A Written Submission to the 41st Regular Session of United Nations Human Rights Council by the Asian Legal Resource Centre
INDONESIA: Protection of peaceful assembly and association needs serious evaluation
Under the Indonesian Constitution (UUD) of 1945, the right to peaceful assembly and association is fully protected and guaranteed without any distinction. Moreover, Indonesia also has national laws that govern and ensure protection of peaceful assembly and association such as Law No. 39 of 1999 on Human Rights, and Law No. 9 of 1998 on Freedom of Speech in Public. Further, the police also have an internal police regulation in favour of human rights such as the National Chief Police Regulation No. 8 of 2009 on the implementation of human rights principles for the Police.
Despite all this protection on paper, Indonesia sees many cases of violations of the rights to assembly and association. Furthermore, since the government’s ratification of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights in 2005, no effective mechanism to examine serious violations against peaceful assembly and association has been put in place.
In the past year, the Indonesian police remain the most frequent actors violating the right to peaceful assembly and association. In particular, the police are prone to forcibly dissolve peaceful public protests. Several such incidents occurred against indigenous students who organized peaceful public protests to advocate and promote human rights in Papua and West Papua province. The latest case occurred on April 15, 2019 in Bali, where the Papuan Students Alliance (AMP) called for the public to abstain from voting in the presidential and legislative elections on April 17. This protest was part of a reflection of the human rights situation in Papua and West Papua, with students concerned about impunity and rampant human rights violations committed by the Indonesian police and armed forces.
Previously, on April 7, indigenous students associated with the Indonesian Peoples Front for West Papua (FRI WP) also organized a peaceful public protest in Malang regency, East Java province. The students called for self-determination and to stop the Freeport mining company in Papua and West Papua Province. Suddenly police officers from the Malang Police Office (Polres Malang) and some people wearing civilian clothes (some also wearing masks) attacked, beat, kicked, pushed and threw stones at the protesters. They also threw coffee mixed with chili at the students. Then, the police forced the protesters to board police vehicles and brought them to the bus terminal at Landungsari.
A similar case also occurred on Friday, 6 July 2018. At 6 p.m., students of Papua and West Papua Province living in the student dormitory in Jalan Kalasan, Surabaya, East Java province organized a movie screening on the bloody tragedy in Biak Papua 1998 (Tragedi Biak Berdarah). While the discussion regarding the movie was ongoing, police intelligence officers came to the dormitory, immediately followed by other police officers and personnel of the Civil Service Police Unit (Satpol PP). The police officers and Satpol PP suddenly stood in front of the dormitory’s door and told the students that they will break the door. Two Papuan students standing near the door tried to speak with the police and inform them about the discussion, but a student named Hendri was dragged out and intimidated by the police. Hendri was even asked by one of the police to fight, but Hendri did not respond.
The above-mentioned cases are merely a small sample of violations against the right to peaceful assembly and association. In the last one year, according to the Commission for the Disappearances and Victims of Violence (KontraS), a prominent national human rights organization, there have been 22 cases of force dissolution, violence and discrimination against peaceful public protest organized by Papuan students across the island of Indonesia.
In order to ensure that violations against peaceful assembly and association are seriously addressed, the Council must urge the Government to:
Ensure protection and guarantee to all people to exercise the right to peaceful assembly and association without any discrimination. 2. Stop dissolution and various patterns of human rights violations against the right to peaceful assembly and association. 3. Ensure that any pattern and form of human rights violation against the right to peaceful assembly and association must be investigated and prosecuted before the criminal court. 4. Invite and cooperate with the UN Special Rapporteur on the rights to freedom of peaceful assembly and of association.
The Asian Legal Resource Centre (ALRC) works towards the radical rethinking & fundamental redesigning of justice institutions in Asia, to ensure relief and redress for victims of human rights violations, as per Common Article 2 of the International Conventions. Sister organisation to the Asian Human Rights Commission, the ALRC is based in Hong Kong & holds general consultative status with the Economic & Social Council of the United Nations.
In May 2016, Petrus,* a 3-year-old Marind boy from West Papua, Indonesia, died of dysentery after drinking river water contaminated with pesticides from a nearby oil palm plantation. Petrus’ grieving parents, Marina and Bernardus, carried their child to the company headquarters some 20 kilometers away. They asked that the young boy be buried in their clan’s ancestral graveyard, located within the newly established oil palm concession. The company refused. The land was now their property, they argued. Burying the child within the plantation would attract pests that would harm the oil palm trees.
Bernardus and Marina then pleaded for Petrus to be buried in the concession’s conservation zone—a 10-meter-by-20-meter patch of sago palm grove amid a sea of monocrop oil palms—so the child could rest with his plant and animal kin. This request, too, was denied. In the interest of protecting local flora and fauna, access to the conservation zone was prohibited for non-company personnel.
Finally, Bernardus and Marina buried their child a few miles outside their village and plantation, by the side of the Trans-Irian Highway. Since then, the couple told me, their nights have been haunted by nightmares of Petrus’ frail body being trampled by trucks overloaded with palm oil fruit and by bulldozers clearing the forest to make way for oil palm. The parents wept as they described how isolated and frightened Petrus appeared in their dreams, alone by the dusty highway and severed from his plant and animal kin, never able to find rest.
“Since oil palm arrived,” Marina explains, “we Marind people have been robbed of our forest. The oil palm companies cut the forest. They also protect some forest. But now, all of the forest belongs to the companies, and we Marind have no place to live or die in peace.”
Yet despite their purported benefits, “green” palm oil initiatives are often criticized by Indigenous peoples, who find themselves dispossessed or displaced by agribusiness. Among Marind communities in the Merauke district of West Papua, where I have been carrying out fieldwork since 2013, these projects give rise to consternation, frustration, and sadness. They disconnect the Marind from their ancient relationship with forest organisms they view as kindred spirits and as companion species in both life and death.
“People think palm oil is green because there are conservation projects. But no one sees the blood and the violence,” says Perpetua, a young Marind woman. “Protected, not protected—it doesn’t matter. All that land was taken from us without our permission.”
A Marind elder named Pius points out that in so-called sustainable palm oil projects, conservation scientists from outside the area who “have never lived with the forest” are hired by palm oil companies to evaluate the plantations. These conservationists compartmentalize the landscape into zones of high and low conservation value based on guidelines set by the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil. Areas of high conservation value include forests that house threatened species or protect watersheds, as well as sites that satisfy the needs of local communities—though this latter aspect tends to get neglected. Companies are then required to demarcate, monitor, and enhance areas deemed to be of high value.
But what distinguishes high and low value zones is unclear to the Marind. The “experts,” Pius says, do not understand that plants and animals depend upon diverse ecologies—swamps, marshlands, mangroves, savannahs, forests—that are all equally important to their subsistence, reproduction, and growth. When only certain ecosystems are considered worthy of conservation, those that fall outside this category become “sacrifice zones” assumed to be available for exploitation. Meanwhile, the absence of ecological corridors connecting conservation patches limits the capacity of organisms to travel in search of food, water, and mates.
While plants and animals are restricted to bounded zones, the Marind find themselves excluded from areas where they once hunted, foraged, and fished. Conservation areas are often caged by barbed wire and remain strictly out of bounds for non-company personnel. This limits the capacity of the Marind to access forest foods and resources.
More importantly, this segregation disconnects the Marind from their relationships with plants and animals, just as Petrus was separated from his forest family. These sylvan organisms, described by my interlocutors as “grandparents” or “siblings,” are believed to share common descent with the Marind from ancestral spirits. They are considered agentive, sentient beings, with whom the Marind entertain relations of mutual care and respect.
Plants and animals provide humans with food and other resources. In return, humans support the growth of their non-human siblings by enhancing their environment. Villagers open pathways in the forest for wild pigs to access water sources, scatter seeds to promote tree growth, and periodically burn vegetation to enhance soil nutrients. These reciprocal acts of care—celebrated by the Marind in myths, stories, and songs—enable humans and their non-human kin to survive and thrive.
In contrast, species severed from their relations to humans in the name of conservation are a source of great sorrow for the Marind. Most notable is the sago palm, which yields their staple carbohydrate, sago starch. The plant holds central significance in Marind myth and culture, and is associated with invigorating “wetness” (dubadub) and fertility. Humans sustain the sago palm through a range of direct and indirect actions.
For instance, villagers help parent palms and their suckers access nutrients and sunlight by pruning suckers, clearing dead fronds and weeds, thinning the canopy, and burning excess vegetation. Transplanting suckers, or “sago children,” helps them grow by giving them access to water and light while allowing parent palms to regain their regenerative capacity. These suckers are often given the name of the individual who transplanted them, so that, in the words of Evelina, a young Marind woman, “suckers and humans remember each other and share the same story.”
Sago palms that grow in conservation zones are an object of pity among many Marind. No humans can help them care for their sago children or make their environment more conducive to healthy growth. Since selective felling and transplanting cannot take place, palms reproduce sexually rather than vegetatively. This ends the life cycle of the parent palm, whose seeds disperse across great distances and germinate far away from their sago kin. Exiled from each other, seeds and parents become “dry,” “lonely,” and “sad,” many Marind say.
Sequestering palms to conservation zones also means community members can no longer hunt within the forest or process sago flour. This negates the possibility of creating shared memories and relations between people and palms. As another Marind elder, Gerfacius, explains, “When sago and humans grow apart, they suffer because they can no longer share wetness. They can no longer make stories together. They can no longer support each other’s lives.”
Conservation practices in agribusiness are problematic for the Marind—and for many other Indigenous communities—because they assume humans are agents of ecological disturbance, so biodiversity can best be protected by divorcing ecosystems from people. This model is premised on an image of nature as an untouched zone of “wilderness” that should be kept pristine and free of human influence. Conservation efforts then snatch these landscapes away from the local communities who know them intimately.
These projects are designed and implemented by scientific experts from outside Merauke who rarely consult the Marind. These specialists ignore the fact that human partnerships with forest ecosystems may enhance biodiversity while fulfilling the needs of Indigenous people. In short, the violence of conservation in this arena lies in its failure to appreciate the symbiotic relationship between humans and the multispecies society that constitutes the natural world.
In addition, the sustainable palm oil sector perpetuates colonialist-like top-down, extractive violence—in an environmental guise. In Merauke, oil palm expansion is taking place without the free, prior, and informed consent of Indigenous landowners. Many community members have been forced to surrender their territories to oil palm companies under duress and in exchange for derisory compensation. Collusion between the Indonesian military forces and local oil palm corporations is rampant. Promises of social welfare have rarely materialized. With most companies bringing in their own labor force or hiring non-Papuan settlers, few Marind can make a living from working in the plantations.
Local communities’ understanding of their rights under national and international law is also limited. Customary land rights, while enshrined in provincial laws, are not recognized or respected on the ground. Villagers who voice their opposition to agribusiness projects are routinely harassed, intimidated, or accused of bearing independentist aspirations. At the time I wrote this piece, people in the community reported to me that more than a dozen members had been incarcerated for refusing to surrender their lands to oil palm corporations and had their ID cards confiscated indefinitely.
Against this backdrop, sustainability-driven conservation initiatives offer little solace to the Marind because they obscure the dispossession and disempowerment suffered by Indigenous communities as a result of oil palm expansion. It comes as little surprise, then, that many Marind consider protected areas and agribusiness projects to be two sides of the same coin. As Yosefus, a Marind elder, says, “Capitalism, conservation—they both exclude us. Capitalism, conservation—it’s the same thing.”
How, then, can conservation work more effectively in the palm oil sector? A key step is giving a voice to Indigenous peoples in the design, implementation, and monitoring of environmental protection schemes. Conservation practices should be informed by the traditional ecological knowledge of locals, who have learned over many centuries how to sustainably use forest resources. These practices should also acknowledge that, for communities like the Marind, the forest is more than just a material environment to be either exploited or preserved. Rather, the forest is a living space shared by plants, animals, and humans who are bound by emotionally charged and morally valued forms of kinship and care.
Palm oil conservation initiatives must acknowledge the right of Indigenous communities to give or withhold their free, prior, and informed consent to oil palm development. Unless this consent is sought and respected, sustainability will mean very little to those who end up excluded from natures both exploited and preserved.
Greening the palm oil sector requires that agribusiness corporations, governments, and conservationists rethink the place of humans within the natural environment and the meaning of nature itself across different cultural and geographic contexts. Doing so may bring the palm oil sector one step closer to reconciling the social and environmental dimensions of cash crop sustainability. As Marcelina, a young mother of three, puts it, “Conservation is not just about nature. Conservation is also about people.”
* All names except the author’s have been changed to protect people’s privacy.
Foreign Minister Ralph Regenvanu (background) and UN Secretary General Anotnio Guterres during a visit to Port Vila’s seafront. Mr Regenvanu confirmed that he had raised the issue of West Papua during a bilateral meeting, but little seems to have come from it.
During his visit to Port Vila last weekend, United Nations Secretary General Antonio Guterres was confronted with questions about West Papua. The matter was on the agenda during a bilateral meeting held between Mr Guterres and key Government officials, including Prime Minister Charlot Salwai and Foreign Affairs Minister Ralph Regenvanu.
In a joint press conference, Mr Salwai was unequivocal about Vanuatu’s continued commitment to support and help drive the decolonisation process globally, and especially in West Papua.
The UN head did little more than acknowledge the PM’s words in his own prepared remarks.
Mr Guterres also responded to questions on the topic from the media. The following exchange occurred during an interview with Agence France Presse. He had little more to offer there.
The most serious deforestation, the most serious ecological trouble, as well as the most serious human rights abuses in the whole Pacific are happening in West Papua, the interviewer said. Shouldn’t the UN be doing more to try and stop the human right abuses, and the ecological disaster that is unfolding there?
Mr Guterres did little to raise expectations of a resolution to this crisis any time soon.
“There is a framework in the institutions, namely the human rights council… there are special procedures, there was a panel, That recently made a report on those issues, a report that was then presented internationally. Indonesia also responded. So the UN is doing its job, with a major concern that there and everywhere, human rights are respected.”
The problem is, he was told, that Indonesia is blocking Pacific island delegations, and they also appear to be blocking the UN Human Rights Commission from visiting West Papua. At the moment, all international media is banned. Again, shouldn’t the UN be doing more to open up West Papua?
The Secretary General appeared to grant that there were indeed concerns about access to the area.
“The Human Rights High Commissioner has reaffirmed availability to visit the territory, and that remains our concern, and our objective.”
So, if Indonesia says no, he was asked, there’s nothing anyone can do, even the UN?
“As I said, we had the institutions working, we have a panel of experts, but there are also from our side strong commitments there and everywhere.”
Little evidence of those commitments was on display in Port Vila.
As Indonesia prepares to head to the polls, the crackdown in West Papua continues
By Nithin Coca 12 March 2019
With increasingly regular protests and a violent crackdown by police and the military, the contested Indonesian region of West Papua is currently seeing the highest levels of agitation it has experienced in years. Against a backdrop of Indonesia’s forthcoming general elections in April, tensions are rising over long-standing human rights violations, pro-independence agitation and lack of accountability for crimes committed by security forces.
“The situation is not improving for the better, it’s getting worse,” says Ronny Kareni, an Australian-based activist of West Papuan origin. “There is a divergence between Jakarta and locals, and that is deeply rooted in the historical status of West Papua.”
On 1 December 2018, more than 500 people were arrested in cities across Indonesia for commemorating the 57th anniversary of Papuan attempts to declare independence from Dutch colonial rule. Raising the pro-independence Morning Star flag or publicly expressing support for Papuan self-determination is considered a criminal offense against the Indonesian state.
The following day, on 2 December, pro-independence militants are reported to have killed up to 31 workers on the Trans Papua Highway construction project in the Nduga region of the Papuan highlands. Although the ongoing independence conflict in West Papua has resulted in the deaths of approximately 500,000 Papuans since 1969, this was the deadliest attack by militants in recent years.
The government response has been fierce, with activists reporting that military action has forced thousands to flee their homes.
With the media and civil society prevented from independently visiting the region, these reports are difficult to verify, but international human rights organisations have made pleas for calm. “We call on all parties, the Indonesian army, police and the Free Papua guerrilla fighters, not to target civilians,” says Andreas Harsono, Indonesia researcher for Human Rights Watch.
West Papua, which forms about half of the island of New Guinea, was not part of Indonesia when it gained independence from the Netherlands in 1949. It was annexed in 1969 in a military-run election approved by the United Nations, in which about 1,000 hand-picked representatives were forced to vote against independence. West Papua was then ruled with the strongest of iron fists during Indonesia’s New Order era under General Suharto (1966-1998), before being granted special autonomy status in 2001 in a bid to quell the independence movement. The island’s population, estimated at around three million, are mostly Melanesian and follow either Christianity or indigenous religions, unlike the rest of Indonesia which is mostly Polynesian and Muslim.
Natural resources have played a significant role in shaping the trajectory of Papuan history. Shortly after the rigged election of 1969, Freeport McMoRan, an American mining company, began operating in the region. This marked the beginning of a long relationship which has proved prosperous for the company and the Indonesian government. However, tax revenues mostly go to the western part of Indonesia which is much more developed; West Papua, in the east of the country, is the poorest region in Indonesia and its people see few benefits from resource extraction.
Jokowi’s promises of reform
In 2014, then Jakarta Governor Joko “Jokowi” Widodo (now president of Indonesia), an outside candidate in the presidential elections with no connection to Indonesia’s elite or military, made several campaign promises to address human rights in Papua. This included addressing the ability of the military to use its own internal trial mechanism rather than civilian courts, opening up the region to the foreign media and freeing political prisoners. Papuans saw hope in Jokowi, and he won the two provinces (Papua and West Papua, formerly Papua until 2003) that make up West Papua by more than 30 percentage points each. In an election where Jokowi won nationally by only 6.3 per cent, the region provided him with some of his best results.
Even months after his inauguration, President Widodo reiterated his promises directly to Papuans after a police shooting in Paniai killed five people.
“Jokowi made bold promises in front of Papuans attending Christmas celebrations, saying that he would investigate and solve this case, and bring peace to Papua,” says Papang Hidayat, a researcher at Amnesty Indonesia.
Jokowi initially made a few attempts to improve the situation in West Papua by releasing five political prisoners in 2015 and declaring the region open to foreign journalists, for example. But his power has been limited due to the role of security forces in West Papua, including the Indonesian soldiers who have maintained their presence in the region despite the fall of Suharto’s military rule more than two decades ago. As a result, most of his promises to make reforms remain unfulfilled.
“It became clear to many people that whatever [Jokowi] says, it will not be implemented,” says Kareni. “He is only a face for democracy, but [he is] not actually in power.”
Harsono agrees: “The situation on the ground, especially the resistance from the bureaucracy, is much bigger than his presidential authority, I’m afraid.”
Attempting to address political grievances through economic development
One area in which Jokowi has been able to push forward is on development. The government is investing massively in roads, airports and agriculture, including a plan to build 1.2 million hectares of palm oil and sugar plantations.
Following decades of underdevelopment, “the government feels the need to pay more attention to Papua,” says Arie Ruhyanto, a lecturer in the Department of Politics and Government of Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. “Given the political setting, the option is limited to the non-political issues…hence, the Papua problem is always framed in the context of development issues, such as poverty and underdevelopment.”
In the end, this has only increased tensions, as many Papuans feel that development is either aimed at extracting resources or benefitting migrant workers from other parts of Indonesia. That’s one reason why the December attack by separatists was against the construction of the centrepiece of this new development plan – the 4,300 kilometre Trans-Papua Highway.
The response to the attack also highlights a major problem – that many in the Indonesian security apparatus do not distinguish between the peaceful protests and aspirations of the vast majority of Papuans, and a small minority of militants. In response to the Nduga attack, police arrested members of the West Papua National Committee (Komite Nasional Papua Barat, KNPB), a student-run organisation that coordinates peaceful protests, and forcefully closed their offices.
With the security forces entrenched and Jokowi’s power limited, many fear that the divide between the two sides is growing. Papuans know that the April elections are unlikely to change anything.
However, instead of waiting and hoping for action from Jakarta, more West Papuans are starting to agitate on local, national and global stages. In 2014, several West Papua independence organisations unified under the banner of the United Liberation Movement for West Papua (ULMWP), headed by the renowned Papuan activist Benny Wenda. The entity has been active within the 18-nation Pacific Islands Forum, founded in 1971, and the Melanesian Spearhead Group within it, which counts the four Melanesian nations of Fiji, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Vanuatu, as members.
“In 2015, the ULMWP put in an application bid for a membership of observer status,” says Kareni. The bid was successful. “For Papuans it was a recognition of our cause. The movement has gained a lot of momentum, especially in the Pacific.”
In 2017, organisers in West Papua undertook an impressive effort, smuggling a petition across the island and collecting signatures from 1.8 million residents – 70 per cent of the population – in support of an independence referendum, as promised in the 1960s. The petition was delivered to the United Nation’s Special Committee on Decolonization, to which Indonesia responded by arresting Yanto Awerkion, a KNPB activist and organiser of the petition drive, and sentencing him to 10 months in prison.
One small opportunity to shine a light on the human rights abuses taking place in West Papua came when a UN human rights panel issued a statement condemning racism and police violence in the region, resulting in a rare apology from the Indonesian police for one incident in particular.
There is also hope in the expression by the Indonesian foreign ministry that it will allow the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights to visit West Papua. However, civil society are skeptical that the UN visit, if it takes place, will result in concrete changes.
“It is not new,” says Harsono, referring to previous invites that were not followed up with visas or details. “I won’t believe it until I meet them in Jayapura, until I see them in Papua.”
Meanwhile the election campaign is gathering steam, with the Nduga incident becoming a campaign issue, spurring increased nationalist sentiment against West Papuans. Unfortunately, there may be little that either Jokowi or his opponent – former military general Prabowo Subianto, who has a checkered record due to his involvement in East Timor – can do to change the plight of Papua.
“Whoever the president is, he will be in a difficult position since all political forces in Indonesia, whether the nationalist, the military or Islamic groups, seem to be reluctant to address the human rights issue,” says Ruhyanto. “It remains a marginal topic that only concerns a handful of activists and academics.”
The two countries signed the $1 billion pact in 2010, under the REDD+ (reducing emissions from deforestation and forest degradation) mechanism. In exchange for the funding, Indonesia would have to slow its emissions from deforestation, which accounts for the bulk of its CO2 emissions.
Editors note : Australia in the mid 2000 gave Indonesia $100 million to save the forests and the same amount o PNG. Both monies were spent without any gains to the environment . Norway proceeded very carefully to avoid corruption insisting on mapping exercises first
Indonesia and Norway have agreed on a first payment from a $1 billion deal under which Indonesia preserves its rainforests to curb carbon dioxide emissions.
The agreement comes nearly a decade since the deal was signed in 2010, with the delay attributed largely to the need for legislation and policy frameworks to be put in place, as well as a change in the Indonesian government since then.
The amount of the first payment still needs to be negotiated by both sides, with Indonesia pushing for a higher valuation than the $5 per ton of carbon dioxide equivalent that Norway paid Brazil under a similar deal.
Indonesia still has work to do to ensure a consistent pace of progress and tackle the forest fires that account for much of the loss of its forests.
JAKARTA — It’s taken nearly a decade, but Indonesia is finally set to receive the first part of a $1 billion payment pledged by the Norwegian government for preserving some of the Southeast Asian country’s vast tropical rainforests.
Indonesia’s environment minister, Siti Nurbaya Bakar, and her Norwegian counterpart, Ola Elvestuen, made the announcement in Jakarta on Feb. 16. The payment, whose amount is yet to be determined, is for Indonesia preventing the emission of 4.8 million tons of carbon dioxide equivalent (CO2e) through reducing its rate of deforestation in 2017.……………………
This is an abridged version of the story. Click on the link below for full details
Human rights groups have called on the Papua Police to immediately and unconditionally drop the “rebellion” charge against three activists from the West Papua National Committee (KNPB) and release them.
Amnesty International and Yayasan Pusaka issued a recent statement saying that the activists “were prisoners of conscience” who had not employed violence or hatred, and were imprisoned solely for expressing their political views in a peaceful manner.
“The Indonesian authorities have used Article 106 of Indonesia’s Criminal Code, along with Article 110, to criminalize dozens of peaceful pro-independence political activists with the charge of rebellion in the last decade,” said Amnesty International Indonesia spokesman Haeril Halim.
The incident began on Dec. 31, when the Indonesian Military (TNI) and regional police raided and seized the KNPB headquarters in Timika, Mimika Baru district. Security forces have since been using the organization’s offices as a TNI-police post.
A few days prior to the takeover, the KNPB had sent a letter notifying the police that the organization would be holding a religious prayer and traditional Papuan feast to celebrate its anniversary. The police, who did not present a warrant for either arrest or search, came to the organization’s headquarters on the same day, arrested six activists and transported them to Timika Police Station. The police later released the activists without charge.
Halim said that the organization’s legal representatives had sent a letter to the Mimika Police chief on Jan. 3, requesting that the security forces depart the KNPB offices and stop obstructing its members’ access to the building.
On Jan 5, the Mimika Police summoned eight KNPB activists for questioning under suspicion of committing “acts of rebellion”. Three of the activists, Yanto Awerkion, Sem Asso and Edo Dogopia, were named as suspects and charged with rebellion on Jan. 8.
“Article 106 of the Criminal Code enables authorities to sentence a person to life imprisonment or a maximum of twenty years for any attempts undertaken with the intent to bring state territory, wholly or in part, under foreign rule or as a separate part thereof,” Halim said.
Feby Yoneska, an Indonesian Legal Aid Institute activist, shared his views, stressing that the organization’s recent activities should not have been deemed to be violating the law.
“The article on rebellion can be applied only if it is proven that the activists prepared an attack with a subversive intention,” he told The Jakarta Post.
He added that charging certain groups with rebellion was clearly a form of persecution.
In the past decade, the West Papua National Committee has organized mass demonstrations in several Papuan cities to call for a referendum for self-determination.
KNPB spokesperson Ones Suhuniap said it was unacceptable that someone could be charged with “rebellion” when they had merely voiced a different opinion. He said he believed that the charge was made only to justify the police’s seizure of the organization’s headquarters.
“This shows the terrible state of law enforcement in Indonesia,” he said.
The rights groups said that they took no stance on the political status of any Indonesian province, including calls for independence, and that the right to freedom of expression protected the right to peacefully advocate independence and other political solutions.
“In some cases, law enforcement use excessive force against peaceful protesters, but these cases are not adequately investigated and no one suspected of being responsible for them has ever been brought to justice,” Halim said. (ggq)
Papua: How Jokowi is trying – and failing – to win hearts and minds
Jakarta | Thu, December 6, 2018 | 03:33 pm
Papuans take part on a parade in Surabaya, East Java province, on December 1, 2018, during a commemoration of the independence day of Papua from Dutch colonial, which is then commemorated every year by separatists as a symbol of their freedom from Indonesia. (AFP/Juni Kriswanto)
JAKARTA, INDONESIA —
Rebels in Indonesia’s troubled Papua province demanded Friday that the government hold negotiations on self-determination for the province and warned of more attacks.
Sebby Sambom, spokesman for the West Papua National Liberation Army, the military wing of the Free Papua Movement, said in a telephone interview they attacked a government construction site last weekend because they believe the project is conducted by the military.
Ironically, these events took place as the Indonesian government makes a tremendous effort to develop Papua – which makes up the western half of the island of New Guinea and includes the Indonesian provinces of Papua and West Papua. In fact, no other Indonesian region outside Java receives so much attention, with the nation’s president, Joko “Jokowi” Widodo, visiting two or three times annually in recent years.
But while his attention has been appreciated, Jokowi has also been accused of having a poor attitude to human rights abuses and state violence in the region. And while the president enjoys wide public support in Papua, the aspiration of Papuan self-determination is gaining traction both domestically and internationally.
The Jokowi Way
Since Papua was granted special autonomy (or “Otsus”) status by Indonesia in 2001, Jokowi’s prosperity-based approach has focused on developing infrastructure and improving connectivity. The government’s 4,330km Trans-Papua road project, for example, aims to put an end to the isolation of many Papuan communities.
Jokowi also introduced the “BBM Satu Harga”, a national standard price for fuel. This policy aims to bring down the cost of fuel in Papua, which can reach Rp50,000-100,000 (£2.70-£5.40) per litre, nearly ten times the average price nationally. The pricing policy has proved popular, although in practice Papuans in the region’s highlands only enjoy the standard national price once or twice a month due to supply constraints.
During Jokowi’s presidency, central government funding has also increased for both Papuan provinces. In 2016 alone, the central government allocated a 85.7 trillion rupiah (£4.6 billion) development fund for Papua and West Papua. On top of this Otsus fund, both provinces also have benefited from additional infrastructure spending.
But while Papua has received a larger share of the country’s development fund than any other region, its public service provision is among the worst in the country. Major public health disasters are commonplace, such as the recent measles outbreak in Asmat Regency, which along with malnutrition killed hundreds of children. In fact, Papua has been at the bottom of the national human development index for decades.
Jokowi has also been criticised for failing to deal with such abuses when they occur. So far, none of the human rights cases relating to Papua have been resolved during his administration, leading to growing Papuan distrust of Jakarta (Indonesia’s capital and the seat of the national government). According to one Papuan leader I interviewed:
Jakarta is busy chasing away the smoke but not trying to put out the fire.
Against this backdrop, the campaign for Papuan self-determination is growing. While there is some armed resistance, most Papuans campaign peacefully through democratic action such as mass rallies and social media campaigns. Domestically, this peaceful campaign is directed by the National Committee of West Papua (KNPB), the Papuan Student Alliance (AMP), and The Democratic People’s Movement of Papua (Garda Papua). These organisations are mostly supported by Papuan youths and students.
But they have also been active beyond Papua, including in many of Indonesia’s biggest cities, such as Yogyakarta, Jakarta, Bandung and Surabaya on the island of Java, Denpasar on Bali, Medan on Sumatra, and Makassar and Manado on Sulawesi. Recently, the cause also received support from non-Papuan groups, such as the Jakarta-based Indonesian People’s Front for West Papua (FRI WP).
Nor is this just a domestic issue. The United Liberation Movement for West Papua (ULMWP) was established in December 2014, two months after Jokowi took office, and has since been building support for the cause among Pacific nations. Vanuatu, the Solomon Islands and Tuvalu have raised the Papuan issue in UN forums many times.
Which all goes to show that the Indonesian government’s strategy in the region has been less fruitful than expected.
Time to reflect
Jakarta’s trust-building project in Papua is falling short because of the government’s narrow perspective of the problem. Since the late 1990s, all Indonesian presidents except Gus Dur have tended to make the Papuan issueall about economic development. Other crucial issues stated in the “Otsus Law”, such as Papuan identity, local political parties, law enforcement, human rights and the protection of indigenous people, have been overlooked.
Consequently, rather than facilitating the emergence of a strong and autonomous Papuan government, Otsus has made Papua even more dependent on Jakarta. And as the human rights issues remain unaddressed, the slogans of self-determination are being shouted even louder.
Jakarta and Papua must now come together and reconsider the best options for a more constructive future relationship. For if the 17 years since the region was granted Otsus status have revealed anything, it’s that economic development alone is not enough to win the hearts and minds of the Papuan people.