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DECENTRALIZATION IN INDONESIA
AS A POLITICAL PROBLEM
GERALD S. MARYANOV
INTERIM REPORT SERIES
Modern Indonesia Project
Southeast Asia Program
Department of Far Eastern Studies
Cornell University
Ithaca, New York
Price—$1.50
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A,_.„DECENTRALIZATION IN INDONESIA
AS A POLITICAL PROBLEM
Gerald S. Maryanov
I
i
INTERIM REPORTS SERIES
Modern Indonesia Project
Southeast Asia Program
Department of Far Eastern Studies
Cornell University
Ithaca, New York
1958
*
XC 1958 by Gerald S. Maryanov
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Ill
1
PREFACE
A major concern of the Cornell Modern Indonesia Project
has been with the problems of decentralization and regionalism
in contemporary Indonesia. Research which it has sponsored
resulted in two previous Interim Reports; Mr. Gerald S.
Maryanov’s first study, Decentralization in Indonesia; Legis-
lative Aspects (April, 1957) and Professor John p. Legge’s,
Probiemsr of Regional Autonomy in Contemporary Indonesia
(August, 1957) . The present report of Mr,. Maryanov is based
primarily upon research undertaken during his most recent
stay in Indonesia, February - August, 1958, and consequently
incorporates considerable important new material. It is
expected that more substantial and definitive monographs by
both Mr. Maryanov and Professor Legge will be published in
1960.
Mr. Maryanov spent the period 1953-1955 in Indonesia as
an instructor in the Ford Foundation;'s Indonesian-English
Language Training Program. Duping 1955-56 he undertook
research on Indonesia in the Netherlands; the following year
he was at Cornell University as ,a Research Assistant in its
Modern Indonesia Project, and during 1957-58 carried on
research at Cornell and in Indonesia under a fellowship from
the Ford Foundation. At present he is a Teaching Associate
in the Department of Government at Indiana University.
Ithaca, New York
October 20, 1958
George McT. Kahin
Director
1rV
*
	TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER	Page
I.	INTRODUCTORY							 1
II.	DECENTRALIZATION IN INDONESIA....	 9
III.	WHY DECENTRALIZE?			 17
IV.	THE UNITARY STATE. 			 		 28
V.	"PROVINCIALISM"		 36
VI.	CENTRAL-REGIONAL RELATIONS	.		 48
VII.	THE DECENTRALIZATION LAWS ...................	63
VIII. Ce	THE REGIONAL REPRESENTATIVE COUNCIL.........	70
IX.	THE ΚΕΡΑLA DAERAH. 		 78
X.	REGIONS 			 97
vii
FOREWORD
The research leading to this Interim Report was started
with the support of the Cornell Modern Indonesia Project,
and continued under a fellowship granted by the Ford
Foundation. All statements and opinions in this report
are my own, of course, and are not necessarily those of
the Ford Foundation or of Cornell.
Many people contributed to the ideas and opinions which
I am presenting here by donating generously of their time in
discussions about problems of studying Indonesian society; the
form these ideas take in this report is my own responsibility.
I would specifically like to express my gratitude to Professor
George McT. Kahin, Director of the Cornell Modern Indonesia
Project, for his encouragement in this work. Dr. Barbara
Dohrenwend proved a ricji source of ideas on problems of
research. Mr. Herbert Fpith gave generously from his pro-
found knowledge of Indonesian affairs. Mr. John Smail,
Mr. Daniel Lev, and Miss Ruth McVey read parts of this manu-
script and made many helpful suggestions. Mr. Idrus Djajadiningrat
and Mr. Selosoemardjan deserve my special gratitude for
their frank discussions of problems their country is facing,
and for their help and advice in matters of translation of
Indonesian sources.
Djakarta, Indonesia
July, 1958
Gerald S. Maryanovr

Λ1
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The decentralization program in Indonesia is an approach
to two significant problems: it is a method for spreading
government to all parts of the country; it is a method for
accommodating regional differences, regional aspirations, and
regional demands within the confines of the unitary state.
Thus it might be better interpreted as an approach to two
aspects of the same problem—how to achieve a stable, function-
ing, democratic state fulfilling the Indonesian expectations
of what a government is to do. Decentralization is the focus
of the conflict between those who argue from the ’’top down"
in terms of government organization and the needs for leader-
ship, and those who argue from the "bottom up" in terms of
popular demands and regional agitation. From the former
point of view, the problem is "decentralization"; from the
latter, it is "regional autonomy." Decentralization in
Indonesia is the context of the "regional problem" which has
existed since the country attained its freedom in 1945, but
which reached crisis proportions in 1956, with the establish-
ment of regional "councils" operating semi-independently of
the central government in Djakarta.
Since 1956, the crisis has been getting steadily worse;
the conflicts, starting, at least outwardly, as purely mani-
festations of regional discontent, became confused with wider,
even international issues. In 1958 it reached the stage of
open rebellion and armed conflict. Quick action by the armed
forces of the central government seems to have put to an end
the formal military phase, but there remain the original basic
questions of government organization and operation, political
relationships, and the whole position of local government.
As of this writing, the situation is still one of crisis.
The decentralization program was intended to obviate
just such a crisis. That it hasn't done so thus £ar is the
measure of the failure of the- policy thus far. But it would
be unjust to accuse it of complete failure yet. The diffi-
culties of putting it into successful operation have been
enormous, and the obstacles to its implementation are of far
wider scope than this one problem. They are generic to the
whole political process, the whole development of the country2
up to the present. Indonesian political ideals are often
expressed as promises for the future, with the recognition
of difficult times to be lived through first. The problem of
regional autonomy is to be met with the ideal of decentrali-
zation. Progress in that direction has been made; but there
have been setbacks also. It is too early to talk of failure;
there is still hope that the crisis of 1958 can be passed
without serious damage to the unity of the country.
In 1950 Indonesia was in the process of transforming
itself from a "federal” state to a "unitary"’ state. Many
outside observers questioned the wisdom of this move, pointing
to the obvious facts of thousands of islands, dozens of
ethnic groups, and a multiplicity of languages. Nevertheless,
in keeping with Indonesian feelings, the federation of
component states was changed into a unitary state which
promised to decentralize. While these two types of state
organization possess mutually exclusive names, the ideal end
result each is intended to achieve need not be much different.
Ideals, unfortunately, are rarely attained in their
pure form, and the ideals of the decentralization program
remain a long way from fulfillment. The regional problem
remains one of the most crucial being faced by independent
Indonesia. There is no telling what would have happened if
the "federal" state, as it was originally constituted, had
been continued. Surely we cannot conclude that it would have
met with more success in reaching its ideals. The problem is
not one of the institutional structures formally created.
These structures by themselves are generally neutral. They
take direction only by way of what people do to them; they
respond according to the way they are used.
The "regional problem" is only one of many political and
social difficulties that have beset the Republic of Indonesia
from its inception. As a problem in the'organization of
government and society it is perhaps the most basic one,
and a satisfactory solution to it is prerequisite to the
stable performance of governmental operations. A political
problem never arises independent of the personal and social
forces interacting within the community, and to consider it
independently of the context within which it is found does
violence to objective analysis, and distorts comprehension.
This warning is less appropriate when both researcher and
reader are familiar with the social, context of the problem
under study—as when as American audience is confronted with
an American problem. The great number of studies of American
society, culture, and politics have provided a common frame of3
reference within which any particular problem is consciously
or unconsciously placed. Within this common experience, con-
cepts such as "politics," "party," or’democracy" can be
discussed without too much fear of misunderstanding, for they
have more or less common connotations.
But, even in societies that have been profoundly
studied difficulties arise in the definitions of terms, and
the assumed community of understanding turns out to be less
than perfect. So much more is the danger present in examining
"new" societies such as post-revolutionary Southeast Asia;
this is especially true concerning politics and government.
While "cultures" in Southeast Asia have been subjected to
relatively extensive investigation both before and after
those revolutions, "political cultures" have not. Nor have
the cultural determinants of political action always been
made clear. Where attempts in this direction have been made,
concerning Indonesia, they have been in the sphere of the
village. We are considering the regional problem, however,
as a "national" one, involving a rather different set of
actors.
We more or less know the formal characteristics of the
"regional problem" in Indonesia, and its proposed solution,
decentralization, through legal description. We more or less
know the outward course of events concerning this problem as
it is reflected in national political developments. But we
are in a much weaker position for interpreting these events in
terms of the determinants of Indonesian political behavior.
We are not entirely clear as to the Indonesian "pattern of
orientation to political action"; (1) nor do we know the effect
of the Indonesian "way of life" on that pattern.
The dangers inherent in this situation could be grave
for the results of any investigation of political affairs.
Language being the imperfect means of communication that it is,
we must use the symbols, the words, available to us. When
we use English to describe Indonesian behavior, we are
utilizing terms developed in one society to denote events
in another; we use the same term for referents which are not
necessarily congruent. And, having used a symbol that is
familiar to us, we may forget that the referent is not
necessarily as familiar. We refer to the Indonesian "govern-
ment," and surely government is a concept familiar to us all?
But is the role that "government" is expected to play in
Indonesian lives the same as its counterpart’s role in America?
XI) We are utilizing the definition of "political, culture"
given by Gabriel Almond.4
This point of "cultural differences" need not be belabored
here; the dangers are generally recognized, and warnings have
often been given. But being aware of the danger in theory
does not always result in it being avoided in practice. In
hopes of escaping some of these pitfalls, throughout this
report we raise questions that do not deal specifically with
the decentralization program, but are more widely concerned
with politics in Indonesia in general. We raise questions
without attempting to answer them; we hedge on our conclusions,
and we grasp at the opportunity given by the nature of this
Interim Report Series to be highly tentative. We do this in
hopes of stimulating criticism, and thus helping define
future areas of research. But we would also hope that by
raising these questions we help to pinpoint some of the
particularly Indonesian manifestations of political behavior.
This Report is part of a study of the program of decen-
tralization in Indonesia. In an earlier part (2) we described
the formal structures of the institutions involved—swa.t£ntra,
or autonomous region, with its legislature, its executive,
and its Kepala Daerah (regional head)—by reference to the
laws establishing and implementing the program. Such an
approach, as a beginning to the larger study, was necessary
in order to define the legal framework of the problem. The
growth of the regional problem to the critical point it has
now reached took place within that framework; the legal des-
cription provided the vocabulary for the charges and counter-
charges of political maneuvering; it held out the promises
that were to stabilize the' political relationships; it held
out the picture of what everybody professed to want for
Indonesia.
Obviously the bare bones of legal description are not a
sufficient basis for political analysis. But, once under-
standing the framework described by the laws, we can go
further. The second step that would seem to indicate itself
is an investigation of how Indonesians view the program
established by the laws (and described in our earlier Interim
Report). This implies not just the framers of the law and
the official language they used, but the people who must
interpret the program and give it reality, the people who
debate its implementation, the articulate minority who
provide the climate of opinion within which interpretation
takes place, the political leaders who give voice to those
opinions.
(2) Gerald S. Maryanov, Decentralization in Indonesia: Legis-
lative Apsects , Interim Report Series, Modern Indonesia
Project, Cornell University, Ithaca, New York, 1957.5
This report then is a preliminary study in political
attitudes related to the decentralization program within the
context of Indonesian political behavior. It is preliminary
because there are too many questions left unanswered, too
many areas in which we cannot even be sure we formulated the
significant question, too many problems on which we have not
been able to collect sufficient data. But a beginning must
be made, so certain assumptions have been utilized as a basis.
The major source of expression of attitudes for this
study has been the debates in the national Parliament. The
specific subjects of the debates have been the program each
cabinet submits when it enters office. (3) In each set of
debates we have searched out those expressions dealing
specifically with regions, regional government, and decen-
tralization, both in the government statements and in the
parliamentary response. In addition we have consulted the
debates on bills submitted in implementation of the decen-
tralization program—the bill to provide a basic law on
regional government, which ultimately resulted in Law No. 1,
1957, the bill to provide transitional regional legislatures,
and the bill on election of regional legislatures, both of
1956, the bills establishing a separate province for Atjeh
and dividing Kalimantan into three provinces, of 1956, and
the bills providing for lower level autonomous units in
Central Sumatra. Time and resources did not permit the
methodological demands of content analysis, thus depriving
the study of the benefits of controls. But the problem is
so large and complex, and the materials on it so scanty that
it is perhaps justifiable to present this gross analysis in
its present form.
Our purpose is to identify the various attitudes ex-
pressed in statements of demands, expectations, and identifi-
cations, in order to determine the implied role of the region,
and the central government in relation to the region, and
of the various parts of regional government. We start with
the logical first question of why there is a decentralization
(3) Since the establishment of the unitary state in 1950,
there have been seven cabinets, identified by their
Prime Ministers as follows: Mohammad Natsir cabinet,
Sept. 6, 1950-March 20, 1951; Sukiman Wirjosandjojo
cabinet, April 26, 1951-Feb. 23, 1952; Wilopo cabinet,
April 1, 1952-june 2, 1953; Ali Sastroamidjojo cabinet,
July 30, 1953-July 24, 1955; Burhanuddin Harahap cabinet,
August 12, 1955-March 3, 1956; the second Ali Sastroamidjojo
cabinet, March 20, 1956-March 14, 1957; Djuanda cabinet,
April 9, 1957, still in office at present writing.6
program, and what it is expected to achieve. We want to know
how the very term "region" is used. In this way we hope to
approach an understanding of central-regional relationships.
Our major source has been the parliamentary debates;
this immediately poses a methodological question which cannot
satisfactorily be answered at this time. The role of Parlia-
ment in the Indonesian political process has not been investi-
gated systematically as yet. We assume that the membership
of Parliament is representative of the major part of Indonesian
political leadership. It is fairly certain that the opinions
expressed in Parliament are representative of the political
communication that does take place in Indonesia on a national
level, which would make it sufficient for our purposes.
Probably the parliamentary debates are the best single source
of such opinion. Most communication seems to be party-in-
fluenced, and there seems to be a high degree of homogeneity
of opinion ■.within a party. Further, expression of opinion
in the legislature has been frank and protracted. The
membership of Parliament seems to be a fairly good cross-
section of the articulate minority that forms opinion.
From 1950 to 1956, Parliament was "provisional," being
a combination of both houses of the bicameral legislature of
the defunct United States of Indonesia plus the Executive *
Committee of the upicameral i.^gisli.ture Mid High Advisory
Council of the Republic of Indonesia (Jogja), (4) The first
general elections were held in 1955, and the new parliament
was installed in March, 1956. While the balance of parties
was somewhat altered, the changed, for our purposes, do not
seem significant. Essentially the same parties were repre-
sented, and in some cases by the same people. Certainly the
tenor of the debates on the point under study did not seem
to change.
To these sources, we have added a few "outside" expres-
sions of opinion. Most of these are writings frankly under
the aegis of a political party, or by a government official.
What is notably missing is the viewpoint of people actually
participating in regional government. This lack is mitigated
by the presence in Parliament of people with past experience
T4) The Republic of Indonesia which declared independence in
1945 was included, much reduced in size, as one of sixteen
federated states of the United States of Indonesia which
was recognized by the Dutch in 1949. When the unitary
form was adopted in 1950, the name "Republic of Indonesia"
was given to the whole country. We use the term "(Jogja)"
to differentiate the»»earlier form, which had its capital
in Jogjakarta, from £he i$<Wt-*1950 form.7
in regional government. It would be presumptuous at this
point to correlate speeches in Parliament with past experiences
of an undefined sort. Also bearing on this point is the
aforementioned assumption of a high degree of party discipline
and uniformity of party opinion. Thus it is implied that
regional political figures express the same ideas as' the
national figures of the same party. We have been able
to include some "regional” opinion as reported in the minutes
of- conferences of regional officials.
Rather than attempt to paraphrase opinions too much,
we have attempted to let Indonesians speak for themselves.
Thus we have utilized quotations which we feel typify the
various points under discussion. This, of course, opens
the possibility of a charge of arbitrariness in selection,
to which we confess beforehand. But we feel that the added
value of the more precise statement of the original idea
overweighs the drawback which to some extent would be in-
evitable in any case.
The debates of the programs of the Natsir and Sukiman
cabinets can be found in Risalah Perundingan, which is
published by Parliament (Dewan Perwakilan Rakjat Republik
Indonesia) as its official transcript of debates. Citations
to this source will be as follows: RP/1950/III/p. 1001,
which should be read as Risalah Perundingan for the year
1950, volume III, page 1001. This transcript is not
available for the later debates. For these we used Ichtisar
Parlemen published by the Ministry of Information. These
are not official. They are summary accounts of the debates,
but they use as far as possible the words of the speakers
themselves. A possibility of error does exist, mainly
because of what may have been omitted. We have tried to
minimize this possibility by choosing only those passages
which are clearly in the language of the speaker, and in
which the viewpoint is unmistakable. Citations to this Source
will be as follows; IP/1956/VII/99/p.	'811, which should be
read as Ichtisar Parlemen, 1956, volume VII, number 99,
page 811“ The party to which the speaker belongs is not always
indicated in the source. Where this occurred, we referred
to Kepartaian dan Parlementaria Indonesia published by the
Ministry of Information, which lists all the parties and
members of the provisional parliament.x8
All quotations are taken from sources in the Indonesian
language unless specifically indicated otherwise. The trans-
lations are the writer’s own; they have been checked for
accuracy with Indonesians, but the writer takes full responsi-
bility for both form and content.9
CHAPTER II
DECENTRALIZATION IN INDONESIA
1
Many of the institutions and practices adopted or
utilized by independent Indonesia have been reflections of
those established by the Netherlands East Indies. The
government taken over on August 17, 1945, was the Dutch
creation as modified during three years of Japanese occupa-
tion. What was changed in the course of development was
first of all the highest political authority, containing the
central decision-making powers (which had been the focus of
nationalist aspirations and ambitions). This was accomplished
by the establishment of a central cabinet and parliament.
For the rest, while there were some truly revolutionary changes
in political attitudes and behavior, and social roles, altera-
tions in governmental structur'e turned out to be minor.
Perhaps more important, patterns of administrative behavior
remained rooted in the Dutch traditional procedures. Further,
prewar laws remain in large measure still valid, and unless
there is major intensification of efforts to overcome this,
they are likely to continue in force for some time to come.
Indonesianization meant more the replacement of Dutch officials
with Indonesian citizens rather than any major break with
bureaucratic form or practice.
Such a development is not surprising, but rather to be
expected. The leaders of the revolution, the people who had
to take over positions of authority and ensure the performance
of operations, had experienced, for the major parts of their
lives, only Dutch government. Their familiarity with a
governmental process was acquired then. Their education was
either Dutch or Dutch sponsored; in large measure they were
officials under the Dutch. This latter is perhaps less true
for the revolutionary youth, but the ones occupying the
higher levels of the Indonesian administration were not
these youths. There was no large turnover of Indonesian
personnel, but rather an upward movement into positions of
more responsibility. Experience had been gained under Dutch
administration, and there was little basis for developing
criticisms of such government, and no cohesive program for
its replacement The Dutch forms could not bodily be removed
for no substitutes were available, and there was no time for
experimentation even if such had been desired.10
Included in the picture of prewar Dutch government was
the institution, still inchoate, of units of local government
with the right to run their own affairs. (1) Three provinces
were established in Java, in 1926, 1929, and 1930. These were
divided into 67 regencies, and included 18 municipalities.
Each of these units was endowed with organs of government,
including a legislative council. The organizational arrange-
ments in the Outer Islands—the term includes all of the
Netherlands Indies outside the island of Java and its small
sister island of Madura--were much more complex. Provinces
had not yet been formed, but steps were taken leading to
promotion to that status; these steps were interrupted by the
war. There were units with self government, including munici-
palities and ethnic communities. There were also a great
number of principalities which were governed under the author-
ity of "contracts" between the rulers and the Dutch.
Some changes were instituted by the Japanese after they
occupied the country in 1942.	(2) Provinces were eliminated,
and the regional administration was based on the Residency—
a prewar unit smaller than the province ljut larger than the
regency. All thought of local autonomy was subordinated to
the needs of military administration, and representative
institutions were abolished. After the Declaration of
Independence in 1945, Indonesian activities soon returned to
the old Dutch lines, and provinces were restored.
(1)	Dutch efforts in this direction started in 1903 with a
Decentralization Law. Real advances were not made,
however, until after the Administrative Reforms of 1922,
and the new "Constitution" of 1925. There is an extensive
literature on these developments in Dutch. A complete
account of the steps involved and the legal changes can
be found in S. de Graaf, parlementaire Geschiedenis van
de Wet tot hervorming der grondslagen van het gewestelijk
θη plaatselijk bestuur in Nederlandsch-Indie, 1922,
's-Gfavenhage, Martinus Nijhoff, 1939, and in PhT-Kleintjes
Staatsinstellingen van Nederlandsch-Indie, Vojl . II, 5th
edition, Amsterdam, J. H. de Bussy, 1929. For an account
in English, see A. D. A. de Kat Angelino, Colonial
ΡθΑΐθΥ? Vol. II, The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff, 1931, or
Amry Vandenbosch, The Dutch East Indies, Berkeley,
University of California Press’, 19447“
(2)	On the Japanese period, see M. A. Aziz, Japan’s
Colonialism and Indonesia, The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff,
Ϊ955; Mr. A. A. Zorab, De Japanse Bezetting van Indonesie,
Leiden, Universitaire Pers, 1954; Willard H. Elsbree,
Japan's Role in Southeast Asian Nationalist Movements,
1940-1945," Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1953.11
2
The Indonesia that declared independence in 1945 was
dedicated to the principle of democracy and popular sover-
eignty. (3) Activities were started to put it into effect
as best as could be done under the circumstances. In addi-
tion to the moves taking place in Djakarta, and later in
Jogjakarta (where the capital of the Republic was soon
moved) to provide an appropriate central government structure,
parallel attempts were being made throughout Indonesia to
give substance to the revolutionary ideals. In addition to
the officials appointed by the central government to head
the territorial subdivisions, local KNIS (4) were established
to carry out the tasks of channeling the desires of the
people and to help in organizing them. The precedent was
thus early established in the Republic of Indonesia of local
functioning units subordinate (5) in a hierarchy to a
central authority.
The principles, as applied to these units, growing out
of the general principles of popular sovereignty, implied
(3)	Constitution of August 1945, Article 1, paragraph 2,
"Sovereignty is in the hands of the people...." The role
of the constitution in Indonesian political practice
would make an interesting subject of study.
(4)	Komite Nasional Indonesia - Indonesian National Committee.
These were representative bodies formed to exercise ad-
visory functions. There was also a KNI Pusat (pusat -
center) which was later given legislative functions.
The KNIs were usually formed at Residency and lower
levels,. See Law No. 1 of November 1945.
(5)	The degree of this "subordination" can be questioned for
various places at various times; we might just as well
have said that the precedent of insubordination was set
here. One of the new republic's tasks was to establish
and maintain authority over areas not occupied by the
British or Dutch as well as attempting to recover the
occupied areas. This latter phrasing would be supported
by observations such as; "The revolution... did hot start
as a centrally led uprising, but was largely a spontaneous
outburst taking place almost simultaneously all over the
country. It was only gradually that central leadership
became effective." Soedjatmoko, "The Role of Political
Parties in Indonesia" in Philip W. Thayer, Ed., Nationalism
and Progress in Free Asia, Baltimore, the Johns Hopkins
Press, 1956, p. 135. See also, George McT. Kahin,
Nationalism and Revolution in Indonesia, Ithaca, Cornell
University Press, 1952, ’ pp . 1.78-183 .	“12
local self-government within the framework of the state as a
larger unity. It meant that groups facing local problems
should have the right of local determination of solutions.
In the words of Mohammad Hatta, co-signer of the Declaration
of Independencez and Vice President until December 1956,
while the sovereignty of the larger unity must be inviolate,
there are still many fields of endeavor which can
be governed (by a local area) according to its own
desires.... All matters which exclusively concern
the affairs of a region can be decided with full
authority by the people of that region. (6)
And much later he reminisced:
We were aware from the very beginning that demo-
cracy, as government by those who are governed, must
be realized through decentralization. (7)
The conflict that developed between the Republic of
Indonesia and the Dutch was a fight to see which side would
establish the status and structure of the territory of the
Dutch East Indies. The Dutch succeeded in creating a federal
state made up of components with a great variety of bases. (8)
The Republic of Indonesia, with its center on Java, opposed
these moves, emphasizing the unity of the whole Indonesian
people. The principle of popular sovereignty referred to a
population that was made up of people from all the islands of
the Indies. The Dutch argument was based on a claim of pro-
tection for smaller groups, local settlement of local problems,
and, stressing the diversity of cultures and peoples in Indo-
nesia, local determination of local government through federated
states. On its side, the Republic made provisions for insti-
tutions of local, government.
(6)	Mohammad Hatta, Kedaulatan Rakjat (Pokok pidato jang
diutjapkan pada permusjawaratan Pamong Pradja di Solo
tanggal 7 Feb. 1946), Kementerian Penerangan, Serie
Poleksos 4. This is the text of a speech given by
Dr. Hatta at a civil service conference, February 7, 1946.
(7)	Keng Po, April 27, 1957, p. 1.
(8)	For a complete legal description of these units, see A.
Arthur Schiller, The Formation of Federal Indonesia, 1945-
1949, The Hague, Bandung, W. van Hoeve Ltd, 1955. A com-
prehensive picture in Indonesian is given by Prof. Mr. R.
Soenarko, Susunan Negara Kita, Vol. Ill, Djakarta,
Djambatan, 1955.13
Law No. 22 of 1948, the basic law on regional government,
was promulgated by the Republic of Indonesia (Jogja) on
July 10, 1948, shortly before the second Dutch police action.
Any attempt at implementing the law was made impossible by
the attack and capture of the republican capital. One year
later sovereignty over Indonesia was formally transferred to
the federal Republic of the United States of Indonesia
(R.U.S.I., according to the English initials, R.I.S.,
according to the Indonesian initials), which included the
Republic (Jogja) as one of the member states. The federal
structure lasted less than a year, a period which saw many
of the federal "states" join themselves to the Jogja republic,
which meant subjecting themselves to Jogja republican law.
Finally, the federal state was changed into a unitary state,
and it was emphasized that this was the realization of the
Republic of Indonesia which had proclaimed independence in
1945. In terms of the symbols, this was the "Proclamation-
Republic" (Republik Proklamasi).
3
The result of all these developments, relating to the
expectations as to forms of local government, was inevitable.
It was accepted with no apparent dissent that there would be
a "decentralization" program aimed at establishing "autonomous"
units of government below the national level.. The struggle
during the revolutionary period had never challenged this
notion; it was directed against the Dutch tactic of creating
separate "states" that would then be federated, where in
Indonesian eyes there was only one state. And after the
establishment of the United States of Indonesia, the movement
for unification which culminated in the unitary Republic of
Indonesia was facilitated by the existence "on the books" of
decentralization legislation which was to become applicable
after the reorganization. (9)
The unitary state was brought about, technically, by a
series of amendments to the federal constitution, which was in
effect a complete redraft of the document. Included as article
131 was the provision that:
The division of Indonesia into large and small
regions with the right to govern their own affairs,
(9) Mohammad Hatta, who had been Prime Minister of the one
and only R.U.S.I. cabinet has said that "In the discus-
sion of the charter of agreement (between R.U.S.I. and
R.I. (Jogja) leading to the establishment of the unitary
state) it was affirmed that the democratic unitary state
would implement the decentralization system." Reng Po,
April 27, 1957.	--------14
together with the form of government for these
regions, shall be established by law, keeping in
mind the basis of consultation and representation
as in the system of government of the State.
These divisions shall be given the largest possible
measure of autonomy to manage their own affairs.
This went further than its predecessor, article 18 of the
1945 constitution which merely provided for the division of
territory with forms based on the system of "consultation,"
but without specifically mentioning "autonomy." (10)
The reformed unitary state inherited the laws applicable
in its earlier federated form (according to article 142 of
the constitution), with the understanding that
Wherever possible, efforts shall be made to -apply
the legislation of the Republic of Indonesia
(Jogja). (11)
This meant that Law No. 22 of 1948 was to guide the develop-
ment of the decentralization program until such time as it
was replaced, at least for th£ territory included under the
Republic of Indonesia (Jogja) as of August 1950, when the
revised constitution went into effect. The State of East
Indonesia (N.I.T. - Negara Indonesia Timur) passed its own
law, number 44 of 1950 in preparation for unification. This
law also continued in force under the unitary state for the
area previously included in N.I.T. Further, the country was
divided into ten administrative divisions, of which the three
on Java, plus the Special Region of Jogjakarta, and the three
on Sumatra were made "autonomous." The four provincial-level
regions on Java were further divided into "autonomous"
(lUj Evidently the specific provision for "the largest
possible measure of autonomy" in the new constitution
was intended at least in part to allay fears of possible
neglect of the interests of the regions. Such a sugges-
tion can be found in a speech in Parliament by Zainal
Baharuddin, non-party, (IP/1952/m/97/p. 446), who was
a member of the joint RIS-RI committee.
(11) Charter of Agreement between the Government of the Repub-
lic οΐ the United States oT Indonesia and the Government
of the Republic of Indonesia. The text of the agreement
can be found as an appendix in Prof. Dr. R. Supomo,
Undang-undang Dasar Sementara Republik Indonesia, Djakarta,
No or dho f f-Ko1f f (nd).15
kabupatens (regencies) and several cities and towns. Further,
the thirteen daerah S (regions) composing the State of East
Indonesia had the autonomy given them by N.I.T. Law No. 44
of 1950.	(12) Thus the reunified Republic of Indonesia came
to life complete with a decentralization program based on the
constitution and outlined in law.
Many problems, ideological, as well as practical, have
plagued Indonesia from its birth. But regarding this one
aspect of state organization, there was a general consensus—
there would be some form of autonomous regional government
throughout Indonesia. (13) Statements of identification and
demand are clear in this respect:
Autonomy for the people of a region is like inde-
pendence for the whole nation. (14)
From the beginning of the revolution we have all
equally desired Decentralization. (Laws Nos. 22/1948
and 44/1950) are proofs that decentralization is an
absolute requirement for the organization of the
Indonesian democratic state and community. (15)
Almost all the political parties have explicitly included a
demand for decentralization in their programs.	(16) And as
(12)	On the formation of these autonomous regions, see my
"Decentralization in Indonesia," op. cit.
(13)	This principle, to my knowledge, has never been disputed.
The recent difficulties caused by some regions openly
defying the central government do not negate the point.
The central government in its response to these events
has not denied, the need for regions autonomous within
the Indonesian definition.
(14)	Subadio Sastrosatomo, Chairman of the Socialist Party
(PSI) fraction in the provisional parliament, in the
introduction to Sukarma, Otonomi Daerah, Djakarta,
Sikap, (nd).	”
(15)	D. S. Diapari, SKI party, IP/1955/68/p. 502.
(16)	Party programs have been collected in Kepartaian dan
Parlementaria Indonesia, Kementerian Penerangan, 1954.
In addition, each party, especially the larger ones,
issues a great number of its own publications. On parties
in Indonesia, see Soedjatmoko, op. cit., and also
Herbert Feith, The Indonesian Elections of 1955, Ithaca,
Interim Report Series, Cornell Modern Indonesia Project,
1957.16
might be expected, statements of intention to proceed with
decentralization have been included in the programs of each
of the cabinets that have been formed in the unitary state.
One looks in vain for any statement containing sugges-
tions of opposition to the principle of a decentralized
organization for the unitary state, Debates take place over
methods, means, and pace of development; one might raise the
question of whether or not there is genuine consensus on the
goals sought, or if there has always been agreement on how
serious the problem was. But whatever the differences, the
general principle of "autonomy for the regions" has been
accepted as axiomatic.
The first cabinet of the unitary state, the Natsir
cabinet, perhaps did not need to be specific in stating its
intentions regarding regional government. It had the decen-
tralization laws inherited at the inception of the unitary
state, and there was no reason at the time to doubt their
efficacy. Thus Prime Minister Natsir stated in his answer
to the parliamentary debates on his program that the R. I.
Law No. 22 of 1948 would guide his government's activities,
and
The Government will begin by implementing what has
already been agreed between the United States of
Indonesia and the Republic of Indonesia. (17)
Subsequent cabinets appeared somewhat less optimistic re-
garding the framework of laws available to them, and promised
appropriate investigation and revision. None, however, ever
raised any question as to the wisdom or desirability of the
basic constitutional, prescription. Prime Minister Ali Sastro
amidjojo, in presenting the program of his second cabinet in
1956 could say:
The perfection of autonomy by the continuous en-
deavor to realize the ideals contained in article 131
of our Provisional Constitution, and the perfection
of the organization of the State by emphasizing the
division of the fields of work (between central and
regional government) and the rational and efficient
implementation of tasks, are certain to improve the
level of our State as a decentralized unitary
state. (18)
(17)	Ri>/ign5U7VZp. 1797,
(18)	IP/1956/34/p. 283.17
CHAPTER III
WHY DECENTRALIZE?
Given the universality of the postulate that there
would be autonomous regional .government, it is not -surprising
that no extended debates took place directly relating to
doctrinal questions. No one really asked the question of
why Indonesia should decentralizej there was never a pro-
posal that Indonesia should not do so. But there were many
claims and long debates as to how the process should be
carried out, as to the timing involved, as to the specific
institutions to be established. Governments have made pro-
posals; politicians have criticized. In this mass of commu-
nications on regions, regional governments, and regional
problems, there have been a good many statements concerning
doctrinal issues. From these we can extrapolate a picture of
the ideological expectations, in order to answer the question,
why decentralize.
1
The major premise involved is that the Indonesian
revolution was fought for democratic principles, and the
state emerging from the revolution must be a democratic one,
with popular will as the paramount consideration. This has
been embodied in the preamble to the provisional constitu-
tion, and in article 1, where it is declared that:
Independent and sovereign Indonesia is a democratic
constitutional state......The sovereignty of the
Republic of Indonesia is vested in the people...
Further, in article 35;
The will of the pepple is the basis of public
authority.
The position of the democracy symbol is assured by its
prominence in the constitution. In political debate, however,
there are evidently two separate but related symbols involved-
democracy and democratization. The first relates to identifi-
cations of situations: either this or that situaton is or is
not democratic. The second characterizes a process of change
the purpose of which is to bring about more democracy. In use
the two symbols are often not differentiated; it could
be summed up by the formulation that it is democratic to
democratize.18
Democracy is one of the least precise terms in the world’s
political vocabulary. Any theory of democracy must in some
way imply a relationship among individuals, and between in-
dividuals and political authority. The symbol "democracy”
will evoke images, however vague, of these relationships in
the minds of the user, usually in the hopes of eliciting a
similar image in the mind of the receiver. We can be sure
that these images will not be the same for Indonesians as
they are for people of other societies; and it is likely that
there are characteristics of the images that are peculiarly
Indonesian. These characteristics, insofar as they stem from
a common culture, will hold for most Indonesians in spite of
differences of details of theory and opinion. Until there
have been adequate studies of what .the Indonesian images are,
we can make no firm judgment as to the expectations which
are couched in terms of the symbol.
There is no one Indonesian theory of democracy, nor has
there been any single statement that comprehensively and
cohesively presents a systematic theory. But there have
been a whole series of arguments, polemics, political debates,
and publications of various sorts which imply fragments of
theories. Three elements are identified by Dr. Mohammad
Hatta as the sources of democratic thought among the leaders
of the Indonesian revolution:
First, the notion of western socialism, which
attracted their attention because of its humani-
tarian basis, which they cherished and which became
their goal. Second, the teachings of Islam, which
aspires to divine truth and justice in the community,
and brotherhood of men as the creatures of God.....
Third, the knowledge that the Indonesian community
is based on collectivism. (Ϊ)
Different thinkers will lean more or less heavily on one or
another of these elements. Dr. Hatta himself concludes that:
The synthesis of all these only strengthens the
conviction that the form of democracy which will
become the basis of Indonesian government in the
future must be a development of the indigenous
democracy which is found in the Indonesian
village. (2)
Tl) These remarks were made by Mohammad Hatta is his speech
of acceptance .of the Honorary Doctor of Laws degree con-
ferred by Gadjah Mada University, November 27, 1956. The
text of this address was published by Penerbit Djambatan.
(2) Ibid., p. 42.19
An identification of "democracy" in Indonesia cannot be
separated from consideration of the profound cultural changes
now in process in the country. The direction of change is
strongly influenced by contacts with the colonial power in
the past, and with the wider world in general, especially
since independence. Most of the elements of contact have
originated in the West; Indonesia, as well as other new
societies of Asia, has adopted institutions born in the West,
and has more or less followed the forms for utilizing those
institutions which were developed in the West. For a con-
sideration of democracy, these include parliaments, political
parties, elections, and so forth, and also the general notion
of popular sovereignty exercised through the parliament. In
general, these are the results of those aspects of democratic
theory relating to the individual and the state. But cul-
tural diffusion does not necessarily mean imitation; the end
product for Indonesia, once the forces deriving from sources
other than the West have worked on the borrowings, is likely
to be something quite different from the theoretical proto-
type. At least, this must be the conclusion until empirical
study proves otherwise. While automobiles in use in Indonesia
may have been designed in Detroit, this does not automatically
imply that the role of the automobile will be the same in
Indonesian culture as it is in American. The same is true
of legislatures.
Most of the elements borrowed from the West are regarded
as steps in a process of "modernization" in Indonesia—the
preparation for participating in the world community as a
modern independent nation. (3) But there is a parallel
urge to preserve certain traditional modes of behavior, the
prototype of which, as Dr. Hatta pointed out, is to be found
in the village. This approach recognizes the village
society as being collective, with a strong sense of family
responsibility. The collective society functions by the
system of mutual help (gotong-rojong). When problems are to
be solved, there must first be consultation (musjawarah),
and the decision arrived at unanimously, by achieving the
"sense of the meeting" (mufakat). These are the elements
which must be "modernized"—made to function in the modern
world, facing contemporary problems.
(3) We use "modernization" as a synthetic term covering
various attitudes concerned with "renewal" of Indonesian
society, or "growth," "improvement," "development,"
"building up," etc., all of which are aimed at creating a
society functioning in the contemporary world utilizing
contemporary techniques of international communications.
The term does not imply a contrast with "primitive."
It is strictly concerned with "the modern world,"20
But there are difficulties. In other contexts, Indo-
nesians will declare that the village people are poor,
miserable, illiterate, backward, ignorant, unable to utilize
modern technology, unfariiiliar with modern life, and very much
in need of guidance, instruction, education, and leadership.
The people must be awakened from the slumber imposed by three
hundred and fifty years of colonial domination, and led out of
the prison that this has imposed upon them. Thus the people
must be subjected to reorientation and uplift; they must be
made aware of the wider world around them; they must be
taught their civic responsibilities as citizens of a modern
democratic state.
Indonesian speculation on the democratic relationships
is colored by the circumstances in which it developed—the
need to justify opposition to the colonial rule claimed to be
responsible for the situation described above. The stress is
on independence of the whole society from controls external to
that society. Less attention has been paid to the implications
of democracy within the society. The colonial relationship
left the society in a state of misery. It must be the task
of the independent nation to rise out of the misery and pro-
vide a better life for its members. But the mechanics of
how this is to be achieved are left vague. Indonesian
thinkers are very much conscious of the need for change. For
most, however, it seems to be an abstract awareness, from
which it is difficult to draw specific proposals for action.
The consciousness is often expressed as a desire to "control”
the changes, or to provide the necessary "leadership" and
"guidance." The goal is a "just and prosperous" society, which
functions according to the prescriptions of the constitution.
This, evidently, would be democracy.
We are avoiding here the difficulties involved in a
discussion of the implications of the process of cultural
change for political behavior on the sophisticated national
level.. This is a problem which by itself would require a long-
term investigation. Obviously, the direction of change
cannot be completely "controlled"; but by conscious applica-
tion of predetermined efforts, it can perhaps be influenced.
Before this can happen, the-abstract awareness of change will
have to be made concrete in reference to specific proposals
for action, and the consequences that can be expected from
the actions must be faced up to. (4)
(4) In this regard, see Soedjatmoko, Economic Development as
a Cultural Problem, Translation Series, Cornell Modern
Indonesia Project^ Ithaca, 1958. The original was published
in Konfrontasi, September-October, 1954. This excellent
article is a discussion of this problem specifically as it
relates to economic development. Many of the points raised,
however, are equally applicable to other aspects of Indo-
nesian life.21
The Indonesian attitude towards democracy can be summed
up, for our purposes, in two trends of thought. The first
deals with ideal situations, and is expressed in terms of
sovereignty, the people, representative institutions, justice,
prosperity, and independence. Its stress is ideological,
appealing to popu,la,r rule. The second is faced with the
less-than-pleasant reality of the shortcomings of the society
caused by its "backward” condition. It is expressed in terms
of stimulating change, leadership, guidance, and education.
Its stress is technical, appealing to future welfare.
2
Applying tljese considerations to the problem of govern-
ment in the regions, what emerges is the expectation that
democracy must be the characteristic of regional government,
and that regional government is part of the democratizing
process. Organization must be extended to the regions, of
course, but it must be democratic, accommodating the principles
of popular participation and popular representation. However
this ideal picture is marred by the drawbacks inherent in
the present Indonesian situation. Leadership and guidance are
required, and the new democratic society must be carefully
constructed.
We shall try to relate the symbol of democracy to
specific structures later. Here it may be helpful to show
the extent of the feeling that decentralization is tied in
with democratization, and indicate the pervasiveness of the
symbolism involved. We need not be concerned with any "mental
reservations" our sources may have held, nor with any
inationalized procrastination. Our point is only that the
communication on this subject is unanimous, and that the
climate of opinion that has been generated equates the two
processes.
In the program of the Natsir cabinet, an explicit state-
ment of the basic democratic intent can be found. The
Prime Minister said:
...we are guided by the fact that a strong govern-
ment must be based on the reasonable and just will
of the people.... Thus our efforts must be directed
towards the democratization of government. ...This
democratization process of course must be seen
also in the organization of regional government. (5)
(5) RP/1950/H/p. 329, 330.
(5a) IP/1957/43/p. 245.22
This was in 1950, when the reunited Republic of Indonesia was
just starting to function. Subsequent Governments raised no
objection to the basic theory, promising only to continue to
fulfill the program. Thus, for example, Prime Minister
Wilopo, presenting his program to Parliament in 1952, said his
cabinet would
complete the organization and give content to re-
gional autonomy.......The direction would be towards
democratizing regional government and speeding up
the achievement of autonomy.(5 a)
The members of Parliament debating the various programs
did not give up repeating the opinion. The connection between
democracy and decentralization was clearly put forth by
people of various parties. Thus, for example, the leader of
a small nationalist party, who in a later cabinet became
Minister of Justice, said during the debates on the Najtsir
program:
The democratization of regional government should
quickly be carried out, for the Government was
correct in saying that a government, to be strong,
must be based on the will of the people. Here,
we would only like to remind the Government that
in its implementation of this program it shouldn't
think too much in formal juridical terms only. We
would rather suggest that the emphasis be on the
psychology of the people in the regions themselves. (6)
Or the bare statement without qualification would be made:
Democratization according to Law No. 22 of 1948
must be effected throughout Indonesia. (7)
The Government program was viewed in the light of constitu-
tional prescription:
The consolidation of government by achieving auto-
nomous government in the regions is the correct
approach, in the definition of democracy and sover-
eignty as established by our Constitution. (8)
(β) Mr. Djody Gondokusumo, Independent PNI (later, PRN),
RP/1950/III/ p. 984.
(7)	Maroeto Nitimihardjo, Murba party, during Natsir debates,
RP/1950/III/p.; 916.
(8)	Soendjoto, Parindra, RP/1950/III/993,23
Even more specifically, the integral relationship between
democracy and decentralization was stated:
The democratization of governmental organization
must be connected with the program for broad decen-
tralization .... If decentralization is to be realized
as a consequence of democratic government, then the
arrangement of the organs of government, from the
center to the autonomous regions, must be in ac-
cordance with its principles. (9)
When the speaker is in opposition, thus expressing criticism
of the cabinet, the theory is implied; the Government is
accused of failure to fulfill the promise.
The democratization of regional government which
has already been promised goes on being unrealized,
causing great disappointment among the people. (10)
3
We discussed some of the doctrinal determinants of the
symbol ’’democracy” above. But, we are more interested in
functional definitions, the implication of the term for
practice . In other words, we want to know, and specifically
for the decentralization program, what conditions are con-
sidered democratic, or what a demand for democracy con^i^ts
of. The general tendency has been to leave vague the impli-
cations of "democracy.” But there are sufficient statements
in our sources to give some insight into Indonesian expecta-
tions in this regard, stemming from the more general doctrinal
ideas. The interpretation rests on two types of demands;
those relating to the need for popular participation, and .
those insisting on the accommodation of popular desires. A
clear statement of the first type, summarizing several points,
was given during the debates of the Natsir program:
Mr. Chairman, in my opinion it is not superfluous
to reaffirm that the aim of democratization lies
in the effort to awaken and develop the energies of
our people.
(9)	Dr. ΤΓ. Diapari, SKI (Serikat Kerakjatan Indonesia -
Indonesian People’s Association), RP/1950/V/1903.
(10)	I. A. Moeis, PNI (Partai Nasional Indonesia - Indonesian
Nationalist Party), RP/1950/IV/p. 1281.24
Democratization will be properly achieved by the
participation of the people in thinking about,
striving after, and caring for their own interests
and needs, so that gradually but certainly their
prosperity will become a reality. The people must
be invited to take part in the affairs of govern-
ment in their places of residence, not only in the
village, as the smallest political unit, but also
in the larger units, the cities, the regencies, the
provinces, and the state, and this both in and out
of their representative bodies. The quicker the
people become conscious of their position in the
community, both the small one of the village and
the large one of the state, the greater the possi-
bility that they will participate with energy,
gladly taking care of their own interests. And
by that participation, there will arise a feeling
of responsibility as to their own well-being and
the well-being of the whole community, ill)
This line of argument can be found up to the present.
Sometimes it is stated strongly, for example comparing
regional energies to an irrigation system, in which the
waters if not given a proper channel will flood and cause
damage to the surrounding fields. (12) Or sometimes it
is a frustrated demand after years of disappointment: "Release
the shackles that bind the people." (13) During the debates
over the bill to provide one uniform decentralization law for
all Indonesia, one of the leading proponents of the decentral-
ization system summed up this aspect of the purpose of the
program;
The problem of regional autonomy is in no way a
question of continuing the steps of the Dutch govern-
ment in apportioning some functions to authorities
in the regions. It is rather the effort to find an
answer to the question of how we can revive the
spirit and energies of the people in the regions to
build for their own glorious future. (14)
(11)	Mr. ~K~. Z~. Abidin, PSI (Partai Sosialis Indonesia - Indo-
nesian Socialist Party), RP/1950/III/p. 1154.
(12)	Andi Gappa, Masjumi, IP/1952/61/p. 297.
(13)	S. Sardjono, BTI, IP/1955/VI/97/p. 725.
(14)	Sutardjo Kartohadikusumo, PIR (Persatuan Indonesia Raja -
Greater Indonesia Union), IP/1955/VI/65/p. 478.25
The ’’demands" and "wishes" of the people are usually in-
voked in criticisms of existing situations, such as complaints
as to the slow pace of development. Such statements are
unanimous in demanding further and better implementation of
the autonomy program, for anything else results in popular
"disappointment" and "dissatisfaction." Either it is stated
that the disappointment already exists, or the Government
is warned that:
The feeling of disappointment among the people of
a region can easily arise, for example, because
the autonomous status which has been awaited is
not quickly conferred, or not completed. (15)
But while this negative note may be popular as a
political tactic in decrying a situation, a much more positive
interpretation of the people’s will also appears. It is
said that the people want to participate in government (16)
for the general development of society. (17) The people
demand decentralization as a means to achieve progress,
security, and satisfaction. (18)
We have seen that decentralization has been accepted as
an important part of the new Indonesian democracy, and that
it has been interpreted as the fulfillment of the wishes of
the people, and the participation of the people in the
process of government and development. Such propositions are
general enough to cover a multitude of concrete situations.
Some further aspects of Indonesian democracy and decentraliza-
tion are discussed in other parts of this paper. But we are
doing an injustice to Indonesian political thought by ex-
tracting partial definitions of what democracy means in
Indonesia through seeking out only those statements relating
to one particular program, albeit important, in the process
of building a democratic state. This cannot be helped, how-
ever, until there are many more critical studies available
of political thought in Indonesia.
Tl5) Γ J. Kasimo, Catholic Party, during the debates of the
Sukiman Program, RP/1951/X/p. 4453.
(16)	Ibrahim Sedar, non-party, IP/1952/IH/83/p. 385; also,
Mr. Djody Gondokusumo, PRN, IP/1952/IIl/54/p. 271.
(17)	Maizir Achmaddyn’s, Masjumi, IP/1952/III/75/p. 354.
(18)	S. Sardjono, BTI, IP/1955/VI/97/725.26
4
It is perhaps not surprising that the political spokesmen
we have been quoting should stress the more abstract values
of democracy that are to be attained through the decentraliza-
tion program. There are, however, other more practical con-
siderations which have been mentioned in the course of dis-
cussions of the subject. These can best be summed up as
efficiency in responding to local needs, It is reminiscent
of one of the more influential arguments leading towards the
pre-war decentralization program, (19) but the problem to
which it is a response would occur in any country as large as
Indonesia.
The argument is well summed up in the observation of a
commentator concerned more with administration than politics:
The transfer of authority to the autonomous regions
is accomplished in the expectation that through self-
government strictly regional interests can be given
better and more intensive attention by the regions,
because the regions are more conscious of their
own needs than is the central government. (20)
The reasoning involved here, of course, does not logically
result in the demand for political decentralization, but could
be satisfied by a reorganization of the vertical services to
allow for local decisions. But this would not provide the
sense of participation that is being demanded when the "demo-
cratic" symbols are invoked. The problem is eminently one ·
of form; the questions are what will ease the tensions,
quiet the complaints, satisfy the political forces, and thus
stabilize the process of government. It is not a question
of the most efficient provision of services. So the major
debates are concerned with the abstract theories while the
background to the argument is the real situation and the
need for efficient technical governmental services. This,
of course, has been the problem of political philosophy ever
since the philosopher-king.
ΤΓ9) See, For example, Mr. J. J. Schrieke, Bepalingen en
beginselen der Decentralisatie van 1903, WelteVreden,
Commissie voor de Volk’slectuur, 1920, page 3-4.
(20) A. Sjafrudin, Dasar-dasar Tata Usaha Pemerintahan Dalam
Negeri Republik Indonesia, Bandung, Handaya (1956).
Similar opinions are to be found in the parliamentary
debates also.27
The ’'ideological” approach is concerned over theory
without reference to how realistic an application can be
made; the "technical” argument is concerned with "efficient"
administration without reference to social responses. The
result, as is usually the case, must be some sort of com-
promise if agreement is to be reached. But the course of
compromise could be smoothed and hastened if the two trends
were brought somewhat closer together through modifications
by each of their ideal models.28
CHAPTER IV
THE UNITARY STATE
1
The symbols of democracy are unanimously shared, if not
always similarly interpreted. Another symbol, which, while
perhaps not as universal, generated almost equal fervor,was
that of the "Unitary State." On August 17, 1950, five years
to the day after the original Declaration of Independence,
the unitary form re-emerged from the ruins of the federal
state which had been established seven months earlier. On
the occasion of the fifth anniversary of the Declaration,
President Sukarno, the most vocal champion of unity, greeted
the newly achieved unification with enthusiasm:
Here is the symphony of the living national spirit;
and this national spirit is vibrant, inspiring the
national will and national deeds which finally
focus, culminate, reach an apotheosis in that one
sacred guiding light that has been our source of
strength for five years—the Proclamation of
August 17, 1945, of the unitary Republic of Indo-
nesia. It is this apotheosis we are experiencing
now. My friends, this day we stand again on the
ground of the Unitary State.
The Indonesia that declared independence in 1945 was
the successor to the Netherlands East Indies, which was, in
spite of efforts in its later years to alter its political
practices, highly centralized. It is fruitless to speculate
as to how the new Republic would have solved the problems of
the diversity of forms it included, if it had been left alone
What did happen was that it faced an antagonist that
devoted its efforts to establishing a federal government.
The original Republic was the mainstay of the revolution
and the dominant force in the development of Indonesian inde-
pendence. Indonesia dates its independence from 1945, not
from 1949 when the Dutch agreed to surrender sovereignty.
This point is vital to an understanding of Indonesian views
of the Dutch, and the Dutch-created governmental forms. It
means that in the Indonesian view the Dutch were no longer
concerned with the welfare of the archipelago, and no longer29
had any voice in determining its future. (1) The Dutch,
after all, gave up their rights to Indonesia in 1942;
The Indonesian people consider the Netherlands'
power in Indonesia as having ended on March 9,
1942...Dutch sovereignty in Indonesia died with
the capitulation of the Netherlands Indies to
Japan. (2)
Thus, in Indonesian eyes, the post-war reconstruction of
Indonesia was a matter for Indonesian solution, not. Dutch.
The Republic considered itself locked in a life-and-death
struggle against the Dutch. It is hardly surprising that
Dutch plans were looked on with some suspicion.
It has been a popular view among western observers that
a federal form would be best for Indonesia. The assumption
rests on the diversity of political and cultural forms,
differences of levels of economic development, education,
and so forth. It is argued that the geography of the country
supports this thesis. While it is certainly true that the
diversity exists, it does not necessarily follow that feder-
alism is the logical concomitant, and even if it were, that
the system developed by the Dutch was the only possible or the
best one.
The formal classification of states into federal or
unitary according to an appropriate clause in a constitution
tells very little about actual political practices, and does
very little to help political analysis. The diversity of
modes of political behavior and constitutional structures
in the world today indicates the uselessness of such a
description in determining how a state actually operates.
The United States, prototype of modern federalism, has
spent most of its history in circumventing the limitations
seemingly placed on central activity; the Soviet Union has
effectively centralized political decision-making power
(1)	That the Republic entered negotiations with the Dutch was
more due to the pressure of circumstances than any
widely held acquiescence to Dutch rights. On the negoti-
ations, see Kahin, op. cit. A lucid presentation of the
earliest phase of the discussions is given in Idrus N.
Djajadiningrat, The Beginnings of the Indonesian-Dutch
Negotiations and the Hoge Veluwe Talks^ Monograph Series,
Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, Ithaca, 1958.
(2)	Mohammad Hatta, Verspreide Geschriften, Djakarta,
Amsterdam, C. P. J. van der Peet, 1952, p. 326 (original
in French).30
while maintaining a "federal constitution." Unitary states,
on the other hand,have demonstrated great versatility in de-
vising types of local government and local government autonomy.
The advantages to be "gained" through a federal system can
be achieved by unitary systems, and vice versa. There is no
limit to the political ingenuity of man.
The seemingly objective factors of ethnography and geo-
graphy are not necessarily decisive. (3) In fact, it is just
those factors which could be used in an argument in the other
direction. The smaller groups must be given a sense of
direct participation in the high affairs of state, the more
backward ones must be helped along by their richer brothers,
the divisive tendencies are present in sufficient quantity,
unity must be stressed and strengthened. The poorer areas
can ill afford the expenses of their own government, they dc no
have enough personnel to run a government, etc. But the
most important single factor is the attitudes of the people
involved. The case of Indonesia is interesting in this
respect:	Some observers argue for federalism (whether it
had to be the particular form created by the Dutch is not
always clear); the political forces in Indonesia argued for
unity. It should have been easy to predict the outcome.
The federal state was established in 1949. We need not
be concerned here with the objective reality of Dutch motives.
Whether or not it was intended as a device to continue Dutch
influence in the archipelago is beside the point; what is
important is that Indonesians believed it to be so.
By most Indonesians (the federal system) had been
seen as an instrument of Dutch control and an ob-
stacle to the attainment of their independence. To
keep this system meant for them the retention of
an unwelcome legacy of their colonial past and the
maintenance in power of many Indonesians who had
worked with the Dutch for ends which appeared self-
ish and opposed to the struggle of the Republic,
people who in nearly every case enjoyed little
backing from the populations of their areas. (4)
(3)	KarI W. Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication,
published jointly by the Technology Press of the Massa-
chusetts Institute of Technology and John Wiley and Sons,
Inc., New York, 1953, especially Chapter I, gives some
interesting criticisms of traditional notions of nation-
ality based on just such factors as these. His arguments
would have application here.
(4)	Kahin, op. cit., p. 450.31
The Jogja Republic was, and had to be, the dominating influ-
ence in the new federation. In terms of population, develop-
ment, leadership and spirit, it far overshadowed the other
units. And the Republic fought for a unitary state.
Indonesia got its independence by revolution, and the
revolution was made in the Republic. The federal form was
imposed on it, accompanied by two ’’police actions” and
mutual accusations of bad faith., The symbol "federal" itself
came to be pejorative, conjuring up visions of continued
submission to colonial influence, and the identification of
the symbol as being of Dutch origin was sufficient to rouse
opposition to it. It would have been far too much to expect chat
the bitterness of the revolution, would dissolve immediately
after the signing of the Round Table Agreements with which
Dutch sovereignty formally ended. The federal government
could not work because the leading people did not want it to
work. So it fell. It was thought that Dutch influence
fell with it.
With the establishment of the Unitary State, the
federal system, which the van Mook Government and
its tools used as a political weapon to establish
states—even the tiniest ones—in order to weaken
the struggle of the Indonesian nation and the posi-
tion of the Republic of Indonesia, and to strengthen
the position of the Dutch in our country, is buried
forever. (5)
It is significant that the new unitary form was specifically
declared the continuation of the unitary republic that was
proclaimed in 1945.
2
The spirit of 1950 was to make the unitary state work.
It may well be that there remained groups and individuals
still devoted to the symbolic autonomy that a federal organi-
zation would have given, but such feelings were seldom
articulated. It is with the dominant symbolism of the unitary
state that problems of regional government must be considered.
It immediately became clear (indeed, it was apparent even
before 1950) that regional demands would be put forth. In
any general consideration of regional government, however,
demands were couched in terms of action within the unitary
(5) The Editors of Mingguan Gembira, Dari R.I.S. Ke Negara
Kesatuan, (n.d.), p. 80.32
state. The whole program of decentralization was to be a
manifestation of the unitary state, a demonstration of how
the unitary state was to be made effective in all corners of
the country.
Unitarism rejects federalism with its component
states, unions, or federated states; it casts out
a federated form—Indonesia divided into parts of
a commonwealth; and it banishes the principle of
insularity. Unitarism demands one unified state
on the principle of oneness. The Unitary State
rejects federalism, and will operate by means of
autonomy in the regions, because, for the welfare
of the regions, the division of authority and inde-
pendence must be carried out with justice according
to the needs and interests of good administration. (6)
Decentralization was a guarantee of the strength of the
unitary state, both because of its own inherent value and
because the people believed it necessary.
(Article 131 of the Constitution) is a very desir-
able and very appropriate political prescription.
Its fulfillment has been impatiently awaited
for years by the whole population in the regions,
for they are certain that that is the one way in
which, besides guaranteeing the fundamental strength
of the Unitary State, each region will be able to
develop quickly and properly, to achieve the happi-
ness and welfare of the people. (7)
It is worth noting that even severe critics of the cen-
tralization of authority of which the government came to be
accused made it clear that their complaints were not directed
against the unitary state as such. Especially in the early
days, use of the term "federal" would have been politically
unwise, if ever desirable. One speaker said:
When I support broad autonomy, it in no way means
that I would have a return to the federalism that
(6)	Muhammad Yamin, Proklamasi dan Konstitusi Republik Indo-
nesia, Djakarta, Djambatan, 1951, p. 81.	’
(7)	Nungtjik A. R., PKI (Partai Komunis Indonesia - Indonesian
Communist ^arty), IP/1956/VII/39/p. 319, during the
debates of the program of the second Ali Sastroamidioio
cabinet.33
we have already buried. The authority of autonomous
regions in a unitary state is entirely different
than in federal state. The authority is given by
the Central Government on the principle of decen-
tralization, and the autonomous: region is not sover-
eign within the limits of that authority. (8)
Or, put another way, strong criticism of the central govern-
ment was prefaced by the remark that it was not to be taken
as a demand for federalism:
Thanks to the joint will (of the people from all
regions and their representatives) the Unitary
State was created on August 17th, 1950. We are
not retreating one step from the road then begun. (9)
The state would have to be decentralized as well as unitary,
and failing the former, it was suggested, it would be hard to
maintain the latter:
The legislation on autonomy, in the final analysis,
will determine the position and form of the state—
federal or unitary. If the people in the regions
are not satisfied with this legislation, there is
no telling what the future form of the state will
be. But if the Government and Parliament are
capable of formulating laws which are satisfactory
for the regions, I believe the people in the regions
will receive the unitary form gladly. (10)
As time went on, more and more accusations were being
made of the central government neglecting the regions, and
failing to provide the necessary laws for regional autonomy.
And as the critics became more vocal they warned of threats
to the unitary structure that could arise from the growing
discontent in the regions:
(8)	I. A. Moeis, PNI, RP/1950/IV/1285.
(9)	Zainal Baharuddin, non-party, IP/1952/III/97/p. 446.
(10)	Sutardjo Kartohadikusumo, PIR. These remarks were made
to the Committee on Internal Affairs of the Parliament.
Mr. Sutardjo was speaking in his capacity as Commissioner
for Autonomy, an office established to aid the Ministry
of Internal Affairs in drafting decentralization legis-
lation. IP/1955/VI/64/p. 474.34
I’m not an astrologer, but if we in the center con-
tinue to serve the interests of the regions in the
way we are now doing, there would be reason enough
to predict that the time will come when, in spite
of the wishes of the members sitting in this chamber,
a federal structure will be formed on the ruins of
the Unitary State. (11)
Popular dissatisfaction in the outer regions towards
the actions of the central government has given
rise to the desire in some quarters in some regions
to reconsider a federal system. If we had to elimi-
nate the former federal system because it was a
Dutch construction, what would be wrong with con-
sidering a federal system which would really be
supported by the genuine desires of our people?
That is what they are saying. (12)
In 1956, the Constituent Assembly, chosen in direct
popular elections the previous December, started its deliber-
ations which are ultimately designed to result in a permanent
constitution to replace the present provisional document.
It is within the power of this body to alter the structure of
the state, and turn it into a federal form. It can, theoreti-
cally, establish any type of relationship between the regional
centers and a national authority that it wishes. But there
is no reason to suspect that the constellation of political
attitudes in this body is very much different from that of
Parliament, so that some estimates of the limits of political
possibility for the former can be judged from the latter.
During 1956, if the question had had to be decided imme-
diately, there is little doubt that the Constituent Assembly
would have chosen to remain with a unitary but decentralized
structure. The distribution of the positive symbolism of the
unitary state and the negative associations with the term
"federal"—strengthened by the vows of loyalty to unitarianism
by even the strongest critics—would probably have required
such a result. There was some growing feeling that a bi-
cameral legislature was desirable, with one house specifically
devoted to representing the regions. But even this met
strong opposition.
(il) Sjamsuddin Sutan Makmur, PIR, during the debates on the
draft law on regional government, IP/1955/VI/67/p. 496.
(12) Nur El Ibrahimy, Masjumi, IP/1952/m/87/p, 402.35
In December, 1956, the regional "movement" started, suc-
cessfully in Central Sumatra, unsuccessfully in North
Sumatra. This was soon followed by similar actions in South
Sumatra, East Indonesia, and Kalimantan. There were varia-
tions in each case, but in general, the military commander
in each area led regional, forces in establishing controls
over the course of regional government, thus superseding
the central government’s position in these matters. The
most serious change in activities brought about by these
movements was in the financial field and the establishment
of direct barter trade with foreign sources. (13) The
regional governments ,thus reformed, operated for over a year.
They maintained order and demonstrated the ability to perform
governmental services on their own initiatives.
Several conferences were held in efforts to solve the
problems raised by this novel situation, but solutions did
not seem to be available as yet. The solutions became harder
to find as time passed, for each side grew more intransigent
in its position, and the problems became intermingled with
other political problems, and even world politics was impli-
cated. But the difficulties of the growing tensions between
the regions and the central government are long-standing ones,
and whatever the solution to the regional "movements" and
subsequent rebellion turns out to be, basic questions may
still remain to be answered. The regional "movements" in one
form or another were not difficult to foresee. Attitudes have
been developing over the years that have indicated some of
these problems; we must now turn our attention to some of
these attitudes and the symbols used to express them.
(13) We do not call these movements "revolts," especially
not during the course of 1957. Such a term would be
highly misleading. While these regions did "rebel"
against some of the authority of the central, government,
they remained within the state. In fact, this was never
an issue. Most central government services continued
functioning as before with normal communications between
region and ministry. Most of the army officers involved
not only remained in the army, but were given increased
legal authority for those "acts of defiance" through
State of War and Siege regulations which went into
effect in March 1957. The situation got worse in 1958
and some of the "movements," notably in Central Sumatra
and North Sulawesi, did change into "revolts."36
CHAPTER V
"PROVINCIALISM"
1
While affirmations of adherence to the unitary form may
have been the rule, especially in the early days after 1950,
expressions which gave rise to charges of "provincialism"
began to be heard—and as quickly were accompanied by denials
of the charge. "Provincialism" is more a symbol of political
accusation than a precise descriptive term. While it could
be used to imply the existence of local loyalties within a
wider community, it does not often help, by itself, to ex-
plain or describe the pattern or responses to political
stimuli. It, like so many terms in political jargon, ife use-
ful in emotion-evoking political debate, but adds little to
understanding of political situations, unless its use is
carefully circumscribed. For our purposes, the way in which
the symbol has come into prominence on the Indonesian politi-
cal scene is of interest.
There is no doubt that local loyalties in the form of
identifications with the various ethnic groups that make up
Indonesia do exist. But the implications of this almost
self-evident generalization for political action are not
easily drawn. Questions emerge that have not yet been
answered by empirical research; until this is done, conclusions
in this regard must remain highly tentative. With this in
mind, we can suggest some hypotheses that have a bearing on
the subject.
While for purposes of facility of speech we talk of
"the Indonesians," in fact we must have it clearly in mind
whom we are talking about. As a first gross division, we
might suggest that the problem of "local loyalties" as it
affects political action does not refer to the average small
farmer, the peasant, whose awareness extends little beyond
his village. He is cognizant of his ethnic group, and he is
also cognizant of Indonesia. His political responses, however,
are largely confined to the village, and are probably a
negligible factor—or at best a passive factor—in the larger
problems implied in the conflict between "regional" and
"national" loyalties. In other words, while the peasant may
be classified as "provincial" it is a village provinciality,37
and not concerned with the political disputes we will be dis-
cussing in this section. The problem concerns the articulate
minority, the educated or semi-educated, largely the city
dwellers from whom political symbols directly evoke responses.
Further, it is the leaders among this group, the opinion
formers, that have raised and fostered the disputes giving
rise to the tensions. And while ethnic variety among these
people can be determined, it is also true that these people
are in large measure "Indonesian.” Their education, their
work, their residence is often in places other than their
areas of origin. Their political attitudes are not deter-
mined primarily by their origin, but by their training. The
cultural factors of personality discovered in village studies
are not readily translated in terms of political action among
an educated elite. Other factors must be searched out.
There is, however, readily apparent even among the
articulate minority a dualism of loyalties that could easily
(and evidently at times does) give rise to tensions. On
the one hand there is felt a loyalty to the concept of Indo-
nesia and Indonesian nationalism that was fought for with
blood and suffering during the revolution, and which tries
to face the outside world with a united front; on the other
hand there is a consciousness of differences, often stemming
from ethnic origins, which leads to judgments of propriety,
conduct, status, and prestige. It is this latter phenomenon
that leads to conclusions of the ethnic basis of the provin-
cial problem in Indonesia.
But the question is whether these ethnic factors are
sufficient to explain the political difficulties that were
expressed as charges of provincialism. We would suggest
here that this is not the basis of the problem, and is actually
only an added confusion rather than a basic contributory
element.
It, is not at all certain that political actions are
based on ethnic differences. Such feelings, for example, do
not explain the patterns of party strength in the recent
national elections. Though some of the parties evidence a
preponderance of influence in certain areas, there was
sufficient diffusion of political strength in each area to
indicate that the leadership of each ethnic group is far
from politically unified. (1) Further, the responses of people
residing in regions other than their ethnic area has never
been systematically investigated. There is evidence, however,
(1) The best analysis of the recent elections, including
tables showing the distribution of votes, is in Feith,
op. cit.38
to indicate that these groups for purposes of politics identify
with their area of residence. If this pattern is regular,
there may be political and economic factors which far outweigh
the ethnic as bases for action or demand.
This is not to deprecate the extent of the problem faced
by Indonesian national leaders in unifying the great variety
of cultural forms present in the country. Nor can it be
denied that ethnic feelings—sometimes antagonisms—do
exist, and play a role of undetermined importance in moti-
vating a person's political reactions. We again face the
opposition of the ideal aspiration and the real situation.
The same speaker will utilize symbols of identification
claiming the unity of Indonesian nationality on one occasion;
and plead for a strengthening of unity on another. This
again may be interpreted as on the one hand the "ideological"
attempt to act as if an ideal goal is already reality, and
on the other hand the "technical" recognition that the ideal
is still far from achievement. Just how "far" is perhaps
the measure of the problem of "provincialism" and also the
measure of the inability thus far to solve it. In any case,
the cle§ir indications of regional loyalties—whatever the
basis—complicate the process of politics, but, at the time
of this writing (and in spite of the regional "revolts")
do not make it impossible.
2
Charges of "provincialism" arise when the representatives
of a region present demands for their region that are critical
of the programs being carried out by the central government.
These demands are often, but not always, expressed in terms
of the lack of implementation of the decentralization program.
In the earlier years of the unitary republic, the policy
most often criticized was concerned with the placement of
personnel in local areas. The charge was that too often the
choicer jobs were given to people not originally from the
region coneerne'd. Later, other problems became equally
prominent. It was complained that the use of development
resources was being unfairly distributed, and that the regions
whose products secured large amounts of foreign exchange
were seeing little returns for their contributions.
These complaints were usually expressed by speakers
claiming to. represent the "Outer Islands," and directed
against ’’Java.’! (It must be noted here that the division
between java and the Outer Islands is an old heritage going
back to Dutch practice.) The actual truth of the claims39
need not concern us here. (2) What is important is the
widespread and growing belief in what are felt to be real
grievances.
When complaints are made about the placement of per-
sonnel in the regions, reference generally i,s to the pamong
pradja—the civil administration corps resohsible for general
government as opposed to technical services. The positions
in question usually are those of Governor (head of a province),
Resident (head of a residency) , and Bupati, (head of a
kabupaten, or regency). The problem was immensely complicated
by the experience growing out of the revolution and the Dutch
efforts to establish federal states. The Dutch had to turn
government over to Indonesian personnel who were willing to
participate in their plans and staff these several govern-
ments. Feelings of hostility arose between those who
cooperated with the Dutch and those who did not; they were
labeled the "co"(operators) and the "non"(cooperators).
With the establishment of the unitary state in 1950,
and the concomitant extension of the power of the Ministry
of Internal Affairs, there was evidently a large-scale shift
in appointments, in which the "noihs"—those who did not
cooperate with the Dutch—were given preferential treatment.
A large source of supply of such people was in Java, where
in any case there was a larger number of people with govern-
mental training available. The greatest number of complaints
expressed in the parliamentary debates referred to Kalimantan,
but other areas were not ignored. A Sumatran leader sums up
the accusation, saying
The outer regions are getting the impression that
in the placement of personnel the key positions
are always reserved for our Javanese brothers. (3)
As clear as these complaints seem to be, they are not
uncomplicated. The speakers evidently recognize that ethnic
(2)	The "obje'cfive truth" of these charges would, of course, .
be difficult to establish, and would depend entirely on.,
the criteria of "contribution" and "distribution" chosen.
Some light is shed on the question of the supposed mono-
poly of top positions by one group in the very interesting
study by Soelaeman Soemardi, "Some Aspects of the Social
Origin of Indonesian Political Decision-Makers," Madjalah
Hukum dan Masjarakat, Vol. II, No. 2., April 1957ξ
pp"· 24-32----------
(3)	Mohammad Sjafei, non-party, IP/1952/m/55/p. 274.40
origin is not by itself a sufficient basis for opposition to
an appointment, and that as Indonesians they could not resent
Javanese officials merely because they were Javanese. Thus,
they modify their complaints, by claiming that they are made
only when there are capable personnel available locally.
Local people, they say, could do the job much better, for
they understand the local language and customs. Besides, it
demoralizes the existing staff when new people are placed
over them, even though the new appointees are not necessarily
more "capable." Referring to the personnel pattern in
Kalimantan, one speaker says:
All this would not lead to any objection from me
provided there is indeed no Kalimantan person that
could fill those positions, and provided the central
government holds honestly to the principle of "the
right man in the right place." Any Indonesian re-
gardless of where he is originally from, wherever
he is placed.-should be received with open arms by
the population concerned. (4)
The symbol to which all appeal is "the right man in the
right place" (the English phrase is usually used). There is,
as might be expected, a variety of situations covered by it.
The central government uses it as a slogan for its personnel
policy; the critics use it as a slogan against that policy.
The universality of the symbol in the face of this obvious
lack of agreement raises the question of where the distinc-
tions lie. Aside from the possibility of political pressures
motivating the various positions taken, there still seems to
remain the influence of the two trends of thought mentioned
in other contexts in this paper. The "ideological" argument
defines the symbol as referring to acceptability, by which
is meant trusted by the people, close to the people, etc.
The "technical" argument refers to capability, which is
identified by training, experience,—etc.
While purely ethnic considerations may influence attitudes
towards this problem, especially as regards prestige factors--
the positions in question are all high prestige positions—
they alone would be much too simple an explanation for a
complicated phenomenon. This is demonstrated by the cases in
which strong opposition was generated against appointments
of officials of the same ethnic background as the region con-
cerned, and the acceptance in other cases of officials from
other ethnic backgrounds. Further, one does not find
criticisms of appointments of people from all other ethnic
(4) A. R. Djokoprawiro, PIR, IP/1952/IH/81/379.41
groups, but rather mainly against one. And that one is not
the only group from which officials are drawn.
Whatever the factors leading to dissatisfaction, the
personnel policy of the central government led to criticisms
which gave rise to a new set of symbols which set the tone
of the "regional problem"—that of "Javanese imperialism."
Because of the dissatisfaction (over the central
government’s personnel policies) the feeling has
emerged that Kalimantan now is no longer ruled by
the Dutch, but an imperial colonialism from Jogja
has arisen. (5)
Does the Cabinet or even Parliament know that the
saying has been heard: "Gone is Dutch colonialism,
coming is Javanese colonialism”? (6)
The existence of such expressions has been an open
secret in Indonesia, which from time to time is denied offi-
cially. How widespread it has been, and what its pattern
of growth has been, however, is not known, and has not been
systematically investigated. The emergence of such feelings
is not simply a response to the personnel question, though
we notice them first in that context; it is tied in with a
more general attitude that most of what benefits are available
go to Java. Actually, the expression of dissatisfaction is
confused. It is not always Java and the Javanese that take
the bulk of the pie; often it is the central government And
Djakarta that are the culprits. It may be that there is an
identification of the central government and the Javanese, but
this is not always indicated by the sources. This is
supported by discontent among Javanese speakers also. The
mode of expression is probably a carry-over of the influence
of the prewar practice of dividing Indonesia into Java and
the Outer Provinces. In this relationship, Java was definitely
the center of attraction and the receiver of benefits. This
latter phenomenon is implied in statements such as the one
made by a Sumatran, after referring to the economic contribu-
tion of the Djambi area in Sumatra:
In spite of that, Djambi is nothing but Outer Terri-
tories, fodder for the center. (7)
T5) A. B. M. Jusuf, fLabor Party, RP/1950/IV/1638. The refer-
ence is to Jogjakarta as the capital of the Republic of
Indonesia of the revolutionary period.
(6)	Mohammad Sjafei, non-party, IP/1952/m/55/p. 274.
(7)	Mohammad Sjafei, non-party, IP/1952/m/55/p. 273. The
last phrase was "makanan pusat."42
3
In terms of statements that might be labeled "provincial,”
those concerned with the placement of personnel in the regions
soon took second place to another type—statements' critical
of the central government’s policies in distributing economic
benefits, usually expressed as development projects. While
the major part of Indonesia’s pqpulation and most of what
secondary industry exists is centered on Java, the greater
portion of foreign exchange earned by Indonesia is from the
export of primary products which originate in the outer
islands—oil, rubber, tin, copra. Foreign exchange is very
much in the forefront of people’s minds, because, given the
economically backward condition of the country, development
is seen as depending on the import of capital goods. It was
quickly apparent that development projects and general im-
provement of living conditions were not proceeding at a pace
commensurate with the ambitions of the revolution. Blame,
naturally enough, was placed on the central government.
The disparity between the amounts received by the central
government from the outer islands hnd the amounts spent by the
government in the regions became a point of severe criticism
for many speakers:
The people of Kalimantan know how much rubber from
Kalimantan was exported. They can calculate how
many millions of rupiahs flow into the central
government’s coffers each day in customs. They
realize they are assisting the central government
in the foreign exchange problem. But they are
disappointed that there are no moves py the govern-
ment in the field of development, not the smallest
thing that could give them some satisfaction. (8)
One port in Inderagiri—Rengat--produces three
millions a month in customs. This money is taken
completely by the central government. Under the
Dutch...a part of the money was given to the
principality there. But now, not one cent stays
in the region, and the Central Government isn’t
able to build one Junior High School for the whole
kabupaten.	(9)
(8)	Ir. Pangeran Mohd. Noor, Masjumi, RP/1950/III/p. 1211.
(9)	H. Siradjuddin Abbas, Perti (Pergerakan Tarbijah Islamijah
Islamic Educational Association), IP/1952/III/59/p. 289.
Perti is a small Moslem party; its greatest concentration
of strength is in Central Sumatra.43
It would be hard to claim that this concern over the
division of income and development projects is a result of
the diversity of cultures and forms in Indonesia. It seems
pretty clearly a problem of local interests, economic and
political, opposing the central government—and, it might be
said, opposing the national interest. Certainly, the central
government would have a good case for claiming that its
responsibilities were to the whole country, and that its
decisions as to where projects should be placed couldn't be
based merely on which particular part of the country produced
the crops that were exported. They would have to claim that
they viewed the economy of the country as an integral whole,
and they would have to claim that only the central government,
with its overall view, could best decide where the limited
resources could best be spent.
It is a good argument; but it didn't convince the regions
Regional spokesmen not only claimed that Java was getting the
best of everything; they pointed to waste and corruption in
the central government (ignoring the problem of corruption
in the regions), the increase in luxury goods to be seen in
Djakarta, and so forth. They compared this to the shortages
in their own regions, and the dissatisfaction increased.
This problem of distribution is one of the keys that sparked
the regional movements of 1956-1958. Ohe of the steps the
regional "councils" took was to establish direct barter
trade with foreign sources, exchanging raw materials for
commodities desired in the regions, bypassing the central
government's import-export regulations and controls.
According to leaders of the movements, the barter trade was
intended as a temporary expedient, to be halted as soon as a
reasonable settlement of the whole regional problem is
achieved. Nevertheless, it is a question that will make
settlement difficult. Having once tasted the fruits of direct
income, the regions will find it hard to surrender the
privilege unless some real concessions are made to them.
4
The accusations of "provincialism" and charges of
"Javanese colonialism" became stronger as the years passed
with little visible implementation of the decentralization
program. It is interesting to note the mode of expression
regarding these attitudes. The speakers claimed to be re-
porting feelings among the people of the regions, while at
the same time disassociating themselves from these attitudes.
The statements were made in support of criticisms of govern-
ment actions—or lack of action—or to indicate the need for
corrective action, and, possibly, as veiled threats of44
additional trouble if that action were not taken. The
dominant symbols of national politics (such as ’'democracy"
and "unitarism") were at the same time reiterated.
At first, the threat to national unity—a symbol which
has received universal approval—arising from regional
dissatisfaction was emphasized. Referring to the central
government's personnel policy, one speaker said:
1 consider this problem to be of the utmost im-
portance; the unity of Indonesia could be ruined
because of it, through the rise of provincialism
in the regions. (10)
Overtones of possible future danger are present in this state-
ment, but the tenor is mild compared to later remarks. The
same speaker two years later said, first defining his terms:
In my opinion, provincialism can be called a neurosis
of a group (segolongan bangsa) which arises from the
feeling that that group is treated unjustly, that it
is not given its proper due, etc., by another group.
Applying the definition specifically to regional feelings,
he continued:
Thus, many among the peoples outside Java feel that
they have been treated unjustly, and have not been
given their due by the people in Java. (11)
The dangers which were considered a future possibility in
1950 are viewed as imminent in 1952.
The threats implicit in earlier attitudes become specific
as the criticisms become more intense. In terms of the symbols
of Indonesian political life, one of the more favored ones,
that of the unitary state itself, is challenged. The danger
of separatism, not found in the first few years, comes to be
mentioned. More generally, it is the threat that dissatis-
faction will lead to the emergence of demands for a federal
structure. Again, the speakers disassociate themselves from
the attitude, claiming only to be reporting a growing opin-
ion to be found in the regions. The "federal symbol through-
out this period (1950-1956) remains an unpopular one,
and political wisdom would not allow its use. When it is
TIO) I.A. Moeis, PNI, RP/1950/IV/p. 1284.
(11) IP/1952/IU/lOl/p. 481.45
referred to, it is put in terms of "what they are saying"
in the regions. The statements in Parliament are put forth
as means to preserve the unitary state.
This loyalty to the symbol of the unitary state even
in the midst of the strongest of criticism deserves to be
emphasized. Those speakers most insistent on the interests
of the regions are quick to disavow the charge of provincial-
ism, denying that their demands are aimed at particularistic
desires. Their claim is that the regions must be built up
for the good of the whole state. At first, the attitude
was that the charge of provincialism should not be too
quickly issued each time regional problems were brought to
parliament.
I hope the Government will truly heed the voices
from the regions. Don't consider them as mere de-
tails. Furthermore, don't be quick to label all
the claims as "provincialism," for such charges only
increase and sharpen the tensions. (12)
Blame was put on the situation. It was a "reaction against
the shortcomings faced in regional development," (13) and
"not surprising if it existed." (14)
The real situation in Indonesia, the background against
which these debates and the development of these attitudes
have taken place has been one of general economic and politi-
cal deterioration culminating in the regional movements of
1956-1958. But, even these extreme actions, which have done
violence to the symbol of the unitary state, have been
accompanied by statements of loyalty to the symbol. Colonel
Ventje Sumual, leader of the "Bermesta" movement in East
Indonesia has been quoted in a press interview as saying that
the allegations of separatism are "'concoctions and lies'.
He firmly denied that the developments in the regions were
aimed at separating the areas from the Unitarian state."(15)
Colonel Barlian, head of the South Sumatra movement is quoted
as stating: "'We still love the Unitary State, but at the
same time we should also pay due attention to the interests
T12) Ir. Pangeran Mohammad Noor, Masjumi, RP/1950/III/p.1208.
(13)	Andi Gappa, Masjumi, IP/1952/IH/60/p. 296.
(14)	Maizir Achmaddyn's, Masjumi, IP/1952/III/75/p. 356.
(15)	PIA News Bulletin, August 27, 1957, p. 8 (English
langdage edition) .46
of our own province'." (16) And former Vice President Hatta,
after a trip to Central Sumatra, reports on the "Banteng
Council" in that region:
The Banteng Council itself has several times given
its standpoint... and sent its messages to the central
government, that its movement is not designed to
separate (from the Republic of Indonesia); neither
was it an ethnic movement. Rather it was a correc-
tive movement--corrective towards the central
government which has treated the regions as step-
children up till now, and corrective of the political
machinations at the center which has already become
characterized by the spirit and practice of corrup-
tion. (17)
He emphasized that it was a regional movement, aimed at
regional development, brought about because of definite faults
in the central government. In general, the regional move-
ments have been claiming to be the true defenders of the
ideals of the revolution. The attitude can be summed up as
follows:	It is not the Unitary State that is at fault; it
is the politicians in Djakarta who are ruining the Republic
by neglecting the regions while indulging their own interests.
Several conferences were held between regional and central
leaders in efforts to solve the problems raised by this novel
situation. There was little result, and 1957 passed with a
steadily worsening relationship developing. It would not be
surprising if the continued existence of the crisis is causing
many people--especially those supporting the regional regimes—
to revise some thoughts on the structure of the state. A
solution must be found; the regions have demonstrated their
tenacity. It may well be that the direction of change will
be towards a structure in which regional autonomy will be
constitutionally outlined—in other words, a federal struc-
ture. Thus far, the communication which has taken place on
the subject would sti.ll not indicate sucha solution. The
symbols of unitarism are still much in evidence. But ex-
pressions of disappointment with it are heard, and the term
"federal" has shown the beginnings of a return to respecta-
bility. But the situation is volatile, and change, when it
comes, will come rapidly.
(16)	PIA News Bulletin, June 26, 1957, p. 9 (English language
edition).
(17)	Pedoman, June 2, 1957.47
One can come to no firm conclusion regarding' "provin-
cialism" at this time. There is a general demoralization not
only in the regions, but also in Java, and even in Djakarta.
The failure of the national government to fulfill the promises
of the revolution, the growing realization of mismanagement,
the frustration at constantly being prevented from taking
action because of the centralization of decision-awaking, the
frustration of seeing the promises of the revolution subverted
in Djakarta politics have led to a general discontent which
has been searching for scapegoats. When added to the real
problems of ethnic differentiation and historical development
that do exist, it was perhaps natural that Java and the
Javanese became the whipping-boys for the growing protests
from the outer islands. What is meant, evidently, is
Djakarta, and not Java. But once the expression of anti-
Java symbols started, they multiplied. Given the general
discontent, however, the same or similar problems would have
arisen even if the whole country were of the same ethnic
group.
This does not lessen the fact that regional loyalties
are becoming stronger. The central government symbolizes
the nation, and the central government, especially since 1956,
is becoming a negative symbol, an authority to be opposed.
The leaders of the regional movements may try to maintain an
atmosphere of loyalty to the nation, but unless some
accommodation with the central government is worked out, and
the prestige of the central government given some concrete
form in the regions, regional loyalties will continue to
replace national ties.48
CHAPTER VI
CENTRAL-REGIONAL RELATIONS
I
Given the attachment to a structure of authority in which
the central power has at least nominal control and responsi-
bility for the totality of governmental affairs, together
with the recognition and acceptance that regional government
in some form shall be established, the question immediately
arises as to what expectations there have been as to the
relations between the central, authority and its regional
units.
No clear pictures of the respective roles emerge from
our sources. It is possible that the reason for this is the
absence of a set of delimited practices which could be used
as a point of departure in discussions. Or, it may be that
in the nature of political disputation, the demands for a role
for the regional units is deliberately left vague. In any
case, while partial patterns of expectations can be determined
regarding the central government, the case of the regional
governments is much more difficult.
There was a general agreement, at least at the beginning,
on the consequences of the unitary structure: that it is the
responsibility of the central government to dispose of the
regional problem. It has been first and foremost a task for
the central government to design and implement a satisfactory
decentralization program. Each of the cabinets included a
statement of its intention to carry out decentralization,
which would indicate at least a recognition that it could not
be ignored. When the programs were debated in Parliament,
there may have been criticism and opposition to many aspects
of government policy, but no hint of criticism of this intent.
The speakers, even the most ardent champions of the regions,
have not challenged the idea that the organization of the
regional government was to be designed by the central govern-
ment .
To understand this point, and its importance for the
development of the problem under consideration, we must digress
for a moment from discussion of the regional problem alone.
It has been noted as a "dynamic factor” that there is a "trend49
toward highly centralized governmental authority" (1) in the
newly emergent countries! of Asia, and to this generalization
Indonesia provides no exception. The tendency is connected
with the whole development of the nationalist movement on one
hand, and the high level of aspiration compared to the low
level of development on the other.
Considering the latter point first, the leaders of
Indonesia fully realize the shortcomings and difficulties
abounding in their country. They are painfully aware of the
lack of an educated and active citizenry, and the lack of
training in all fields of modern life. They know that
technically Indonesia is a very backward country. Yet
hopes are high, and there are aspirations to change these
characteristics. The need is to overcome these shortages
and reconstruct Indonesian society in a modern pattern. It
has been noted that leadership in this type of country is
undifferentiated. This, at one level, is the conscious
response to the problems readily apparent. Consciously the
feeling exists that available leadership is too scanty to be
specific, and each educated person has responsibilities
wider than his specialization. Since the greatest concentra-
tion of educated people is available only to the national
government, or the central leadership, i.t is the central
authority that must guide the reconstruction—and this leader-
ship must be provided in all fields.
A word should be said here about the role of leadership
in Indonesian society. When President Sukarno announced his
plans for "Guided Democracy" in 1957, it was greeted with
enthusiasm in some quarters, but it engendered strong
opposition too. But, while the plan itself was unacceptable
to several of the parties, there was not much of an attack
on the "leadership" element involved. The need for leadership
in Indonesian democracy is generally admitted, and reference
is often made in political debate not only to the people, but
to the people "and their leaders."
The concept of guidance and leadership advocated by
President Sukarno is not a new development. He--and many
others—have held the belief in the need for it for a long
time. In his first address as President of the United States
of Indonesia in December 1949, Sukarno said:
For us, an Eastern nation, the Indonesian nation,
democracy is not something new, popular rule is
not something new. But there is a difference
between our democracy and that of others. Eastern
(1) John F. Cacfy, "Evolving Political Institutions in
Southeast Asia" in Philip W. Thayer, ed., op. cit.,
p. 120.	---------50
democracy—more clearly Indonesian democracy that
has descended to us from generation to generation,
is democracy accompanied by leadership; democracy
with leadership.' That is Eastern democracy, Indo-
nesian democracy. The leader carries a great
responsibility. The leader must know how to lead.
The leader must lead.
But what after all is leadership? Using a minimal definition
of the exercise of influence over the actions of others, we
find a tradition of "leadership” that goes back into Indonesian
social history, summed up in a "paternal" relationship between
ruler and ruled. And, as a product of the history of Indone-
sian culture, the problem must be concerned with the factors
of prestige and status and the positions of leadership.
The social response to status positions is based more
on a habit of obedience than on any rational recognition of
accomplishment. The high-status people expect to be followed;
the ordinary people expect to give their obedience. The extent
to which this generalization does not hold true is perhaps
the best single measure of the extent of social change in
Indonesia. But how are high status positions—and thus leader-
ship positions—attained? We are here suggesting that it is
not by measurement of accomplishment, or rather, not by
measurement of accomplishment in fields of political concern
(note the large number of doctors and engineers in positions
af political importance). There must be other roads to these
positions, a subject demanding much further study. Obviously
there is no single process at work that will describe all
instances, and as the social change progresses, the pattern
will become even more diversified. Further, protest may be
accounted for in Indonesian history, but only by informal
means (whole villages moving away from an area under the con-
trol of a tyrant, passive resistance, etc.). "Constitutional"
means for channeling and resolving disagreements are rela-
tively new.
When, to this tradition of open obedience, the notion
of mufakat—the custom of arriving at agreement by the unani-
mous "sense of the meeting"—is added, some interesting spec-
ulation arises as to the nature of the "leadership" that is
to be exercised. The leader, or the person in a prestige
position, may be approached with disagreements. Discussion
is to take place until the disagreements are resolved in
unanimous consent. But h.ow far will, the protesters carry
their arguments in the face of the opposing opinions of the
higher -status person? In fact, how well will their arguments
be presented in his presence? Open agreement may be reached,
but to what extent is it really a meeting of the minds? or
is it that the protesters subordinate their discontent for
the sake of the open agreement, only to have it emerge later
when they realize their protests have not been fully answered?51
This is a problem of interpersonal relationships. Tradi-
tional culture made clear demands in this regard, but the
process of social change is doing them violence. Until a
new pattern of such relationships becomes sufficiently
stabilized to accommodate disagreements, we can expect a
high degree of instability in the political process.
2
The building up of the country is more consciously
professed in Indonesia than ever was the case in the West,
and the social responsibility to participate in this process
is constantly reiterated. "Natural" growth is out of the
question; the objective is "planned" growth.
We cannot allow and surrender (that) improvement
to mere developments. We reject the concept of
"evolutionary determinism” which, as you know from
sociology, considers a community as the "resultant
of forces, often mechanical, that operate almost
automatically regardless of man's efforts." (2)
Whether or not people actually act according to these pro-
fessions of faith is beside the point. Actions, demands,
claims are all justified by reference to this ideal.
The growth is to be national, and the leadership is
responsible for the development of the whole Indonesian
nation. The image of development is for the country as a
whole, and the plans are referred to as national. This may
in part be a consequence of a system of symbols with which
the nationalist movement developed, and especially with which
the revolution was fought. Great stress was placed on
national unity to resist the enemy, and the victory was
attributed to the national will of the Indonesian people.
When, after the revolution, problems did not immediately
disappear, the same symbol of national unity was appealed
to in order to meet them. (This is particularly true of
President Sukarno, who goes a step further in arguing that
the revolution itself is not yet complete. It is also true
of many others). Translated into practical terms, the
appeal to national unity may be expressed as an appeal to
follow the plans of the leaders, which, to all intents and
purposes—up to the end of 1956—meant the national govern-
ment .
(2) Roeslan Abdulgani, Funksi Penerangan di Indonesias
Kementerian Penerangan R. 17 (nd), pp. 63^64.52
The centralization of responsibility, or the attribution
of initiation of action to the central government,has been
readily apparent in almost all the political communication
that has taken place in regard to specific problems. Demands
are stated in terms of appeals for the central government to
take a certain action, or for the central government to correct
a situation. Motions passed by groups, resolutions taken at
meetings, speeches in Parliament all reflect this tendency.
It is especially true for technical developments, in fields
such as education, industry, agriculture, or transportation.
It is also true for demands as to regional problems, though
in recent years the universality of this mode of expression
has been somewhat reduced.
Prior to 1956, regional demands were demands for action
by the central government. Criticisms of the central govern-
ment's actions were expressed as charges of neglect of regional
interests. What was being demanded, essentially, was more
central activity in a region rather than less. While
general claims were made for more regional activity, specific
appeals were made to the central government to carry out
development in the regions. This may be interpreted as
acknowledgment of the central government's responsibility
for regional development, or it may be a function of the
vagueness of the picture of the regional roles. Certainly
it seems to conflict with the general demands for a regional
scope of action. But it suggests that the lack of that
scope of action has not been the root of Indonesia's political
difficulties.
The point deserves to be stressed. The complaints we
have already discussed, such as the personnel policies, or
the distribution of goods, are claims against the way the
central government's policies have been carried out, or
criticisms against the adoption of specific policies. There
was no challenge, in the earlier years, of the central
government’s possession of the role of initiator as such in
those areas of activity. This will be found to be true for
other aspects of the decentralization program as well.
Demands are for central government action in granting autono-
mous status, in providing for regional legislatures, etc.
The complaints arose from feelings of concrete grievances,
which most probably stemmed from the tremendous gap between
promised ideals and disappointing reality, and from the slow,
seemingly invisible pace of development in the regions. When
problems arose and demands were made, they weren't specifically
answered, but were greeted with appeals to unity. In other
words, the complainers were being told to wait patiently and
follow, the national leaders.53
To tell a person to "be unified” does not satisfy an
urge for guidance in action. The people were already
"unified"; what they wanted were material results. The
people were told also to work hard for the completion of the
revolution, but there was no guidance given as to how they
should work hard, and few examples of it set. Besides, it
was difficult to work hard while waiting months for decisions
from Djakarta. Unity might be the basis of an appeal, but
only if put in terms of a concrete line of action, such as
fighting a revolution, militarily, against an invader.
Without an accompanying line of action, appeals to unity
are meaningless; they do nothing to alter the situation or
mitigate the circumstances which gave rise to the original
grievance. The failure of the central government; while it
held the monopoly of authority, was its failure to provide a
firm line of action, and its failure to keep the promises it
too easily made. It barricaded itself behind its legal posi-
tion of responsibility for national development, and blinded
itself by the universal lip-service paid to the immaterial
ideal of unity. The result was the regional actions of
1956-1958.
When military leaders took over the reins of regional
government in some provinces, and arrogated the role of
supervisors of activity in the regions, they effectively
challenged the reliance on central government action. These
were essentially the culminating acts of long-standing and
ever-growing impatience at the non-fulfillment of the central
government's role. It was not an explicit challenge to the
formulation of the role. For the first time, regional forces
expressed their initiative in formulating responses to
regional interests. But this is what the central government's
decentralization program was designed to achieve in the first
place. No violence was done to the images communicated in
discussions and demands concerning regional autonomy.
These regional acts of defiance cannot be assessed
quite so easily. Since the central authority was successfully
and publicly defied for over a year, there is no telling what
forms central-regional relations will take in the future.
Many of the forms of central government responsibility for
development have been preserved, especially in the more tech-
nical fields. But, the regions have expressed themselves
strongly as capable of initiating action themselves. It is
doubtful that responsibility can be quite as centralized
again.54
3
Especially prior to 1956, the predominant expectation
was that the central government held responsibility for
building up the regions. But criticisms was leveled against
the way that responsibility was handled. The dissatisfaction
became stronger and stronger, resulting finally in outright
defiance. In general, the criticisms or demands were ex-
pressed in statements that the central government must pay
more attention to the interests of the regions, or, negatively,
that the regions were being treated as "step-children.” The
latter quickly became a popular symbol to indicate the less
than satisfactory treatment accorded a region. Usually, but
not always, statements of complaint were accompanied by the
symbol, as:
In Riauw there is not a thing being done by the
Central Government for the progress of the area...
What are the activities of the Government (in
Atjeh)? There aren’t any. (3)
While the demand for central government action has been
the most pervasive in defining the’Step-child’treatment,
there is evidence that the same symbol was also used more
directly to relate to the values of decentralization. It
has been used to symbolize the situation in which the regions
because autonomy has not yet been given... cannot
carry out development projects in their own regions. (4)
The symbol of the regions as "step-children" has been
associated with the dissatisfaction in the regions at the
course of implementation of central government policies.
The way out was reform of these policies and practices in
general; specifically, quicker and better implementation of
the decentralization program. Thus, in the national election
campaign, the PNI — the party often associated with "Java"—■
could state:
If PNI wins the election, it will struggle for the
end of the situation in which the regions feel
treated as step-children. It will strive for this
by assuring autonomy as broad as possible. (5)
(3)	Mr. Burhanuddin, non-party, IP/1952/m/51/p. 257.
(4)	I. R. Lobo, Progressive, IP/1952/IH/64/p. 311.55
Thus the symbol of the step-child covers two types of
demand:	more central government activity in the region;
quicker implementation of the decentralization program. The
images evoked by it are associated with other complaints.
Connected with the charge that not enough is being done in a
region is the accusation mentioned earlier that most of what
goods are available go to the central government, or to Java
Connected with the demand for more decentralization is the
question of financing projects in the regions. It may be
appropriate to mention here the metaphor sometimes used of
the regions coming to Djakarta as "beggars" asking for funds
to carry out projects. This became necessary, according to
the argument, because regional government has been financed
by subsidy from the central government.
4
We must make some attempt to approach the problem of a
role for the regions, some image of what the regions are
supposed to do. A region, according to the constitution,
and according to the ideals expressed in the decentralization
theory, is to hAve the authority of governing its own affairs
(rumah tangga sendiri—lit., its own household, following
Dutch terminology) . Vie can gain some insight into the
problem by examining the attitudes towards the meaning of
"affairs" as it is used here.
It must first be reiterated that on one side of this
question is the central government’s constant attitude,
which influences its interpretation of the sphere of activity
for the regions—the insistence on the consequences of the
unitary structure, and the central government's monopoly of
responsibility for the general welfare of all Indonesia.
This is very well summed up—specifically relating to decen-
tralization—in the explanation given by the government of
its draft of a new basic law on regional government, sub-
mitted to Parliament in 1954. It said:
We have created the Unitary State; by its nature
it centralizes all affairs which have reference to
the interests of the whole territory of that Unitary
State, and the whole unified nation. This central-
ization has two aspects:
I) The task of the unitary state regarding those
centralized interests;
(5) Sistim Ketatanegaraan menurut pendirian PNI-Front
Marhaerils~ (ndj , p.	This was a pamphlet issued for
the ejection campaign.56
2) The supervision of activities dealing with local
interests, which, though they are local, because of
their interrelationships with other interests
around them, are also in a sense public interests,
as viewed from the unity of the state and the
nation. (6)
Or again in the Government’s answer to the debates on the
bill:
The Government repeats its opinion.... that the
autonomous regions in our country are all integral
parts of the Unitary Republic of Indonesia, which
means that the government of the autonomous region
implements a portion of the task of national govern-
ment for its own particular area, while continually
keeping in mind the character and interests of that
unified national government. (7)
To such a concept of the relation of regional affairs
to national affairs, no specific objection was found in our
sources. There was some feeling expressed, however, that
this formulation emphasizes the center too much, to the
detriment of the regions. More opposition is found, and this
grew over the time-period covered, to the notion of the
centralization of authority. This however is more a protest
against methods of carrying out government than objec-
tion to the type of expressions given above. Given the strong
position of the symbol of the unitary state, it is not sur-
prising that the issue of theory of the structure of a state
was avoided. Debate over the composition of regional affairs,
was thus carried out in the framework of the unitary state.
But this still allowed a wide area of variation, and a com-
plete turnabout of official approach.
In Law No. 22 of 1948 and in the laws passed in 1950
setting up the provinces on Java and Sumatra, it was provided
that matters entering regional affairs were to be enumerated,
leaving residual powers with the central government. (8) Over
time, this formulation was reversed to the point that in the
new Law No. 1 of 1957 residual powers were in effect left
with the regions. At least they could take up any matter
not regulated by higher levels.
T6)	IP/1954/V/136/p. 1003.
(7)	IP/1954/V/138/p. 1018.
(8)	See my previous Interim Report, Decentralization in
Indonesia, op. cit.57
In the period 1950-1957 some matters were transferred
to the regions, in each case there being a government regula-
tion specifying which responsibilities would be given to the
regions, and which would still be held by the Ministry con-
cerned. Two interesting points immediately emerge from this
type of arrangement. First, while a function was transferred
to a region, it was usually stipulated that technical questions
relating to that function were still maintained as the
responsibility of the central ministry. Thus, while the pro-
vinces were given responsibility for elementary school
buildings and equipment, the central government maintained
competence in regard to standards and techniques. In
general, whenever these transfers have taken place, the
regulation stipulates the central government's dominance
in technical matters. (9)
While at first the formulation of Law No. 22, 1948, was
generally accepted, dissatisfaction with it soon appeared,
perhaps with the realization that only few matters were
actually being transferred. Or perhaps it was realized, as
one speaker pointed out, that an item by item enumeration
would take years. Several speakers proposed that it would
be better to specify those matters which would remain in the
hands of the central government, and allow the remainder to
the regions. Examples of the type of affair to remain the
concern of the center according to these proposals,would be
foreign affairs, defense, currency, etc.
It is not clear from these suggestions how the implica-
tions of this reversal of the original arrangement would be
treated. Specifically, it was never explained whether the
central ministries would be eliminated, or would remain in
purely advisory relations to the operational services of the
regions. Evidently what was intended was more an emphasis
on allowing the regions more fields of activities than any
cohesive plan for the central-regional relationship. In
some cases a further step was taken in elaboration of this
approach. Matters that would be the concern of the Central
Government, it was suggested, should be specified. All
remaining matters would be available to the regions, depending
on their dapabilities and needs. Implicitly, the regions
themselves would determine their own ability to take over a
function.
(9) See, for example, M. Hutasoit, Compulsory Education in
Indonesia, Unesco, Studies on Compulsory Education, XV,
1954.58
5
The predominant symbol of demand in regard to the con-
stitution of the affairs of a region is need for a division
of authority (pembagian kekuasaan) between the central govern-
ment and regions. Whatever scheme is proposed for settling
the division, one tentative suggestion can be made. By the
authority that is to be divided is implied a set of ongoing
activities—we might here use the term functions—which must
be performed by government. The question at hand is what
organizational arrangement must be made for performing them—
region or center.
The content of regional affairs then does not seem to
be general areas of authority within which a region would be
free to act; it is rather a series of operations which are to
be carried out by the region. Further, since they cannot be
separated from the techniques of implementation, these opera-
tions cannot be isolated from the general performance of the
activity as directed by the ministry. In other words, there
would be no escaping the need for an integrated effort
between regional and central authorities. If this is an
accurate reflection of the attitudes involved, the problem
of the central government maintaining technical control—or
a monopoly over technical advisory services—becomes more
interesting, for it immediately raises the question of innova-
tion .
If the region is to have an area of activity within which
it is free to act, it must have the implicit power to recog-
nize new problems, and devise new techniques for meeting them.
This is strengthened by the democratic demands of popular
participation, and the need to respond to popular desires on
the local level. It is given additional significance by the
recognition of diversity in the country, and the concomitant
need to adapt to differing local situations. As one measure
of the efficiency of government, we may take the speed as
well as the success with which it recognizes and meets problems,
while still satisfying the more abstract demands of the
community as to forms. This is evidently the basis for de-
manding power for local authorities,and it can be satisfied
if the local authority has the freedom to make decisions.
If, however, the division of authority indeed implies a dis-
tribution of already existing functions, the question of
innovation and adaptation to local needs is not so easily
answered. The power to make changes in the existing techniques
would have to be located. The location of the advisory authori-
ties would have to be determined (again, many of the problems
implicit in this discussion could be ftiet by "deconcentration"59
of central government activities, without "decentralization"
of government). The question of innovation is not discussed
in our sources.
The general practice has been for the central government
to decide on the question of regional capacities to take
over functions. (It has been suggested, however, that the
regions themselves should decide. This does not have too
wide currency in our sources.) It has been recognized that
even when residual powers were to be left with the regions,
there would be a possible limitation on the ability of a
region to perform all the activities left to it. This very
real difficulty could be, and is, quite frustrating to the
achievement of ideals. The problem consists mainly of
finances and competent personnel.
Concerning finances, there is the general recognition
that any authority granted to a region without the means of
financing the operation would not satisfactorily fulfill the
requirements of "autonomy." The debates were not too specific
on this point. In discussions of regional competence, more
emphasis seemed to be placed on the lack of trained personnel
(tenaga ahli--expert manpower). The argument of the shortage
of such personnel has been one of the most pervasive in
limiting the implementation of the whole decentralization
process.
The argument is that Indonesia has available only a
very small number of people technically qualified to perform
certain functions necessary to the governmental process.
The numbers are so few that they are insufficient to staff
even the central government. A function cannot be turned
over to a region unless the region has the means—including
the personnel--to carry it out. Thus, for the time being,
there are matters which properly should be included in the
affairs of regions, but which, due to the absence of experts,
must be performed by the central government.
This argument is a persuasive one, for none would demand
the regions be given functions they are incapable of performing;
none would argue for a deterioration of services. But from
the point of view of the critics of the government’s caution,
it was not sufficient. Several speakers pointed out that the
argument could be used against the central government itself,
and against the whole revolution, for certainly Indonesia
as such is faced with a shortage of technical personnel.
Such an argument, they said, was the continuation of "colonial
thinking." The problem would be met, according to this
approach, by moving what personnel is available to the regions.
The same people would be in office, but under regional
authority.60
But the counter-argument does not answer the basic
problem of who should determine the capability of a region
to perform a function. As a result, there remains the
dilemma:	Do you allow a carefully controlled central govern-
ment directed performance of services? Or do you gamble on
a deterioration of services by granting them to the regions
which do not have the ideal capacity for carrying them out?
If the former is chosen, does it guarantee any better perform-
ance of services?
The demand for leaving residual powers to the regions
grew apace with thelack of satisfaction with the central
government’s development program, and would probably correlate
well with the growth of complaints against the government’s
handling of the distribution of goods. Had the services
provided by the government measured up to any appreciable
degree to the promises made, and the hopes engendered, there
would have been much less searching for alternatives by those
who felt themselves to be suffering most. But in the
context of the general economic and developmental difficulties
faced by Indonesia, compared to the level of promises being
made by the political leaders, the results were inevitable.
The golden age promised by the revolution was manifestly not
at hand, and in disappointment, the existing organization was
criticized for it.
In any case, this emphasis on capabilities of performing
functions supports the thesis that the division of authority
involves a "fund" of functions which must be distributed to
one authority or another. To follow this up we would have
to go far beyond the realm of this study. We would have to
investigate the whole concept of the purpose of government
and the scope of government action for Indonesians. Indonesia,
as a new country, did not develop acceptable roles of govern-
ment over an evolutionary period; it came full grown into
the modern world faced with a multiplicity of problems which
it is automatically assumed are for the government to solve.
What it did inherit was a tradition of colonial administra-
tion in which the relation of government to the population
was a paternal one.
6
There is one role for government that must be specifically
mentioned,for it is intimately tied in with the image of the
central government as the monopolist of leadership. Economic
development is a major concern of the new countries of Asia.
The course they have chosen to achieve their goals rejects
the notion of private initiative competing within the confines61
of the regulatory powers of the state. Indonesia is no ex-
ception to this; government assumes the responsibility for
general economic development by positively directing its
energies in direct or partial ownership of enterprises, and
the direct stimulation of other industries by means of its
general economic policy. Private initiative is in principle
channeled by government programs of technical instruction and
general education, and protection. And the government sets
standards and controls for the conduct of enterprise.
Activities of this sort present a tremendous challenge,
for which the new government of Indonesia was poorly prepared,
in terms of technology, to undertake. Professor Cady has
noted that:
The policy of state-directed economic development...
has had and will have far reaching effects on the
evolution of political institutions. In the first
place it saddled fledgling governments with onerous
responsibilities extending far beyond the minimal
services afforded by prewar colonial regimes. (10)
The problems that arise over the realization of the ideal
are technical; there is little dispute as to the goal. But
the technical problems are overwhelming, especially in terms
of the high level of aspiration of the goals. As little
prepared as the central government is to deal with these
problems, how much further from achievement of the goals are
the units further down the hierarchy.
The concern for "development" and the "building up" of
the country pervades almost all political debate, and is
perhaps the most frequently used symbol in demands for decen-
tralization. In such a context it raises a question as to
the control of economic policies, or at least part of them,
which, if carried to its logical conclusion, challenges the
monopoly of decisions held by the center. To the extent that
the regional spokesmen are demanding only that the central
government act more often in their region, this need not
present a problem. If, however, they are demanding the right
to make independent decisions in these activities, a very
serious difficulty arises: Can the central government afford
to allow a part of its power over economic development out
of its hands? Recalling the various shortages Indonesia is
faced with, and comparing them to the magnitude of the
problem (and the attitudes towards leadership), the central
(10) Cady, op. cit., p. 119.62
government may well decide, in the normal course of events,
that it cannot do so. But, involved in its own difficulties,
the central government has not demonstrated its ability
for efficient expeditious operation in the eyes of the
regions. Thus its moral position of leadership is compromised,
and its legal monopoly of power and ultimate responsibility
for decisions is challenged.63
CHAPTER VII
THE DECENTRALIZATION LAWS
I.
It seems clear that the primary demand for action was
directed to the central government. Decentralization was a
necessity unanimously agreed upon, and it was up to the
central government to carry it into effect. A constitutional
basis for it was in existence, and inherited laws to give it
structure. Indonesian political debate depends in large
measure on legal form, and demands are often couched in terms
of legislation deemed necessary for the particular desire.
The laws themselves become symbols in the communication process
Thus we must consider the attitudes towards the basic laws
on regional government, for they will help give insight into
the whole course of the program.
As we already pointed out, the new unitary Republic of
Indonesia started with the assumption that there would be
established units of regional government which would have
the right to decide upon their own affairs. Growing out of
the agreements between the United States of Indonesia and
the Republic of Indonesia (Jogja) it was accepted that R.I.
Law No. 22 of 1948 would be the basis for those units.
Recognizing the importance of central-regional relations,
and given the role of legal forms in Indonesian political
thought, it is not surprising that Law No. 22 was regarded
by many as a major step in the political reconstruction of
the country. For some, it, or the spirit behind it, evoked
enthusiasm:
(By this law) the Republic of Indonesia has indi-
cated to the outside world that the Indonesian nation
is capable of organizing its government internally,
based on democracy, representation, and consultation.
Law No. 22 of 1948 is a national document and also
a national monument. (1)
The Natsir cabinet, the first one of the newly reunited
Republic, foresaw no great difficulty in utilizing the prin-
(1) Mr. M. Nasroen, Pembentukan dan Tingkatan Daerah Otonom,
Djakart,a, Endang~ 1954, p. 21.	~64
ciples and provisions of that law. In its program it included
the statement that:
In R.I. Law No. 22 of 1948 the possibility is
opened for the democratization of government, even
though its implementation meets with great diffi-
culties due to insufficient preparations. Thus
the Government will propose a law for all Indonesia
which in general will not differ much from that
law.
Provisionally, outside of Java and Sumatra, the
Government will urge the establishment of govern-
ments which can be considered as preparation for
the creation of autonomous regions in accordance
with R.I. Law No. 22 of 1948.	(2)
This statement sums up well the attitudes towards the
legal basis of regional government in 1950. It was acknowledged
that a single law for the whole country was needed, replacing
the two laws, each valid in a different area; this was not
expected to cause difficulties, since the 1948 law provided
sufficient guidance. But troubles were already beginning
to show, Natsir himself signalling them by his reference
to "difficulties of implementation." Criticisms of the
Government statement were made during the debates in Parlia-
ment, but still the feasibility of Law No. 22 was not directly
challenged.
If it indeed provides a basis, and efforts have
already begun in its implementation, there is no
reason for the Government to delay efforts in this
direction. If R.I. Law No. 22 is still unsatis-
factory, let the Government quickly take the initia-
tive in proposing changes in that law in as short
a time as possible.....Wouldn’t it be better if
the Government as quickly as possible proposed a
bill guided by the existing laws, and then carried it
oiit uniformly for all Indonesia? This task shouldn't
be too difficult, (3)
Law No. 22, which had been applied down to the second
level on Java at the time the unitary state was reformed,
seemed also to be accepted on Sumatra, even though the divi-
sions of territory there, at the second level, were not legally
validated. Several speakers refer to efforts that already
(’2) RP/1950/11/330.
(3) Zainal Abidin Achmad, Masjumi, RP/III/1950/831.65
had taken place to bring the governmental situation there
into line with the plans of the law. The steps generally
were taken by the governors of the three provinces of
Sumatra. The second level units, while not legalized according
to law, operated, and were often accepted as if they had
been.
The Jogja law did not completely escape criticism, but
at least in the parliamentary debates, opposition was
sporadic and unspecific. But as problems of implementation
became more serious and it became apparent that the govern-
ment could not fulfill its promise to provide a new law for
the whole country, Law No. 22 began to lose some of the
favorable symbolism that had been attached to it. Prime
Minister Sukiman, who replaced Natsir, in presenting his
program to Parliament said:
The basic difficulty is the lack of a regulation
on regional government which is uniform for all
Indonesia.
Law No. 22 of 1948, with three levels of autono-
mous regions...is difficult to apply in some areas.
In connection with that, the Government will
review Law No. 22 of 1948 so that it can, after it
has been amended and perfected, become the law of
the unitary fetate applicable to the whole territory
of the Republic of Indonesia.
But he went on to point that much could still be done
in the field of decentralization:
Without waiting for that new law on regional govern-
ment, the Government will complete the regulations
which are now valid...(thus giving) content to the
autonomous regions (which have already been estab-
lished) .	(4)
A good deal of uncertainty can be noted, caused evidently
by the confusion of legal values with political maneuvering
in fulfilling the program. A point of implementation caused
the downfall of the Natsir Cabinet; (5) yet the point was at
T4) RP/1951/X/4191,4192.
(5) Prior to the formation of the unitary state, the Republic
of Indonesia (Jogja) issued Government Regulation 39,
1950, to form temporary regional councils on the basis
of organizations in the region, which would serve until
there could be elections for the councils demanded in the66
best an expedient designed to cover a transitional period.
No one disagreed that some such step ought to be taken, and
no one would openly oppose making the period as short as
possible. The assumptions of the decentralization law were
in no way challenged. But the political problem became
enmeshed in the legal. A new provisional measure was needed,
or even better, the holding of elections; dissatisfaction with
the existing organization was demonstrated. However it
seemed pointless to do anything while imminently awaiting
the new basic law for the whole country. Impatience with the
existing laws grew. Prime Minister Wilopo in 1952, repeated
in essence the same statement regarding the laws that Sukiman"
had given in 1951. But the difficulty of actually producing
a bill was now an open secret. Wilopo admitted, in answering
the debates on his program, that he could not give a date
when the new bill would be submitted.
The disappointment and loss of hope was becoming more
widespread. The optimism that ,in spite of the lack of a
uniform law,efforts in the direction of decentralization
could be carried out seemed to be dying. A growing impatience
at the delays in producing a draft took its place.
We indeed agree with the Government that the present
situation cannot be tolerated any longer... thus we
request an affirmation from the Government: when
will Parliament receive the bill for the law demanded
by article 131 of our provisional constitution? (6)
In 1953, the first Ali Sastroamidjojo cabinet came into
office. It no longer claimed reliance on Law No. 22, but
specifically—in answer to the debates on its program—stated
that experience proved the two separate laws insufficient.
In general, the symbol used was that the two laws "no longer
were in accordance with the development of the community."
The Ali program included the hope that the new law could be
proposed to Parliament within three months. And in early
1954 a bill was introduced and started on its way through
the parliamentary mill. But the road was a long one, and
the solutions proposed in it to some of the outstanding prob-
lems were not immediately accepted. A revised version was
decentralization law. In 1951 a motion in Parliament
introduced by Radikusumo of PNI called for the suspension
of activities under regulation 39, and also the suspen-
sion of all councils formed under its authority. The
Natsir cabinet, which strongly opposed the resolution
resigned after its passage.	’
(6) B. Sahetapv Engel, Democratic Fraction, IP/1952/III/98/45767
submitted in 1955, when Mr. Sunarjo replaced Prof. Hazairin
as Minister of Internal Affairs. But when the Ali cabinet
fell in July 1955, the bill still had not been passed, and
it was inherited by the Burhannddin Harahap cabinet. Also
in the All period,, in an attempt to solve the problem of
legislation, a Commission was established headed by
Sutardjo Kartohadikusumo with the task of helping to draft
suitable bills. Many were drafted, but few made any progress
towards enactment.
Implementation of the decentralization program was
hindered through the years for a variety of technical reasons.
One of these was the difficulty of drafting a law suffi-
ciently perfected in its details through all the changes of
cabinet and Ministers of Internal Affairs, and still
acceptable to the political parties represented in Parliament.
Lacking the law, while aware that it had to be forthcoming,
many matters were postponed. While the government waited
for the law, the situation deteriorated. The delays cannot
be separated from the general political impasse in Indonesia
caused by a multiplicity of parties with unspecific programs
which did not differ in major matters (except in a few out-
standing cases), and the growing frustration of	unfulfilled
ambitions. But while general political difficulties may
have made any solution to the regional problem impossible
until goals were made more realistic in terms of possibility,
attention was focused on laws, and the hope that their
appearance would solve problems.
The new law finally appeared in 1957, though actually
pas,sed by Parliament in December 1956. Except in a few
important details, it was not very different from Law No. 22.
Seven years had passed* by, and by that time the regional
movements had gone from talk to action. The difficulties of
orderly implementation of decentralization were manifoldly
increased. The new law, rather than being the major milepost
in the development of the program as was hoped,	is
instead, for the time being, incidental. The regional actions
of 1957 and 1958 radically changed the emphasis of debate.
From a growing stress on the need for legislation, in one
blow legislation was shunted aside in the State of Emergency,
and a system of bargaining between central government and
regional forces took its place. Debate turned to the need
to "normalize" the situation.
But the new law is not without interest to us. Many of
its forms are. still being followed in many areas, and its
promises are of use in settling the discontent. It must be
remembered that the regional movements were designed to hurry68
the fulfillment of the decentralization program, not to
destroy it. When Indonesia emerges from its present crisis
the existence of the new decentralization law may well be
one of the factors for stabilization. It is at least a
minimal requirement for alleviating the tensions now existing
between central government and the regions.
2
There are still questions to be raised as to the role
of these laws in the whole decentralization process, but
these are involved in the general question of the role of
laws in the Indonesian political system as such. Answers to
these questions would demand extensive investigation of their
own. But as a result of this study of a particular politi-
cal problem, some of the questions can perhaps be phrased a
little more clearly.
First of all, Indonesia inherited a complete legal
system from the Dutch, and an almost complete governmental
structure. We have already mentioned that the idea of decen-
tralization was current and accepted before the war. A popular
demand stated in much of Indonesian political oratory is the
need to change the "colonial system" to a "national system"
in various fields. It is not always clear exactly what is
meant, whether there is to be a radical alteration of procedures,
content, and purpose, or that the changes are to be mainly in
titling and personnel. Regarding decentralization, commenta-
tors have tried to make a case for the advance for the Indonesian
system as first laid down in Law No. 22 of 1948 over its
prewar predecessor. The question therefore is the extent to
which legal forms in contemporary Indonesia follow Dutch patterns,
and the extent to which changes have been made. Further, to
what extent is the importance given to the role of laws in the
political process an inheritance from the Dutch system of
political values, and to what extent does it derive from
original cultural sources.
One of the points raised in support of the thesis that
Indonesian decentralization is an: improvement over the Dutch
has been that in the earlier system tire autonomy given to the
regions was largely devoid of content and largely meaningless
in terms of the important practices of government. In con-
trast, the autonomy promised by the provisional constitution
and the decentralization laws of Indonesia would be "as broad
as possible," presumably going much further than the Dutch
were willing to go. Yet the complaints that have grown up
in the past seven years belie that claim, and the critics speak
of the present program in much the same way as the commentators
refer to the Dutch program.69
But the promise of the laws is there, and the constitu-
tional prescription is indisputable. What then is the rela-
tionship between legal form and actual practice? This cannot'
be answered at the present time. We can only suggest, on
the basis of this one problem, that legislation may be more
a statement of ideal purpose than any framework for immediate
action, and that the key role, legally, is in the escape
clauses of transitional arrangements that allow postponement '
of action, or the gradual changing of a situation. But
one important change from the prewar situation is that it
is now up to the Indonesians themselves to effect the system
outlined, in the laws. The relationship of law to practice
will turn out to be whatever Indonesians make of it.70
CHAPTER VIII
THE REGIONAL REPRESENTATIVE COUNCIL
1
Regional autonomy in Indonesia implies the existence of
local organizations established to perform certain operations
of government and to fulfill certain aspirations. (1) The
decentralization program is designed to bring these structures
to life. Up to now we have been considering the roles these
organizations were envisaged as playing. Now we must turn to
the specific structures created to carry out the roles. We
shall concentrate on two institutions around which most of
the debate has centered: the Regional Legislature and the
Kepala Daerah.
In keeping with the importance of the symbol of democracy,
it has been automatically assumed that the regional organiza-
tion would be endowed with a popular representative body.
In the prewar decentralization plans this was an important
element which was referred to as a demonstration of the
direction the program was taking. During the revolution,
together with the establishment of some kind of national
representation through the Komite Nasional Indonesia Pusat,
there were parallel bodies set up in the regions.	(2) Law
No. 22 on regional government^passed in 1948 contained specific
provision for a representative body. The Constitution of
1950 specified popular representation as a condition for the
autonomous divisions provided for in article 131. The
requirement can be summed up in the words of one observer of
the subject:
A Swatantra must, as an absolute condition, have a
democratic organization in which power must be in
the hands of the people of the region....The highest
instruments of authority must be held by a Regional
Representative Council.the organization of which
must be determined by election. (3)
11) For descriptions of these organizations, see my earlier
interim report and John D. Legge, Problems of Regional
Autonomy in Contemporary Indonesia" Cornell Modern Indo-
nesia Project, Interim Reports Series, 1957.
(2) Komite Nasional Indonesia (Daerah), set up under the
authority of Law No. 1 of 1945.71
Ideally, the representative council (4) was to be
elected by the people of the region concerned. Provision
to that effect was included in Law No. 22, and in all pro-
posals for changing that law. Implementation, however, proved
difficult. Until elected councils could be brought into
existence, temporary bodies would be allowed. Subsequent
debate on the subject dealt as much with how to devise a
temporary body as with the need for an elected one. Since
transitional periods in Indonesia are liable to last for a con-
siderable time, the provisional arrangements to take care
of the period are themselves subjects of protracted dispute.
In 1950 three different regulations were issued by the
government in attempts to establish these temporary councils.
All three were nullified by the provisional national Parlia-
ment. The last of these regulations, Government Regulation
No. 39, 1950, stayed in effect less than a year, until the
Hadikusumo motion was passed calling for its suspension, and
resulted in the downfall of the Natsir cabinet. But during
the time that the regulation was operative, many councils
were formed for the first and second level autonomous regions--
with the notable exceptions of the provinces of North Sumatra
and East Java.
The Hadikusumo motion actually called for the suspension
of the councils already formed under Government Regulation
39, as well as the cessation of steps to form additional
ones. But through a political compromise the existing
councils were allowed to continue. Their terms of office,
originally stipulated as five years—by which time elections
were to have been held—and once extended, finally ran out in
July 1956. A decision of the Minister of Internal Affairs
instructed them to dissolve on July 1st of that year. But
elections were still not in sight, and to meet the situation,
a private member bill was introduced in parliament by M.
Isa, PNI, providing for transitional councils based on the
electoral strength of the parties in the region demonstrated
(3)	Soenarko, Susunan Negara Kita, Vol. IV, p. 7.
(4)	In my earlier Interim Report, these bodies were called
’’Regional Legislatures’’because according to the functions
assigned them in the law, they are supposed to carry out
a legislative role. But inasmuch as we are here concerned
with defining just what that role is according to the
attitudes towards it, I prefer not to prejudge it on the
provisions of the law. Thus, for this report, I utilize
a more direct translation of the Indonesian term. Dewan
Perwakilan Rakjat Daerah literally means Regional Popular
Representative Council.72
in the recently held national elections. This was passed,
and immediately afterwards an election law was passed. In
1957 elections for regional councils were held throughout
Java, and started in a few other places. The transitional
councils continued functioning until, the elected ones were
installed. This process has been for the most part
completed on Java.
During the seven years in which there were no representa-
tive councils, or only provisional appointed ones, the lack
of these bodies became the provisional appointed ones, the
lack of these bodies became the focus of much of the discontent
expressed regarding the situation in the regions, and an
important symbol of protest used by regional spokesmen.
Along with the pleas for a new basic law was the cry for an
election law—and, failing that, for some means of substituting
the provisional councils—though this latter was heard less
often after the compromise solution to the problem of Govern-
ment Regulation 39. A symbol often occurring in the debates
was "one man government" (eenhoofdig bestuur—the Dutch phrase
was often used) in relation to the position of the Kepala
Daerah. It referred to an undesirable condition in which a
regional council did not exist, and all government was in the
hands of the one Head. This will be discussed further in
connection with that office. Here it is only important to
note it as stressing the importance, in thought, of having
the councils operative in the regions.
Why was it important that there be a representative
body? This was to be the incarnation of democracy in the
regions, thus a major aim in the democratizing process.
The desires of the peopl.e--including those living
in rural settlements and villages—to participate
in giving leadership to government of the regions
by means of electing their representatives to a
council which can take the place of one man govern-
ment (eenhoofdig bestuur) must be quickly fulfilled.
Only in that way can democratic government by and
for the people, which for years has been our aspira-
tion and our boast—as contained in our constitution—
be brought into existence and practiced. (5)
The longer autonomous regions with representative
councils are not formed, the longer too the realiza-
tion of democracy is hindered. (6)
(5)	Ibrahim Sedar, non-party, IP/1952/II1/83„
(6)	Andi Gappa, Masjumi, IP/1952/IH/61.73
Most of the stress on the democratization process to be found
in our sources was stated in terms of the need for such a
representative body.
When the existing councils were decreed out of existence
in 1956, turmoil resulted, with some councils going so far
as to declare their intention not to dissolve. This can
perhaps partially be explained by the strength of feeling
in the regions against leaving regional government without
any type of popular body. It, is not clear why the govern-
ment itself did not seem to have plans ready for substitute
arrangements. But once Isa’s private member bill was intro-
duced, the government lent its support, and the bill became
law in record time. This may well have been the reason the
dissolution of the councils did not cause more agitation
that it did. The regions were not to be left without a
democratic form, and the furor which seemed imminent when
the Minister of Internal Affairs issued his decree did not
materialize. According to the clarification of the bill,
the substitute arrangements were
considered necessary... in order to prevent the
emergence of a democratic vacuum in the organiza-
tion of the government of the regions which are
already autonomous. (7)
There could be no moving backward. If something wasn’t done
it would result in
the revival of a one man government that cannot be
justified after we have been planting the seeds of
democracy for so long. (8)
All parties agree that ultimately the councils must be
elected. There seems to almost unanimous agreement that the
system of election should be proportional representation--
which is the system used at the national level.
T7)“Tp/1956/VII/58/p. 475.
(8) Hikmah, Vol. IX, No. 5, 4 Feb. 1956, p. 4. This magazine
reflects the Masjumi view. The statement was actually
made in February, in face of the imminent ending of the
existing councils. The demand was actually for the
prolongation of the terms of office of these older councils
The arrangement under which these councils had been
formed favored Masjumi, but the party finally supported
the transitional councils bill passed later in the year.74
2
The considerations of democracy and the provisions of
the decentralization laws—which were accepted without ques-
tion—should indicate at least partially the role envisaged
for the councils. According to the law, the council is to
be the repository of "autonomy.” The council issues general
regulations for the implementation oTautbnomous activity;
the council reflectsJ the will of the people concerning
autonomous affirs; the council, in the name of the people,
exercises control; over the execution of regional activities.
This would sound like a fairly complete role of a legislature
but there are indications that such a conclusion should not
too quickly be drawn.
A natural consequence of the lack of clear definitions
of the role of the region as such,. in general government,is
a vagueness in our sources of statements on a role for the
representative councils. Further, there are seeming contra-
dictions which are bound up with the dilemma of democratic
symbolism and the will of the people on one hand, and concern
over shortcomings, backwardness, and a general lack of trust
in the abilities of the people to carry out regional govern-
ment on the other hand. Ideally, the representative council
legislates on regional affairs. Yet, given the nature of
"affairs" transferred to the regions, where "technical" con-
siderations are reserved to the central ministries, there is
immediately a check on the scope of legislation permitted the
councils. The requirement, often included in regulations
transferring authority to the regions, that the instructions
of the ministries be followed,would seem to detract from the
freedom of decision of the council. The lack of clear fields
of regional action—a possibility discussed earlier--and the
consequent need, for accommodation with the continuing central,
government organization in the region, especially when the
central government does not transfer a complete set of activi
ties to the regions, results in lessening the significance
of the legislative function.
With the redefinition of regional affairs given in Law
No. 1, 1957, whereby the region can handle any matter not
taken up by a higher authority, the possibility is opened for
much more extensive legislation coming from the councils.
They could act now, within the limits of their own imagina-
tion and sense of ability on a whole range of matters which
they could argue the central government has not treated.
This could potentially locate innovation in the regional
governments, giving them a major part to play in the develop-
ment of the country. But the limitation oh what is imagined75
for the councils is at present a severe one. Until there is
an awakening on the part of regional people as to what they
want to do, this possibility cannot be realized. There is
little hint in our sources of this potentiality being recog-
nized, and the regions have always been satisfied, in terms
of specific action, to do either what is traditional, or
what the central ministries advise.
This arrangement is more easily understood by relating
it to the role of the central government as the caretaker
of national development, plus the role of leadership of which it
has a monopoly. While the decentralisation program has
as one of its purposes the accommodation of development to
local needs and variations, it seems that in practice it
is not the region itself which determines that adaptation.
The region, through its council or other authorities, can
state its demands, and can define perhaps its needs and
propose variations of application of services. But the
central ministry with its exclusive control of technical
competencies evidently has the power to determine whether
or not, and in what way, local variation can take place.
There is a consideration which must not be forgotten,
which lessens the somewhat harsh judgment of the regional
role. The Indonesian spirit of compromise, which has been
much commented on, applies also to the relations between
region and central government. Differences of opinion,
according to the principles of musjawarah and mufakat, are
not openly stated, with the predominant authority openly
exercising its will to force a decision. Where there is
disagreement it must be talked through until it reaches <3
point that all agree upon, and this is carried out until the
final decision is achieved. But how well this system
works in the context of a modern technical administration,
with its complex interwoven pattern of acts and decisions,
needs much further study. It may turn out that what appears
as unanimous agreement is only the superficial cover for the
exercise of predominant power. While there may have been sur-
face agreement, the events of 1957 and 1958 in Indonesia
indicate that it did not eradicate deep-seated grievances.
3
Discussions concerning the councils have usually been
in terms of creating them where they did not exist, and the
urgent need for them as the fulfillment of the promise of
democracy. We do not find in our sources mention of the
councils in connection with any actual problems of governing,76
or what the councils were supposed to do. In other words,
while the representativeness of the councils was stressed, the
work of the councils was ignored. It might be suspected from
this that the councils were envisaged as having primarily a
political (as opposed to governmental) role, that is, to
formulate and articulate regional feelings and desires. This
of course neglects the specifically legislative activities
given the councils by law. However there is some confusion
in regards to such a picture, and some indications negating
such a conclusion.
Government Regulation 39 of 1950 based the selection of
temporary councils on various types of organization as well
as on political parties. After the HadikusumO motion success-
fully opposed that regulation, the Sukiman cabinet, which
followed the Natsir ministry, promised to direct its efforts
towards forming councils only of political parties, This was
opposed by the former Minister of Internal Affairs in the
Natsir government, now speaking as a member of Parliament:
Parliament forms a representation of parties, but
the regional councils do not. The outlines of
policy are determined here in Parliament. The
regional councils need not consider them further,
but rather it is sufficient if they carry them
out or guard that those political lines are held
to firmly. To take care of regional affairs it is
more necessary that they have members experienced
in economic and social fields. (9)
df course we would expect a man in such a situation to defend
his former position, even though already defeated, and to
criticize changes from that position. However we are not
interested here in the opposition as such, but in the images
used in the argument.
Supporting this attitude of a non-political role for
the councils is the opinion expressed by a member of the
temporary council of South Sumatra. The Communist Party
members of that Council had raised the question of the
validity of the membership of people who held ceptral govern-
ment jobs in fulfillment of which they took up residence out-
side the region. In answer to this, one of the people con-
cerned said that the complaint was just obstructionist tactics
by the PKI.
T9) Mr. Assaat,' non-party, during the debates on the Sukiman
program, RP/1951/X.77
The character of the Temporary Regional Representa-
tive Council is more executive, to assist the
regional government in carrying out its work.
Thus it is more important to discuss budgetary
matters, not political problems as is always urged
by the ΡΚΙ at this time. (10)
One further indication of possible limitations on the
role of the council is the opinion expressed during the
debates of the Sukiman cabinet. The speaker was explaining
why he had supported the Hadikusumo motion:
Mr. Chairman, the main reason we agreed to the sus-
pension of the regional councils formed according
to Government Regulation 39 was the tendency ob-
servable that these councils would be passing
motions designed to bring about the downfall of the
KqpalaDaerahs, and to propose new Kepala Daerahs
Tn order to strengthen their own position. In
that way they were actually trying to alter entirely
the organs of government. (11)
This last opinion would have to be balanced against the much
more widely expressed desire to avoid one-man government.
Certainly the negative symbolism of eenhoofdig bestuur would
indicate some proposed power of the councils over against
the Kepala Daerah, usually expressed in terms of some kind
of "control.”
(IO) Pedoman, 5 July 1956, p. 2. The speaker was Basri, PSI
(11) Mr. Tadjuddin Noor, PIR, RP/1951/X.78
CHAPTER IX
THE KEPALA DAERAH
1
One of the most difficult problems besetting the course
of the decentralization program has been the determination of
the position of the Kepala Daerah—the Head of the Region,
In this figure are summed up many of the conflicts, dilemmas,
and political disputes that have marred the course of Indo-
nesian constitutional development. Here is the epitome of
the struggle between the ideological trend and the technical
trend which we have noticed cropping up in most manifestations
of politics. For the sake of analysis, however, we limit
our discussion to those matters pertinent to central-regional
relations as such. We have seen that the representative
council was intended as the body responsible for autonomous
affairs, and that the central government expected to continue
activities in the region in its own name. A consideration of
the institution of the Kepala Daerah will shed light on the
relations between thesetwo sets of activities, as well as
sharpen the focus on many problems of regional government.
The prewar Dutch East Indies government was administered
through a hierarchy, the Binnenlands Bestuur, consisting of
a Dutch part and an Indonesian part, the meeting point between
the two, at least on Java, being at the regency level. Above
that level it was all Dutch, below it, all Indonesian. This
service was spread through the islands according to territorial
divisions, sometimes traditional as in most of the outer
islands, and sometimes constructs, as in all the higher levels.
When decentralization efforts were begun, this service con-
tinued to play an important part in the new regional govern-
ment, with its functionaries remaining the leading governmental
figures in their respective territories In independent Indo-
nesia, this service, completely Indonesianized, is known as
the pamong pradja. Its influence has continued to be of
ma jor significance.
Immediately after the Declaration of Independence in
1945 functionaries were appointed by the central government
to head territorial divisions. Government had to be carried
to all parts of the country, and these officials had the task
of establishing the Republic’s authority, and seeing that79
government continued functioning, especially in the difficult
times of the Dutch attacks. With the acknowledgment of
sovereignty, ’ the withdrawal of Dutch forces, and the
revision of the federal form, these officials continued to
lead regional activities. They came under the Ministry of
Internal Affairs, and operated in the name of the central
government. This was the pamong pradja.
However, these regions were to be given autonomy to
"govern their own affairs"; each autonomous division was to
have a "chief of government," but under the terms of the
decentralization law, this Kepala Daerah was not to be a
separate organ of regional government. fl) He was, however9
given prominence in it by being made the ex officio chairman
of the Regional Executive Board (DPD), which as a whole was
responsible, according to the law, for the daily administra-
tion as agent for the representative council. As chairman
of the executive board, it might be said, the Kepala Daerah
was the leading figure of regional government.
Thus, when the unitary state started functioning in
1950 there were two systems for carrying government to the
regions. In practice, the two came together in the person of
the Kepala Daerah, who thus carried responsibilities of the
pamong pradja, as well as those designed* by the decentraliza-
tion law—in both cases ultimately responsible to the Ministry
of Internal Affairs, but by different routes. The distinction
between pamong pradja official and Kepala Daerah, while
legally valid, was largely invisible^ What emerged in practice
was the Kepala Daerah embodying a dual role: functionary of
the central government, and chairman of the regional execu-
tive board.
"Dualism" became a symbol of an undesirable development
in regional government. It is defined, in one place as
besides regional government which is based on
popular representation (regional representative
council with its executive body which also includes
the Kepala Daerah), there also exists government
which is carried Out by·the Kepala Daerah alone,
and this latter government has the largest part in
the region. (2)
(1)	See my previous Interim Report, op. cit.
(2)	Clarification of Law No. 22, 1948, paragraph 10. This
definition seems to be the accepted one. It has been used
as well by regional authorities. See Moh. Sjafe'i, working80
It is pejorative, because "it is not in accordance with govern-
ment based on democracy, which was the aim of our revolution. (3)
Such dualism was identified as a colonial heritage (4) and
the elimination of dualism was declared one ocf the purposes of
the decentralization legislation. (5)
2
Dualism was not avoided, and the position of the Kepala
Daerah as also the head of the pamong pradja in the region
Symbolized its continued existence. The Minister of Internal
Affairs could admit in 1955 that
The intention (to eliminate dualism) clearly was
not firmly held either by the designers of Law No.
22, or in its implementation. (6)
The problem had become one of deciding whether the Kepala
Daerah was to be exclusively a national official, or exclu-
sively a regional functionary.
There were several attempts to come to a decision on
this question. The bill submitted to Parliament in 1954 }
designed to replace the two existing decentralization laws ,
specified that the Kepala Daerah was to be a state official,
that is, exclusively a servant of the central government.
In the revised version of the bill debated in 1.955, this was
changed; the Kepala Daerah whs to be specifically a regional
official, but"” in addition to that position, there would be
a new office—State Commissioner·.—directly under the central
ministry. In the version of the bill finally passed by
Parliament in 1956, which became Law No. 1, 1957, the provision
paper.at the Inter-Provincial Conference, B&ndung, March
1955; "Dualistic government occurs when, besides the legis-
lative and executive bodies, the Kepala Daerah still holds
authority by hitaself."
(3)	Clarification of Law No. 22, 1948, Paragraph 10.
(4)	Mr. Djody Gondokusumo, Tatahukum Daerah Otonom, Jogjakarta,
Menara Pengetahuan, p. 2ΤΊ
(5)	"With this new law (No..22, 1948) dualistic government will
be avoided." (Clarification, paragraph 10.)
(6)	IP/1955/45/317. Minister of Internal Affairs Sunarjo, in
presenting a redraft of the proposed new decentralization
law.81
for a State Commissioner had been removed. But, then the
events of December 1956 to March 1957—when some regions
rejected the authority of the Government—led to the Declara-
tion of War and Siege, which had the effect of superceding
ordinary procedures, and giving extraordinary authority to
the military. Each province was given a top military commander
who was in effect over the Kepala Daerah. In April 1957 at
a conference of these military authorities, including the
leaders of the Banteng Council (Central Sumatra), the Garuda
Council (South Sumatra), and the Permesta Council (North
Sulawesi), it was decided that the provisions of the new
law in regards to the Kepala Daerah should be postponed, and
that official should be appointed by the central government.
This returned the situation to essentially the same as it
had been since 1950. But, soon afterwards, at another con-
ference, this decision was again reversed, allowing for the
newly elected regional representative councils electing, in
their turn, a Kepala Daerah, thus fulfilling the requirements
of the decentralization law.
3
Before discussing the debates specifically around these
points, there are some preliminary questions which must be
clarified. Arising from the attachment to the general symbol
of "democracy” there has been a widespread acceptance of the
symbol of "collegial" in reference to regional government.
The denotation of the symbol is not always clear; it seems
sometimes to refer t.o the representative council as the re-
pository of all regional autonomy, and sometimes to the
collective responsibility of the executive board to carry
out daily government. The undesirable situation, the converse
of collegial, which the application of cqllegial government
is designed to improve, is an independent position for the
Kepala Daerah. (7) Sometimes the opposition is set up as
"collegial" vs. pamong pradja. (8)
Closely associated with the positive symbolism of
"collegial government" is the negative value of "one man
government." The rise of this latter symbol probably
correlates well with the persistence of regions having no
representative councils, thus allowing a situation in which
the Kepala Daerah acted alone. It will be recalled that of
the seven autonomous provinces created in 1950, two were not
(7)	See Clarification of Law No. 22, 1948, paragraph 12,
(8)	Andi Gappa, Masjumi, IP/1954/V/141/p. 1043.82
able to form temporary councils before government Regulation
39, 1950 was suspended by Parliament. Of the five provinces
that did have councils, one, Central Sumatra,had its council suspended
in 1951. The attitudes expressed towards one man government
give some expectation of the role of the Kepala Daerah.
Regional government, being democratic, could not be
left in the hands of a single person: one speaker complained
that when Kalimantan joined with the Republic of Indonesia,
in 1950, people were hoping for the substitution of a more
democratic government, but they got instead
an absolute bureaucracy and autocracy masked in fine
words such as ’’national” and "revolutionary." In
practice the implementation of government is in
the hands of one person only (eenhoofdig bestuur)
with a complete lack of control from the side of
the people. (9)
Evidently, regardless of the position of the Kepala Daerah
in relation to either the central or regional government,
I’bontrolsT or .restrictions: on'his freedoin of action. Would
be demanded. . 1 The democratic shortcoming of one man govern-
ment was that it would allow the one man to "act according
to his own wishes." The controls and checks on the activities
of the Kepala Daerah would be supplied by the establishment
of the regional representative councils.
The image being projected here is that of the Kepala
Daerah being subjected to popular checks emanating from the
regional community itself.
Where there are regions that are aupposed to be
autonomous, but up to now do not have Representative
Bodies or Executive Boards, so that their govern-
ments are left in one man's hands (of an "eenhoofdig"
character), there should be efforts to form such
bodies quickly in order to prevent local "dictator-
ship." (10)
It may be noted that the problem of one man government
has been discussed out of any context of the functions of the
Kepala Daerah. While the functions will be discussed below,
it must be admitted here that the discussions regarding this
(9)	A. ΕΊ Djokoprawiro, PIR, during the debate on the Natsir
program.
(10)	I. J. Kasimo, Catholic Party, RP/1951/X/p. 4453.83
problem take place in the context, of demands for the estab-
lishment of representative councils, which is more a politi-
cally motivated problem than a technical one,, While, as will
be seen below, the expectations as to a .regional role for
the Kepala Daerah could be accommodated tothe demands for
controls from the region over that office, it is difficult
to determine the relation of this problem to the Kepala
Daerah’s central government role. We may conclude that the
regions are demanding regional controls over the central
government activities in the region which would be more
direct than any that might be provided in the national. Parlia-
ment. One is left with a vague feeling that the problem of
"eenhoofdig bestuur" is secondary, and is reduced to unim-
portance compared to the general problem of relations between
central power and regional authority.
But the problem, even only as a matter of form, cannot
be ignored. It has become a plank in the platforms of politi-
cal parties, and a strong symbol of protest against the way
the decentralization program is carried out. Parkindo—the
Christian Party—for example states:
Democratic government which is collegial as required
by the constitution has not yet been created...The
result of this one man government has been that
parties in North Sumatra are apathetic and dispirited,
and do not want to take any action concerning
government...The Kepala Daerah acts .according to
his own ideas and wishes, which results often in
protests from groups and parties. (11)
What we are actually concerned with here is again the
gap between political --ideological demands on one hand, and
the technical needs of administration and the real situation
on the other. The charge that a man in office "acts according
to his own wishes" could mean a very serious malfeasance if
taken literally. What it probably means is that the Kepala
Daerah, who after all was acting under instructions from the
Ministry of Internal Affairs, did things which turned out to
be unpopular with certain parties. As we have suggested,
due to the level of political ambition being so far above
the level of reality in the Indonesian situation, this does
not necessarily njean that the Kepala Daerah did anything but
act within the realm of possibility or the real demands of
the particular situation. We would further have to investi-
gate the regional branches of the parties themselves, to see
(ll) Fourth Parkindo Congress, 10-13 April 1952, Malang, East
Java.84
if they are self-determining bodies capable of reacting to a
local situation independent of the central mechamism of the
party in Djakarta. If not, the apathy of the local party
may not at all be due to the lack of democratic government,
but exactly the reverse. The opposition to one man government
is less a reaction against shortcomings in regional admini-
stration than an a priori judgment that it is an undesirable
state of affairs.
4
Closely related to the problem of the position of the
Kepala Daerah is the question of the method of appointment
To this office. According to Law No. 22 of 1948, the Kepala
Daerah was to be appointed, by the central government from a
list of two to four candidates nominated by the representative
council. This method satisfies the dual role noted above,
for it brings in elements of both regbnal and central govern-
ment action. In the draft bill for a substitute decentraliza-
tion law, as submitted in 1954, the Kepala Daerah was
specifically named a state official, thus to be appointed
by the central government with no reference to regional
action. Under the amended version of 1955 in which the
office was to be specifically regional, he was to be elected
by the representative council. The ultimate solution as
contained in Law No. 1 of 1957, after the various emergency
changes brought about by the military, is for the Kepala
Daerah to be elected by the representative council, with the
goal of popular election sometime in the future.
Law No. 22 of 1948, which was the basis for decentraliza-
tion activities through most of the life of the Republic,
contained an escape clause for the "transitional period" of
unspecified length under which the central government in
making its appointments did not have to heed the nominations
of the representative council. Thus the practice from
1950 to 1958 has been for the central government to make all
appointments ' on its own initiative. When appointments
are made, there are often outcries from groups in the
region against the person appointed. Political parties and
other organizations pass resolutions on the question and
send them to the central government, but usually these measures
have been, ineffective, and the appointment has remained in force
Whether there will be a smoother process of assuming the
position if elections are held, remains an open question as
long as it has not been fully tried..
The agitation for direct election of the Kepala Daerah
is closely related to the demand that he be a regional official.85
The central government,, in the person of Minister of Internal
Affairs sunarjowas willing to admit that the two went
together. During the debate of the revised decentralization
bill in 1955, (in which it was proposed that the Kepala Daerah
be a regional official) Minister Sunarjo said that in prin-
ciple he could agree to the need for elections, but that
for the time being, the Government still considers
it necessary /That there be limitations/ due to
the real situation and the /Tevel/ of development
of the community at present/ the-'fact is that it
is probably not yet at a level which could guarantee
the immediate carrying out of elections and achieve
from those elections the best possible results. (12)
He considered it sufficient to have the Kepala Daerah elected
by the representative council, for that body was "a rcrystalli-
zation’ of the faith of the people in the region concerned."
Those who demanded popular election of the Kepala Daerah
appealed to tradition to support their case.
The Kepala Daeral}, according to the ways of govern-
ment of our people that are still alive today, must
be an insep’arable part of the people, and cannot
be appointed by the center. (13)
To choose their own head is a strong and living
right of the people which has been preserved from
olden times to the present. (14)
And they appealed to the negative symbolism of colonial
practice:
The Dutch system of placing a Kepala Daerah on top
of the people of a region is in strong opposition
to (our) native system, for the Kepala Daerah must
originate from the area of the people concerned. (15)
The tradition referred to is the selection of the head of
(12)	IP/1955/VI/p. 315.
(13)	Sutardjo Kartohadikusumo, PIR, as Commissioner for
Autonomous Affairs, IP/1955/VI/64/473.
(14)	Ardiwinangun, Masjumi, IP/1954/V/142/1047.
(15)	Sutardjo Kartohadikusumo, IP/1955/VI/64/p. 473.86
desa (village) administration, which is often accomplished
by election in the village. The argument has also been used
by regional figures in making the same kind of demand.
Generally, those who insist on the principle of direct election
would allow selection by the regional representative council
as a compromise with the times.
There is an evident connection between the insistence on
a regional voice in selecting the Kepala Daerah, and, as was
discussed earlier, the concern over the central government's
personnel policies, and the placement of people from one
area in positions of leadership in another. These complaints,
usually concerning people included in the pamong pradja ,often
referred to Kepala Daerah s when the office in question was
Governor or bupati (as distinguished from residents who had
no autonomous region to lead, or from bupatis attached to the
office of a higher official). While the two claims—for
direct election and for native sons—may be related, they are
not necessarily the same. The first is a demand for the
central government to give up its authority to act; the
second is a request for the central government to choose the
"right" person.
The argument for choosing the "right" person is stated
in terms of "acceptability." An acceptable person evidently
is one who would not arouse unfavorable reactions among
large segments of the populations concerned—or, more real-
istically, from too many of the "mass organizations." Further,
it has been argued, he should be familiar with the people of
the area, their customs, and their* local language. He should
be capable of doing a good job, based on his training and
experience. According to the proponents of this argument,
the ones best able to fit the first two of these criteria
would be native sons; it is only when it is certain that
there are none with the capabilities required that one goes to
other areas to recruit candidates.
Once again it is worth noting that purely ethnic con-
siderations, while in evidence, are not necessarily decisive.
There have been cases where Kepala Daerah s, even though of
the same ethnic group as the area under them, have been
strongly opposed by mass organizations in the region. And
there have been examples where Kepala Daerah s , though of
different ethnic origin than the region in which they were
placed?have done outstanding jobs both technically and in
relations with the regional population. "Political" consider-
ations would probably better explain the patterns of reaction
to the heads of the regions. One might better investigate
the political make-up of the articulate forces in the regions,
and which groups are represented by the particular critic ,
than start analysis on the origin of the Kepala Daerah. For87
example, one speaker who stresses "acceptability" does so in
favor of the interests of other government officials in the
region:
The cause of the disappointment and anxiety among
government servants in East Kalimantan (and
Kalimantan in general) is the placing of officials
in key positions to lead the region, for which the
Government always sends people from Java, without
calculating whether they are indeed acceptable and
capable. The reason it gives is to prevent the
flaming up of the sentiment of the people against
those who worked for the former federal government. (16)
As another kind of example, we have the strong complaints
expressed against the Governor of North Sumatra voiced by a
person of Javanese origin. Regarding the placement of two
bupatis in that province, the speaker said:
The appointments were opposed by the entire popula-
tion as proved by joint meetings of parties and
organizations... because they claim that during the
life of the State of East Sumatra, these two bupatis
were tools of the Dutch. (17)
The speaker continued about the unsuitability of the governor
because he would not surrender to the will of the people.
It seems fairly clear that this speech was politically moti-
vated, in the lighc of ! the long-stah.diag and difficult problem of
illegal settling on estate lands in East Sumatra.
The argument over native sons would not solve the problem
of whether the Kepala Daerah should be a national or a
regional official; similar problems could arise in either
case. "Acceptability" is not restricted to technical compe-
tence, but is based more on political conditions. It is a
phenomenon of Indonesian political life that is a source of
grievance to many Indonesians that government appointments
are made too often under political party influence, especially
regarding positions which should be non-political. The
appointment of Kepala Daerah s has not escaped this charge.
Acceptability as a criterion for an appoint-
ment can perhaps best be interpreted as "acceptability to my
group interest."
(16)	A. B. M. Jusuf, Labor Party, RP/1950/IV/1638.
(17)	Dr. A.. Tjokronegoro, BTI (Barisan Tani Indonesia, Indo-
nesian Peasants Front), RP/1951/X.88
5
Whether the regional government is "collegial” or not,
whether the Kepala Daerah is elected or not, whether he is
a native son or not, there is great emphasis on the need for
a person with technical capacities. Thus, even if the Kepala
Daerah is to be directly elected it is suggested that there
be criteria established (by the central government?) for
standards of competence, to ensure that the person elected
could do the job. It is not clear from the sources available
to the writer what should be included in such standards. If
the role of the Kepala Daerah is to be mainly political,
then obviously success in an election would be one possible
index of ability. If the role is to be mainly administrative,
a point could be made that "acceptability" should be based
only on technical considerations. The government—in this
case the Ministry of Internal Affairs—is publicly most concern
ed with technical considerations, while the political
leaders, especially those claiming to represent regions, are
more concerned with political matters. Actual practice is,
as usual, generally a compromise between the two.
Before we can try to draw together the various questions
raised, we must look for what the Kepala Daerah is expected
to do, what kind of work he is expected to carry out. If
the totality of government is divided between regional and
central activities, then in a formal sense the Kepala Daerah
as such has very little function. Autonomous regional affairs
are in the hands of the representative council and exercised
through the collegial executive board. It is in the realm of
central government activities going on in the region that a
need is felt for some functionary; this requirement up to now
has been fulfilled by the pamong pradja official, who, up to
1958, had also been the Kepala Daerah if the region was
autonomous.
First, there is the need for the coordination of services
which take place in the region in the name of the central
government. (In practice there has been little separation
between these and regional services. The Kepala Daerah coor-
dinated all together.) Up to now these have been the majority
of operations in the region, but even under the ideally en-
visaged decentralization there would have to be some activities
reserved to the center (defense, post and telegraph, immigra-
tion, monetary policy are often mentioned in this connection)
which while reserved to the central government will require
regional execution. Caordinationr has been among the tradi-
tional tasks of the pamong pradja. We meet an interesting
problem here, one requiring further study, of the interrela-
tionship of the lines of communication and authority among89
central government services at the regional level. The
pamong pradja is under the Ministry of Internal Affairs;
the technical services are under their respective ministries.
Coordination through the pamong pradja takes place at the
regional level in the administration of the services, while
responsibility for technical decisions goes directly to the
central ministry concerned. The picture is complicated when
the added factor of regional services (that is.under the
autonomous regional government) is brought into it. The
Kepala Daerah, or the pamong pradja official in his Kepala
Daerah role,has to extend the coordination to include these
activities.
The second activity of the Kepala Daerah, in practice
and authorized by Law No. 22 of T948, is the supervision
(pengawasan) of regional, government, to ensure that it does
not violate its authority. This, while there have been
attempts to call it a function in medebewind (18) given to a
regional official, is so manifestly a central government
concern that it is more logically described as an activity
carried out by the central government's representative in the
region (recalling the dual role of the Kepala Daerah). In
all the changes of the government's presentation of proposals
for a new decentralization law, it has steadfastly maintained
its insistence on the need, for clear lines of supervision
controlled by itself.
A third activity referred to in connection with the
position of Kepala Daerah has been the providing of leader-
ship for the region, presumably this would be in development
programs as well as in general government. The kind of leader
ship needed is not specifically defined in our references.
We assume, however, that this is a manifestation of the
general attitude towards leadership and the role it is ex-
pected to play in political action. This would seem to be a
reflection of the technical approach; it seems to imply
stress on the inability of the community to initiate action,
thus requiring guidance if the goals (set for the whole
country) are to be achieved. It would make an interesting
study to see if the leadership provided at the regional level
tends towards a uniform development throughout Indonesia, or
tends towards emphasizing the distinctions between the regions
(IK) This literally means "cooperating government," and refers
to functions which are only "partially transferred" to
the region. See my previous Interim Report.90
6
The original bill,submitted in 1954 as a replacement
for the earlier decentralization laws,would have established
the Kepala Daerah exclusively as a national official, When
this was revised in 1955, in the face of strong parliamentary
feelings, to accommodate the demand that the office be
strictly regional, a new idea was introduced. Aside from
the Kepala Daerah,who would no longer be the central govern-
ment's representative in the region, there would be a State
Commissioner acting for the central authority. In his ex-
planation of this move, the Minister of Internal Affairs
said:
The task of supervision, and other activities of
the Central Government which still exist in the
regions... will be carried out by organs of the
Central Government. (19)
Thus specifically the second task outlined above, and by im-
plication the first one also—coordination—would not be
surrendered to the region. The government insists on its
direct control over these functions. Given the general
attitude towards leadership in Indonesia, it may be expected
that the Commissioner will 1 assume that task also. In other
words, the Commissioner will be given the work which practice
has evolved for the Kepala Daerah as the representative of
the central government in the region.
The image of the Kepala Daerah as purely a state official
is adequately given in’the explanation of the original draft
of the bill. (20) His main task would be supervision to
ensure the proper governing of regional affairs by the organs
of regional government (representative council and executive
board), and to see that they do not exceed their authority. He
would be made chairman of the executive board (as in previous
practice) in order for him to be close to the regional
government; he would be given a vote, for this would be
"only one vote" so that he could not dominate. This one vote
could be beneficial in cases of deadlock on the board.
"...the Kepala Daerah’s vote, the vote of the Central Govern-
ment, could help to ~ break the deadlock." Further, he
could give advice to the regional government (provide leader-
ship?) . But since he is a state official, he is not to domi-
neer the regional executive board, nor interfere with its
<197.lP/19'557vT/p	317.
(20) IP/1954/V/136.91
carrying out its task; the leadership in the actual operation
of the autonomous government of the region is in the hands
of the Deputy Chairman of the executive board, who is a
regular member of the board chosen by the representative
council. The Minister of Internal Affairs in his answer in
the parliamentary debates further clarified that
"...some affairs must remain in the hands of the
Central Government. These affairs require the con-
tinued existence of vertical bureaus. Coordination
of these bureaus, both among themselves as well as
with the regional services, is also included in the
task of the Kepala Daerah according to this bill. (21)
Parliament rejected the concept of the Kepala Daerah as
a state official, and threw out the proposal for a State
Commissioner. Implied in these acts are the conflicts and
complications of determining a regional role, and the relation
of region to center, depending on what might be called
regional and central viewpoints, but which are actually trans-
latable into the more basic dilemma of ideological vs.
technical approaches to the problems of Indonesia. The
central government, in technical fulfillment of the strictures
of unitarism and the concomitant obligations of leadership,
constantly stresses the need for supervision, if not control
(depending on how a translation of the word "pengawasan"
relates to the intention of those using it) over the course
of regional government. It is not sufficient to have it
after the act, in the form of a veto power; it must take
place during the act in the locality. There could be no
other justification for insisting on a central representative
in the region. The "ideological" side of the argument is
less clearly articulated; it consists for the most part in
the repudiation of the above mentioned position. It would
be difficult to say, in terms of our sources, what is expected
as a substitute for	supervision—and other tasks of the
central government in the regions—or even if a substitute
is desired. One can surmise that to the extent that this
question is considered it is hoped that these tasks will be
left to the regions themselves. The "ideological" approach
evidently leaves the effectuation of its positions to later
development, possibly through informal mechanisms.
Opposition to the central government’s position is most
often expressed in terms of the symbol of "dualispi," with
the accusation that that position would result in its contin-
uation or revival. The symbol is further related to the
. 1020.92
charge of perpetuating colonial type relationships carried
over from prewar days. To establish the Kepala Daerah as a
state official reminds one speaker of the "emergence of
dualism in government circles during the colonial period."
If in the past it was said that the Central Govern-
ment would undertake to "emancipate" (the "native"
civil service) by promising broad authority to the
heads of self-governing communities, while the
hoofd van plaatselijk bestuur (lit: head of local
administration—a European position) in the area
would be said to have only an advisory rolg rather
than be the chief official, practice proved the un-
reality of that promise. The heads of self-governing
communities were still governed by the hoofd van
plaatselijk bestuur, though by more subtle means. (22)
Or, as another speaker observes;
(The Government) has with great difficulty en-
deavored to find a method for governing the rela-
tions between center and regions, especially as
concerns the position of the Kepala Daerah. But
evidently it has not met with any overwhelming
success. The dualism of the old system of govern-
ment has not been eliminated in the proposals now
before us. Perhaps this dualism is an absolute
condition for regulating central-regional relations.
Can we accept that dualisni by claiming that the
former dualism was colonial, and the present dualism
is national? If this is the conclusion, the
problem is not yet solved. (23)
The same concern about dualism as well, as a fear of the
reemergence of the power of the pamong pradja can be found
behind the opposition to the proposals for a State Commissioner
It reminds one speaker of "former times, where alongside the
Bupati was placed an Assistant Resident" who was supposed to
be a friend only, but "the one actually in authority was the
Assistant Resident." Further, "the impression emerges that
’the authority of the Central Government’ in an autonomous
region , which was just removed by way of the front door, now
enters again through the back door." (24) Another speaker
(22)	Γ"Gusti Gde Raka, PRN (Partai Rakjat Nasional, National
People's Party), IP/1954/V/139/1031.
(23)	Andi Gappa, Masjumi, IP/1954/V/141/p. 1042.
(24)	Peris Pardede, PKI, IP/1955/65/p. 483.93
fears that "The Commissariat...will be a substitute for the
pamong pradja which is now going through a process of liqui-
dation, so that dualism will reappear in new dress." (25)
The regional spokesmen, opposing Djakarta, demanded the
right to choose their own Kepala Daerah s. We must ask what
role they have had in mind for that official if such were the
case.	This is not clear from our sources. Referring
back to our discussion of the symbol of collegial government,
it might be suggested that a Kepala Daerah as a purely
regional functionary has no place at all. The ceremonial
functions that would have to be performed in the name of the
region could be taken care of by the chairman of the execu-
tive board. While one might debate the efficiency of a
multiple executive, it is not an impossible structure. In
effect, this is what the new law on regional government accom-
plishes. The Kepala Daerah is the chairman of the Regional
Executive BoarcTj he is purely a regional official, no longer
carrying out supervisory functions as a central government
representative. But then why mention a separate official,
especially when the issue causes so much controversy? And
especially since the ideal is to have "collegial" responsi-
bility? It would seem that the effect of habit is at work
here. The problem inherited was whether the Kepala Daerah
should be a regional or central official, and the solution was
given in those terms. There was no suggestion, in our sources,
that with "collegial government" th^ve need not be any
Kepala Daerah at all.
In connection with the position of the Kepala Daerah
we must consider how it is related to the symbol of the
unitary state. When Minister of Internal Affairs Hazairin
was arguing that the Kepala Daerah must be a state official,
he appealed to the needs of the unitary form. When his
successor, Minister Sunarjo, argued for the State Commissioner
he put it in terms of
the task of supervision and other tasks of the
Central Government which are still in the regions
(being carried out) by organs of the central govern-
ment itself. (26)
Recalling the image of regional government as the incarnation
of the unitary state, which was suggested earlier in this
work, it would seem that that imagb is much blurred in face
(25)	Ardiwinangun, Masjumi, IP/1955/VI/66/p. 487.
(26)	IP/1955/VI/45/p. 317.94
of the real problems of government. The central government
does not consider the regions to be automatic extensions of
itself.
Under the system in which the Kepala Daerah operated
both as a regional and as a central figure, his~office repre-
sented, for some observers, the point of synthesis between
the respective requirements of unitarianism and autonomy.
To some, this was not sufficient as a demonstration of the
unity of responsibility of government. To others, the
synthetic character of the office should have been main-
tained. (27) But by 1956 the position of the central govern-
ment was evidently already too weak, the distance between it
and Parliament too great. Though the government's arguments
on the need for having its own representatives in the regions
met with some response among the legislators, Parliament as
a whole rejected the Commissioner plan in the final version
of the bill. The law on regional government requiring direct
election of the Kepala Daerah and no Commissioner was passed
in December 1956” It was not promulgated until January 1957.
In between the two dates the army officers in Sumatra took
their steps of defiance against the central government. In
Central Sumatra the Banteng Council, which organized the action
successfully, removed the Kepala Daerah from active office.
The Banteng Council maintained itself in power for over
a year before events took a decisive turn in the declaration
of a substitute government for ali Indonesia in February 1958.
During 1957 however, the Banteng Council's actions were more
or less duplicated in other areas. The situation, now that
armed conflict has taken place, is at present writing extremely
unstable, and is likely to be at least partially resolved
before this work is published. Nevertheless some estimates
of the possibilities may be suggested. Legal forms have
not yet caught up with events, and the symbols are at present
tied down by emergency measures. The State of Emergency that
was declared in March 1957 legalized in a sense the power that
the military had practically assumed, at least in some regions.
But this, unless the situation completely deteriorates
(and unlikely even then) cannot be looked upon as providing
final solutions. The central government seeming finally to
be conceding to the regional insistence on the appointment of
the Kepala Daerah, at least in form, must find alternative
means to ensure the continuity of its authority. If it does
not, it will in effect be giving the regions veto power over
its actions. This is a length to which it does not seem
willing to go.
(27) See Sutardjo Kartohadikusumo, IP/1955/VI/64/p. 475.
This idea is also supported by Mohammad Hatta, speech
at Gadjah Mada University, op. cit.95
7
The complexities of the problem of the position of the
Kepala Daerah are a reflection of the complexities of the
whole regional question, and sum up better than any single
factor the divergencies and dichotomies in attitudes and
expectations. The two major trends of opinion which we have
noted in other contexts are also visible here. There is the
conflict between the symbols relating to democracy and the
symbols relating to the shortcomings of Indonesian society
requiring guidance and control. The desirable symbolism of
"collegial government" plus the antipathy towards "one man
government" can be contrasted to the need for coordination of
the vertical services located in the regions, the need for
leadership, and the need for supervision. The ideal of a
directly elected Kepala Daerah reflecting the will of the
regional society cannot yet be reconciled with the need to
ensure capable people in that office who can work within the
context of the whole state. The "ideological" approach
demanding democratic elections cannot yet be trusted according
to the "technical" approach. The "technical" approach should
logically be demanding "one man government" for purposes of
simplicity in lines of authority and efficiency of control,
as well as for economy of action. But given the development
of political doctrine in Indonesia, such a suggestion would
be impossible.
The second trend is the conflict between the demand for
autonomy, local determination of decisions, and the demand
for careful control over the distribution of goods and the
course of development. A connection can be seen between
this and the democracy-leadership conflict mentioned in the
previous paragraph. It is essentially a different manifesta-
tion jUSing different symbols., of the same phenomenon. If the
regions were considered capable of performing the functions
envisaged for them, perhaps it would not have become a major
issue whether or not the control organ should be an integral
part of the regional mechanism. The procedures demanded by
the democratic symbols could then have been allowed to operate
But the caution evinced by the Ministry of Internal Affairs
worked against the surrender of full decision-making powers
in broad areas of competence. One method of doing this was
maintenance of the authority of and control over the Kepala
Daerah in his pamong pradja guise.
Once the Ministry turned to the device of the State
Commissioner to exercise its authority in the regions, a
question could be raised as to why it had to be mentioned in
the decentralization law. The law as it stands after its96
final approval by parliament allows for investigation into
the activities of the regions, and for various supervisory
functions*. These functions.;; presumably could be carried out
by appropriate officials of the Ministry, who could be sent
wherever the Ministry should determine. Parliamentary ob-
jections were not directed against the functions of super-
vision; rither against the symbol of inclusion of a central
functionary in the discussion of regional organization. It
is not clear why the Ministry could not carry out the functions
envisaged for the Commissioner in less formal ways.
It may be that we here encounter the problem of forms.
If, as we have suggested, the proponents of the regional side
did not have any clear role depicted for a Kepala Daerah, it
would be possible that their rejection of the Kepala Daerah
as a state official as well as their veto of the State Com-
misioner plan was based on their feeling & need to demonstrate
their rejection of central government domination. They did
not protest the functions deemed necessary by the central
government, nor did they propose any alternative functions.
Perhaps the years of growing impatience and continued protest
of "unfair” treatment were decisive; anything savoring of
central government control was to be opposed.97
CHAPTER X
REGIONS
1
The term "region" has appeared throughout this work—
both in the narrative parts and the quotations--in a variety
of contexts. It now remains for us to examine the term it-
self to see what light various usages shed on the problem of
regional government. We can immediately differentiate two
uses of the term. First, it implies the territorial subdivi-
sions of the present state, whether the unit has been given
autonomous status or not. Second, it refers to areas forming
a more "natural" unity, usually because of ethnic considera-
tions (i.e. Tapanuli, the home of the Bataks of Sumatra) or
geographical factors (such as reference to an entire island,
though the island may form neither an ethnic nor an admini-
strative unity). When the "ethnic" unit is referred to, it
is often congruent with a vestigial Administrative unit, such
as a Residency.
The first gross division that must be understood in the
context of the problem of the relations of the center with
the regions is the tradition inherited from the Dutch East
Indies practice of distinguishing between Java (including the
nearby island of Madura) and the Outer Territories .
(Buitengewesten). Dutch overlordship lasted much longer,
Dutch penetration went much deeper in Java than in the other
areas. Until recent times, the other areas were largely ig-
nored by the Europeans, while on Java administrative pro-
cedures were being regularized. Java was mainly under
"direct rule," while large parts of the other territories
were governed by contract with local princes, under "indirect
rule."
In regard: to population, Java is intensely settled,
while most of the other areas are underpopulated. Java
shows a good deal of ethnic homogeneity while the other
islands are ethnically splintered. While Sumatra contains
some groups which can be counted in the millions, these are
still small and localized compared to the size of the island.
The same, to a lesser degree can be said of Sulawesi.98
Java as a whole has long been subject to development.
Its transportation network is good, and its industry, which
is extensive compared to the other areas (but not in terms
of its own population) is well distributed. There is a wide
network of urban settlement, whether for industrial, commercial,
or administrative purposes. The opposite is true of the
Outer Islands. There have been pockets of development, such
as the estate area of the East Coast of Sumatra, and the oil-
rich Palembang area of South Sumatra, Makasar, the largest
port of East Indonesia, and copra-producing Menado in Sulawesi.
But interconnections between these areas and the rest of the
islands on which they are located have been relatively poor,
and there has been little history of interdependence.
The administrative structure as it existed on Java just
prior to World War II consisted of five levels; Province,
Residency, Regency, District, and Sub-district, headed
respectively by a Governor, Resident, Regent, Wedana, Assistant
Wedana. The first two named officials were European, the
others Indonesian. Below this hierarchy was the village,
with its own traditional forms of organization, though modified-
unintentionally as well as deliberately—by	Dutch rule
over the centuries. According to the Dutch decentralization
plans, the province and the regency were to have "autonomy,"
while the village had its traditional forms of self-government,
now enshrined in legislation.
In the Outer Islands, the Situation was much more complex.
There were no provinces, but some areas, such as the island
of Sumatra, were formed in "Governments," which was a step
prior to being given provincial status. The islands were
divided into Residencies which largely followed a combination
of ethnic and economic lines. Below the residency were
districts and sub-districts, of varying size--both in popula-
tion and area—depending on the distribution of ethnic
groups. The lowest level, the "natural" units, varied greatly.
Some were organized on family lines, some territorially. In
each case, there was a great range of definitions. In addi-
tion to this Dutch-imposed administrative organization, large
parts of the Outer Islands were still nominally ruled by
traditional families—sultans, rajas, etc. Dutch overlordship
was usually recognized by the contractual relationship known
as the short declaration. In many cases, final submission
to the Dutch was not achieved until the 20th century.
Law No. 22 of 1948, which established the pattern of
decentralization after 1950, required that there be three
autonomous levels of government below the national level—
province, regency, and village. In terms of Javanese experience99
this was not hard to imagine. Villages are territorially
determined on Java, and are accustomed to functioning as
units. Regencies had long been established, and had been
considered "autonomous” prior to the war within the framework
of the Dutch decentralization plans. Provinces had had at
least ten years of experience with autonomous affairs before
the war. In the outer islands the situation was different;
provinces were unknown before the revolution brought them
into existence. While there were some units that could be
equated with regencies, these did not extend over entire
islands. Some efforts had been made prior to the war in the
direction of ethnic unification, which included granting
some self-government to the units thus formed. The villages
of the outer islands demonstrate: great variety in the basis of their
organization and traditional practices.
2
With this bewildering array of forms, and based on the
agreement between the Republic of Indonesia (Jogja) and the
United States of Indonesia, the unitary state started life
in 1950 divided into ten provinces. The provinces were
initially established as administrative units, but six of
them had already been given autonomous status by laws speci-
fically passed for the purpose under the general authority of
Law No. 22, 1948.	(1) This tenfold division provides a
convenient second step in refining the notion of the region.
These units were the primary official divisions that functioned
for at least six years, and provide the context for much of
the difficulty that plagued Indonesia in its regional problem.
When speakers refer to "the regions" they are often concerned
with these official divisions.
It seems clear that much of the dispute that raged
around the regional question was based on the relation of
these provinces to the central government. When one referred
to the longed-for development, it was often with these'
provinces in mind. In terms of the kinds of activity en-
visaged for regional government, these provinces would in the
first instance be involved—certainly at least for coordina-
tion and application of modern techniques of economic and
political life.
Looking at the ten provinces, one is immediately struck
(1) In addition to the ten provinces, we must also note the
existence of the Special Region of Jogjakarta, and the
Municipality of Greater Djakarta, both of which are pro-
vincial--level units.100
by the difference in the situation in Java, and that in the
outer islands. Java is divided into three provinces plus
Greater Djakarta and Jogjakarta. Each province-conforms
more or less to the pre-war unit of the same name. Each is
ethnically fairly homogeneous—West Java the home of the
Sundanese, Central Java eminently the center of the Javanese,
and East Java showing some mixture between Javanese and
Madurese. Each province is densely populated, containing
about 17 million people.
On the other islands a much more complex picture is
apparent. Sumatra was divided into three provinces. North
Sumatra combined the residencies of Atjeh, Tapanuli and East
Sumatra, each the home of different (sometimes several)
ethnic groups. Atjeh, and the Atjehnese people, were one of
the last conquered by the Dutch, and even after that event
were very little penetrated by Dutch influence outside the
coastal areas. East Sumatra is one of the richest areas of
Indonesia. Both of these areas are predominantly Moslem, but
Tapanuli, home of the Bataks, is ^Largely Christian. Cultural
characteristics and personality types differ widely among the
three groups. Central Sumatra included the residencies of
West Sumatra, Djambi, and Riauw. The first named is the home
of the Minangkabau; ; the last named includes the many islands
between Sumatra and Malaya, with close ties to Singapore.
Communicatio.nsifrom Djambi and Riauw.g-o eastward to the Straits
of Malacca, while the Minangkabawj look west to the Indian
Ocean. South Sumatra is made up of the residencies of
Palembang, Benkulen, Lampongs, and Bangka-Billiton. It thus
contains“bo£h the oil-rich Palembang area as well as the Kubus,
one of the most primitive tribes of Indonesia. It contains
huge tracts of impenetrable jungle as well as large resettle-
ment areas for surplus Javanese.
The whole island of Kalimantan (Indonesian Borneo) was
one province. There distances are great, and population is
scanty. With 36 per cent of the land area of the country, it
holds only 4 per cent of the population. Land communication
between the three population centers of the island—Bandjarmasin
Pontianak, and Balikpapan—isj virtually impossible. Ethni-
cally, the coastal areas are divided among a variety of groups,
while the inland people are given the general term of Dyak,
though there is no certainty c”, the ethnography of the area.
The island of Sulawesi was made into one province. This
island reflects all of the problems mentioned for Kalimantan,
though probably intensified, for it contains some densely
populated parts, and some highly developed areas. It further
demonstrates religious conflict between the Christian
Menadonese of the north, and the Moslems of the south. The101
island groups east of Sulawesi are collected in Maluku.
Most of the individual islands are small, and with a few ex-
ceptions unimportant in the larger picture of the country.
The islands east of Java, formerly called the Lesser Sundas,
are now called Nusa Tenggara. They include densely populated
Bali, but fertility of soil and level of development fall
away further east.
Each of the provinces of the outer islands thus shows
peculiar difficulties in organizing a cohesive government.
In addition to the factors mentioned above, the differing
experiences and traditions contained in any one province can
and do lead to distrust and suspicion between groups. When
to this are further added the complicating facts of Djakarta
politics, the problem of establishing viable satisfactory
regional divisions becomes formidable.
From the very beginning the division into ten provinces
gave rise to protests. Groups claiming to speak for the
people of various areas were demanding separation from the
province they were situated in, and that they be given pro-
vincial, status for themselves. As time went on the number
of these demands and the number of groups involved increased.
Atjeh, East Sumatra, Djambi and Riauw in Sumatra, East, West,
and South Kalimantan each demanded provincial status, and
groups in Sulawesi, Maluku, and Nusa Tenggara desired that
their provinces be further divided into two or three provinces
Some of these demands were fulfilled in 1956. Then the
regional movements of late 1956 and 1957 complicated matters,
as the regions started taking independent action in granting
provincial status to areas within the existing provinces.
It is probable that further divisions will take place. The
whole question has been examined by a State Commission estab-
lished by the central government in December 1956 to in-
vestigate the various regions’ claims.
Because of the original division into ten provinces and
the subsequent activity in regard to provincial status, we
may ask what was expected from a province, what needs was it
expected to meet, and what were the bases for these demands.
The answers emerging from our sources are not at all clear.
Evidently part of the problem in individual provinces is
similar to the national problem; instead of complaints of
neglect from the national capital, there were protests against
the provincial capital. This explanation would be valid,
for example, for Central Sumatra, where the economically,
politically and educationally more advanced Minangkabau
dominate provincial affairs to the exclusion of people from
Djambi and Riauw. The same elements are involved in the plans
to set up a province of Central Kalimantan apart from South102
Kalimantan; the Dyaks of the inland areas fear the domination
of the Bandjarese. Lines of communication are helpful in
this context also—or rather the absence of them. To get
from Bandjarmasin in Sodth Kalimantan to Pontianak in West
Kalimantan, it is easiest to go via Djakarta. Nias, the
island off the west coast of Sumatra demands independence
from the T&panuli residency. Not only does there seem to be
objection to the domination of people from Tapanuli, but
communication with the mainland is far from satisfactory,
We cannot answer the question specifically of what the
provinces are expected to do; we can only present the reasons
for claiming provincial status. To attempt to achieve a
functional definition from the actual practice that has taken
place would be far beyond the scope of this work. Not only
would there be difficulty in abstracting a single definition
from the variety of provinces, but the problem of differenti-
ating what is provincial practice and what is pamong pradja
activity would have to be solved also. Further-^ it is
difficult to assess the basis of the demands for provincial
status	a single factor. Certainly ethnic solidarity is
apparent, with feelings of loyalty to the local group
allowing the group to be the carrier of demands. But the
demands themselves arise because of political and economic
dissatisfaction, which are complicated by the ethnic factor; It is
perhaps significant that there has r&fcely been any serious
attempt to separate from Indonesia.
The second-level autonomous region gives rise to less
controversy. The unit, the kabupaten,is well established on
Java, where it has had a long history. While new in Sumatra
and Kalimantan, it seems to have been well adapted. In some
cases regencies coincide with ethnic groups, but this is not
always the case. In the territory formerly included in East
Indonesia, the picture is more complicated, giving rise to
some discontent, but to a far lesser degree than is the case
with demands for provincial status. Part of the difficulty
is caused by the attempt to equate the three levels below the
province authorized by Law No. 44, 1950 of the State of East
Indonesia, with the two levels of Law No. 22 of 1948. A good
case in point is the island of Bali which is a .daerah under
Law No. 44, 1950. It is too large to become a kabupaten,
and too small to be a province. If it were subdivided into
its eight "natural" parts, each would be too small to be a
kabupaten, and too large for a village. Any attempt to
combine any of these subdivisions would be artificial. (2)
Γ2) See I Gust'i Gde Raka, PRN, IP/1954/V/139/p. 1030. The
speaker is himself Balinese.103
An interesting point that arises in regard to these
second-level units is the opinion that they, rather than the
provinces, ought to be the center of attention in the endeavors
to establish autonomous regional government. This argument
has been presented strongly; by former Vice President Mohammad
Hatta. This is not a new idea growing out of the obvious
difficulties faced by the central government in dealing with
demands for provincial status. It was evidently his original
conception of regional autonomy. We can find reference to it
as far back as 1946, before any regional government law was
passed. (3) Higher levels, according to this plan, would be
for coordination purposes, and would not have representative
bodies. The idea has thus far not met with any significant
response in our sources.
3
According to Law No. 22 of 1948, there would have to be
a third level of autonomous government, specifically named
the "desa" (though allowing for different terminology from
different parts of the archipelago). The formulation used in
the new decentralization law—at most three levels—allows
for the postponement of their establishment. This was
probably necessary, for in the six years' experience with
decentralization, not one village had been given autonomous
status.
The village is the home of traditional Indonesia, and
the home of approximately 80 per cent of the population.
The village is "the basis of an agricultural state," (4) and
it is "the starting point, the foundation of our country." (b)
The people who live in the village, the farmers(tani), "are
the measure of our national value." (6) It is the source of
the attributes which are honored as characterizing Indonesian-
ness—gotong rojong (mutual aid), musjawarah (consultation),
mufakat (unanimous agreement).
Under the Dutch, the village was left as the Indonesian
sphere. When reference is made to the preservation of.or
lack of interference in native organization on the part of
(3)	"Kedaulatan Rakjat," op. cit., pp. 21-23.
(4)	Burhanuddin Harahap, Masjumi, IP/1952/IH/52/p. 264.
(5)	Sumitro Kolopaking, IP-KI.
(6)	K.R.M.T.H. Woerjoningrat, RP/1950/III/p. 796.104
the Dutch, it is done with the village in mind. (7) The
Dutch did pass special ordinances, the IGO and the IGOB,(8)
which formalized aspects of village organization, and
regulated the performance of village autonomous government.
Thus it would, seem quite natural that when the new
Indonesian government turned its thoughts to autonomous
regional organization, the village was considered the basic
or lowest unit in the program. The Dutch had separated
activities concerning the village from those dealing with
decentralization at higher levels. The Indonesian planners
were determined to include it in a single integrated program.
According to the legislation, there was to be no differ-
entiation; the village would have the same organization as
the higher levels, and areas of activity would be specified
as included in its . affairs. But there were problems.
The position of the village eminently sums up the difficulties
facing Indonesia today. It sums up as no other institution
the conflicts between the ideal of democracy and popular
will, and the ideal of progress and development towards a better
society. For the village is the home of	"backward,”
uneducated, tradition-bound, "primitive" in terms of modern
techniques of production, politically unsophisticated culture.
Further there is no uniformity of sithation or level of
development even amoiig the villages of a single area, making
planning difficult if it is desired to have one single
general rule for the entire country. The situation in the
villages is
very much backward if compared with other groups,
not only in their economies and in their levels of
education, but also in the organization of their
governments. (9)
(7)	Of course such a generalization can only be considered
as relative to European penetration in other areas. The
very presence of the Dutch in Indonesia forces one to
assume there was influence on village organization—not
to mention the 300 years of occupation prior to the
adoption of the Dutch "ethical policy."
(8)	Inlandse Gemeente Qrdonnantie (Native Community Ordinance)
and Inlandse Gemeente Qrdonnantie Buitengewesten (Native
Community Ordinance for the Outer islands).
(9)	K.R.M.T.H. Woerjoningrat, RP/1950/III/796.105
It has been suggested that people in the villages
cannot yet be freed from the bonds of their way
of life, which by this time has been caused by
their misery and ignorance. (10)
By and large the villages have been closed communities
suffering from the debilitating influences of colonialism:
Dutch colonial policy caused the village to remain
in a primitive condition, as a unit of community
encaged aind alienated from the wider world,
isolated from the world of progress. (11)
In terms of the ideals and aspirations which are used
to describe the motivation of the revolution, it is precisely
in the backward condition of the village that one of the
major needs for change is to be found. In terms of the
demands for the decentralization program,the application of
regional autonomy to the village is intended as a device for
bringing about changes.
If the principles of regional government as provided
in Law No. 22, 1948, were already applied down to
the village as the lowest autonomous level, the
village would be released from its present im-
prisonment and backward condition and would show
progress in all fields. Thus it is the responsibility
of the Government to assist the village in the fields
of education, combatting illiteracy, agriculture,
etc. and to provide leadership for the village in
its preparations for being able to receive that autonomy." (12)
An autonomous region, at whatever level, as well as the
central government itself, is meant to be a device for bring-
ing the benefits of democracy and modern life to its popula-
tion. We have seen that one of the major concerns of the
central government has been	the technical capacities
for performing the necessary functions for the achievement
of that purpose in the regions. The problem is clearly
(10)	Sutan Sjahrir, in Symposium Tentang Kesulitan-kesulitan
Zaman Sekarang, April 26, 1952, Balai Pustaka, 1953, p. 20.
(11)	Mohammad Tauchid, BTI, IP/1952/III/73/p. 348.
(12)	Prime Minister Natsir in his,answer to the first term
debates on his program. RP/1950/V/p. 1803.106
intensified regarding the village, and it is further complicated
by confusion with attempts to preserve the idealized tradi-
tional modes of behavior. When it is said that the village
is the basic unit of community with a tradition of autonomy,
emphasis is being placed on the very modes that are criticized
and rejected—consciously or unconsciously—by those who talk
of modernization and technical improvement.
Bound by the ancient system of customs, still
believing in a nonsensical magical world with all
kinds of taboos, the peasant community is static,
it doesn't move, it shows no progress or renewal. The
villagers' life and the way of caring for the rice
fields have not changed from those of their an-
cestors. The agricultural equipment they are using
now is similar to that used by their forebears in
ancient times...." (13)
This static condition encompasses a mode of every day existence
that is dedicated to limited social and economic influences.
Village affairs refer primarily to the physical upkeep of
the village, and maintenance of production in the first place
of agricultural goods. Within this limited scope there
is indeed a tradition of autonomous activity, but, distinct
from the present concept of "progress," it emphasizes tradi-
tion and resists change. Even within the traditional sphere
there are indications that	self-reliance is not always as
complete as is sometimes thought.
The decentralization program is designed as a division
of authority among the various levels of government. Recalling
the stress placed on economic development as a function of
government, it is doubtful that villagers in their present
condition could perform the modern operations demanded for
such development without careful and close supervision by
the technical experts available at higher levels. There is,
at the present time, little in this field that could be
transferred to the village as areas for the application of
its own initiative. Even in the fields traditionally
within the scope of village upkeep--maintenance of village
roads, buildings, irrigation works, etc.—the ideal being
progress, the village will be subjected to instructions,
advice, and examples that would be severe limitations on free
or autonomous decision-making. The villagers must not be
allowed to do as they want; they must be taught to change
their ways, become dynamic, think of progress and, the future.
(13) A’ Hamid S’iregar, Ekonomi Desa, Medan, Islamiah, 1952,
p. 12.107
The difficulty of compromising this need with the ideal of
the third-level autonomous region has been one of the major
drags on the implementation of the program
The picture we have suggested for the condition of the
village is not completely accurate; it does not account for
the changes that are taking place. The revolution was not
limited to the towns, and the spirit of change has not com-
pletely escaped the attention of the villagers. To a greater
or lesser degree from village to village
...the village structure and its economy are in
transition, breaking down as a result of the in-
cursion of, modern money economy, modern life and
communications, and also as a result of the struggle
for independence and of independence itself. (14)
But the villagers are poorly prepared to direct their attention
to the fulfillment of the national ideals and the aspirations
towards progress. An awareness of and ability to use modern
technical methods in economics and government do not come
naturally; and education and training are newly found for
villagers. To cite one example, in the village of Djabres
in Central. Java, it is reported (15) that of a total popula-
tion of 879, 61 per cent regard themselves as literate, (16)
but only 33 per cent of the population over fifteen years of
age have attended elementary school, and 2 per cent have
attended secondary school. While the Indonesian government
has been making heroic efforts in the field of education,
such figures make it unlikely that the necessary basis of an
educated and aware citizenry for the conduct of autonomous
modern government can be achieved in the immediate future. (17)
The question might well be asked here as to the fate of
the traditional modes of behavior that are cited as worthy
of being preserved—collective life, gotong rojong, musjawarah,
(14)	Soedjatmoko, in Thayer, op. cit., p. 132.
(15)	Lembaga Penjelidikan Ekonomi dan Masjarakat, "Some Data
on the Population of Djabres, a Village in Central Java,"
Ekonomi dan Keuangan Indonesia, December 1956.
(16)	This would be a very high rate of literacy, and some
question is raised by the reporters as to the reliability
of the figure.
(17)	The value of the educated and aware citizenry has been
stressed by Indonesians themselves.108
mufakat. We can take it as axiomatic that they will change
apace with the "modernization" of the village. Certain
demands of rational economic organization are universal—to
the extent that the goals to be achieved, such as efficient
production, are the same. The technical requirements of
machinery cannot be subjected to compromise. A hierarchic
bureaucracy cannot be avoided in the making and carrying out
of well-planned decisions. Collective life is cited as the
basis for modern Indonesia. The theory however does not
suggest how the traditional collectivity of the village will
be transformed into a society capable of maintaining an ad-
vanced industrial plant. "The spirit of gotong rojong of the
old and feudal type," says one observer, "must be capable of
change to become a conscious and rational spirit of gotong
rojong." (18) But it is not suggested how.
There are indications that it is not necessarily the
traditional village that is intended as the third-level
autonomous region. More recently stress has been placed on
the ketjamatan (sub-district) level, which would include several
of the presently existing villages. If this is done, the
consequences for the traditional values cannot be foreseen.
It is largely an unknown factor how the villagers will inter-
act with enlarged circles of community when their traditional
circle of activity and communication is expanded to include
other villages. If there is no interaction, or if the village
maintains its unity, the problem of the ideal unit of
community has not been solved. If the closeness of the
community is violated by combination with other villages, it
is possible.that the traditional responses will be modified.
There have been some cases of combinations of villages forming
new and still viable units. So far, however, the process
has been much too slow to have any meaning for the present
plans.
While the ideological approach to Indonesian government
may stress the traditional village as the basic level of com-
munity, the technical approach generally realizes its short-
comings as it exists now in becoming an autonomous level,
and has been searching about for a way out of the impasse
thus far encountered. One of the attempts to stimulate the
kind of activity necessary to a viable, self-sustaining
village society in the context of the modern world has been
to establish "experimental villages" (desa. pertjobaan). Here
the technical services of the central government were set to
work, encouraging and initiating village activity in fields
deemed necessary to their welfare. To be emphasized here is the
role of the central government in these activities.
(18) Sutan Sjahrir, op. cit., p. 37.109
It must be confessed that when they were formed,
activities were organized at the suggestion and
urging of the appropriate pamong pradja officials,
assisted by the (technical) bureaus. (T9)
But the ideal is to have these activities undertaken by the
people themselves, on their own initiative,, There is some
question as to whether that has been achieved yet. While
instances of village initiative can be pointed to, there is
also the realization that the scale thus far has been
disappointing, especially in those cases where central govern-
ment encouragement has been reduced.
As far back as 1948, it was declared that the traditional
village might not be a viable unit for the purposes of decen-
tralization. It was suggested then that there might be
combinations of villages to form a stronger unit. (20) But
by 1955, while still claiming that "combination is still the
main road" to achieve an acceptable level for the village,
it was admitted that "according to the present facts none
want to do it." (21)
The problem of the third-level autonomous region is
still far from solution. Each cabinet has promised investi-
gations or experimerits, perhaps seriously, perhaps as an
excuse; for it must be admitted that the complexity of the
problem does not allow for easy resolution. A conflict between
ideals and practical reality is obvious. While it may be a
basic aspiration to have the mass of the population living
in more or less traditional surroundings, but acting in terms
of modern economic and political techniques, the hard facts
of backward village life point to a long-term process of
information and education before such a goal can be achieved.
If this is so, then the central government’s concern over
leadership and supervision is well-founded. A village left
to its own devices at the present time would find it difficult
to initiate the improvements which are hoped for.
This is not to suggest that the traditional "autonomy"
of the village must be entirely neglected. It would seem,
however, that the terms of reference for a village cannot be
the same as those for a province; the village requires distinct
(19)	Prime MfnTster Burhanuddin Harahap, in his answer to the
debates on his cabinet’s program, IP/1955/VI/110/p. 832.
(20)	See Clarification, Law No. 22, 1948.
(21)	Prime Minister Harahap, IP/1955/VI/110/p. 832.110
treatment, suitable to its characteristics. But to set up
separate legislation for the village would violate a widely
conceived image; the Dutch had done just that and also
"neglected" the village; Indonesia must correct that situa-
tion by bringing the village integrally into the decentrali-
zation system. The difficulty, if not impossibility, of
doing so is indicated by the lack of any third-level villages,
and by the change in the wording of the new decentralization
law to allow for the postponement of their establishment.
Another assumption that has pervaded activities regarding
villages is that the regulations governing them must be
general for all. In the face of recognized wide divergencies
of development, it is difficult to see how this could be
accomplished in the near future. But, while all the higher-.
level activities go on about the village, thus far the village itself
has continued to function within its traditional realm. Some
changes are already apparent however, and as outside influences
continue to intrude the changes will become more profound.
The ideal of the collective village may well be lost in spite
of the wish to preserve it on the part of the Djakarta leaders.
Modern techniques are to be put at the service of the
village. The villager is not to be left in ignorance.
Starting with the widespread anti-illiteracy campaign, there
are being planned and already going on a variety of programs
designed to bring about this transformation. The scope of
these activities, however,tends to support the thesis that
for the immediate future, the village will be much more the
subject of action by others	than the initiator of
autonomous activities. (22) The wishes of the village popula-
tions can be made known through devices such as village
assemblies, but the actual decisions on work,other than that
traditionally done by the village,Will probably continue to
originate from other sources.
4
We have pointed to the problem of whether the third-level
autonomous region is to be a "natural" village, or a "construct"
made up of combinations of presently existing units. We noted
(22) Even theco-operative movement, which requires large-
scale direct participation,is essentially led from above,
and must provide education and training "which must con-
sume decades." See, passim, Mohammad Hatta, The Co-opera-
tive Movement in Indonesia, Ithaca, Cornell University
Press, 1957. This book, a collection of translated
speeches by the former vice president, provides, in
addition to information on the co-operative movement,
excellent statements of Indonesian ideals.Ill
that the preferred solution tends in the direction of combina-
tions. However, in the discussions concerning this possibility,
it is usually emphasized that the villagers must not be
"forced" to combine, that such combinations must emerge from
a popular realization of the needs and benefits to be derived
from such a step; the new unit is thus to be "natural" in its
own right.
This is evidently an application of a more general
symbol used in expressions concerning the actual division
of territory: the regions must form "living unities"
(kesatuan jang hidup), a term which is: meant to apply to all
levels. The viability of these units would be judged according
to existing situations, based on certain indices; the contra-
distinction to this type of unit would be "artificial
constructions"(bikin-bikinan).
There seems to be fairly general attachment to the
symbol of living unity, both on the part of the central
government and of the regional spokesmen, though with sometimes
varying terminology. The Minister of Internal Affairs, in
his answer to the first term debates on the 1954 draft
decentralization bill said:
In principle it would be extremely unwise to have
autonomous units which would be merely artificial
constructs, thus not basing them on the legal
communities that do exist. Therefore a region
which is to be given autonomy should as far as
possible be a community unit that clearly demon-
strates the factors of the bonds of unity. (23)
Examples of similar expressions are easily found in a variety
of sources, not only . governmental:
In order for autonomy to give satisfaction to the
people, it must be conferred upon regions which
really can be considered as unities by the people,
or be received as such. (24)
Another manifestation of this line is the opinion that one
of the big mistakes made by the various cabinets in imple-
menting the decentralization 'prog'ramha'a.been that
&’ό) IP/l955/¥I/45/p. 321.
(24) Sukarma, Qtonomi Daerah, Djakarta, Sikap, (nd), p. 15.112
autonomy has not been given to regions of unified
popular life, but rather to regions constructed at
an office desk. (25)
The question of viability is subject to differences of
interpretation, and one might expect that in any given poli-
tical situation such interpretations would be influenced by
political and economic interests. We can, however, consider the
factors which are discussed in relation to the divisions that
either have been made or are demanded, either in justifica-
tion or in criticism of the decision. We can differentiate
four types of factors which are often referred to. Unfor-
tunately we do not get a clear picture of their interrelations,
or of the relative importance of each.
The first set might be called physical and social factors.
Those who argue for the division of Kalimantan into more than
one province point out that communication between the
various parts of that large island is at present extremely
difficult; to travel from Pontianak on the west coast to
Bandjarmasin on the south coast it is easiest to go by way
of Djakarta. Economic rationales are invoked; arguing for
provincial status for West Kalimantan, one speaker (Maizyr
Achmaddyn’s of Masjumi who comes from Kalimantan) claimed this
region had most of its economic relations with Java and
Singapore, but very few with South and East Kalimantan.
Prime Minister Natsir, in defending his cabinet's program
said that
in determining the level of an autonomous region,
most attention must be paid to the social and
economic progress of the region...	(26)
Under the heading of physical and social factors we
would have to include ethnic composition. Some political
parties actually refer to the ethnic groups as a possible
basis of division of territory, though most are not quite as
explicit. It is not clear how an entirely ethnic division
would be implemented; some of the groups are quite small,
including some extremely primitive tribes. Others are
economically backward, and would find it difficult to function
within the framework, of the orientation of the decentraliza-
tion program. In the demands for status that have been
articulated in the past few years, sometimes the ethnic basis
is embarrassingly close to the surface, to theneglect of
other, more "objective" technical factors. This occurs when
(25)	Major Polak, PSI, IP/1954/V/142/p. 1046.
(26)	RP/1950/V/p. 1796.113
included in one province there are groups with differing
levels of influence in the province, and there is a fear of-doraina
tion of the stronger over the weaker. This evidently was an
important part of the demand for a separate province of
Central Kalimantan (to escape from the control of the
Bandjarese), and in the movements for separate provinces of
Djambi and Riauw, in Central Sumatra, where the Minangkabaus
were seen as having predominance. Whether or not the ethnic
composition of an area is explicitly mentioned, it should be
inferred as one of the bonds that unify segments of the popu-
lation in the "viable units" put forth as the objectives.
The second group of factors can be called technical.
It includes problems such as the availability of qualified
manpower, sufficient financial means, and in general the
equipment needed for functioning autonomous regional govern-
ments Reference to these factors is almost a monopoly of
central government spokesmen, and it seems more a basis for
negative argument, to be used in justification for refusing
to make a division, than a consideration of the realities of
regional life. There is no indication of the meaning of
"sufficiency." Certainly in terms of the high level of ideals
of economic development and modern government, no region would
have these factors in sufficient supply, but then, by the same
token, the central government faces similar; shortages.
Reference to these technical factors in rejecting
claims to status is illustrated by Prime Minister Wilopo’s
answer to the demand the Kalimantan be divided into more
than one province. This was at a time when Kalimantan was a
single administrative province:
Keeping in mind the growth of government throughout
Kalimantan based on its present administrative
form, the Ministry of Internal Affairs has been
endeavoring to establish Kalimantan as a single
autonomous province. This does not mean that we
reject or ignore the demands of the people of, for
example, West Kalimantan, for the division of
Kalimantan into two or more provinces. Possible
solutions to this problem can be examined more
deeply, in accordance with the political develop-
ment of various regions, while awaiting the prepara-
tion of all the materials needed.to equip an autono-
mous province, such as organization, apparatus,
trained manpower, sources of finances, and so forth. (27)
(27) Keterangan dan Djawaban Pemerintah atas Program Kabinet
Wilopo (Program of the Wilopo Cabinet and the Government's
Reply to Parliamentary Debate), Djakarta, Kementerian
Penerangan, 1952, p. 49.114
These two sets of factors are actually two different
ways of looking at the same phenomenon which we can call the
general development of an area. They are in practice some-
times combined in this manner, such as in the statement by
Minister of Internal. Affairs Sunarjo:
In order to be able to determine that sort of
community unit we must not only pay attention to
the economic, geographic, cultural and sociological
factors, but also the development of that community
itself. In this matter, that development is the
major factor, for that is what determines, and
brings the community to, a true unity of life; that
is what guarantees viability or the ability to
exist. (28)
The third group of factors are the references to the
wishes of the people, usually of the region concerned. Here
we find the various claims, most often to provincial status,
presented in the name of the people. Sometimes this is coupled
with an identification of the claimants with some other
widely accepted value, such as the Unitary State. For example:
I wish to further a claim from West Kalimantan (for
provincial status).... This is not just the wish of
one group that wants to continue the idea of
federalism in the form of a province with broad
autonomy. Mr. Speaker, the ones that want provincial
autonomy for West Kalimantan are mainly those groups
that formerly, with all their strength,fought for
the Unitary Republic of Indonesia, (29)
The desire of the population for provincial status has
been invoked in each instance of such claims,as was to be expected
given the importance of democratic symbolism, How meaningful
such arguments are in the determination of provinces is an
open question. It is complicated by the difficulties of
measuring popular desires. In ihe first instance popular
desires are expressed through resolutions transmitted by
organizations, political party branches, and mass meetings.
But some questions can be raised as to the validity of such
media as actual reflections of public opinion. Nevertheless,
they are the manifestations with which the central government
is faced. The question should more properly be put as how
128) From the answer to the debates on the draft decentraliza-
tion law, IP/1955/VI/45/p. 321.
(29) Dr. M. Soedarso, PNI, RP/1950/III/p. 1163.115
much political pressure such manifestations can generate.
These pressures, which can vary from mild urging to outright
violence, result in a political decision which may entirely
neglect the more "objective" factors of viability.
The first concrete step taken by the central government
to adjust the number of first level divisions was in 1956,
when Atjeh was separated from North Sumatra, and Kalimantan
was divided into three provinces. In its explanation of this
move, the central government specifically referred to "the
demands of the people."
It is already generally known that the division of
the territory of the State into ten provinces is no
longer able to fulfill the hopes and desires of
the people in general, and further gives no satis-
faction to the people of the regions concerned,
especially those of Atjeh, East Sumatra, Riauw,
Djambi, East Kalimantan, West Kalimantan, and also
from Sulawesi and Nusa Tenggara. Voices are heard,
especially from Sumatra and Kalimantan, which
strongly demand that their respective regions be
established as autonomous provinces. They have
repeatedly demonstrated their wishes, both in reso-
lutions and motions, and in the newspapers, and
they have sent delegations to the Central Govern-
ment without ever losing the hope that their demands
must be heeded by the Government. (30)
The problem of Atjeh was very much complicated by the
existence and continuation of outright armed revolt which
had been going on since September 1953. It had in fact
been argued that provincial status for Atjeh could not be
decided before peaceful conditions were restored. But as
time passed this desirable objective was no closer to attain-
ment. In 1956, the government did move to establish Atjeh
as a separate province, with some hope that this might help
settle the armed conflict. In the course of 1957 peace was
attained, but there is no way to measure the contribution of
the granting of provincial status to this. It is impossible
to say what would have happened to the claim for status if
there had been no revolt. The demand for separation is an
old one, dating back to the time Atjeh was first included in
North Sumatra, in 1950 (Atjeh was a s’eparate province for a
short time pripr to that). It would be a gross oversimplifi-
cation to attribute the Atjeh revolt in 1953 solely to the
(30) From the Clarification of the bill for the establishment
of the Province of Atjeh, IP/1956/VII/92/p. 754.116
demand for autonomy, but this was an element involved in the
political maneuverings in that area.
The success of Atjeh and the new provinces of Kalimantan
in achieving the desired status evidently gave new ammunition
to other areas making the same demand. They argued that the
only way to stimulate action on the part of the central
government was to engage in armed revolt as Atjeh had done.
Before any of these other areas could develop a course of
action, the regional movements led by army colonels, based
on the existing organization, began at the end of 1956. The
Central Sumatran leadership, the Banteng Council, indicated
early in 1957, their accession to the claims of Djambi and
Riauw.to separate status. The central government, faced
with practically a fait accompli, indicated its willingness
to legalize this move, and started on the procedures for
establishing those areas as provinces. The action of the
Banteng Council evidently hastened the process.
The fourth factor we might call historical development.
It encompasses a variety of forms of growth, not the least
important of which was the administrative structure devised
by the Dutch before World War II. Under the Dutch system,
the division which served almost uniformly throughout the
Outer Islands as the main administrative unit was the
residency. In Java, this unit was superceded in later years
oy the province, but this level was never reached on the
other islands. As was mentioned, in Java the administrative
structure was quite regular, but in the outer islands below
the residency level there was great variety. Reference to
regions in current debates often is to the divisions as they
were before the war, and the one most often mentioned is the
residency.
As first conceived, the decentralization program would
have led to the elimination of the residency as an administra-
tive unit with its functions being absorbed by the province.
This development has not taken place, causing some adverse
comment in Parliament, At one point, because of new appoint-
ments of residents--the top administrative official of a
residency—the accusation was made that the Ministry of
Internal Affairs was trying to strengthen the position of the
pamong pradja by stressing the residency level, instead of
working towards the demise of the whole corps. Recent develop
ments, however, may make the whole question academic; some
support has been developed for the notion that the first—level
autonomous region should be the residency. While this might
not be signif icant--andeven possibly a regression—on Java,
it would accord with the most vociferous demands from the
outer islands. The claims for provincial, or first-level
status have been based on the former residencies, such as117
Atjeh, Djambi, Riauw, etc. While there has been no great
enthusiasm for this suggestion as an abstract solution, the
practical situation is approaching more and more to its
fulfillment.
The factor of the historical background of the various
areas is often utilized in discussions as to the number of
levels that would be most suitable for receiving autonomy.
It will be recalled that Law No. 22, 1948 required three
autonomous levels, but this formulation was changed to allow
"at most" three. This was to permit the postponement of
the creation of the third level. There was little objection
in Parliament to the notion of the first and second levels,
though there was debate as to the extensiveness of the first
level. Outside of Parliament, however, there has been some
discussion of whether three levels would be desirable at
all. When this question is raised, the determining considera-
tion in the speaker’s point of view seems to be whether or
not there had been a tradition of any given level in the
various parts of Indonesia. In this vein, Sutardjo
Kartohadikusumo could recommend three levels for Java and
two for the rest of the country, for in Java and Madura
such an arrangement has been in operation for years,
and can be accepted and understood by the people...
(while)... for the areas outside Java it can be
said that'the, arrengemeht of three levels is some-
thing new, for the level of Province and Kabupaten
are still foreign to the people there...
Utilizing the same appeal, but arguing in a different direction,
the speaker for Maluku at the Inter-Provincial Conference,
held in Bandung in March 1955?could claim that three levels
would be proper for his region because it would correspond
with "the arrangements from former times, which included
divisions into Residencies and Sub-districts." He claimed
that the requirement of three levels
corresponds with the objective situation in Indo-
nesia; it is practical; it would not be artificial.
(Further, this is true for areas outside of Java
also). But the size of any one level, of course,
cannot be the same for Java and the areas outside
Java. (31)
“(31) Kenang-kenangan Konperensi Antar-Propinsi Seluruh
Indonesia diadakan di Bandung pada tanggal 7-8-9 Maret
1955, p. 155.----1-------------------------------------118
»
The reformulation of the requirement of the number of
levels, we have suggested, is to allow the postponement of
the establishment of third—level units,, This step was
necessary due to the immensity of the problem, and thechanges
required in relation to village society. Aside from this,
there are no major changes from the situation which developed
since 1950, based on Law No. 22, 1948. There are more pro-
vinces being established; the kabupaten divisions of Java,
Sumatra, and Kalimantan seem fixed; there has been some
readjustment of "kabupatens" in Sulawesi and Maluku; ignoring
the question of cities, there have been no third-level units
established. We have suggested four groupings of factors
envisaged as determining new divisions, and we have indicated
that units are expected to demonstrate bonds of unity that
would make them viable. We cannot indicate, in terms of
expectations, which factors or combinations of factors carry
most weight in making the final decisions. In practice,
however, it would seem that!the redivision of provinces has
been taking place as a response to urgent political
pressures rather than in fulfillment of rationalized pre-
determined planning. One might interpret this as giving
most weight to the factor of popular will for separate
status expressed in an area through political demands. If
so, however, it is still far from the ideal informed
citizenry expressing their self-interest to a receptive
bureaucracy through representative institutions, and basing
their expressions on rational grounds in Interpretation of
the common welfare. We here beg the question of whether or
nor the redivisions which have taken place would have occurred
in any case within the framework of a rational plan considering
all the factors. But--and here the question of time enters—
the demands had been expressed for six years before the
redivisions started; and the redivisions were finally accom-
plished at a time when political tensions over what is generally
called "the regional problem" were becoming acute.