It has gotten worse with the crackdowns after the Bali and Hyatt bombings. Blaming Islamic fundamentalists, the American and Australian governments leaned on Megawati to pass new laws allowing, among other things, detention without trial. The alleged bombers were tried under this legislation–retrospectively, which violates the country’s constitution.

How did such a dismal outcome follow such inspiring struggles?

In the mid-nineties, conventional wisdom said economic development would bring democracy to Indonesia. It was the newest Asian tiger, and its economy would continue to boom. The growing middle class would no longer put up with dictatorship, and by genteel lobbying would push the old guard into retirement. The politician who symbolized this prospect was Megawati, daughter of the country’s independence leader Sukarno.

Former President Suharto became alarmed about Megawati’s progress around 1994, as she consolidated her position as head of the previously tame Indonesian Democratic Party. The dictator Suharto organized a rigged party congress to get her dumped–but she and her supporters resisted, occupying the party headquarters in the capital city, Jakarta. Suharto organized thugs to drive them out, which provoked the July 27, 1996 Jakarta riots.

At the same time, an emerging working class was organizing and becoming more militant, with networks of activists emerging and signs of coordinated industrial action. The number of strikes was still small compared to the size of the working class, and independent union organization was weak. Most strikes were about very limited demands. Still, the trend was there.

Before July 27, there was already a pattern of unrest, with street demonstrations in Ujung Pandang on the island of Sulawesi that forced the government to lower transport fares, and a big workers’ demonstration in Surabaya in Eastern Java led by the far-left People’s Democratic Party (PRD). But the July 27 riots were a huge turning point. They were more political than most riots: groups marched along major streets chanting "Long live Megawati" and "The military are killers."

The repression that followed was effective for a while, but the 1997 election campaign allowed hostility to the regime to show itself again under the guise of election campaigning. With Megawati sidelined, few wanted to support her party, so mass opposition focused on rallies by the remaining token opposition party, the United Development Party (PPP). Huge crowds took to the streets a number of times, gridlocking the capital and other cities, and towards the end there was street fighting. These actions combined support for Megawati and for the star symbolizing the PPP; this "Mega-Star" alliance showed that mass hostility was mounting against the regime.

The one thing Suharto still had going for him was the grudging recognition that he had presided over economic growth: He was the "Father of Development." But at the end of 1997, the Asian crisis brought development to a shuddering halt.

At first the economic crisis dampened the struggle, because so many people were focused entirely on survival. Then a new rhythm of revolt began, based on new social contradictions. For a time, most of the upheavals around the country took the deeply ambiguous form of riots, mostly with a big anti-Chinese component. Chinese families, in league with the military, control big chunks of the economy. This allows the government and the military to deflect hostility in their direction in times of crisis.

The mood of hope had changed to desperation. Often riots began as protests over some outrage committed by the police or army, but they were repeatedly diverted by provocateurs into looting and attacks on Chinese immigrants. Political demonstrations were mostly token affairs. It was not until March 1998 that the students began to mount a genuinely political protest movement. This quickly became a mass movement, with regular demonstrations at even the most conservative universities, such as Trisakti University.

The student movement began with rallies inside the campuses, where it was relatively safe. Then they started trying to get into the streets, but were usually stopped by the security forces. The resulting clashes provoked new street fighting, so that the authorities could argue against street marches on the grounds that they caused riots. Many students accepted this.

The student movement had other weaknesses. It was moralistic, and often the students organized in isolation from other forces. There were those who hoped to somehow inspire the rest of the population, but there was little concept of building concrete links. Most were affected by the image–propagated by the regime over many years–that the students were a "pure" moral force not to be corrupted by mixing with others. Still they had some impact in society. In late April, the workers, who had been largely quiescent in the face of mass unemployment, began to strike. It wasn’t a mass strike movement, and it wasn’t always political, but it added to the rhythm.

The Asian economic crisis was rich in ironies. For years the experts had hyped the economic boom, portraying local political and industrial leaders as miracle workers, while hot money poured into the Southeast Asian region. Only the Japanese fund managers were cautious; in fact they began pulling out as early as 1995. The rest abruptly followed in 1997, after the "tiger economies" showed signs of declining competitiveness and over-capacity. As Harvard economist Jeffrey Sachs said, "Euphoria turned to panic without missing a beat. Suddenly, Asia’s leaders could do no right. The money fled."

Initially, capitalist pundits and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) thought that Indonesia would escape the crash, because its economy was supposedly so good on fundamentals. Yet by December 1997, the country was in financial turmoil, its currency plunging from 2,300 to 10,000 rupiahs (Rp) to the U.S. dollar and beyond. Indonesia’s external debt soared to $142 billion.

Suharto invited the IMF to prop up the economy and then spent months trying to avoid implementing its demands. The regime announced that some major projects would be shelved, but they reappeared in a new guise. The clove monopoly of Tommy Suharto, the dictator’s son, was supposed to be scrapped; but then it looked like it was returning in a new form. These games allowed Suharto’s family and cronies to cling to their assets, but world money markets were hostile.

Unemployment soared and inflation raced out of control, yet Suharto’s ruthless political machine handed him another presidential term. Despite the unrest the regime held firm, mouthing platitudes about reform while arranging the kidnapping and torture of activists. Armed thugs seized Pius Lustrilanang, an ally of Megawati and of another liberal reformer, Muslim leader Amien Rais; they also snatched Andi Arief, a prominent member of the PRD. Pius later surfaced telling of brutal mistreatment. Andi Arief eventually turned up in police custody, though none of the cops would own up to actually arresting him.

At the start of May 1998, Suharto arrogantly announced democratic reform wouldn’t proceed until 2003. The students were furious; their demonstrations grew. The public mood hardened perceptibly, as most people concluded reform was only possible if the dictator fell.

The student movement blossomed almost everywhere. In the city of Yogyakarta, the students took a member of the local parliament hostage, while in Surabaya they stormed into a radio station and ordered their demands be broadcast.

To build this national movement was a great achievement. The regime had made campus political activity extremely difficult by imposing an official organization, the Campus Coordinating Agency, and restricting alternative groups. Students were to pursue academic goals and shun "practical politics." But in 1998 they shrugged this restriction aside, saying their actions had nothing to do with the rubber stamp electoral system, and thus were technically not practical politics.

On May 4, the regime announced it would implement the IMF’s plan to stop subsidizing fuel and electricity prices. The price of gas would rise 71 percent immediately, while electricity would go up 60 percent over the course of the year, on top of all the earlier hardships. Desperately, motorists queued for the last of the cheap gas, gridlocking Jakarta’s traffic. While ordinary workers walked miles to get home, the cars of the rich were conspicuous in the gasoline lines. Their chauffeurs filled up, went home to siphon off the gas and returned for more. This profiteering gave a sharp class content to the gas crisis.

The press seriously questioned why the subsidies had to be removed. Yes, they cost a lot of money–Rp 27 billion, but the government had previously found Rp 103 billion to bail out the banks owned by its crony friends. The oil industry was earning foreign cash at what were now fabulous exchange rates, so why couldn’t it give local consumers a break?

Meanwhile a wave of strikes broke out in the industrial estates to the west of the capital. Around 2,000 employees in ceramic and chemical plants in Tangerang and Serang stopped work demanding wage increases to keep up with inflation. Twelve hundred workers at Surabaya’s P.T. Famous plant gathered outside the personnel office with placards saying that the bosses were liars, and that "We are not toy robots."

On the surface this seemed unrelated to the political unrest. However, it had become very hard for workers to strike due to mass unemployment. The fact that such actions were now occurring suggested the political struggles were having a flow-on effect. Within days, there were further signs. Around 2,000 medical staff from the Surabaya General Hospital demonstrated for democratic reform. The director said they had sent messages to the local parliament, but had been ignored. "So what could we do except finally take to the streets?"

The ferment was so great, even craven timeservers in parliament began debating issues and criticizing the government, looking for all the world like genuine representatives of the people. Jakarta was consumed with bitter anger waiting for a spark. It was struck by snipers who killed four students at the Trisakti University on May 12.

When I heard the news I went to Trisakti. Thousands of students had gathered for what was both an act of mourning and a political rally. Delegations arrived from other campuses as did every prominent figure of the democracy movement. Megawati spoke (the first time she had said a word about the months of protests) along with Amien Rais. Both pleaded for non-violence, but the situation had gone too far for that.

Students began to drift into the streets. Here they were joined by workers, the unemployed and the poor. The police marched up and street fighting began; I tasted tear gas for the first time since 1969. Around Atmajaya University in the heart of the city, office workers left their desks and came into the streets to express their support for the students. By nightfall, riots were spreading and the following day saw Jakarta in flames. Few corners of greater Jakarta were untouched. Some neighborhoods looked like war zones.

Finally the dictatorship cracked. Thirty thousand students invaded the parliament and the authorities made no effort to kick them out. No government accepts such a thing unless it’s on the ropes. The media defied the censors, and coverage of the riots was extremely frank. Newspapers held back from editorials calling directly for the president’s resignation, but the press did begin to discuss the Suharto regime in highly critical and sometimes insulting terms. And foreign businesses took to their heels. Economics professor Anwar Nasutian lamented:

The [foreign] factory managers have all gone, expert staff have fled, so have the people with the money, there is a capital flight. Now who will be willing to come to Indonesia as a tourist, who will be prepared to come and offer credit, let alone make investments?

What had been a widespread but still diffuse yearning for change became a national consensus. My personal friends said the same things as hardened political activists. So did people in the street. Even soldiers told me: Suharto has to go. Parliamentary speaker Harmoko, his home burnt to ashes in the riots, called on the dictator to quit. Members of parliament backed an extraordinary parliamentary session to seek Suharto’s resignation. Thirteen ministers quit.

At Trisakti University, the poet Rendra read bitter verses aimed at the dictator. Recalling all the injustices, he ended with these words:

Because we are like a flowing river
and you are a stone without a heart
the water will wear away the stone.

On May 21, 1998, with students occupying the parliament building and riots in the streets, the dictator resigned. Rendra’s prophecy was fulfilled. What brought down Suharto was not the politics of prosperity and middle-class lobbying, but the politics of crisis and mass upheaval.

Who led the May events? To the extent anyone provided progressive political leadership in May, it was certainly the students. Everyone sympathized with them, they offered the only political arguments with wide impact and the first of the Jakarta riots was touched off by the shooting of Trisakti students.

But the May unrest was only partly an uprising. Yes, there were sensational actions directed against the government. But it also involved race riots, rapes and apolitical mass looting, and a significant amount of it was orchestrated. A leftist observer, Vedi Hadiz, wrote to me that "from where I was, I could see truckloads of looters going back and forth on the toll roads, and it would have been terribly easy for one military vehicle to have stopped them at either end. One looter even asked me the way back to Jakarta (from Bekasi)–obviously somebody brought in from elsewhere." Unlike 1996, there were no contingents marching in the streets chanting political slogans during the riots. Most people I talked to in the aftermath told apolitical stories (like the one about the guy who tried to board a crowded commuter train with a looted fridge) or made anti-Chinese remarks.

Why was this possible? Because the students didn’t provide leadership to the wider community. As an analysis written by activists in Solo explained, "the student movement with a vision of overthrowing Suharto during February—May in the big cities still had a romantic and exclusive character. That is, it stuck to its political identity as a student movement and relied on the campus as a site of struggle." (Solo itself was an exception, they said.) Another sympathetic Indonesian writer lamented that there was insufficient "people power" because "the student protest was too much insulated as a ‘moral force.’" Similarly, a writer who was at the parliament when the dictator fell, to be replaced by Vice President Bacharuddin Jusuf Habibie (an eccentric technocrat), wrote in her diary:

The fact is they [the students] are poorly coordinated and are not by and large disciplined activists. They have no true militants and many of them are particularly young and not savvy. The radio broadcast some of their comments about Habibie’s cabinet appointments. They were favorable about some of them, showing they weren’t clear in their opposition to the entire systematic charade.

The term revolution was little used during May, except as a bogey. The dominant view was that "reformasi" was needed to prevent a revolution (which would be violent, ugly and destructive). In late 1998 this changed for a time.

In the aftermath of Suharto’s fall, the student movement was in disarray. Students had campaigned single-mindedly against the dictator, without much thought to the aftermath. Moreover, many of the students had seen themselves as a morally pure elite which should stay away from practical politics–a mentality cynically encouraged by the regime which flattered them while trying to undermine them. Now they suddenly confronted a new government claiming to implement reform. After a fairly short lull, they returned to the streets, now calling for "total reform," but their numbers were comparatively small and the student groups were split.

In Jakarta the whole movement had been coordinated by the cross-campus City Forum network (Forum Kota, soon shortened to Forkot). Now a sizeable section of Forkot split away into a second network called FAMRED, complaining that some elements within Forkot did not believe in non-violence and even making corruption charges. Muslim students sympathetic to Amien Rais had formed another group called KAMMI which represented a relatively right wing current. The far-left PRD, meanwhile, was increasingly able to operate above ground and had established a student organization called KOMRAD. Soon there was a variety of rival student organizations.

Students were divided over how political to be (as opposed to the "moral force" idea), over loose structures versus organized leadership, over non-violence and over attitudes to the forthcoming special parliamentary session which was to lay down ground rules for the 1999 elections. Some initially had high hopes for the session (in May, after all, they’d demanded it be held immediately). Others were conditionally supportive, while the left wing was arguing to reject the whole affair, because the parliament was just a Suharto hangover. Arguments over these issues got heated, and at one demo on November 9 the more radical students pulled down one of KAMMI’s banners.

Finally, as the special session approached, the students moved toward a consensus around three demands. Two were well established by late October: Put Suharto on trial and end the military’s role in politics. The third, which still required much debate, was for accelerating democratization–here everyone agreed in principle, but not on specifics. By October 28, when 10,000 or so rallied on the Day of the Oath of the Youth (a historic date in the national independence struggle), the center and left of the movement was able to unite under the banner of an umbrella group AKRAB (People’s United Action–"akrab" also means "friendly, intimate"). The name not only implied unity but also an orientation to "the people," a significant development in itself. The students were ready to mobilize the wider population.

In the week beginning Monday, November 9, demonstrations against the special session began. The movement was nationwide, but I will stick to events in Jakarta. At first the numbers were still fairly small, a few thousand perhaps. The demonstrators wanted to hold a mock parliament at Proclamation Square, but were pushed out of the square by a crowd of so-called civilian militia (Pam Swarkarsa), thugs hired by the regime from among the urban poor and various quasi-fascist organizations. It was only late that evening when the students managed to reclaim the square, helped by local residents. From then on the square became an major rallying point, and each day the demonstrations grew larger.

By mid-week, tens of thousands of students were marching through the city streets. Much larger numbers of local people gathered at street corners to cheer them on, many joining the march or running ahead of it to confront police. So united and well organized were the students that they could split up and hold more than one march, yet eventually converge again at the parliament. There were many stirring tales; here is one I received by e-mail:

2 pm: The mass action arrives at Jatinegara, its numbers reaching around 100,000. The military blocks the road with four trucks and a line of soldiers. The military commander asks for negotiations…. When leader of the demonstration won’t negotiate and gives an ultimatum…. Within five minutes the march will break through the barricade…. Thousands of students chant "oppose! oppose! forward! forward! forward!"…. The security forces remove the trucks and troops. The march, by now 150,000 strong, marches on chanting "The people united will never be defeated."

Later in front of the parliament, the military is too strong, and the demonstrators can’t break through. Confrontations ensue: tear gas, rubber bullets, street fighting. "Along the slow lane of the toll road a thousand students calling themselves the Jakarta Front arrive chanting ‘revolution or death’ and singing ‘if you want a revolution, join us’."

An issue that illustrates a number of problems and possibilities is the third demand of the movement: Replace the existing parliament with some kind of transitional democratic regime. In the early stages, students prodded the four best known liberal democrats (Megawati, Amien Rais, the Sultan of Yogyakarta and the popular but eccentric Muslim figure, Abdurrahman Wahid) into meeting and making a common statement. The right wing of the movement hoped these four would take the initiative and demand an immediate transfer of power. This they refused to do, making only vague demands such as a gradual elimination of the military’s political role. The students then generally forgot about the "Cinganjur group," as they were known, and relied on direct action. Yet ambiguities remained about their demands.

Forkot and FAMRED called for an Indonesian People’s Committee to take power, whereas the PRD and KOMRAD called for a People’s Council elected from the grassroots. Many students and most of the wider population would still have expected figures like the Ciganjur group to lead such a transitional vehicle. On the other hand, some were also open to the PRD’s argument that the People’s Council should be the peak of a much bigger movement consisting of councils of workers, communities, student, artists and peasants, which would in turn be based on local committees. While this wasn’t the same as workers’ councils based in industry, the PRD clearly wanted some kind of "dual power." All these ideas were light years ahead of the consciousness of May. Debate continued about them for some time after 1998, but unfortunately as the movement subsided they had less basis in reality.

Compromised though he was by his links to the old regime, Habibie still presided over significant changes to the political system. He cut back the military’s parliamentary representation, divided the military and police into separate structures and held the first free elections since the 1950s. The results resolved surprisingly little. Megawati’s vote topped 30 percent; Suharto’s old party Golkar, with its roots deep in the state machinery, got over 20 percent. Finishing third with about 13 percent was the National Awakening Party, based on the huge Muslim organization Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) and led by Abdurrahman Wahid, popularly known as Gus Dur. There were a number of smaller parties. These results shaped the new People’s Representative Assembly.

Electing the president fell to the wider People’s Consultative Assembly (functioning as electoral college and vehicle for constitutional change) where unelected "functional" delegates including the military had more weight. While on the face of it Megawati should have won, old-guard elements feared her as the champion of democracy and reform, and some Muslim groups opposed a female president. Fierce horse-trading brought Wahid to power.

Wahid was likeable but erratic. His presidency was unstable and hopes that he would introduce further reforms were largely disappointed. He promised the people of Aceh, long oppressed by Jakarta, a referendum–but didn’t hold it. He spoke of lifting the ban on the old Communist Party, but did nothing about it. Within a year, the same reactionary forces that had lined up to block Megawati were using her in an effort to dump Wahid.

At this point most of the Indonesian left, ranging from NGOs to the PRD*, rallied behind him and against Megawati. They argued that a transition from Wahid to Megawati was linked to rightward trends in society as a whole. They pointed to right-wing military, religious and bureaucratic groups behind the push to dump Wahid, and to Megawati’s links with sections of the military. They rallied outside the Presidential Palace, calling on Wahid to issue a decree dissolving parliament before it could remove him.

Yes, there was a link between the attacks on Wahid and those on democracy; but what was its nature? If we ask which president brought in the most democratic change, surely it is Habibie. Not because he represented more progressive forces, but because in November 1998 the mass struggle of the students and urban poor was at its height. As that struggle subsided, society drifted rightwards and reactionary elements raised their heads. They did use Megawati; but hadn’t the same people backed Wahid in 1999?

Megawati does have closer ties to the military; traditionally her father’s party cadres came from similar provincial Javanese backgrounds to many officers. But Wahid is closer to the Suharto family, which is still a force, and Wahid actually appeared with the dictator on TV in the dying days of his rule.

Wahid, Megawati and Habibie are all essentially similar capitalist politicians, members of the same social elite. The leftists who supported Wahid had confused cause and effect. And their calls for a decree dissolving parliament were extremely dangerous, given that he could only have done that with the help of the military. Relatively few left activists thoroughly understood the need for a political stand independent of all capitalist politicians.

Since 2001, Megawati and her backers have consolidated their position to a degree. The left has declined and fragmented, and in the wake of September 11 and Megawati’s increasing cooperation with U.S. imperialism, Islamic groups have begun to make a running as a seemingly radical political opposition. The president is giving the military a free hand against rebels in Aceh. The precious civil liberties won in the struggle against Suharto are being eroded, day by day. Yet deep contradictions remain. The economy is still fragile, the ruling circles deeply corrupt though in slightly new ways–for example Megawati’s husband Taufiq Kiemas now rates as a key participant in the gravy train. New trade unions have established a foothold in industry. Mass political sentiment is still volatile.

There is potential for struggle, and much to fight about. The question remains: Can the Indonesian left seize the opportunities.

* The PRD leadership insisted it did not actually back Wahid or support the decree. They acknowledged, however that many of their members interpreted party statements as meaning that, and acted accordingly.

A note on sources