Baurwanra], and one for management of social conditions [Baurkonsos], including intelligence affairs. In the village itself is the Village Guidance NCO [Babinsa]. (See Figure 8.7.) The specification of duties of the Baurkonsos and Babinsa are revealing:68 Social Conditions NCO [Baurkonsos] 1)Preparing reports on social forces/potentials in rural areas [perdesaan] connected to Defence and Security affairs. 2)Collecting information/maintaining records in the intelligence area. 3)Assisting the Koramil commander in protecting the development of social conditions in the area. Village Guidance NCO [Babinsa] 1)Training Peoples Resistance [Wanra] units. 2)Leading Peoples Resistance in the villages. 3)Giving instruction in awareness of defence of the state. 4)Giving instruction in village community development in the area of State Security and Defence. 5)Protecting Hankam facilities and resources in rural areas. 6)Giving reports to the Koramil commander on a regular basis and in connection with unusual village social conditions. This is literally the bottom line of the Army Intelligence structure: the NCOs in the villages, routinely giving "guidance"; reporting on whatever happens, especially anything "unusual"; reporting on "social forces" (meaning any formal or informal social or political or cultural or economic organization or grouping); and of course carrying out active intelligence work as directed. When this structure is further linked to the local Civil Defence [Hansip] personnel on the streets, and the village-based organization and the nation-wide system of rukun warga, rukun tetangga and rukun kampung (neighbourhood associations in towns and villages), an extraordinarily close mesh of control is in place - at least in theory

68. Indonesia, ABRI, Markas Besar TNI-AD, Organisasi dan Tugas Komando Rayon Militer (Koramil): Keputusan Kepala Staf TNI-AD, (Markas Besar, TNI-AD, No.Kep/3/I/1985, Tanggal 10 Januari 1985), Pasal 9 and 10.



if not in practice.69 The Civil Defence [Hansip], administered by the Department of the Interior but in practice integrated into the Armed Forces provides a second street-level watch on comings and goings, providing "base-level intelligence". The Neighbourhood Association organization is partly an expression of community from below, partly a lowest level of government administration. It is certainly "the base level of control", with close association between village heads [lurah], the Neighbourhood Association heads, the Babinsa and his retired colleagues living nearby in the Greater Family of the Armed Forces [Keluarga Besar ABRI]. This section of the thesis has reported the designs set out in military legislation and manuals, and the views of informed observers who are mostly Jakarta-based. It is doubtful whether the grand planning is completely realised in practice. Unfortunately, no village study that I am aware of has addressed the issue of state control and the implementation of territorial management doctrines and structures. The nearest is the work of John Sullivan in his study of a Jogjakarta kampung and its relations with the state. Conclusion In summary, then, the New Order has seen an expansion and rationalization of military intelligence and security organizations. Kopkamtib was for more than twenty years the operational core of security management, though it was in fact not a distinct organization but another way of arranging the Armed Forces Headquarters and Kodam staffs. During the period of Moerdani's tenure as Armed Forces Commander, the most important development was the replacement of the small Strategic Intelligence Centre [Pusintelstrat] by the Stategic Intelligence Agency [Bais] and the placement of that body at the centre of all territorial intelligence activities. At the same time, the Army's regional monitoring structure of intelligence, social-political and territorial posts was elaborated and extended to the lowest administrative levels of Indonesian society, and ccordinated with nominally non-military neighbourhood surveillance bodies.

69. See John Sullivan, "Kampung and state: the role of government in the development of urban community in Yogyakarta", Indonesia, 41 (1986).


Chapter 9 The structure of non-military intelligence and security organizations

In addition to the military intelligence and security agencies, there are a wide range of such agencies within the civilian sector of the Indonesian state, although the term "civilian" is used rather loosely. These agencies vary considerably in size, organizational mission, and political importance. The most important is the State Intelligence Coordinating Board (Bakin), the head of which reports directly to the President. Bakin has a comprehensive intelligence brief, and in the past was extremely active in direct political intervention, at home and abroad. While Opsus [Special Operations] no longer exists, this private intelligence empire under the control of Ali Moertopo was an important factor in Indonesian political life for more than a decade. Police intelligence is included in this chapter in the "civilian" category, even though the National Police are formally a part of the Armed Forces. The Ministry of Home Affairs' Directorate of Social and Political Affairs is a large and powerful organizations which is responsible for a number of intelligence and political management tasks deemed vital for the survival of the New Order - not least maintaining surveillance and controls over more than 1.7 million former political prisoners or former Communist Party members. Within the Attorney-Generals' Department, the Intelligence Affairs section is headed by a senior military intelligence officer. And, as in South Korea, this appears to reflect the need for a strong intelligence input if dissent is to be controlled at least in part through the legal system rather than by coercion alone. The last organization that is discussed is the State Cryptography Institute. These organizations should be regarded as only "nominally" civilian. Many are headed by military officers, and their upper reaches principally staffed by military personnel. BAKIN: the State Intelligence Coordinating Agency Bakin [Badan Koordinasi Intelijen Negara] is a nominally civilian intelligence organization which reports directly to the President. According to its long-serving (19741989) former head, Yoga Sugama, "Bakin is formally responsible for political intelligence outside the defense and security field".1 Bakin is distinct from both Kopkamtib and the military more generally. It has its own communications network, outside both regular military and civilian systems.2

1. Ulf Sundhaussen ,"The military: structure, procedures and effects on Indonesian society" in Karl D. Jackson and Lucien W. Pye (eds.) Political Power and Communications in Indonesia, (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978), p.65, paraphrasing Yoga in Sinar Harapan, December 12, 1969. 2. Melinda Cooke, "National security", in Frederica M.Bunge (ed.), Indonesia; A Country Study, (Area Handbook for Indonesia, Department of the Army, DA Pam 550-39, Washington: American University, 1983, p.263.


Prior to the establishment of Bais in 1983, Bakin was, in Cooke's words, "the principal national body responsible for centralizing and coordinating domestic and foreign intelligence gathered by such organizations as the army, the police and Kopkamtib".3 Bakin in the late 1980s is no longer paramount in the intelligence structure, but remains important. Origins4 Bakin's origins lie in the demise of a Guided Democracy period organization, the Central Intelligence Agency [Badan Pusat Intelijens - BPI]. The BPI was founded in 1959 by Soekarno with Djuanda as Prime Minister and Nasution as Minister of Defence, in response to an armed forces desire for an integrated intelligence service. In the face of inter-service rivalry, Foreign Minister Subandrio, at that time acceptable to the military, was appointed as its head.5 In the latter part of the Guided Democracy period the BPI became something of a personal political vehicle for Dr.Subandrio who had become First Minister after the death of Djuanda in 1963, and whose swing to the left was bitterly resented by the anticommunist mainstream Army leadership. By 1965, according to Nasution, "our [Army] intelligence was penetrated by the Communist Party [PKI] and the BPI was a tool of the PKI".6 The size and budget of the Central Intelligence Board is not known. But like its New Order successor, the BPI obtained considerable extra-budgetary funds from Indonesian and foreign business sources.7 Nor is there a great deal of detailed evidence about the activities of the Central Intelligence Board. This was a period of intense manoeuvreing and rivalry between the various intelligence organizations - the BPI, the PKI's Special Bureau, Army intelligence, and possibly others - each of which had, to a very considerable degree, inter-penetrated the others. The BPI was certainly involved in surveillance of those whom Subandrio considered his (and/or Sukarno's) political enemies.8 It was also involved in surveillance of the Indonesian business and student community in Japan9. During the Malaysian
3. Ibid., p.263. See also John M. MacDougall, "Patterns of military control in the Indonesian higher bureaucracy", Indonesia, 33 (1982), p.97. Cooke's work is the most comprehensive open study to date on the Indonesian intelligence and security agencies. It was written prior to Moerdani's assumption of command of the armed forces, and prior to the establishment of Bais. 4. See Appendix 3. 5. PS/13. Despite the wealth of information in the major studies of the Indonesian military by Crouch, Anderson and McVey, Sundhaussen, Jenkins and Utrecht, there is remarkably little discussion of the crucial role of the various intelligence agencies during the Guided Democracy and Early New Order period. 6. A.H. Nasution, Menuhi Panggilan Tugas - Jilid 6: Masa Kebangkitan Orde Baru, (Jakarta: Gunung Agung, 1987), p.195. Nasution also reports that the BPI was the conduit for the information passed to President Sukarno by the 30th September Movement/PKI about the Council of Generals [Dewan Jenderal]. Ibid., pp.197-200. See also Sundhaussen, op.cit. p.205, who stresses the overlap between the PKI and the BPI, and the involvement of the latter in the affair of the Gilchrist letter. 7. Nishihara discusses some Japanese sources of these funds, mentioning a BPI fund of $250,000 that Subandrio had deposited with Daiwa Securities through a counselor in the strongly BPI-influenced Indonesian embassy in Tokyo. See Nishihara Masashi, The Japanese and Sukarno's Indonesia: Tokyo - Jakarta Relations, 1957-1966, (Kyoto: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto Univerity, and University of Hawaii, 1976), pp.154-7. 8. PS/13. 9. Nishihara, op.cit., pp.154-157.


campaign it conducted intelligence-gathering operations10, but also, in compettition with Nasution's intelligence chief, maintained contacts with dissidents in Sarawak, and went on to train the Malaysian rebels of Chinese descent and "apparently organized raids into these territories which commenced in April 1963"11. There seems little doubt that Subandrio fought effectively to retain personal control of the organization, for example against Nasution in 1962.12 After Soekarno's hand-over of power to Suharto on 11 March 1966, the BPI building was occupied by Hankam intelligence units under Asintel Magenda, and the organization effectively disbanded after Subandrio's arrest a week later. The organization was not formally abolished for some time afterwards.13 However the army was concerned to secure the entire troubled intelligence apparatus through an integrated organization. A new, military body, the State Intelligence Command [Komando Intelijens Negara - KIN] was established to take over the functions, but not the personnel, of the BPI, most or all of whom were considered by the military leaders to be implicated in the 30th September Movement/Communist Party [G30S/PKI]. Suharto was its first head, and Yoga Sugama, as chief of Army intelligence, was Chief of Staff.14 However, the new organization was soon found wanting, apparently because it was military in conception, and possibly because of the haste with which New Order institutions were being constructed at the time. In 1967 KIN was reorganized into Bakin, the State Intelligence Coordinating Agency, with a broader brief to coordinate the workings of all intelligence organs, military and civilian, and to provide advice, in the first instance, directly to the President.15 Its head was Suharto, with day-to-day control under the Deputy Head, Brigadier-General Sudirgo. (See Table 9.1.) Sudirgo was a Military Police Corps [CPM] officer with a long involvement in intelligence stretching back to Zulkifli Lubis's Group A within the Ministry of Defence Section V in Jogjakarta in 1947. After the murder of the head of Army intelligence, General Parman, by the 30th September Movement, Sudirgo replaced him as Asintel. In 1968 he was arrested for being allegedly involved with the 30th September Movement,
10. Sundhaussen, op.cit., p.174. 11. Harold Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, (revised edition, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), p.60. 12. Sundhaussen, op.cit., p.163. 13. A.H.Nasution, Memenuhi Panggilan Tugas - Jilid 7: Masa Konsolidasi Order Baru, (Jakarta: Gunung Agung, 1988), p.18, and PS/13. 14. PS/40. Other names associated with KIN were Soegiarto (Soegiharto, later Jaksa Agung?), Sugeng Jarok, and R. Pirngadie, a naval deputy. Sources differ on just how much Bakin took over from BPI in terms of personnel. One source [PS/13] maintains (as was widely claimed at the time) that Bakin took over many lower level BPI operatives. There is no doubt that Moertopo in Opsus had a remarkable capacity to recruit from amongst defeated adversaries - Darul Islam, PRRI/Permesta, the PKI [Ruth McVey interview, Melbourne, March 1988; PS/12]. Opsus overlapped with Bakin (with Moertopo as the key common element), operating both within it and beyond it, making it at times almost indistinguishable in its use of use of informers and agents from all over the society, although in other respects the organizations were very different. 15. PS/30. The actual dates when BPI was formally abolished, KIN established, and then replaced by Bakin, are not clear. Bakin was certainly operating by 1968, and may have been in existence a year earlier. KIN was established in either late-1966 or early 1967. This was a period of rapid change of personnel in intelligence, both as a result of purges and rapid elevation of those who were close to Suharto.



and replaced as Deputy Head of Bakin by Yoga Sugama.16 When Sutopo Yuwono took over as head of Bakin from Suharto in January 1970, Yoga returned to Hankam as Assistant for Intelligence and Head of Pusintelstrat, and a year later in what seemed a demotion, was removed to New York as Deputy Head of Mission at the UN. He returned as head of Bakin in 1974 after Sutopo's removal following the Malari Affair. Structure and Personnel Bakin today has a Head [Kepala - Ka Bakin], Deputy Head [Wakil Kepala] and four Deputies, each responsible for a directorate: Administration, Intelligence, CounterIntelligence, and Analysis/ Production. Beneath each of these there are a number of bureaus and semi-autonomous offices, such as the Coordinating Agency for Chinese Affairs.17 (See Figure 9.1.) The number and arrangement of the directorates and lower bodies has changed over the years. After Yoga's departure as Deputy Head in 1970, the new head, Sutopo Yuwono, left the position vacant. At the time, there were three main deputies - for Administration, Intelligence [Penyelidikan], and Counter-Intelligence [Pengamanan]. From 1971 on, Ali Moertopo, Personal Assistant for Intelligence to the President, became a Special Deputy for Covert Actions - Psychological Warfare [Penggalangan]. In 1971, the structure was altered, splitting Intelligence into two parts, Internal [Dalam Negeri] and External [Luar

16. PS/40. The real reasons for Sudirgo's arrest had much more to do with intra-army faction fighting. The Military Police Corps [CPM/Pom] supplied a number of BPI and Bakin personnel, some quite senior, such as Sudirgo and Nichlany Sudardjo. In 1968-72 Sudirgo was Deputy Head of Military Police at the same time he was a Bakin Deputy (for Operations and for Internal Intelligence). Nichlany and Sudirgo were both part of the "A Group" around Zulkifli Lubis in the Kementerian Pertahanan Bagian V in 1947. Many of this group had received influential intelligence training by the Japanese (e.g. in the Special Forces [Yugekitai]). Soenarso, also came from this Yugekitai stream. Most of the group went into Army intelligence; a minority went into the CPM. [PS/40] See also Harsja W. Bachtiar, Siapa Dia? Perwira Tinggi Tentara Nasional Indonesia Angkatan Darat, (Jakarta: Penerbit Djambatan, 1988), pp.316-7; Apa dan Siapa: Sejumlah Orang Indonesia 1985-1986, (Jakarta: Pustaka Grafitipers, 1986), pp.585-6. Ben Anderson maintains that the CPM was a descendant of the Kenpeitai, thus providing an important Japanese influence on what was to become Bakin. Another direct influence would be through Yoga Sugama himself, who trained at the Japanese Imperial Military Academy. However, little is really known about Yoga's preferred organizational style and its origins. 17. PS/40, PS/39. The Coordinating Agency for Chinese Affairs was until recently headed by Major-General (Ret.) Soenarso, a former military police intelligence officer. Other reported units are Psychological Warfare, Propaganda and Information under Deputy III, and the Social and Political Affairs Support Service [Dinas Penggalangan Sospol Bakin]. These positions, along with that of Personal Staffer to the Head of Bakin and Personal Secretary to Ali Moertopo as Minister of Information, were held by Drs. Soetjipto, who became Director-General for Public Information in 1987 after a civilian career with Army intelligence, Komando Intelijens Negara and Bakin. Indonesia Reports, 23 (October 1987), p.29. It is not clear whether this is the same Dr. Soetjipto who headed the Republic's first intelligence organization in 1945 - see Appendices 1, 2, and 3.



Negeri], and adding a fifth main deputy for Education and Training [Pendidikan].18 Bakin has offices in the major provincial cities although little is known of Bakin's actual organization outside the capital beyond the fact that various people are identified anecdotally in provincial centres as "the local Bakin people". In July 1987 the newspaper Kedaulatan Rakyat provided a rare published reference to regional Bakin personnel when it reported the comments of a person identified as "the Boyolali Area Bakin man" speaking at a meeting to resolve a local conflict with the local government.19 Until his retirement in 1989 Yoga Soegama, the head of Bakin, had an unprecedented tenure in the position - fourteen years.20 His close association with Suharto goes back at least to the mid-1950s when he was Assistant-I/Intelligence to Suharto in T&T/Diponegoro. His close personal relationship with Suharto is held to be one of the reasons for his long tenure. His successor is the former Deputy Head of the agency, Major-General Sudibyo. The position of Deputy Head of Bakin (and that of the Deputies) is the choice of the President. In Yoga's long tenure as Head of Bakin, Suharto has given him at least four Deputy Heads - Ali Moertopo, Benny Moerdani, Rujito and finally Sudibyo. In the case of Moertopo and Moerdani, Yoga had to deal with activist Deputy Heads of quite different temperaments from his own, with autonomous power bases in the intelligence and security apparatus, and, most importantly, with close personal access to the President rivalling his own. In his choice of Deputy Head of Bakin Suharto has pursued his general policy of balancing one power-base against another, both within organizations and between them. Major-General Sudibyo, came to the job of Deputy Head in late 1987, after his predecessor, Major-General (Ret.) Rujito retired after a stroke, and after Moerdani's retirement. took over as Head. The contrast between the two men is sometimes seen as a turning point in Bakin itself. Rujito, Deputy Head after Moerdani, was one of the last of the 1945 Generation, trained by the Japanese in Peta, serving as a Chudancho. He spent most of his subsequent army career in intelligence, except for time out in the early 1970s as Deputy Commander of Seskoad, followed by a four-year spell as Consul-General and then Ambassador to the newly independent Papua-New Guinea. From there he returned to Bakin, Deputy/1. Rujito was deeply immersed in Javanese culture, in the mystical practices of kebathinan, and believed deeply in their superiority to other cultural forms.21
18. PS/40. 19. PS/14 and Indonesia Reports, 24 (November 1987) p.5. 20. Yoga's long tenure is much discussed, and a number of explanations are commonly offered. Two are convincing. The first is that the holder of the most sensitive intelligence position in the entire system must be someone the President trusts completely, and with whom he can comfortably discuss his difficulties and anxieties ranging from broad matters of state policy or to the consequences of his family's avarice. The second is the Lyndon Johnson explanation of his retention of the unlovely and unloved J.Edgar Hoover as Director of the FBI well past normal retiring age. Given the untold political liabilities locked away in Hoover's filing cabinets, said Johnson, it was better to have the man on the inside of the tent pissing out, than outside pissing in. These are by no means mutually exclusive. 21. As Deputy Commandant of Seskoad, Rujito ruefully told Peter Britton in 1971 that he had tried to teach kebathinan as part of the Seskoad curriculum, but had had to discontinue the attempt. But, he maintained, the specifically Javanese background of Indonesian culture was a great national strength: Of all the kinds of knowledge, it is only technology that is lacking. Once technology is added in, once technology is mastered, Indonesia will be great because there is in our culture already an understanding of the aims and goals of life. Peter Britton, Military Professionalism in Indonesia: Javanese and Western Military Traditions in Army Ideology to the 1970s, unpublished MA thesis, Department of History, Monash University, February 1983.


Sudibyo came to the post as a much younger man, a protege of Moerdani. As Deputy Head of Bakin, Sudibyo simultaneously held the vital bureaucratic position of Director G (Intelligence Production) in Bais, where he was a Moerdani protege. His military biography is extremely sketchy, listing only his Seskoad class in 1972 (probably as a major or lieut-.colonel), and his appointment in 1984 as Asintel Hankam and then Asintel Kasum ABRI.22 He is is a model of the intelligence stream of the intelligence special forces stream that came to dominate the Army under Moerdani. And coming out of Bais, he undoubtedly owes his rise to Moerdani. Yet, as more than one observer pointed out, once a senior officer comes to such a position, it is no longer possible to draw neat lines of continuing political allegiance corresponding ot organizational genealogy.23 While Bakin is nominally a civilian organization, it has always been under military control and staffed at the senior level by serving or retired ABRI officers. The appointment of Sudibyo marks an even closer integration into the military bureaucracy paralleling the appointment of other Moerdani-stream intelligence professionals into the Ministry of Home Affairs and the Attorney-General's Department. Civilians are employed in Bakin, up to the middle level, such as Soetjipto mentioned above. The place where civilians may have predominated was at the lowest levels, especially in Moertopo's areas. Even before Moertopo's time in Bakin, the organization acquired a certain number of lower-level staff and agents from defunct earlier organizations, such as the BPI.24 Moertopo used large numbers of part-time civilian operatives for the psychological warfare and covert action operations in which he specialized, and which were not limited to Opsus. Political role In the past, the name of Bakin was synonymous with the politicized military of Indonesia, with an aggressive intelligence, counter-intelligence and covert action posture, and, in Ali Moertopo's time, with a combination of deviousness in plotting and often brutal and malicious political intervention. Bakin had authority, de facto or otherwise, to mount active intelligence operations at home and abroad. Moreover Bakin sat between two powerful, although quite differently structured, executive bodies - Ali Moertopo's Opsus, and the Kopkamtib structure. Writing in the late 1970s, Sundhaussen suggested that Bakin's "activities hardly include the mounting of operations: it is usually confined to research and analysis only".25 This is contradicted by a number of informants, including those involved in the three organizations at that period. As one put it, Bakin "under Ali" [i.e. when he was Deputy Head] was "activist - always making things happen. It wasn't just Ali himself, or his power, but
22. See Appendix 1 and Bachtiar, op.cit., p.324. Two far from objective remarks about Sudibyo made by people in very different positions are interesting for the future of Bakin. One victim of the intelligence system remarked that for all his dislike of what Sudibyo stood for, "he is not as fascist in his thinking as Yoga" [PS/9]. Another Indonesian intelligence professional who had disparaged the postAli Bakin under Yoga, saying "Now, Bakin is nothing", spoke approvingly of Sudibyo's appointment. "He's very proper", rather legalistic, a military professionalizer, unlike Rujito who, like many of his generation, "was all over the place". [PS/37] 23. One observer pointed to the way that Moerdani and his mentor Moertopo were originally "at one", but in the process of distinguishing himself, Moerdani went on to eclipse the older man. [PS/40] 24. PS/13. 25. Sundhaussen, op.cit., p.65.


Ali's capacity to act as a channel for other forces".26 Ali's early Bakin position of Special Deputy for Covert Action - Psychological Warfare [Penggalangan] was more than the name suggested: "Psywar Plus. Psywar is a bit limited. Plus was to create special conditions."27 But there was a deep division in the intelligence field in the late 60s and 70s between what Jenkins labels the "pragmatic" vs. the "principled" streams, typified by Ali Moertopo and Sutopo Yuwono, the Head of Bakin from 1970 - 1974.28 Both groups were highly oriented to political intervention, but differed in organizational style, willingness to use "non-military" resources and tools (the Opsus "zoo" Moertopo maintained), and the extent to which these resources were used to play politics for personal and factional, as opposed to regime, ends.29 Moertopo's antagonists within the intelligence and security apparatus saw things differently. "The free-wheelers didn't have to exercise responsibility. They just played dirty [main kayu]...They misused our people down below. [And] this led to a position of confusion in the institution.30 But with Kopkamtib, such personality clashes were less important. In the first decade of Bakin, its heads and senior officers were also the intelligence executives of ABRI headquarters, and therefore, of Kopkamtib - Sudirgo, Sutopo Yuwono, Yoga Soegama, Kharis Suhud. After Malari, the dismissal of Sumitro as Kopkamtib commander and Sutopo as Bakin head was followed by a still closer integration of Bakin to Kopkamtib under Suharto and Sudomo. In the late 1980s Bakin is undergoing a period of transition born of the aging of its leadership, the pressure of professionalization and centralization of military intelligence under Moerdani, and the loss of an executive capacity. The separation of Bakin from an executive role has been quite marked. Opsus no longer exists, and Bais, in its relationship to Kopkamtib, and to the Army Asintel structure down the line, is effectively an executive body.31 Bakin's official function has changed. While it still conducts active or offensive intelligence operations abroad, it is now "prohibited to make operations inside".32 Whereas in the past, Bakin was "koordinasi plus", now its role is restricted to intelligence-gathering and coordination.33 The actual nature of the coordination is not
26. PS/37. 27. PS/40. 28. David Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1984), p.30. 29. See Indro Tjahjono's trial statement in section 3 below for examples of the zoo and its methods . 30. PS/40. 31. Cooke, op.cit., p.263 maintains that Bakin previously relied on the Kopkamtib Laksusda to implement its commands locally. 32. PS/40. 33. This coordination role includes an external liaison element, although this is shared with Bais. The Australian Secret Intelligence


clear. There is a weekly meeting chaired by Bakin of representatives of all the significant intelligence organizations - Bais, Intelpampol, Home Affairs, Attorney-General (Intelligence) and Foreign Affairs.34 A number of observers noted Bakin's disproportionate involvement in Chinese affairs, both domestic and international. The Coordinating Body for Chinese Issues has already been mentioned. Bakin has an interest in a Chinese-language daily paper, Harian Indonesia, from which it also derives some extra-budgetary revenue.35 The organization appears to have a special interest in the Indonesian embassies in Hong Kong and Taiwan, and Yoga's (and the organization's?) alleged financial connections with Taiwan.36 These financial connections apart, the origins of this concentration seem to be two-fold - the perceived People's Republic of China involvement in G30S/PKI at the time of Bakin's formation, and Taiwan's "experience" in anti-communist activities, and their "more open" attitude to sharing these skills.37 Bakin's traditional structure of informers and agents still seems to be in place, and its decline in power is still a relative affair. Its bureaucratic and surveillance resources remain substantial. Security clearances for appointments to politically sensitive academic jobs (as well as foreign academics' and researchers' visas) are still the province of Bakin. Within the major ministries and departments, it is claimed that there are Bakin "advisors".38 Not surprisingly, most people who are targets of these activities are unable definitely to attribute their plain-clothes surveillance or political difficulties to one agency or another - from below, everything looks like "intel". Moreover, the changes in recent years involving Bais are not widely known. A great deal of these agencies' work is achieved by their reputation - the fear of being watched by unknown means is almost as powerful as active terror. As in almost every other security state, a feeling of isolation and a decline in social solidarity is one of the most potent tools of dictatorship. However, it is important to remember that there is, at least at a formal level, a system of parliamentary oversight of Bakin. The People's Representative Body [DPR] has a
Service [ASIS], to name but one, first appointed a liaison officer with Bakin in 1977. See Jeffrey Richelson and Desmond Ball, The Ties That Bind, (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1985), p.172. There seems to be a division of labour whereby Bakin liaises with embassy political staff (Foreign Ministry/State Department staff) and Bais with embassy military and other service attaches. 34. PS/37. 35. PS/37. Bakin's sources of revenue are both budgetary and extra-budgetary, although little is known about the particular companies involved. It would be important to know the fate of these extra-budgetary sources in recent years, when military companies generally have been both less successful financially and (partly as a result) more subject to attempts by military authorities to bring them back under full military control and make management responsible and responsive to the companies' "owners". 36. The Bakin Deputy for Intelligence in 1988, Brigadier-General (Ret.) Irawan Keceng Soekarno, is a former head of the Indonesian Government Trading Office [Kamar Dagang R.I.] in Taiwan. See Bachtiar, op.cit. p.353. Yoga's only published work of which I am aware is a speech given when a Taiwanese university awarded him an honorary doctorate. The reported head of the Coordinating Body for Chinese Affairs, Major-General (Ret.) Soenarso has a long-standing involvement in Chinese Affairs. One of his colleagues in that agency, Brigadier-General (Ret.) Sukisman specialized in Chinese Studies at the University of Indonesia. See Charles Coppel, Indonesian Chinese in Crisis, (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1983). 37. PS/37. 38. PS/19.


number of commissions. The responsibility for oversight of Bakin lies with Commission I. The Head of Bakin makes periodic appearances before the Commission, offering prepared statements and answering questions of commission members. To date, this has been a largely token affair, in part due to restrictions on what is to be publically discussed, but rather more from the self-censorship of politicians who are not prepared, at least for the present, to antagonize the regime in general or the intelligence services in particular. However, the basis for a public platform of legitimate scrutiny is in place.39 OPSUS: Special Operations Opsus [Operasi Khusus - Special Operations] existed, in one form or another, from the early 1960s to the early 1980s. It was established by Ali Moertopo, then Assistant-1 (Intelligence) within Kostrad, as an "activist military unit" in 1963-1964. It was used by Suharto and Moertopo to establish independent covert Kostrad contacts with the Malaysian government in 1964 and 1965.40 As Cooke put the matter delicately, The legal status of Opsus in 1982 was obscure, but a network of its operatives continued to gather domestic political intelligence and to conduct political liaison in service of the president.41 In fact, by the time of Ali Moertopo's death in 1984, Opsus had outlived its era, although it still existed. In 1982 the editors of Indonesia still referred to "the enormous 'private' intelligence empire run by General Ali Moertopo"42, but Moertopo's position with Suharto was no longer certain. He was dismissed as Minister for Information in 1983. The former protege, Moerdani, was re-organizing the bureaucratic intelligence and security apparatus to produce a quite different set of organizations from the personalized and "private" Opsus. When Ali died, it appears that Opsus, as an organization, dissolved. What happened to its intelligence and financial assets, however, may be another matter. A private intelligence empire Opsus emerged gradually out of the operations of Moertopo within the West Irian campaign, in which he worked in an intelligence unit based, at least for part of its existence, in Sulawesi.43 It seems to have become a recognized grouping by late 1964 when Soeharto was using Moertopo to make secret contacts with the British and Malaysian governments, in part through Captain Moerdani operating through a front office in Bangkok.44 It was at this point that Ali established effective contacts with former PRRI [the CIA-backed Indonesian Revolutionary Government] rebels living in Malaysia and elsewhere, such as Des Alwi.45
39. PS/42. 40. Jenkins, op.cit., p.12. Peter Polomka, Indonesia Since Sukarno, (Ringwood: Penguin, 1971), p.133, places the beginning of Opsus in 1963 when Suharto became commander of Kostrad. Bourchier nicely describes Opsus (possibly citing someone else) as "a `positive clandestine intelligence' body". See David Bourchier, Dynamics of Dissent in Indonesia: Sawito and the Phantom Coup, (Ithaca: Modern Indonesia Project, Cornell University, 1984), p.125. Moerdani was a key protege of Moertopo's, and one of the commanders of the two paratroop battalions so disastrously dropped into West Irian in 1962 (the other commander was Untung). He was also one of the key Malaysian contacts. 41. Cooke, op.cit., p.263. 42. "Current data on the Indonesian military elite", Indonesia, 33 (1982), p.131. 43. See Appendix 3. Bachtiar, op.cit., p.210 uses the phrase "Leader, Special Operations Command (Opsus), Irian Barat" to describe


A few years later Polomka described Moertopo as "the Man from Raden Saleh street", where his office was located, convenient both for its proximity to Suharto's home and its relatively inconspicuous ease of entry for Ali's many full- and part-time operatives and informers. In Polomka's words: In the post-coup period, Ali Moertopo emerges as one of the military's liveliest intellects and a leading "trouble shooter" for the President. In the wide range of difficult assignments he has handled, he has frequently shown an ability to break through "bottlenecks" and get results where others have failed. Amongst many such assignments, Polomka cited Moertopo and Opsus' role in the 1969 "Act of Free Choice" in West Irian: Shop shelves, long since bare of all but a few unsaleable items, were suddenly crammed with tinned foodstuffs, toilet articles, household goods, and, especially, the Irianese people's favourite brand of Dutch beer...Opsus had every available plane on charter, some of which were flying gifts, including pigs, for influential tribal chiefs in the remote highland regions.46 Another report, from an OPM source, tells of Moertopo addressing the 1, 024 members of a specially appointed referendum council who gathered at some point before the Act of Free Choice itself: If you want independence you had better ask God if he would be kind enough to raise an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean so you can migrate there. You can also write to the Americans. They have set foot on the Moon, perhaps they will be willing to fix up a place for you there. Those of you who think about voting against Indonesia must think again, for if you do, the wrath of the Indonesian people will be on you. Your accursed tongues will be cut out and your evil mouths ripped open. Then I, General Ali Moertopo, will step in and shoot you on the spot.47 Unfortunately we know little more than that, except for a hint of "dirty tricks" activities during the vote itself48.
Moertopo's position in 1961. This period is very unclear. 44. Hamish McDonald, Suharto's Indonesia, (Melbourne: Fontana/Collins, 1980), p.38. McDonald describes Opsus at this point as "Kostrad's Special Operations Group". Just where Opsus fitted in organizationally at the different points of its existence is not clear. The one loose and changing organization seems to have operated under Soeharto's auspices, but in different army units. Perhaps by the end, there was no auspicing unit, even as cover. 45. Jenkins, op.cit., p.58. 46. Polomka, op.cit., p.133. Polomka, after reporting this Soviet-type manipulation, shows an entirely appropriate understanding of the difficulties of totalitarian politics: To do this, while lacking effective institutions of government, he [Moertopo] is forced to devise and exploit novel and irregular ways of securing and maintaining effective power, of formulating national policies, and of convincing a sufficient majority of people of the appropriateness of those policies and of the government's ability to carry them out...Indeed, Indonesian politics is generally such a political jungle that it is hard to see how Suharto could survive without assigning important roles to bodies like Bakin, Opsus and Aspri. Ibid., pp.133,139. 47. The statement was reported to OPM's Henk Joku by Rev. Origines Hokojoku. Cited in Malcolm Gault-Williams, "Organisasi Papua Merdeka: the Free Papua Movement lives", Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, 19,4 (1987), p.34. There is no confirmation that Moertopo actually said these things. But then, the metaphors of the reported speech are reasonable descriptions of much of what followed in the years to come. 48. There is a need for a more careful account of the annexation of Irian Barat. Unfortunately, the only substantial account of the Act


Moertopo and Opsus played an important but obscure role in 1966-67 orchestrating support for Soeharto's position within the Interim People's Consultative Assembly [MPRS].49 Moertopo here seems to have played the role of political fixer for his master inside the parliament when it was too slow in turning on Soekarno, showing the talents and resources Moertopo later displayed on a larger scale. By this time Ali had made connections with the Chinese Catholic activists who were to become his "political technocrats" in due course, and was expanding the size of the "zoo". From this point on it is difficult to distinguish between the work of Opsus and the work of Moertopo's Psychological Operations section of Bakin.50 The operation most closely associated with Opsus was the preparation for the 1971 election, including the transformation of Golkar into a political party and the forcible re-construction of the leadership of the Indonesian Nationalist Party [PNI] and the Moslem parties, where the organization appears to have been quite open - possibly before the opprobrium it subsequently acquired had built up.51 Apart from involvement in later elections, Moertopo's most important operations were directed against Islamic groups and the first stages of the East Timor war. By the mid-1970s, Islamic groups and political parties (even after Moertopo's "reconstruction) were alarming the government with their independence from control. All other social groups had been effectively incorporated or liquidated in the first decade of the New Order. But devout Islam, the "outsider" stream of Java's culture, and the mainstream in the less populous parts of the country outside Java, held a community social and cultural structure which retained, as it still does, sufficient resources to constitute an alternative to the Pancasila state. The (Islamic) Unity Development Party [PPP] was standing up to government pressure to abandon its use of the Ka'abah (the shrine at Mecca) as its campaign symbol. Just weeks before the 1977 election, the then Chief of Staff of Kopkamtib, Admiral Sudomo, announced details of the arrests of members of an Islamic group, Komando Jihad [Holy War Command], holding them responsible for a series of recent bombings. The arrested leaders of the group were all formerly prominent leaders of the Darul Islam, the West Java-based movement for an Islamic state in Indonesia, which had held off government forces from 1950 until the early 1960s. There was no doubt that these men were involved with Ali Moertopo and Opsus. The only question to be answered was who was using whom? The Komando Jihad group existed in some form, but Islamic leaders, such as former Prime Minister Mohammed Natsir, claimed that Moertopo's agent provocateur's had infiltrated the group, and incited them to acts of violence. In particular, Pitut Suharto was named as an Opsus member in
of Free Choice, by May, does not provide much information on Moertopo's role, although there is interesting material on the overall Indonesian operation, and the activities of Sarwo Edhie and Sudjawo Tjondronegoro. See Brian May, The Indonesian Tragedy, (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978). Robin Osborne, Indonesia's Secret War: The Guerilla Struggle in Irian Jaya, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1985) has more material on the OPM and on the diplomatic aspects of the affair, but very little on the Indonesian side of things. 49. Ken Ward, The 1971 Election in Indonesia: An East Java Case Study, (Clayton: Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Monash University, 1974), p.9; May, op.cit., p.145ff. 50. Moerdani was Deputy Head of Bakin until 1978, and Deputy for Psychological Operations/Covert Action from 1971. 51. See Ward, op.cit. for a detailed account of the process of electoral manipulation in East Java, and May, op.cit. more generally.


this role. Opsus itself, through Jusuf Wanandi and Harry Tjan, maintained that indeed Suharto did have contacts with the former Darul Islam leaders on behalf of Moertopo, but that Mortopo's good intentions were misused by the militant Moslems. It is clear that senior military officers considered it probable that the whole affair was a typical Moertopo special operation. As Moertopo's former Bakin Head, Sutopo Yuwono put it: I don't know if the government was behind the Komando Jihad. I wasn't there. But if you talk about the possibility, thinking like that, it is possible. So create a problem, a special issue, something like that...Somebody is always thinking about such things like that.52 The whole affair deserves closer study, because it was the first of a series of such affairs involving Islamic groups over the next decade. In each case, allegedly militant Islamic groups bent on political change by violence were uncovered by the security agencies. Time and again, the charge of provocation was brought up in circumstances where the key people were either killed by the security forces before they could be brought to court, or the legal procedures in the courts were so structured as make it impossible to properly assess the truth of the matter. In the years after the Komando Jihad, Moertopo's influence waned, and that of his one-time protege, Moerdani rose. And at the same time, the place of Opsus cowboy-style operations was displaced by equally ruthless but more bureaucratically organized Baistype operations.53 (See Chapter Eleven.) Up until the time of Moertopo's death in 1984 and the subsequent dissolution of Opsus, there may well have been more than one set of intelligence initiators of such provocations working, in addition to Opsus, through Kopkamtib, Bakin and Pusintelstrat. In any case, as the wave of Muslim trials through the 1980s after Ali's death showed, plausible suggestions of the planting of agent provocateur's did not diminish with Ali's death: on the contrary.54 Moertopo's and Opsus' involvement with East Timor betweeen 1974 and December 1975 has been well told by Hamish McDonald, and will not be repeated here in detail.55 Suffice to say that as East Timorese voices for independence began to be heard after the Portuguese army revolution in 1974, the question of East Timor began to be seriously considered in Jakarta. In the face of equivocation from Soeharto about a military solution, Moertopo attempted to ensure a victory for pro-Indonesian forces in East Timor by his

52. Jenkins, op.cit., p.56. 53. Bais was established in 1983. However Moerdani was a key figure in all arenas of Indonesian intelligence (Armed Forces headquarters, Strategic Intelligence Centre, and Bakin) from at least 1977 onwards. 54. See Indonesia: Muslims on Trial, (London: Tapol, 1987); Amnesty International, Indonesia: Muslim Prisoners of Conscience, (London: Amnesty International, 1986). 55. McDonald, op.cit., pp.189-215. On the East Timor invasion more generally see Jill Jolliffe, East Timor: Nationalism and Colonialism, (Brisbane: University Of Queensland Press, 1978); James Dunn, Timor: A People Betrayed (Brisbane: Jacaranda Press, 1983); Carmel Budiardjo and Liem Soei Liong, The War Against East Timor, (London: Zed Press, 1984); and Amnesty International, East Timor: Violations of Human Rights - Extrajudicial Executions, `Disappearances', and Political Imprisonment, (London: Amnesty International, 1985); "`Disappearances' in East Timor since August 1983: An Update", (London: Amnesty International, ASA 21/13/87, March, 1987), and "Statement on East Timor by Amnesty International to the United Nations Special Committee on Decolonization", August 12 1988.


well-tried methods of manipulation, bribery and where necessary violence.56 After the failure of the Opsus-inspired UDT coup in August 1975 it was becoming clear that Moertopo's approach was in trouble. In September, Opsus "Chief of Staff" Colonel Aloysius Sugianto cajoled the defeated UDT [Timorese Democratic Union] and Apodeti forces on the Indonesian side of the border to request Indonesian assistance to achieve integration, and stepped up the border war with Paratroop Regiment [RPKAD] troops. Two months later, Indonesian troops invaded East Timor in force in Operation Seroja (Lotus). The political operation that began with Ali Moertopo's manipulation approach then turned into a full-scale counter-insurgency war that is without end fifteen years later.57 Opsus personnel: thugs, spooks and political technocrats58 While it is clear that Opsus for over a decade was a substantial (if not large) organization, both in terms of personnel and influence, the make-up of the organization is unclear. What sorts of people worked for Opsus? How were they organized? How defined was Opsus as an organization - or was it, as Ruth McVey said of the sometime Trotskyist political party Murba in its last years, as much a mood as an organization? Was it in fact a collection of people working for and through other organizations, such as Bakin, Golkar etc., as much as in Opsus? From what has been written so far, the people who worked for and with Opsus divide into two not very distinct groups - the intellectuals and political activists (or as Moertopo called them at one point, his "political technocrats"59), and the spooks and goons - including amongst the latter numerous informers, strongarm men, underworld figures, surveillance people and manipulators. Together they made up what was referred to as Moertopo's zoo. The intellectuals were mainly associated with the Catholic and the Chinese communities, and many of them became involved in the work of Centre for Strategic
56. In the London Times (2 September 1975), the experienced journalist Gerald Stone reported his experience with the results of Opsus' typical style of operations in the politically critical weeks in East Timor after the UDT coup in August 1975: Time after time, when I tried to trace a story to its source, I found only someone who heard it from someone else. Strangely, it is in the interests of all three governments - Portuguese, Indonesian and Australian - to make the situation appear as chaotic and hopeless as possible. In that light I am convinced that many of the stories fed to the public in the last two weeks were not simply exaggerations; they were the product of a purposeful campaign to plant lies. Cited in Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, The Political Economy of Human Rights, Volume I: The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism, (Boston: South End Press, 1979), p.136. 57. McDonald's account provides an important basis for understanding why the war in East Timor is so often regarded as "an intelligence war" in Indonesian military circles. It is not, however, completely clear. At some point Moertopo's role diminished and that of Moerdani became much more important. Even so, Timor is still regarded as "an intelligence war" by some Indonesian military figures, despite the fact that under Armed Forces Commander Muhammed Jusuf between 1979 and 1983 the mainstream army came to have a greater role [PS/13]. Just what Moertopo's role was after December 1975 is unknown. While Moertopo remained at Bakin there was much Bakin activity overseas, including at the United Nations where Fretilin diplomatic representatives were highly successful. In the early 1980s Jenkins, as already mentioned, reported the complaints of senior non-intelligence generals of being excluded from planning. By the late 1980s similar complaints could be heard in Jakarta, labelling East Timor as "Benny's war" and "intel-controlled". Yet over time this charge became less clear. What seems more correct is to point to the fusion that occurred under Moerdani between two streams of intelligence - Army intelligence proper and Opsus-type activities - with an upgraded special forces role - Kopassus and Kostrad. Together, senior officers from both streams came to dominate the Armed Forces leadership and East Timor commands. See Appendix 3. Little is known about just how these changes occurred. 58. See Appendices 1, 2, and 3. 59. Ward, op.cit., p.47.


Studies (CSIS) in the 1970s.60 The Catholics, including Liem Bian Kie [Jusuf Wanandi], Liem Bian Koen [Sofjan Wanandi], Harry Tjan and Moerdopo, have enjoyed the closest relationship with Moertopo, Liem Bian Kie having been his assistant since 1967. They have been primarily aroused since Gestapu by the fear of triumphant Islam, by anxiety lest the release of Muslim energies and the rehabilitation of Muslim organizations overthrow the balance between the secular forces and the Muslims...Ali's bent for temporizing with political parties so that they might be steered and manipulated in the name of Pantja Sila democracy struck a responsive chord with the Catholics, for they were determined to secure the perpetuity of Pantja Sila before making any radical changes in the political structure.61 Tjan and the Liem brothers had been strongly influenced by a Dutch-Indonesian Jesuit, Father J. Beek in the stream of Catholic Action. Before the coup Beek had been urging Catholics to prepare for the eventuality of a communist takeover by developing a standby underground movement. This led to the institution after the coup of 'One Month Caderization' courses for young Catholics at Asrama Realino, a student residence on the outskirts of Jogjakarta. The cadres received intensive training in leadership skills such as public speaking, writing and 'group dynamics'. Roman Catholic youths in Central Java played some part in the massacre of PKI suspects in 1965-6. But another target of Beek was Islam. While other Catholics argued that the church should build contacts with the Muslims, Beek took a militant antagonistic approach. For him the church had a stark choice: embrace the new regime, or go under to the Muslims. With the need to secure a pro-Indonesian vote in the West Irian 'Act of Free Choice' of 1969, and because Christianity was the prevalent religion in that territory, Beek became even more useful to Ali. Beek's cadres were sent to work to help win over the Irianese. However valuable for Ali Murtopo, the connection (which Beek has denied) aroused misgivings in both the army and the church. It came under strong attack at an Indonesian bishops' conference in 1971. "In theory Beek's ideas are fine", one of his colleagues comments,"but in practice they are dirty".62

60. See "Father J.van Beek" in Appendix 1. Beek was a mentor for the Liem brothers, Harry Tjan and others. The presence of numbers of Catholics in intelligence work today may reflect his influence. 61. Ward, op.cit., pp.35-36. Ward also notes the baroque and obscure 60s American social science jargon that was used by these people during the 1971 election campaign as they laboured to make Golkar the vehicle of "akselerasi modernisasi": `Political technocrats' of Bapilu stressed that `re-education' of the people was necessary so that they could be trained in `nonideological' and `pragmatic thought processes', so that they could give effective `social participation' and, if necessary, supply `social control', as long as it was of a `programme-oriented' nature. Golkar victory, furthermore, would give a `multiplier effect' on the development of `rational thinking'. Ibid., p.47. 62. McDonald, op.cit., pp.101-2. Beek's hostility to Islam led him to suggest that Moslems were using communist-type strategies to bring about an Islamic state. See May, op.cit., p.238. Australian readers will recognize the parallel with B.A.Santamaria. Beek and Santamaria's National Civic Council were in contact, and, according to McDonald, the NCC may have provided financial support.


While other groupings of politically-oriented intellectuals were important in Ali's entourage, these Chinese and Catholic intellectuals were the long-haul centre of Opsus thinking. Just who made up the other group, and what sorts of tasks they actually performed, is not at all clear. Opsus picked up many of the intelligence people involved with the PRRI/Permesta rebellion and the Japanese-trained intelligence boss (and former Deputy Army Chief of Staff) Zulkifli Lubis.63 Opsus seems also to have picked up a number of operatives and informers from the world of student activism in the 1960s and 1970s. Opsus' financial base Like other military units in Indonesia, Opsus required considerable extra-budgetary funds for its workings. Yet, by its nature, it required more funds than most, and funds that were largely unaccountable. It needed funds for its own network of informers and operatives, but also to buy off the recalcitrant and the willing-to-be-bought -- a vital ingredient in election campaigns (a task it undoubtedly shared with other government agencies, especially the Department of Home Affairs). It also needed money to support "other organizations under its patronage such as KNPI (Komite Nasional Pemuda Indonesia - the National Committee of Indonesian Youth) and for the publication of its newspapers (Suara Karya and Berita Buana)".64 If the organization was to be under Ali's control, he had to have his own sources of finance, separate from those of the military, separate from those of rival agencies, and certainly unaccountable. In his 1977 dissertation, Robison outlined Opsus financial involvements in some detail, as a backdrop to his accounts of the economic nationalist policy position pushed by CSIS/Opsus-related forces against the World Bank/IMF free trade line from the National Development Planning Agency [Bappenas]. Since the material on Opsus's financial activities was omitted from his 1986 book, Robison's material is quoted here in some detail. The earliest ventures of Opsus into economic activities were typical of the informal activities engaged in by most military units in the period before the joint venture institutionalized their operations. During the period of confrontation Opsus made money out of rubber smuggling and in 1969 was able to collect `commissions' for granting import monopolies for the Irian trade to five companies, the largest of which was C.V.Berkat, operated by the Chinese businessman Yap Swie Kie. Opsus was also involved in the de-blocking of funds frozen by the Malaysian government through the person of Bambang Trisulo, a lawyer who had been given charge of the de-blocking and who is now a prominent figure in both the Opsus and Hasan business groups. The manner in which the process of deblocking was controlled and operated led to allegations that only a proportion of funds were actually transferred back into consolidated revenue and that the bulk was used to finance Opsus
63. Ruth McVey, interview, Melbourne, March 1988. Another informant recalls meeting Lubis in the early 1970s in an Opsusconnected office in Kebayoran Baru, ostensibly devoted to an import-export business. (Confidential interview, Melbourne, March 1988) 64. Richard Robison, Capitalism and the Bureaucratic State in Indonesia: 1965-1975, (Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Department of Government, University of Sydney, 1977), p.277. See also James Schiller's account of the election process in Jepara: State Formation in New Order Indonesia: The Powerhouse State in Jepara (Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Politics Department, Monash University, 1986).


activities. Only a small section of the total Opsus business interests are identifiable through direct shareholding. This section includes the Pan group of companies, and the PT Anem Kosong Anem group, the major shareholders of which are Bambang Trisulo and General Hamonganan Pasaribu, a military associate of General Moertopo. Companies in these groups are small apart from the two latest ventures in poultry and assembly of electronic equipment, both of which are minority shareholdings in joint ventures. The Opsus group has not established private ownership of large business groups as other centres of power have done. Instead, it has assumed a less institutionalized role: that of protector to Chinese business groups. For the greater part, Opsus plays the role of `protector' to four major Chinese business groups, those of Panglaykim and Mochtar Riady, Yap Swie Kie (Soetopo Jananto), Liem Bien Hwa (Budianto Halim), and those of Liem Bian Khoen (Sofjan Wanandi) and Liem Bien Kie (Jusuf Wanandi). Unlike the majority of military or Palace business groups, the companies owned by these Chinese businessmen are not formally linked to Opsus because neither Ali Moertopo nor Soejono Humardani occupy official positions as directors or shareholders.65 It is not clear how these companies have fared in recent years, but at least one source maintains that they are no longer yielding incomes at the same levels - for CSIS at least.66 National Police Intelligence Police intelligence in Indonesia has always been politically-oriented from the time of the Dutch Politieke Inlichtengen Dienst [PID] and the Japanese Kotto Keisatsu (Special Police) and Kenpeitai (Military Police). The first police intelligence organization of the independent state was the Pengawasan Aliran Masyarakat [PAM], formed in 1945. It was succeeded by three organizations: the Dinas Pengawasan Keamanan Negara [DPKN], the Pengawasan Keamanan Masyarakat [PKN], and finally in 1972, Intelpampol.67 (See Table 9.2.) It appears that there was little difference in function between these Indonesian police intelligence organizations, at least until the middle of the 1970s. The degree of carry-over to the Republican police from the Dutch and Japanese organizations is unclear. Certainly there were substantial numbers of nationalist former Dutch police, jaksas and pamong praja involved in the revolutionary intelligence organizations, including some ex-PID.68 One graduate of the Dutch and Japanese civil
65. Robison, op.cit. p.281. Details of companies linked to Opsus are set out in his Appendix B, pp.xvi-xvii. 66. PS/37. 67. PS/36. 68. PS/40.


police training in Indonesia maintained that the Japanese curriculum largely took over the Dutch one, with the exception of training in Himitsu Sen [Secret War] - espionage, double agents, etc.69 Since 1961, the National Police have been integrated into the armed forces, with the Chief of the National Police [Kapolri] having formal

69. PS/36.



standing comparable to the other heads of services.70 Together with the ABRI Chief of Staff's Assistant for Security and Social Order [Askamtibmas] (always a police 2-star general), he coordinates a force of more than 150,000 personnel, with plans announced for substantial expansion.71 Under the Kapolri, in addition to staff and related bodies, and the seventeen Police Area Commands, there are Deputies for Administration [Demin Kapolri] and for Operations [Deops Kapolri]. (See Figure 9.2.) The Directorate of Intelligence and Security Affairs [Dit Intelpam Pol]72, an organization which has existed under a number of names since the earliest days of the revolution, is placed under the Deputy for Operations. Intelpampol's duties cover, inter alia, "Early Detecting" and "Early Warning" in the context of Police Operations and activities, and Public Order and Security [Kamtibmas] Operations. The techniques of carrying out Intelpampol's functions cover all efforts, activities and work, including Investigation, Counter-Intelligence and Support/Covert Operations in the context of carrying out preventive and repressive Police operational duties including Defence and Security operational duties allocated to the Police.73 While some maintain that Intelpampol is only concerned with criminal activities, the definition of that term is in the hands of the military authorities. In fact, police intelligence officers, presumably from Intelpampol, have been involved in highly political cases.74

70. The actual process of integration took some time, but formally began in June 1961 with Law No.13/1961. The process, along with a great deal of other interesting historical material on the police, is sketched in Almanak Kepolisian Republik Indonesia 1982-1983, (Jakarta: Kadispen Polri No. Pol.:SPEN/35/V/82/PEN, 1982). 71. In the then Police Chief's report to the 1982 annual meeting of senior police officials, details are given of both expansion and internal re-organization. See Almanak Kepolisian 1982-1983, op.cit., pp.39-47. Testifying before Commission III of the DPR (Parliament) in early October 1984, National Police Chief Anton Sudjarwo said that the size of the police (150,000 men) would be increased to 180,000 by 1989, and that a high school diploma, rather than merely an elementary school certificate, would henceforth be required for candidacy for a police officer. See "Current data on the Indonesian military elite", Indonesia, 40 (1985), p.136. After Sudjarwo's sudden death in 1987 he was succeeded as Kapolri by General (Pol.) Drs. Moch. Sanoesi.

72. The Director of Police Intelligence and Security Affairs [Dir Intelpam Pol] in 1988 was Colonel (Pol.) Drs. Soetjipto Broto. See Kompas, 10 June 1988. 73. Indonesia, Kepolisian Republik Indonesia: sekilas lintas, (Jakarta, 1976), p.72. 74. For an example see the account by A.M.Fatwa, Secretary of the Petition of 50 Group, of his arrest, interrogation and detention for almost a year before trial: Dakwaan Subversi - Dulu Untuk Darurat Revolusi, Kini Untuk Darurat Pembangunan - Eksepsi Drs. H.A.M.Fatwa, (Jakarta: Yayasan Lembaga Bantuan Hukum Indonesia, 1985), and Beberapa Pandangan dan Sikap Politik, (disampaikan sebagai Lampiran Eksepsi atas Dakwaan Pidana Subversi, pada Pegadilan Negeri, Jakarta Pusat, LP Cipinang-Jakarta Timur, 21 August 1985). This episode is discussed in Chapters Eleven and Twelve.



The proposed expansion of the police role in association with internal security (and especially in relation to "development problems") will presumably lead to a greater intelligence and repression role for the police. Soedjarwo explained the rationale for expansion by saying that "social conflicts are bound to occur everywhere".75 The political role of the police, and police intelligence in particular, is not clear, and the police have always played second fiddle to the military under the New Order.76 One particular area of police involvement in severe repression was during the petrus [mysterious killings/killers] campaign of 1983-84, although the nature of that involvement is far from clear. Writing several years earlier in reply to a State Department claim that "there is no evidence of systematic torture or police brutality", Ben Anderson wrote: This is a typical example of State Department prevarication. The Department knows perfectly well that the police have nothing to do with political detentions, which are handled by Kopkamtib and military intelligence.77 Yet within three years, police played an important part in the petrus killings, by providing lists of ex-convicts and suspected criminals (with photographs and other identifying information) to the death squad organizers, and by providing death squad members. According to van der Kroef, the killings, beginning in early 1983, were first carried out by fairly hastily assembled military police and national police personnel. Later, some of these, after a special training course in "criminal detection", were reconstituted as permanent "special taskforces". They formally were part of the national police, but in actuality were temporarily seconded to the army. Preference appears to have been given to members of the paracommando units, usually called Kopassandha.78 Both Bais and the National Police seem to have been involved in the planning of the campaign, which was treated as a matter of "ABRI against the outlaws". Several otherwise highly reliable informants maintained that its implementation was systematic and normally involved the local Chief of Police providing lists of potential victims to Bais. "Only the area head of police could authorise 'termination'. Almost always this procedure was followed. There was one case in Bali where a person without any criminal involvement was killed."79
75. "The reorganization of the Indonesian armed forces, Parts II", Tapol Bulletin, 70 (1985), p.20. 76. Fatwa quotes a conversation with a troubled police colonel confronted with the illegality of the actions of his military colleagues, and his demeaning subordination to the Laksusda: "Polisi tidak bisa apa-apa, ibarat rumah polisi itu letaknya cuma diemper dan laksus itu diatas sebagai atap yang menaunginya". Fatwa, op.cit., p.30. 77. Benedict R.O'G. Anderson, "Prepared Testimony on Human Rights in Indonesia and in East Timor" for the Subcommittee on International Organizations of the Committee on International Relations, House of Representatives, February 6, 1980, p.7. Anderson went on to point out that there was, well prior to the Petrus killings and despite press censorship, evidence of police cruelty towards prisoners, including the use of the hold-all "shot while trying to escape". 78. Justus M. van der Kroef, "`Petrus': Patterns of Prophylactic Murder in Indonesia", Asian Survey, XXV,7 (1985), pp.748, 752. E.g. Tempo reported that the Medan police provided a list of 900 such people in early April 1983. 79. PS/30. Explicitly confirmed by PS/36. Just why the whole edifice of the Indonesian criminal justice system was unable to deal


Department of Home Affairs: Directorate-General of Social and Political Affairs A vital, but largely unexamined part of the intelligence and security apparatus is the "sospol" stream within the Department of Home Affairs [Dalam Negeri]. Home Affairs is the premier department of the state, with an extremely extensive set of concerns, ranging from supervision of political affairs of all kinds through to agricultural and village development. Its importance to the state in New Order times is reflected in the seniority and numbers of the military officers appointed to its upper echelons. In 1988, the Minister of Home Affairs was General (Ret.) Rudini, former intelligence and special forces officer who rose to become Army Chief of Staff after commanding Kostrad. At the same time the Secretary-General of the department was Major-General Nugroho, who also retained his crucial position as Director A (Internal Affairs) Bais.80 The most important part of the Department of Home Affairs for intelligence purposes is the Directorate-General for Social and Political Affairs, which according to the State Almanac has the responsibility for carrying out duties regarding political management/guidance in the country, development of national unity in the context of activities for national political management/guidance and Pancasila ideological development, for the implementation of the Perspectives of the Course of the Nation [Garis-Garis Besar Haluan Negara - GBHN] in accord with the 1945 Constitution and based on policy set down by the Minister of Home Affairs.81 The Director-General (Social and Political Affairs) in 1988 was Brigadier-General TNI Hari Sugiman, who was earlier Personal Assistant [Spri] to former Kopkamtib Commander Admiral Sudomo.82 In addition to a Secretariat, the Directorate-General is made up of five listed directorates.83 (See Table 9.3.) Each of these Directorates is reproduced within the Ministry of Home Affairs organizations at the Provincial level in Directorates of Social and Political Affairs advising the Governor, and at the kabupaten - kotamadya level in Social and Political Affairs Office advising the Bupati - Walikota. The precise separate functions of these units is not yet clear. In addition there is reportedly another Directorate (or section) for "Special [Khusus] Social and Political Affairs", which deals with non-routine problems.84
with a "crime wave" raises wide-ranging questions about the police and their relation to the "criminals". The accounts of quasi-official high-level police involvement with the executions and the selection of targets do not square with suggestions that there was an antipolice element in the campaign - which by its nature, involved the military "doing what the police could not do". 80. As mentioned already, prior to becoming Secretary General of the Department of Home Affairs, Nugroho was simultaneously Director A Bais, Junior Attorney-General (Intelligence) and on the Expert Staff of the Kopkamtib Commander. See Appendix 1. For earlier patterns of interlocking appointments see John H. MacDougall, op.cit., p.102, and "Military penetration of the Indonesian government: the higher central bureaucracy", Indonesia Reports, 14 (1986). 81. Almanak Negara Republik Indonesia 1987, (Jakarta: Badan Penerbit Alda, 1987), p.337. 82. Typically for up and coming intelligence and security officers, Hari Sugiman's listed biographical details are extremely thin - see Appendix 1, and Bachtiar, op.cit., p.123. 83. Almanak Negara 1987, op.cit., pp.53-4. 84. PS/30.


The actual work of the Social and Political Affairs stream is frequently alluded to, but rarely documented. Together with the Sospol line in the territorial commands, Social and Political Affairs officers constitute the regime's "political commissars".85 One of the few examples deals with preparations for the 1987 general election, and shows what is believed to be the more general pattern of concerns and integration of this section with the wider intelligence and security apparatus: Ever since the first post-1965 general elections in 1971, the military regime has given itself special powers to screen party lists of candidates. This time around, a new element has been introduced, the Certificate of Personal [Political] Cleanliness [SKBD]. The

85. PS/13.



Screening Committee charged with checking election lists and ordering the exclusion of candidates deemed unsuitable, is a high-power intelligence group, chaired by Major-General Hari Sugiman, Head of Social and Political Affairs at the Interior Ministry. This Central Investigation Committee, along with its regional network of committees, includes the state intelligence agencies - Bais and Bakin the security agency, Kopkamtib, the Armed Forces headquarters and the Veterans Association.86 A major intelligence and security activity of this section is surveillance and control of the more than 1.7 million Category B and Category C ex-political prisoners. In the early 1980s, administrative responsibility for ex-tapols was shifted from Kopkamtib to the Department of Home Affairs and the Attorney-General's Department, nominally civilianizing a central security activity. In practice, ongoing surveillance is carried out by a number of agencies in coordination, and infringements of restrictions on ex-tapols are immediately reported to the local koramil post for action.87 The Directorate-General for Social and Political Affairs is the regime's key organ for surveillance of ex-tapols: A year earlier Soegiman, previously a senior Kopkamtib official, convened a meeting of all the Department's provincial directorates of social and political affairs, to call for the `meticulous and selective examination of the right to vote of each and every' former member of the PKI.88 The Sospol stream in the Home Affairs department is closely articulated with the Rukun Tetangga/Rukun Warga system of neighbourhood organization, (as already suggested, "the base level of control") in this case for electoral surveillance: `Guidance and supervision' would be carried out by lurahs, and by heads of Rukun Tetangga [RT - Neighbourhood Associations] and Rukun Kampung [RK - Kampung Associations].89 But the most important connection is with the military Social and Political Affairs stream, flowing from the Assistant for Social and Political Affairs to the Chief of the Armed Forces Social and Political Affairs Staff (Assospol Kassospol ABRI) down to the Assistants for Social and Political Affairs at the Kodam and Korem levels, where, as one informant put it, they sit as "political commissars" beside the civilian Governors and Bupatis.90 The Assospol would also advise the Kodam commander in the Regional Consultative Council [Muspida], where the head of the civil administration chairs a
86. "Election Special II", Tapol Bulletin, 78 (December 1986), p.25. On the SKBD see ibid., p.4. 87. "1.7 million ex-tapols are being re-registered", Tapol Bulletin, 70 (July 1985); PS/5. Many of those classified as ex-tapols were never actually arrested, and of course, most of those arrested were never tried. Before many significant political events, local checks on ex-tapols are carried out by Dalam Negeri officials, usually accompanied by police and local military officials. 88. "Anti-communist witch-hunt, 1985", Tapol Bulletin, 72, (November 1985), p.15. 89. Ibid., p.15. 90. PS/13.


council made up of himself, the Military Area Commander [Pangdam], the Head of the Police Area [Kadapol], and the Senior Attorney or prosecutor [Jaksa Tinggi] for the province. But beyond this formal organization, little is known of the organization of ABRI Sospol activities.91 Attorney-General's Department: Intelligence Affairs Within the Attorney-General's Department is a Deputy Attorney-General for Intelligence Affairs [Jaksa Agung Muda Bidang Intelijen]. While little information is available about this organization, its significance to the regime is indicated by its recent heads. In 1988, a new appointment was made - Brigadier-General Soekarno, a long-time intelligence officer, who came to the post after five years as Head of the Armed Forces Intelligence Development Centre at Bogor from 1980-85. Like his predecessor, MajorGeneral Nugroho (now Secretary-General of the Department of Home Affairs, and Director A (Internal Affairs) Bais, Soekarno was also a former Personal Assistant to the Commander of Kopkamtib.92 The Deputy Attorney-General heads a staff made up of at least four Directorates, each of which has a number of Sub-Directorates.93 (See Table 9.4.) An Intelligence Operations Centre is located under the Deputy Attorney-General for Special Criminal Affairs.94 Little detail is available on the precise role of the directorate-general. Its involvement in elections became clear in the run-up to the 1987 general election: State control of the election campaign is in the hands of a Panitia Pengawas Pelaksanaan Pemilu Pusat (Central Committee to Supervise the Conduct of the Election). It has laid down rules that which effectively exclude any political campaigning by the contesting `parties'. The Attorney-General chairs the Committee, but the key figure is the vice-chairman, Major-General Nugroho...95 When Soekarno was appointed in 1988, Attorney-General Sukarton described the responsibilities of the position, and justified an expansion of the role: The Jamintel guides "legal intelligence" on a continuing basis and brings it to as complete as possible a level so that the intelligence function will really be able to smooth the turning of the wheels of the prosecutorial machinery. Legal intelligence has increased its scope both domestically, regionally and internationally. "Intell91. The Muspida structure is repeated, mutatis mutandis, at the kabupaten/Tingkat-II level. For the wider organization of ABRI Territorial Management doctrines and the place of Social and Political Operations within this, see Chapter Eleven. 92. Kompas, 26 April 1988. 93. Buku Alamat Pejabat Negara Republik Indonesia, (Jakarta: B.P.Alda - Penerbit Almanak R.I., 1987), pp.396-406 (translations provided differ). Note that the Almanak Negara gives two of the Directorates as "Sosial Budaya" and "Politik dan Keamanan". Op.cit., p.648 It appears that most or all of the staff of this section are civilians. However Kompas reports its new head has a long involvement in the training of its personnel - though whether those civilians have passed through the military intelligence schools at Bogor or have been trained elsewhere or in house is not known. 94. Buku Alamat...1987, op.cit., p.405. Its head was Soegeng Soemartopo Marsigit SH. 95. "Election Special II", Tapol Bulletin, 78 (1986), p.25.


igence must dare to take the initiative so there be no doubt of its identity." For the process of upholding the law, the field of prosecutorial intelligence greatly supported a case for screening, investigation, sentencing demand, through implementation of the judges' decision. The Jamintel also worked to increase the role of legal intelligence in the national intelligence community along with the Intelligence Coordinating Board (Bakin) and ABRI's Strategic Intelligence Board (Bais, under the ABRI Commander). In addition, the Jamintel strengthened the intelligence network to stem the entry of foreign intelligence contrary to Pancasila and the Indonesian nation. Finally, the Jamintel had the task of increasing legal awareness of an increasingly critical public through "a legal information program".96 Sukarton also linked the increased salience and sophistication of the intelligence apparatus to the growth of social and legal consciousness: The role of intelligence, according to Sukarton, raises legal awareness in the community, that is through the legal intelligence undertaken by the prosecutor and through legal intelligence carried out on a joint basis. Sukarton said that an increase in legal awareness was accompanied by critical social attitudes. For that reason it is necessary for the law enforcers to prepare themselves by improving their own quality.97

96. Jawa Pos and Kompas, 25.IV.88, as cited in Indonesia Reports, No.33, June 1988. The editor of Indonesia Reports remarked: "This last sounds suspiciously like a combined counter-intelligence and disinformation responsibility." 97. Kompas, 26 April 1988.



State Cryptography Institute The State Cryptography Institute [Lembaga Sandi Negara - LSN] is the body responsible for establishing, controlling and implementing encoding and cryptography policy for all state activities, but chiefly in security and secret communications. In theory, the heads of Bakin and the State Cryptography Institute coordinate on implementation. The Chairperson of the Institute, (Rear Admiral Soebardo in 1988), is directly responsible to the President.98 The Institute is made up of at least four bureaus (see Table 9.5.), in addition to the Chairperson's Expert Staff and a Secretariat. From this listing (drawn from open sources), the organization appears primarily concerned with developing and protecting government secret communications capacities, presumably in both the "civilian" and military sectors. Yet it is also known that the Institute has an external electronic intelligence gathering role which is not evident from this list - suggesting that there are other, secret bureaus or that the publically listed bureau functions are incomplete.99 Moreover, Bakin and Bais both have an external strategic brief and are involved in electronic intelligence gathering. The ABRI Assistant for Electronics and Communication [Askomlek Kasum ABRI] (currently an Army major-general) and his staff would also be involved. Just what the division of labour is between these bodies is unknown. Little or nothing has been published about Indonesian electronic intelligence, and at first sight it seems unimportant. Yet the Straits of Malacca are one of the world's most strategically vital chokepoints, for both war-fighting purposes and for trade between Europe, the Middle East and Japan. Does the known intelligence and general defence cooperation between Indonesia and Malaysia extend to cooperation over electronic surveillance of the straits?100 Does inter-ASEAN intelligence cooperation extend to mutual assistance of monitoring activities of, say,

98. See Buku Alamat...1987, op.cit., pp.421-22, and Almanak Negara...1986-1987, op.cit., pp.629-632. Rather nicely Buku Alamat gives the English-language title of Lembaga Sandi Negara as the "State Secrets Institute". 99. PS/30. 100. It has been suggested that intelligence ties are also quite strong with Singapore.



the Philippines New Peoples Army in the islands between Kalimantan and Mindanao? Certainly Australian electronic intelligence aimed at Indonesia is known to be highly developed and, according to a number of Australian government sources, provides the Australian government with high-level access to Indonesian military communications in Irian Jaya and East Timor. Under the UKUSA agreement, all material collected by this Australian signals intelligence operation is provided to United States and British intelligence agencies.101 A final if unlikely question needs to be put. Is it possible that there is covert Indonesian cooperation with the United States electronic intelligence system of monitoring of ships' high-frequency radios for direction-finding at sea? In the event of any serious naval confrontation between naval units of the United States and the Soviet Union, it is imperative for the United States to know the position of all Soviet surface ships and submarines at sea. But for effective target selection, searching US submarines must be able to eliminate interference caused by vessels (of any nation) other than their targets. Accordingly, it is essential that the position of all vessels at sea in regions of strategic interest be charted and continually updated. At first sight the question is absurd, both technically and politically. Surely the wellknown United States HF/DF (high frequency/direction finding) facilities at San Miguel (the Philippines), Rama Sun (Thailand), Diego Garcia (Indian Ocean), Pearce (Western Australia) and Shoal Bay (Northern Territory, Australia) would be adequate for the task? But the New Zealand electronics intelligence specialist, Owen Wilkes, has pointed out that for United States purposes it would be technically desirable to locate a monitoring station in the region of the southern tip of Sumatra or west of Jakarta on Java.102 Whatever the technical desirability of such a station, there is no known US station in the area, and no evidence of Indonesian cooperation with the US for such purposes. It would also be difficult for Indonesia to publicly take part in such an arrangement and still maintain its formally non-aligned foreign policy. Yet, the history of electronic intelligence arrangements in the past two decades is littered with revelations of secret agreements.103 The only impediments to such secret agreements are the political dangers of revelation but in Indonesia today there is very little in the way of public pressure to scrutinise such activities. There is as yet no evidence of such an unlikely development, but in such cases, the files should be left open. Conclusion The "non-military" character of the organizations considered here is nominal, as is to be expected in a militarized state. Bakin is the oldest of the extant New Order intelligence organizations, and has had the broadest mission of all such bodies, although in recent
101. On the UKUSA system, and on the Australian Defence Signals Division Project Larswood, Shoalwater Bay, see Richelson and Ball, op.cit. 102. Personal communication, July 1988. Direction-finding is largely a matter of radio-detection combined with elementary trigonometry. Triangulation works best if the base-line provides as close to a right-angle as possible. The desirable distance between base-lines is about 2,000 - 3,000 km. On the existing arrangements Indonesia is enclosed in a rectangle, but the base lines are too long for exact positioning. 103. Richelson and Ball, op.cit.; James Bamford, The Puzzle Palace, (New York: Penguin, 1983); and Duncan Campbell, "Spooks down under", New Statesman, (4 March 1983), and "Spy in the sky", New Statesman, (9 September 1983).


years it has been eclipsed by the rise of Bais. Opsus was very much a creation of the early years of the New Order, when patronage relations were more endemic than in later years. Its non-bureaucratic structure was linked with its founder, Ali Moertopo, and did not survive him. Police intelligence has become somewhat more important than the past, and with the expanded security concerns about "development" may well become more so still. There seems little doubt that police intelligence was linked with Bais in the campaign of mas murders of alleged criminals in 1983-84. The Social and Political Directorate-General of the Department of Home Affairs is an organization which requires closer examination. It parallels the Army Social and Political staff and line stream. As the name suggests, it is a political management organization, responsible for surveillance and registration of more than a million alleged former left activists, and an increasing number of Islamic dissidents. As in other countries with sophisticated political surveillance apparatuses, such as South Korea, there has been considerable and increasing inter-penetration of intelligence and prosecutorial activities in Indonesia. The position of Deputy Attorney-General (Intelligence) has been occupied in recent years by senior experienced military intelligence officers. Legal intelligence is seen by the government as increasingly important - partly for purposes of legitimation of the legal process, and more importantly to ensure that the legal system is used effectively for purposes of political control. The State Cryptography Institute is a service body, whose head reports directly to the President. Little information about the precise activities of the Institute are available, and more research into the whole area of electronic intelligence, foreign and domestic, is needed.


Chapter 10 Inter-agency relations and the coherence of the state

Given the broad and diverse set of agencies and sections operating over what is largely common ground described the previous two chapters, we would naturally expect there to be conflicts over responsibilities, lines of authority, resources and "ownership" of projects. This is indicated in the name of Bakin itself (State Intelligence Coordinating Agency)1. The problem of coordination is not only a "technical" bureaucratic matter soluble by explicit operating procedures for sharing of information, plans and processes of consultation. It is also a matter of the political relationships between and through the individuals and groupings that make up these agencies. Mutual mistrust, competing policy goals, and competition for resources and political advantage in the wider political sphere all serve to lower the level of coherence and unity of "the state" - or, in this case, a particular functional section of the state. This chapter presents a brief review of the limited evidence available about two aspects of the question of coordinating this part of the Indonesian state. First, two levels of explicit intelligence coordination are examined: regional and central. At the regional level, (and possibly below) the rather shadowy civilian and military Intelligence Coordinating Staff at the Military Area Command [Kodam] level appears to provide a specialist intelligence back-up to the better known Regional Leaders Conference [Muspida]. At the central level the clear references to coordination in the names and official missions of Bakin and Bakorstanas suggest that inter-agency coordination is a recurring problem. In the second half of the chapter the question of organizational rivalries amongst intelligence agencies, and between intelligence and other parts of the state is discussed. This relative incoherence of state organs is experienced by the agencies concerned as a loss of optimum effectiveness. To their antagonists and victims it means that there are opportunities for manoeuvre, cracks in the apparently monolithic and omnipotent behemoth, resources for counter-acting state power - power that is enhanced by the immobilization of political will and hope that comes from unwitting acceptance of the state's own claims to unfettered dominion. Most historical accounts of intelligence and security agencies offer examples of lack of coordination between different bureaus, competition for the favour of the sovereign, manipulation of information, privatization of state resources for personal or factional ends, and clashes of political and organizational style, morality and policy objectives. Indonesian security and intelligence agencies offer ample testimony to all of these, and measures to vitiate their negative effects for the state as a whole (or the dominant interpretation of that interest) have been recurrent.

1. See also the suggestion by Napitupulu that an agency was established, at least on paper, in 1958 to deal with coordination problems. See P. Napitupulu, Intelligence (Fungsi dan Peranannja), (Jakarta: Bhratara, 1966). This is discussed in Appendix 3 below.


Intelligence coordination Indonesian security managers have been aware of the problems of coordination between agencies for some time, although there seems to be increasing attention to the issue. Solutions have been sought at both the regional or local level, and at the centre, through a series of coordinating meetings and agencies. The number of known coordination vehicles at the local level suggests a continuous problem with no simple solution. Local intelligence coordination Two small recent press reports give some insight into this problem at a regional level through a system known as the Intelligence Coordinating Staff [Staf Koordinasi Intelijen - SKI]. However, while both reports refer to the operation of the SKI system in East Java, they differ markedly as to its nature. The first report describes a very small, upper echelon meeting: The Coordinating Staff [SKI] meets every two weeks at the provincial offices of the Director-General for Social and Political Affairs, the Assistant for Intelligence (in the Military Area Command), the Assistant for Intelligence to the High Prosecutor, and Police Security Intelligence [Intelpampol, Intelijen Pengamanan Polisi].2 The second report concerns a large assembly of civilian and military intelligence staff: Speaking to 191 members of the East Java Intelligence Coordinating Staff [SKI] in Surabaya, Kopkamtib commander for East Java Major-General Sugeng Subroto [the Kodam commander] said SKI was the forum or vehicle which was coordinating in nature for the entire intelligence machinery in the region, both civilian and military. With SKI, there could be mutual provision of information, consultations, and evaluation of problems arising in the region, whether they involved security or development. Hopefully, through SKI there could be integration [keterpaduan] in handling problems in these areas.3 The difference in the size of the two reported meetings means that the make-up of the SKI is quite unclear. However, both reports are revealing: the first, for the make-up of the groups to be coordinated (no mention of Bakin in either); the second, for the large size of the assembled intelligence officials for East Java. A second, and broader, arena for intelligence and security coordination is the
2. Indonesia Reports, 21 (June 1987), citing the Surabaya Post, 17 November 1986. Note that the sentence does not quite make sense as written. Presumably the SKI is made up of individuals from the four offices mentioned. The same issue of Indonesia Reports refers to a similar body as Bakorin - Badan Koordinasi Intelijen (p.12). 3. Indonesia Reports, 26 (January 1988), pp.27-28, citing the Jawa Pos, (24 September 1987). The editor of Indonesia Reports comments: This story makes clear that the system of SKIs through the country differs from the Army's Kopkamtib hierarchy. This seems connected to a coordinated push for Kopkamtib's entry into troublesome economic development issues, rather than the ad hoc approach of the past. If carried out in a thoroughgoing way, this could lead to a substantial practical and doctrinal expansion of ABRI's "dual function". Heretofore, an economic component of in ABRI's "socio-political" role has been unelaborated and downplayed. The apparent energizing of the SKI's thus suggests dissatisfaction among "young generation" Army officers about a wide number of aspects of economic development implementation, if not the strategy itself. The concern suggested here seems to extend well beyond the more traditional but limited anti-corruption role with which Kopkamtib has been tasked in the past. The rise of an economic dimension of the intelligence-security apparatus will be discussed further below.


Muspida, the Regional Leaders Conference [Musyawarah Pimpinan Daerah]4. (See Figure 10.1.) The Muspida were established in 1967 after the abolition of the Old Order's High Command [KOTI] and Regional Authorities [Pepelda] with the explicit purpose of guaranteeing unity of action, coordination and integration to overcome disturbances and obstructions to the smooth implementation of government policies and programmes.5 A 1982 Seskoad commentary on the Muspida legislation is more specific: In the context of cultivating security and order, policies and implementation by officials does not stop the possibility of overlapping [English] with each other and misunderstandings. A body is needed to coordinate, misunderstandings, to facilitate

4. A second level of Leaders Conferences exists at the Kabupaten level, with comparable make-up and responsibilities. See Indonesia, Seskoad [Sekolah Staf dan Komando] (1982), Vademecum: Pengetahuan Pertahanan Keamanan, (Bandung: Markas Besar, TNI-AD, Sekolah Staf dan Komando, Cetakan Dua, 1982), p.380. 5. Presiden Republik Indonesia, Penjelasan Instruksi Presiden Nomor 05 Tahun 1967, reproduced in Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit.



explanations and actions between regional leaders, particularly about limits of authority and jurisdiction, and each others' duties and responsibilities.6 At the regional level, the Muspida is made up of the Governor, the Kodam Commander, the Police Chief, and the High Prosecutor.7 The Muspida's authority is limited to providing advice and assistance to the Governor in coordination matters, in estimating the intensity and extent of security disturbances, and in securing government policies and programmes.8 In the past, the chair of the Muspida was always the Kodam Commander, although in recent years, the governor (more often than not a military man in any case), has taken the chair. In his role as chairman of the Muspida, the military commander had all the backup powers and could, if necessary, issue instructions to the governor, the police chief and the public prosecutor.9 In addition to the Muspida itself there is a secondary body attached to it - the Regional Security Authorities Body [Badan Pengamanan Penguasa Daerah], specifically concerned with political questions and policy, made up of ABRI members.10 Just how that body fits with the small version of the Intelligence Coordinating Staff reported above, is not clear. In the East Timor war zone intelligence coordination was most important to the Indonesian forces. In the course of setting down an extremely well-informed and detailed set of standing orders on Fretilin political and military tactics and strategy, the then Commander of Military Resort Command [Korem] 164/Wira Dharma, (then) Colonel Rajagukguk stressed the need for integration of the whole Indonesian state apparatus in Timor. This Established Procedure [Protap] on Intelligence noted that Territorial intelligence activities to back up anti-guerilla operations in East Timor require that special emphasis be placed on extraordinary support procedures so as to ensure that all efforts and activities undertaken are well and truly coordinated. This instruction is intended for every section of the apparatus which is directly connected with the life of the community.11 Rajagukguk's emphasis (after six years of continuous counter-insurgency campaigning) makes clear that coordination remained inadequate.

6. Ibid., p.379. 7. There have been some small variations in make-up over the years, according to the needs of different regions, and as the overall military command structure has altered. 8. Instruksi Presiden 5/1967, Pasal 6. 9. David Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project) 1984), p.45-7. 10. Seskoad, op.cit., p.380; Instruksi Presiden, Pasal 2. 11. Kodam XVI/Udayana - Korem 164/Wira Dharma. Established Procedure [Protap] on Intelligence No.01/IV/1982. Subject: Instructions for Territorial Intelligence Activities in East Timor. Reproduced in Carmel Budiardjo and Liem Soei Liong, The War Against East Timor, (London: Zed Press, (1984), p.205.


Central intelligence coordination At the centre there has been an increasing concern with intelligence and security coordination. The State Intelligence Coordinating Agency, Bakin, has officially had a broad brief: 1)Intelligence, counter-intelligence and covert action [penggalangan], through both routine activities and intelligence operations, at home and abroad. 2)Coordinating, integrating and carrying out technical guidance for all other state apparatus intelligence activities outside Bakin, both at home and abroad, through Coordination Meetings. 3)Undertaking control of intelligence tasks in general. 4)Preparing and formulating general State policy on intelligence.12 Over the two decades of Bakin's history, the organizational emphasis has shifted amongst these goals. Little is known of its coordination activities in the early New Order days, although the specification of its tasks at that time probably reflected the concern of the inner Army leadership to preserve control of intelligence power centres at a time when the military as a whole was still split in its loyalties and purges were regular, and after a period where the intelligence services had been particularly important political tools for various masters. At the height of its "activist" period in the 1970s its pre-eminence meant that the coordination aspect was somewhat diminished, with the exception of the difficult relationship to Opsus. With the proliferation of intelligence centres outside Bakin, and especially the rise of Bais, and the subsequent operational restraints on Bakin, the coordination function has been somewhat revived. It is unlikely that the Bakin leadership (to the extent that it is unified) is able to exercise its general responsibility for overall direction of the intelligence apparatus untrammeled in the face of the range of bases of support for Moerdani in Bais, Attorney-General's, the Ministry of Home Affairs and elsewhere. How the independent activities of Bais and its function as the arena of coordination - and consequently, arbitration between competing policy lines - sit together is also not clear. That may provide some insight into the need for a second, higher, central forum for coordination of security policy - the establishment of the position of Coordinating Minister for Politics and Security [Menteri Koordinator Bidang Politik dan Keamanan Menko Polkam]. The Coordinating Minister is directly responsible to the President, and oversees the Ministers of the Interior, Defence and Security, Justice, and Information, the Attorney-General, the Commander of Kopkamtib, the Head of Bakin, and other bodies as necessary.13 The appointment of Admiral Sudomo to the position in 198814 placed the position as firmly as possible in the intelligence-security stream of military political thinking. Sudomo had previously been the effective head of Kopkamtib for the best part of a decade, and then Minister for Labour Power.
12. Almanak Negara Republik Indonesia 1987, (Jakarta: Badan Penerbit Alda, 1987), p.534. 13. Almanak Negara...1987, op.cit., p.478. 14. Previous incumbents were Generals (Ret.) Panggabean (1978-83), previously Minister of Defence and Security; and Surono (1983-88) previously Deputy Commander of the Armed Forces, and Coordinating Minister for People's Welfare.


The most recent attempt at increasing coordination and coherence of intelligence and security policy came with the replacement of Kopkamtib by Bakorstanas - the Coordinating Agency for the Maintenance of National Stability. While the continuity with Kopkamtib's executive capacity and its autonomous intervention capacities are probably the most important characteristics of the organization for the present, the emphasis on coordination is clear, even if its precise meaning is not as yet. The head of Bakorstanas, the Armed Forces Commander will chair a body made up of representatives from all branches of the Armed Forces including the police, the Attorney-General, and all three Coordinating Ministers - including those for Economy and Finance, and the People's Welfare. In its coordinating activities, Bakorstanas will be attempting to provide coherence to the security and intelligence aspects of all parts of the state apparatus: as Rajagukguk instructed the East Timor part of the apparatus: "every section of the state apparatus which is connected to the life of the community".15 The totalitarian ambition of the project is clear. But what is more important to notice are the implications of such a comprehensive rationalization of security policy in terms of "economic stability" overcoming "obstructions to development". To the extent that these goals are taken seriously, then sooner or later the agenda of such discussions will move beyond standard issues of jurisdiction, "misunderstandings", cross-purposes and the like, and beyond the accepted understanding of "obstructions to development" posed by inharmonious labour relations and inappropriate democratic political principles and so forth. A broader theory of development could, for example, begin to identify obstructions caused by certain kinds of rentier activity - political or otherwise; or by economic policies that do not generate adequate employment opportunities (as opposed to profit maximization for controllers of capital); or which rendered the country's economy more vulnerable to the fortunes of the global economy. These are all positions which could conceivably held by senior military officers committed to retaining military control over an essentially capitalist economy, but one based on principles different from the current rentier-state.16 In such circumstances the coherence of state policy itself comes to be seen as the problem, and "coordination" of security policy involves conflict over the foundation of the New Order state itself. Organizational rivalries There is much that is not clear about the internal structure of the intelligence organizations, organizations, their formal inter-relationship, and the relationships in practice - including bureaucratic and personal conflicts and alliances. One of the few significant examples that is documented is the conflict in 1973-74 between Sumitro as Commander of Kopkamtib (and Sutopo Yuwono as Head of Bakin) and Moertopo-Yoga Soegama in the Bakin-Opsus network. But little is known of that conflict in institutional terms, or of any later bureaucratic politics in the intelligence-security system. One important intra-military tension is that between the intelligence stream and the operations branch of the army. Perhaps the most spectacular example of that tension concerns the preparations of the plans for the full invasion of East Timor in December 1975 by Moerdani, after the collapse of the Moertopo strategy of domestic subversion in
15. Budiardjo and Liem, op.cit., p.205. 16. The three examples are in fact drawn from positions close to those of Park Chung-hee.


Timor and diplomacy towards Portugal and Australia:17 The invasion plans were drawn up by Maj. General Benny Moerdani without the knowledge or participation of key members of the operational staff. The deputy commander of the armed forces [Wapangab], General Surono Reksodimedjo, who was as much in the dark as anyone else, registered his displeasure by going off shortly thereafter on the haj, leaving Murdani's group to complete the takeover. Surono felt that as Wapangab he should have known what was planned. Surono was not the only officer upset over the invasion. The Kostrad commander, Lt. Gen. Leo Lopilusa, who would in the normal course of events have played a central role in any such operation, was in Paris at the time and received a cable advising him that the invasion had gone through, without ever being asked if his troops were ready. Lopilusa confided to a retired colleague not long after the invasion, "I am only the manager of a funeral parlour. Only that! I am not involved. I am only in charge of the funerals of the men who don't come back...In the view of some senior officers from the operational side, Suharto was operating outside normal channels in bypassing Kostrad and relying on the Kopassandha [Komando Pasukan Sandhi Yudha, or Secret Warfare Force] and the intelligence community in such an operation. This view did not take allowance of the fact that in many ways an expanded Kopassandha had taken over some of the functions that were formerly the responsibility of Kostrad.18 Two things are important about this account for our purposes. Firstly, the theme of resentment between intelligence branches and operational branches is a recurring one in military sociology, in part because the divide roughly corresponds to the division between "political" streams and more strictly military professional streams (without having too many illusions about the latter grouping). While the "political" stream in Indonesia was broader (including, in the "core group" the "financial" generals such as Ibnu Sutowo, Humardhani and Surjo, and the "law/ administration" group around Sudharmono, Ali Said and Ismail Saleh - with Alamsjah perhaps "halfway" in between) the intelligencesecurity-special forces link to Suharto was dominant, and wholly politicized. Jenkins presents the distinction in slightly different terms: those of a "pragmatic" vs. a "principled" outlook. In the early 1970s, and again in the later 70s and early 80s this divide corresponded roughly to a "palace/Hankam" divide: And although it was no longer entirely accurate to speak of a Hankam-Palace cleavage, it was nonetheless true that the pragmatic officers tended to be those clustered around Suharto. The more "principled" group tended to be more closely associated with the army proper, or at any rate within its non-intelligence sectors.. There was in all this, an obvious correlation between "pragmatism" and "power holding" on the one hand, and "principle/removed from power" on the other. However, it would be wrong to see this as being no more than an "in" group, "out" group phenomenon.19 Jenkins also sees the same "pragmatic/principled" distinction operating, at least for
17. See Hamish McDonald, Suharto's Indonesia, (Melbourne: Fontana/Collins, 1980), pp.195-215. 18. Jenkins, op.cit., p.24. 19. Ibid., p.30.


a short time, within the intelligence field itself, in the early seventies, between Lt.Gen. Sutopo Yuwono as Head of Bakin and (then) Maj.Gen. Ali Moertopo as its Deputy Head.20 The distinction finally appeared to come down to three aspects: firstly, the Suharto group of "pragmatists" were more ready and willing to use any and all methods to defeat their political opponents; and secondly, they displayed a more thoroughgoing commitment to enhancing the position of the military in the society (at the expense of other social groups). A third distinction cuts slightly across these divides: Sutopo Yuwono, like Sayidman and Hasnan Habib, all of whom were pushed aside after Malari, has the "PSI" characteristic mix of intellectuality and professionalism.21 Moerdani's tenure at the head of the military involved the overcoming of these distinctions by a process of fusion: an intelligence-security apparatus which is highly politicized, but professional and technocratic in its approach to political control and social engineering; and a military hierarchy dominated at its senior levels by intelligence and security officers, which nevertheless has expanded and upgraded the elite conventional force structure. Jenkins' account of the closed origins of the Timor invasion planning also provides part of the explanation, firstly for the invasion itself, and secondly, for its combination of extreme brutality and military incompetence. Organizational rivalries were costly in every sense. In this regard, the first two years of the Timor invasion replicated the experience of the smaller campaigns in Irian Jaya in 1962 and the West Malaysian landings of 1964, in both of which troops were dropped by plane or boat into extremely hostile environments (i.e. jungle, swamp, forest and/or unfriendly locals) either without adequate preparation or in the belief that the local people, Irianese or Malaysian would welcome them with open arms as liberators.22 Conclusion

20. Ibid., p.30. See comments by participants in these conflicts in the preceding chapter. 21. The long-standing character of one aspect of this divide was reflected in a comment of a former revolutionary intelligence colleague of Sutopo's - from another military-political stream - when he dismissed the intelligence chief in characteristic terms: "He's not a real fighter - he spent the Revolution in the headquarters". [PS/39] 22. This should not, however, detract from noting the subsequent effectiveness (at least temporarily) of ABRI campaigns in East Timor and Irian Jaya using Kopassandha/ Kopassus troops under the command of Moerdani acolytes such as Dading Kalbuadi. On military intelligence failures in the US context, see Richard Betts, "Analysis, war and decision: why intelligence failures are inevitable", International Security, XXXI,1 (October 1978). On the military aspects of the early stages of the Timor invasion see Jill Jolliffe, East Timor: Nationalism and Colonialism, (Brisbane: University Of Queensland Press, 1978); James Dunn, Timor: A People Betrayed, (Brisbane: Jacaranda Press, 1983); Timor Information Service, (Melbourne: 1976-1980), and Richard Tanter, "The military situation in East Timor", Pacific Research, January 1977. On the Malaysian landings see J.A.C.Mackie, Konfrontasi, (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1974). It is worth recalling the comment made by the editors of Indonesia about Moerdani and the privileged position of the intelligence-security stream in ABRI: Suffice it to say that the appointment as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces who has never personally commanded any unit larger than a battalion is extraordinary and defies all the norms of professional modern militaries. "Current data on the Indonesian military elite", Indonesia, 36 (1983), p.111. His successor, Try Soetrisno, although starting out with the disadvantage of graduating in 1959 from the Army Technical Academy (Aktekad), served "as Chief of Staff of Kodam XVI/Udayana under Soeweno and Dading Kalbuadi in the years 1977-78, during the major antipopulation campaigns in East Timor that resulted in the loss, by firearms, starvation and related disease, of at least a hundred thousand lives." "Current data on the Indonesian military elite", Indonesia, 40 (1985), p.140.


The problem of intelligence coordination is clear from the existence of organizational structures aimed at such a goal, or rectifying past inadequacies. At the local level it is clear that there is a coordination structure in place at the provincial level and possibly below. However the existing evidence is too slim to document much more than the bare existence of the structure. It is not clear to what administrative depth such coordinating structures are applied. More importantly, the pattern of authority on such committees is not clear: what, for example, is the relationship between military intelligence officers and civilian members? Does the military view, to the extent that it is clear or consistent, always prevail? Is there a difference in political styles and/or political goals? Is there any evidence to suggest that any of these regional or local bodies are effective transmission belts of local pressure upwards? Coordination can mean many different things. Equally, despite the importance of the question, it must be said that as yet there is little systematic information to report on the internal politics of Indonesian intelligence agencies. In the course of the interviewing for this thesis, a certain amount of gossip and rumour about intra- and inter-agency fighting was collected. However, for the most part this was ignored as being too fragmentary and unreliable to be useful.23 The well-known distinction between "principled" and "pragmatic" intelligence styles is still useful, but may be less helpful in the more bureaucratic days of the late New Order than in the manoeuvrings of the days of Moertopo and his rivals. Clearly, any real assessment of the internal intelligence apparatus politics of the late New Order will have to wait on an informed account of the political affairs of Moerdani, the architect of this apparatus.

23. The one place where some of this material has been used is in a few of the biographical sketches in Appendix 1. There it is indicated as the opinion of particular informants.


Chapter 11 Theory and practice in intelligence and control operations: (1) Terror

While information about the actual workings of the intelligence and security apparatus is not extensive, there are some important pieces of evidence which allow something of a view beyond the simple matter of institutional structure outlined in the previous three chapters. Four major types of evidence have become available in recent years. Firstly, there is the Indonesian Army Staff and Command College manual for the year 1982: Vademecum: Pengetahuan Pertahanan Keamanan [Vademecum: Defence and Security Studies].1 Secondly there are a number of Indonesian Army intelligence reports and manuals which have come into the public domain, mainly by capture in East Timor and Irian Jaya. Third, there are comments on the operations of these agencies by their victims, some of whom have made incisive analyses. Finally, a number of detailed and reliable studies of violations of civil and political rights in Indonesia and East Timor have been carried out, by both Indonesian and foreign researchers. This and the following chapter look at the theory and practice of intelligence and social-political operations in Indonesia, first concentrating on the uses of terror in this chapter, and surveillance in the next. This chapter opens with an examination of the Seskoad textbook model of intelligence operations, social-political operations and territorial operations. The intelligence bureaucracy's model of social, political and cultural threat assessment is also reviewed. The theory set out in this textbook approach is then compared with the evidence about such operations in Indonesian political life over the past two decades. Four examples of surveillance and terror by intelligence agencies are reviewed: East Timor, Irian Jaya, the Bais and police mass murder campaign against alleged criminals in 1983-84, and ongoing provocation and terror against students and Muslims. While the accumulated information is greater than is often thought, it must be said at the outset that the following discussion of the workings of these state agencies is based on a limited range of evidence. Inevitably, this relatively small number of sources will provide a somewhat distorted view of the whole: at worst it is a matter of the five blind people each trying to describe the elephant they have never seen - one holding a trunk, another a tail, another an ear, and so on. However, there is no alternative to beginning with what is available, and hoping that more evidence will come into the public domain in due course to correct the inaccuracies. And that is the real point: the object of analysis is one which is more common than is commonly admitted in limp discussions of social research: one which has a great deal of information about its own history and activities; which actively monitors its own environment, including attempts at inquiry into itself; and which is in a position to evade or minimize or colour accurate discussions of it by outsiders. In short, this is a discussion of the workings of a part of the political community that has a good deal to say to and about itself, and very little to say to the outside world.
1. Indonesia, Seskoad [Sekolah Staf dan Komando], Vademecum: Pengetahuan Pertahanan Keamanan, (Bandung: Markas Besar, TNI-AD, Sekolah Staf dan Komando, Cetakan Dua, 1982).


The textbook models In 1982 the Headquarters of the Army Staff and Command College (Seskoad) issued the second edition of Vademecum: Defence and Security Studies, a 700 page basic manual for middle-ranking officers taking the one year Seskoad course.2 The manual was divided into seven sections, several of which are straightforward military science subjects as one would expect in a comparable western manual: Command and Communications, Operations (from Amphibious to Intelligence), Administration and Management, Military Science Studies, and Strategic Issues. Not all of these have the content that would be expected on a western model: Military Science Studies deals mainly with social analysis: three of its four chapters are: Social Research Methods, Survey Instrument Construction, and Territorial Development as a Development Approach. Some of the other parts would be unusual in a western military curriculum; for example: Struggle [Perjuangan], which discussed the Pancasila and the 1945 Constitution, the dwifungsi (dual function) of the Armed Forces, their Sacred Duty as Inheritors of the Values of 1945, the Foundation of the Armed Forces Leadership [of Indonesian Society], and the History of the Struggle of the Armed Forces. Most important of all was the part that typified the longstanding social and political preoccupations of Indonesian military thinking: Part 3 - Territorial. This discussion will be based principally on that Part of the manual.3 Intelligence operations The manual distinguished a number of different types of activities and operations in the social-political sphere: intelligence, territorial, social-political, internal security and defence operations and activities. The definition of intelligence operations wasstraightforward enough, distinguishing investigation or intelligence proper [penyelidikan], counter-intelligence [pengamanan], and supportive operations [penggalangan] - or more appropriately, covert action4: Intelligence operations are all overt or covert activities and measures which are planned and guided with the aim of collecting information or data, creating or ripening a situation or climate which is needed to achieve the desired objective, and to take action to oppose or frustrate the operational arrangements of enemy intelligence.5
2. For a discussion of the course in the early 1980s by an American participant, see Charles Donald McFetridge, "SESKOAD training the elite", Indonesia, 36 (1983). 3. The general cautionary note sounded above is applicable to this reading of the Seskoad manual as well. It is only a manual, not a description of practice. Moreover it is not the only manual covering intelligence and social-political operations: more specific instruction and training manuals, and Established Procedures [Prosedur Tetap] would be issued - by departments at Seskoad, by the intelligence training schools, and by particular units, for both general and specific purposes. Yet, Seskoad is the most prestigious of Army colleges, and one of the key loci of Army integration. Moreover, senior intelligence officers (such as Sutopo Yuwono) have had a close association with the school. It is reasonable to believe that the manual sets down the officially sanctioned version of how such operations ought to be conducted, at least in theory if not practice. 4. There are difficulties in directly translating these three terms into English. Penyelidikan is literally "investigation", as in the Police Criminal Investigation Bureau; but in practice refers to the broadly analytical and research parts of intelligence work. Pengamanan is literally "the activity of securing" or "the rendering secure" of an object; as opposed to keamanan ("security"). It is the Indonesian term used for the English "counter-intelligence". Penggalangan is a difficult term, in practice used to cover black operations, psychological warfare, covert action and the euphemistic "dirty tricks. The literal meaning is "supportive operations", in the sense shown in the next paragraph. [PS/39] 5. Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., p.308.


The activist emphasis was clear in all three cases, especially, obviously enough, in counter-intelligence and covert action. The work of intelligence was fundamentally conceived to be very much more than just information gathering and security. The operational aims of counter-intelligence and supportive operations/covert action respectively were 2)creating and ripening an atmosphere or situation which furthers the interest and execution of defence and security in the political, economic and social fields, as well as in the psychological and other fields. 3)Securing, against the efforts and activities of enemy intelligence, all people and operations with ideological, political, economic, social and cultural [Ipolekososbud] potential necessary for the national security system.6 Covert, supportive actions are specific operations to be carried out by special intelligence support policy [kebijaksanaan] which is being attacked or is about to be attacked, and to remove obstructions Such actions are always carried out on a covert basis, although this may be a matter of carrying out an ostensibly open activity in such a way that "the aim is always covert or kept secret".7 Strategic intelligence, encompassing any and all issues of national interest, involves the continuous practice of all three types of operations and activities, varying intensity and mix according to need, but always under a single command and design. Foreign targets are dealt with covertly. Domestic targets can be dealt with overtly or covertly.8 In most respects this specification of the brief of intelligence operations is close to the normal range of western agencies. The acquisition of intelligence and its analysis is always in practice tied to covert action in support of state policy, whether in one agency or in several. The most distinctively Indonesian note is the term ipolekososbud, used here to refer to the range of concerns of covert/supportive action. It is a term which recurs throughout Indonesian military thinking. It is an acronym formed from the first syllables of ideologi, politik, ekonomi, sosial, budaya [culture].9 It is the standard term to cover the brief not only of intelligence work, but also territorial and social-political operations. While it is reasonable to expect any modern intelligence agency to be concerned with each of these elements, the unitary expression in the acronym (and as will be shown below, in the detailed tasks of operations) denotes a constant and politicised concern for social control against all sources of disturbances.10
6. Ibid., p.310. 7. Ibid., p.309. 8. Ibid., pp.311-312. 9. In places it becomes Ipolekososbudmil, to include military matters, or worse still (reportedly) Ipolekososbudmilroh, to assert a temporal rendering of spiritual [rohaniah] affairs. 10. Against the integralist tenor of the term Ipolekososbudmil, it is worth noting that all but one of the words contributing to it have a western derivation.


Territorial Operations Indonesian military doctrine has been characterised by its emphasis on territorial warfare, an integration of military, militia and civilian components of defence, and on the peace-time preparation of a social and technical base for guerilla warfare as a necessary stage of defence against invasion. In the Seskoad manual, more than a hundred of the seven hundred pages was devoted to various aspects of territorial management and defence. This vital part of the manual commenced with an important distinction between what can be taken as a broad understanding of territorial affairs - Regional Management [Pembinaan Wilayah]; and a narrow, more clearly defence and security understanding Territorial Management [Pembinaan Teritorial]. The meaning of Territorial Management can be distinguished from Regional Management because the scope of Territorial Management emphasises the organisation of the defence and security potential, whereas Regional Management is aimed at welfare and its usefulness for defence and security. The pursuit of the two together has the aim of creating maximum and effective National defence through Security and Welfare in order to attain National Goals. The place of intelligence and social inquiry more broadly understood is set down at the outset: Three factors influence territorial issues: geography as the framework, within which is demography as the content, and social conditions [Ipolekososbudmil] as the factor of social life that results from the synthesis of the other two elements. In accord with this, and the reality of the whole way of life, these three factors also change and develop continuously. For that reason, territorial issues are always influenced by changes in these factors, and must be followed and analyzed continuously, so that we can always obtain the latest and most appropriate data in reply to every challenge, at each time and place, and provide as many resources as possible for potential use by territorial elements.11 The actual practice of territorial operations, and the internal organisation of staffing and authority has varied over more than thirty years.12 In 1982, the Army Territorial Staff, through the Assistant for Territorial Affairs to the Army Chief of Staff, held responsibility for Territorial Activities and Operations, which were understood as being generally "to uphold and protect the authority of the Government". A distinction was made between Territorial Operations in two modes, corresponding to the degree and type of threat and, consequently, the level and complexity of operations to regain control of the situation. The less common form dealt with cases of physical threat, whether violent or otherwise, in which Territorial Operations would be carried out in the context of a State of Emergency or of War, as either Internal Security Operations [Ops Kamdagri] or Defence Operations [Perata], and in this case would be termed Territorial Resistance Operations [Ops (Wan) Ter]. The more common, and ongoing form was termed Territorial
11. Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., p.315. 12. Ibid., pp.321-322.


Management Operations [Ops (Bin) Ter], with the aim of improving territorial development activities for re-stabilising slack Social Conditions.13 This last mandate could be exercised at any time, as a result of general coordination, or through the Regional Leaders Conference [Muspida] or under Kopkamtib auspices, as well as in States of Emergency or of War. Social and political operations Under the doctrine current in 198214, social and political operations cast a potentially wide net: Social and political operations are intended to carry out, or to create a situation where it is possible to carry out, the vital tasks of the Armed Forces as a social force...; ensuring the security and success of each Government program in the field of development. As elsewhere, the stabilisation of social conditions (Ipolekososbudmil conditions in fact) was to generate the basis for national development and security. The purpose of making society the object is to direct public opinion towards a situation favourable to us.15 Prosperity and success were to be the goal of social and political operations. The usual form of social-political operations is to be overt, emphasising education and persuasion by giving understanding, guidance, direction, support and stimulus in the face of a point of view which is not yet able to accept [particular] concepts, thoughts or ideological, political, economic, social or cultural conditions as desired. But in special circumstances, such operations could be covert. Either way, social-political operations can be carried out on a strategic or tactical basis, and in either a preventive or repressive way. The implementation of social and political operations is not only a matter for the Armed Forces: the burden falls as much on organisations of the Wives of the Armed Forces (which shares the same "foundation and principle of struggle" as ABRI), Defence and Security Civil Servants (who have "a greater durability [daya tahan] and capacity in the fields of ideology, economics, politics, society and culture" - as does the Wives organisation); and the members of the Indonesian Armed Forces Retired Officers Association [Pepabri] and their families who are spread in every corner of Indonesia and are established in all areas of social life, ensuring great capacity in aiding the execution of social and political operations.16

13. Ibid., p.324. 14. Based on the Decision of the Minister of Defence and Security/Commander of the Armed Forces No. Kep/04/III/1977, dated 5-41977. See Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., p.396. 15. Ibid., p.396. 16. Ibid., p.400.


Threat levels and the framework of intervention: Regional Security Management Beyond the types of operations set out above, there are the full-blown strategies of Internal Security Operations under a State of Emergency or full Defence Operations under a State of War. For most of the New Order period, internal pacification has not been attempted through states of emergency; rather it has been through the militarised intelligence, territorial and social-political structure just outlined. But the effective deployment of these options requires a framework of understanding the level and character of threat and a guide to the selection of appropriate response. This has been provided through the doctrine of Regional Security Management [Pembinaan Keamanan Kewilayahan - Binkanwil]. In the 1982 manual, Regional Security Management referred to all activities and efforts connected with planning, organisation, development, direction and control in the context of realising a situation which is secure and calm in a given region, which is carried out in a coordinated and integrated manner by Community Guidance authorities [aim of which is] to give a feeling of security and comfort to the community so that the government apparatus is able to fulfil its obligations in peace.17 Here as elsewhere, operational definitions of the political-military situations in which the territorial apparatus was to act in specified ways were provided. Within the general framework of territorial operations all military jurisdictions were assessed as to their level of security, on a scale from "Secure" [Aman], through "Disturbed" [Rawan], "Dangerous" [Gawat], "Critical" [Kritis], to "Alarming" [Bahaya]. These administrative distinctions between "Situation Levels" were tied to observable social phenomena, as follows18: 1. Secure a. Secure is the condition where all of society is free from danger and fear so that life and livelihood can be carried out in an ordered and calm way. b. Several indications of a secure condition are: 1)Government polices and programs can be carried out in an effective and efficient way by each level of the government apparatus. 2)The wellbeing of the community in its life and livelihood is protected and guaranteed. 3)In the community there is an ambition to work which stimulates creativity, critical attitudes and advances a feeling of mutual responsibility. 2. Disturbed Disturbed refers to a situation where there are interest conflicts [Eng.] between community groups or between community groups and the government so that order and calm are disturbed.
17. Ibid., p.412. 18. Ibid., p.330, citing "Meaning of Situation Levels": (Hankam Combined Operations Doctrine NS 02/76).


3. Dangerous Dangerous refers to a condition where interest conflicts take the form of tension or social tension between community groups or political tensions occur between government apparatuses, or between community groups and government apparatus as a result of the growth of subversive elements. A dangerous situation generally disturbs the stability of order and security. 4. Critical Critical refers to a level of situation where social and political conflicts have grown to become conflicts using physical force, taking the form of sabotage, strikes and boycott actions, accusations as well as killings happening between community groups or between community groups and the government. Crisis usually threatens national security. 5. Alarming An alarming situation occurs when the life of the nation and the state is threatened with destruction because of violent efforts to change the Constitution and philosophy of the Government by force.

Under the Regional Security Management regime, disturbances to community security were classified according to three sets of criteria: whether physical or non-physical in form; whether criminal or subversive; and whether "motivated from an ideological, political, economic, socio-cultural or security background", and by degree: light, moderate or heavy19. The resulting classification of security disturbances is sufficiently illuminating to quote at length in Table 11.1. This classification yielded an alternative brief classification of levels of security threat: secure; disturbed (based on imminent socio-economic/cultural threats); and dangerous (based on political/security motives for disturbances). Intervention by the Territorial Apparatus was to be dependent on the level and type of threat: light and moderate socially motivated disturbances required territorial monitoring only, while moderate ideological or politically-motivated disturbances called the apparatus to a higher state of readiness to intervene. Any of the more serious forms of disturbance were immediately within the jurisdiction of the Territorial Apparatus, either in its own right or under Kopkamtib auspices.20 The role of the different types of operations that have been discussed was then schematically set down in relation to the situation guidelines21: 1)Investigative intelligence and counter-intelligence operations are vital to disclose the background to a specific problem/issue and the main actors behind it, as with strength, motivation and distribution in the area.
19. Ibid., p.413. 20. Ibid., pp.414-415. 21. Ibid., pp.415-416.


2)Supportive/psychological warfare intelligence operations are vital whenever a large part of the community or specific group is influenced an extreme group or a subversive/dissatisfied group so



that they are already clearly supporting such a group, and in an a priori way are opposed to the government. 3)Territorial Operations are vital whenever enemy forces are still relatively limited to cell-form and have not yet been successful in influencing the community in a general way. 4)Public Order and Security Operations are vital whenever the disturbing essence takes more the form of organised crime or is alarming the community but does not yet have political strength or a Defence and Security quality. 5)Combat operations are vital whenever the threatening body has either political or armed strength, and is already an organised force endangering the continuity of life as well as authority of the government and the national well-being.

Intelligence and security operations in practice: Timor and Irian Just how this model of the integration of surveillance, evaluation and intervention arrangements works in practice is difficult to evaluate: secrecy is characteristic of even this relatively overt portion of the intelligence-security apparatus.22 Documents captured from Indonesian military forces on operational duty in Irian Jaya and East Timor bring us closer to the daily practice of military territorially-based activities. This section examines applications of the Seskoad model in East Timor and Irian Jaya, and evidence of the practice intelligence and security operations from more central parts of Indonesian society. What is striking from this analysis is the level of instrumental rationality, systematic surveillance of the population and general continuity with the interventionist approach recommended at Seskoad, combined with an administrative acceptance of torture and ill-treatment of prisoners. In practice, surveillance and intervention following the Seskoad model are used to generate varying levels of terror in specific populations. Surveillance and terror in East Timor intelligence and security operations Since the Indonesian invasion of the former Portuguese colony, East Timor has been the site of an assault on the Timorese population by Indonesian forces of holocaust proportions, in which up to one-fifth of the 1975 population is thought to have died. The resilience of Timorese resistance for more than a decade in the face of superior numbers, logistics, and military technology has meant that the territory has also been the site of the Indonesian Armed Forces most concerted application of the intelligence and security model set out in the Seskoad manual. In 1985 Amnesty International published a series of captured Indonesian Army documents emanating from Military Resort Command [Korem] 164/Wira Darma based in Dili. All appear to have been written around 1982, and appeared over the signatures of the Korem Commander, Colonel Adolf Sahala Rajagukguk, and his Intelligence "Chief", Major Williem da Costa. Those appearing over da Costa's name were either Instruction
22. All of the above deals with the operations of the standard military bureaucratised part of the apparatus. It says nothing about the operating procedures of Bakin, particularly its penggalangan activities in the heyday of Ali Moertopo; Opsus; or, after 1983, different parts of Bais. One part of Bais' work would draw on exactly the organisational techniques set out in the Seskoad manual model; on the other hand, there would be another layer of less standardised activities.


Manuals or a training plan. Rajagukguk's name appeared over three sets of Established Procedures [Prosedur Tetap - Protap].23 Two of Rajagukguk's Established Procedures are most important for the present purpose: one (Established Procedure on Intelligence No.01/IV/1982) sets out instructions for Territorial Intelligence activities in East Timor. After seven years of occupation, It is a fact that the GPK's [Gerakan Pengacau Keamanan - Security Threatening Elements] underground networks have not yet been finished off. Although it is known that these networks are closely related to customs and to the family system, it is clear that special treatment is required if they are to be broken up. In order to be able more speedily to crush the GPK remnants to their roots and to prevent their re-emergence, it is necessary to develop Territorial Intelligence in East Timor.24 The character of the prevailing intelligence regime in place prior to this Protap is not clear, or the effective distinction in the East Timor campaign of the Territorial Apparatus [Apter] and Combat Units [Satpur].25 This Protap was intended to ensure a new level of integration of intelligence and intervention between combat and territorial activities: Territorial intelligence activities to back-up anti-guerilla operations in East Timor require that special emphasis be placed on extraordinary support procedures so that all efforts and activities are well and truly coordinated. This instruction is intended for every section of the apparatus which is directly connected with the life of the community. The "intelligence function" included "investigation, consolidation and security", and dealt with "the field of operations, the weather, and the GPK and the community which is the object of the contest between the GPK and ABRI units". The object of the exercise was total:" Control over all aspects of the life of the community is the key to efforts to separate the GPK from the people. Success was to be assessed both by the degree in which the people held the occupying forces and the state's total penetration of the life of the people: The apparatus is working well if: i)Every change occurring within the community is known. To achieve this, every official must be sensitive to his environment.

23. The translations of these documents used here are those published in Carmel Budiardjo and Liem Soei Liong, The War Against East Timor, (London: Zed Press, 1984), Documents 1 - 9. On the question of the documents' veracity Amnesty International remarked: "Indonesian officials have correctly stated that the Ministry of Defence and Security (HANKAM) never published the manuals, but Amnesty International is not aware of any claims that the Ministry did so. The manuals appear to have been written by officers of the Command for East Timor for local use and have no application beyond East Timor." See Amnesty International, East Timor: Violations of Human Rights - Extrajudicial Executions, "Disappearances", and Political Imprisonment, (London: Amnesty International, 1985), p.12. 24. All references to this document in the following paragraphs are from Budiardjo and Liem, op.cit., pp.193-210. 25. This is a major problem, given the extent to which the early years of the war were regarded as under the control of the intelligence-security axis of the Army - see above, [coordination section....]. In an Instruction Manual (JUKNIS/01-4/1982) on Village Guidance, da Costa says: "There may be a variety of officers in the village, e.g. Babinsa [Village Guidance NCO] and Binpolda [Area Police NCO]; members of battalion 745 charged with guiding the Ratih; a Territorial NCO [Bater] from another unit; and intelligence NCO [Ba Intel] from the Satgas Intel or other units, and the Team Pembina Desa". Budiardjo and Liem, op.cit., p.214.


ii)Every time an inhabitant goes out of the area, the direction, destination, time and reason are known. iii)Any time that goods that could be used as logistics for the guerillas are shifted to or from the area to places suspected as GPK areas, information of this is speedily available and preventive action is taken. iv)No inhabitant's home is being used as a hideout for the GPK, with periodic check's being made. v)In all fields of life, it is possible to discover efforts to set up GPK support networks and detect the existence of such networks, and to keep informed of the relationship between these two aspects of life. The document is divided into two main sections: one providing an analysis of Fretilin's community basis and its political and military tactics; the other sets down mandatory Army procedures for countering this approach. The analysis of Fretilin is acute and wellresearched. It is dispassionate and clear, setting forward Fretilin's immediate and longterm goals and use of resources without disparagement, despite the terminology of "GPK". It is difficult to imagine substantial Fretilin disagreement about this antagonistic assessment. In several places it acknowledges Indonesian weaknesses; e.g.: Organisation of people's support [by Fretilin] also takes account of cultural factors so that: i.It is difficult for ABRI units to take action because of their stupidity or naivety. ii.If ABRI units do decide to take firm action, this will only arouse people's antipathy because people will help them according to traditions based on values acceptable to the community. The instructions for dealing with this formidable enemy are directed at the Military District Commands [Koramil] and the Village Guidance Teams [Tim Pembina Desa] and Village Guidance NCOs [Babinsa]. The instructions begin with the standard territorial intelligence task as in the Seskoad manual: "establishing the level of trouble-someness [kerawanan] of the village" by reference to specified criteria. The Protap then sets out techniques for exposing Fretilin networks, implementing village security, and interrogation. Combat unit instructions for village patrolling are then tied back to the analysis of Fretilin tactics. Throughout, the emphasis is on the integration of all the arms of the state apparatus, and basing operations on thorough intelligence penetration of the target community and field of operation. The two most important recommended methods of obtaining the required information are direct surveillance (overt and covert) and interrogation of East Timorese people villagers, suspects and prisoners. One of the manuals is an Established Procedure for the Interrogation of Prisoners26. As in other parts of the captured documents, the recommended procedure is to avoid violence, to stress the interrogator's understanding of
26. PROTAP/01/-B/VII/1982, reproduced whole as Document 4 in ibid., pp.233-237. In fact interrogation procedures are dealt with in several of the documents.


the prisoner's situation and awareness of Fretilin threats in the event the prisoner aids the Indonesian cause, and the futility of inducing the prisoner to confess to anything and everything the interrogator proposes. At the start of the interrogation, the person must be given a guarantee of his/her safety and survival so as to eliminate any idea that they will be killed regardless of whether they tell the truth or not. Give them the freedom to talk about anything they know. Once people feel assured of their personal safety, the next step is to give them the opportunity to speak or give accounts about everything they knew while they were in the bush.27 This tone of the rational abjuring of violence and threat gives way in the following paragraphs to a "realistic" acceptance of torture: It is hoped that interrogation with the use of force will not be implemented except in those situations where the person examined tells the truth with difficulty (is evasive). However, if the use of force is required a member of the local population (TBOs28), members of the civilian militia, ordinary people, should not be present to witness it, in order to avoid arousing the antipathy of the people. The use of force often has the consequence that the person being interrogated under duress confesses falsely because he is afraid, and, as a consequence, agrees to everything the interrogator wishes.29 Almost, but not quite, unbelievably, this administrative sanction of torture continues: Avoid taking photographs showing torture (of someone being given electric shocks, stripped naked and so on). Remember that such documentation should not be printed freely outside/in Denpasar [Bali, where regional command headquarters is located] and obtained by irresponsible members of the society.30 Amnesty went on to comment that
27. Ibid., pp.235-6. 28. TBO - Tenaga Bantuan Operasi [Operational Support Forces] - usually East Timorese. 29. Amnesty International 1985:53-54. In all of this the Indonesian manual for East Timor operations is remarkably similar to Japanese Imperial Army practises. In August 1943, the Hayashi Division in Burma issued a manual entitled Notes for the Interrogation of Prisoners of War, which included the following: Care must be taken when making use of rebukes, invectives or torture as it will result in his telling falsehoods and making a fool out of you. The following are the methods normally to be adopted: (a) Torture. This includes kicking, beating, and anything connected with physical suffering. This method is only to be used when everything else fails as it is the most clumsy. Change the interrogating officer after using violent torture, and good results can be obtained if the new officer questions in a sympathetic manner. Cited in Lord Russell of Liverpool, The Knights of Bushido: A Short History of Japanese War Crimes, (London: Cassell, 1958), p.275. 30. Amnesty International, East Timor..., op.cit., p.54. The manual is reproduced whole in Budiardjo and Liem op.cit. The instruction continues: "It is better to take photographs, such as shots taken while eating together with the prisoner, or shaking hands with those who have just come down from the bush, showing them in front of a house, and so on. If such photos are circulated in the bush, this is a classic way of undermining their morale and fighting spirits. And if such photos are shown to the priests, this can draw the church into supporting operations to restore security." (Budiardjo and Liem, op.cit., p.237) What is surprising is just how many photographs of Indonesian military reach the outside, one way or another. The Budiardjo and Liem translation makes clear that the local militia referred to are TBO, Hansip and Ratih personnel.


Many of the reports of torture and ill-treatment received by Amnesty International concern people in precisely those circumstances described in the passage above, namely prisoners being interrogated after surrender or capture. A Timorese who had worked with Indonesian intelligence described the procedure in these circumstances: "The normal procedure was to interrogate the captives or those that surrendered. People who surrendered and who were not soldiers who had engaged in battle with Fretilin would be permitted to go free after the interrogation but only after approval from intelligence headquarters in Dili. "During the interrogation they were normally tortured, especially if the interrogators thought they were Fretilin soldiers or leaders. They were tortured by hitting them with a blunt instrument, by jabbing lighted cigarettes in their faces around the mouth, or by giving them electric shocks, sometimes on the genitals. "The senior authorities would decide who was to be killed after the interrogation. Most of the leaders or more educated ones, those who were talented, were killed."31 These accounts could be extended, case by case, with the swelling and falling wave of lists of the dead, the abused and the disappeared in East Timor. That task has been undertaken elsewhere; the purpose here is less honourable, more distancing - the analysis and explanation of what happened. Suffice to make one final set of connections between the bureaucratic rationality and impersonal generalities of the manuals and standard operating procedures. "Intelligence officers" are regularly mentioned as perpetrators of torture, disappearances and extra-judicial executions in Timor. One final, recent example: ...Domingos de Castro, an official of the Economic and Development Services in Aileu, disappeared after meeting with intelligence officers in early December 1987. Before his disappearance, de Castro said that he was approached in late November 1987 by a major of the intelligence division of the Special Forces, and was questioned about his support for Fretilin. According to de Castro, He admitted that he supported a proposal for a negotiated settlement of the East Timor conflict set forth by Fretilin leader Xanana Gusmao. In a second meeting, de Castro was urged to write to Xanana, urging him to surrender. Shortly before his disappearance, he reportedly drafted a letter that the intelligence officers considered unsatisfactory.32 What these sources make clear is not the fact of torture in interrogation - that is abundantly clear from survivors' and witnesses' testimony over more than fifteen years of war - but rather the official sanction and normalizing of torture, and the control over torture and extra-judicial execution by senior officers. These sources rule out the possibility that these patterns of behaviour are "only" the result of unsanctioned "excesses" carried out by the lower orders of the military.33 What becomes abundantly
31. Amnesty International, East Timor..., op.cit., p.54. 32. Asia Watch, Human Rights in Indonesia and East Timor, (Washington: Asia Watch, 1985), pp.341-342, based on Amnesty International, "Statement on East Timor by Amnesty International to the United Nations Special Committee on Decolonization", August 12, 1988. 33. This is exactly as would be expected from the evidence in those few cases where torturers have been brought to trial in proper judicial circumstances. See, for example, Amnesty International, Torture in Greece: The First Torturers' Trial, 1975, (London: Amnesty International, 1977).


clear is that for the Indonesian military operating in East Timor surveillance, interrogation, intelligence and terror are inextricably and instrumentally linked. It is true, as Amnesty notes, that the manuals were issued for use in East Timor alone, and are not necessarily applicable to Indonesia as a whole. Yet, as will be shown, the East Timor application of the Seskoad model resulted only in the most extreme and sustained application of organised terror - but it was by no means the only one. The same alternation of instrumentally rational bureaucratic assessment, systematic surveillance of the population, and the most brutal and sadistic forms of interrogation and killing is found in Irian Jaya. Irian intelligence and security operations In the quarter century since the effective incorporation of Irian Jaya into Indonesia, the province has seen a constant stream of accounts of abuse of state power against the indigenous population. These accounts have been by no means regular, varying with both the varying intensity of resistance and repression, and the effectiveness of the Indonesian state's ability to restrict the flow of information. An Asia Watch report on Human Rights in Indonesia and East Timor based largely on interviews in the province summarised the difficulties acutely: restrictions on access to information in Irian Jaya, including limitations on communications within the province, make it difficult to verify such reports. Indeed, it is probable that the vast majority of incidents of serious abuse are not reported at all. Residents of Irian Jaya who would be expected to be aware of human rights violations repeatedly stressed in discussions with Asia Watch representatives that they have no way of learning about most incidents of abuse, particularly those taking place in remote villages.34 But over the years, a surprising amount of information has emerged. In 1980 the Free Papua Movement [Organisasi Papua Merdeka - OPM] captured a report on the security situation in the province from the Irian Jaya Kopkamtib headquarters, authorised by the then Kodam commander (and Laksusda), Brigadier-General Santosa. One of the 50 copies of the document was captured from the provincial police chief during a road ambush. It was produced as a briefing prior to an operation to clear "wild terrorist gangs" (the Indonesian term for the Papuan resistance - Gerakan Pengacau Liar - GPL) from the districts of Jayapura, Merauke and Sorong. The report, as summarised by Osborne, includes brief, but rational bureaucratic assessments of the political and military position amongst the various OPM factions and fighting groups, including estimates of numbers of fighters, supporters and weapons. Despite a racialist view of the "extremely low" cultural level of the indigenous people, the report displayed a careful instrumentalist rationality about the enemy's strengths and weaknesses, and the areas of Indonesian intelligence ignorance. For example: Merauke: From Sawaerma and Agats, activities extend as far as the highlands and Fak Fak, and along the border in the south. Strength - core of about 10, with local mass support. Leader - "Silas". Weapons - not yet clear. Actions - inciting the local people; disrupting security and transmigrant settlers; laying barriers and traps along tracks. Sorong: GPL separatist activity along the border has spread and encouraged a reemergence in this area. Their activities are very covert. Areas of concern - inland
34. Asia Watch, op.cit., p236.


Ayamaru, the interior of the northern part of the Bird's Head and the industrial and mining areas. Strength - unclear, but because of strong tribal fanaticism and traditional ties it is thought that within a relatively short time they will get widespread support from among the population of Irian Jaya origin. This will be accompanied by a development of their networks. Weapons - unclear. As Sorong is an industrial/mining area, the tendency will be for them to engage in theft of explosives in these vital installations, the aim being for sabotage.35 Political and military intelligence summaries of this kind are produced by bureaucrats for other bureaucrats. The language, leaving aside the terminology of "GPL", etc., shows a familiar restraint of affect and concern for accuracy and moderation of claims. It is the traditional language of the military talking to itself - as a classic bureaucracy worried about achieving its goal. What is important to remember is that this is the language of participants in a broader organisation of political repression. The same Kopkamtib organisation, operating through Kodam XVII troops, military police, Kopassandha/Kopassus troops, and police, carried out a policy of repression in brutal terms - against the OPM, its real and alleged supporters, and against the Papuan population at large. Osborne reports on another batch of Kopkamtib documents showing the familiar schizoid mentality of intelligence bureaucracies, which fuse ordered surveillance and terror: These records, typed on A4-sized sheets bearing Kopkamtib's stamp, start by seeking family information, as well as detainees' own histories. A question-and-answer format then begins; often, interviews occupy 30 pages at a sitting. During a long interrogation in 1981, another captive told the officer that he no longer believed in the freedom movement. He "fully realised" his mistakes and promised not to repeat them. This outcome was found in numerous other secret transcripts, as was a negative answer to the final question: "Did you feel there was any force or pressure applied by the interrogator? Records of interview were signed by the detainees.36 Precisely who is supposed to be impressed by signed demurrers of coercion in such circumstances is not clear: but the importance of such legalistic "fetihes" (Southwood and Flanagan) for the interrogators' psychic survival cannot be underestimated. Some of the detainees in this episode were held at the notorious Ifargunung prison, near Sentani Airport in Jayapura. This prison is known to have a number of 4x4x4 metre underground concrete bunkers, used as cells, which can be turned into drowning pools. According to Free West Papua (January 1982)...many West Papuan nationalists have met their end in these 64,000 litre water traps. Prisoners are put into the bunkers naked as the water level is raised; in some
35. Robin Osborne, Indonesia's Secret War: The Guerilla Struggle in Irian Jaya, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1985), p.78. 36. Ibid., pp.142-143.


cases they are left there as long as 72 hours, or the bunker is completely filled, giving the prisoner no chance of survival.37 The fate of these detainees is not known. But that of individuals named in the transcripts as OPM members or sympathisers is: Wayne was questioned in connection with the large-scale attack that OPM mounted on the Abepura military prison. During interrogation, he implicated a Papuan named Willem Joku as one of the raid's leaders. The Kopkamtib officer accused Wayne of trying to shift the blame onto other OPM members, a suggestion he denied. Apparently Kopkamtib believed him. In 1982 the body of Willem Joku, along with that of Jonas Tu, was found decomposed inside sacks on a beach. Five days earlier, Papuans believed, they had been bound up in the sacks and thrown in the ocean near Jayapura.38 In 1983, Kopassus (then known as Kopassandha) red-beret elite shock troops were transferred to Irian Jaya, after being involved in East Timor offensives against Fretilin and in the "Petrus" death squads in Java and elsewhere in 1983-84. During this period, Kopassandha troops were apparently used as much in police-type security operations leading to arrest and detention (and/or disappearance), as much as "conventional" counter-insurgency field operations. Repeated testimony has been given alleging Kopassus involvement in disappearances, extra-judicial executions, kidnapping, torture, and imprisonment under inhumane conditions. The most famous, and politically significant case was the killing of the Jayapura anthropologist and Papuan nationalist Arnold Ap. As Asia Watch remarked, Whether intended or not, Ap's killing sent a powerful message to residents of the province: "Provide information about conditions in Irian Jaya at your own risk."39

37. West Papua: The Obliteration of a People (London: Tapol, 1983), p.76. While there is no corroboration of this source, the technique is remarkably similar to that reportedly used in Jalan Gandhi Prison in Medan about the same time: "It is a secret underground room, 10 m.x 10m.x 20m., and filled with water about 1 1/4 m. deep. Prisoners are forced through a small hole 1m. x 1m., the only way into the room, and made to stand in the water where rats, leeches, lizards and larvae swim around. Most of the prisoners placed there either die or suffer mental disorders." "Achehnese prisoners tortured", Tapol Bulletin, 50 (1982), p.17. 38. Osborne, op.cit., p.144. 39. Asia Watch, op.cit., p.236. This source also reports in detail on continued physical abuse of prisoners and politically-motivated killings in Irian as recent as 1988 and 1986 respectively. For an account of Ap's death see Robin Osborne, "The killing of Irian Jaya nationalist Arnold Ap: new evidence comes to light", Inside Asia, (June-August 1985), pp.144 ff. The height of cynicism (or is it psychological warfare?) was the arrest of Ap by plain-clothes Kopassandha troops the night after he performed with his Papuan cultural troupe Mebesak to an audience of Indonesian dignitaries, including the wife of Benny Murdani.


Extra-judicial killings of criminals, 1983-84 At first sight, the wave of state-orchestrated extra-judicial killings between April 1983 and late 1984 in cities of Java, Sumatra and some other parts of Indonesia does not seem to be relevant to the theme of intelligence and security agencies and their operations. Yet few other events have so singularly revealed the character of the intelligence state in Indonesia in its internally-directed operations.40 In March 1983, the commander of the Jogjakarta military garrison launched an Army operation on the orders of the Military Area Commander which led to the killing of some 600 alleged gangsters in the first half of 1983. From this local base, killings began in other parts of Java and Madura, in North Sumatra, and in East and West Kalimantan. Bourchier summarises the usual mode of killing41: One of the most striking aspects of the killings was the similarity in the way they were carried out all over Indonesia. Criminals, gang members or ex-prisoners, frequently tattooed and almost always young and male, would be met in their houses or in the street by a group of four or five heavily built men. In many cases they would shoot their victim where they found him. More often they would bundle him (or them) into a jeep or Toyota Hardtop and drive off into the night. The victim would be taken to a quiet place and shot up to 12 times at close range with .45 or .38 calibre pistols. The body would then either be tossed into a river or left in some public place `to increase the impact', in the words of a police source quoted in Tempo. Others, `who were not regarded as useful, or whose deaths had to be kept quiet, were disposed of in secret places which would not be discovered'. The bodies which were found frequently had their hands bound, and often bore the marks of torture. The following day there would be a short report about the finding of a mayat bertato (tattooed corpse) in the local paper, usually accompanied by grisly pictures. There was no serious attempt to avoid government responsibility for the killings after some initial prevarication. The killers were usually Armed Forces personnel: on some occasions police; but most commonly Army Special Forces troops [Kopassandha]. The campaign began in an atmosphere of public approval - certainly from middle class urban people who felt themselves the victims of a crime wave from which the police forces and judiciary were failing to protect them. Over time, however, that approval wained, and the voices of critics, both domestic and foreign, outside the government and even within, began to be heard more clearly. By the end of the campaign in late 1984, there was a distinct counter-sympathy for the victims of the killings and their families. By the time the killings had run their course, the estimated number of murdered ranged from 4,000 to ten thousand. The origins of the campaign are not completely clear. As already mentioned, there was considerable public dissatisfaction with the failure of the police to protect the public and with allegedly lenient and ineffective sentencing practices by the judiciary. There was also dissatisfaction, some of it public, within the Armed Forces. Armed Forces
40. The following sketch relies heavily on interviews conducted in Indonesia in April-June 1988, and on David Bourchier's excellent "Crime, law and authority in Indonesia", in Arief Budiman, (ed.) State and Society in Contemporary Indonesia, (Clayton, Victoria: Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Monash University, forthcoming). 41. Ibid., p.9. (Page references to manuscript.)


Commander Yusuf and Kopkamtib Commander Sudomo were publicly critical of police failings. In 1981 Yusuf criticised police for relying on "violence, force, and sadism to extract confessions". Sudomo, according to Bourchier, warned them that bashings, violence and extortion and the lending of arms for criminal purposes was `no longer tolerable'.42 This last comment carried the implication that there had been a time when police involvement in criminal activity was tolerated. In any case, there was throughout the subsequent campaign, an atmosphere of the military over-riding the police. The campaign was preceded by increased military involvement in urban anti-crime activity. Two sources close to both the military and the police hierarchies at the time independently claimed that the operation was in fact a centralised military campaign under the control of the then new Armed Forces and Kopkamtib Commander, Moerdani. The operation resulted from a specific plan generated in the newly created Strategic Intelligence Agency [Bais] in response to Moerdani's request for action. Both sources maintained that the usual practice was for lists of potential targets to be drawn up locally by police intelligence [Intelpampol]. Action against nominated targets - "terminations" in the words of one source - would then only proceed on the basis of a signed authorisation from the Area Police Commander [Kadapol].43 The common name given to the whole affair is "Petrus" - an acronym formed from the Indonesian term penembak misterius [mysterious killers]. It may be that the use of the term was even part of the campaign itself. For the most part I try to avoid the term since it tends to pre-empt inquiry, accepting a term that contributes to a discourse that was acceptable to the perpetrators. There was never anything mysterious about the killings and that was precisely the point. The campaign was a classic case of an intelligence-based state terror campaign. Part of the potency of such terror is always the mysterious, and an equally essential part of a counter-discourse is a demystification of what Walter Benjamin termed "the mysterious side of the mysterious".44 The state was not uniformly in favour of the campaign45, and the campaign was eventually stopped, in part due to public pressure, but not before the thousands of murders and disappearances had had an effect on both criminal groups and the wider society. More importantly, the campaign fits into the Seskoad conception of socially-based threat and state response outlined in earlier in this chapter: a physically-based threat, from socio-economic motives, rated as heavy. The model recommends intervention by the Territorial Apparatus in its own right or under Kopkamtib auspices. The Seskoad model was posited on an elaborated sociological model of Indonesian society, concentrating on the issue of stability as a system goal, and the generation of disturbances from various kinds of social change, including rapid urbanisation, unemployment and inadequate
42. See sources cited in ibid., p.5. 43. PS/30, PS/36. Bourchier cites an article from Kedaulatan Rakyat in early April 1983 describing the Jogjakarta operation in these terms. Ibid. 44. See Walter Benjamin, "Surrealism: the last snapshot of the European intelligentsia", in Benjamin, One Way Street and Other Writings, (London: New Left Books, 1979), and the discussion of Benjamin by Michael Taussig, "Culture of terror - space of death. Roger Casement's Putumayo Report and the explanation of torture", Comparative Studies in Society and History, 26, (1984), p.469. 45. Justice Minister Ali Said and Attorney-General Ismail Saleh made public statements implicitly critical of the killings. See Bourchier, op.cit., p.13.


housing. To repeat an earlier quotation: Investigative intelligence and counter-intelligence operations are vital to disclose the background to a specific problem/issue and the main actors behind it, as with strength, motivation and distribution in the area. Public Order and Security Operations are vital whenever the disturbing essence takes more the form of organised crime or is alarming the community but does not yet have political strength or a Defence and Security character.46 While there is no direct evidence of the internal Bais or Polri reasoning behind the plans for the killings, there were clear indications that the social consequences of economic recession were beginning to concern the security apparatus. In his final year as Kopkamtib commander, Sudomo announced that security attention would be concentrated on the issues of urban crime and over-crowding, poverty and overall population pressure.47 His transfer the following year to the Ministry of Labour Power and Transmigration was consistent with these concerns. Just why his successor Moerdani adopted such a murderous and precipitate approach to the problem of the galis [gangsters] is not clear. On what basis did Moerdani and Bais believe that the killings would significantly affect urban crime beyond the short term? The English terms "shock therapy" or "shock treatment" were often used by those involved48 - but to date no evidence of a more sustained rationale has come to light. Given that there is evidence of conflict amongst state elites over the campaign as a whole (Ali Said and Ismail Saleh were both retires generals, albeit military lawyers), there may well have been substantial policy conflict within the security and intelligence apparatus about the policy. Certainly in his last months in office before handing over to Moerdani, Armed Forces Commander Mohammed Yusuf responded to the increasing pressure for a "security" approach by calling for a restricted and legal military role and an attack on the causes of crime rather than its symptoms. Yusuf called on the state apparatus not to treat crime in a way that will further upset the situation...The military must set an example as the protectors of society, not as the opposite...If we only go about bashing this and bashing that and using rough language we will only succeed in offending people's feelings rather than encouraging them to become better human beings!...If the state apparatus acts like this towards those who do wrong it will failing its duty as the pengayom masyarakat [protectors of society)].49 Yusuf's critique was quite right. The killing campaign failed in terms of its stated goal: within two or three years, overt criminality in the major cities has returned to pre-1983
46. Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., pp.415-416. 47. van der Kroef, op.cit., p.747. 48. PS/30 spoke of "shock therapy" and "ABRI against the outlaws". 49. Sinar Harapan, 21 January 1983, cited and translated in Bourchier, op.cit., p.6. Yusuf's courageous stand on the killings should promote a closer examination of the dimensions of the well-known splits in the military at the time. Yusuf, it should be remembered, was the military commander responsible for the major advances the Indonesian occupying forces made in East Timor after 1978, at enormous cost to the Timorese population. But this should also be compared to the extreme brutality associated with Operasi Sapu Bersih [Operation Clean Sweep] under his successor as Armed Forces Commander, Moerdani, in 1983-84, at the same time as the campaign against the galis in Indonesia itself.


levels. While intelligence and territorial and kamtibmas operations were always conceived in the Seskoad model in both "preventive" and "repressive" terms, there is little that leads directly to the pre-meditated mass murder of 1983-84. On the contrary, there were signs of a recognition of the origins of the problems of criminality in the very social changes unleashed by the state icon pembangunan [development]. Certainly, the very target - young men - ensured that substantial older figures were never greatly affected by the campaign. This raises the question of whether the eradication of criminality was ever the real goal. Bourchier mentions one possibility: that the galis were associated with the state in ways that Moerdani (and by implication, Soeharto) wanted finished off. In both the Old Order and New Order period, every major political party used strong-arm men for protection, and against their opponents. Ali Moertopo had specialised in such activities in the 1971 elections, and subsequently. In the 1982 elections galis had been associated with a number of parties, especially youth organizations. There were suggestions that the government may have been losing control over its sometime servants, and wanted to put matters right once and for all.50 A more substantial answer will require closer knowledge of the relationships between the victims and those who ordered the killings. The electoral role of the gangsters is one part of that answer. But there is much that is not known about the role of "criminals" in kampung life in the great cities of Java, and the state's acceptance of limits on its project of internal pacification of Indonesian society. The campaign was considered necessary despite an expanded police force and a decade and a half of kamtibmas operations. The police (as well as some parts of the intelligence apparatus) were notoriously corrupt, and as a result one of the aims of the campaign's secrecy was to prevent police in the pay of the galis warning them off.51 Provocation and terror against students, Timorese, and Muslims In his trial speech after arrest on subversion charges in 1984, the Islamic preacher and activist Haji A.M.Fatwa wrote that Indonesia is properly regarded as a negara intel, an intelligence state. The general principles of intelligence which come to the fore in such circumstances, he suggested were four-fold: Don't take any risks; strike only from behind. If pushed (relatively speaking), use all possible means to achieve the objective (the end justifies the means). The work of intelligence is oriented to the edges of the law - or equally, beyond the law. Much prejudice, prying and lying in wait, and finding fault (which in Islam is called eating the dead - see The Koran 49:12).52
50. Bourchier, op.cit. 51. Ben Anderson, personal communication. 52. A.M.Fatwa Dakwaan Subversi - Dulu Untuk Darurat Revolus, Kini Untuk Darurat Pembangunan - Eksepsi Drs. H.A.M.Fatwa, (Jakarta: Yaysan Lembaga Bantuan Hukum Indonesia, 1985), p.23. The Koran, 49:12, reads:


These principles are most clear in the domestic operations of intelligence in the heartland of Indonesian society: Irian and Timor are sufficiently far away from the centre ofIndonesian politics for the military to leave aside some of the limited restraints and the many masks that characterise intelligence operations at the centre. In his own remarkable defence plea, entitled Indonesia Dibawah Sepatu Lars [Indonesia Under the Jackboot], Bandung Institute of Technology Student Council Chairman Sukmadji Indro Tjahjono made much the same point in his summary of the standard intelligence operating methods at the height of Ali Moertopo's influence in 1978, when the galis in Ali's "zoo" were turned loose on the enemies of the regime. Political terrorism is part of the `anything goes' system so widespread in Indonesia, and is sometimes carried on on a mercenary basis (special operations). The methods include: having the houses of people disliked by the regime stoned; sending anonymous letters; intimidation with weapons or less direct means; organising hooligans and mafia-type people to frighten those disliked by those in power; night-time operations to plant leaflets on people's doorsteps; sending transvestites in to cause chaos among demonstrators, and then arresting those transvestites, but also demonstrators; hiring professional killers to commit murders with watertight alibis; sending in apparent madmen or idiots to disrupt student meetings or any activity the regime distrusts; hiring prostitutes to trail political notables; hiring `masseuses' to hang around the lobbies of political conferences; installing bugs in meeting rooms; infiltrating informants into `suspicious' meetings of Islamic scholars; making ammonia bombs to be exploded during dramatic performances critical of the government; hiring people pretending to be reporters taking pictures; ordering military men to pose as rickshaw drivers, roadside food vendors, etc., in the context of `total intelligence operations'.53 It is precisely the almost incoherent mixing in the testimony of the trivial and the murderous that renders the result so profoundly totalitarian: the incoherence of the normal world of politics and morality is exactly the result sought after. There is no certainty that the activities listed by Indro Tjahjono were the result of Opsus work, but Opsus was famous for exactly that kind of subversion. There have been important changes in the operational style of the intelligence and security agencies since Moertopo's day, as has already been pointed out, including a degree of professionalisation and centralisation of control. But, as the 1983-84 killings campaign itself showed, the use of terror is still prevalent. The same point is made by a number of other sources. There have been claims that Indonesian secret police have murdered East Timorese students in Indonesia. The most recent is the death of Jose Antonio Moniz da Silva, a 41 year-old student in Jogja. Da Silva allegedly died in a traffic accident in the city, but in circumstances that are extremely suspicious. On the morning of 15 December 1987, Jose went with his wife and daughter as far as
Believers, avoid immoderate suspicion, for in some cases suspicion is a crime. Do not spy on one another, nor backbite one another. Would any of you like to eat the flesh of his dead brother? Surely you would loathe it. Have fear of Allah. He is forgiving and merciful. The Koran: A Translation by N.J.Dawood, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1983), pp.274-275. 53. Cited in Benedict R. O'G. Anderson, "Prepared Testimony on Human Rights in Indonesia and in East Timor" for the Subcommittee on International Organizations of the Committee on International Relations, House of Representatives, February 6, 1980, p.8.


the kindergarten, then continued alone on his motorcycle. According to the Sleman (Borobudur) police, he had an accident at 0730 hours, running over a child. Apart from the police, no-one knew anything about the accident; no child was admitted to a hospital or treated at an emergency medical post in the area; the motorcycle was undamaged and showed no sign of having been involved in an accident; the only injury Jose had sustained was to the back of his head.54 Suspicion was heightened because da Silva had been the subject of an intelligence agency scrutiny: In July 1987, in answer to an appeal form East Timor's governor, Mario Carrascalao, asking for the scientific input of East Timorese students to Timor's development, Jose had written a 30-page analysis criticising the political aspects of the so-called "progress of East Timor". The document was sent through the post to the Governor, but intercepted and handed over to the Dili KOPSCAM 55(secret services). The most important change in the late 1970s and 1980s was a shift in the target of provocation and terror: whereas the remains of the communist movement and political parties and students were the main targets of the late 1960s and 1970s, in the 1980s, by far the most important targets for intelligence and security apparatus activities have been the Islamic community and labour. The deep Indonesian military mistrust of Islam revived in the late 1970s as Islamic organisations came to represent the part of Indonesian civil society least amenable to subordination and incorporation. The "problem" of Islam as a whole returned to the political agenda of the state-managers, in terms of the "fanaticism" and "extremism" of certain groups and their leaders. Some of the social distress resulting from the New Order chase for growth underpinned a flourishing of Islamic critiques of the New Order. Islamic prisoners seem to be persistently subjected to the most extreme forms of torture and harassment. One of numerous examples is that of Bambang Supriyanto, a 21 year-old university student accused of subversion through involvement in the Negara Islam Indonesia, a movement which the government claims seeks an Indonesian Islamic state. Supriyanto was convicted despite the fact that he denied membership of the NII and in court withdrew his signed interrogation statement, which he said had been extracted under torture. This torture consisted of severe beatings, electric shocks, having his toes crushed repeatedly by chairs, and being kept in a totally darkened room - all carried out over a period of a month.56 Islamic militants in the Sumatran province of Acheh suspected of involvement in the activities of the Acheh Freedom Movement were repeatedly subject to torture in the late 1970s and 1980s. One who survived to escape abroad was Anwar Amin. He reported the torture of many of his friends and associates in detail, and named a number of intelligence officers regularly involved in torture in Banda Acheh in the late 1970s. Of his own treatment over three years in Kedah Military Prison he wrote of the following special
54. Informacoes Timor-Leste/East Timor News (Lisbon), Urgent Communique No.1 (15 February 1988). 55. It is not clear which organisation is referred to as KOPSCAM. 56. Asia Watch, op.cit.. p.234.


treatment, apart from general ill-treatment en masse: My group of prisoners - known as the flag-raisers - were given special treatment on August 20, 1978, the eve of the 18th of Ramadan, the Muslim fasting month. On that night we were beaten by a group of Javanese Indonesian military police. For reasons unknown to me, Harun Mahmud and I were singled out for the harshest treatment. In addition to being beaten, we were forced to drink alcohol. We refused as drinking alcohol is forbidden by our Muslim religion. So they struck our heads with the bottles until they were broken, cutting our heads and faces and making the blood pour down. Then they grabbed hold of our necks, pried our mouths open and poured the alcohol down our throats. When they released us we vomited uncontrollably. Then they forced us to lick our own vomit. We refused. Then they held us and they banged our heads together like rams fighting, beat us and knocked us down until we lost consciousness. When we regained consciousness they burned our bodies with cigarettes. After that Harun and I were put in separate cells nearby. A piece of wood the size of man's arms and about one meter long was put under my knees while they forced me to kneel down. It caused pressure on my knee joints and was very painful. But that was not all. To increase the pain, my tormentor climbed on my shoulders to add his weight, so creating greater pressure on my knee joints...for a good half hour...As a result of that night's torture, my skull was damaged and my brain was affected. The tissues of my eyes were damaged and I could not see anything for over a month...We have not recovered completely until today. They gave us no medical treatment.57 A.M.Fatwa, whose views on the negara intel have already been quoted, was himself arrested in 1984 following his defence of those arrested in the Tanjung Priok affair. A former assistant for religious affairs to the Mayor of Jakarta, Ali Sadikin, and a prominent Islamic preacher, Fatwa was one of the key members of the Petition of 50 group that made up the most visible part of a broad though small group of constitutional oppositionists in Jakarta58. At the trial for subversion, Fatwa was sentenced to eighteen years in prison. In most respects Fatwa's treatment, his prominence and the length of the sentence apart, is unremarkable in contemporary Indonesia. He was arrested by personnel from the Kopkamtib Intelligence Task Force for the Jakarta region, on the orders of the colonel in charge. He was interrogated at first by police personnel, who were relaxed and respectful. He was then taken to a military police lockup. where he heard accounts from prisoners of the torture of others, and was himself interrogated, and then terrorised.59
57 Anwar M. Amin, "My experience in an Indonesian prison", Tapol Bulletin, 57, (1983), p.9. 58. A small irony is that Fatwa's formal position from 1971-1979 was head of Sub-Directorate VII/Special - Sub-Directorate for Community Guidance, in the Jakarta Special Regional Government's Directorate of Social and Political Affairs. Whereas the equivalent position at the centre would have been an unequivocal social control unit in the service of the intelligence state, under Sadikin there was, at least to a degree, a negotiated truce between Islam and the state on certain issues. See A.M.Fatwa, Dakwaan Subversi - Dulu Untuk Darurat Revolusi, Kini Untuk Darurat Pembangunan - Eksepsi Drs. H.A.M.Fatwa, (Jakarta: Yaysan Lembaga Bantuan Hukum Indonesia, 1985), p.xi; Susan Abeyasekere, Jakarta: A History, (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1986); and "Interview with Ali Sadikin", Inside Indonesia, 16 (1988). 59. The degradation rituals are typical. Fatwa was dragged from his cell, and his head roughly chopped "as though the rats had eaten it". He was then beaten, thrown into cell, only to be dragged out to a mock firing squad. He was then bound, gagged, and thrown into a car with six intel men, who muttered about getting rid of him. See Fatwa, op.cit., pp.15-16, and Asia Watch, op.cit., pp.140-141. The objective of such rituals is rarely the instrumentally rational goal of acquiring information - but the obliteration of the identity of the individual, and the maintenance of the identity of the torturers.


It became clear that Fatwa had been the target of intelligence manipulation, and possibly attempted assassination. In his trial statement, Fatwa claimed that on one occasion a "recidivist"60 of his acquaintance from Tanjung Priok came to his home to tell him he had accepted hundreds of thousands of rupiah (i.e. several hundred dollars) to kill Fatwa, but in an attempt in a Jakarta street, "he suddenly stepped back, losing heart", and fled to Surabaya. Fatwa also claimed that a pensioned ABRI NCO came to his house to ask Fatwa's pardon: for over a year had felt awful because he had at one time agreed to be part of a plan to kill Fatwa.61 Fatwa then gave the court his account of a more important incident which occurred when he was in Salemba prison in Jakarta. There he met, by his account for the first time, a man named Tasrif Tausikal, later convicted for participation in bombings in Jakarta in October 1984. Tausikal suddenly begged my forgiveness without my understanding what he had done wrong. Something weighed heavily on his mind because he had been forced to make a confession about me, to confirm that he had received $2,000 from me to purchase bombs...I was shocked and angry to hear about this malicious slander. But he asked for my understanding and showed me bayonet wounds in his chest. He told me he had been bound night and day with his hands and feet bound.62 In these respects, Fatwa's allegations are not unusual: the Indonesian record of testimony and corroboration of wrongful arrest, intimidation, extortion, torture and unexplained deaths in custody in legal proceedings, whether "criminal" or political in motivation, is depressingly regular. What marks out Fatwa's case are his observations on the intelligence apparatus noted above, and in particular the insight he offers into the mix of direct terrorism and sadism on the one hand, and a "social science" approach on the other. This will be discussed in the next chapter, together with other examples of techniques of mass surveillance in a scientized manner. Conclusion The Seskoad textbook model of intelligence, social-political and territorial operations set out recommended procedures for surveillance-based political intervention in Indonesian society. When these models were applied in practice in Timor, Irian Jaya, Acheh, and in Java, surveillance and terror became rather more closely tied together than the textbook suggest. It might be suggested that this was an unintended, unnecessary and illegal excess by particular officers or units, in situations of combat stress. It is true that the killings of alleged criminals were themselves completely criminal acts by the military and police, as were many of the other terrorist activities discussed above. But the evidence is clear that there was nothing accidental or unintended, or, in the eyes of military men, unnecessary about the use of terror against Indonesian civilians. On the
60. A common term for the galis killed in the 1983-84 campaign.

61. Fatwa, op.cit., p.70. Fatwa also told the court of an incident where a gali from Ali Moertopo's "zoo" had come to the office of Fatwa's staff when he was working at Ali Sadikin's house. From the dialogue, it became clear that the gali was involved in a plan to kill Fatwa in a car accident. Ibid., p.77. Of course, in this last possibility there is the possibility that the "confession" was part of the early stages of the planned terror. 62. Asia Watch, op.cit., p.141, citing Fatwa's eksepsi (demurrer).


contrary, this was a matter of military policy, spelled out in standing orders on occasion, even if not military school textbooks. Moreover it is also clear that terror and surveillance were closely tied together in these instances. In Timor and Irian it is clear that the recommended form of counter-insurgency planning is based on detailed intelligence work.63 The murder campaigns against alleged criminals could only hope to be effective in its own terms if it was based on extensive prior and ongoing surveillance of potential targets.

63 This is exactly what would be recommended by counter-insurgency specialists from other countries. see, for example, Frank Kitson, Low Intensity Operations: Subversion, Insurgency, Peace-keeping, (London: Faber and Faber, 1971).


Chapter 12 Theory and practice in intelligence and control operations: (2) Surveillance This chapter follows on from the previous one in examining the application of Indonesian military textbook models of intelligence and social-political control operations, this time concentrating on surveillance rather than terror. In the first half of the chapter, the involvement of Kopkamtib, Bais and the Department of Labour Power in the establishment of an increasingly comprehensive system of labour surveillance and repression is reviewed. The second half of the chapter is a review of detailed mass surveillance and monitoring activities undertaken by the intelligence apparatus. Three sets of cases are reviewed: questionnaires administered to striking industrial workers, interrogations of Islamic prisoners by intelligence officers and psychologists, and the application of a battery of political and psychometric questionnaires to leftist former political prisoners. The division of Chapters 11 and 12 around the themes of "terror" and "surveillance" is a bit artificial. In the previous chapter, terror was very clearly linked to surveillance both in planning and execution of operations in Timor and Irian. In the intelligence activities reviewed in this chapter terror and surveillance are still intermingled, but the balance shifts towards systematic mass surveillance of particular target groups in Indonesian society. The forms of subsequent intervention are sometimes terrorist, but more often pre-emptive or simply coercive and exclusionary. Here social science and social engineering are the tools of intelligence agencies seeking to steer Indonesian society towards "development". Terror, in mass form in memory and in selective form in lived experience, remains as an underpinning for surveillance based methods of social control, but is momentarily moved a little into the background. Controlling labour Since the late 1970s labour relations has been identified by the Indonesian state as an ongoing potential threat to "economic development and national security", to be dealt with by a coordinated mix of surveillance, prevention and repression. Kopkamtib has been deeply involved in efforts to control an expanding and increasingly assertive industrial labour force. In concert with the Department of Labour Power, headed from 1983 to 1988 by the former head of Kopkamtib, Admiral Sudomo, and governmentcontrolled union groups and client business groups, Kopkamtib has established a comprehensive system of labour surveillance and intervention capacities, especially in the industrially vital Jakarta-Bogor-Bekasi-Tanggerang region. Indonesia is, of course, a predominantly agricultural country, with a largely rural labour force.1 But different labour groupings have been politically significant in Indonesian politics, most obviously through those affiliated with the Communist Party prior to 1965. After the militancy of labour groupings throughout the Guided Democracy period, the New Order government pursued a constant policy of "de-politicizing labour". In practice this has meant a policy of state political involvement to ensure that labour
1. See Table 2.4.


cannot mobilize to oppose government policies at a collective, political level, or to carry out effective militant industrial action. In this section I will briefly outline the situation of organised labour in Indonesia under the New Order, and then discuss the development of the elaborate mix of ideological, legal and surveillance/intervention controls over an increasingly volatile labour force. First corporatist attempts In the early years of the New Order, serious union activities were effectively banned, although several of the surviving political parties had labour associated groups, and an Indonesian Labour Consultative Council [MPBI] was established in 1968, and was designated by Suharto as the "one and only receptacle" for workers.2 However, in the run-up to the 1971 elections there were anxieties on the part of those responsible for managing the elections that these arrangements left altogether too many hostages in the hands of fortune. It was a time when Ali Moertopo was stripping all the political parties of autonomy, and a new corporatist complex of sectoral organisations was being established. First civil servants (defined extremely widely) were pushed into Korpri (the Republic of Indonesia Civil Servants Corps), and tied to the government political party, Golkar. Then in 1973, workers in the private sector were allocated to a new peak trade union body, the All-Indonesia Labour Unions Federation [FBSI], at the head of which, both nationally and locally, were officials cleared by Kopkamtib (and/or Bakin or Opsus), and with strong Golkar connections.3 The creation of FBSI was a compromise between at least two competing views within the New Order government in the late 1960s and early 1970s concerning labour. Both positions sought to control labour, both politically and economically. [The government's] legitimacy was premised on the narrower goals of economic development, and these required industrial peace. The economic stabilization plan launched in 1966 required wage restraint and the contraction of credit which inhibited the development of domestic business and curtailed the creation of new employment. In addition, the government policy on rationalization of the bureaucracy, which called for steady across the board salary increases for civil servants, assumed smaller increments in the private sector, which caused wage "pressures" there. Finally, the door had been opened to foreign investment further adding to the potential for labor unrest.4 The first solution to the problem was a straightforward response of simply banning unions, crushing nascent attempts at local organisation, and ruling the society through martial law-type instruments and directives. The second position, equally antagonistic to
2. Dwight Y. King, "Defensive modernization: the structuring of economic interests in Indonesia", in Gloria Davis (ed.), What is Modern Indonesian Culture?, (Athens, Ohio: Center for International Studies, Ohio University, 1979), p.187. 3. FBSI was established with assistance and advice from the AFL-CIO and the International Council of Free Trade Unions [ICFTU], and its officers had strong Golkar connections at all levels. See United States, Embassy, Jakarta, Labor Trends in Indonesia, (May 1984), pp.19-24. By 1983 FBSI claimed 2.9 million members out of a workforce of 65 million, 40% of whom were less than 30 years old. 4. King, op.cit. In fact, there were real pressures emerging even in the early years after the holocaust against the PKI. The number of disputes brought before the Department of Labour Power's arbitration machinery, after a considerable filtering process, rose from 108 in 1966 to 550 in 1968 and 965 in 1972. The actual numbers of strikes and serious disputes would have been rather higher. See ibid., pp.187,197.


the articulation of an independent trade union interest, argued that, on balance, the regime's interests lay in constructing a trade union apparatus through which inevitable labour demands could be channeled, filtered, and managed. Moreover, such an approach had the useful side-effect of keeping at bay the surprisingly vociferous labour interests in the IGGI donor countries.5 The view of those favouring controlled direction and manipulation within an increasingly elaborate corporatist structure won out over those relying on command and suppression alone. The resulting government position was to encourage the formation of unions at the enterprise level under the auspices of FBSI. In 1981 Kopkamtib Commander Sudomo explained that companies employing more than 25 workers should allow the formation of plant-level company unions, and deplored reports of obstructive companies.6 Five years later, with the framework of Pancasila Industrial Relations and the National Tripartite Cooperative Body in place and FBSI replaced by the even more malleable All Indonesian Federation of Workers [SPSI - Serikat Pekerja Seluruh Indonesia] (see below), Sudomo, now Minister for Labour Power, issued official Guidelines for the Formation, Guidance of Enterprise Unions.7 Under the labour law8 strikes are legal for most workers9, but require the approval of the Minister of Labour Power, which, unsurprisingly, is rarely granted. In practice, strikes are common, and an increase in their number and intensity provoked much of the new corporatist and interventionary apparatus. Pancasila industrial relations By the late 1970s, it was clear that the corporatist approach would need to be strengthened. Three approaches were used: ideological, organisational, and intelligence surveillance and intervention. The first step was both ideological and organisational. The state ideology of Pancasila was extended into the realm of Pancasila Industrial Relations10 built around the concepts of musyawarah (consultation) and mufakat (consensus) with, according to Admiral Sudomo, "worker and employer as an example/symbol of 'one big

5. The ICFTU and the West German Friedrich Ebert Foundation both had substantial representation in Indonesia in the late 1960s (and the ICFTU much further back), and, somewhat competitively, put pressure on the government to allow the establishment of a new peak labour organisation. See Jacques Leclerc, "The origins of FBSI", in INDOC, Indonesian Workers and Their Right to Organise, (Leiden: Indonesian Documentation and Information Centre, 1981), pp.80-81. 6. Kompas, 28 August 1981. 7. Attachment to Indonesia, Keputusan Menteri Tenaga Kerja, Nomor: KEP-1109/MEN/1986. 8. There is a confusing morass of conflicting Dutch, Indonesian legislation, and Indonesian government decrees, but the fundamental New Order legislation is in Act No.14, 1969. 9. It is unclear, in fact, just who has the legal right to strike in Indonesia. Soekarno's Presidential Decrees No. 7 and 23, 1963 are still in effect, and are often cited as a justification to ban strikes. No. 7 prohibits strikes in industries, enterprises and departments deemed "vital", and imposes a penalty of a year's imprisonment on those who violate its provisions. The industries are listed in the second decree, and can only be described as wide, varied, and imprecisely defined. See INDOC, Indonesian Workers and Their Right to Organise, March 1983 Update: Increasing Militarisation of Labour Relations, (Leiden: Indonesian Documentation and Information Centre, 1983), p.7. Needless to say, it is the spirit of the law that is applied, quite liberally interpreted. 10. Formerly known as Pancasila Labour [Perburuhan] Relations, until the term buruh was anathemized in the mid-1980s as having dangerous leftist connotations. On the language of labour and the state see Hans Goderbauer, "New Order industrial relations: managing the workers", Inside Indonesia, 13 (1987), and especially Jacques Leclerc, "Vocabulaire social et repression politique: un exemple indonesien", Annales, (March-April) 1973.


family' which works together".11 To complement this paternalist ideology, a corporatist labour relations structure has been erected around a tripartite relationship between government-sponsored unions, employers' federations, and the Department of Labour Power. The familistic ideology of Pancasila Industrial Relations has grown in recent years, along with the tripartite organisations.12 The tripartite structure allowed some blunting of the more direct and obvious aspects of the security direction of the entire apparatus. In 1978, Sudomo announced after the 1978 devaluation of the rupiah that it was illegal for firms to raise wages to help workers counteract the consequent rise in the inflation rate to about 30%.13 After a devaluation eight years later Sudomo, together with the heads of the SPSI and the business peak organisation Kadin/Apindo, issued a National Tripartite Labour Institute Accord [Kesepakatan Bersama Lembaga Kerjasama Tripartit Nasional] presenting the devaluation as a "strategic" move for the defence and continuity of national development in the interests of the whole society. As a consequence, he said, any rise in wages must be deliberated upon in a family-like way with workers and unions. Bargaining must be carried out in such a way as to ensure that neither directly nor indirectly did it give rise to flare-ups which would disturb national development or the continuity of company production. Unilateral coercive actions like dismissals, strikes, go-slows, lock-outs, etc. must be prevented. In the full corporatist style, the announcement continued, Each party (SPSI, APINDO and Government) is responsible for ensuring that the spirit and the letter of this Accord is carried out by its members.14 The actual operation of these tripartite bodies has generally worked to the disadvantage of labour, and with considerable brutality employed towards particular groups of workers. More commonly, the slow pace with which the consensus and consultation principles of Pancasila Industrial Relations are applied, at both the company level and before the Regional or Central Councils, works against workers' interests.15 Organisational tightening The second step was organisational - plugging the organisational loopholes in FBSI. In 1986 FBSI was replaced by a new peak union organisation, the All Indonesian
11. "Union leaders in companies must be good people", Kompas, 28 August 1981. See also Indonesia, Seskoad, op.cit., Chapter 3.2 and INDOC, Indonesian Workers... March 1983 Update, op.cit., p.3 on the Doctrine of Armed Forces Leadership and Social Communication [KKS-ABRI]. 12. Even so, Pancasila Industrial Relations structures are only in place in 10% of companies. See Inside Indonesia, 12, p.20. 13. INDOC, Indonesian Workers..., op.cit., p.70. 14. Indonesia, Kesepakatan Bersama, Lembaga Kerjasama Tripartit Nasional, Nomor: 16 Tahun 1986 Tentang Penyesuaian Upah Akibat Devalusasi, Tanggal 22 September 1986. 15. See, for example, INDOC, Indonesian Workers..., op.cit., and Indonesian Workers...March 1983 Update, op.cit.; Goderbauer, op.cit.; "Kronologi PT U.I.P.I. Bogor" (n.d., unpublished mss). And it should not be forgotten that substantial numbers of FBSI regional and local officials were themselves serving military officers. See INDOC, Indonesian Workers...March 1983 Update, op.cit., p.9.


Federation of Workers [SPSI]. SPSI is more tightly controlled from above than the old structure, and has ten "departments" in place of the previous 21 craft unions.16 This has further increased central control over plant unions now organised on a regional and enterprise level only.17 Intelligence and crisis intervention The third and most important element in the control of labour, however, has been the involvement of the intelligence and security agencies, especially Kopkamtib18, both directly and indirectly. The present systematic structure of surveillance and intervention dates from the middle or late 1970s, and is closely associated with Admiral Sudomo's command of Kopkamtib and, after his transfer in 1983, of the Department of Labour Power (formerly Labour Power and Transmigration). Under Sudomo, Kopkamtib and the Department of Labour Power became intertwined through the establishment of series of inter-agency surveillance and intervention "teams" and procedures. In August 1981 Sudomo announced the establishment of Labour Assistance Teams [Tim Bantuan Masalah Perburuhan] to detect and prevent industrial disputes. These teams were made up of officials from the (then) Department of Labour Power and Transmigration, the employers' organisations Kadin and Puspi, the Central Executive Council of FBSI, and, from within Kopkamtib, officers from Opstib Pusat [the Centre for Operation Order], and to be chaired by the DirectorGeneral for the Development and Protection of Labour [Dirjen Binalindung]. These Labour Assistance Teams, Sudomo stressed, were to complement the Central and Regional Councils for the Resolution of Labour Disputes [P4P/P4D]. The new teams, it was claimed, were mainly preventive in nature, designed to pre-empt the development of strikes and lockouts and similar disturbances that threaten the national security. But the teams would also intervene if the Councils were "unable to handle matters".19 There was little doubt in practice that it was Kopkamtib that was the coordinator of these efforts. It seems that the team has a special concern to prevent labour conflict in regions which have been designated "strategic areas", i.e. Jakarta (where over half the strikes have occurred in the Pulogadung free trade zone), West Java, Riau, East Kalimantan, North Sumatra, South Sumatra, Central Java, East Java and South Sulawesi.

16. "In the shadow of poverty and control", Far Eastern Economic Review, 3 April 1986, p.59. 17. The most important difference between FBSI and SPSI is that the old organisation was a federation of separate industry-based unions, which had a vertical industry line from the work-places and regions, to the top, where they were federated. In the SPSI, the separate unions are treated as departments of a unified organisation, giving greater control to those at the top - and their government and managerial allies. There have also been restrictions on industry representatives at the daerah level taking part in the new organisation's Regional Councils [Dewan Daerah]. (PS/16, and Goderbauer, op.cit., p.15). Along with the organisational changes has been the administrative rinsing of the language. The banning of the term buruh in favour of karyawan was an attempt to dilute proletarian and oppositional connotations of labour relations. For the long history of buruh/karyawan polemics see Jacques Leclerc, "Vocabulaire social et repression politique...", op.cit. Goderbauer also points out the "grassroots overtones" of the term basis has led to its replacement by unit kerja [work unit] (op.cit., p.15). 18. Some thought should be given to the question of just what "Kopkamtib" means under these circumstances. In effect, especially in the industrially crucial Jakarta-Bogor-Tanggerang-Bekasi complex, it means the Kodam Intelligence Task Units and Intelligence Assistants operating under the authority of the Laksusda. 19. Kompas, 28 August 1981.


The Team at the national level appears to operate local-level "Detection teams" in the "strategic areas" and in particular locations, which monitor the situation and are ready to act at the first sign of trouble...They are not always called "Detection Teams": sometimes "Early Detection System" (EDS), sometimes "special team" [tim khusus], or "tripartite council"; also, their exact composition varies, sometimes including the judiciary and others, but always representatives of employers, the government (including police and military intelligence) and the FBSI.20 This first attempt at Kopkamtib coordination of an intelligence- and securitycoordinated corporatist approach was apparently inadequate. In mid-1982 Sudomo announced that all labour disputes should be notified directly to Kopkamtib. It has become the task of Kopkamtib alongside the Ministry of Manpower (sic) to tackle cases of workers on strike in a preventive and repressive manner.21 As Sudomo moved over from Kopkamtib to the Department of Labour Power, one of the most technocratic and planning-minded of the senior intelligence officers, former Bakin Head Sutopo Yuwono, was installed as Director-General of the Department of Labour Power (1983-87). Under Sudomo and Sutopo, the Department of Labour Power, in coordination with Kopkamtib and other security agencies such as Intelpampol established a more comprehensive and sophisticated labour surveillance and intervention system. In May 1983 Sudomo instructed all regional Binalindung offices 1.... constantly to monitor and follow industrial relations between employers and employees as part of the plan of detecting situations and building information on such relations. 2.Apart from regular routine reports, they are instructed to report every day to the Ministry on the situation in their discuss developments concerning Collective Labour Agreements, strikes and any other unrest.22 A month earlier Sudomo issued a Notice of Decision23 which abolished the Early Detection Teams and the Labour Assistance Teams in favour of Labour Crisis Control Centres [Pusat Pengelolaan Krisis Masalah Ketenaga Kerjaan] as a means "of improving the implementation of development" by preventing labour conflict in a manner suitable to Pancasila Labour Relations. Labour Crisis Centres were intended to prevent industrial conflicts arising, and, if such a "crisis" should occur, prevent its spreading, and "facilitate a quietening down and
20. INDOC, Indonesian Workers...March 1983 Update, op.cit., pp.4-5. Note that the decision to abolish these teams in 1983 (see below) mentioned the existence of Interdepartmental Security Work Teams [Team Kerja Security Interdep]. 21. Kompas, 16 January 1982, cited in INDOC, Indonesian Workers...March 1983 Update, op.cit., p.6. See also Indonesia, Kopkamtib, Formulir - Berita Nomor:TR.40/KOPKAM/II/1981. 22. Indonesia, Menteri Tenaga Kerja, "Telex Nomor:46/M/V/1983. Tanggal 19 Mei 1983". 23. Indonesia, Menteri Tenaga Kerja, Pembentukan Pusat Pengelolaan Krisis Masalah Ketenaga Kerjaan, (KEP-130/MEN/1983, Tanggal 21-4-1983).


bargaining between the parties in dispute". The new organisations in the Ministry were to operate at two levels: a Policy Centre and Field Action Groups [Kelompok Aksi dilapangan - KAL]. The attachments to the announcement referred to the membership of two further bodies. The Labour Crisis Control Centre [Pusat Pengelola Tenaga Kerja] was to be chaired by the Minister, and to include representatives from various sections of his department, from the employer groups and FBSI. The second body was the Conflict Prevention Central Executive [Pusat Pelaksana Pengecah Konflik] - not mentioned in the general document. This regional-level body was controlled by Kopkamtib - which provided both the chairperson and the secretary. (See Table 8.2.) A year later, Sudomo's department announced the establishment of Early Warning Posts [Pos Siaga Naker] for "24-hour non-stop [Eng.] monitoring and resolution of labour affairs" in the industrial concentration of Jakarta-Bogor-Tangerang-Bekasi (Jabotabek). These offices of the Department of Labour Power would be able to handle reports direct from the public, or as raised in the press.24 Workers have been, in practice, regularly hauled before the local intelligence sections of the police, or before Kopkamtib officers.25 Indoc reports the case of PT Textra in 1980, where not only did the Kopkamtib Area Special Executive act as the company spokesman against workers, but actually signed the employer's "Data on the Reason for the Dismissals".26 This sketch of the structure of state intelligence and security activities aimed at controlling labour is incomplete and patchy. Yet, taken together with the evidence of periodic attempts at systematic gathering of information about particular groups of workers (see Chapter 10), it indicates the seriousness of the state's concern about labour, and the ways in which intelligence activities are likely to expand in the near future, whether the auspicing organization be military or otherwise.

24. "Pos Siaga Naker Siap Bantu Pengusaha dan Karyawan", Kompas, 8 June 1984. 25. See many examples reported from the late 1970s onwards in INDOC, Indonesian Workers..., op.cit., Indonesian Workers...March 1983 Update, op.cit. Kronologi PT Central Star Knitting Corporation, (Bogor: FBSI, Januari 1983) shows the involvement of the local Police Security Intelligence [Intelpampol] unit. In the case of striking workers at P.T. U.I.P.I. at Cimanggis, Bogor, a territorial operation was carried out by government apparatus consisting of: Village Guidance NCOs [Babinsa], Village Social Leadership NCOs [Binmas Desa], District officials [Kecamatan], Village Heads [Kepala desa], and local Neighbourhood Association [RT/RW] officers coordinated by the Military District Chief of Staff [Kasdim] 0621 Bogor Kabupaten, Social and Political Regional Staff, as well as the Cimanggis Police Commandant. (Ibid., p.11) 26. See INDOC, Indonesian Workers..., op.cit., pp.5-22. This case parallels Korean reports of the KCIA signing labour dispute settlements as a party to the dispute. See Choi Jang Jip, Interest Groups and Political Control in South Korea: A Study of the Labor Unions in Manufacturing Industries, 1961-1980, (Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Political Science, University of Chicago, August 1983). In Indonesia, one constant means of harassment of labour organising is the accusation of involvement (even of workers unborn in 1965) in the 30th September Movement/Communist Party of Indonesia. See, for example, Kronologi P.T. Central Star Knitting Corporation, op.cit., pp.18 ff.


Sifting the dust of history: mass surveillance techniques The rationalization of domination by applying social scientific techniques to intelligence and security work is fundamental to the Indonesian apparatus. The essence of this approach is the slow, patient accumulation of seemingly banal information about citizens and the normal events of their everyday lives: the dust of history. As the store of knowledge accumulates, first locally, then after filtering and an unknown degree of analysis, at the centre the patterns become clear. Both the raw data and the analyzed patterns are resources for the intelligence apparatus. So far we have noted the use of social research survey techniques in Army territorial work, and the use of psychologists in interrogation. The Seskoad manual also uses of sociological theory of a certain bent in confirming and adumbrating the ideological predispositions of the officer corps. The final, but fundamental service of social science to the intelligence state is in the area of surveillance - in the broadest sense of systematically acquiring, recording and analyzing information about the identity and lives of Indonesian citizens. A wide range of surveillance facilities specifically oriented to security requirements has already been noted in the preceding chapter27. The most important, which go together to form the base level of intelligence are the lowest-level of the Army's Territorial Apparatus - the Koramil [Military Sub-District Command] and the Babinsa [Village Guidance NCO]; the Hansip [Civil Defence Force]; and through the system of neighbourhood and kampung community associations [Rukun Tetangga and Rukun Kampung/Warga] introduced during the Japanese occupation and based on the Japanese system of tonarigumi.28 This section will discuss the use of sociological and psychological questionnaires for purposes of political surveillance. Four cases will be considered: East Timor, Tanjung Priok, former Communist political prisoners, and industrial workers. East Timor: surveillance in war As already above, the Seskoad model placed great emphasis on surveillance of the population, as did the Established Procedures and instruction manuals issued to Babinsas in East Timor. The models of territorial survey reports at Kodim and kabupaten level in the context of Regional Management and Territorial Management programs29 make clear the range of intelligence macro-concerns - the application of the Ipolekososbudmil concept of social conditions. Just how such models of district reporting were executed is another matter - how intensive and reliable the information acquired and how skilled and perceptive its analysis may have been is not known, and may well have varied according
27. There is of course another range of surveillance modes carried out by the state, but which are not explicitly dedicated to security controls: registers of births, deaths and marriages, population censuses, taxation records and so forth. 28. See John Sullivan, "Kampung and state: the role of government in the development of urban community in Yogyakarta", Indonesia, 41 (1986), p.67. Sullivan is at pains to emphasize the extent to which the Jogjakarta rukun tetanggas and rukun kampungs he studied were regarded by kampung people as non-state, community organisations. Yet, as he points out, in 1965 they were a crucial component in the violent re-ordering of these communities. It would be helpful to know whether the impression of overall community ownership of these organisations gained by Sullivan holds true for other parts of Indonesia. For ex-tapols and their families, surveillance has been constant and intimidating since 1965. Certainly, Anderson and McVey note that the rukun tetangga were an "intelligence and security" affair in 1965. See Benedict R.O'G. Anderson and Ruth T.McVey, with Frederick Bunnell, A Preliminary Analysis of the October 1, 1965, Coup in Indonesia, (Ithaca: Modern Indonesia Project, Cornell University, 1971 [1966]), p.74. For a resume of the situation in the late 1980s see Asia Watch, op.cit. 29. See Appendices 4 - 6.


to both the competence of the officers, the security situation in the area, and the degree of performance pressure from above. But given the depth of elaboration of the model, there is every reason to believe that where necessary, the surveillance machinery would do its job. The East Timor manuals also set out recommended surveillance procedures, this time at the micro-level for Koramils or Village Guidance Teams and NCOs. One 1982 Instruction Manual stressed the need for information resources for understanding villages: Looking at the "inner workings" of every village: Instruction manual No. JUKNIS/01/XI/1981 concerning the keeping of a book for the Babinsa's data and events, explains that in order to know a village well, it is essential to have data and notes on events within the village. These include: a.Sketch map of the old village (pre-upheaval). b.Sketch map of the present village. c.Village security system. d.Genealogy of the chieftain. e.List of village government officials. f.List of catechists. g.List of other community figures.30 The next manual in the series offered an example of a successful Fretilin operation to establish a secret network inside the Indonesian security net. The first step in avoiding a repetition of such an event, according to the manual, was to intensify control of the population: Every single activity of the population must be known exactly, in the following ways: a.Appoint reliable people as Katuas [elders] to help neighbourhood chiefs [heads of rukun tetangga]. Arrange it in such a way that each katuas has responsibility for 10-15 families. Each katuas must be able to know exactly the activities of the families under his guidance; for example, when they go into their field, go to collect wood, get permission to go to another village, to tend flocks, go to market, and so on. b.Appoint an `informer' in each of these groups of 10-15 families led by one katuas. This informer should be able to follow, secretly, all the activities of these 10-15 families. c.Every time anyone goes out of the village, he/she must have a travel pass [surat jalan], and every person who comes into the village from another village must report. d.Inspection posts must be set up to keep a check on everyone who enters or leaves the village. e.Maintain an element of surprise by holding extraordinary roll-calls, or by having
30. Instruction Manual No. JUKNIS/04-B/IV/1982, in Budiardjo and Liem, op.cit., p.212.


check-ups on the population by the katuas, to check whether anyone has left the village without permission or whether anyone has arrived from another village without reporting. f.Take other actions, according to the circumstances in each village, for the purpose of intensifying control over the population. For instance, house-tohouse visits, and patrols inside the village to prevent illegal meetings from taking place there.31 The message is clear: knowledge of the population is a prerequisite to sustained control. The type of knowledge is of a common-sense kind, and there is no particular pretence of "scientific" accuracy or understanding. They are fairly standard intelligence approaches to a low-intensity battle zone. The Timor evidence may appear to be distorted: after all, these manuals were instructions to correct defects in territorial control after seven years of intense counterinsurgency warfare. Yet, they follow the model laid down for such operations in the key Seskoad manual of the time. Both the Seskoad and Timor manuals appear to reflect the experience of control of Central and East Javanese rural populations which were once centres of Communist commitment.32 At the centre of Indonesian society one important source of evidence on intelligence surveillance techniques and concerns has been Kopkamtib questionnaires that have come into the public domain. Questionnaires of some kind have long been a regular territorial intelligence tool. Students returning to Indonesia from study abroad have reported answering them. Thomas reports that all civil servants, including teachers, have had to pass a "political screening committee" before their appointments are finalized: A key instrument in this screening procedure is a questionnaire on which the individual lists organizations to which he and members of his family have belonged. Furthermore if he applies for permission to travel abroad, he must also receive clearance for the trip.33 Such questionnaires are also used in East Timor. According to Budiardjo and Liem: Anyone wishing to obtain a work permit, a travel pass, an identity card, or even a marriage licence, must first complete a fifteen-page questionnaire in the presence of the Kotis [Tactical Command] officer. The questionnaire not only covers all imaginable aspects of a person's private life [but also their family] going back several generations. It also includes numerous questions about political attitudes: a person's behaviour and response on August 11, 1975 (the day of the UDT coup) and activities before and after that date, on December 7, 1975 (The day of the Indonesian invasion) and before and after that date. "How would you behave towards people who oppose integrasi?" and "What would you do if you met a Fretilin guerilla?"
31. Instruction Manual No.JUKNIS/04-B/IV/1982, in ibid., p.219. 32. One academic working in these regions of Java recalls visiting a kabupaten sospol office and seeing wall maps and files of the region marked in great detail as to the political character of the population. [PS/51] 33. R. Murray Thomas, "Indonesian education: communist strategies (1950-65), and governmental counter-strategies (1966-80),", Asian Survey, XXI,3 (1981), p.385.


Answers are "legally binding" and there are penalties for making "false statements".34 Penetrating labour However, the most important source of evidence of intelligence mass surveillance practices is a set of Kopkamtib questionnaires administered to workers in industrial disputes. The two questionnaires discussed below appear to have been produced by the intelligence units of the Kodams concerned - in South Sumatra and Jakarta Special Region in 1980 (Appendix 4) and 1985 (Appendix 5). The first questionnaire (Appendix 7) was applied to workers in the oil industry in Sumatra, and then apparently in all "vital industries" - i.e. "state-run and private enterprises connected with oil, sea, rail and air transport, mining, chemical manufacturing, electricity, sugar and rubber production, postal services and banking".35 The second questionnaire (Appendix 8) was applied to striking workers in a company in the Jakarta region in 1980. The Sumatran questionnaire was administered in the first instance by management to workers, who were required to answer in writing, and who were then examined orally, either by management or a Kopkamtib officer.36 It is not known how the Jakarta questionnaire was administered. The two schedules differ in their concerns and approach. The Jakarta 1980 questionnaire springs very much from the context of an industrial dispute in which intelligence units were intervening. Its mimeographed text refers specifically to the company in question, and mixes questions about the worker and his or her opinions about the industrial situation at the plant (opinions about work regulations, wages, social security arrangements and the motives for conflicts) with questions of fact about the company, its ownership and management, number and type of employees, wage levels, social security, collective labour agreements37 and employee responses to management actions. Just why the questionnaires are mixed in this way is not clear. It may be a matter of subtle indirect interrogation to induce the worker to reveal opinions by asking about matters of fact. But it is more likely simply a matter of inappropriate and incompetent questionnaire design. The 1985 Sumatran oil workers' questionnaire is more focussed on the biography and opinions of the worker, and would yield considerable information from even a small number of workers - because it reaches back in time and generation and across family and friendship links in the present. As in much Indonesian political thinking, the questionnaire operates on a caste theory: guilt spreads over generations and contemporary branches of a family and their affines. It seeks a history of the person's organizational commitments religious, political and otherwise; and some measure of the attitudes behind the actions. In this the questionnaire seems more like those reported in Timor and elsewhere. Just how efficient it would be is questionable. A politically astute person would produce, as the editors of Inside Indonesia point out, the "right" answers. But then that may well overestimate the political skills of the subjects - what would be the "right"
34. Budiardjo and Liem, op.cit., pp.102-3. 35. "Intelligence test", Inside Indonesia, 8 (October 1986), p.8. The translation here is taken from that source. 36. The spate of sackings in the oil industry in late 1985 is thought to have been related to the prior use of the questionnaire although there is no firm evidence reported on this. 37. The use of the Dutch term [Collectife Arbeids Overeenk] is one of the few Dutch examples in 1980s intelligence texts.


answer to some of the questions? It may also underestimate the skill with which the questionnaire can be interpreted - although doubtless it will usually be read at face value in the first instance. An automatic assumption of incompetence is inappropriate. The editors of Inside Indonesia also suggest that the questionnaire "is testing the success of New Order propaganda". To be sure it is, but the questionnaire is likely to be working on the assumption of widespread, but limited, success, and represents a determined effort to identify recalcitrant learners in order to allow more direct coercive means to be used. But the very fact that the ideological questions were thought important enough to ask, and the ideologically unconvinced significant enough to be sought after, reminds us of the importance the Indonesian state places on thought control. A final question about the labour questionnaires is to ask what was actually done with the data? It may be that it was all something of an intelligence section waste of time - that the Sumatran questionnaire was used only for the immediate purpose of picking out some appropriate "PKI" scapegoats to balance more serious repression of Muslims, or to give confidence to anxious foreign investors (as suggested by Inside Indonesia). Certainly the 1980 Jakarta questionnaire was used in the context of an intelligence intervention on the side of management in an industrial dispute. But it is also possible that the data acquired are to be fed into a proper database of the politically-relevant population as a whole. This may sound absurd - yet that is precisely what has been done in Britain and Western Europe, and is probably the norm in the Soviet Union and the GDR. Social science against Islam Some of these questions can be clarified by looking at the evidence of a still more scientized approach to mass surveillance: the application of standardized psychometric tests to captive (literally) populations of militant Muslims and former Communist political prisoners. A.M. Fatwa provides important testimony of such an approach to the surveillance of Muslims prisoners after Tanjung Priok in 1984. At Cimanggis prison, where Fatwa was imprisoned with two hundred others after Tanjung Priok, interrogations with each prisoner were again carried out by a team of intelligence officers and psychologists. At first sight it seemed to be a scientific approach to humanity , but there were almost three hundred questions, a large part of which were aimed at snaring for interrogation. This felt psychotic - the interview was carried out by another psychologist as well as an intel officer who mixed up discussions of a scientific exchange of views with interrogation. Yet when this exchange of views touched on the Tanjung Priok incident, for example, the truth came out of them in an unconscious way, which they usually concealed.38 The use of psychologists indicates that the Indonesian intelligence services have followed those in industrial countries in attempts at scientizing their strategies of political dominance. What Fatwa is describing appears to be a mass survey of Tanjung Priok prisoners using a battery of questions in an encounter that combined aspects of a calm "scientific" interview and a harassing interrogation. Just what the 300-odd questions were about would be interesting to know. They may have dealt with the prisoner's background, motivations and perceptions of the Tanjung Priok events, and views on the Indonesian
38. Fatwa, op.cit., p.51.


state. Equally though, given that psychologists were involved, and given the large number of questions involved, the psychologists may have been administering one or more psychological tests. There are two interesting aspects to this. The first is that it should have been Islamic prisoners to whom these tests were apparently administered. Muslims, presumably, have motivation and psycho-social characteristics that are inexplicable in any other terms - or in those that they offer themselves. As already seen, the Indonesian military suspicion of Islam runs deep. The second point follows on: in the Seskoad account this suspicion emerges in sociological language giving a scientific flavour to the critique of "extremism". Social science in the service of the state is neither a novelty nor unusual. Fatwa himself makes the point made by many Muslims in Indonesia: the intelligencesecurity apparatus appears to be attempting to replicate the mode of analysis and intellectual-political strategy of the turn of the century Dutch Islamist and security specialist Snoucke Hurgronje.39 At one point, Fatwa was interrogated in prison by an intelligence officer, and three psychologists. One of the subjects under discussion was corruption. "Why", asked a young psychologist, "wasn't Dharsono able to just go along with corruption"? Weren't Dharsono and company just victims of the "post-power syndrome" [Eng.]?40 The use of the English term "post-power syndrome" by Fatwa's psychologist interrogators is revealing. While it is true that the term has a currency in Indonesian political discourse41, its use is a perfect example of the appropriation of the aura of scientific terms (in this case pseudo-psychology) to define a discourse in such a way that denigrates one's political opponents. Here, the point of the term is that those former state officers, particularly military men, who have become critics of the regime they once served, are suffering from a particular and recognizable psychological pattern of bitterness or even quasi-illness. This approach obviates the need to respond to their overt claims that erode the New Order's claims to legitimacy.42 Communists: fantasies of science Tanjung Priok was by no means the first occasion on which such psychological testing had been used.43 In 1978 Kopkamtib developed a set of psychological tests which
39. For Fatwa, the security approach treats Islam in the way that Snoucke Hurgronje developed, "which applied to the Ummat Islam essentially separated the political life of the Islamic community from its religious teachings". Ibid., p.26. 40. Ibid., pp.46-47. 41. See, for example, Admiral Sudomo's use of the term to refer to the "sakit hati" retired officers who made up much of the Petition of 50 Group. See David Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1984), p.249. 42. One small note on changes in the language of the Indonesian state is in order here. As Anderson pointed out in his introduction to "Report from East Java", Indonesia, 41 (1980), by an anonymous intelligence officer in late 1965, the intelligence language of that period was shot through with a melange of imported English and Dutch terms. By the 1980s, documents like the Seskoad manual and the other sources considered in this chapter have by and large completed formal decolonisation by dropping the Dutch elements. But more importantly perhaps the large number of English-language terms are overwhelmingly culled from the esoteric lexicons of the social scientists or their military counterparts. 43. After the 1978 controversy about to be described, the head of the joint Dutch-Indonesian project, Professor F.J. Monks at the University of Nijmegen, defended the project in a revealing way: "In fact, it is known that all (Indonesian) psychologists over the age of forty have taken part in the formulating the tests for political prisoners. One can speak of a tradition of involvement in these tests...", cited in "Psycho-deception: enquiry ends in cover-up", Tapol Bulletin, 34 (1979), p.15. One ex-tapol, Panda Nusa, reports that on the carceral island of Buru, violent interrogations of tapols were sometimes accompanied by psychological tests. See his Pandu Nusa, "The path of suffering: the report of a political prisoner on his journey through various prison camps in Indonesia", Bulletin of Concerned


it then applied to large numbers of Category-B political prisoners to determine the level of surveillance required for each prisoner after release.44 The then Head of Kopkamtib, Admiral Sudomo told Henry Kamm of the New York Times that it had taken two years to develop a psychological test which, when applied to Category-B political prisoners "gave a 70 to 80 percent assurance of detecting communists".45 The tests were developed by the ABRI Mental Development Centre [Pusbintal ABRI] in cooperation with psychologists in the United States and at the University of Nijmegen in the Netherlands.46 Accordingly the five tests employed included a basic intelligence test, the Edwards Personal Preference Schedule to measure the firmness of convictions and ability to influence others47, and the Eysenck test of political "tough/tender-mindedness". Two tests were specifically developed for the Indonesian situation, and were described by the Head of ABRI Mental Development Centre, Major-General Sumitro, as "thematic differentiation" tests, although he did not disclose their content. [Major-General] Sumitro said that the tests were fed into a computer and supplemented with interrogation files and observations about the prisoners recorded during their detention. This determined a classification into one of four classes, ranging from "diehard", through to "not so hard", an even lower degree and, finally, category "zero".48 The scale of the Kopkamtib application can be gathered from the fact that Sumitro claimed that some 200 assistants had been "specially trained" to administer the tests.49 The evidence from this episode clarifies the type of tests used six years later after the Tanjung Priok affair, and the purposes for which they were used. Islamic "diehards" needed to be identified, and there was undoubtedly a set of accompanying psycho-social
Asian Scholars, 19,1 (1987), p.20. 44. The original purpose was to screen out "diehard" communists and withhold them from the release programme. This was dropped after the psychological testing drew international protests. 45. New York Times, 12 April 1978, cited in "Psychotests: foreign scientists involved?", Tapol Bulletin, 27 (1978), p.4. Admiral Sudomo proudly told Kamm of Indonesia's pioneering role: "We asked the CIA, `Maybe you have some equipment to detect if he is a communist'. They don't have it." 46. In one interview after the controversy provoked by his earlier interview with Kamm, Sudomo found himself caught between his pride that it was an essentially Indonesian effort, with some foreign comment, and an awareness that the misuse of science was a political problem outside Indonesia: I myself was present at the designing of the test..But it is not true that we gave the Dutch psychologists the opportunity to draft the questionnaire. The Indonesian psychologists talked with other psychologists in the Netherlands, England and America, and returned after that. The questionnaire was composed later, and by Kopkamtib really, not by Indonesian psychologists. See "Sudomo speaks again", Tapol Bulletin, 33 (1979), p.7. 47. This American test required adaption to be used appropriately in Indonesia. The item-analysis this required was carried out on a Nijmegen University computer under the supervision of a Dutch industrial psychologist. See "Psycho-deception: enquiry ends in coverup", Tapol Bulletin, 34 (1979), p.15. 48. New York Times, 26 April 1978, cited in "Psychotests: Foreign scientists involved", op.cit., p.4. 49. Those involved at Nijmegen included Prof. F.J. Monks, A.H.Boon van Ostade, and J. Jaspers (later at Oxford University); and from the University of Indonesia, "Dr. Fuad Hassan ... who has titular military rank and who supervised the compilation of the questionnaire used on the tapols,Mrs Saparinah Sadli, who worked on the list of questions after visiting Buru in 1971, Drs. Sudirgo Wibowo who worked on item-analysis needed for the questionnaire; Mrs Yusuf Nusjirwan, who undertook an investigation of attitudes of women tapols in Bukit Duri in 1966, Drs R. Sumarto, a psychologist actively involved in preparing the test, is now a BrigadierGeneral in the Army, and Professor Ma'rat who, besides being Dean of the Bandung Faculty of Psychology since 1976, works for the Army's Psychology Institute in West Java." See "Psycho-deception...", op.cit., p.15.


analyses ruminating on the dangers latent in the combination of "rightwing Islam" and Eysenck-style political tough-mindedness. The two episodes raise some general issues. The first point is to note, once again, the use of scientific technique as ideological support. Scientizing politics has been a repeated approach of the New Order state. Considerable financial and intellectual resources were devoted to the development of the new tests and to the adaptation of those of foreign origin, suggesting that the psychologists involved were concerned that their work pass muster by academic norms. But beyond that there is a certain fantasy of control and surveillance. Sudomo told a Dutch journalist: I said to the Americans, "Don't you have a computer that we can put in someone's head so that we can know exactly what is ideology is?"50 Sudomo may well have been smiling as he said it, but the quality of fantasy is evident all the same. The fantasy is linked to the rigours of "science" and "measurement", but beneath the affectless language of science, there is both the passionate sense of the "otherness" of the object of surveillance that must be registered and restrained, and the eternal hope of the technical fix to mask the reality of repression. Thirdly, we must conclude that the development and application of such psychometric tools was undertaken to meet a felt bureaucratic need. Ideology or not, military administrators were faced with a vast problem (entirely of their own making) to solve: how are the large but finite surveillance resources of the state to be deployed to deal with hundreds of thousands of tapols and militant Muslims and their families? Here it is helpful to recall the way in which the Seskoad manual sought to scientize the question of domestic threat assessment by the bureaucratic specification of indicators of threat. The final point to notice is the sheer scale of the surveillance operation involved even before the release of the tapols. If the tests' administrators are to be believed, each prisoner under went a battery of tests, the results of which were then scored and computer-analyzed, and then correlated with the results of observations during the period of incarceration (implying the existence of some system of individual surveillance and record-keeping during detention), and records of interrogation - which in some cases must have begun a decade or more before. Moreover this process was repeated on several occasions for each prisoner if Sudomo is to be believed.51 It is of course probable that in many cases records did not exist or had been misplaced or observations conducted in a completely useless way.52 But there is no reason not to believe that something like what has been outlined actually took place, and at least an attempt made to apply the results to the establishment of a grass-roots surveillance regime covering ex-tapols returning to their villages and kampungs. If it is true that more than 1.7 million (the figure varies) "G30S/PKI"-connected
50. Cited in "Sudomo speaks again", op.cit., p.7. 51. "The test is carried out every six months. For instance you may have result A, and after six months, result B. Then we compare has he changed or not, etc." Ibid., p.7. 52. This Kopkamtib political testing does after all involve, albeit in a ghastly application, an element of academic grantsmanship, and proponents' claims ought to be discounted somewhat.


people have been processed by the intelligence agencies in the past, then records were kept on at least a sizable proportion of them.53 Probably such records on the great majority were kept in the first instance at a local level. But in recent years it would have become possible and desirable (from the intelligence agencies' point of view) to computerize such records - exactly as has been done elsewhere. Such a step would, especially in combination with data-gathering like this questionnaire, represent an enormous ongoing surveillance capacity. Just where such capacities would be organizationally located is not known - and would certainly be the subject of much competition and jealousy. Which agencies have been developing such computer capacities? Here again: just what are the responsibilities of the Assistant for Electronics and Communications, and, for that matter, the Data Gathering and Processing Bureau in the Ministry of Defence and Security, and other electronic intelligence gathering and processing bodies? When considered in the context of modern information technology already widespread in Indonesian society, one is left with an image of a densely woven mesh of prosaic and routine surveillance, carried out by an obsessive and relentless, if sometimes comically inept, military bureaucracy motivated at the top by a mixture of vindictiveness, ideological zeal, and gulping bad faith powered by concerns to protect positions of privilege and suppress the memory of the past. The image of the European or Czarist nineteenth police state with its vaults of carefully transcribed agents' reports and analyses is as nothing to the prospect what is ushered in by mass bureaucratic surveillance of large minorities recorded and processed on elementary computer data-base programmes.

53. In 1985, the Ministry of Home Affairs senior intelligence figure, Director-General for Social and Political Affairs, Hari Sugiman, announced that all ex-tapols were to be re-registered to see whether they should be allowed to vote in the 1987 elections. At that time Sugiman said some 1.7 million "coup participants" were to be re-registered. Registration to that date had some 1,459,107 on the books, including 363 Category-A prisoners (tried), 34,718 Category-B prisoners, and 1,424,026 Category-C prisoners. Many in this last group may never have actually been arrested, but are still considered ex-tapols. See "1.7 million ex-tapols are being re-registered", Tapol Bulletin, 70 (July), p.1.


Chapter 13 Conclusion In these brief concluding remarks I will address the following three concerns. Firstly, I will discuss the model of Indonesia as a rentier-militarist state, the nature of totalitarian ambition in this state, and the role of militarization, surveillance and terror. Secondly, I will make some brief comments on the possible future developments of rentier-militarisation in Indonesia. Finally I will make some brief comments on the implications of the Indonesian example for the theoretical issues discussed in the first five chapters. This will involve a simple model of variations in Third World intelligence regimes; discussion of the idea of intelligence organizations as self-conscious elements of the state steering societies; and a discussion of the peculiarly modern character of Third World militarised intelligence regimes. Indonesia: a totalitarian ambition in a rentier militarist state The quarter century of military rule in New Order Indonesia has been variously characterized as the rule of "the state qua state" (Anderson), "bureaucratic pluralism" (Emmerson), "neo-patrimonial" (Crouch), "bureaucratic capitalist" (Robison), "bureaucratic authoritarian" (Budiman), the "rise of the Powerhouse State" (Schiller), and in Liddle's view, "evolution from above" leading to institutionalization of the New Order state beyond the person of Soeharto.1 (One is almost tempted to say "Guided Democracy".) It is easy enough - and quite right - to say that there is something useful in all of these models, particularly if due account is taken of the consolidation and elaboration of the political and economic institutions of the New Order over more than two decades. However the previous chapters of this thesis detail a view that is somewhat different from each of these approaches. Indonesian politics is best understood in terms of an ambition towards totalitarian rule set in the specific context of rentier militarization. Rentier-militarization In that earlier discussion I have placed great emphasis on the relation of the Indonesian economy and political system to the wider world-order, focussing on the key term rentier-militarization. While the rentier character of the Indonesian state is usually taken to refer to the domestic political economy centring on the sale of the benefices of office, it is rather the external rentier character of the Indonesian economy which is logically prior to the more spectacular domestic aspects. The crucial foundation of the florescence of the state has been the combination of state revenues from oil export levies and foreign aid flows, and the rentier character of both of these sources. The essential pattern has been that either oil or aid or both have been the national economic base for a quarter of a century, with only the relative mix varying. Between 1974 and 1988, oil never generated less than 40% of domestic revenue, and oil and foreign aid together
1. Benedict Anderson, "Old State, New Society: Indonesia's New Order in Comparative Historical Perspective" Journal of Asian Studies, XLII,3 (1983); "Patrimonialism and military rule in Indonesia", World Politics, XXXI,4 (1979); Donald K. Emmerson, "The bureaucracy in political context: weakness in strength", in Karl D. Jackson and Lucian W. Pye (eds.), Political Power and Communications in Indonesia, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978); R. William Liddle, "Soeharto's Indonesia: personal rule and political institutions", Pacific Affairs, 58,1 (1985); Richard Robison, "Towards a class analysis of the military-bureaucratic state in Indonesia", Indonesia, 25 (1978), and his Indonesia - The Rise of Capital, (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1986); and James W. Schiller, State Formation in New Order Indonesia: The Powerhouse State in Jepara, (Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Politics Department, Monash University, 1986).


always accounted for 55% or more of the government's total budget (indeed more than 75% for several years). Equally importantly, the survival of the Soeharto regime, and the pattern of its relationships with domestic social forces has been contingent on the location of that state in the wider world order established under American aegis after 1945. Most importantly in economic terms, the United States orchestrated the allocation of Southeast Asia and Indonesia in particular to the Japanese sphere of influence. The full manifestation of that structure is only now emerging as Japan leads the international support for the Soeharto regime in the face of a decline in the price of oil and rapid rises in levels of debt repayment. However Indonesian "rentier-militarization" is also a product of the current world order characterized by Pax Americana in its second aspect: militarization. Until the late 1980s, the pattern of Indonesian militarization was resolutely inwardly facing, with the exception of the invasion of East Timor. Indeed, despite the cruelty of the Indonesian occupation of that country, the protracted nature of the war in East Timor owes as much to the initially domestic- rather than foreign-oriented Indonesian force structure as to the will of the Timorese to resist. The rentier background of the military, and the lack of a specific US strategic requirement of the Indonesian military, permitted a level of military incompetence that would have been inconceivable in the Cold War-moulded US ally in South Korea. While this is cold comfort to those who face the Indonesian military in Timor, it does point to the central place of global determinants in explaining variations in types of militarization. Both the political and economic aspects of the external character of Indonesian rentier-militarization are crucial. The peculiar quality of rentier-militarist regimes, understood in this externally-oriented sense, is their relative capacity to ignore, or at least postpone, cultivation of domestic support and the class compromises which that process requires. Totalitarian hopes and methods The would-be totalitarian character of Indonesian political life lies in the mix of militarization, surveillance and terror that has formed the core of rule for more than two decades. A little should be said in summary about each of these aspects Four qualities should be noted about Indonesian militarization. Firstly, more than any other example that comes to mind the Indonesian military are the state. The number of karyawan officers (in non-military postings) is unclear, and has in any case varied over time. But there is little doubt that a remarkable proportion of serving military officers (in addition to their retired colleagues) have non-military state jobs. This may have been initiated as a means of dealing with an over-staffed army, but it has long outlived that. It may well be that demands for professionalization are leading to calls for review of the karyawan system, and such calls may well lead to the winding back or even abandonment of the system. However, Indonesian military rule has been quite literally that. Secondly, prior to the invasion of East Timor, the Indonesian military, large though it has always been, had had very little fighting experience since the end of the Revolution in 1949. The little fighting it had seen was a series of counter-insurgency actions against secessionist groups in one part of the archipelago or another. The real - and overt - role of the military was internal policing. From the beginning of the New Order until the early to mid-1980s, this was reflected clearly in the force structure and philosophy of the armed forces - and in their political behaviour. By that time, the impact of the Timor debacle had


begun to alter both force structure and strategic outlook - and with that, military budgets, the technological base of arms imports, and the military-related component of the national debt, which at one point, appears to have risen to about 30%. Thirdly, the military in Indonesia are the only substantial long-running example of a military officer corps transforming themselves into a class - a bureaucratic capitalist class. To be sure, in the process, many of the individuals moved beyond the military - into retirement and/or serious money-making. To be sure, as Robison has argued, there is a separate, largely Chinese large-scale or corporate capitalist class in Indonesia.2 But it is precisely that capitalist class which is reliant for its survival in the present order of things upon the group of officer political-entrepreneurs - a group whose economic role is distinct enough to be called a class, even if they are, like most classes, but infrequently coherent. Again, the irrationalities of military money-making are at war with the rationality involved in constructing a serious war-fighting capacity, and pressures for change after twenty five years are building up. Fourthly, the long-run solidity of the Soeharto government comes from the extraordinary congruence of interests supporting continued rentier-militarization: the direct interests of the military-entrepreneur class themselves, at each point of challenge over twenty years having a personal and institutional interest in defending what has been acquired; the memory of the inflationary chaos of the last years of Guided Democracy; the clearly expressed strategic interests of the United States and Japan; the class interests of US and Japanese transnational capital; and the unenviable position of large-scale Chinese capitalists who have flourished in conspicuous alliance to the military class. Surveillance by the complex of military and other intelligence and security agencies has grown to an extraordinary degree in the New Order period. While pre-1966 intelligence agencies were politically active, their powers were nothing compared to the articulated system of surveillance reaching from the Armed Forces Strategic Intelligence Agency [Bais] headquarters through the Army intelligence staff and line structure into the villages, the parallel military and civilian social-political affairs "commissars", and the village- and kampung-based rukun tetangga structure that constitutes the "base level of political intelligence" in Indonesia. Specialist intelligence divisions are located in the prosecutor's office, and elsewhere. The industrial relations system in industrialized areas is controlled by Kopkamtib/Bakorstanas intelligence officers coordinating "industrial monitoring" and "crisis intervention" teams. All of 1.7 million alleged former communists or left sympathizers are regularly and closely monitored in their political activities, their living place, their manner of employment, and that of their children and their children. And there is substantial evidence of attempts at scientizing the mass detection and monitoring of both left and Islamic dissidents through psychometric studies of ideology and personality. Much of this surveillance is unseen and unfelt because it is only a matter of catching the dust of history, noting only the normal patterns of life and the untoward variations. Moreover, the grand design of intelligence bureaucrats is always unevenly realized, somewhat ineptly practiced, and intermittently acted upon. But all the same, the evidence suggests that the monitoring and surveillance of the Indonesian citizenry, especially those who are in social or political categories considered by the state to be
2. Robison, Indonesia: the Rise of Capital, op.cit.


"susceptible to subversion", is comprehensive and penetrating.3 While this thesis has emphasized the class-related aspects of Indonesian militarization, the punitive surveillance apparatus directed against ex-tapols indicates another dimension of Indonesian militarization - the construction and management of a caste system. At the apex of this degenerate version of older Javanese-Hindu systems, the military are the warrior knight caste - the ksatriya.4 The marked Javanization of the nomenclature and symbolism of the military (indeed, the state as a whole) under Soeharto has been one of the vehicles for the elaboration and projection of this caste ideology.52 But the other pole of the caste system - indeed, its only other substantial component - has been the millions of ex-political prisoners, former detainees, and their families by blood or marriage. The tapols and their families (in a society where kinship is still a powerful component of social organization) are the untouchables, the necessarily vile things that make the glory of the ksatriya knights palpable. The system of overt and covert surveillance, monitoring, registration and re-registration, marked identity cards, and possibly most importantly the banning of tapols from a wide range of occupations all serve as markers of ritual status and pollution boundaries. Surveillance then, is more than a matter of dubious instrumental rationality but part of the cultural construction of hierarchy. The Indonesian version of the intelligence state may have borrowed methods from the Japanese Kempeitai and US psychological warfare schools and foreign computer manufacturers, but there it also is used a means of re-constructing a selective version of Javanese "tradition".6 Terror, the last element of the quest for totalitarian rule in Indonesia, is of four main kinds. In the beginning was the massive establishment violence that took place between late October 1965 and March or April 1966. Since then, the main acts of terror, though there are exceptions, have been of three main types. In the peripheries of Indonesia - Irian Jaya and Acheh - and most of all in occupied East Timor, terror has been extreme and continuous for many years. Special Forces [Kopassus] troops were also involved in the campaign of mass murder of alleged criminals in the major cities of the country in 1983-84. And for more than ten years, Muslim dissidents have been the target of intelligence-based campaigns of penetration, provocation, and outright terrorist violence (e.g. the killings at Tanjung Priok). However, these terrors of the geographical and social peripheries, together with numerous smaller-scale acts of political violence have worked together to consolidate the underlying component of effective continuing low-level terror - the rehearsal of memory of 1965-66.
3. See Chapters 8 - 12 and Appendix 12. 4. See Peter Britton's study based on extensive interviews of Indonesian officers in the early 1970s: Military Professionalism in Indonesia: Javanese and Western Military Traditions in Army Ideology to the 1970s, unpublished MA thesis, Department of History, Monash University, February 1983. 5. See the language of the military's explanation of its own mission in society, reproduced in Appendix 12. 6. The caste aspects of Indonesian militarization were forcefully pointed out to me in a acute discussion by several distinguished extapols, who pointed out with some asperity the deformed and truncated nature of the military-imposed Javanese caste system compared with that of India itself. They also emphasized the great emphasis on "blood" and pollution in the concerns of the military to exclude those related to tapols by blood or marriage up to three generations. They also suggested that in this the military were following the approach of the Dutch after the crushing of the rebellion by the Javanese hero Prince Diponegoro in the 1820s.


Rentier-militarization, surveillance and terror are the key elements of what I have called the totalitarian ambition in Indonesia. An ambition is not a reality, and the New Order ambition to totalitarian rule is unsystematic in conception and thwarted in practice. It is thwarted in part by the sheer scale of the task - of all countries, Indonesia is one of the more unwieldy in administrative terms. It is thwarted in part by the ineptness with which the huge task is sometimes carried out - exemplary apocryphal stories are legion. It is thwarted in part by the very resistance which it is trying to subvert, even though the forces of civil society remain more or less enervated by New Order depoliticizing strategies and the effects of surveillance and terror. It is also thwarted by what appears to be a certain lack of coherence and constancy at the heart of the state itself, rather like the Soviet Union after destaliniziation. Wildt's distinction between totalitarian systems (e.g. under Stalin) and totalitarian regimes is helpful to understanding my claim about Indonesia. In a passage already quoted he links mass terror to legitimation derived from overcoming deep-seated problems of accumulation: The fact that it [fascism] temporarily succeeds in solving these problems provides the totalitarian system enough legitimation to develop the terror sufficiently to prevent all effective opposition. Stalinist mass terror has fulfilled its historical function of depoliticizing the population and rendering it apathetic long enough to stabilize the specific class structure of Soviet state capitalism under conditions of extreme accumulation problems.7 In totalitarian regimes of Eastern Europe, even with Stalinist terror in their establishment phases, sufficient apathy was not generated for such system stabilization to occur. Militarization, in the form of occupation by the Red Army, was a prerequisite for the survival of Eastern European state capitalism. Indonesian rentier militarisation, like Eastern European state capitalism, cannot therefore be called totalitarian with regard to the genetically and structurally conditioned constitution of social consciousness, but only with regard to its political constitutions."8 Despite the large government investment in Pancasila ideological production, there can be little doubt that Wildt's comment is accurate as to the level at which Indonesia can be considered totalitarian. But that is no small claim. Intelligence regimes Intelligence regimes are usually labelled "strong states", but as I have already argued in Chapter 6, at least four senses of "strength" are usually conflated in that term. Both Indonesia and South Korea are "strong" in the sense of repressive or "tough". But there are three important senses of "the strong state" on which they differ - robustness, administrative effectiveness, and autonomy. Domestic intelligence regimes vary considerably - in their predominant style of operation, in the mix of surveillance and violence, in the sophistication of technical
7. Andreas Wildt, "Totalitarian state capitalism: on the structure and historical function of Soviet-type societies", Telos, 41, (1979), p.54. My emphasis. 8. Ibid., p.56.


means of surveillance, in the number of target groups in the society, and in degree of effective autonomy from other sections of the state. (See Figure 13.1.) Many states in recent history have had "strong" intelligence and security apparatuses, but as with the qualities implied in the term "strong state" more generally, the differences are important. In contemporary Southeast Asia, a number of states have "strong" intelligence and security forces - Indonesia, the Philippines, Malaysia and Singapore. Yet these can be distinguished, as in the following figures (13.1 and 13.2), according to the mix of violence and surveillance, and according to the degree of sophistication of the control apparatus compared with the number of target groups. In Indonesia in the late New Order period, the level of violence is (East Timor and at times, Irian Jaya and Acheh apart) low compared to the founding period of the New Order, or Kampuchea under the Khmer Rouge, while still being markedly higher than in most liberal democracies. Surveillance is intense, as it is also in Singapore, and in more industrialised societies in severe conflict such as Northern Ireland and West Germany. It seems likely that state surveillance in these countries is more intense than in the Philippines, where the state is less



coherent, and more reliant on diffuse state and non-state agents of violence. However, these cases can also be distinguished according to the number of target groups which the state surveillance system addresses. In Malaysia and Singapore, a relatively small number of groups come under extremely close and sophisticated attention. (See Figure 13.2.) In Indonesia, a complex apparatus of surveillance attempts to deal with a much broader range of "obstructions" to state policy, with an overall lower level of sophistication. But where necessary, surveillance resources can be mobilized and focussed closely on a small number of target groups - such as certain Islamic groups or labour. The end of rentier-militarisation? In Indonesia the promise of the coming period, where declining oil revenues must be replaced either by more aid or by taxation of the population, is that either way, substantial political pressure will be placed on the palace-centred beneficiaries of much of the domestic rentier structure.9 Both scenarios strengthen the influence of external forces, at least in the short run, even if certain changes occur in domestic social and economic pressures as a result. Further foreign aid at the level of recent years allows the possibility of the domestic structure continuing, but strengthens the hand of the international donors. On the other hand, successful pressure for deregulation from a coalition of foreign and domestic critics will also involve ceding a certain degree of sovereignty over economic policy formulation to external sources of legitimation. It remains to be seen whether differences in the interests of the different donor countries (especially between Japan on the one hand and the US and the IMF/World Bank on the other) will emerge, or whether there will in fact be a unified coalition with domestic groups in favour of deregulation of trade barriers. Should international donors be unwilling to match the lost oil funds over a long period of time, then the government will be forced to treat with at least some sections of the population for revenue.10 In Tilly's terms, the class coalition that receives the protection of the state will have to be expanded in order to raise the revenue for the state to survive.11 That, it should be noted, is not necessarily a recipe for democratization. The state can remain militarist whilst liberalizing certain aspects of Indonesian political life. Moreover, the state may remain militarist while pursuing a non-rentier model of accumulation. Expanding the social base of the state is probably incompatible with the flourishing rentier-phenomena we know today. There would be definite increases in current pressures to cut government budgets, to regularize the irregular and arbitrary in government practises, and to close off at least some popular (in elite circles) avenues of unproductive investment. However while in the present conjuncture, the repressive character of Indonesian
9. These paragraphs were drafted before the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, and the subsequent rise in oil prices. To the extent that the price of oil rises and stays high, the argument of these paragraphs is clearly invalidated. On the other hand, while a short term price rise was easy to predict under such circumstances, the longer term consequences, barring catastrophic destruction of Iraqi, Kuwaiti or Saudi oil fields, are less clear. 10. On recent taxation initiatives see Anne Booth, "Efforts to decentralize fiscal policy: problems of taxable capacity, tax effort and revenue sharing", in Colin MacAndrews (ed.) Central Government and Local Development, (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1986). 11. Charles Tilly, "War-making and state-making as organized crime", in Peter Evans, Dieter Rueschemyer and Theda Skocpol (eds.) Bringing the State Back In, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985).


politics is linked to the rentier structure of the economy, there are other state-economy projects yielding a militarist outcome, indeed, ones even more dependent on political repression. It is perfectly possible to imagine a coalition of foreign and domestic state and class forces constructing an essentially non-rentier economic structure which makes even greater calls for militarized controls over the population than at present, especially over labour and other urban groups. An attempt at export-oriented industrialization would almost certainly have such a character in the present world economy. Indeed, as shown by the replacement of Kopkamtib by Bakorstanas, the call for a non-military elite school for administrators by General Moerdani, and the increasing professionalization of the military's surveillance, intelligence assessment and social and political control capacity, such considerations may well be in the minds of the longer-term military political thinkers in Jakarta. But whether these strategies or some other emerge in the near future, it is difficult to see how either economic growth which generates greater national control over the Indonesian economy, or more importantly, a greater measure of social equity and genuine stability, can emerge under the present conditions of Indonesia's relations to the global economic and strategic systems. Without either substantial alteration in the global economy or the strategic situation, or in the ability of the Indonesian state to negotiate the terms of external involvement, it is unlikely that the hopes of those who seek both democracy and justice in Indonesia can be met within the prevailing political options in Jakarta. Just as for the past quarter century, external factors - or more precisely, the manner in which the Indonesian state deals with those factors - will be the predominant influence on the limits of possibility in Indonesian politics for the coming decade. The domestic rentier state and class structure will be impossible to sustain without continued oil revenues supplemented by high levels of foreign aid: the external rentier structure is a precondition of the survival of the domestic rentier - and militarist - structure. Pressures induced by changes in that external rentier-structure will undermine the domestic structure, and are already doing so. However, that is quite different from saying that profound changes will automatically follow, or that the domestic rentier structure must collapse. External influence is not external control, and influence, as the Korean example shows, is never uncontested. Not only is the future of the external rentier structure - oil and IGGI - unclear, but its trajectory will set the limits of choices to be made by Indonesians. Just how domestic social forces will manifest themselves and political figures make choices within those limits, or use the opportunities to devise new domestic arrangements that may transform those limitations, is another matter altogether. In any case, the calculus of relations between "state" and "civil society" in Indonesia, a source of hope as much as of the constraining of possibility, must now be done with a sense of a dialectic between the national weaknesses and strengths that transnationalization of both state and economic structures forebodes, and the fact that the channels of popular political action, in Indonesia as elsewhere, remain tied to the aging national state.12

12. See Richard Falk: e.g. "The state and contemporary social movements" in Saul Mendelovitz and R.B.J.Walker (eds.), Towards a Just World Peace: Perspectives from Social Movements, (London: Butterworths, 1987).


Intelligence and society As outlined previously in Chapter 4, the functions that may be carried out by intelligence agencies in contemporary societies include the following: (a) surveillance and the provision of information considered useful to state policy formation and execution; (b) political intervention, either in the form of overt repression or covert action; (c) generation and maintenance of normative or ideological systems; and (d) steering of the state and society towards specified system goals. As I have already described, the Indonesian intelligence apparatus is involved in all four activities, although ideological production is predominantly under the control of other sections of the military and the military-controlled state. Surveillance and political intervention are, of course, the primary concerns of the apparatus. However, the steering of state and society appear to be important. There is as yet little direct evidence of the views of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus, or the different parts of it, about the direction in which Indonesian society should be taken, apart from those of the military as a whole. The concerns for corporatist state-centred order and capitalist development, the interpretation of differing views of society as "resistances" and "obstructions" or as expressions of "fanatical" outlooks, are all clear from even a cursory look at military explanations of their role.13 But the social engineering ambitions of the Indonesian intelligence apparatus raise a more general question about the nature of such attempts to steer societies through the state - or more precisely, the capacity of political sub-systems of society to steer the whole. Habermas has raised fundamental issues which are relevant to the claimed role of some intelligence agencies in a discussion of the apparently distant problem of the perplexities of contemporary social democracy - or what may be termed ambitions for benign social engineering.14 Social democratic welfare state theorists have been stymied by late twentieth century experiences of the twin problems of capitalist economic crisis and the non-neutral and ineffective character of the welfare state as a means of taming such crisis tendencies.15 I have already quoted Durkheim's remark that "the state is society become

13. See, for example, the Seskoad document translated in Appendix 12. 14. Jurgen Habermas, The Philosophical Discourse of Modernity: Twelve Lectures, (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1987). 15. Habermas sums up the latter point in a way