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Origins of Media Controls 27

it were separate from society or the state, nor could it contribute to the alienation of
other parts of society from the whole, since all belonged to “one great family that [is]
supposed to think positively, to live harmoniously, and thus to interact positively”—a
logic that made positive interaction itself a subset of integralism. Showing accep-
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tance of this logic within the media community, the publisher Oetama’s statements
above affi rmed the importance of consensus and kekeluargaan in determining the
proper relationship of the news media to the state.
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Another 1985 law on mass organizations required political parties, nongovern-
mental organizations, and other social groups to register their members with the gov-
ernment and declare Pancasila as their sole ideological foundation. To reinforce this
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commitment, the government also established a Pancasila indoctrination program for
all soldiers, civil servants, students, and professionals.
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Through these trends, the meaning and function of Pancasila changed, as Cribb
and Brown put it, from a “vague, cover-all slogan whose chief message was that no
ideology was to be permitted to dominate Indonesia” to a corporatist ideology with
an underlying emphasis on harmony among all societal sectors. In practical terms,
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this emphasis denied the value of airing differences of opinion or subjecting policy to
public debate.
Common parlance reinforced this cultural conditioning as Pancasila metamor-
phosed to impose corporatist norms on nearly all institutional relationships, redefin-
ing whatever noun it modified. “Pancasila democracy” turned the ideal of deliberative
democracy into consensus-by-fiat that silenced competing views. “Pancasila industrial
relations” envisioned employers in a paternalistic, rather than antagonistic, relation-
ship with workers, making strikes inappropriate for defending labor’s interests. A
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“Pancasila press,” in turn, would promote harmony and unity through positive report-
ing on the nation’s leaders, military operations, and government policy.

Transformation of Language
The language of public discourse came to refl ect the increasingly repressive envi-
ronment in other ways, most notably through the use of indirect phrasing to soften
any reporting that might suggest criticism of the regime. As one editor explained,
“We played with words. We didn’t call it poverty—it was ‘pre-prosperity.’ You didn’t
say corruption. It was ‘high-cost economy.’ If a minister was caught misusing funds, it
wasn’t corruption—it was a ‘procedural error.’” Prisons became “socialization institu-
tions,” while disaster coverage might call a famine a “disturbance in food provision.”
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Reports of soldiers committing human rights abuses blamed “oknum,” or “rogue indi-
viduals,” exonerating those in command.
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The passive voice also removed agency, denying readers sufficient information to
assign responsibility. Supporting the opacity, acronyms began to overwhelm the sim-
plicity and accessibility of Bahasa Indonesia. Following the news required mastery of
a bewildering array of abbreviations often left undefined—FSPSI, SIPPT, SD IMBAS,
SBKRI, PTTUN, PPW-LIPI—making information accessible only to those familiar
with the current code. English words, in turn, added another layer of obfuscation for
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anyone outside the educated elite.
More broadly, Hill describes the New Order press’s linguistic style as a “cautious,
measured, some would say cringing, way with words.” Indonesians and foreigners
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alike derided the media, particularly Kompas , the conservative daily that became the
country’s “paper of record,” for this often tortuous language. Yet the primary source