Introduction

The fall of Suharto in 1998, the violence that surrounded it and the period of reformasi that followed are among the most important events within Indonesian history. It marked the end of the 32-year-long New Order regime and would precipitate events like the country’s first democratic elections since the 1950s, as well as the secession and independence of East Timor.

By its 20th anniversary in 2018, the ways in which Indonesians remember reformasi have become more complex, reflecting the different ways in which Indonesians have experienced the post-Suharto era. On the one hand, Suharto’s image has become increasingly rehabilitated after his death in 2008, as evidenced by the nostalgia that many Indonesians continue to hold of his rule (Strangio, 2017).

On the other hand, the student movement that helped topple the Suharto regime, as well as the non-student protesters and organisations that it worked together with, has been largely ignored in popular memory. While still remembered by commemorations on university grounds to acknowledge the role of the so-called ‘heroes of reform’ (Astuti, 2018), or through the weekly Kamisan protests held in front of the Presidential Palace to pressure the government on past human rights violations (Thomas, 2019), such practices remained confined to either university or activist circles. Most interactions between these groups and the government either have failed to gain much traction (Jordan, 2018) or are token at best (Thomas, 2019).

Within Indonesian history, university students, with their combination of youth and intelligence, have often been viewed as important historical agents. In 1945, youth leaders kidnapped nationalist leaders Sukarno and Mohammad Hatta, eventually becoming Indonesia’s first president and vice president respectively, in an ultimately successful effort to encourage them to declare independence from the Japanese. During his presidency, Sukarno famously proclaimed, ‘Give me ten youth, and I will shake the world.’ In this manner, students have often been the movers and shakers of Indonesian history, which thus puts them into proximity with the Indonesian people, or rakyat.

The term rakyat is prominent within Indonesian history post-independence, as various groups, such as the government and even the student movement, have proclaimed that they act in the interests of the rakyat. Benedict Anderson argues that the term itself holds power, calling the rakyat a ‘Power-full collectivity,’ referred to in political speeches to convey the power of the speaker (Anderson, 1990, pp. 26–27). The composition of the rakyat is ‘without sociological contours,’ comprising the common people as a whole (Anderson, 1990, p. 61).

With the centrality of the rakyat to Indonesian history and politics, many groups have sought to claim legitimacy from the rakyat to advance their interests. It was in the name of the Indonesian rakyat that Sukarno and Muhammad Hatta proclaimed independence in 1945 and the subsequent war of independence was fought (Anderson, 1990). During the Indonesian revolution, Sukarno’s idea of Marhaenism was essentially a populist amalgamation of Marxist ideals adjusted to embrace the rakyat (Lane, 2008). While the legitimacy of the New Order was based upon notions of a chaotic Old Order, the concept of the rakyat was one of the few aspects of the Old Order stood for that the New Order could not distance itself from (Lane, 2008). In the New Order’s political lexicon, the ideals of development and stability were for the rakyat’s benefit.

In this way, the student movement of 1998 and its participants sought, and in some ways continue, to seek to represent the interests of the rakyat. The 1997 Asian financial crisis highlighted cracks in the New Order’s developmentalism, which in turn caused many Indonesians to oppose them. Students rallied around this discontent in 1998, starting a movement of protest and disobedience which would ultimately play a large role in unseating Suharto.

The relative success of student efforts to both represent and cooperate with the rakyat, however, was neither an instantaneous occurrence nor one that was solely motivated by a desire for political gain. Instead, the student-rakyat relationship was one that was built over time, involving a significant investment from both sides in a process known as bunuh diri kelas (class suicide). Indeed, in remembering their pathways to activism, former members of the student movement continue to cite their experience of bunuh diri kelas as a stage where they were able to truly understand the lives of ordinary Indonesians.

While the close relationship forged between student and non-student protesters was visible in the protests leading up to the fall of Suharto, it would ultimately face its greatest challenge in the form of extreme violence.Footnote 1 This chapter aims to chart the changing student perceptions of non-student protesters in the wake of bunuh diri kelas until its ultimate event: the fall of Suharto in 1998 and the violence which surrounded it. Through an examination of the memories of some students about the different interactions between the students and the non-student protesters before and throughout the violence, we can achieve a better understanding of how the students perceived non-students and the nature of the change in their relationship with each other.

Rakyat, Massa and the Shift in Student Activism

Before going further into the relationship between the rakyat and the student movement, it is important to understand the ease with which the rakyat, with its varied composition, can be conflated with other terms within Indonesian history. Rakyat as a term and as an entity has made it the subject of conflation with the massa, or masses. While massa can be understood as a rakyat who are now more politically active, often seen participating in self- or even student-organised protest, their alternative definition as a ‘mob’ has also led to a more negative connotation to term (Siegel, 2001). The composition of the massa which often accompanied student protests throughout Indonesia varied from place to place, rendering any generalisation potentially inaccurate. Indeed, the most detailed definition that Lane (1999, pp. 246–247) can give of the massa involved in mass ‘grassroots politics’ is that they are composed of ‘workers, poor farmers and other … exploited sections of the Indonesian population.’ This is subject to conflation with sections of the rakyat, evident when Lane uses an activist’s definition of the ‘urban poor’ to describe the economic circumstances that underlay the entirety of mass, grassroots politics.

Historically, previous iterations of the Indonesian student movement could not truly boast of being so ‘close’ to the rakyat. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, student activists and groups opposed to the New Order regime, be it to corruption, foreign investment, and so on, always sought to display themselves as a ‘moral force,’ above the plight of the common people and the apparent dirtiness of practical politics (Aspinall, 2005, p. 118). In her study of interactions between the Indonesian intelligentsia and labour unions, Ford (2009, p. 8) called this belief ‘classical intellectualism,’ whereby middle-class activists understood themselves as being ‘separate from the workers they championed’ due to class differences. This idea of the role of the Indonesian intelligentsia as leaders of a backwards people was also argued by Mohammad Hatta (1984, p. 23), who said that

When most of the people are blanketed in darkness, it is the intelligentsia who open their eyes.

This changed following the implementation of the Normalization of Campus Life/Body for Student Coordination (NKK/BKK) (Rudianto, 2010). The NKK/BKK included policies designed to limit on-campus student politics. Among these included an effective ban on student political organisations, and a more stringent grading system which was imposed to force students to focus more on their academic life (Aspinall, 2005).

While the NKK/BKK killed campus politics, the student movement continued to thrive through informal, off-campus study groups. These were study groups in name only, often becoming places where students could discuss politics clandestinely (Denny J.A., 2006). By operating off university grounds, students were exposed to the plight of the common rakyat, many of whom found themselves struggling to adapt to changes brought about by the intensification of infrastructure development and capital inflows supported by the New Order’s developmentalist economic policies (Vatikiotis, 1998). It was in these study groups that the first instances of bunuh diri kelas can be seen.

Bunuh Diri Kelas and the Kedung Ombo Incident

Though the phrase bunuh diri kelas has strong left-wing political connotations, a danger in the violently anti-communist New Order, many students adopted the practice wholeheartedly. A large part of what caused this was the increasing popularity of leftist literature amongst university students during the mid-to-late 1980s. The works of authors like progressive Brazilian educator Paolo Freire became more widely read (Hartoyo, 1989), while ideas like liberation theology and dependency theory were cautiously taken up by students (Gunawan et al., 2009). Some students found that the ban on the dissemination of these ideas made them all the more attractive, especially in the face of the emergence of what they viewed as ‘social issues’ caused by development (Hartoyo, 1989, p. 33).

Ibeth Koesrini, a student activist based in the Palembang LMND in the 1990s, argued that the purpose of bunuh diri kelas was to establish an ‘emotional connection’ between them and the impoverished rakyat (I. Koesrini, personal communication, July 10, 2015). Sinnal Blegur, another student activist, described the process of establishing the connection as involving more listening than preaching on the part of the students, who came to appreciate and attempt to understand the experiences of the rakyat they connected with. While one could argue that simply a part of student ‘interest in the working class as a potentially political force,’ (Aspinall, 2005, p. 141) perhaps as a source of legitimacy for the nascent student movement, the realities described by many activists reflect a far deeper desire to engage and understand poorer Indonesians.

Though the details of its practice vary between student organisations, there were some general practices that bunuh diri kelas involved. Students, often predominantly middle class, would ‘live-in’ with the rakyat, often for extended periods of time. In line with the vague definition of the rakyat, students would live-in with several different groups, ranging from the rural peasantry to the urban poor. These efforts, and the relationship between students and rakyat that it built, would come to national attention in the Kedung Ombo case.

The Kedung Ombo case was an incident in early 1989 where inhabitants of Kedung Ombo village in Central Java opposed the government’s construction of a dam in the area. The villagers were defiant, staying in designated flood zones even when the floodgates had been closed and the waters began to rise. The case attracted student support due to the corrupt circumstances which surrounded the acquisition of the land where the dam was built, indicative of the endemic corruption in the New Order. Villagers who refused to leave were subjected to state-backed intimidation from both civilian and military authorities. By the time the floodgates were opened, more than 1400 families were still living in designated flood areas (Stanley, 1994).

As the floodwaters began rising, the villagers found support from university students. Initially formed by students from Salatiga, Yogyakarta and Surabaya on February 6, 1989, the Solidarity Group for the Kedung Ombo Victims of Development (Kelompok Solidaritas Korban Pembangunan Kedung Ombo, KSKPKO) grew to encompass students from other cities across Java (Stanley, 1994). The KSKPKO used a variety of methods to aid the villagers, ranging from awareness-raising actions in cities to direct aid to the villagers. In this, they cooperated with other organisations and individuals, such as the well-known Father Y.B. Mangunwijaya and the International NGO Group on Indonesia (Stanley, 1994). Overall, the joint efforts of these different groups pressured the government into providing a better settlement for the remaining villagers (Aspinall, 1993).

Letter-writing was a common fixture of the KSKPKO’s activism, used to symbolically address those in positions of power, or as statements of the group’s belief at press conferences. The wording of letters and other documents written by the KSKPKO gives some insight into how they viewed their interaction with the people. A press release from the KSKPKO (1994b, p. 460) stated that the group was formed ‘on the basis of sympathy for the rakyat kecil (little people) living in the Kedung Ombo flood areas.’ On the other hand, the opening sentence of its ‘statement of concern’ identified the KSKPKO (1994a, p. 476) as being comprised of people who ‘stand tall in loyalty to the people of Kedung Ombo.’ Both these statements indicate the importance of the principal of intellectuals’ moral obligation to the people as espoused in the classical intellectualism of Hatta and older Indonesian intellectuals as well as the new efforts at understanding the common people brought about by bunuh diri kelas.

The Kedung Ombo case became an important milestone in understanding the importance of bunuh diri kelas to the changing relationship of students and the rakyat. An edition of Tempo magazine published some in April 1989, only a few months after the initial student actions which brought the Kedung Ombo case national notoriety, identified the case as being the starting point in a series of other incidents of student participation in local issues (Nasution, 1989). Immediately after the formation of the KSKPKO, in March 1989 students in Bandung began protesting a case in Badega, West Java, where local farmers were driven from their land (Nasution, 1989). The motivations behind many of these student actions remained partially consistent with the original student involvement in Kedung Ombo. Political scientist Arbi Sanit observed that the student movement was, for the first time in its history, concentrating its efforts on the ‘bottom 40% of society, whose living standards haven’t been improved even after 20 years of development’ (Nasution, 1989, pp. 25–26). He attributed it to students now ‘looking more critically at inequality and injustice, more courageously’ (Hartoyo, 1989, p. 31).

The Asian Financial Crisis and the Widening of the Student Movement

Though the Kedung Ombo case and bunuh diri kelas allowed students to consolidate and rally around the cause of poorer Indonesians, repressive government policies would once again make student activism difficult. After a brief period of ‘openness’ in the mid-1990s, the New Order would crack down on political opposition in 1996. Opposition to the government, ranging from university students to the urban poor, rallied around Megawati Soekarnoputri. The daughter of the country’s first President, she managed to ride on a wave of popular support to the leadership of the Indonesian Democratic Party (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia, PDI), a government-sanctioned opposition party. Her attempt to galvanise opposition to the government by occupying PDI headquarters with her supporters was violently suppressed when government-backed thugs moved against them on July 27, 1996, effectively ending keterbukaan (Eklof, 1999). This period of suppression continued until the outbreak of the 1997 Asian financial crisis.

While many countries suffered from the crisis, Indonesia was among the worst affected. The Indonesian currency, the rupiah, rapidly devaluated against the US dollar while efforts by the central bank to improve the rupiah’s standing exhausted the country’s foreign currency reserves. The devalued rupiah severely hampered the businesses of the Indonesian private sector, many of which had taken out large loans in the US dollar. With crisis looming, the government was forced to look to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for financial assistance. The IMF agreed to providing assistance after the government agreed to a package of financial reforms and subsidy cuts, including the important subsidy of petrol (Feith et al., 1999). These austerity policies caused massive inflation and price rises to basic goods, which caused widespread popular discontent against both Suharto and the New Order regime.

By early 1998, the turmoil brought about by the Asian financial crisis allowed for the previously dormant student movement to resurface openly. As university students as a whole felt the economic hardships brought about by the crisis, they became increasingly vocal critics of the government, calling for economic, social and political reform (reformasi) (McRae, 2001). Reformasi became the rallying cry of the resurgent student movement, crossing pre-existing political boundaries and thus uniting progressive, conservative and apolitical students in an effort to achieve total reform (Adnan & Pradiansyah, 1998). Students also went beyond their own ranks, and many sought to actively include the rakyat into the new discourse of reformasi (McRae, 2001). Students spoke of wanting to ‘embrace the rakyat in their entirety,’ knowing that both the students and the rakyat felt the negative effects of the crisis (Bachtiar et al., 1998, p. 67).

Though there was never any official alliance between the student movement and the rakyat, students took active steps to cement the relationship and practice their ideological pronouncements. Open instances of cooperation between the two groups became increasingly common, and came in many forms, such as the distribution of essential supplies to the poor (Bas, 1998) and increased interaction between student and non-student protesters on various university grounds (Amel et al., 1998).

Other forms of student-people cooperation could be seen as organised civil society groups that were composed of the rakyat began to provide support for protesting students. This went as far back as the immediate aftermath of the July 27th incident, where students who fled police persecution found aid and support from the Tim Relawan untuk Kemanusiaan (Volunteer Team for Humanity, TRuK). Formed by Father Sandyawan Sumardi, a Catholic priest, TRuK went as far as to harbour pro-Megawati students and activists, often in the face of threats from the police and military (Purdey, 2006).

In the aftermath of the financial crisis, the economic pressures it posed on the Indonesian people would bring students into contact with even more civil society organisations; notably, Suara Ibu Peduli (Voice of Concerned Mothers, SIP), an organisation founded by mothers in February 1998 concerned with rising food prices, provided several student demonstrations with logistical support (Budianta, 1999). These interactions and the relationship it built would be tested in May.

Sparks of Violence in May

May 1998 was particularly notable for the student movement because it was met with unprecedented levels of violence. The violence started in Medan, North Sumatra, on May 2, when students taking their protests into the streets came into contact with violent non-student protesters (Soedjiartono, 1998). The group, described in D & R magazine as a massa, or mob/masses, did not target the students, instead taking their anger out against businesses owned by members of Suharto’s family and Chinese Indonesians (Soedjiartono, 1998). Similar incidents of violence would occur again in other major cities throughout Indonesia.

Anti-Chinese violence was not a new phenomenon in Indonesia. Chinese Indonesians were one of the most marginalised ethnic groups under the Suharto regime. While the regime fostered Chinese Indonesian businesses via patron-client relationships, Chinese Indonesian prosperity incurred jealousy from the pribumi (native) population (Reid, 2001).

While violence occurred in other cities, events in Jakarta remained at the forefront of national attention. These came to a head on May 12, when 6000 students of Trisakti University began to march towards Parliament under the watchful eyes of protest coordinators (Feith et al., 1999). Protesters were stopped short by police outside of campus grounds. While the leaders of the march began reasoning with the police, a man broke from student ranks into police lines (Feith et al., 1999). Some accounts identify him as a former Trisakti student who was suspected to have been an undercover military agent (Mad, 1998a). Whatever his identity, it is clear that his escape into police lines triggered student anger. While leaders calmed down their fellow students, shots were fired. Many students retreated into their campus, and four of whom would eventually die of bullet wounds (Mad, 1998a).

The deaths of the four Trisakti students marked not only the first fatal incidence of student-police confrontation in Jakarta, but also the start of a wave of mass violence which engulfed the capital. The first instance of violence came from around Trisakti, as gathering massa tried to persuade grieving students to join them on May 13 (Simanjorang, 2008). The students refused (Simanjorang, 2008). As the violence spread throughout Jakarta, students were shocked as stores were looted, buildings were burned and as people, mostly Chinese Indonesians, were killed, beaten and raped. Security forces were slow to respond and only began efforts to contain the violence on May 15 (Simanjorang, 2008). By then, the figures of those killed, injured and missing were in the thousands. The government sponsored TGPF (Joint Fact-Finding Team), formed to investigate the violence, gave figures ranging from 288 to 1217 dead (TGPF, 1998a).

The Trisakti incident and the violence that followed were directly responsible for Suharto’s resignation. What remained of public confidence in the government, already wavering due to its inability to provide the economic prosperity that had long been its raison d’etre, vanished with the violence. Though Suharto tried to respond to demands, his efforts ultimately failed (Feith et al., 1999). Few people were now willing to associate themselves with the regime. Many of those who met with Suharto urged him to step down (Feith et al., 1999). On May 21, Suharto heeded their advice and resigned. The presidency was assumed by former Vice President B.J. Habibie, who, in spite of his close ties to Suharto, proclaimed to be on the side of reformasi. His appointment caused the first major fracture in the 1998 student movement and can thus be seen as the end of the movement’s short-lived unity (Forrester, 1998).

Suspicion, Distrust and Non-Cooperation

During the violence in Jakarta and elsewhere, there were different instances of non-student protesters coming into contact with the students. Mentioned earlier was one incident of this interaction between non-student protesters and students at Trisakti University, the first during the Jakarta violence. Several similar interactions would follow.

One of the most notable incidents of student-people interaction in Jakarta during the violence occurred at the Universitas Indonesia (UI) campus in Salemba, Central Jakarta. The May 14 gathering there was massive. The UI student magazine Bergerak! claimed that more than 10000 UI students, lecturers and alumni were present at the campus (Mad, 1998b). The gathering was an ‘expression of sadness’ in response to the Trisakti incident (Mad, 1998b, B). In addition to the UI students, there were students from other universities gathering outside of the campus (Sulistyo, 2002). The gathering started peaceably enough, with a series of speakers from both student and non-student opposition groups (Bas, 1998).

The interaction with the non-student protesters gathering outside of the Salemba campus was, however, less peaceable. This group arrived at the campus at around noon (Mad, 1998b). Some non-student protesters tried to convince students in the Salemba campus to join them on the streets (Mad, 1998b). Just as in Trisakti, the students refused (Mad, 1998b). This angered non-student protesters, who accused the students of cowardice (Mad, 1998b). Students from the other universities began fleeing into the UI campus in the thousands. In the words of Bergerak!, the campus became ‘a safe haven for anyone who didn’t want to involve themselves with the destructive wave of massa anger’ (Mad, 1998b, C). Non-student protesters began attacking the campus gate, only to be stopped by alarmed journalists and newly arriving students (Nday et al., 1998). These students organised a free speech forum outside of the campus, calming the non-student protesters (Nday et al., 1998). Things began improving after the arrival of speakers who were more popular with the non-student protesters (Sulistyo, 2002). Other instances of student interaction with non-student protesters even turned into physical confrontations between the two, such as when students from the Indonesian Institute of Technology in Serpong attempted to stop non-student protesters from looting a supermarket (Sembiring, 1998).

Outside of Jakarta, though interaction between students and non-student protesters did not materialise as clearly as they did in the capital, they happened, nonetheless. In some cities, a common theme was identified with regard to the actions of the massa (Simanjorang, 2008). These actions initially began with students protesting off-campus, with the massa joining in and eventually setting itself apart from the student body by their violent actions (Simanjorang, 2008). The students themselves did not follow the massa in these actions. Violence often continued to occur in all these cities long after the students retreated into their campuses and homes (Simanjorang, 2008).

This new trend of suspicion, distrust and non-cooperation in interactions between student and non-student protesters would occur even after most of the violence had been contained. In Jakarta, after the violence and before Suharto’s resignation, the major interaction between the non-student protesters and the students occurred when students began occupying the grounds of Parliament on May 18 (Cokro, 2008). The occupation was staged to pressure the legislature into putting forward a vote of no confidence against Suharto. As students streamed onto Parliament, it became increasingly clear that the occupation would be a massive spectacle. Thousands of students from different universities would enter the compound over 4 days (Erd & Ast, 1998).

The interaction between student and non-student protesters during the occupation portrayed the changing nature of student perceptions in the wake of the May violence. As students gathered, some non-student protesters assembled immediately outside the parliamentary building. It was from this position that some non-students voiced their support for the students. One non-student protester shouted, ‘Why aren’t the students allowed to enter the house of the people?’ in response to the initial reluctance of security forces to allow students entry (Erd & Ast, 1998, B). However, while this occurred, student protest coordinators also took pains to prevent the non-student protesters from entering the compound. It was common practice among the coordinators to check new entrants for university identification cards and dismiss those who did not possess one (Cokro, 2008). The students organised patrols for their own safety, and one suspicious person who was caught out by one of these teams was almost beaten (Cokro, 2008).

Fears of Infiltration

In the early morning of May 13, immediately after the shootings, Trisakti students had expressed fear that an escalation of the situation, similar to the Malari riots, would occur if they were to march out into the streets (Simanjorang, 2008). The Malari riots occurred on January 15, 1974, when university students organised protests against what they viewed as excessive foreign capital inflows into the Indonesian economy. The protests occurred in conjunction with the visit of Japanese Prime Minister Kakuei Tanaka to Jakarta, whose government encouraged Japanese firms to become some of the largest foreign investors in the Indonesian economy at the time (Agustina & Zulkifli, 2014). In the subsequent crackdown, the government squarely blamed the students for the violence. On the other hands, the students argued that the violence was instigated by a handful of non-student protesters, who they further claimed were in the employ of the New Order regime (Agustina & Zulkifli, 2014). While these accusations remain unproven, the trials of the student activists themselves proved to be rather inconclusive. For example, Hariman Siregar, a leading activist, was sentenced to six years in jail for ‘negligence,’ with the presiding judge failing to link him directly with the violence (Agustina & Zulkifli, 2014, p. 101). Even as late as 1998, the event remained a significant part of the collective memory of politically active students, and the belief that external infiltration caused the Malari riots was one that was shared by many of students in May 1998.

For the students, the idea of a Malari-esque escalation was synonymous with that of a government infiltration of their ranks. Such sentiments were expressed by the student-writers of Bergerak! (Editorial Team, 1998, A), who wrote that the ‘people’s emotions are easily provoked, and they are easily infiltrated,’ and that the violence that occurred was ‘proof that someone wanted to exploit the movement for peaceful reform.’ Though these Trisakti students did not experience Malari firsthand, their respect for past movements allowed for a shared historical experience of the student movement as a whole.

Sinnal (personal communication, July 7, 2015) stated that she and her colleagues were always wary of infiltration by undercover military agents. This also explains the especially violent reaction that the Trisakti students displayed against one suspected military agent before the shootings on May 12, as well as the policy of denying entry to non-students into Parliament during the occupation.

Such expressions highlight the different meanings that the terms rakyat and massa held for the student movement. As mentioned earlier, though the terms were often used interchangeably, the composition of the massa is much more fluid than the rakyat, and is, to an extent, more negative (Siegel, 2001). The differences in understanding the two terms, though subtle, became more and more apparent as the May violence continued. Some students testified that they felt threatened by the massa, while student publications have repeatedly used the term massa instead of rakyat in describing the groups of people who carried out the violence (Siegel, 2001). Additionally, many students perceived the massa as being unruly. Student activists who worked with spontaneously formed massa have stated that they could never really know what the massa had in mind, especially when compared to groups which they had organised themselves (S. Blegur, personal communication, July 7, 2015).

This view was echoed by Ibeth. Though she was not based in Jakarta during the fall of Suharto, her experiences in organising resistance against the regime in Palembang speak to the similar struggles faced by student activists, especially with regard to their fear of infiltration by elements of the Indonesian military and intelligence. Ibeth was certain that joint student and non-student actions in Palembang attracted undercover military agents, ready to provoke chaos on behalf of the regime (I. Koesrini, personal communication, July 10, 2015). It was through the massa that the students expected to be infiltrated and provoked by external forces, which explains the wariness with which most students approached them.

Further investigations into the May violence have supported the students’ viewpoint. These investigations uncovered a number of major themes which underlay almost all of the violence in the major cities where it occurred. Though the violence in the different cities were subject to some minor differences in how it was conducted, it was concluded that organised provocateurs were involved in instigating the violence in all six cities (Simanjorang, 2008).

Witnesses who saw the provocateurs indicated that the men described were most likely members of the armed forces. This was because they were identified in a number of cities as being tall, muscular men, possessing various types of equipment with which to conduct the violence, most notably walkie-talkies for communication (Simanjorang, 2008). The provocateurs issued commands to the massa, ordering them to loot certain shops while preventing them from looting others (Simanjorang, 2008). The speed and skill with which they conducted themselves led some witnesses to describe these men as having been trained for the task (Simanjorang, 2008).

The aforementioned TGPF was formed by the Habibie administration in response to pressures from sections of Indonesian society who wanted a thorough investigation into the May violence, as well as to uphold their reformist credentials. While well-intentioned, the TGPF faced many issues from the outset of its formation. Its members, coming from backgrounds as varied as human rights groups to the armed forces, were often at odds with each other (Purdey, 2006). Additionally, the three-month deadline given by the government for the investigation was arguably too short, especially considering the scope of the violence they investigated.

Given these circumstances, that the TGPF was even able to complete a report by the October deadline was impressive. While arguably lacking in some areas, the report was able to provide a degree of insight into the motivation and methods of the May violence. These results, however, were largely ignored by the government, while the armed forces, whose members were said to be heavily involved in the planning, instigating and carrying out of the violence, flatly denied the report’s allegations (Purdey, 2002).

The team’s most important finding (TGPF, 1998b) confirmed student suspicions that the May riots had ‘elements of intentionality.’ Their report connected the potential presence of military men in the Jakarta riots to a meeting that was organised by Major General Prabowo Subianto in his office on May 14 (the D & R Team, 1998). Prabowo, then-Commander of the Army Strategic Reserve, was certainly capable of conducting covert operations, owing to his experience as commander of the Kopassus special forces unit (Eklof, 1999). Prabowo was also implicated in the kidnapping and torture of several dissidents earlier in 1998 (Friend, 2003). The TGPF argued that the meeting, which also involved the Commander of the Jakarta Garrison and the Commander of the Kopassus, was a ‘missing link’ which directly connects Prabowo to the violence (Eklof, 1999, p. 193).

These events have never been subjected to a thorough investigation. Prabowo Subianto (2000) and his allies (Zon, 2004) continue to refute these allegations. Prabowo was only ever brought before an Officer’s Honour Council (Dewan Kehormatan Perwira, DKP), which investigated his role in the aforementioned kidnappings (“Prabowo diberhentikan,” 1998). While the DKP ultimately recommended Prabowo’s discharge from the military, he was never brought to trial for his alleged actions. He would go into self-imposed exile to Jordan not long after his discharge, stalling any further investigation into his role in the May violence. To this day, Prabowo continues to hold much influence in Indonesian society. His candidacy in the 2014 (Jennett, 2014) and 2019 (“Early results,” 2019) presidential elections, garnering significant amounts of the popular vote, reflects this. In spite of this lack of progress in the investigation, the notion that the May violence was indeed instigated and/or manipulated by Prabowo and other elements in the armed forces is a view that is commonly held among former student activists (S. Blegur, personal communication, July 7, 2015).

Provocateur Violence and ‘Expected’ Violence

In spite of the important role played by provocateurs, the TGPF (1998a) also concluded that much of the violence was genuinely conducted by so-called ‘passive’ and ‘active’ massa. The ‘passive’ massa describes people who were gathering around a certain area prior to rioting without for no particular reason, mainly members of the urban poor (TGPF, 1998a). The ‘passive’ massa would become ‘active’ after instigation from the provocateurs (TGPF, 1998a). Thus, non-student protesters remain, to an extent, active agents during the violence, committing acts of looting and arson. The students were not included in the definition of the massa because they were not directly involved in the violence.

This conclusion on the part of the TGPF has led to an important question with regard to the more brutal acts of violence, specifically the rape of Chinese Indonesian women. Investigations into the Jakarta rapes found that they occurred at around the same time around different areas of the cities, thus suggesting that the rapes were centrally planned and organised (TGPF, 1998b). However, external pressures from institutions like the police and armed forces who openly denied the rapes from occurring, made investigation into these incidents difficult (Purdey, 2002). This was exacerbated by open acts of intimidation against those who investigated the rapes, such as the murder of human rights activist Ita Martadinata (Purdey, 2006). All this meant that no conclusive evidence has ever been presented in official space. Even the TGPF (1998b) would go on to state that, in spite of its findings, it could not find specific evidence pointing to this conclusion.

For their part, the former student activists interviewed for this chapter all believed that the massa of the TGPF reports were not responsible for these acts of ethnic violence. Testifying from their own experiences, they did not believe that there was any longstanding resentment against Chinese Indonesians as a racial category. Though they conceded that Chinese Indonesians were marginalised under the Suharto regime, in their view, ‘there was no [Chinese] problem’ (I. Koesrini, personal communication, 2015). They tried to support this by citing examples of personal experience where they witnessed native Indonesians protecting Chinese Indonesian homes during rioting, or from their childhood where they experienced cordial relations between Chinese Indonesians and native Indonesians (S. Blegur, personal communication, July 7, 2015). Others would recall interactions with non-students, where the issue of Chinese Indonesian wealth never came to mind. ‘For the farmers,’ said Ibeth (personal communication, July 7, 2015), ‘the enemy was, for example, a corporation. They didn’t care if the boss was Chinese or not. It was still their enemy.’ This led some activists to conclude that the anti-Chinese nature of the May violence was a ‘sudden’ development and was thus part of a ‘pre-designed pattern’ of events (S. Blegur, personal communication, July 7, 2015).

Instead of seeing the massa as being motivated by racism, student activists argued that what massa agency present in the May riots was spurred on by economic factors more than anything else. In their view, anger at the ‘economic gap’ between most native Indonesians and the ethnic Chinese was ‘easily sparked, especially in times of crisis’ (I. Koesrini, personal communication, 2015). For some activists, the looting of luxury goods by non-students was second nature. As Sinnal (personal communication, July 7, 2015) argued, the main problem faced by the urban poor was the problem of the ‘stomach.’ ‘If they were given the chance [to take items], they would certainly take it,’ she said. ‘They couldn’t even touch these things before. Now they could take them for themselves!’ (S. Blegur, personal communication, July 7, 2015).

In the eyes of the student activists, the guilt of the looters was further dampened by the fact that they too were victims of the violence. This fact was confirmed by civil society organisations, such as Wardah Hafidz’s Urban Poor Consortium, which argued that many urban poor died in ‘shopping mall fires’ during the riots (“Not a rabble,” 2001). For Sinnal (personal communication July 7, 2017), defending those who died looting was quite different from defending those who committed other acts of violence, because the former was ‘innocent.’

It was in this spirit that the student movement could continue to maintain its close relationship with the non-student protesters after the violence. While the student occupation of Parliament prior to Suharto’s resignation actively excluded non-student protesters from student ranks, events after the fall of Suharto led to student perceptions of non-student protesters returning to some form of normalcy. Active forms of this cooperation were shown in how they interacted with civil society organisations after the May violence. For example, some students volunteered to join SIP, after feeling admiration for their role in aiding both students and civil society at large (Kartika, 1999). Other students joined TRuK to help aid victims of the May violence (Andalas, 2009).

Especially memorable to Sinnal (personal communication, July 7, 2015) were the Semanggi I and Semanggi II incidents, where she (and other students protesting against President Habibie) once again came under fire from security forces. She recalled that, while fleeing police arrest, ‘people opened their doors for us … they were out on the streets and we were greeted like heroes.’

In essence, the students initially responded to May violence by reducing their interaction with the non-student protesters, whom they saw as the violent offenders. To the students, the non-student protesters were a massa through which military agents could infiltrate their ranks. However, these perceptions changed as events unfolded. After it was revealed that provocateurs were instigated the violence, the students came up with a more complex interpretation of the events of May. While the exceptionally brutal aspects of the violence, such as the rape of Chinese Indonesian women, took parts of the student movement by surprise, they were ultimately blamed upon external provocateurs and those in league with them. The looting, on the other hand, was seen as an expression of anger by a populace bearing the brunt of the Asian financial crisis and was disenchanted with the Suharto regime. Thus, the students did not find it difficult to work with non-student protesters after the May violence had settled and the fear of provocateurs had died down.

Conclusion

The emergence of bunuh diri kelas and its manifestation at the Kedung Ombo incident can be described as the formative action of the relationship between the rakyat and the student movement, while the Asian financial crisis served to further strengthen the relationship. However, the events of May 1998 demonstrated the relationship’s fragility.

The violence of May 1998, done by non-student protesters as massa, damaged the relationship. Students became suspicious of non-student protesters during this period. However, relations improved as the students became more informed. The students eventually perceived the events of May 1998 as being masterminded by provocateurs, who they believed were responsible for the most reprehensible acts of violence, such as murder and the rape of Chinese Indonesian women. The non-student protesters of the massa, in their responsibility for more acceptable acts of violence such as looting, were perceived by the students as being innocent, their hands being forced by the economic oppression of the New Order regime. For the students, these people were the rakyat they believed they were fighting for.

Though some have argued that student perceptions of non-student protesters underlie a sense of superiority felt by the students, this argument does not tell the complete story. These negative perceptions of non-student protesters were adopted in May 1998 because students recalled the historical experiences of the Malari in 1974. Though the students of 1998 were not the students of 1974, it was clear that they inherited the experiences of their older counterparts when they were faced with the violence of non-student protesters in May. The circumstances they faced were similar in that they were confronted by large groups of non-student protesters. However, unlike the students of 1974, the students of 1998 were, for the most part, inside their campuses, and were thus able to analyse these groups from relative safety.

While the non-student protesters were comprised largely of the urban poor, with whom the students worked with during bunuh diri kelas, they were unrecognisable to the students. The students were unable to interact with these non-student protesters with the level of intimacy that bunuh diri kelas provided. For the students, the large groups were a massa that was easily infiltrated by provocateurs or members of military intelligence who could inspire the group to violence or use the group to infiltrate student ranks, just as in the Malari case. The students thus elected to view the non-student protesters with suspicion. The brutality of the May violence, and the investigations which pointed to the involvement of provocateurs, supported the students’ conclusions. After the May violence, the students were able to sift through the groups of non-student protesters and distinguish provocateurs from those who were not. It was through this procedure that they were able to confidently cooperate with non-student protesters in a number of incidents after May 1998.

In conclusion, student perceptions and attitudes towards non-student protesters were dynamic and varied in accordance with the circumstances they faced. This shaped their relationship, which was just as dynamic. Historical experience and circumstances led students to espouse populist rhetoric. They were able to practice this rhetoric through intimate connections with non-student protesters during bunuh diri kelas, and through cooperation in several cases before and after May 1998. All these point to positive perceptions of non-student protesters, the rakyat, on the part of the student movement. However, the students remained suspicious of larger, uncoordinated groups of non-student protesters due to the negative historical experience that the student movement had vis-à-vis these groups. To the students, these groups, though largely comprised of the same rakyat, were a massa infiltrated by provocateurs that could lead to their ruin.