The Audacity of Hope

Even the darker aspects of Indonesian life—its politics and human rights record—
showed signs of improvement. When it came to sheer brutality, the post-1967 Suharto
regime never reached the levels of Iraq under Saddam Hussein; with his subdued, placid
style, the Indonesian president would never attract the attention that more demonstrative
strongmen like Pinochet or the Shah of Iran did. By any measure, though, Suharto’s rule
was harshly repressive. Arrests and torture of dissidents were common, a free press
nonexistent, elections a mere formality. When ethnically based secessionist movements
sprang up in areas like Aceh, the army targeted not just guerrillas but civilians for swift
retribution—murder, rape, villages set afire. And throughout the seventies and eighties,
all this was done with the knowledge, if not outright approval, of U.S. administrations.
But with the end of the Cold War, Washington’s attitudes began to change. The State
Department began pressuring Indonesia to curb its human rights abuses. In 1992, after
Indonesian military units massacred peaceful demonstrators in Dili, East Timor,
Congress terminated military aid to the Indonesian government. By 1996, Indonesian
reformists had begun taking to the streets, openly talking about corruption in high
offices, the military’s excesses, and the need for free and fair elections.
Then, in 1997, the bottom fell out. A run on currencies and securities throughout Asia
engulfed an Indonesian economy already corroded by decades of corruption. The
rupiah’s value fell 85 percent in a matter of months. Indonesian companies that had
borrowed in dollars saw their balance sheets collapse. In exchange for a $43 billion
bailout, the Western-dominated International Monetary Fund, or IMF, insisted on a
series of austerity measures (cutting government subsidies, raising interest rates) that
would lead the price of such staples as rice and kerosene to nearly double. By the time
the crisis was over, Indonesia’s economy had contracted almost 14 percent. Riots and
demonstrations grew so severe that Suharto was finally forced to resign, and in 1998 the
country’s first free elections were held, with some forty-eight parties vying for seats and
some ninety-three million people casting their votes.
On the surface, at least, Indonesia has survived the twin shocks of financial meltdown
and democratization. The stock market is booming, and a second national election went
off without major incident, leading to a peaceful transfer of power. If corruption
remains endemic and the military remains a potent force, there’s been an explosion of
independent newspapers and political parties to channel discontent.
On the other hand, democracy hasn’t brought a return to prosperity. Per capita income is
nearly 22 percent less than it was in 1997. The gap between rich and poor, always
cavernous, appears to have worsened. The average Indonesian’s sense of deprivation is
amplified by the Internet and satellite TV, which beam in images of the unattainable
riches of London, New York, Hong Kong, and Paris in exquisite detail. And anti-
American sentiment, almost nonexistent during the Suharto years, is now widespread,
thanks in part to perceptions that New York speculators and the IMF purposely
triggered the Asian financial crisis. In a 2003 poll, most Indonesians had a higher
opinion of Osama bin Laden than they did of George W. Bush.
All of which underscores perhaps the most profound shift in Indonesia—the growth of
militant, fundamentalist Islam in the country. Traditionally, Indonesians practiced a
tolerant, almost syncretic brand of the faith, infused with the Buddhist, Hindu, and
animist traditions of earlier periods. Under the watchful eye of an explicitly secular