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In Irian Jaya, this resentment begins with the very name of the province: Irian is an acronym for Ikut Republik Indonesia Anti-Nederland (To Follow the Anti-Netherlands Republic of Indonesia). Locals prefer to call themselves Papuans. "Look at me, how can I be Indonesian?" says Abram Kuruwaip, deputy chairman of the local parliament, who has the island's characteristically dark Melanesian features. "I don't even look Indonesian."
After a meeting in February with 100 representatives of the province, President B.J. Habibie promised some measure of autonomy for the mineral-rich province. But as was evident from an independence rally of 3,000 people last Monday in Pirime, 250 km southwest of the capital Jayapura, the Irianese have little faith in promises from the center. "It is true the armed forces are not as violent as they used to be, but it is too little too late," says Sadrach Wamebu, a lawyer in Jayapura. "Like a turtle hiding under its shell when it feels threatened, no coaxing with the best chocolate cake will persuade it to stick its head out."
One of the first questions Indonesians ask strangers is Orang apa? (Who are your people?) or Dari mana? (Where are you from?). Normally an inoffensive query, in the current climate it has become pointed--even in places like Bali, the mostly Hindu island east of Java long known for its openness. Last month tensions between Balinese and Javanese street vendors boiled over, and a mob of stick-wielding locals evicted many of the Javanese vendors from Kuta beach. "I hope the Kuta case will influence others," says Luh Ketut Suryani, a psychiatry professor at Denpasar's Udayana University. "If we stay united we can keep our culture." Suryani speaks for many in Bali who feel they are no longer partners in Indonesia, but rather a minority. "I remember all the people who died to create a multi-ethnic Indonesia. But when Suharto became President, he changed it to one culture: Javanese. Now we send everything to Jakarta and wait for handouts from the President. That is not fair."
Balinese have for years been resentful that the island's big tourist hotels and resorts are owned by Jakarta companies. But intimidation by the military prevented any protest--until the current era of reformasi. "People in Aceh had a clear idea of what the military did," says Mohammad Sonny Qodri, a human rights lawyer in Denpasar. "But in Bali, because it was subtle, people didn't realize what the military was doing." Qodri says the military owns video shops and karaoke parlors across the island, protects street vendors and has stakes in hotels. He says, "they are like the Mafia," using violence to evict people from sites targeted for development.
"We still want one country," says Putu Suasta, a sociologist active in the autonomy debate. "It is a beautiful country--but we need to change a lot." Suasta says he and other residents gave the central government a 100-page report recently calling for "political accountability and more equitable revenue sharing." He thinks 60% of the island's revenue should stay in Bali; 40% should be sent to Jakarta. By some calculations, Bali today retains only about 1% of tourism profits generated on the island. Suasta is also involved in "Dialog Multimedia," a program that uses a local radio station, a daily newspaper and the Internet to solicit citizens' reactions on a wide range of political and economic topics. "Things are changing every second," he says.
After three decades on ice, the political and national identity struggles of the 1960s are resurfacing. With the center's control loosened, the country is returning to old fault lines--religious, ethnic, tribal and, above all, economic. The country risks becoming dysfunctional even if it does not break up. "There could be a redrawing of the political map," says Darusman, "with the western part of Indonesia being pulled into the sphere of mainland Asia, while the eastern part is drawn into an Australian-dominated development area."
Unless a more equitable system of distributing wealth is devised, tensions between the outlying regions and Jakarta will continue to intensify--and the concept of being an Indonesian will become ever more tenuous. "It is very difficult to argue cultural affinity as a ground for national unity," says Hilman Adil, a researcher for the Indonesian Institute of Sciences. He sees the elections as an opportunity to start over. "At the most basic level, this is a referendum on the Suharto era."
The judicial, bureaucratic and military structures of Suharto's New Order, partly inherited from the Dutch, were designed to control a potentially hostile population. Today there is widespread reaction against the repressive hand of the status quo--Golkar, the ruling party under Suharto, barely dares to hold rallies for fear of being stoned by other campaigners. But few political leaders have proposed any new ideas to replace the discredited Suharto regime.
Asked about remodeling Indonesia, Megawati Sukarnoputri warns against "radical change," which she says could "create new problems." Amien Rais, head of the National Mandate Party (PAN) says only, "We will have a new Indonesia after the election." Abdurrahman Wahid, leader of the National Awakening Party (PKB) and part of an informal and increasingly shaky coalition with Megawati and Rais, concedes that big changes must be made to allow provinces more say over their own affairs: "Federalism is a dirty word in Indonesia," he says, because it harks back to the Dutch era. "We have to practice federalism without calling it federalism."
Centrifugal and centripetal forces are tearing at Indonesians. Thinking locally has to be balanced with the benefits of national networks--airlines, telecommunications, banks, the electricity grid. Even as they seek their identity in religion or ethnicity, many find it hard to shed the sense of pride that comes with being part of the world's fourth most populous country. National identity has come to rest on the hinge of this paradox. "Every Indonesian has multiple identities," says Buchori, an adviser to Megawati. "I am a Javanese, also a Muslim, also an intellectual. To be an Indonesian, I have to overcome my Javaneseness."
Overcoming difference will be the key to Indonesia's future, both in the immediate aftermath of the elections and also in the longer term. After 50 years of nationhood, two strongmen presidents and two periods of violent change once they were toppled, the country still has not found an answer to the old question: What does it mean to be Indonesian?