Circus Tigers in Senayan
Is it normal for the Indonesian people to be optimistic about their future? This is an important question, since the interpretation of the ongoing reform process largely depends on the optimism or pessimism of the interpreter.
For example, the heated debate that went on before, during, and after the session of the House of Representatives (DPR) with President Abdurrahman Wahid on Thursday last week. For the optimistic mind, such an event shows how the nation’s political condition has changed from an authoritive climate to an egalitarian one. That DPR, which for three decades was dubbed a rubber-stamp body, is now compared by some to a tiger that has been released from its cage, very ferocious in safeguarding its freedom and territory.
The president—a figure who in the past was revered as the sacred father of the nation—is publicly bombarded with questions that would make most people uncomfortable. Those who dared to raise them have neither been detained by the police nor military as might have happened in the past. What is more, unlike the 1950s, the political clashes at parliament in Senayan do not look likely in themselves to topple the government. Isn’t this an extraordinary achievement by a government which is still less than a year old?
The answer, once again, depends on one’s optimism or pessimism. For the pessimists the same events are evidence that the reform movement has been disfigured by symptoms of decay. The politicians of today, like those of the 1950s when Indonesia last flirted with democracy, only think of themselves and their parties. The tragedy that has befallen the people of Maluku and Aceh or the fate of almost one million refugees who have fled riots and violence in various parts of this country are neglected. For example, refugees in West Kalimantan who have lived in the Pontianak sport stadium for more than two years. The political elite are more interested in undermining the position of their political opponents and increasing their power without considering the effect all this bickering has on the nation’s economic recovery. This is easy enough to see in the rupiah’s fall against foreign currencies and investors’ reluctance to invest their capital in this republic.
For the pessimistic, the beginning of the 21st century is a repetition of the failure of democracy during the 1950s. The ferocity of legislators who in the past were seen as tame, is seen as a trick by their masters, controlling them from outside the ring. Civilian politicians are so busy pulling down and building new government that one day, the people will inevitably be tempted to look again for an iron-fisted leader. Isn’t that what happened in Pakistan, a developing country that ventured on the democratic path before Indonesia?
Two conflicting interpretations. Unfortunately, or as the case may be fortunately—depending on whether you are an optimist or a pessimist—the interpretation that proves correct generally is the one which convinces more people. The more people are optimistic about this country, then the larger the chance is for Indonesia to remain the world’s third largest democracy. On the other hand, if a majority of the Indonesian people has lost hope for a brighter future, then that future will certainly elude this nation. Because a nation is essentially a group of individuals, and as we are all aware, humans who have lost all hope are actually beings that have ceased to live. Life is not just a matter of postponing defeat.
The main job of any national leader, President Abdurrahman Wahid included, is to keep the fire of hope alive. Not too brightly, so as to burn those who stand too close, and not so small that it can be easily extinguished. Gus Dur need not be a melting candle in order to keep the fire burning. Rather he must be a torch-carrying Olympic runner, who will be responsible for keeping the fire of hope alive so that it can be transferred to the following runner.
There is certainly nothing simple about this task. After almost three decades on the receiving end of doctrines stressing the absolute necessity to strive for harmony in line with Pancasila, Indonesia’s official ideology, it is not easy for the Indonesian people to understand that not all conflicts are necessarily negative. Conflicts between the president and DPR, who were granted equal power by the constitution, would be considered normal in most democracies. The parliament building was originally intended as a place where people can settle their political conflicts in an open manner and in accordance with the constitution.
If we compare it with a nuclear reactor that generates energy for development, parliament’s tasks is to manage the various interests of the people so that an understanding can be achieved by passing laws, enabling the nation to build an ideal society. If these conflicts are not properly handled—for instance, not conducted in an open manner—the risks involved are like those in the meltdown of a nuclear reactor. What has been happening in Maluku is such an example, that can tragically set off a tragedy on a nuclear scale, such as those Yugoslavia and Rwanda have suffered.
But we can safely say that as in most cases, neither the optimists nor the pessimists are one hundred percent correct. Whatever people think, the legislators are not tigers that have just been let loose from their cages, nor are they like those circus tigers whose actions are forever controlled from outside the circus ring. They are public figures who have been granted the right to take initiatives. At the same time, they must be accountable to the Indonesian people for their actions at the next general election.
In the end, it is the public who elected the legislators who really are the great tiger masters.
(RA/CM)