She wore a scruffy, batik turban for protection against the midday sun. Aas Juasih, 42, looked satisfied with the paddy growing on the ‘illegal’ sawah (paddy field) that she has been cultivating for more than 15 years.
Juasih’s sawah slopes down into the huge Saguling dam lake in the countryside of Bandung, West Java. In the dry season, the water level goes down a few metres and leaves enough space for Juasih and hundreds of farmers to grow rice, corn, cucumbers and other crops.

But this is precarious. During the rainy season the water level rises, the farms submerge and the crops vanish. And now, with the uncertainty of seasons, attributed to climate change, rain could come anytime and visit ruination upon farmers like her.

Farmers recall that until about five years ago such disasters occurred only every now and then and that the farmers could still easily tide over them.

“Usually the water level would reach the upper side of the dam in February and remain at that level until the end of April. In May, the water would start to go down and, in June, we could start planting in time for the harvest in December or January, before the water starts going up,” Juasih recalled.

But now the cycle has been disrupted and is often at variance with the season.

“The water level would go far down, creating huge spaces along the slope for us to farm, but along with the rainfall, the water levels have become unpredictable,” said Juasih. ‘’Now I have given up,” she said, staring into the horizon. “I just regard this as betting at a lottery,” she added.

Needless to say, the stakes are high. Hours of labour and tonnes of rice can disappear in moments or the crops could wilt in the dry season.

Where do they get the water in the dry season? The men get together and rent a pump to lift water to the paddies on the slope. A farmer pays Rp 20,000 (1.7 US dollars) for two hours of pumping. The bigger the paddy field, the longer a farmer needs to keep the pump turned on. A quarter hectare of paddy field would take at least six hours of watering or Rp120,000 (10.2 dollars).

But there are problems. Pumping up water lowers the level in the lake and affects power supply. Odah binti Supirta, 75, keeps four petak (square) of sawah and around 400 sq m of vegetable farm. Her plantation is almost on the waterline and she is acutely aware that it can get inundated in the heavy rains.
What if the water inundated her paddy and vegetables? “I just see myself betting in a lottery,’’ she said echoing Juasih.

Supirta realises that the land she is working on is not hers anymore, having been taken over by the dam authorities. But with time and situation changing, soul ties with the land cannot just be cut off.
“This land used to belong to me, to our family,” she said. “Then one day government officials came to my house and told us that the government was planning to build a huge dam and that our farms were inside the dam area. They said the dam was for the good of the whole country and so we should give up the land at the price they set Rp 400 [0.03 cents] per sq m.”

“There was no way for us to refuse,” she recalled.

Constructed in 1985, the 700 megawatt power plant occupies an area of 1,500 sq km converted from land occupied by some 2,000 villages. Many villagers said the land acquisition was done by force.
The dam and agricultural lands encircling it are managed by Indonesia Power, a subsidiary of the state electricity utility.

Supirta is still working on the same land, but she is now a landless farmer and much poorer.
Omo Suminta, 73, is growing corn on his 800 sq m, just above Supirta’s. He says he farms solely for his own family’s consumption. Almost all farmers on the slope are in it to feed their families and sell only if there is surplus.
And this practice is linked to the past, long before the gigantic dam came into existence, when the farmers had their own lands, cultivated their own farms and managed their own properties.

“What they once said, that this dam is for the good of the whole nation, is a big lie. We were better off than we are now. We used to have our own properties,” said Mansyur Ma’mun, a Cililin community leader, reminiscing the days when rice and vegetables grew well and life was easy.

“We used to have a small river here called the Ciminyak, where the women did the washing and children swam. We enjoyed our days without need for money,” he told IPS.

Mansyur leads the farmers in their demands that the government fulfil promises made to them. “Until today, we fight for the realisation of promises the government made.”

One of the promises, Mansyur said, is to make the entire Saguling lakeside an agro-tourism site, where farmers would be given rights to grow fruits and financial assistance for agro enterprises.

According to Joni Santoso, land manager for Indonesia Power, there are around 8,000 farmers that farm on some 800 hectares around the lake, which is under the authority of the utility.

Santoso said his office is concerned that such farming could cause sedimentation in the Saguling.
Population density around the upper catchment of Saguling is high and the extensive agriculture there has been blamed for soil erosion while industries that have come up are contaminating the lake. The heavy metals and pesticides entering the lake are killing off the fish.

The farmers, said Santoso, were provided with funds to develop friendlier cultivation around the lakeside areas. “We have even assisted them with best variety of trees which are good for land conservation.”
“We recommend they grow hard trees that have economic value, such as mango, avocado, sukun [breadfruit], rambutan or coconut. But the farmers showed little interest,” Santoso told IPS.

However, the farmers complained that such varieties take years to yield. They said they need trees that can feed them two or three months after planting. So, instead of growing hard trees, the farmers stick to vegetables and other regular crops along the lakeside areas.

During prolonged droughts, as the water level goes down, local farmers see vast empty spaces on the slope as being too good to be ignored, though this is highly risky. ‘’I just ask myself: am I lucky? If I am, then the water will stay low and will only rise up after the harvest,’’ explains Euis Taslimah, a 31-year-old woman who grows cucumber close to the waterline.

Santoso says he keeps reminding the farmers that they are risking their time and energy farming in the inner side of the lake.

Mansyur said the farming practice can hardly be branded as ‘illegal’ because the villagers are actually organised by Indonesian Power.

Santoso acknowledged that his office organises the farmers under the Saguling Community Cooperatives through which farmers are provided information and counselling about dam safety and good agriculture. Legality, though, is an open question.

Source: IPS – Inter Press Service News Agency

IT is good to see young faces running for presidential race. Yes, those dreary old countenances bring bad mood to our senses, presenting the pictures of long-rooted cheap politicking, elderly arrogance, and well-packaged pilfering. These images are shifting with scruffily-dressed old people in slum neighborhood, suburbs and marginalized kampongs.

Young faces bring abundance of energy, strong determination, change and idealism. In any field of competition, these facets of youth outweigh inexperience, lack of wisdom and unripe composure.

Soekarno and his ‘pergerakan’ [freedom fighter] fellows were just at 20s when they started galvanizing this nation’s fervor for independence. At their 30s through 40s, they had turned to become leaders of the nation, run the fledging state and set unprecedented plan of nation and character building.

They paved their way to high positions until, in time, they turned dull and lumbering. Soekarno dissolved a big parliamentary proceeding called Majelis Konstituante as he feared it would result in west-oriented constitution. The last chapter of his rule saw him leading the country with iron fist.

But Soekarno, Syahrir, Mohammad Natsir, Mohammad Yamin, ascended to high socio-political post for their quality. Since at their teen, they had pioneered to shape the future of the country; squeezed their brains to find ways out of misery; plunged themselves into struggle for independence.

So their ascension to power was politically and morally acceptable. And their positions were natural reward for their personal quality.

Later, there was a time when one rose to power by toppling those on it. This needs gut, muscle and relentless pressure. Then they cling to power without intelligence and leadership quality. Premans and frustrated military generals might have the potentials to succeed in such plotting.

But those who don’t have such weapon can use the pretext of youth to hunt for power. Our community is well-known for being easily convinced that young means excellence, clean, fresh and ‘forward looking’.

And our gossip-possessed society is easily to like whoever often appears on TV. Be a host of comedy show then get ministers, governors, House chairman, party leaders into your show, there you are – an important man.

What makes a big difference is that our founding fathers chose the path of ‘pergerakan’ as a call, line of duty, and the reason they were there for. It’s a clear and persistent path; a path that showed their character and integrity.

Now how to describe our comedians, corny artists who run for governor or bupati election? Politics is surely not their genuine call and it only comes to their mind after they know they are well-known enough to contend the election. Coincidentally, the long-established politicians are constantly encroached by corruption and inability to adjust themselves to the fast-changing environment.

Forerunners like Rano Karno and Dede Jusuf made success stories for other actresses. Rano became deputy regent of Tangerang and Dede Jusuf rose to vice governor chair of West Java. Then Didin Bagito put himself forward in bupati election of Serang regency, though he failed. Now MC Helmy Yahya is running for South Sumatra governor election.

One of the most striking figures of this trend is that all the celebrities-turned politicians seek for second position. They mean to be just attached to the real contenders. They realize from the very beginning that their existence in politics is complementary, so be it. They bring no ideas, fresh agenda and clear visions.

It just happened that stage of Indonesia politics and entertainment are no big difference. Both present low-class entertainments, corny shows, poured with bad taste jokes.

But while the celebrities are well-known, who the hell are Rizal Malarangeng, Soetrisno Bahir and other well-furnished faces of young men contending the upcoming presidential election? People only know Rizal as a host of the stupid talk show ‘Save Our Nation’ and Soetrisno Bahir as the chairman of National Awakening Party [PAN]. And people know them only after their faces were put in large billboard in public places.

But that’s the way it is. Indonesian people see and treat political stage as kitchen entertainment. It’s not about nation and character building, cultural identity and prosperity.

Laporan kali ini sebuah round-up [rangkuman] tentang perilaku para panggota DPR yang suka tertidur selama rapat. Entah rapat-rapat komisi, hearing, atau rapat paripurna. Tak kurang ‘bagus’-nya, beberapa anggota dewan suka merokok di ruang rapat mereka sendiri yang ber-PT [Pengatur Temperatur] atau AC. Tak usah dijelaskan bahwa di sana jelas ada larangan merokok. Ini berita bagus. Pewarta dan redakturnya punya naluri berita [sense of news] yang baik.

Muncullah gambar-gambar itu: beberapa anggota dewan yang terhormat sedang nyenyak entah mimpi apa, saat rapat sedang berlangsung. Bahkan ada satu-dua shoot kamera yang menangkap suara ngorok mereka. Lalu muncul pula gambar-gambar para anggota dewan sedang merokok di ruang rapat. Hebat.

Emosi pemirsa, termasuk saya, tersulut. Saya kira mereka yang punya perhatian pada nasib negara dan bangsa akan tersedot sejenak perhatiannya ketika menyaksikan tayangan ini.

Berikutnya, sang pewarta tampil di layar, menyampaikan berita ini. Emosi saya kepada kelakuan para wakil rakyat itu berubah menjadi kejengkelan kepada si pewarta, maaf, meskipun ia cantik, ber’wajah kamera’, seperti pewarta-pewarta TV di Indonesia pada umumnya.

Apa pasal? Si pewarta itu bukannya melaporkan berita atau menjelaskan tentang perilaku anggota DPR itu, tapi ‘mengajari’ pemirsa: “Pemirsa, para wakil rakyat yang seharusnya memberi contoh yang baik…”, “Satu saja anggota DPR berperilaku negatif…maka dampak sosialnya akan..”

Lha, dia itu sedang melaporkan berita atau memberi kuliah moral?

Si pewarta manis itu tak tahu tugas profesionalnya bahwa yang ia harus lakukan adalah menyampaikan laporan. Ia tak tahu bahwa yang diperlukan pemirsa adalah informasi, bukan ungkapan perasaan, pikiran dan kuliah moral si pewarta. Lagipula, bisa dipastikan banyak pemirsa yang lebih tahu soal moral dan etika ketimbang si pewarta itu.

Mungkin si pewarta dan redakturnya ikut merasa kecewa dengan kelakuan para anggota dewan itu, tapi di situlah sikap profesional dan etika jurnalistik. Ia tak boleh menjadi pengecam atau penjunjung. Ia harus tetap penyampai berita.

***

Pembaca berita Bayu, berpasangan dengan pembaca berita wanita [Saya lupa namanya], menyampaikan berita tentang rencana kenaikan harga BBM. Ini pun berita bagus karena sedang diikuti seluruh pemirsa sampai akhirnya ada keputusan berapa persen kenaikan itu dan kapan kenaikan itu diumumkan. Isi beritanya :”Belum ada kepastian apakah pemerintah akan tetap menaikkan harga BBM atau tidak. Ada tayangan gambar beberapa orang berkomentar tentang perlu-tidaknya menaikan harga BBM. Meskipun tak ada perkembangan berarti, pemirsa tetap menyimak berita ini karena memang ini berita penting yang menyangkut hajat hidup mereka. Namun yang mengganggu justru komentar Sdr. Bayu: “Pemirsa, belum ada kepastian apakah harga BBM akan naik atau tidak. Tapi kalau pun ternyata naik, kita sebaiknya siap dengan kenaikan itu…”

Sok banget itu anak. Apa dia merasa sedang mewakili Jusuf Kalla? “Kita harus siap…kita harus mengerti..”

Mestinya: “Pemirsa, sampai saat ini, belum ada kepastian tentang kenaikan harga BBM.” Titik.

Tak sedikit reporter dan pembaca berita, terlihat sangat ingin menjadi pemberi kuliah dan komentator. Mungkin mereka merasa dengan begitu mereka akan kelihatan pintar, bijak dan dan anggun.

***

Seorang pewarta wanita berpenampilan ala artis mewawancara seorang pedagang kaki lima tua di Jakarta. “Dengan adanya rencana kenaikan harga BBM ini, gimana penjualan bapak. Ngaruh ga pa? Ga ngaruh ya?

Si nona bertanya dengan bahasa gaul kepada pak tua di perkampungan kumuh. Ya terang saja si Pak Tua tergagap-gagap tak mengerti apa itu ngaruh.

Jelas terlihat kebutuhan pelatihan bahasa Indonesia yang ’sekolahan’ [kalau pakai kata 'yang baik dan benar', orang-orang yang sok gaul suka alergi]. Bahasa Indonesia para repoter TV banyak yang belepotan tak karuan. Gemar menggunakan dan melafalkan kata-kata bahasa Inggris tapi pengucapakan dan penempatannya konyol. Rupanya lebih bangga menggunakan kata-kata asing meskipun keliru dari pada kata-kata aseli bahasa sendiri. Mental inferior.

Saya sering tak habis pikir melihat perilaku media di Indonesia — cetak dan elektronik — yang kehilangan kepercayaan diri total kalau tidak omong atau membubuhkan ungkapan-ungkapan bahasa Inggris, padahal 100 persen permirsa atau pembacanya orang Indonesia totok. Lihat tajuk tajuk Metro TV yang merasa keren dan maju dengan ’save our nation’, ‘headline news’ ‘top news’ ‘market review’, ‘Indonesia Recovery’ dan sederet tajuk beringgris-ria lainnya. Lalu menamai pembawa acara sebagai ‘host’. Konyolnya, gaya kaprah ini segera diikuti stasiun-stasiun TV lain, bahkan sampai TV-TV lokal. Di Bandung, sebuah stasiun TV menamai salah satu acara tayangan beritanya sebagi ‘indepth news’. Untuk pemirsa Native English, Metro punya tayangan khusus program berbahasa Inggris. Jadi tajuk-tajuk Inggris yang berjajar tadi untuk pemirsa bangsa mana? Coba tajuk-tajuk Inggris itu saya Indonesiakan: ‘Selamatkan Bangsa’, ‘Berita Utama’, ‘Berita Hangat’, ‘Ulasan Pasar’, ‘Pemulihan Indonesia’, berkurangkah ke-kerenan-nya? Sama sekali tidak! Lagi pula garis bawahi logika paling dasar dan sederhana: Berkomunikasi dengan bangsa sendiri, melalui media dalam negeri, dengan para awak orang pribumi asli, kenapa harus menggunakan bahasa asing? Wah alasan berikut saya dengar berulang-ulang: ‘Untuk menjaring segmen pemirsa masyarakat muda kota’, kaum profesional muda..bah!!!

Sekarang, orang yang cas-cis-cus dengan bahasa Inggris aneh ada di pasar-pasar tradisional dan kampung-kampung kumuh. Tukang oncom di pasar tradisional dekat rumah saya sudah terbiasa berujar: “Oh, my God!”, “Thank’s”, ‘So what?” “Hi Sweety!” “Don’t worry be happy”..

Masalahnya bukan ada larangan atau tidak berbahasa Inggris. Tapi pantas atau tidak. Masuk akal atau tidak. Saya sering sedih menyaksikan acara dialog yang melibatkan diplomat atau pengamat asing dan dialog itu berlangsung dalam bahasa Indonesia. Hampir selalu bahasa Indonesia si orang asing jauh lebih tertib, baik, santun, benar dan lancar ketimbang para komentator pribumi, termasuk para pakar-akademisi yaang sudah ngomongnya tersendat-sendat, bahasa Indonesianya rancu, lalu para inferior itu menghiasi komentarnya dengan ungkapan-ungkapan Inggris, yang sering konyol dan lucu. Lebih dari 90 persen para pembawa acara dan komentator olahraga mengucapkan ‘event’ sebagai ‘ifen’ seperti mantan presiden Soeharto menucapkan akhiran kan sebagai ‘ken’.

Salah satu kekonyolan umum adalah ketika wabah demam berdarah menyebar, para pembaca berita, cetak dan elektronik menyebut wabah itu sebagai demam berdarah dengue, bahkan kemudan dipatenkan dengan singkatan DBD [demam berdarah dengue]. Wahai nona-nona yang cantik-cantik dan bung-bung yang ganteng-ganteng, dengue itu adalah demam berdarah.

Selain beringgris-inggris latah, para pembawa berita dan penulis laporan sering merasa kata, istilah, tanpa periksa. Malas buka kamus. Berulang-ulang kita dengan: “para pemirsa, nasib masyarakat kampung Meruyak pasca kebakaran…”, “nasib para pedagang pasca penggusuran”, “Keadaan keluarga Cendana pasca meninggalnya Soeharto…” Ini kekonyolan dari planet mana? Coba ganti kata ‘pasca’ itu dengan ’setelah’ ..kedengarannya lebih jelas dan tegas.

Memang tak perlu dijelaskan di sini bahwa yang menderita rendah diri akut itu justru anggota-anggota masyarkat ‘kelas atas’ yang tampil di televisi, di forum-forum seminar atau diskusi, namun tidak adakah niat untuk bangga menjadi diri sendiri sebagai bangsa. Buat apa bangga dengan indentitas orang lain? Lihat itu acara di TV, lebih dari 80 persen adalah jiplakan dari acara TV asing: “Indonesian idol, Spontan, kuis ini, kuis itu, Norak Award.

Mana itu ‘Save Our Nation’? Harap tahu saja, ‘nation’ itu bukan cuma sekumpulan makhluk berdiri tegak, berjalan dengan dua kaki, tapi juga identitas, budaya, cara pikir, norma dan nilai yang dihasilkan kelompok makhluk itu. Kalau kerja cuma contek sana contek sini, ya celaka lah.

Salam

During the Ramadan fast, 10-year-old Yuceu Dewi Sakinah, like many other children, whiled away time by playing games. She and her friends played ’sondah’, a Sundanese traditional game similar to hopscotch, in front of her house in this Indonesian city.
Upon seeing them, other girls in the neighbourhood stopped and watched with curiosity. ”What game is she playing?” asked one of them. Although ’sondah’ is a traditional game in Indonesia, many of today’s city children are no longer familiar with it. They are more familiar with skating or video games, pastimes that have nothing to do with their traditional roots. Yuceu, in other words, is one of not too many youngsters who knows how to enjoy both traditional and ‘modern’ games. She also plays ‘congkak’, ‘beklen’, ‘babacakan’, and other games most of her friends consider strange.

Indeed, a recent study conducted by the Taman Budaya Sunda, or Sundanese Art Park, revealed that at least 55 of 60 traditional games are already ‘dead’, in the sense that they are no longer recognised by Sundanese children in West Java. The remaining are fighting for survival. Fortunately, the extinction of traditional games is mostly occurring in the cities. In the villages, some 80 percent of the games are still being played by Sundanese children, the same study says.

According to Nano Suratno, a Sundanese artist who heads the Sundanese Art Park, the demise of traditional games comes with rapid industrialisation and urbanisation over the decades that has pushed aside traditional values, norms, and products.
”Everyday, new products, new information, including new games, are introduced and pass through your eyes on TV, books, magazines. You have no time to defend and hold on the past. Everyday, we are compelled to try something new, and we have no time to develop and even to defend what we have had,” he says. Limited space in cities is another reason for dying traditional games. ”Many of the traditional games need large spaces. You cannot play ‘gatrik’ (a game that involves using a piece of bamboo and a soft- ball) in a small alley,” adds Lilis Maryati, a researcher into Sundanese traditions. And ”if you play babancakan (a cat-and-mouse-like game), you can use the whole neighborhood,” she explains.

Cultural analysts say Indonesia can learn from other countries when it comes to providing more space for play. In Japan, Suratno says, neighbourhoods are similarly crowded, houses are small and the price of land is much higher. But still, each neighborhood has its own open spaces, sufficient for children to play. ”Here, our children have no room to play,” he laments.

‘On weekends, they will take their children to play ground in malls, supermarkets, rather than teaching them the impractical old games,” Maryati says. If the cycle continues, today’s children will also be unable to teach their own children traditional games.
But how can Yuceu still play these old games? During school vacations and on weekends, her parents take her back to Tasikmalaya, the home of her grandparents. During her stay in that village in West Java, she learned to play these games with other children there. ”I can play video games, skating, computer games, but playing those of the village are much more exciting,” Yuceu says.
In the villages, local games are often played during Ramadan, when children in the villages spend the fasting period playing before returning home late in the afternoons. Often, the youngsters play war games using bamboo pistols they make themselves. The number of participants and space used in these games is unlimited. And every child makes bamboo pistols themselves, a factor that distinguishes them with their city counterparts.

”I think the positive side of our old generation is that they are less dependent. If they want to have a car toy, they make it themselves. Children of the present day ask their parents for money to have it,” Suratno points out. Maryati and Suratno agree that Sundanese traditional games will survive only if people do something about it. Schools and local authorities play a key role in this case. As a senior teacher here puts it: ”If the government can provide huge playgrounds in malls for such commercial games, why can’t they do it for traditional games?”
Trying to promote a revival of traditional games, the Sundanese Art Council recently held a exhibition featuring Sundanese games. Children were invited over to listen to explanations on how to play those games. ”Those ‘modern’ children really like it,” says Maryati. ”There’s no reason to ignore our own wealth.”

The council is also printing and distributing books on the games, which it expects to become one of the references in primary and secondary schools. ”By this way, children will recognise their own possessions,” she explains.

But for the games to be relearned and brought to life with children’s squeals of fun, Suratno says neighbourhood leaders and residents themselves must provide open spaces for youngsters to play. Surely, there should be space for children to run free in this big country, she adds.

When Indonesia’s television industry opened up four years ago, more media freedom and wider information access were supposed to be among the benefits.

But even though Indonesians now have nine channels to choose from, media experts here say that the kind of shows and programs the stations are offering remain essentially the same.

That is really bad news, many here say. After all, during the three-decade rule of Indonesian strongman Suharto, the usual television fare consisted mostly of local and imported soap operas, variety shows and news that came straight from the government propaganda machine.

Some take a bit of comfort in the fact that since Suharto was forced to step down in 1998, at least the government no longer tries to control the news. But then, they say, the television stations themselves seem to have a hard time kicking the old habit of sticking to the official line when reporting events.

“New TV stations present news packages similar to the old ones,” says Dedy Djamaluddin Malik, chair of the High School of Communication (Stikom) in Bandung.

“The difference is only in duration of camera angle,” he says. “They also present the same type of entertainment packages — telenovela, soap operas or Indian movies.”

It has not helped that the stations are so far all based here — from state-owned TVRI, to the country’s first commercial station, RCTI, to subsequent players SCTV, ANTeve, Indosiar and TPI, and finally to newcomers Metro TV, Trans TV and Lateve.

According to media specialist Dr. Philip Kitley of the Southern Queensland University in Australia, such a set-up is not advantageous to regional developments in Indonesia and may even create an imbalance in information.

Local television producer Yanto Sugiarto echoes these sentiments. He says, “If all TV stations are based in Jakarta, then local traditions and genius will not get access to promotion and so they will not grow well.”

“For a diverse nation like Indonesia, this centralism in information is not good,” he adds. “More TV stations should mean more opportunities for local tradition to grow so that audiences have more choices to watch.”

Some observers, though, say that perhaps the industry just needs some time to adjust and begin to innovate.

But others are less optimistic, arguing that an industry that puts business concerns first is unlikely to veer away from programs and formats that have proven to be money-earners — even if these are trite and tired.

Malik himself notes that sheer economics and existing infrastructure are among the major reasons why the stations have stayed put in the capital.

“Big advertisement stakes are in Jakarta,” he says. “Skilled human resources are in Jakarta and good infrastructure is in Jakarta. Establishing a TV station in the regions will be costly and facing gloomy prospect.”

Observes Malik: “When it comes to business, social development is a peripheral aspect.”

To be sure, many of the stations have been raking in profits despite a prolonged recession. For instance, RCTI, formerly owned in part by Bambang Trihatmojo, a son of Suharto, had a gross income of $ 424.5 million from 1996 to 2000.

Indosiar, meanwhile, grossed $ 334 million during the same period, getting 1.33 trillion rupiah worth of advertising in 2000 alone.

SCTV earned $ 348 million from 1996 to 2000 while TPI posted a total gross income of $ 236 million.

Such big figures have apparently helped attract more companies to try their luck in broadcasting, and in television in particular. According to industry insiders, there will be at least two more new players in the coming months — Global TV and TV-7.

But there has been a bit of good news, say experts: the involvement of print media companies in television.

For example, Metro TV, which is owned by the press firm Media Indonesia, has been the first to offer news in Mandarin. Insiders also expect the current industry infant, Lateve, owned by the print media Kompas Group, to come up with innovative shows.

In addition, many are waiting for the Jawa Pos Group to establish its own television station, which it plans to set up in Riau island. The Jawa Pos station’s broadcasting area will cover western Sumatra and Malaysia.

Kitley says of the entry of print organizations into television: “This is an innovation in the media business and will create a convergence between printed media and audio visual media.”

Industry insiders like Sugiarto, meanwhile, hope that others will take a cue from the Jawa Pos Group and consider the regions as bases for a change.

Sugiarto also suggests that local governments, which have been given greater autonomy by Jakarta, start encouraging media firms in their areas to look into television or at least press existing stations to establish strong regional bureaus.

The early 1950s came to be known as the period of so-called ‘personality journalism’. That is, a media dominated by a few well-known figures.

It was a time when the performance of the newspaper was very much determined by the associated figure. A newspaper or magazine that did not have a reputed public figure would be ‘nothing’, and would not gain good readership.

It was also a period of idealism within the press. With very limited facilities, equipment and money, publications were able to function and run on-the-spot exclusive stories by dedicated reporters, quality articles by great writers and provide a clear vision in their editorials.

“In the past, we had great writers like B.M. Diah, Rosihan Anwar, Mochtar Lubis and several others. They were powerful and strong purely through their writing ability, not due to their position, wealth or political connections,” says Harry Sitompoel, a veteran Indonesian journalist who used to work with ‘Merdeka’ (Freedom), which was founded by journalist-turned-resistance fighter Burhanuddin Muhammad Diah in 1945.

Such an idealistic press prevailed and developed in favourable condition. In the early 1950s Indonesia was, with all its faults, a functioning parliamentary democracy.

During the later years of the 1950s, a variety of factors saw President Sukarno turning into an authoritarian leader. Seeing ‘enemies’ everywhere around him, he turned paranoid about every criticism, including from the press, and felt he and his dream of revolution in Indonesia was under attack. Inevitably, writers and the press became potential enemies. Sukarno banned ‘Indonesia Raya’, ‘Merdeka’ and ‘Pedoman’ and put their editors in jail without trial in 1961.

But this was also the period when journalists were of tougher mettle. They continued to write and did not change their opinions under pressure. If domestic publications were not willing to run their articles, foreign publications were open with much higher compensation and appreciation. They often become attractive news sources for foreign media covering Indonesia. At home, they were the role models for young journalists. The ban was actually counterproductive for Sukarno.

‘BUDAYA TELEPON’

With the help of his Western backers, Suharto emerged on the Indonesian political scene like a long-awaited hero. He was hailed by Muslim groups for crushing the communists; welcomed by nationalists for preventing national disintegration; and of course he was lauded by the West for toppling the left leaning Sukarno.

Pledging to straighten up implementation of the state ideology of ‘Pancasila’, he named his government the ‘New Order’, while labelling the Sukarno era as the ‘Old Order’. Most importantly, he restored the banned newspapers: ‘Indonesia Raya’, ‘Pedoman’ and ‘Abadi’.

Under the ‘guidance’ of his Western advisors, Suharto opened wide the door for foreign investment, which soon flowed in. Aids, loans, assistance came in and he strengthened his reign to a point where, to pre-empt any disruption to his development plan, Suharto soon turned into an iron-fisted ruler.

It was just a matter of time before he closed down the newly-restored newspapers and put their editors in jail again. It was obvious soon that the country was in the hands of a dictatorial military regime which solved problems by pointing guns, and not through dialogue and debate.

This was the era in the media of what was popularly called by Indonesians as ‘budaya telepon’, which literally means the culture of phone call. This referred to the way a story could be dropped or run on the basis of a high military official giving orders over the phone. A military official could even ask an editor or director of a publication to fire a reporter by just making a phone call. It was enough to make the media obey the ‘request’ because they knew the consequences of dissent were very harsh.

It was in this period a specifically Indonesian style of journalism called ‘journalisme tiarap’ emerged. ‘Tiarap’ means ducking to avoid shooting or any form of attack. It figuratively means avoiding sensitive issues that could spark ‘Cendana’s anger’, Cendana being the name of Suharto’s residence. Even though Suharto laid down a list of issues to be avoided by the media – namely issues concerning ethnicity, religion, race, and inter-religious community relations – in practice there were no clear standards and everything depended on the interest and mood of Soeharto and his men.

There were also an unwritten law in the Suharto period about three other things editors and reporters could not write about. First, never run stories on or quoting any members of Petisi 50 (Petition 50), a group of retired generals and senior citizens who once submitted a petition to Suharto, expressing concern over the plight of the nation and giving a set of recommendations.

Second, never run stories or articles questioning the Dwi Fungsi ABRI, which literally means the Indonesian military’s dual function. This alluded to the military’s involvement in not just military affairs but also civilian ones, a concept which allowed allocation of seats for unelected military officials in the Indonesian House of Representatives, governorships and other key posts for retired generals.

Third, never write or run stories on any negative thing about Suharto’s family members.

Despite following all these codes, journalists and members of the media were still likely to be punished for various ‘indiscretions’. “The actual standard was the mood of Suharto and his military men, which did not make any sense to anyone else,” said Yanto Soegiarto, former editor of the now defunct English daily ‘Indonesian Observer’.

As part of its war on the free press the Suharto regime closed down several publications, including the Sinar Harapan daily, Tempo news magazine, Editor news magazine and Detik tabloid. All this after already banning Indonesia Raya, Pedoman and Abadi.

Despite the various restrictions, the Suharto era saw a boom in the media business: exclusive and fancy magazines, newspapers, and especially TV stations. It was actually not that difficult to get a press license as long as one could convince the government of one’s loyalty and comply with the various unwritten rules. Those who got into the media business obviously were the ones with close connections to Cendana.

Until the early 1980s, Indonesia had only one national TV station, the state-owned TVRI. By the 1990s, it had four – three of them, RCTI, SCTV and TPI were then owned by Suharto’s children. By the time of his resignation in 1997, it had seven. Currently it has 11, not including regional stations.

On top of ‘budaya telepon’ the Suharto period was a time which saw the rise of ‘budaya amplop’ or ‘culture of the envelope’. At press conferences organised by government agencies or private companies, journalists would be handed a press kit with an envelope among the sheets of press releases. Inside the envelope was money.

The Information Ministry or President’s Palace did not provide such envelopes, but once invited to their press conferences, editors or reporters could not even dream of not attending because their absence would imply disloyalty and a lot of problems ahead.

The more controversial a company was, the bigger the sum of money inside the envelope would be. There were some ‘journalists’ who relied fully on this kind of ‘income’ for their living. If a ‘journalist’ could attend three press conferences a day, it would be enough to send them home with a smiling face.

It was not surprising, then, that businessmen were establishing press companies which did not offer any salary to their reporters. Even if they did, the rate was extremely low. ‘Journalists’ were not only expected to earn their own income but in some cases even feed the company by setting aside a sum of money for their bosses.

CONSTANT STRUGGLE

Suharto’s successor Bacharuddin Joesoef Habibie, propelled to power by Indonesia’s pro-democracy movement that toppled Suharto, may have been the most press-friendly Indonesian president in all its modern history. He abolished licences for starting publications and did away with censorship by the government.

Habibie’s policy however boomeranged on him politically. Both the old and newly born media jointly attacked him as ‘President by accident’ and ‘as Suharto’s protégé’.

In the Habibie period hundreds of new publications were born. Most could hardly survive for lack of revenues, a small readership base and, of course, low quality. Most of their journalists came from the ranks of the unemployed who took to journalism as a way of making money by either blackmailing corrupt government officials or doing a public relations job for private companies.

Abdurrahman Wahid who succeeded Habibie was hailed by the media community as a true proponent of freedom of the press. He dissolved the once powerful Information Ministry that had long been Suharto’s tool of controlling the press.

While Gus Dur, as Wahid was popularly called, was supposed to be pro-press freedom, he was also a religious leader of more than 30 million fanatic followers of the Nahdlatul Ulama or NU. Whenever the press criticised him, he would not react personally, but NU members would ransack the media offices portraying him negatively.

This happened to ‘Jawa Pos’, the largest daily in East Java. In one of its editions, ‘Jawa Pos’ ran a story alleging Gus Dur of having a hand in the misuse of the Bulog (National Logistics Agency) fund. This sparked the anger of Banser (the NU’s civilian security division) who stormed into the ‘Jawa Pos’ office, ran amok, and destroyed computers and other equipment. Gus Dur, however, did not condemn his supporters’ actions.

It soon became common for people to attack media offices should they feel upset with their stories. The ‘Tempo’ office was attacked by bodyguards of a businessman who, according to ‘Tempo’, was behind the burning of a traditional market in Jakarta in a foul attempt to get a contract for reconstructing the market.

Megawati’s rise to the presidency after Wahid’s fall was regarded as the victory of people’s power and ‘reformasi’. But Megawati herself proved to be a ‘woman of the palace’ who was not familiar with the people’s suffering, their needs or the value of a free press.

The foreign media often described her as nothing more than a housewife who was forced by circumstances to become an opposition leader. She rarely answered questions posed by reporters and uttered only a few sentences.

During her period in power, as part of a larger global media trend, Indonesia too saw the rise of ‘infotainment’ as the preferred content of most newspapers, radio and television stations. Businessmen who knew little about the media business took to publishing soft porn magazines or tabloids featuring fledging actress wearing little more than a seductive expression on their faces. They did roaring business.

The current Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s grip on the Indonesian media is quite well known. To give an example, weeks before taking his politically tough decision to increase domestic fuel prices, all TV stations were packed with ads promoting the need to lift oil subsidies ‘for the good of the country’.

Under Yudhoyono, the Indonesian media looks just fine on the surface. Only certain journalists know what exactly is the situation. Among them are the editors of ‘Kompas’ daily Sukardi Rinakit and Riswnada Imawan, a social-political analyst at the Yogyakarta-based Gadjah Mada University. ‘Kompas’ is the largest circulating daily in Indonesia today. These two people are not allowed to write articles in the media. There are no written notices about the ban. But they know they cannot write.

“Budaya telepon is back now,” said Yanto Soegiarto, who is also a producer in Rajawali Citra Televisi Indonesia [RCTI] TV station. “Someone in the presidential office delivered a message of President Yudhoyono to them about the ban.”

Regardless of the revival of old practices to control the press, the Indonesian media and its entire community of journalists have really changed, says Rosihan Anwar, a veteran Indonesian journalist. “In the past, journalists were more of thinkers, intellectuals and freedom fighters. One joined a newspaper or magazine because he or she wanted to express ideas and take part in a fight for independence and in shaping the future of the country. Now, one applies to become a journalist in order to work and get an income.”

Similar is the case with media companies. “In the past, newspaper, magazines were the tools of struggle, in ideas and aspirations. Now, media is a mere business. That is the fact of the present and no one can go back to the past,” says Anwar. (END/2006)

The death of former Indonesian president Suharto shows the country’s ‘reformasi’ (reformation) as nothing more than a shift in power instead of a gradual process to democracy, say analysts here.

Indonesia’s President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono puts soil into the grave of former Indonesian president Suharto at Astana Giribangun family mausoleum in Karanganyar regency, Indonesia’s Central Java [Photo: Reuters]

The former dictator died Sunday at the age of 87 after 24 days of intensive medical treatment in the Pertamina Hospital in Jakarta. He was buried Monday in the graveyard of Javanese kings, Astana Giribangun, in Central Java, with a military ceremony led by President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono.

While his predecessor Sukarno was confined to house arrest until his death, Suharto never went to court to face the numerous allegations against him after he stepped down in May 1998.

The charges against him included abuse of power, misuse of funds, corruption, and human rights violations, including atrocities committed against alleged members of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) in 1965.

Several of his business cronies, such as timber baron Mohammad ‘Bob’ Hasan and even his youngest son Hutomo ‘Tommy’ Mandala Putra, were dragged into court and served time in jail, but Suharto remained untouchable.

Pressure for a trial steadily weakened until the Supreme Court closed the cases against Suharto for health reasons. “It is hardly surprising, however; the law institutions did not work when Suharto was in good condition,” said a frustrated Amien Rais, former chairman of the People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR) and Suharto’s number one enemy.

The apparently lackluster law enforcement was accompanied by the incapability of the four new governments that took office after 1998, as reflected by incessant political conflicts, instability, communal strife, economic decline and growing poverty.

“The incapability of the new government makes the people yearn for the Suharto era, when prices of basic necessities were affordable, streets were safe from rallies and anarchism, and jobs were easy to find,” said Mohammad Ainun Najib, a popular columnist.

The truth is, Suharto still reigns in the heart of people in the villages, despite the fanfare of democracy brought by the new governments—from Bacharuddin Jusuf Habibie, Abdurrahman Wahid and Megawati Sukarnoputri to the present Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono.

“To me, Suharto is the best. When he was in power, fertilizer was abundant and affordable, irrigation worked well. So farming, which is my inherited and only skill, was a reliable business for living,” said Warid, a farmer in Lagadar village in West Java.

Ahmad Syafi’ie, a former employee of Indonesia’s state-owned aircraft manufacturing firm (IPTN), distinguishes the days of Suharto’s era from the present reformasi times. “I was fired from my job not long after Suharto’s fall,” he said. “And instead of finding a new job, I even get new jobless fellows. Factories and companies closed down and so I have more friends.”

Initially, as Najib sees it, the people were of the view that Suharto had been in power too long and they were looking for something new. But this ‘something new’ has not yet appeared.

“Yes, the people called for a change. A change for the better. Then when in fact what comes is even worse, they turn back to Suharto,” he maintained.

But Badri Khaeruman, a lecturer at the Bandung State Islamic University (UIN), said “Let’s make it simple: give him (Suharto) forgiveness and maintain what is good of him.”

For rights activists, however, things are not that simple. “What about the millions of people, alleged members of the PKI, who were murdered without trial? How about those who were kidnapped and are still missing? We respect Suharto, definitely. But we also respect those victims of his oppressive rule. All men are equal before the law,” said Fajrun, an activist in Jakarta.

Sukarno’s daughter Sukmawati Sukarnoputri joined her voice to the chorus, saying that “Suharto did a lot of good things to the nation in terms of economic development, social welfare and stability, but that does not necessarily mean mercy for his mistakes, atrocities, corruption and oppression during his rule.”

Former president Abdurrahman Wahid, meanwhile, is adamant that Suharto’s record should be further investigated, and that the courts should rule on the wrongs committed under his rule, saying that “Only after that can we give him forgiveness.”

“How can we forgive someone when it is not clear what his mistakes were?” he asked.

But Suharto has gone to his eternal resting place without ever standing trial, and more and more people are choosing to forgive and forget. Which indicates, according to Najib, that Indonesians have not yet embraced democracy, but are merely caught up in internal political power struggles.