The start of the new millennium was in many ways also the start of the new Indonesia. Less than a year after historic post-authoritarianism elections, the country remained unsure about how to step forward. Violence was the familiar, and now could be exercised with less restraint. I was always astounded by the ease with which Indonesians shifted from friendly smiles to unashamed vengeance, sometimes within minutes. But when dehumanization of individuals and communities became the norm, empathy can be hard to come by. This article from FEER illustrates why.
The new face of Indonesian justice
Far Eastern Economic Review - July 13, 2000
Dini Djalal, Jakarta -- Husein could do nothing when the mob set his son Dian on fire. "If I had protested, they would have killed me too," he says simply. "I held in my emotions." Dian, 24, and three of his friends had been caught trying to steal a motorbike in the town of Jati Murni, West Java. Within minutes of their being discovered by the bike's owner, a small crowd had gathered and began beating the men. Soon, the crowd numbered in the hundreds, pounding on the men as they pleaded for mercy. Kerosene was eventually found and poured over the four victims, two of whom were still alive. Three hours after their ordeal began, the men were left as charred corpses.
Dian and his friends were just some of the latest casualties of an upsurge of vigilante violence across Indonesia. National figures don't exist, but anecdotally hospitals have noted a sharp increase over the past year. The morgue at Jakarta's Cipto Mangunkusomo Hospital, for instance, has dealt with just over 100 victims of mob beatings since January -- more than one every two days -- and has now set up a special unit to handle the cases.
Most of the bodies show signs of brutal beating. In some cases, this alone caused death; in others, the victims had been covered in kerosene and set alight while still alive. Regardless of their punishment, for all the victims this was the new face of Indonesian justice, vigilante-style.
It's a paradox that after finally rising up against decades of no-nonsense rule under former President Suharto, Indonesians are now keeping alive one of his New Order regime's most notable characteristics: arbitrary brutality. With the military and police in retreat amid criticism of their heavy-handed ways, vigilante mobs are taking their place and taking a leaf from their strong-arm tactics. Armed with a grisly array of weapons, mobs exact their own brand of justice, even in the heart of Jakarta's business district, and often as police stand by.
For Indonesians, it seems, brutality is now in the blood. "The New Order taught us that the only way to solve a problem is with violence," says criminologist Yohanes Sutoyo of the University of Indonesia. "It is difficult to undo this."
The fascination with violence is visible everywhere. Most political parties, and many universities, have paramilitary divisions; one local newspaper estimates that half a million Indonesians belong to such groups. These private armies are not allowed to carry arms, but can still flex their muscles.
But the mob violence owes little to organized paramilitary groups and instead is notable for its spontaneity and unpredictability. Witnesses say incidents often follow the pattern in the Jati Murni lynching, where a small crowd quickly grows and a near- frenzy sets in before the victim is torched.
Although rarely armed with guns, attackers have no shortage of weapons to call upon. "The mob will use bricks, planks, machetes," says Yayat, a food vendor in Kampung Rambutan, East Jakarta, who has seen five lynchings in four months. "Any thief who comes here comes out dead," he adds. Indeed, so routine have the attacks become that shopkeepers are even stocking in preparation for them. "All vendors here now have kerosene ready for the next lynching," says Yayat.
The torching of suspected robbers appears to date back only to February last year, when the first reported burning took place without police intervention. "It became a model," says Munir, chief of human-rights group Kontras.
Often, one or two police officers are present at a lynching but are either powerless or unwilling to do anything. In Jati Murni, police reinforcements arrived only after the suspected thieves had been killed. Police who do try to intervene may find themselves coming under attack.
After a lynching in Cililitan, East Jakarta, a mob rampaged through a jail after police arrested some of their number. One police officer who recently did try to act, Suyatno, was roughed up. "If we intervene, the mob turns on us too," he says. A fellow officer adds: "I've got a wife and kid." But some suggest that there may be more than fear behind police inaction.
Firdaus, a street tough who witnessed one of the Kampung Rambutan lynchings, points to the police's admission that the victims were on their wanted list. That, he says, may explain why the police only came in big numbers more than an hour after the mob first struck. "If I am scared, that's understandable. But for the police to be scared? What are they good for?," he asks. Munir, the human-rights worker, supplies an answer: "The vigilantes are easing the police's workload. They just want to play it safe."
It's not a new complaint. The police, who until last year were part of the defence forces, have long had a reputation for ineffectiveness married with corruption and brutality. The government has pledged to turn the police into an independent force, answering directly to the president, that will "serve and protect" the nation. But with just 200,000 officers to serve a population of 220 million, and funding at a premium, that won't be easy.
For the police, however, the issue of mob violence is more than just a security question. "This is a moral issue," says Jakarta police spokesman Lt.-Col. Zainuri Lubis. "Perhaps the police aren't respected and are regarded as less than optimal, but that doesn't mean that you can kill people on the street."
Critics, though, say the police have inspired mob violence by their own bad example. "The public sees that the police too torture criminals," says Munir. "As long as the police condone this violence, mob justice will continue."
In Jati Murni, meanwhile, where Dian and his friends died, there is quiet, but not peace. The Soeyatno family, whose motorcycle the men were attempting to steal, are not sleeping easily. "I'm waiting for revenge from the thieves' families," says Enny Soeyatno. Men from the neighbourhood armed with knives take turns on security shifts. They stop and interrogate strangers, but never patrol alone. "Our strength is in numbers," explains Jatra, a 29-year-old motorbike-taxi driver.
Still, for Soeyatno, the fear and paranoia is a price worth paying. "It's safe now," she says. It wasn't before: dozens of motorcycles had been stolen in the neighbourhood, and anyone who reported the crimes to the police was asked first for money. "We've given up on the police," says another resident.
The price of this form of protection is a city closing in on itself, trying to keep at bay the growing savagery on the streets. In Jakarta, rich neighbourhoods resemble fortresses, but even in poorer areas, barbed wire fences in the frightened, while strangers can expect to be questioned. If trouble strikes, say Indonesia's new street warriors, don't count on the police. Stay in, or join the mob. Says Husein, still shocked that his son paid with his life for society's frustrations: "It's the law of the jungle."
https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/as.2002.42.4.582?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents
