Page 77 - SCANDAL AND DEMOCRACY

62 Chapter 3

The New York Times , for example, reported that mobs sought to vent their rage against
Suharto, but “the Chinese [became] the hapless proxies for an unpopular president.”
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Later investigations, however, including one by a government fact-finding team,
revealed that much of the violence against Chinese-Indonesians had been orches-
trated by military provocateurs as part of an elite power struggle. The reports cited
eyewitness accounts of trucks discharging well-built young men with military crew
cuts, dressed in student-like clothing. These groups would arrive at shopping areas,
throw out burning tires, shout antigovernment slogans, and then invite people to join
a looting frenzy in the neighborhood’s shops and malls. The instigators would then
disappear, leaving behind burning buildings, some with hundreds trapped inside.
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Other indications of military involvement included reports that some of the sur-
viving rape victims had noticed military uniforms inside their rapists’ vehicles. But
the most compelling evidence was the sheer scale, sophistication, and systematic
character of the destruction. As Wimar Witoelar noted, a “pile of evidence” showed
that “people of the military of course did start it,” including “a geographic analysis
[showing] 60 riots within a period of one hour moving in a certain direction across
town.” He added, “students could not move with such military precision and set a
five-story building on fire in half an hour. I know. It takes them three hours to light
a bonfire.” With similar logic, Ariel Heryanto argued, “No racial or ethnic groups
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in Indonesia, no matter how agitated, could possibly inflict a systematic violence in
which 1198 lives . . . were lost, 150 females were raped, 40 shopping malls and 4,000
shops were burned down and thousands of vehicles and houses were set afire simul-
taneously in 27 areas in a capital city . . . in less than 50 hours.”
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Elite Rivalries
As the violence continued, the stock market crashed and the country’s currency
plunged another 16 percent. Aware of the extraordinary powers parliament had
granted Suharto just three months earlier, many worried, when he cut short his trip
to Egypt, that the aging president might impose martial law. Instead, he returned
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home to a barrage of criticism and calls for his resignation.
Perhaps the most dramatic defection was that of the MPR Speaker, Harmoko, who
stated on May 18, “For the unity of the nation, the President should wisely take the
decision to resign.” Known as a die-hard loyalist, Harmoko still suffered notoriety
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for banning Tempo , Dë TIK , and Editor as information minister in 1994. During the
heaviest rioting, a mob stormed one of his houses and burned it down—an event that
may have influenced his shifting loyalties. Whatever his motivations, Harmoko’s
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change of heart marked a turning point. The following day, he announced that leaders
of all parliament factions would meet to ask Suharto to step down. The president’s
hand-picked legislature had turned against him.
In response to this stunning announcement, the commander of the armed forces,
General Wiranto [one name], declared that Harmoko’s statement “had no legal basis”
and insisted that Suharto “still has duties and obligations to perform.” Wiranto
accused the students of starting the riots and warned them not to hold protests
planned for later that week.
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But rumors were also spreading of a military split between Wiranto and Lieuten-
ant General Prabowo Subianto—Suharto’s son-in-law, commander of the Army Strate-
gic Reserve and leader of the elite Kopassus rangers. Earlier in the crisis, Wiranto had
made overtures to the students, assuring them that the military supported reform. By
contrast, Prabowo commanded the troops that had shot the Trisakti students. Rumors