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Delegitimating Authoritarianism 43

own safety,” protesting peacefully for days in “the biggest demonstrations held in
Jakarta during the last ten years.” Similar protests took place in other cities, while
“hundreds of non-governmental organizations, alternative youth and students’ orga-
nizations, [and] labor unions, along with domestic and foreign intellectuals” issued
written declarations protesting the bans.
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Leading intellectuals, such as academic Ashadi Siregar and artist Emha Ainun
Najib, were among the most outspoken. Siregar proposed caustically to one group of
protesters, “If we’re not allowed to report honest news, then let’s just consume lies.”
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Demonstrators carried placards condemning the bans and Harmoko’s role. After sev-
eral failed attempts to meet with Harmoko, one group sent 150 balloons to Allah to
highlight the absurdity of their inability to communicate with their government.
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At a time when people were routinely arrested for such criticism, letters expressing
disapproval of the government’s actions poured into media outlets, while intellectuals
submitted unsolicited articles condemning the bans. Several advocacy organizations
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sent faxes directly to President Suharto, the vice president, the attorney general, and
the armed forces commander, arguing that the bans would instill a sense of power-
lessness among members of the media, hampering their ability to inform the public.
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In a bold televised statement, attorney Todung Mulya Lubis called the bans “a naked
violation of the law.”
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“History Had Begun to Change”
Objections to the crackdown on Perspektif were equally impassioned and equally

ineff ectual in influencing the regime. At fi rst, surviving outlets spoke out. The daily
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Media Indonesia , in an unusually frank editorial, stated, “A climate like this is truly
unhealthy. The press must not be paralyzed by constant fear.” The editorial warned
further that the Ministry of Information should not take for granted its power to
revoke licenses as a weapon for winning confl icts with the media. Abuse of this
authority, it declared, “is too expensive for democracy and openness.” In an editorial
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for the magazine Panji Masyarakat , Arbi Sanit praised the print press as a channel for
conveying the public’s “aspirations” and cautioned that the bans would prove danger-
ous in a country where demands for greater democracy had grown “increasingly loud
and clear.” On the streets, demonstrators from other media outlets held up banners
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saying, “Next Will Come Our Turn to be Banned.”
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In the week following the bans, protests around the country received wide cov-
erage. But by the next week, the media stopped this reporting after the Ministry of
Information warned editors to “cease blowing up the issue.” Such coverage, the min-
istry explained, was making people “confused.” These warnings were effective, and
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observers reported a climate of fear developing in the nation’s newsrooms. Surviving
outlets ultimately redoubled self-censorship, prompting one journalist to compare the
industry to an “ostrich.”
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But in a surprising break from the past, the bans’ victims—publishers, employ-
ees, street hawkers, even subscribers—fought back, staging protests, filing lawsuits,
launching an independent journalists’ association, and inspiring new opposition to
the regime. In attempting to reassert control, the regime inadvertently set the stage
for further confrontation in the courts, on the streets, and inside university campuses.
Although this pressure was insufficient to reverse the government’s decision,
commentators believed that the heated response by fellow media and public alike
marked a significant change from past resignation. Tempo ’s editor in chief, Goenawan