After a long process that culminated in the first half of 2018, this memoir was finally completed, just in time to be published for my seventy-fifth birthday. In many ways, efforts for this memoir began long before its actual writing, when I was Minister of State for Administrative Reform. It was during this period that I instructed a group of young people at the ministry to conduct interviews of their colleagues and seniors, with the view to collecting material for an autobiography. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown to me, those I charged with the task were halfhearted in their efforts, and the few interviews they made were never handed in to me.

Around the early part of 2000, my journalist friend Dwi (Donny) Iswandono—who was a sports reporter when I was President of the Indonesian Association of Lawn Tennis (PELTI)—and his colleague Iput Bambang Putranto came to talk me into reviving the idea of a memoir. We also discussed the issue of the forest fires that had ravaged Sumatra and Kalimantan in 1997, the horrors of which were still fresh in our minds.

In turn, I suggested to both Donny and Iput that they begin collecting information and data on the forest fires, which then became a book titled Kemelut Politik di Balik Asap: Refleksi atas Bencana Nasional Kebakaran Hutan 1997–1998 (Political Crisis behind the Haze: A Reflection on the National Disaster of the Forest Fires of 1997–1998). Alas, this book is not discussed in depth in this memoir, which only covers the period between 1948 and 1988.

Early in 2000, my brother Mochtar Kusuma-Atmadja and I discussed whether we both needed to write our own respective autobiographies for posterity. At the time, Mochtar did not feel the urgency to do so. He felt he had been sufficiently productive in writing about foreign policy, legal reform, the environment and new initiatives in the cultural sphere. Mochtar believed his works should speak for themselves as part of his legacy. In fact, he tended to believe that any text on his life might end up becoming a string of self-justifications, not to mention being an egocentric exercise.

The period between 1948 and 1988 was noteworthy in the post-independence history of Indonesia, a period rife in political, economic and social upheavals. Examining the available literature on the period, we are presented with an array of opinions and interpretations on the expositions of great ideas for the nation and on those who carried them out.

This book is one such undertaking; narrated in a communicative way that truly evokes the atmosphere of the period described by Sarwono Kusumaatmadja, replete with acute observations and firstrate wit. What impressed me most was how Sarwono's childhood and teenage years—coupled with the family values instilled in him and the multitude of life's challenges overcome through perseverance, creativity and resolve—made him the man he is.

The journey of the republic between 1948 and 1988 was crucial in laying the foundation for the young nation-state. For Sarwono, who was born in 1943, the period was unique as it corresponded with his own formative years and his growing maturity as an individual.

What is compelling about Steering a Middle Course is how the great events of national importance have been translated into how they affected the many, resulting in a very down-to-earth and tangible narrative. Another distinguishing factor is that not only was Sarwono a witness to the political events and the modern development of Indonesia but he was an active participant in them.

To date, even in retirement, Mas Sarwono continues to be in public service through, among other things, his role as chairman of the national Advisory Board on the Management of Climate Change. His role has shifted from being at the forefront to being in the background, encouraging and counselling the younger generations by interacting with them.

How Mas Sarwono has reached this milestone is also what this book is all about. It is my personal hope that, in time, Steering a Middle Course will be followed by another memoir covering the period between 1988 up to the present time. The great changes that have taken place in Indonesia since 1989 were no less interesting or less dramatic than the earlier period in our history. To Mas Sarwono, I convey my congratulations on the release of his memoir Steering a Middle Course.

Political Structure Reform Agenda

In the lead-up to the 1978 MPR General Assembly, as a full-time politician, I started pondering upon issues worth pursuing as an MP in order to make my presence in the DPR/MPR meaningful. Not championing any cause would have rendered my presence ineffectual.

To that end, my colleagues and I revisited the political ideas that had once been dissected in the 10th November Study Group since its inception in 1968. Some of the ideas emanating from the group had found their way into the 1966 MPRS General Assembly. One idea that stood out among the rest was on political restructuring, leading to the creation of new settings with which the New Order would differentiate itself from Soekarno's Guided Democracy.

High-ranking government officials often pontificated that, “The New Order isn't the Old Order minus PKI. Rather it is a regime that implements the 1945 Constitution and Pancasila in their pure and consistent form.” The agenda to reform our political structure arose from the search for that format. Discussion of this idea was not confined only to those of us from Bandung, but it was also widely debated among the ‘66 activists.

There were essentially two elements to the agenda: First, quantitative reform, which would ultimately empower sociopolitical forces with the largest representative basis so they could play their maximum roles. It would also act to limit the number of sociopolitical entities taking part in the General Election. Consequently, the political instability that a multiparty system tended to bring about could also be avoided.

Second, qualitative reform, to be carried out by entrenching Pancasila as the only ideological basis permitted in the public sphere. As a result, political rivalries could only be competition between programmes within the boundaries of pluralistic values as represented by Pancasila.

Rejection

These concepts found favour with the ‘66 community. But the question remained of how we would put them into action. The means with which we could restructure Indonesian politics was never going to be easy to find. That was why, after General Soeharto was sworn-in as President at the 1968 MPRS General Assembly, it was suggested that the plan should be an initiative by the executive.

Introduction

This chapter attempts to delineate the politicization of religious and cultural authority in Ternate and Yogyakarta. It narrates the contestation and co-existence of two religious and cultural authorities in these cities, namely the Islamic Sultanate on the one hand, and Islamic movements on the other. The sultanate institution in both Ternate and Yogyakarta dated back to the pre-colonial era. Meanwhile, the rise of Islamism has been a key feature in both cities after the fall of the New Order in 1998. The two royal institutions have played a crucial role during the democratic transition in 1998 and beyond. The Keraton of Yogyakarta played a pivotal role in promoting the reformasi movement while at the same time preventing violence and riots during the critical power transition period. On the other hand, the Keraton of Ternate had been one of the warring parties during the communal conflict in North Moluccas in 1999–2001.

Within the existing scholarly debates, the re-emergence of the Sultanate and Islamism is widely portrayed as a representation of identity politics that emerged from the democratization process in post-authoritarian Indonesia (Assyaukanie 2009; Hilmy 2010; Klinken 2007b; Machmudi 2008; Mujani 2007; Platzdasch 2009; Salim 2008). This is reflected in the studies of the Sultanate both in Ternate and Yogyakarta. In Ternate, major studies explain how the decentralization process brought the resurgence of “tradition” in the political arena of Ternate and North Moluccas (Bubandt 2004; Klinken 2007a; Duncan 2009; Smith 2009).

In this wave of “politics of tradition”, the Sultanate and Islamism are located as conflicting forces. This conclusion was drawn based on the rivalry between the Sultanate of Ternate and Islamist forces during the communal conflict, as well as during the power struggle for resources in the early years after the country underwent decentralization (Duncan 2005, p. 68; Klinken 2007a, pp. 109–23). Meanwhile, the Keraton of Yogyakarta is associated with cultural authority that represents Javanese high culture—“Javanese Islam”—and the symbol of pluralism (Woodward 2010). Gerry van Klinken (2007b) rightly pointed out that the re-emergence of Sultanate across the country after the collapse of Suharto's New Order regime in 1998 has become a model of neotraditionalist leadership and a symbol of cultural pluralism.

Introduction

Mesjid Kebon Jeruk, an old mosque situated in West Jakarta, Indonesia, is always alive with religious activities. Every Thursday, about 2,000 men will gather at the mosque built by a Chinese woman in 1817, following lectures by an ustadz (religious teacher). Dressed in kurtas— long-sleeved and hip length shirt traditionally worn by men in India, for which they are easily identifiable—and putting on white hajj caps, they are also dressed in robes, a long and loose shirt commonly worn by the Arabs. Most will have their beards lengthened and moustache shaved. They are followers of Tablighi Jamaat, or Tablighis, literally “a group for preachers”, who come from Jakarta, West Java, East Java and the other regions in Indonesia. The Tablighis usually carry large bags of clothing and other supplies with them.

The aforementioned is the most popular poem of the Tablighis that best describes the calling for the Muslims to go back to mosque. In practice, they go out on small group tours to invite Muslims whom they had visited to conduct the canonical prayer in mosque and to bring the message of the Tablighi Jamaat to the Muslims. This activity is called khuruj (or jaula in Urdu), which according to several scholars (Sikand 2002; Sila 2010 and 2016; and Noor 2012) is both unique and critical to the Tablighi Jamaat. It is unique because khuruj (which is called tashkil in Indonesia and Malaysia) may take days, weeks or even months (Noor 2012). At the end of the tour, participants will report back orally their experiences to the mosque-based group from which they set out. The act of presenting these reports is called karguzari. Sikand (2002) and Noor (2012) have discussed that Tablighi Jamaat became the most widely followed movement and sparked controversy among Muslim scholars. But the two agreed that there is nothing to worry about the Tablighis and their khuruj activities. Similarly, Dekmejian (1985) excluded Tablighi Jamaat from the list of Islamic fundamentalist groups since the books they refer to and the religious activities they perform do not contradict with mainstream Islam.

Introduction

In Indonesia, Islamic religious authority is split into a number of fields. As Burhanudin (2007) notes, the ulama (singular alim) is no longer the only authoritative body in the transformation of Islamic knowledge and discourse. Azra and others also noted this and maintained that there is a variety of religious authority in contemporary Indonesia (Azra et al. 2010). Women have taken part quite significantly in leadership and authority of religion. Judging and preaching are two activisms in which women's involvement in both the leadership and religious authority is very evident. The involvement of women is very clearly shown in Islamic judiciary where familial issues are heard. Meanwhile, in terms of preaching, their involvement began to be very significant when a programme which amalgamates Islamic propagation and entertainment known as “dakwahtaintment” on media has flourished. These women preach various Islamic teaching including Islamic law of family.

In Indonesia, family law has received significant attention from the government. Since Muslims are the majority of the population in Indonesia, applied family law has been adopted mostly from Islamic (family) law. Accommodating a number of local practices, state interest, and Islamic legal doctrines, the Indonesian government tackles familial issues by issuing a number of laws (Nurlaelawati 2010). To understand family law in Indonesia, we should refer to what is so-called Kompilasi Hukum Islam, henceforth called kompilasi, and the Law of Marriage No. 1/1974. The kompilasi is a legal reference provided for judges of Islamic courts and Muslims in general, while the Law of Marriage applies to all citizens of Indonesia and is therefore to be referred to by judges of both Islamic court and civil court.

A number of developments on the administration of the judicial institutions have been made. The development in substantial laws on familial issues has also occurred and a number of legal reforms on family law have been made (Nurlaelawati 2010). This is completed by a number of governmental policies on legal procedural issues (Sumner and Lindsey 2010). A number of programmes that provide better justice for litigants, women litigants in particular, such as circuit court, legal aid and prodeo are launched (Sumner and Lindsey 2010; Nurlaelawati 2016).

The rise of Indonesian religious intellectuals in the post-war period is an interesting sociological phenomenon. For the first time in history, religious intellectuals, be those trained abroad or locally, or those from mainstream education or Islamic ones, are providing leadership in the Muslim religious, cultural and intellectual discourse. Earlier, with the rise of reformist circles at the turn of the twentieth century, the traditional ulama (religious elites) could no longer claim to be the sole guardian and interpreter of Islam. Their authority was challenged by reformist groups, which saw religious traditionalism as a hindrance to the progress of the Muslims. In any intellectual history, inevitably the authority of one group is continuously challenged by another, be it subtle or overt. Indonesian intellectual history, especially in the domain of religious leadership, demonstrates a similar trait. The expansion of the middle class and the increase religiosity of Indonesian society lead to the expansion of Islamic education, including those at the higher level. It is within this socio cultural milieu that religious intellectuals emerged, which is separate from the traditional ulama hierarchy who are still the dominant elite grouping in Indonesian society.

The Indonesian intellectual discourse, like in other Third World countries, is still developing in breadth and depth. The challenge from the religious rightists—including neo-liberal market hegemony—is becoming more intensified and complex. Today there is an ongoing struggle between the various strands of Islamic orientation in Indonesia. This chapter attempts to discuss and evaluate the presence and contributions of Indonesian Muslim religious intellectuals whose position can be made distinct from the ulama/kyai, ustaz, tuan guru and da’i. To what extent can these critical voices make further inroads in challenging, or at least mitigating, and responding to, the rightist's assertions? Would intellectual responses suffice? Why is the presence of such ideas important? Underestimating them would be allowing the absence of critical ideas in the public sphere. Hence the task becomes imperative to nurture and encourage active engagement of ideas, at least in projecting itself as equally authoritative, in the midst of competing ideas.

Introduction

Born from the processes of neoliberal globalization and the strengthening opposition to the New Order regime in the late 1990s, the underground rock music movement (gerakan musik rock bawah tanah) in Indonesia emerged as a bastion of progressive politics (Wallach 2005) and the radical Left (Pickles 2001 and 2007; Saefullah 2017a). The movement participants, called “underground youths” (pemuda underground), protested against social and cultural orthodoxies, capitalist economic system, and state authoritarianism. After taking part in toppling General Suharto through democratic mobilizations in the late 1990s, their activism went through a period of decline. This was followed by the emergence of a new subcultural movement that, unlike their predecessors who tended to regard religiosity as a private matter, displays religious piety as necessity and uses right-wing Islamism as a political ideology. The founders called their movement the “Islamic underground” (Underground Islam), the name was chosen to distinguish themselves from the existing underground movement which they considered “too secular” and “too liberal”. Overlooked by scholars of Indonesian Islam, this stream of underground movement played an important role in disseminating conservative and even “radical” narratives of Islam to marginalized youths through ways that were never carried out by mainstream Islamic organizations.

This chapter discusses the Islamic underground movement by examining its key actors and mobilization strategies. It firstly discusses a brief history of the Indonesian underground movement, followed by an examination of the social, political, and economic conditions that have advanced the emergence of the Islamic underground movement. Subsequently, the key actors and mobilization strategies that have supported the growth of the movement will be discussed.

The Leftist Beginnings of the Underground Movement in Indonesia

Underground music only began to be popular amongst Indonesian youths in the mid-1990s. This was due to the rapid globalization that allowed the influx of western popular culture to the country (Sen and Hill 2007; Pickles 2007; Baulch 2007). The word “underground” was used by local youths as an umbrella term for a “variety of imported rock music genres on the loud side of the spectrum” (Wallach 2003), such as punk rock, rap, hardcore, heavy metal, oi, and grindcore. The word itself refers to an alternative space for social and cultural practices, as Dunn asserts, which are beyond the “formal domain of commercial life” (Dunn 2016, p. 90).

Introduction

The proliferation of new Islamic preachers in Indonesia has seriously undermined conventional religious authorities. The media savvy of Abdullah Gymnastiar (popularly known as Aa Gym) serves as an example. Marketing himself to be an Islamic self-help psychology and celebrity guru through his TV channel and publishing company, he has significantly shifted traditional and hierarchical forms of religious authority towards a more familiar and relational kind of authority (Hoesterey 2008, p. 98). He masterfully commanded the media and learnt from secular sources of self-help manuals for Sufi wisdom (Watson 2005, p. 773). Another example is Felix Siauw. Despite coming from a Catholic background with limited understanding of Islamic tradition, he has successfully drawn a large audience of Muslim youth in many occasions both online and offline. Hew (2018, pp. 64–65) found that Felix has more than four million followers on Facebook, two million followers on Twitter, one million followers on Instagram, and 20,000 subscribers on YouTube in 2017. He is one of the leading social media preachers in Indonesia today (Hew 2018, pp. 64–65).

The new media allows the Muslim public to choose which religious authority fits their intellectual capacity and preference. Like various TV channels which are offered by a service provider, customers can choose which programme suits their taste and individual leanings. As a result, they have the freedom to determine which religious agents are qualified and fulfill their social and spiritual needs. Turner (2007, p. 118) argues that in terms of access, the new media is basically democratic. In a democratic atmosphere, Muslims can find suitable religious opinions in accordance with their own preference in which Hosen (2008, p. 164) called “Fatwa Shopping”. When people feel that a religious edict (fatwa) does not fit their wish, they attempt to seek a second opinion. This fact reveals an opening trend of religious authority whose reception shows a surprising diversity in religious life. The democratizing potency of mass media technologies, according to Eickelman and Anderson (1999, p. 2), will have a good effect on strengthening civic pluralism, civil society and a challenge to authoritarian domination in Muslim-majority countries.

Introduction

This chapter examines the contestation among Muslim organizations and scholars in Indonesia towards Islamic interpretation. For the longest time, the interpretation of Islam has been dominated by two poles: on the one hand are the traditionalist Muslim scholars as represented by Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), al-Washliyah and Perti (Persatuan Tarbiyah Islamiyah); and on the other hand are the modernist Muslim scholars represented by Muhammadiyah and Persis. Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI, Council of Indonesian Ulama)—a quasi-state institution formed in 1975—is a relatively newcomer in the field of Islamic interpretation, and became more visible in the public domain during the post-Suharto era (after 1998). The coming of the reform era stimulates the emergence of a new type of interpretation of Islamic texts, offered by Muslim scholars from organizations considered to be non-mainstream: those with Salafi-Wahhabi leanings, transnational Islamic organizations, and the Jama’ah Tabligh.

This chapter traces the contestation among several Islamic groups and actors in the field of Islamic interpretation. In analysing these differences of opinions, it considers the importance of historical, political and theological variables. The local Indonesian context too is important here to reflect the distinct characteristics of interpretation of Islamic texts compared to other contexts.

The Making of Islamic (Re)interpretation in Indonesia

Interpretation of Islamic texts and traditions is integral to the religion (Waardenburg 1999, p. 2). In truth, Muslim scholars are not just interpreting the foundation texts in Islam, but also interpreting the numerous secondary “interpretations of Islam”. Muslim scholars already exposed to the discipline of hermeneutics (taʿwīl) such as Mohammed Arkoun (1928–2010), Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd (1943–2010) and Mohammed Abed al-Jabri (1935–2010) would be familiar with this notion of reinterpreting interpretations of Islam. These Muslim scholars produce inclusive Islamic interpretations because they consider different aspects and viewpoints. The act of interpreting the various interpretations of Islam also means that the interpreter will never get through to the true meaning of Islam, which is in the hands of the ultimate owner, God (El Fadl 2010).

The history of contesting the reinterpretation of Islamic texts in Indonesia is very dynamic and encouraging. In the Suharto era (1966–98), modernist and traditionalist Muslims intensely argued and debated on their interpretations of Islam. Muhammadiyah was free to offer their version of Islam as long as it was not related to political Islam.

Introduction

Islamic law (shariah) has now become part of Aceh's development planning agenda. Based on the special autonomy policy, the province has the full authority to enforce shariah in a comprehensive manner. Numerous discussions arose regarding this notion, especially with the dominance of jinayah law enforcement, whether it can bring about any social change (Feener 2013). Many studies have explored the roots and effectiveness of its implementation (Salim 2008, 2015). However, little is known about the bureaucracy that sustained this shariah implementation agenda since its initiation, particularly the development of organizations within the bureaucracy. How organizations have been functioning to convey this vision of shariah implementation in Aceh remains unexplored.

The growth of regional organizational structures indicates a new phase of Indonesia's reform after the fall of Suharto in 1998, where politics have become decentralized. In Aceh, Dinas Syariat Islam (The Department of Islamic Shariah [DSI]) is one of the government offices established aimed at shariah implementation. There are also other offices bestowed with bigger authority, higher status, and independence. Divisions within the DSI cover domains such as Islamic law development, which extends to Aceh's Islamic development vision. In this sense, sharia enforcement should go beyond the scale of law enforcement as what have been studied in several countries (Rehman and Askari 2010). The Aceh government does not revisit shariah implementation goals, though it believes its implementation must be kaffah (comprehensive). Shariah enforcement is not limited to the legal renewal; its spectrum is as wide as the definition of Islam itself (Abubakar 2008, p. 19). It is a shared desire that Acehnese people expect, as a “shariah province”, where shariah should be reflected not only on the legal reforms, but also on the social and political developments. By investigating the DSI's bureaucratic authority, one notes the powers the Aceh government has assigned to the DSI in assuring and controlling the shariah implementation agenda.

From the beginning, shariah implementation in Aceh relies on a technocratic approach, such as establishing offices, recruiting apparatus, and arranging regulations. The DSI is one of the offices established to strengthen the socio-religious development, as well as to be a distinctive indicator of shariah implementation. The DSI shares some common tasks with the other offices in Aceh, namely the local branches of the Ministry of Religious Affairs.

Introduction

The common stereotype that depicts Islam as “an authoritarian religion” is a mistake, for it resulted from a partial understanding about the nature of religious authority in Islamic societies (Berkey 2010, p. 105). While the construction of religious authority in Islam consists of varying degrees of textuality, discursive methods and personified knowledge (Mandaville 2007), the stronghold of Islamic religious authority since the formative period of Islam has never been singular (Crone and Hinds 1986). It is in fact always contingent, plural and relational (Kramer and Schmidtke 2006, p. 2). This is because the normative texts of Islam are mute until they are interpreted (textuality), and thus dealing with them requires expert knowledge that is premised on a certain level of literacy and requisite training (discursive methods). This requirement has in turn pluralized Islamic authority into diverse categories of classified producers and transmitters of that knowledge, such as the religious scholars, the Sufi leaders, and the political figures (personified knowledge). Moreover, since Islam has no church-like institution and ordained clergy, what counts as authoritative knowledge of Islam has always been contested among diverse epistemological, social, cultural, and political orders.

In the modern times, the traditional construction of Islamic religious authority has seen a vigorous process of fragmentation, triggered by the advent of new media technologies and the rise of mass education in the Muslim societies, among other causes. This fragmentation in Islamic authority is marked by the emergence of new types of Muslim actors who do not necessarily have “formal” religious qualifications, but have vigorously created alternative sites of learning to speak of and for Islam (Eickelman and Anderson 1999), that subvert, break with, and even attack the traditional structures of scholarship, ideologies and authorities in the Muslim world (Devji 2005). For example, in the case of Indonesia today we might see the rise of popular Islam, which I define here as the daily understanding, articulation, and practice of what counts as Islam by a large number of ordinary Muslims in everyday lived circumstances, largely mediated through practices of popular culture, the global market economy, and modern lifestyles.