A MONARCHY WITHOUT A KINGDOM

A MONARCHY WITHOUT A KINGDOM: YOGYAKARTA’S EXCEPTIONAL SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT

Submitted by

Dwi Harsono Bachelor of Social Science, University of Jenderal Soedirman, Indonesia Master of Public Administration, University of Gadjah Mada, Indonesia Master of Art, the International Institute of Social Studies of Erasmus University Rotterdam, Netherland

A thesis submitted in the total fulfilment of the requirement for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

College of Arts, Social Sciences and Commerce School of Humanities and Social Sciences Department of Politics and Philosophy

La Trobe University Victoria Australia

February 2018

ABSTRACT In August 2012, the Indonesian parliament passed a law that confirmed the status of the province of Yogyakarta as a so-called Special Region. This status had been in place since Indonesian independence, however, decentralization policies introduced after the fall of Suharto in 1998 raised questions about its legal foundations. The 2012 law appoints the traditional ruler of the former Sultanate of Yogyakarta, Sultan Hamengkubuwono, as governor of the region without the need for an election. This regulation makes Yogyakarta the only province in contemporary Indonesia whose governor is not freely elected by the people. The law therefore formalized a unique hybrid system of government for Yogyakarta in which elements of democratic rule are combined with features of a traditional monarchy. This thesis examines the reasons why Yogyakarta has been able to retain the sultan's privileges in the face of significant political pressure from the central government to introduce free gubernatorial elections in Yogyakarta. Building on insights from historical institutionalism, the thesis analyses the historical roots of the sultanate, its evolution under different political regimes and its configuration in the post-Suharto era. Focusing on sources of the sultan's power and legitimacy, institutional arrangements and the sultan's relations with various interest groups, the thesis argues that Yogyakarta retained its special status primarily because the central government missed the opportunity to change its status in the wake of the critical juncture of 1998. Once this opportunity was missed, path dependency dictated the continuation of existing institutional arrangements, even if these arrangements rested on ambiguous legal foundations. After 1998, the sultan used successful local development, patron-client relations and control over land to boost his legitimacy and cement his power. Thus, by the time the central government proposed to turn the sultan into a purely ceremonial leader, it found virtually no support for its plans.

ii

STATEMENT OF AUTHORSHIP Except where reference is made in the text of the thesis, this thesis contains no material published elsewhere or extracted in whole or in part from a thesis accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma. No other person's work has been used without due acknowledgment in the main text of the thesis. This thesis has not been submitted for the award of any degree or diploma in any other tertiary institution.

Melbourne, 26 February 2018 Signed by

Name: Dwi Harsono

iii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS All Praise be to Allah SWT The Almighty for his bless so that I am finally able to finish my PhD thesis. I also would like to express my sincere gratitude to all the following individuals as without them this thesis would be hard to complete. 

My principal supervisor at La Trobe University, Dr. Dirk Tomsa, who has been very wise providing me with his guidance, ideas, suggestions, and comments throughout the processes of my PhD thesis. Even though he had been in his leave for two years, he committed to have a long distance supervising process.



My associate supervisor, at La Trobe University, Dr. Nicholas Herriman, who has advised me with his critical suggestions and comments related to the theories of my PhD thesis.



Family members: my mum, Sri Wahyuni, my beloved wife, Rufaidah and my three lovely sons, Rausanfikr Ittaqillah, Khalqi Syarhan Azali, and Arslan Mauna Arzaqan who always pray and support me in never-ending ways. Without their true love, big support, sincere prayers, and patience, I would never have been able to complete this PhD thesis.



My friend, Kusno W. Utomo, who always helps and connects me to the informants during my fieldwork.



Directorate General of Resources for Science, Technology and Higher Education (RISTEKDIKTI) and Yogyakarta State University who sponsored me to pursue my PhD program at La Trobe University.



Staff members of School of Humanity and Social Sciences and Graduate Research School of La Trobe University, Melbourne



Many others, whom I could not mention.

iv

DEDICATION

To Ibu Sri Wahyuni, Bapak Djimin Soesanto, My beloved wife Rufaidah, and My lovely sons Rausan, Syarhan, and Arslan

.... There will always be a moment to remember that Daddy, Rausan, Syarhan, and Arslan are going together to three different schools, Kingsbury Primary School, Reservoir High School, and La Trobe University at a morning of February 2018 in Melbourne….

v

TABLE OF CONTENT ABSTRACT........................................................................................................................ ii STATEMENT OF AUTHORSHIP ................................................................................... iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ............................................................................................... iv DEDICATION .................................................................................................................... v TABLE OF CONTENT ..................................................................................................... vi LIST OF TABLES ............................................................................................................. ix LIST OF FIGURES ........................................................................................................... ix LIST OF CHARTS ............................................................................................................ ix LIST OF APPENDICES ..................................................................................................... x LIST OF ABBREVIATION .............................................................................................. xi CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION............................................................................................................. 1 1.1. Introduction .................................................................................................................. 2 1.2. The Main Argument ..................................................................................................... 4 1.3. Methodological Approach............................................................................................ 6 1.4. The Structure of the Thesis .......................................................................................... 8 CHAPTER 2 THEORIZING POLITICAL CHANGE AND REGIME DURABILITY ................. 11 2.1. Introduction ................................................................................................................ 11 2.2. Power, Legitimacy, and Political Institutions in Monarchical and Democratic Regimes ............................................................................................................................ 12 2.3. Institutional Change vs. Regime Durability ............................................................... 21 2.4. Explaining the Emergence and Endurace of Hybrid Regimes at Different Levels .... 27 2.5. Conclusion ................................................................................................................. 31 CHAPTER 3 ORIGINS AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE SULTANATE OF YOGYAKARTA 33 3.1. Introduction ................................................................................................................ 33 3.2. Origins of the Yogyakarta Sultanate and Precolonial Evolution ............................... 35 3.3. The Sultanate under Colonial Rule ............................................................................ 40 3.4. Gaining Special Status: Yogyakarta as National Capital during the Revolution ....... 50 3.5. Indonesia and Yogyakarta from 1949-1998: Changing National Regimes, Stable Local Politics .................................................................................................................... 54

vi

3.6. Conclusion ................................................................................................................. 61 CHAPTER 4 DEMOCRATIZATION IN INDONESIA AND ITS INFLUENCE ON YOGYAKARTA ............................................................................................................. 64 4.1. Introduction ................................................................................................................ 64 4.2. The End of the New Order ......................................................................................... 66 4.3. Democratization and Decentralization ....................................................................... 72 4.4. The Regional Autonomy of Yogyakarta .................................................................... 76 4.5. Conclusion ................................................................................................................. 83 CHAPTER 5 INTER-INSTITUTIONAL RELATIONS IN YOGYAKARTA ................................ 84 5.1. Introduction ................................................................................................................ 84 5.2. The Institutional Amalgam in Yogyakarta................................................................. 86 5.3. The Sultan and the Central Government .................................................................... 92 5.4. The Sultan and the Regional Government of Yogyakarta ......................................... 97 5.5. The Sultan and the District and City Governments in Yogyakarta .......................... 103 5.6. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 107 CHAPTER 6 THE NON-GOVERNMENTAL ORGANIZATION IN YOGYAKARTA ............. 108 6.1. Introduction .............................................................................................................. 108 6.2. Civil Society in Yogyakarta ..................................................................................... 109 6.3. The Local Media ...................................................................................................... 113 6.4. Relations between the Sultan and Religious Organizations ..................................... 119 6.5. Sultan’s Close Relations with the Business Community ......................................... 123 6.6. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 127 CHAPTER 7 LIVING STANDARDS AND HUMAN DEVELOPMENT IN YOGYAKARTA: THE SULTAN’S PERFORMANCE LEGITIMACY ............................................... 128 7.1. Introduction .............................................................................................................. 128 7.2. The Human Development Index of Yogyakarta ...................................................... 129 7.3. Beyond Regional Economic Growth ....................................................................... 138 7.4. The Employment Sector in Yogyakarta ................................................................... 143 7.5. Crime and Corruption in Yogyakarta....................................................................... 147 7.6. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 154 vii

CHAPTER 8 THE EMERGING CHALLENGE ON SPECIAL STATUS OF YOGYAKARTA 156 8.1. Introduction .............................................................................................................. 156 8.2. Living with Institutional Ambiguity ........................................................................ 158 8.3. Drafting a New Specialness Law ............................................................................. 160 8.4. The Draft Enters Parliament .................................................................................... 166 8.5. The Challenge Fails, Status Quo Maintained........................................................... 171 8.6. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 177 CHAPTER 9 CONCLUSION AND OUTLOOK .............................................................................. 179 9.1. Introduction .............................................................................................................. 179 9.2. How Yogyakarta’s Special Status was Preserved .................................................... 181 9.3. Critical Junctures and Path Dependence in Yogyakarta’s Political Trajectory ....... 184 9.4. A Female Future for the Monarchy? ........................................................................ 188 BIBLIOGRAPHY ......................................................................................................... 191

viii

LIST OF TABLES Table 2.1: Comparison of Political Properties between Regime ................................... 21 Table 3.1: List of Yogyakarta’s Sultans......................................................................... 46 Table 5.1: The Role of Sultanate Royal Families of Yogyakarta .................................. 88 Table 7.1: HDI in 10 Best Provinces of Indonesia from 1996 to 2015 .......................... 131 Table 7.2: The Economic Growth among 10 Best HDI Provinces of Indonesia (2001-2014) ....................................................................................................................................... 138 Table 7.3: The Percentage of Poor People in 10 Best HDI Province in Indonesia ........ 142 Table 7.4: Number of Public Complaints on Corruption in Selected Provinces............ 154 Table. 8.1: The Draft of Specialness Law Based on Organisational Version ................ 166

LIST OF FIGURES Figure 1.1: Sultan Hamengkubuwono X performing Ngabekten on the first day of Syawal in the palace with the full traditional dress ................................................................... 1 Figure 1.2: Sultan Hamengkubuwono X conducting an open house function at the beginning of Syawal in the Kepatihan gubernatorial office with semi-formal dress .... 1 Figure 3.1: The Picture of Giyanti Treaty document .................................................... 41 Figure 3.2: The Division of former Mataram Kingdom ................................................ 42 Figure 4.1: People and students of Yogyakarta demanding the resignation of Suharto at the point of zero kilometre of Yogyakarta guarding by the Indonesian Armed Force ........ 67 Figure 4.2: Sultan Hamengkubuwono X reads his reformist statement in front of hundreds of thousands of his people.............................................................................................. 69 Figure 5.2: Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and Sultan Hamengkubuwono X .................. 97 Figure 5.3: The Palace of Kasultanan Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat ............................... 99 Figure 5.4: Map of City and Districts of the Yogyakarta Special Region ..................... 103 Figure 8.1: People are making a theatrical demonstration by aiming their catapults and arrows at Yudhoyono’s aeroplane ................................................................................. 173 Figure 8.2: SBY and the Sultan after the second meeting at Wisma Negara................. 175

LIST OF CHARTS Chart 7.1: Life Expectancy at Birth in 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia (2010-2015) ....................................................................................................................................... 131 Chart 7.2: The Annual Health Budget of Provinces in 2012 ......................................... 132 Chart 7.3: The Expected Years of Schooling in 10 Best HDI Provinces (2010-2015) .. 134

ix

Chart 7.4: The Mean Years of Schooling in 10 Best HDI Provinces (2010-2015 ......... 135 Chart 7.5: Purchasing Power Parity in 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia (2010-2015) ....................................................................................................................................... 136 Chart 7.6: GINI Coefficients among 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia (1996-2015) ....................................................................................................................................... 139 Chart 7.7: The GRDP of City and Districts in Yogyakarta Special Region .................. 140 Chart 7.8: The GRDP per capita of City and Districts in Yogyakarta Special Region .. 140 Chart 7.9: Poor People in City and Districts of Yogyakarta Special Region ................. 142 Chart 7.10: The Unemployment Rate among 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia ...... 143 Chart 7.11: The Regional Minimum Wage (UMR) among 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia ........................................................................................................................ 146 Chart 7.12: The Minimum Wage of City and Districts in Yogyakarta ......................... 147 Chart 7.13: Crime Cases across Java ............................................................................ 148 Chart 7.14: Five Highest Conventional Crimes in Yogyakarta .................................... 149 Chart 7.15: Corruption Perception Index (CPI) of 10 Provinces Capital Cities in Indonesia ....................................................................................................................................... 152

LIST OF APPENDICES Appendix 1: Ethic Approval for Fieldwork Study ......................................................... 205 Appendix 2: Consent letter ........................................................................................... 207 Appendix 3: List of Interviewees ................................................................................... 208

x

LIST OF ABBREVIATION ABRI Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia (Armed Forced of the Republic of Indonesia) now the TNI AD (Anno Domini) AJI Aliansi Jurnalis Independent (the Alliance of Independent Journalists) AMPERA Amanat Penderitaan Rakyat cabinet BAPEDA Badan Perencanaan dan Pembangunan Daerah (Head of Planning and Development Agency) BPN Badan Pertanahan Nasional (National Land Agency) BPS Badan Pusat Statistik (Indonesian Bureau of Statistics) BPUPKI, Badan Penyelidik Usaha-usaha Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia (The CDMA (Code Division Multiple Access) Committee to Investigate Preparations for Indonesian Independence) CPI (Corruption Perception Index) CSO (Civil Society Organization) DAU Dana Alokasi Umum (General Allocation Grants) DIY Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta (Special Region of Yogyakarta) DPD Dewan Perwakilan Daerah (Regional Representatives Council) DPRD Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat Daerah (Regional People’s Representative Council), Indonesia’s Regional Parliament FKP Fraksi Karya Pembangunan (Work and Development Fraction) FPDIP Fraksi Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan (Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle Faction) FPI Front Pembela Islam (Islamic Defenders Front) FPP Fraksi Persatuan Pembangunan (United Development Faction) FPUB Forum Persaudaraan Umat Beragama (Brotherhood in Faith Forum FUI Forum Umat Islam (Islamic Brotherhood Forum) GBPH Gusti Bendara Pangeran Haryo, prince title in Yogyakarta Sultanate GINI index for development gap GKJ Gereja Kristen Jawa (the Javanese Christian Church) GKR Gusti Kanjeng Ratu, princess title in Yogyakarta Sultanate Golkar Golongan Karya (the GOLKAR Party) GRDP (Gross Regional Domestic Product)

xi

HAM Hak Asasi ManusiaPelanggaran (Human Right) HB IX Sri Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX HB X Sri Sultan Hamengkubuwono X HDI (Human Development Index) HLS Harapan Lama Sekolah (expected years of schooling) ICM (Indonesian Court Monitoring) IDR (Indonesian Rupiah) IMF (International Monetary Fund) INCIDENT (Institute for Civil Education and Empowerment) IRE (the Institute for Research and Empowerment) JAMKESDA Jaminan Kesehatan Daerah (Local Health Insurance Scheme) JAMKESSUS Jaminan Kesehatan Khusus (Special Health Insurance Scheme) JPNN (Jawa Pos National Network) KADIN (Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industry) KEP Keputusan (Decision) KGPH Kanjeng Gusti Pangeran Haryo, prince title in Yogyakarta Sultanate KNPI Komite National Pemuda Indonesia Yogyakarta (Indonesian National Youth Committee of Yogyakarta) KPH Kanjeng Pangeran Haryo, prince title in Yogyakarta Sultanate KPK Komisi Pemberantasan Korupsi (Corruption Eradication Commission) KR Kedaulatan Rakyat, literally the people’s sovereignty LBH Lembaga Bantuan Hukum (Legal Aid Institute) LP3ES Lembaga Penelitian, Pendidikan dan Penerangan Ekonomi dan Sosial (Institute for Social Economic Research Education and Information) Makaryo Masyarakat Anti Kekerasan Yogyakarta (Anti-violence Community of Yogyakarta) MICE (Meetings, Incentives, Conference,and Exhibitions) MMI Majelis Mujahidin Indoensia (Indonesian Mujahidin Assembly) MPR Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (People’s Consultative Assembly) MPs (Member of Parliaments) NGO (Non-Governmental Organization) NU Nadhatul Ulama PAG (Paku Alam ground)

xii

PD Partai Demokrat (Democratic Party PPLP Paguyuban Petani Lahan Pantai (Shoreline Farming Association) PKI Partai Komunis Indonesia (Indonesian Communist Party) PPKI Panitia Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia (Preparatory Committee for Indonesian Independence) PPP (purchasing power parity) PT Perseroan Terbatas (a limited liability company)

PUKAT Korupsi Pusat Kajian Anti Korupsi (Centre of Anti-corruption Study) RI Republik Indonesia (the Republic of Indonesia) RLS Rata-rata Lama Sekolah (mean years of schooling) RRI Radio Republik Indonesia (Radio of the Republic of Indonesia) RUSI (Republic of United States of Indonesia) SBY Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (the 6th President of the Republic of Indonesia) SG (Sultan ground) TINA (There is no alternative) TNI Tentara Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian Armed Force) TV (Television) UGM Universitas Gadjah Mada (Gadjah Mada University) UII Universitas Islam Indonesia (Islamic University of Indonesia) UMR Upah Minimum Regional (Regional Minimum Wage) VOC Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (Dutch United East India Company) Walhi Wahana Lingkungan Hidup (the Indonesian Forum for Environment)

xiii

1

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION

Figure 1.1: Sultan Hamengkubuwono X (top right) performing Ngabekten on the first day of Syawal in the palace with the full traditional dress. (TRIBUNJOGJA/Bramasto Adhy)

Figure 1.2: Sultan Hamengkubuwono X (top middle) conducting an open house function at the beginning of Syawal in the Kepatihan gubernatorial office with semi-formal dress. (Jogjaprov.go.id/Siswanto)

2

1.1. Introduction Every year at the beginning of the Syawal month, a month of the Islamic calendar, the Sultan of Yogyakarta conducts a ceremony called Ngabekten in the royal palace, also known as the kraton. Coinciding with the end of the Islamic fasting month of Ramadan, the Ngabekten is a typical example of a festive ceremony that combines elements of Javanese cultural traditions with Islamic rituals. When hosting his guests, the Sultan will wear his full traditional dress that sets him apart as the traditional ruler of an ancient kingdom. The subject kisses Sultan’s right knee which means they will follow the Sultan’s guidance. This kingdom, the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, was established during the colonial period in 1755, but it traces its roots much further into pre-colonial times. That it still exists today, when Yogyakarta has long become a province of the Republic of Indonesia, may seem like an oddity, but there are in fact many other ancient sultanates that still exist, in one form or another, at the local level in Indonesia. Some of the betterknown examples are located in Ternate in North Maluku, Surakarta in Central Java, Gowa in South Sulawesi and Pontianak in West Kalimantan. What is a real oddity, however, is that in contrast to all other local sultanates that have gained prominence in recent years as part of a broader ‘revival of tradition in Indonesian politics’ (Davidson & Henley, 2007), Yogyakarta’s sultan also exercises real political power because he concurrently occupies the position of provincial governor. Thus, at the beginning of the Syawal month, he will not only conduct a traditional Ngabekten in the kraton, but also host an ‘Open House’ in the Kepatihan gubernatorial office. On this occasion, he will only be dressed in batik, a semi-formal traditional cloth, as is appropriate for a high-ranking employee of the state. Significantly, the Sultan of Yogyakarta holds the position as governor purely by virtue of his royal heritage. Whereas local notables in other parts of Indonesia have to compete for tangible power by participating in elections, the current Sultan of Yogyakarta, Hamengkubuwono X, does not have a popular mandate won at the ballot box. Instead, he is appointed by the central government.

3

This privilege has its legal basis in Law 13/2012 on the ‘Specialness’1 of the Special Region of Yogyakarta.2 The law outlines five key areas of specialness. In addition to the privileged role for the sultan and his right to be governor, the law also grants Yogyakarta special status in regards to the institutions of the provincial government, cultural and land policy as well as spatial planning. While there are other provinces in Indonesia that have special autonomy or special region status (Jakarta, Aceh, Papua and West Papua), all of these elect their governor through direct elections, just like all other provinces in Indonesia. Yogyakarta, therefore, stands out, not only from other areas with locally powerful monarchs and aristocrats, but also from all other provinces with special status. It is the only Indonesian province which does not elect its governor. That the Sultan of Yogyakarta would succeed in formalizing this royal privilege into law was by no means a foregone conclusion at the beginning of Indonesia’s democratization process in 1998. In 2003, the sultan and his supporters had made a first attempt to have the sultan formally acknowledged as Yogyakarta’s governor, but the proposed legislation, which included the provision that the Sultan of Yogyakarta would also automatically be the governor of Yogyakarta, was shelved due to procedural errors. Following the 2004 election, van Klinken (2007, p. 151) wrote that the draft law ‘died a quiet death’. As it turned out, this assessment was premature. After protracted negotiations, a new Specialness Law for Yogyakarta was eventually passed in the House of Representatives in 2012. Though the central government had tried hard to make Yogyakarta compliant with broader regional government legislation which since 2004 included the free election of provincial governors, the 2012 law about the special status of Yogyakarta did confirm that there would be no gubernatorial election in Yogyakarta. Instead, the central government committed to appointing

1

Though the term ‘specialness’ sounds awkward in English, it is used in this thesis as a direct translation from the Indonesian term ‘keistimewaan’, which denotes the special status of Yogyakarta. 2 Undang-Undang Republik Indonesia Nomor 13 Tahun 2012 tentang Keistimewaan Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta, available at http://otda.kemendagri.go.id/CMS/Images/DaftarSPM/UU%20Nomor%2013%20Tahun%202012. PDF, accessed 19 December 2017.

4

the Sultan of Yogyakarta as governor every five years. The law thus formalized a unique hybrid system of government for Yogyakarta in which remnants of a precolonial monarchy coexist with elements of a modern democratic system. How was Yogyakarta able to secure this royal privilege at a time when Indonesia liked to portray itself as a progressive Muslim democracy? Why was Sultan Hamengkubuwono X not subjected to the full set of rules and regulations of Indonesia’s big bang decentralization which since 2004 had transformed local politics through the introduction of direct election for governors, mayors and district heads? To answer these research questions, this thesis utilizes insights from historical institutionalism which emphasizes the importance of critical junctures and path dependency in the analysis of institutional change and continuity. 1.2. The Main Argument In explaining why Yogyakarta has such a unique system of government within the Indonesian context, this thesis puts forward three main arguments. First, the special status of Yogyakarta, which was originally declared in the immediate aftermath of Indonesia’s independence, has continued over several critical junctures including the introduction of democratization and decentralization after 1998 because the central government focused its attention more on nationwide political changes rather than local politics in individual regions. With regard to local politics, the government implemented the ‘big bang’ decentralization policy including direct elections for local executives, but when it started to work on the proposal for Yogyakarta’s future, it was less prepared than the Sultan in dealing with the new law. Thus, the sultan was able to consolidate his control over the local politics of Yogyakarta and gained support from all relevant stakeholders to secure the status quo of the region. Second, the central government’s efforts under Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s administration to change the status of Yogyakarta failed due to lack of political support in the national parliament and administrative regulations about the

gubernatorial

post

of

the

Yogyakarta

special

region.

Sultan

Hamengkubuwono’s capacity to lobby the members of parliament tasked with

5

deliberating the draft law resulted in broad political support for his proposal. Consequently, the government faced strong opposition from most of the political parties in the House of Representatives. Yudhoyono’s strategy to extend the sultan’s term as governor twice to give more time to the special committee to discuss the new law was unsuccessful and drove him into a corner to eventually accept the sultan’s proposal. Third, Hamengkubowo X effectively utilized his loyal support base which he had built thanks to significant cultural and performance legitimacy since accepting the title of Sultan in 1998. As the drafting of the specialness law became more and more protracted, the Sultan’s supporters began to exert pressure on the central government by conducting mass rallies and theatrical events against Yudhoyono and his administration. When top central government officials commented on their disagreement with the Sultan’s proposal, people in Yogyakarta reacted furiously. In particular, Yudhoyono’s statement that a monarchy is unacceptable within a democratic system provoked enormous anger in Yogyakarta. The resident of Yogyakarta asked the central government to respect what they hold to be the traditional culture of Yogyakarta and legalize the specialness law. In developing these arguments, this study provides a comprehensive analysis of the local politics of Yogyakarta until the enactment of the specialness law in 2012. By focusing on the reasons for the continuation of Yogyakarta’s administrative status and especially the sultan’s political privileges, it complements other studies about Yogyakarta which have approached the province’s politics from different angles, for example indigenous politics (Wahyukismoyo, 2004), law and compliance (Ratnawati, 2011), and history (Monfries, 2015). By tracing the evolution of Yogyakarta from an institutional perspective, this thesis explores the province’s history, the impact of democratization on its politics, the sultan’s relations with key stakeholders, and the regional government’s performance. Taken together, the information gained from this analysis provides a comprehensive picture of local politics in Yogyakarta, eventually allowing us to better understand why Yogyakarta has been able to preserve its special status throughout Indonesia’s transition to democracy and beyond.

6

1.3. Methodological Approach In order to answer the research questions, this thesis applies a case study approach and works with primary data and secondary literature. The primary data was collected during two extended fieldwork trips to Yogyakarta and Jakarta. On location, the author applied qualitative research methods such as participantobservation and semi-structured interviews with a large number of informants who are familiar with the local politics of Yogyakarta. The participant observation was conducted in order to observe and document how residents of Yogyakarta view the role of the sultan and how it affects their daily lives. The semi-structured interviews, meanwhile, were the main method of collecting data about the situation in Yogyakarta. These interviews were guided by open-ended questions that explored various facets of Yogyakarta’s peculiar system of government. Participants were asked about the potential contradictions and tensions inherent in a system that combines elements of monarchy and democracy. Other topics discussed with local informants included the history and context of the Yogyakarta special region, decentralisation policy, intergovernmental relations, governmental performance and the challenges facing Yogyakarta into the future. The interview participants were selected by dividing the analysis into a macro level and a micro level. The macro analysis focused on the larger picture of Yogyakarta’s institutional setup. To obtain data about the key institutions relevant for Yogyakarta, interviews were conducted with participants from both Jakarta and Yogyakarta. Interviewees from Jakarta included members of parliament, a highranking official from the Ministry of Home Affairs, and members of a think-tank organization who assisted and monitored the deliberations about the Specialness Law within parliament as well as other people who joined the drafting process of Law 13/2012. The participants who came from the central government in Jakarta were recommended by an informant who worked with a think tank organisation (LP3ES/Populi Center) and was an expert member of staff of parliament during the drafting process. He assisted in connecting the author to other informants from the Ministry of Home Affairs, the House of Representatives, and other members of Jakarta-based think tanks. All in all, this snowball method proved effective in

7

recruiting a large number of well-informed interviewees from Jakarta. In Yogyakarta, the group of informants consisted of people who are familiar with the exceptional government system of Yogyakarta and the daily politics in the region. The author succeeded in obtaining an appointment with Sultan Hamengkubuwono X as well as other members of the royal family. Other interviewees included members of the provincial and some local parliaments, academics, provincial and local government officers, as well as NGO and civil society activists. As a long-time resident of Yogyakarta, the author was able to use his existing networks to contact many informants to participate in this project. Thus, while snowballing was sometimes used, the main method of determining participants in Yogyakarta was purposive sampling which selects the informants based on the purpose of the research. This method helped the author to collect data from a broad range of eligible informants. Primary data acquired from fieldwork was interpreted qualitatively based on coding and thematic similarities. During the data analysis process, the author triangulated the different sources of evidence to build authoritative information gathered from the interviews, observation notes, and news coverage. While primary data constituted the bulk of the material used for the empirical chapters of this thesis, secondary sources were consulted to add depth to the analysis and develop the conceptual framework. Most secondary sources were taken from academic literature, archival materials, government documents, think tank publications, local and national media reports and other material related to political developments in Yogyakarta. Furthermore, to supplement the data obtained from interviews and secondary sources, more data was retrieved from a public opinion survey about people’s understanding, opinions, attitudes, and expectations about the government system of Yogyakarta. This survey was conducted by the Institute for Civil Education and Empowerment (INCIDENT) in 2012. The survey applied multistage random sampling to 1000 households from across the special region of Yogyakarta. This region consists of one municipality (the city of Yogyakarta) and four districts (Sleman, Bantul, Gunung Kidul and Kulon Progo) and respondents were selected

8

from all five areas. Unfortunately, however, this survey was the only available polling data, so its usefulness was somewhat limited. 1.4. The Structure of the Thesis The thesis consists of nine chapters. Following this introduction, the second chapter develops the theoretical framework that guides the analysis in subsequent chapters. Historical institutionalism provides the key concepts to examine the trajectory of Yogyakarta and the region’s continued special status in Indonesia. Particular attention will be paid to concepts such as critical junctures and path dependency which help understand patterns of institutional change and continuity. Chapter 2 will also discuss the concept of hybridity and apply it to the Yogyakarta case, arguing that hybrid regimes at sub-national levels can take many institutional forms including, as in the case of Yogyakarta, a mix of monarchical and democratic elements. Once the key concepts are explained, Chapters 3-4 explore the historical origins of Yogyakarta’s system and its development from pre-colonial times to the present. First, Chapter 3 looks back at the early Javan kingdoms and explains how Yogyakarta emerged out of the remnants of the Mataram Sultanate in 1755. It highlights the diverse influences that have shaped Yogyakarta including Javanese culture and religious traditions from Buddhism, Hinduism and especially Islam. Following a discussion of Yogyakarta’s development during colonial times, the chapter identifies Indonesia’s struggle for independence as a critical juncture with far-reaching consequences for Yogyakarta. As will be shown, it was in the immediate aftermath of independence that Yogyakarta was awarded special status within the new republic; a path-defining moment enshrined in law in 1950. This law would provide the formal institutional basis for Yogyakarta’s special status until the beginning of the democratic period in 1998. The events of 1998 are reviewed in more detail in Chapter 4. The fall of Suharto is identified as another critical juncture in Indonesian history; however, as this chapter will demonstrate, its impact on local politics in Yogyakarta was limited to the broader changes that occurred everywhere in Indonesia. As Sultan

9

Hamengkubuwono X sided with the reform movement and subsequent democratisation and decentralization policies focused on national issues, the institution of the sultanate survived the upheaval unchallenged. In the shadow of tremendous institutional change elsewhere in the country, Yogyakarta’s path was set for continuity, not change. However, the chapter will also highlight that after the introduction of regional autonomy, new formal institutions were needed to embed Yogyakarta’s special status legally in the newly decentralized Indonesia. Deliberations over the details of this new framework took years and allowed the existing institutional arrangement to become deeply entrenched. Chapters 5-7 analyse how different actors responded to the prolonged institutional ambiguity that had emerged in the wake of the regional autonomy framework. First, Chapter 5 investigates the institutional relations between the provincial government led by the sultan and the central and district governments with which he often interacts. It also examines the status of the sultan as the head of the provincial bureaucracy. As will be shown, the sultan’s cultural and political positions are powerful against the provincial and local governments in Yogyakarta. As a result, intergovernmental relations between the sultan and other administrative institutions at this level are relatively smooth and the sultan has faced no serious challenges to his position from other governmental institutions in Yogyakarta. The central government in Jakarta, by contrast, lacks any meaningful cultural bonds with the sultanate and, from the late 2000s onwards, became increasingly critical of Yogyakarta’s privileges. Chapter 6 shifts the focus to non-governmental organisations in Yogyakarta. It examines the relations between the sultan and community groups, the media, religious organizations and the business community in order to show how these groups have shaped socio-political and socio-economic developments in Yogyakarta. The only groups which are highly critical of the sultan are community organisations that attempt to advocate for people suffering at the hands of the government’s pro-business policies. All other groups are closely tied to the sultan’s dense web of influence and are often dependent on his goodwill for organizational survival. Control over land and long-established patronage relations help the sultan

10

to keep most political actors in Yogyakarta loyal to him. Having analysed how different actors have positioned themselves with the reality of a powerful sultan as the provincial ruler, Chapter 7 analyses to what extent the sultan has complemented his substantial cultural legitimacy with performance legitimacy as he continued to rule Yogyakarta in the democratic era. Though he did not need to face elections like other provincial governors, a good government track record should be useful for the governor to cement his claims to power. The chapter, therefore, assesses the socio-political and economic performance of the Yogyakarta special region. It shows both achievements and shortcomings of development in Yogyakarta. Overall, however, Yogyakarta’s track record under the leadership of Sultan Hamengkubuwono X has been good, so that there are few reasons for ordinary people to be dissatisfied with the status quo. In Chapter 8, the thesis returns to the chronological narrative about the struggle to provide a legal institutional foundation for the sultan’s special role in Yogyakarta. With the material from Chapter 5-7 in mind, it shows that when the central government eventually decided to challenge the status quo and advocate institutional change and free gubernatorial elections, it found it hard to win support for its proposal. During the prolonged negotiations, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X demonstrated remarkable political skill, changing strategies and tactics in response to the pressure from Jakarta. Ultimately, a new law was passed but it basically confirmed the status quo, allowing Yogyakarta’s hybrid system of government to be preserved and the monarchical traditions to live on within a broader framework of democratic institutions. Chapter 9 offers the main conclusions of the thesis and an outlook into the future of the monarchy in Yogyakarta. It recaps the main findings of this study, illustrate its broader theoretical significance and argues that even with impending changes to the monarchy including the likely successor being a female sultan, the key institutional features that preserve the power of the royal family in Yogyakarta are likely to remain intact into the near future.

11

CHAPTER 2 THEORIZING POLITICAL CHANGE AND REGIME DURABILITY

The recent global wave of democratisation has presented scholars with the challenge of dealing conceptually with a great diversity of past authoritarian regimes. Although the new national political regimes in Latin America, Africa, Asia and former communist world share important attributes of democracy, many of them differ profoundly both from each other and from the democracies in advanced industrial countries. Indeed, many are not considered fully democratic (Collier & Levitsky, 1997, p. 430). 2.1. Introduction More than fifteen years ago that Thomas Carothers (2002) famously declared ‘the end of the transition paradigm’. Over the previous two decades, it had become clear that only very few countries that had initiated a democratic transition as part of the ‘third wave of democratisation’ (Huntington 1991) actually ended up as consolidated democracies. One of the main reasons is the lack of democratic institutions that could solve governance problems and meet citizens’ expectations of freedom, justice, a better life, and a fairer society (Huntington, 1991; Schmitter, 1993). Many of those third wave regimes may no longer be traditional autocracies, but they are also not moving towards democratic rule. Instead, they are now ‘hybrid regimes’ (Diamond 2002) that are causing ‘conceptual confusion’ for regime classification (Gilbert & Mohseni, 2011; Jayasuriya & Rodan, 2007; Levitsky & Way, 2010, p. 13; Wigell, 2008). The term ‘hybrid regime’ has become closely associated with those nation-states that are stuck between authoritarianism and democracy after an aborted transition. However, there are other types of hybrid regimes, too. Hybridity can mean many things. One general source, it can be ‘anything derived from heterogeneous sources or composed of elements of different or incongruous kinds’ (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/hybrid). Conceived this way, hybrid regimes can also exist at the sub-national level, as studies about sub-national electoral authoritarian regimes have shown (Saikkonen, 2017). Particularly

12

interesting forms of hybridity may be expected where central governments grant sub-national entities certain privileges under special autonomy arrangements. The case study presented in this thesis constitutes one such peculiar type of hybrid regime as the Special Region of Yogyakarta in Indonesia combines features of electoral democracy with non-democratic elements of absolute monarchical rule. This chapter aims to provide a theoretical framework that can help explain how hybrid regimes at a sub-national level emerge and endure and what type of legitimacy exists within these hybrid systems. The theoretical context provides the foundation for the analytical approaches used in this thesis to investigate the local politics of Yogyakarta, where a traditional sultan has continued to rule for decades, despite dramatic changes in Indonesian politics at the national level. To explain how Yogyakarta has retained a hereditary monarchy as the main pillar of its local political system, the thesis builds on four distinct yet closely related sets of literature which are introduced in the following sections of this chapter. First, the chapter will discuss some classic texts on regime classification to highlight the distinguishing features of non-democratic and democratic systems. Following a brief foray into democratisation literature, the discussion will then proceed to introduce historical institutionalism as an analytical approach that is well-suited to explain not only patterns of change and continuity in institutional constructions, but also the emergence of local-level hybridity as an institutional arrangement created by the interplay of national and local political processes. Finally, the chapter examines the factors that may help hybrid regimes endure. 2.2. Power, Legitimacy, and Political Institutions in Monarchical and Democratic Regimes This section starts to develop the theoretical framework by explaining two basic kinds of political regimes: non-democratic and democratic regimes. Linz (2000) used this simple duality in his work on the world’s political systems, but he focused mostly on non-democratic regimes. He identified three key features of authoritarian regimes, namely limited pluralism, limited political participation and

13

the absence of a strong ideology that would provide legitimacy to the regime (p. 264). In contrast to democratic regimes, non-democratic regimes do not conduct free and fair elections for the executive and legislature, although general elections may be held with a limited degree of political freedoms, depending on the specific regime type of authoritarian regime. Scholars like Geddes (1999) or Diamond (2011) have identified some ideal types of authoritarian regimes including, among others, personal dictatorships, military regimes and one-party systems. Another form of non-democratic rule is an absolute monarchy, a regime type that is still widespread in the Middle East. Among the scholars who have included monarchical rule in their typologies is Brooker (2009) who added the monarchical system as a primitive form of personal rule to the non-democratic regime category, describing it as a regime type that survived against world democratization. Importantly, Brooker’s classification connects to the case study of this thesis, Yogyakarta, a traditional monarchy where executive power is still held by a non-elected sultan, despite the introduction of direct elections for executive leaders at the national level and in all other sub-national administrative entities in Indonesia. Given the co-existence of monarchical and democratic elements in Yogyakarta, it is imperative to begin this chapter with a conceptual discussion of these key terms. To distinguish monarchies from democracies, I suggest focusing on four political properties – power, legitimacy, institutions, and interests – that can help to differentiate between democratic and monarchical regimes (Gilbert & Mohseni, 2011). These properties correspond to the approach of Brooker who analysed regime types by asking not only ‘who rules’, but also ‘how/why do they rule’. What follows is a brief discussion of how power, legitimacy, institutions and interests can help us answer these questions. Defining Key Concepts Many modern definitions of power refer, in one way or another, back to Weber (1978, p. 53) who defined power as ‘the probability that one actor within a social relationship will be in a position to carry out his own will despite resistance,

14

regardless of the basis on which this probability rests’. This definition was widely accepted, especially the idea that power requires social interaction as the arena in which human relationships emerge. Dahl (1971) also regarded power as the ability to make decisions against opposing views from other social actors. For Lukes (1974), however, this decision-making approach should be seen as only one dimension of power. Pointing out that other aspects of power are not captured by this approach, he proposed a three-dimensional definition of power that would also consider the ability to keep certain issues away from actual decision-making processes (the second dimension) and the ability to mould and manipulate political preferences (the third dimension) before conflicting opinions can arise in the first place. According to Hague, Harrop, and McCormick (2016, p. 9), ‘power is the capacity to act, [whereas] authority is the acknowledged right to do so.’ In modern liberal democracies, authority usually rests on legal-rational norms, but other forms of authority continue to resonate in diverse political settings, including Weber’s (1922) notions of traditional and charismatic authority. Legitimacy can be obtained by a ruler using power or authority over society. Weber described legitimacy as the belief and acknowledgement of people that their authorised ruler should take action on behalf of them (Alagappa, 1995, p. 12; Grafstein, 1981; Hawes, 1996). This formulation emphasises government authority to take action on behalf of the people and is adaptive to various types of regime. In Weber’s conception, legitimacy depends on shared norms and values influencing the society. However, sources of legitimacy can vary and are easily manipulated by governments. Conceptually, legitimacy is hard to assess due to a lack of evaluative criteria (Alagappa, 1995, p. 13). The risk of manipulation is indeed important as leaders with a legitimate mandate can develop political institutions which only serve to preserve the power of the regime. Institutions are the rules of the game within an existing regime. According to MacIntyre (2003, p. 1), political institutions are ‘the rules, usually enshrined in a constitution and other key laws, that determine how the leadership of the state is configured and how state authority is exercised’.

However,

15

institutions can be both formal and informal. While formal institutions usually find expression in laws and other codified rules, informal institutions are non-written customs, codes of conduct and traditions (North, 1991). Thus defined, institutions differ from organisations as they do not need to have physical structures but are rules and regulations that require obedience and proper behaviour from all members of society. As rules of the game, institutions underpin authority and, in a democratic regime, constrain the government from suppressing the people. Interests, finally, are ‘valued conditions or goals’ of a private or public group or other actor or institution (Heinz, Laumann, Nelson, & Salisbury, 1993, pp. 24-25). Compared to a private value that tends to be latent, a political interest manifests if it connects to the government, a political institution or public policy. Interests can become the driving force of political behaviour. This study explores both individual and group interests and how they influence the relations between a traditional monarch and his patrons (Walker, 1983). The following section explains how these key concepts manifest themselves in the two regime types most relevant to this thesis, namely absolute monarchy and and democracy. Absolute Monarchy Absolute monarchies were the prevalent form of political system in the early stages of human civilisation (Linz, 2000, p. 49). Wittfogel (1957) suggested the ‘hydraulic theory’ to describe the formation of civilisation. He depicted the development of civilisation in an Asiatic society by highlighting the idea of ‘irrigation agriculture as a fundamental aspect of the creation of social stratification, hierarchy and state control (pp. 363-368).’ Even though the irrigation case was set in a small-scale society, Davies (2009) agreed on the managerial requirements of irrigation as the basis of authority. In early agricultural societies, access to water provided the basis for power and wealth accumulation. Groups or individuals who governed the bureaucratic irrigation were of a higher class in social stratification. Consequently, the more authority and wealth was accumulated by this person or group, the more power they obtained vis-a-vis the rest of the society. As the society evolved, this person preserved their power using complex kinship systems. This

16

heredity-based system is said to be the origin of the monarchical system (Abell & Stevenson, 2011). Power in a monarchical system is centralised, as an individual – the monarch – is the highest member of society. Anderson suggested that the modern understanding of power derived from early European conceptions related to the form of power, its source, concentration and its broader implications (1990, pp. 2123). A modern form of power is abstract and appears in the context of social interaction. As power results from social interaction, the monarch’s relationship with society brings unobvious power based on a ruler’s authority originating from their wealth accumulation. In other words, the sources of power provided to the ruler are linked to social status and the broader hereditary context. Rulers’ ability to exercise power to preserve their status by increasing authority and wealth will bestow more power upon them. However, this should be done under moral constraints and without any ethical issues. Otherwise, a regime loses its legitimacy, and its power will ultimately be challenged. In contrast with the modern definition of power, a traditional perspective like the one described by Davies (2009) in his work about the hydraulic agricultural societies in Sonjo, Tanzania and Pokot, Kenya, puts more emphasis on supernatural knowledge and charismatic authority. Anderson (1990) also found specific ideas of power within Javanese culture with its unique blend of traditions originating from a mixture of Indic civilisation, Asian and non-Asian traditional cultures. He suggested analysing the social and political culture in Java by applying a traditional lens to show perceptions and interpretations which influence a person’s behaviour (Grafstein, 1981; Leat, 1972). In contrast to modern social science, which proposes the objective meaning of certain phenomena, attention to the subjective meaning helps to draw out the psychological understanding of people’s political behaviour (Tucker, 1965). Anderson (1990) contrasted traditional Javanese conceptions of power with modern conceptions by using a range of criteria. First, in traditional conceptions, power exists and manifests within the universe as it is embraced by the Divine’s energy. Second, the energy that underpins power comes from the

17

Divine, making all sources of power homogenous. Third, this view believes that power is constant as it radiates from the Divine. Accordingly, power is a zero-sum game in which increased power for one person or group means deducting power from another. Fourth, the question of legitimacy does not arise, as it comes from the Divine’s energy. Compared to modern conceptions, this perspective provides a different root of understanding of power as it relies on the belief of the people that the ruler is the representation of the Divine (pp. 21-23). Despite Anderson’s (1990, p. 23) famous claim that in Javanese culture, ‘power is neither legitimate nor illegitimate’, modern Javanese rulers including Indonesian presidents have been forced to develop different bases of legitimacy. Meanwhile, in other parts of the world where absolute monarchies do persist, monarchical power is often linked to questions of both authority and legitimacy. Most commonly, legitimacy in modern monarchical systems comes from traditional cultural factors as well as charisma, whereas legal-rational authority is usually absent. Where rulers enjoy legitimacy based on tradition and charisma, obedience from the society is created either through patrimonial and feudal arrangements based on shared norms and values accepted by the people (Alagappa, 1995, p. 29) or, under the patriarchal system, the ruler can utilise his power to the extent that ‘absolute authority is maximised’ (Brooker, 2009, p. 49). Tradition and charisma as sources of legitimacy may be similar but can be distinguished by the type of authority that creates obedience from the people. In hereditary systems based on patronage, traditional legitimacy is paramount. On the other hand, where authority builds on the people’s belief in a ruler’s extraordinary capacities, legitimacy is based primarily on charisma (Weber, 1978). However, in some monarchical systems, rulers can draw on both traditional conceptions of authority and charisma as their sources of legitimacy. Anderson (1990, p. 79), for example, found this in the Javanese tradition where ‘...all traditional authority was charismatic, and all charismatic authority traditional’, although he did not link this to issues of legitimacy. Moreover, it is noteworthy that modern monarchies can also combine charismatic with procedural performance (Stepan, Linz, & Minoves, 2014, p. 42). Some absolute monarchies in North Africa and the Middle East, for example,

18

have sought to provide excellent public services as an incentive for the people to accept the regime as legitimate. (Diamond, 2011; Diamond, 2002). Formal political institutions in a monarchy are limited. The institutions that do exist are built to serve the monarch as the ‘rule by one’. While on the throne, a ruler utilises the royal family to run the ‘family firm’ (Brooker, 2009, p. 48). Accountability of the monarch is restricted to his family and power will only circulate within the royal family. Accordingly, rules of the game exist more informally than formally, as institutions are only developed to support the ruler’s leadership. This is particularly prevalent in the bureaucracy where loyalty to the ruler and connectedness through clientelistic networks often trump formal regulations based on meritocratic principles. In short, absolute monarchies tend to manipulate political institutions to preserve their power. The interests of the ruler are synonymous with the state’s interests. At the same time, channels for the articulation and representation of societal interests are limited and often shaped by personalistic or clientelistic relations to the royal family. Furthermore, the monarch may turn into a prototype of social identity and the symbol of the society (Abell & Stevenson, 2011; Geertz, 1980, p. 124). As mentioned above, absolute monarchies allegedly predominated form of political system at the beginning of civilisation. Absolute monarchies of varying sizes and longevity ruled for centuries, even though alternative forms of political organisation also existed in some societies. However, it was not until the late middle ages that the idea of an absolutist ruler with a divine mandate was more forcefully challenged in some parts of Europe and it was not until the French and American revolutions and their aftermath that a viable new concept of government emerged in the form of democracy. Huntington (1991) has traced the emergence of these new democracies as well as the subsequent waves of democratisation in his seminal book The Third Wave. Today, democracy is the most widespread form of government in the world, with 125 of 195 states in the world classified as electoral democracies by Freedom House (Puddington, 2015). Absolute monarchies, on the other hand, are rare these days, although some still exist, especially in the Middle East. To distinguish democracy conceptually from an absolute monarchy, the

19

following section will define the key parameters of what is often termed ‘electoral democracy’, with a particular focus on various dimensions of power, forms and sources of legitimacy as well as the political institutions that characterise modern democracy. Electoral Democracy Democracy emerged in the west when new social forces began to challenge the power and legitimacy of the ‘Old Regime’ (Ancien Regime). The driving forces of democratic evolution were different amongst the various states. Generally speaking, though, new social forces shifted the source of power from the monarchy to the people by establishing participative elections and political institutions. The main source of legitimacy changed from the divine right to the modern nation-state. Though originating from different political groups and pursuing different political goals, the new social forces claimed to work on behalf of ‘the people’. To distinguish different democratic waves, Huntington described the basic precondition factor that allowed the new social forces to craft democracy in the various countries (Montero, 1998). The emergence of the first wave of democracy from 1820 to 1926 was mainly due to internal dynamics within states. Compared to that, the successive second and third waves were influenced more by external factors and the snowballing effect of regional politics and the economy (Huntington, 1991). The second wave from 1943 to 1962, which coincided with the decolonization process and the liberation of new nation-states, spawned the idea of democracy as the TINA (there is no alternative) among those new states (Brooker, 2009, p. 10). From 1974 onwards, the failure of many authoritarian regimes and global increases in economic growth contributed to the emergence of the third wave, indicated by the transition of a vast number of states which previously experienced non-democratic government (Diamond, 2011; Huntington, 1991). In democratic regimes, people’s sovereignty is said to be the highest source of legitimacy. People vote for their elected members of parliament, who represent their constituents to create ‘checks and balances’ against the executive

20

government, as formulated by Montesquieu [cited in Sharp (1935)]. The separation of political power into the executive, the legislature and the judiciary corresponds with Dahl’s conceptualization of democracy (1971) which suggested a system with ‘a robust mass participation and open opposition’ to strengthen the institutions of democracy as the symbol of society. However, conducting elections is categorised as a minimalist definition of democracy because having a substantive democracy should ensure free, fair, and competitive processes and be combined with institutional arrangements such as consensus, participation, and accountability (Schmitter & Karl, 1991). If implemented well, these processes reflect the competing interests and values of peoples, groups and individuals. Voters in democratic elections bestow authority upon legitimate leaders to take action on behalf of the people. People who choose their ruler or representatives give their political power to be represented by the elected individual. The more voters participate in the ballot, the higher the political legitimacy claimed by the ruler to govern the society (Alagappa, 1995, p. 11). Beetham, cited in Alagappa (p. 14), argued that political legitimacy in a democratic system reflects ‘legal validity and consent’ of the individual. This is similar to Weber’s view of law as a source of legitimacy; however, Beetham distinguished law regarding its formal position in the society from people’s belief. Linz

argued

that

democratisation

without

proper

institutional

arrangements could turn into a non-democratic regime as was the case with Mussolini in Italy, Hitler in Germany, and Lenin in Russia (Linz, 2000, p. 13). As the rules of the game, political institutions in a democratic system should be sovereign (Diamond & Morlino, 2005, p. xi). Well-crafted institutions can protect the system and prevent it from regressing into authoritarianism. Conversely, where electoral institutions are poorly designed, flawed election processes can lead to the emergence of a new electoral authoritarian regime (Diamond, 2002). To ensure democratic processes and popular control over decision-making processes and public policies, the existence of institutional arrangements that guarantee the rule of law, participation, competition, accountability, freedom, equality, and responsiveness, is necessary (Diamond & Morlino, 2005, pp. xiv-xxxi).

21

A democratic system should serve the people’s interest. The ruling administration governs the country as a result of an election and people vote for the elected officials who implement the popular will. Beyond elections, democratic regimes provide space for many interest groups who want their voices to be heard. Consequently, there is a competition of ideas and interests between different groups, while the government has its own political agenda (Baumgartner & Leech, 1998, p. 30). The government needs a good understanding of interest groups as they are part of the political system and can provide the administration with either political support or criticism. Good governance entails consultation with a wide range of interest groups with the goal of devising and implementing effective public policy. Table 2.1: Comparison of Political Properties between Regimes Absolute Monarchy

Power

Hereditary and centralised within the Monarch; exercise of power is not restricted but can be benign or oppressive

Based on traditional and/or charismatic authority, Legitimacy complemented by performance in modern monarchies The monarch’s word, tradition Institutions and other informal institutions Primacy of the ruler’s interests; no or limited Interests channels for the articulation of societal interests

Electoral Democracy Accessed via free and fair elections, structured by separation rather than concentration of power; exercise of power is constrained by institutions and the rule of law Based on legal-rational authority and people’s sovereignty Constitution/Rule of Law Multiple channels of interest articulation and representation for the people

2.3. Institutional Change vs. Regime Durability The political developments in many former absolutist states reflect the role of social struggle to transform monarchical into democratic systems. It gradually occurred as democracy appeared ‘irreconcilable’ with the main pillars of a monarchical system. The monarchical system relied on the hereditary principle,

22

but democracy contested that principle to provide a fair system in which sovereignty rests with the people (Abell & Stevenson, 2011). The new social forces pushed through freedom and equality for the people against the old elite. In Britain a ‘constitutional monarchy’ has emerged. This system combines elements of monarchy and democracy, but confines the monarchical element to ceremonial functions. The system promoted democratic government by putting the monarch as the symbolic head of state without any political power (Gathorne-Hardy, 1953). However, the monarchy retained high legitimacy and monarchs continue to be regarded as prestigious representatives of the state. Following in the footsteps of the United Kingdom, other European countries like Denmark or the Netherlands also became constitutional monarchies. In contrast, many postcolonial states remained under authoritarian rule for prolonged periods of time after independence, not least because traditional notions of legitimacy toward an authoritarian ruler remained deeply rooted in many societies (Linz, 2000, p. 53). Many developing countries with monarchical traditions were unable to undergo a political evolution like those as European states because they had suffered from colonisation. Here, traditional rulers were often accommodated by colonial powers under the arrangements of indirect rule. The collaboration between colonial administrations and traditional local elites not only reinforced established notions of authority and legitimacy but also stifled the emergence of the kind of new social forces that had been pushing for the development of democratic institutions elsewhere. Thus, when the former colonies of Africa, Asia and Latin America eventually gained independence in the 19th and 20th centuries, they had little political capital, ‘the resource which political actors deploy to structure the incentives of other actors in society’ (French, 2011), that could create, not to mention sustain, democracy. It was not until he third wave of democratisation that democracy eventually spread widely in the developing world. However, institutional capacity in many countries was still lacking. To improve their political institutions, international support was needed. As mentioned by Huntington (1991), democratisation in the developing world eventually occurred, at least partly, because of external influences. The European Community, American

23

foreign policy and international development agencies like the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank played a major role in promoting democratisation to those countries. However, democratisation is a complicated process. Even when the transition begins auspiciously, it does not always guarantee democratic consolidation. Internal constraints generated by different types of norms and values in the society may cause stagnation or prompt an authoritarian regression. Many countries that were part of the third wave failed to consolidate liberal democratic regimes. Instead, they evolved into defective or patrimonial democracies or hybrid regimes, somewhere between democracy and authoritarianism (Brooker, 2009; Diamond, 2002; Rakner, Menocal, & Fritz, 2007). Indonesia was one of the last third wave countries to commence democratisation and although the country’s transition from authoritarianism is often described as a success (Aspinall, 2015; Liddle & Mujani, 2006), Indonesia today still has many democratic deficits. Some of these deficits such as corruption and a weak rule of law occur on a national scale, but others are confined to the local level, due to a decentralisation process which in some provinces produced political institutions that appear to run counter the notion of democracy. Since the main aim of this thesis is to explain the emergence and durability of one of those sub-national systems, the following section will introduce analytical tools that will help to elucidate the occurrence and persistence of different regime types. Challenges to power and legitimacy: The role of Ideas This study utilises key tenets of historical institutionalism to examine changes and durability of power configurations, bases of legitimacy and institutional arrangements in the peculiar regime of Yogyakarta. While a variety of definitions of the term institutionalism has been suggested, I will use the definition first proposed by Hall and Taylor (1996a) who saw it as the study of political institutions, a set of theoretical ideas and hypotheses relating to institutional characteristics and political agency, performance, and change. This approach can go beyond the strategic relationship between structure and agency (Hellmann, 2011,

24

p. 7). The objective is to explain the role of institutions in creating social and political outcomes. Hall and Taylor (1996) define institutions as ‘the formal or informal procedures, routines, norms and conventions embedded in the organisational structure of the polity or political economy’ (p. 938). Historical institutionalism as an analytical approach investigates the impact of institutions on individual behaviour and seeks to explain what institutions do and why they persist over time. According to Hall and Taylor (1996: 939), at least two strands of historical institutionalism can be identified. First, the so-called calculus approach highlights strategic, calculating human behaviour and treats institutions as a provider of information about the conduct of individuals. It explains the durability of institutions by referring to an institution’s ability to help resolve collective action dilemmas. Second, the ‘cultural approach’ attributes more prominence to an individual’s worldview rather than purely strategic considerations. It regards institutions primarily as providers of ‘moral or cognitive templates for interpretation and action’ (Hall and Taylor 1996: 939) and explains their persistence by pointing to their conventional character that makes them difficult to alter just because of the actions of an individual. Both calculus and cultural approaches accept that not only institutions but also other factors such as ideas inspire individuals in their quest for satisfaction and solutions (Campbell, 1998). Ultimately, ideas can be transformed into new beliefs which in turn can underpin the emergence of new institutions. The emergence of new social forces pushing for change in 18th and 19th century Europe illustrates the role of ideas in shifting the beliefs of people. Under the traditional concept, the appropriate behaviour of an individual toward the monarchy changed when individuals started to apply a calculus approach to maximise their benefits gained from freedom and equality within the social order (Campbell, 1998). Support for the new idea could originate from both elites and/or the people. In the case of Britain, the aristocracy addressed the challenge to their power and legitimacy by accommodating popular demands and integrating themselves into the new system. In France and Germany, on the other hand, the new

25

social forces had to build a consensus between competing interests among themselves to have a democratic regime established against the prevailing power of the existing absolutist regimes (Theen & Wilson, 1986). The role of ideas has also been highlighted in the study of survival of nondemocratic regime. In explaining how such regimes endure, historical institutionalists have proposed institutions as the ‘mechanism of reproduction’ (Thelen, 1999; 2004) to preserve an existing structure. This theory focuses on devising ‘incentives’ that keep individuals away from ‘disloyal’ ideas within the institution so that the emergence of new social forces can be restrained and a regime’s power and legitimacy can be preserved (2004, pp. 284-285). By providing such incentives, an institution could endure as it concurrently adapts and transforms itself under the changing social, political and economic conditions. The interplay between stabilisation and innovation can be systematically done to preserve the institutional arrangement (Lustick, 2011). Historical Trajectories: Path Dependence and Critical Junctures Even though historical institutionalism discusses both stability and change of institutions, it tends to focus more on stability and the persistence of distinctive path-dependent political trajectories (Hall & Taylor, 1996a). The approach highlights how conflict among rival political groups can be limited by appealing to scarce resources; it conceives of conflict as a mechanism to strengthen an institution (Hall & Taylor, 1996b; Hellmann, 2011, p. 9). According to Hellmann (2011: 9), institutions act as the filters of proper behaviour among people. Historical institutionalism argues that the state maintains a certain level of conflict among social and political institutions and orchestrates their interactions to create its historical pattern (Hall & Taylor, 1996b). To explain how political developments maintain a certain trajectory, historical institutionalism utilises the concept of path dependence which, according to Mahoney (2000, p. 507), ‘characterises specifically those historical sequences in which contingent events set into motion institutional patterns or event chains that have deterministic properties.’ Path dependence can explain stability by analysing

26

the processes of institutional creation and reform and how these processes help to shape the expected behaviour of the people (Hall & Taylor, 1996b). Furthermore, historical institutionalism focuses on explaining how institutions produce such paths, including dealing with ‘unintended consequences’ that emerge through new challenges from social forces. The emergence of new social forces can create a critical juncture (Collier & Collier, 1991) that punctuates the equilibrium of regime stability (Krasner, 1984). With reference to Pierson (1996), Slater and Simmons (2010, p. 888) define critical junctures as ‘periods in history when the presence or absence of a specified causal force pushes multiple cases onto divergent long-term pathways or pushes a single case onto a new political trajectory that diverges significantly from the old.’ Apart from the emergence of new social forces, other potential triggers for critical junctures can include armed conflict or economic crises. Such critical junctures can produce substantial challenges to existing institutions. As a result, a historical process could diverge onto an unintended path that severely disrupts the previous regime trajectory. Although historical institutionalists find that critical junctures mostly derive from socio-economic and political developments, they still allow analytical room for the role of ideas in changing behaviour and beliefs (Hall & Taylor, 1996b). Often, critical junctures are strongly influenced by preceding causal factors or ‘critical antecedents’ (Slater and Simmons 2010). A critical antecedent refers to ‘factors or conditions preceding a crucial juncture that combine with causal forces during a critical juncture to produce a long-term divergence in outcomes’ (p. 889). By developing the comparative politics of critical junctures, Slater and Simmons found that the critical antecedent became ‘successive causes’ or ‘conditioning causes’ of the divergent outcome of political processes. They refer to Yashar’s analysis of Central American regime trajectories, which highlights the importance of critical antecedents in explaining the divergent paths taken by Guatemala and Costa Rica. In these two countries, different patterns of state militarization, market relations and civil society development became the critical antecedents that caused elite divisions at subsequent critical junctures.

27

Significantly, Indonesia’s recent political development was shaped by similar critical antecedents ahead of a critical juncture. Democratisation in 1998 was preceded by state militarization under Suharto’s authoritarian regime, a marketfriendly economic policy, and the development of civil society. Interestingly, however, the fall of Suharto did not result in the uniform implementation of the same democratic institutions across the country. In one of its sub-national regions – Yogyakarta – the critical juncture in 1998 did little to alter the local power configuration. While some new democratic institutions were introduced, the local executive remained under the control of the local monarch as it had been the local practice for decades (even though the extent of his actual power fluctuated significantly over the years). Even when direct elections for local executive leaders were introduced across the country in 2004, Yogyakarta was exempted from the new rules. By applying the analytical tools of historical institutionalism, this thesis will seek to explain why local politics in Yogyakarta did not democratise in line with national policy. 2.4. Explaining the Emergence and Endurace of Hybrid Regimes at Different Levels Despite retaining an unelected monarch as its executive leader, Yogyakarta today also features most of the democratic institutions that characterize other sub-national entities in Indonesia including a democratically elected parliament and many political freedoms and civil liberties. The political system is, therefore, unique in the sense that it is broadly democratic yet denies its citizens the right to elect its local executive leader. It is a hybrid regime, somewhere between a democracy and an absolute monarchy. However, it differs conceptually from what the political science literature usually describes as a hybrid regime, not least because it is not a sovereign state but rather a province located at the second administrative tier in Indonesia. Conventionally, a hybrid regime is characterised by a juxtaposition of democratic and authoritarian elements applied within a state government (Karl, 1995). Gilbert and Mohseni (2011) developed Karl’s early definition further to

28

prevent conceptual confusion between hybrid, democratic and authoritarian regimes. They used the analytical dimensions of ‘competitiveness’, ‘civil liberty’ and ‘tutelary interference’ to distinguish different types of regimes. They argued that for a regime to be labelled a hybrid regime, there need to be regular elections and the real possibility of a regime shift as a result of such elections. Consequently, according to Gilbert and Mohseni (2011), the absence of competitive elections and any genuine opportunity to change the ruler means that a state cannot be categorised as a hybrid regime. Other scholars have proposed similar conceptualizations of hybrid regimes. Levitsky and Way (2010), for example, coined the term competitive authoritarianism to denote particular hybrid regimes that hold elections but systematically violate many democratic principles, for instance by manipulating elections, restricting media access, abusing state resources, and harassing opposition parties. Hybrid regimes are now an established analytical category in political science. However, the term ‘hybridity’ can also be interpreted differently. As mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, at the most basic level, the term hybridity merely indicates the existence of something that is ‘derived from heterogeneous sources, or composed of elements of different or incongruous kinds’ (Dictionary.com). Political regimes, therefore, can also be conceived as a hybrid if they combine elements of two different regime types that do not necessarily conform to Gilbert and Mohseni’s or Levitsky and Way’s characterization. In particular, it is not clear why hybridity should be contingent on the conduct of elections. Indeed, the practices of hybridity are manifold in the world’s political development. Especially at the sub-national level, administrative entities such as provinces or states are sometimes granted privileges that allow them to maintain or develop political regimes that differ significantly from the national political system. Shaped by both national as well as local political institutions, they have evolved into hybrid regimes that combine elements of different systems to form peculiar regime types that defy conventional classification schemes. One such example is Hong Kong, a special administrative region of the

29

People’s Republic of China that has applied a semi-democratic government system which is different from the Chinese central government. Formerly, the region had been colonised by Britain and then handed back to China in 1997. Because the two countries have had two very different systems, the Chinese authoritarian government allowed Hong Kong at the subnational level of government to apply certain elements of democracy in the region. This case shows hybridity in the practice of intergovernmental relations in China named the ‘hold to account’ policy (Mei & Pearson, 2014). However, despite the unusual political freedoms enjoyed in Hong Kong, Beijing has kept the local system under increasingly tight control as it manipulates the local government using its decentralisation system as a disciplining device for the sub-national government (Tsui & Wang, 2008). Other cases of subnational regions which have applied different systems from the central government are Oaxaca in Mexico, Santiago del Estero in Argentina, and of course Aceh and Papua in Indonesia. The latter two are Indonesian provinces with a special autonomy status. This special status has allowed them to maintain specific local institutions that contravene the democratic principles enshrined in the Indonesian constitution. The provincial government in Aceh, for example, is authorised to use local regulations based on Islamic law but the province is also bound by nationwide regulations for the holding of local elections (Mietzner, 2007). Meanwhile, in Papua, the region applies a traditional system called ‘noken’ in local elections (Nolan, 2016). This system entails voting by using ‘noken’ (a multifunctional bag used in Papua) rather than ballot boxes, and some of the voters can queue toward the ‘noken’ which represents the candidate in the election (Hajramurni & Somba, 2013). Moreover, Papua is also different from the rest of Indonesia because Papuans are subject to far more restrictions on their political freedoms than ordinary Indonesians due to ongoing unrest in parts of the province. Both Aceh and Papua have been granted special autonomy status because of strong secessionist tendencies and a history of conflict. Special autonomy was intended to pacify the regions and to blunt separatist aspirations. Yogyakarta, however, has no comparable history of conflict or separatism. Its status therefore represents an anomaly in Indonesia which can only be explained by looking at the

30

region’s peculiar history and the interplay between national and local institutions, ideas and interests. Gibson (2005, p. 105) argued that political processes that feed or starve subnational authoritarianism are still largely a mystery in the comparative literature on democratisation. The problems are not only about scholarly bias toward national institutions, actors and movements, but often political struggles about the status of subnational regimes are framed as separatist conflicts. Not every sub-national region that maintains or develops non-democratic characteristics, however, is involved in a separatist struggle. According to Sambanis and Milanovic (2014), only one-third of special autonomy demands in the world since 1945 have claimed the right of self-determination. Many others were simply aimed at recognition of particular rights and traditions and resulted in smoothly arranged regional/special autonomy policies granted to the region. In some cases, such autonomy deals then entailed the formation of different types of regime including hybrid regimes at the sub-national level of government. In explaining the cases of Oaxaca and Santiago del Estero, Gibson (2005) has used Rokkan and Urwin’s (1983) framework of ‘boundary control’, defined as a peripheral defensive strategy against cultural encroachments from the center, to illustrate how both systems endure. The framework utilises three strategies: (1) the parochialization of power, (2) the nationalisation of influence, and (3) the monopolisation

of

national-subnational

linkages

(Gibson,

2005).

The

parochialization of power strategy seeks to control local politics to maximise gubernatorial

hegemony

over

the

sub-national

territorial

system.

The

nationalisation of influence strategy uses the popularity of sub-national rulers across the nation which helps them to bring selected issues to national attention. The

monopolisation

of

national-subnational

linkage

strategy

connects

intergovernmental resources to present the interests of a subnational entity toward the national government. Also, the framework examines continuity and changes in the institutional arrangement used to rule the region. This thesis builds on elements of the frameworks applied by Sambanis and Milanovic (2014) and Gibson (2005), but ultimately regards the analytical tools of historical institutionalism as better

31

suited to explain the endurance of Yogyakarta’s hybrid regime. As recent developments surrounding the ‘umbrella movement’ and ‘occupy central’ in Hong Kong showed, hybrid institutions can create their own conflictual dynamics (Kan, 2013). Hong Kong residents had demanded fully free elections since the handover from Britain in 1997, but they failed to gain this concession from Beijing. The people of Hong Kong challenged the Chinese central government policies that attempted to limit the democratic system in Hong Kong by screening the candidates before they could be nominated for elections (Jeffie, 2014). To preserve institutional stability, the Chinese central government has sought to prevent the emergence of a critical juncture that could alter the direction of politics in Hong Kong. At the time of this, existing institutions were maintained as the nationalist-democratic challenge to the Beijing-friendly arrangement was portrayed as disloyal behaviour by a growing number of people protesting against the ‘umbrella movement’ (Lustick, 2011). 2.5. Conclusion The term ‘hybrid regime’ carries certain connotations in political science, but essentially it is a contested concept which can be utilized in many ways. This thesis uses the term simply to describe a subnational political regime that combines elements of both democracy and non-democratic forms of government. With Yogyakarta embracing the democratic freedoms brought about by Indonesia’s democratization process but refusing to allow for direct elections for its governor, the province represents a unique type of hybrid regime that mixes democracy with absolute monarchy. Historical institutionalism offers the theoretical tools to explain why Yogyakarta has developed this way. It allows for an analysis of historical trajectories to explain the evolving political institutions as well as behavioural aspects of the society. This starts by understanding the socially constructed reality that underpins the institutional arrangement which in turn promotes appropriate behaviour of individuals and provide an incentive for certain expected behaviour. The results of this study will help to refine existing definitions of hybrid regimes (Diamond, 2002; Gilbert & Mohseni, 2011; Wigell, 2008). By applying

32

elements of both calculus and cultural approaches, the study will demonstrate how different institutions can influence the people and it will also explain the role of ideas in inducing expected behaviour in society. As historical institutionalism is concerned with long-term patterns of institutional development, an understanding of the historical context of local politics is crucial as it provides the basis from which the arguments about the endurance of Yogyakarta’s hybrid regime will be developed. The next chapter therefore outlines the key features of Yogyakarta’s historical development prior to the beginning of democratization in 1998.

33

CHAPTER 3 ORIGINS AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE SULTANATE OF YOGYAKARTA “I have had an extensive Western upbringing, yet I am and remain above all a Javanese. I am fully aware that the task that now rests upon me is difficult and cumbersome, above all the requirement to bring the Western and Eastern spirits into a harmonious cooperation, without causing the latter to lose its essential character. Accordingly, as long as the custom does not hamper the development, it stays in the first place in the palace with its traditional richness. May I conclude with the promise that I will work for the interests of the Land and People, to the limit of my knowledge and ability” - Sultan HB IX’s speech quoted in Monfries (2015, pp. 80-82). 3.1. Introduction At his coronation day in 1940, Sri Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX (HB IX) delivered a speech that expressed his vision to reconcile modern and traditional values during his reign as a king in Kasultanan Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat. In his speech, the Sultan presented himself as a cultural symbol of Yogyakarta who was responsible for conserving its Javanese custom. However, as a western educated person, he was also aware that his culture had to adapt to the tremendous changes that were sweeping through his sultanate. By 1940, new ideologies such as nationalism, communism and liberal democracy were challenging the supremacy of traditional Javanese values and the outbreak of World War II had added an additional element of uncertainty to the future of the Yogyakarta Sultanate. Hamengkubuwono IX therefore felt obliged himself to introduce modern values to his traditional society and he pledged to put in his best effort to reconcile the two (Monfries, 2015, p. 87). The sultan’s openness toward interweaving cherished cultural traditions with the new values of a modern political system paved the way for the emergence of Yogyakarta as a dynamic region that would channel Javanese traditions into the era of Indonesian independence. Following the recognition of independence in 1949, the sultan came to exemplify how this confluence of traditional Javanese culture and modern statecraft was to function in practice. Based on a new law

34

passed in 1950, the Sultan became governor of the new province of Yogyakarta. But not only that, the law also granted Yogyakarta special autonomy status and appointed Hamengkubuwono IX governor for life. Thus, the foundation was laid for an institutional framework in which the Sultan retained his traditional legitimacy as leader of the sultanate, but concurrently also obtained formal, incontestable political power as provincial governor. This chapter first sketches the developments that led to this critical juncture in Yogyakarta’s history and then moves on to analyse how Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX used his dual position to establish the sultanate as a pillar of Yogyakarta’s modern identity. Exploring the history of Yogyakarta is a challenging, but important task in order to understand the peculiarity of the region’s contemporary status. It has to consider ancient Javanese traditions, the influence of Islam and the way the new religion blended with local customs, as well as the impact of Western colonialism and Indonesian nationalism. Complex though it may be, a historical overview is necessary to lay the foundation for the discussion in subsequent chapters. Therefore, this chapter aims to explore the key historical features of Yogyakarta, starting from its origins in pre-colonial times through the colonial era to the early independence period up until the end of the New Order in 1998. It traces the development of the Sultanate by focusing on the power and legitimacy of the Sultan, as well as the institutional foundations that have underpinned the kingdom. Furthermore, it analyses the changing configurations of authority that have dictated relations between the sultan and important stakeholders of the region. Following this introduction, the chapter starts with an overview of the early developments in Central Java prior to the formation of the Yogyakarta Sultanate. It then proceeds to discuss the Sultanate under colonial rule, highlighting that during this period elements of European bureaucratic systems were introduced in the palace. The subsequent section then explores the role of the Sultanate during the emergence of the Republic of Indonesia in 1945, emphasizing, among other things, the important contribution Yogyakarta made to the survival of the fledgling nation-state. This section will also explain how Yogyakarta obtained its status as a

35

special region. Finally, the chapter examines the relations between Yogyakarta and the central government in Jakarta throughout Indonesia’s turbulent independent history up until 1998. This part will highlight that Yogyakarta enjoyed fairly stable local politics between 1945 and 1998, even when Indonesian politics went through significant political upheavals such as the violent regime change in 1965. 3.2. Origins of the Yogyakarta Sultanate and Precolonial Evolution The formal history of the Yogyakarta Sultanate began on 13 February 1755 when the Treaty of Giyanti was signed by the Dutch United East India Company/Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (VOC) and two feuding princes of the Mataram Sultanate. The treaty split up Mataram into two new sultanates, Surakarta in the eastern half of Central Java and Yogyakarta in the western part. Prince Mangkubumi of the Mataram kingdom became ruler of the new Kasultanan Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat. Yogyakarta became the capital of the new sultanate (Ricklefs, 2001, pp. 128-129). To fully understand the emergence of Yogyakarta during the colonial period, the following section will look back at the beginnings of civilisation in this part of Java, demonstrating that the Sultanate of Yogyakarta traces its cultural roots deep into the pre-colonial era. The Ancient Javanese Kingdoms Based on inscriptions found in Java, the first ancient Javanese kingdoms are estimated to have emerged in the eighth century (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 2; Reid, 2015, p. 65). Many experts believe that Indic and Chinese civilisations influenced these early kingdoms as they brought Hinduism/Sivaism, Buddhism and eventually Islam to Southeast Asia (Anderson, 1990; Benda, 1962; Benda & Bastin, 1968; McVey, 1978; O'Reilly, 2006; Rahardjo, 2011; Reid, 2015; Ricklefs, 2001). As external religions came to the region, they transformed ancient Javanese society and the region developed unique cultural traditions which merged local and external influences (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 34). In the eighth to tenth centuries, there were two Javanese kingdoms in Central Java. The first monarchy was the Javanese kingdom of Mataram ruled by

36

the Sanjaya dynasty from 732 to 929 AD, it practised Hinduism. The second one was the Buddhist Sailendra dynasty which ruled from 754 to 856 AD (Benda & Bastin, 1968, p. 7; Rahardjo, 2011, p. 40). During this period, both dynasties built many spectacular Hindu and Buddhist temples that still survive today. The development of these temples by the Mataram rulers was not only a form of religious practice that signified the importance of the newly introduced religions at the time. Rather, the construction of monumental temples like Borobudur or Prambanan represented efforts by ancient rulers to ensure social cohesion and measure loyalty from royal officials as huge numbers of people had to be mobilized by these officials to build those massive religious sites (Reid, 2015, p. 72). Following the demise of Mataram, the centre of Javanese power was moved to eastern Java with the emergence of the Tamwlang-Kahuripan Kingdom in 929 AD (Reid, 2015, p. 76) and stayed there until the end of the Majapahit kingdom in 1486. According to Rahardjo (2011, p. 41), there were several reasons for the relocation of the capital. First, people in the central Java region bore a heavy burden because they had to build an enormous variety of religious monuments in a relatively short period of time. Second, the delta of the Solo and Brantas rivers attracted people as it was economically profitable as an international trade gateway. Third, a devastating natural disaster was caused by the eruption of Mount Merapi, which ruined rice fields and residential areas in the former capital of the kingdom. Fourth, the Sriwijaya kingdom from Sumatra attacked the Mataram kingdom in central Java. All in all, there were four kingdoms in East Java: Tamwlang-Kahuripan, Janggala-Kadiri, Singhasari and Majapahit. The latter reached its golden age during the reign of Hayam Wuruk, the king of Majapahit from 1350 to 1389 (Rahardjo, 2011, pp. 55-56; Ricklefs, 2001, p. 22). Compared to earlier Javanese kingdoms, Majapahit had a far greater reach and it lasted from 1293 to 1486 (Sievers, 1974, p. 43). The first ruler of Majapahit, Kertarajasa, attained his legitimacy to ascend the throne after marrying the four daughters of the last Singhasari ruler, Kertanegara (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 99). Significantly, Majapahit kingship later also recognised several reigning queens as the rulers of the kingdom and it had well-developed

37

political institutions that reflected military organisation, a legal system, noble tradition, literature and language style (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 401). Though continuing the Hindu-Buddhist traditions of earlier Javanese kingdoms, the religious institutions in Majapahit were less dominant than in other previous kingdoms, some of which had regarded their kings as the representation of the Divine. Although this idea returned during the Hayam Wuruk period, legitimacy was now linked more directly to his achievements as the greatest king of Majapahit. Moreover, other religions were tolerated, including the spread of Islam at the end of the kingdom. Religious monuments that depicted the conception of mandala, which had already been seen in the early Javanese kingdom during the Sailendra dynasty, reappeared again in the Majapahit period as the kingdom frequently built them. In fact, religious organisation thrived in the society. The term mandala originated from Indian political discourse where it ‘designated the concentric, hierarchical power structure centring on the figure of a king’ (Gray, 2006, p. 300). Buddhists then redefined the term, placing the Buddha as the King of Kings at the centre of a figurative court of deities. From the centre, power radiated to the surrounding layers of elements which in early Buddhist civilizations symbolised the people or territory. However, based on the discovery of Buddha statues in Javanese temples in this period, the structure of Javanese mandala differed somewhat from the Indian conceptionss of the mandala (Rahardjo, 2011, pp. 184-193). These differences have supported the argument that Javanese culture was not passive in absorbing external influences. Rather, it had been active in ‘domesticating external tradition’ and forming a blended indigenous culture (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 47). The local culture was able to filter the external values without losing its own distinct character, ultimately merging the various elements into a distinct Javanese culture that fused local and external influences. Similar processes of acculturation occurred when Islamic values began to spread in Java at the end of the Majapahit period. It is noteworthy, however, that while the arrival of Islam coincided with the decline of Majapahit, it was not the cause of this decline; rather, the end of this ancient Javanese kingdom was caused by a combination of

38

factors including attacks from the Demak, Kadiri and Dahanapura kingdoms, conflict within the Majapahit royal family and a volcanic disaster which ruined the capital of Majapahit (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 42; Ricklefs, 2001, p. 41). The early Javanese kingdoms were agrarian societies characterised by a hydraulic system and governed by ruling elites whose power spread but gradually waned from the capital to peripheral rural areas (Rahardjo, 2011, p. 37; Sievers, 1974, p. 38). The kingdoms had relatively well organised political, economic and religious institutions run by a bureaucratic nobility which used these institutions on behalf of the royal elite to control the society. The system was underpinned by religious values that assured submission of the people to their ruler. Rahardjo (2011, p. 79) argued that the ruler’s legitimacy was based on charisma, especially where a ruler could overcome critical situations faced by the dynasty. However, since people believed that their charismatic ruler was the incarnation of God, the rulers of these early kingdoms also resembled traditional European monarchs whose legitimacy rested on their status as Divine. The Modern Javanese Kingdoms According to Ricklefs (2008, p. 5), the earliest tomb found in present-day Indonesia that contained a Javanese Muslim dates back to 1368. This confirms that Islam was in the region during the peak period of the Majapahit kingdom. Other gravestones found near the site of the former capital of Majapahit were also decorated with Qur’anic epigraphs, indicating that respected, perhaps even royal, Javanese had already embraced Islam in the period between 1376 and 1611. According to Javanese legend, Islam was then spread in Java by the so-called Nine Saints (Wali Sanga) whose activities also facilitated the emergence of the Demak kingdom in central Java in 1505 (Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 45; Woodward, 2011, p. 39). A chronicle about the downfall of Majapahit and the rise of Demak said that Raden Patah, the first king of Demak, was the direct successor of the Majapahit throne as he was the son of the Majapahit ruler.3

3

Interview with Jadul Maula, 2 June 2015. Jadul Maula is the Deputy Head of Regional Leadership Board of Nadhatul Ulama (NU) of Yogyakarta.

39

The central court of the Demak kingdom was shifted to Pajang and was soon followed by the last Islamic Mataram Kingdom (not to be confused with the earlier Mataram kingdom) founded by Panembahan Senapati. Mataram became a direct successor of the Majapahit dynasty (Moedjanto, 1993, p. 123; Ricklefs, 2001, p. 46; Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 42; Wood, 2005, p. 65). Javanese tradition under this Islamic dynasty was an amalgamation of Islamic mysticism and earlier traditions originating from indigenous culture as well as Hindu and Buddhist religions (Sievers, 1974, p. 47). In contrast to the Indic religions which worship deities through statues, the Islamic faith does not allow the use of an intermediary in worshipping the Divine. But by applying Islamic mysticism (Sufism) in spreading the religion, the Nine Saints are believed to have created a syncretism of Javanese mysticism, thereby gradually altering those local customs and beliefs that violated Islamic doctrine (Woodward, 2011, pp. 178-181). One such alteration was the banning of the belief that the ruler was the incarnation of a god. Gradually, Javanese religious practices shifted from the use of a medium, such as a statue, toward pantheism, a doctrine that refers to understanding the universe as the manifestation of God. Significantly, however, pantheism accommodated the mandala conception of power from the Divine, which attached power to a ruler who held the heirlooms and radiated his extraordinary power not only to the people but also his rivals and enemies (Moedjanto, 1993, pp. 103-106). The arrival of Islam in Java therefore did not displace the conception that a king is a divine ruler with direct links to the supernatural world. On the contrary, during the Mataram period, rulers like the kingdom’s founder Panembahan Senapati secured their right to ascend to Mataram’s throne by enlarging their power through ascetic rituals, heirlooms and spirits. Sacred heirlooms in Javanese culture were a medium through which the supernatural power from the Divine became attached to the ruler and provided legitimacy or ‘royal authority’ to the holder (Sievers, 1974, p. 26).4 By assembling heirlooms and conducting rituals, Mataram’s rulers intended to demonstrate that they had the blessing of the Divine and that this blessing would 4

This belief does not exist in the Indian mandala tradition which regards an heirloom as an amulet that protects the holder against evil, danger or disease. Interview with Jadul Maula, 2 June 2015.

40

be projected onto their offspring after death. Endowed with this blessing and the power entailed in it, Senapati and his successors developed Mataram’s military forces and started to expand the kingdom until it reached its greatest territorial expansion under Sultan Agung, the grandson of Panembahan Senapati (Ricklefs, 2001, pp. 48-49; Tirtakoesoema, 2003, p. 151). The rise of Islamic kingdoms in Java occurred at the same time as Europeans began to arrive in the region in search of spices. The Portuguese were the first to come to West Java followed by the Spanish, the Dutch and the British (Benda & Bastin, 1968, pp. 17-20; Ricklefs, 2001, pp. 25-33). Ultimately, it was the Dutch through their overseas trading company, the United East India Company (VOC), who conquered Java even though they had some clashes with the Portuguese and the British. Using a combination of diplomacy and military force, the VOC gradually expanded its power in Java during the Sultan Agung period. However, Sultan Agung was the last strong enemy from Mataram for the VOC. His successors were continualy getting weaker as they became involved in increasingly bitter internal conflicts in the palace. One of these conflicts eventually led to a Dutch intervention and the creation of Yogyakarta. 3.3. The Sultanate under Colonial Rule On 11 December 1749, the VOC signed a treaty with Pakubuwono II, the then king of Mataram, about transferring sovereignty of Mataram to the VOC. The king and the VOC, however, were facing a rebellion from Mangkubumi, the younger brother of the king, who opposed the king’s decision. The point of contention was that the king had given a small concession in the form of coastal land to the VOC without consulting with royal officials, including Mangkubumi, who knew that this coastal zone contributed a substantial income to the palace. Mangkubumi’s resistance lasted for six years and it was only after Pakubuwono II passed away that his successor Pakubuwono III and the VOC eventually signed an agreement with Mangkubumi to stop the rebel army and stabilise the kingdom. Signed in 1755, the Giyanti peace deal terminated the rebellion, but it also spelled the end of the Mataram kingdom as it effectively formalised the conquering of

41

Mataram by the VOC.

Figure 3.1: The Picture of Giyanti Treaty document (Wikipeda) In the larger scheme of Indonesia’s colonial history, the demise of the Mataram kingdom represented just another small, though important step for the Dutch on their way to establishing control over more and more pre-existing kingdoms in the Dutch East Indies. In the context of this thesis, however, the Giyanti Treaty was the critical juncture that created the Sultanate of Yogyakarta and with it the Hamengkubuwono royal line (Reid, 2015, p. 227). This outcome was possible, perhaps even inevitable, because of the peculiar constellation of power at the time. While Mataram was ravaged by internal conflict and therefore in serious decline, the Dutch were not quite strong enough to defeat the kingdom militarily and establish lasting direct colonial rule. Instead, an arrangement of indirect rule suited the Dutch best. To minimize the risk of future rebellions, they

42

had to ensure that Mataram remained weak after a negotiated settlement with the local king. Dividing the kingdom into two rival sultanates therefore appeared the most promising solution and so, out of the ashes of Mataram, emerged the new sultanates of Surakarta and Yogyakarta. The Dutch’s policy to weaken Mataram rulers also applied to Surakarta and Yogyakarta after the Giyanti peace by establishing two ‘dukedoms’ Kadipaten Mangkunegaran in 1757 and Kadipaten Pakualaman in 1812. The Adipati (‘Duke’) Mangkunegara I was a rebel against Surakarta Kasunanan and the Dutch colonisers gave him territory by dividing a small area from Surakarta. Again, the Adipati (‘Duke’) Pakualam I was the brother of Hamengkubuwono I and was enthroned by the British coloniser, which colonized the Sultanate from 1811 to 1816, to weaken Hamengkubuwono by splitting a small area of the Yogyakarta Sultanate. Thus, the Pakualaman was created during the British interegnum and is still crucial in Yogyakarta politics today.

Figure 3.2: The Division of former Mataram Kingdom (Wikipeda) The arrangement strengthened the Dutch position on Java, but it also suited Mangkubumi who was ‘promoted’ from prince to sultan in his new kingdom.

43

According to Monfries (2015), the exact reasons why Mangkubumi adopted the new title Sultan Hamengkubuwono are unclear, but it seems as if he wanted to create a direct link between the new sultanate and Mataram’s greatest ruler, Sultan Agung. Moreover, by adopting the title of Sultan, he followed in the footsteps of his father, Amangkurat IV, who had used the term ‘khalifatullah’ as his title to symbolize the importance of Islam for Mataram. Despite the reference to Islam, however, Hamengkubuwono also safeguarded the legacies of Javanese culture in the new kingdom as he collected important regalia such as Mataram’s heirlooms. By appealing to both new religious and ancient Javanese values, he strengthened his claims to be the only legitimate ruler of the new sultanate.5 This claim-making based on cultural legitimacy was important because in reality the Sultan’s power in the new kingdom was restricted by the Dutch who set up the office of the Pepatih Dalem as the effective head of administrative affairs of the sultanate. The Pepatih Dalem not only ensured the kingdom’s loyalty to the coloniser but also introduced elements of legal rational authority to Yogyakarta. Thus, the new kingdom began to fuse traditional and modern notions of legitimacy, a feature that has remained characteristic of Yogyakarta until the present day. For historical institutionalists, this trajectory should be hardly surprising. As noted by Page (2006, p. 8), once crucial decisions are made during critical junctures, the institutional trajectory that is being put in motion is difficult to reverse. In the case of Yogyakarta, the new sultanate emerged as an essentially modern creation after the Dutch intervention, but legitimacy for the sultan was constructed primarily around notions of traditional Javanese culture and Islamic religion. Once established, this new regime quickly institutionalized around the towering figure of the sultan whose effective power may have been limited, but whose legitimacy rested on strong claims to represent the values of ancient Javanese culture.

5

Interview with Pramutomo, 5 May 2015. Lecturer at the Indonesian Institute of the Art of Surakarta.

44

The Colonial Administration After the Giyanti peace, Yogyakarta submitted to colonial rule, becoming a vassal to the Dutch state. Even though the Dutch acknowledged the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, the colonisers compelled the successors to the throne before their coronation to sign an agreement that guaranteed political, military, economic and social stability of the kingdom (Harjono, 2012, p. 12; Mochtar, 1982, p. 39). Also, as mentioned before, the Dutch assigned the new position of chief administrative officer who acted as the head of the palace bureaucracy. Although jointly selected by the Sultan of Yogyakarta and the VOC/Dutch governor, the Pepatih Dalem was there to ensure Yogyakarta’s loyalty to the Dutch. If, for example, there was a dispute between the palace and the Dutch government, the patih had to support Dutch policy against the palace (Tempo, 2015g; Wahyukismoyo, 2004, pp. 58-59). Meanwhile, the advisory council of the Sultan was also jointly chosen by the Sultan and the Dutch together. One half of the council members were chosen by the Dutch while the other half was selected by the Sultan, with the approval from the Dutch governor-general (Mochtar, 1982, pp. 42-43). The deployment of the Pepatih Dalem effectively turned the new sultanate into a kind of constitutional monarchy in which the sultan had largely ceremonial functions while the Pepatih Dalem oversaw the daily politics of the sultanate like a European-style prime minister (Tempo, 2015g). The sultan’s limited involvement in administrative matters facilitated the indirect rule policy of the Dutch colonisers and minimized the potential for conflict between the administration and the sultan. Throughout the reign of Hamengkubuwono I from 1755-1792 and into the early 19th century, the system gradually stabilized, but the position of the sultan was significantly weakened after the Dipanegara war (18251830). The war was devastating to Dutch coloniser budget. To avoid another war from occurring, the Dutch administration tightened its indirect policy to the Sultanate. Because of the war, the Dutch dissolved the royal army, annexed the outer districts of both Yogyakarta and Surakarta, and applied a new plantation system to exploit valuable commodities. During this period, the Dutch administration applied

45

the so-called ‘cultivation system’ which forced native Javanese to plant cash crops needed by the coloniser, such as coffee, sugar and indigo. People had to not only cultivate those commodities but also pay a high tax that was collected by local rulers and delivered to the Dutch. The Dutch needed the funds to cover the costs of maintaining the Javanese colony and pay the government’s debt after the Napoleonic war in Europe. According to Ricklefs (2001, p. 188), the East Indies yielded up to 32% of the Dutch national budget between 1851 and 1860. While the effects of the harsh colonial policies were felt particularly strongly in the colonies’ outer districts, Yogyakarta was exempted from some of the harshest policies and actually experienced significant developments of infrastructure during this period. Especially the construction of new manufacturing buildings including sugar refineries provided the kingdom with more wealth. As one of four princely territories (vorstenlanden), Yogyakarta enjoyed nominal selfgovernance under Dutch suzerainty, and the Dutch plantation system did not apply to the region except for the regulation to cultivate export commodities (Ricklefs, 2001, p. 192). Nevertheless, the sultan’s bargaining power against the Dutch was of course limited and the loss of real power prompted him to shift his focus not only to infrastructure, but also to education and culture. These initiatives helped to strengthen the cultural legitimacy of the sultanate. Thus, during the eras of Hamengkubuwono V (1828-1855) and Hamengkubuwono XI (1855-1877), Yogyakarta experienced extended periods of economic growth, political stability and cultural prosperity. By the time Hamengkubuwono VII took over the throne in 1877, royal offspring began to attend a Dutch school in Yogyakarta. This initiative strengthened the educational background of the royal family gradually and informed their views about European society. Hamengkubuwono VII was also well known as Sultan sugih (the rich sultan) for generating substantial income for the palace from his private businesses which consisted mostly of sugar factories (Tempo, 2015d). His successor, Hamengkubuwono VIII (1921-1939), took these initiatives a step further; under his reign the palace applied a modern bureaucratic system to provide social and financial services to the palace apparatus, and the

46

palace accumulated enormous wealth and land ownership (Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 72). Table 3.1: List of Yogyakarta’s Sultans Sultan

Time in office

Hamengkubuwono I

1755-1792

Hamengkubuwono II

1792-1812; 1826-1828

Hamengkubuwono III

1812-1814

Hamengkubuwono IV

1814-1823

Hamengkubuwono V

1823-1826; 1828-1855

Hamengkubuwono VI

1855-1877

Hamengkubuwono VII

1877-1921

Hamengkubuwono VIII

1921-1939

Hamengkubuwono IX

1940-1988

Hamengkubuwono X

1989-present

By the time Hamengkubuwono VIII died in 1939, the Dutch East Indies were a very different place than in 1755 when Yogyakarta was created. The colony had undergone tremendous social change and politically, a nationalist movement had gathered momentum. Against this background of a rapidly changing sociopolitical

environment,

the

transition

from

Hamengkubuwono

VIII

to

Hamengkubuwono IX was smooth. Succession in Yogyakarta Succession is often regarded as the Achilles heel of monarchical regimes. For many pre-colonial dynasties in Java, that was certainly true as factionalism within dynasties and uncodified rules of succession made successions bitter and prone to violence (Monfries (2015, p. 95). Ricklefs (2007, p. 7) noted that three wars in Java were caused by brutal succession struggles while internal conflicts during the Mataram Kingdom period resulted in the division of the kingdom into smaller entities including, of course, the Sultanate of Yogyakarta. During the

47

Mataram period, the rules of succession had stated that the kingship always belonged to a male prince. This stood in contrast to the earlier Majapahit period, which was more strongly influenced by Hindu-Buddhist religious traditions and therefore allowed female rulers on the throne (Rahardjo, 2011, pp. 98-99; Ricklefs, 2001, p. 21). According to Harjono (2012, pp. 59-61), the successions in Yogyakarta were influenced by many factors: the presence of external influences, the sultan's political choices and the recognition of an established order of cultural values. However, Dutch interventions soon became the most decisive factor in royal succession disputes. During the colonial period, the political consent of the Dutch was required for the succession processes and became the determinant for the future king. The Dutch generally preferred a docile ruler who would acquiesce to signing contracts before the coronation. Thus, succession procedures were long dominated by Dutch interests as the young princes of Yogyakarta usually lacked the political experience of the coloniser (Mochtar, 1982, p. 39). However, the tone of the political contract negotiations changed in 1940 when the young crown prince Dorojatun was designated to become the future ruler of Yogyakarta. Having studied Indology at Leiden University, he was familiar with Western ideologies and values and had very critical views of colonialism. Before his coronation as Hamengkubuwono IX, Dorojatun had to face Lucien Adam, the Dutch governor of Yogyakarta, and these negotiations took more than four months. The main points of contention were the position of the Pepatih dalem, the advisory council and the role of the army which allowed the Dutch to control the kingdom (Mochtar, 1982, pp. 42-43).6 Dorojatun intended to dissolve the position of Pepatih dalem to have greater control of his kingdom, including his army and the palace expenses. After months of tense negotiations, Dorojatun eventually signed the contract, but only after he claimed to have received a wisik, a mystical whisper, from a voice that sounded like his father or another ancestor. Wisik is one of the 6

The Dutch proposed a royal army that would be part of the Dutch colonial army, even though it would be paid by the palace.

48

supernatural capacities of a Javanese ruler who is practising Javanese mysticism: a syncretic tradition originating from the mixed influence of Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam and indigenous traditions (Cut, 2009; Sievers, 1974, p. 47). Based on that, a ruler believed that as a predestined person with supernatural power from the Divine, he could use ascetic rituals and heirlooms to communicate with the spirits who would then help him to solve the problems faced by the kingdom (Monfries, 2015, p. 65; Tempo, 2015g). Javanese cultural tradition demands that decisions made by rulers based on a wisik have to be accepted, even admired, by ordinary people as opposing them would mean opposing the Divine (Woodward 2011, p. 175). In the case of Dorojatun, the wisik he heard during the negotiations with Lucien Adam apparently told him that ‘the Dutch will not be here much longer’ (Harjono, 2012, p. 27; Mochtar, 1982, p. 44; Monfries, 2015, p. 75). Dorojatun fully believed in this ‘message’ and used it to justify his decision eventually to agree to the contract.7 However, some scholars have disputed that it was the wisik that swayed Dorojatun into signing the contract. Monfries (2015, p. 75), for example, argues that Dorojatun’s decision to sign the contract came from his powerlessness and severe distress about the long negotiations with Lucien Adam. Ultimately though, for the purpose of legitimacy, it does not matter whether the sultan did receive a wisik or not and whether it influenced his decisison. Rather, what is important here is that Dorojatun used it as a means to underpin his claim for the throne. Despite his Western education, his legitimacy as a Javanese ruler still rested to a significant extent on his connections to the supernatural and thus, to traditional Javanese culture. Japanese ‘interregnum’ in the Sultanate Just two years after ascending the throne, Hamengkubuwono IX already faced the next round of negotiations when the Dutch were displaced by the Japanese in 1942 (Mochtar, 1982, p. 59). These negotiations ended with the decision to dissolve the royal army under Japanese military rule. The Japanese re-confirmed the sultan as the ruler of the region with more direct control over his kingdom while 7

Hamengkubuwono IX’s interview, see Mochtar (1982, p. 102).

49

limiting the role of the Pepatih Dalem under the sultan’s authority (Monfries, 2015, pp. 100-102; Tempo, 2015e). Monfries (2015, p. 119) writes that in the later stages of the Japanese occupation, Hamengkubuwono ‘gained some measure of increased day-to-day authority and was able to institute some substantive reforms.’ These included several administrative reforms such as the opening of the public service for non-nobles, the provision of training for young bureaucrats as well as the abolishment of the district as an administrative entity. These initiatives were the first clear signal that Hamengkubuwono IX was determineed to reclaim political authority for the sultan. Nearly two centuries after traditional Javanese rulers had been relegated to largely ceremonial puppets for the Dutch, this sultan made it clear that he wanted to govern again. An opportunity to move closer to fulfilling this ambition arose in July 1945 when the Pepatih Dalem resigned due to ill health (Monfries 2015, p. 119). Hamengkubuwono seized the moment and announced the abolishment of the position of Pepatih Dalem. Not only that, he also made himself ‘Executive Sultan’, a title he had already envisioned for himself during his negotiations with Lucien Adam (Hadiwijoyo, 2013, pp. 115-117). The sultan’s initiative received no response from the Japanese. Thus, by using the turmoil of the final war days, the sultan skilfully manouvred himself into a formidable political position for the impending era of Indonesian independence. As Executive Sultan, he regained the role of a real ruler who would be directly involved in day-to-day politics. If previously administrative affairs were the domain of the pepatih, the sultan was now able to play an active role in instigating institutional reform in his sultanate (Monfries, 2015, pp. 119-120). But the decision to declare himself ‘Executive Sultan’ was not without risks. By transforming himself from a largely ceremonial leader to an executive leader involved in politics he exposed himself to potential repercussions should he make wrong political decisions. In a worst case scenario, such bad judgment could endanger his dynasty. However, if he played his cards well, he could use the new self-appointed position as a bargaining chip in deliberations about the status of Yogyakarta in the soon-to-be declared Republic of Indonesia.

50

3.4. Gaining Special Status: Yogyakarta as National Capital during the Revolution When Indonesia declared independence on 17 August 1945, Hamengkubuwono IX made an important political decision for Yogyakarta. In the morning, the proclamation of independence had been declared in Jakarta by Indonesia’s founding fathers. At this point the sultan had to decide whether Yogyakarta was to become part of Indonesia or whether he should declare Yogyakarta to be an independent state itself. As a self-governed kingdom which under the indirect rule of the Dutch and Japanese colonisers had built a wellestablished bureaucratic apparatus, Yogyakarta would have been in a position to become an independent state itself (Tempo, 2015b, 2015f). However, on 5 September 1945, the Sultan of Yogyakarta as well as the Sultan of Surakarta pledged loyalty to the newly independent state of Indonesia. Integrating into the Republic of Indonesia Indonesia’s declaration of independence marked a critical juncture in the history of Yogyakarta. As the rules of the game were completely rewritten in Jakarta, the sultan had to decide whether he wanted to submit to these new rules or seize the opportunity to write his own rules. Another option would have been to wait and see. After all, even though Japan had surrendered to the Allies, the Japanese army was still strong in Yogyakarta. The Dutch and their Western Allies could also come back anytime (Tempo, 2015f). Thus, Hamengkubuwono’s eventual decision to integrate Yogyakarta into Indonesia was an acknowledgement of the power of the new social forces that had gathered under the banner of nationalism. Attempting to join forces with the former colonizers or to establish an independent Yogyakarta would have exposed the sultan to likely attacks from the new national government and with its small number of relatively unskilled soldiers, Yogyakarta would have struggled to defeat the forces of the new Indonesia. By contrast, joining the republic was expected to provide protection from the more radical anti-feudal forces in the nationalist movement (Reid, 2015).

51

The decision for integration into Indonesia was announced after the sultan had received reassurance that Yogyakarta’s status as a principality would be retained in the new republic. This assurance had first come from the BPUPKI, the Committee to Investigate Preparations for Indonesian Independence, which had been established by the Japanese in April 1945. In this committee, the format of the new Indonesian state was decided, and while the idea of a constitutional monarchy at the national level, in which Hamengkubuwono could have been the Head of State, was rejected in favour of a republic (Feith & Castle, 1970, p. 31), the committee did decide to retain principalities such as Yogyakarta. Significantly, it was the Sultan’s brother Puruboyo who convinced fellow committee members like the influential future vice-president Mohammed Hatta that it would be best to maintain Yogyakarta’s monarchy in order to ‘avoid unsettling the population’ (Monfries 2015, p. 118). Later, the Indonesian government stated this clause in the Constitution of 1945, article 18, that the state acknowlegdes the government of this special region. After the declaration of independence, this assurance of support for Yogyakarta was reiterated by the newly established Preparatory Committee for Indonesian Independence (Panitia Persiapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia, PPKI) which was set up to prepare the transfer of authority to the new Indonesian government. In a committee meeting held two days after the declaration of independence, the members agreed again to keep the Yogyakarta sultanate intact. Despite strong misgivings against what some committee members regarded as remnants of the feudal age, the committee hoped that Yogyakarta with its comparatively well-established government apparatus could assist the new republic in its broader state-building efforts (Reid 1974, p. 65). All in all, then, Yogyakarta’s integration into the new Indonesian state was mutually beneficial for both the new national government and Sultan Hamengkubuwono (Ratnawati 2011, p. 45). Thus, the sultan’s decision to integrate Yogyakarta into the new republic was taken in the knowledge that his power base could be preserved after independence. Still, integration into a modern nation-state ruled from Jakarta challenged the foundations of the sultan’s rule. Hamengkubuwono IX felt this

52

paradox while deciding whether he should abdicate his royal status and become an ordinary citizen or keep his status and find a ‘meaningful role under the independent country’ after the declaration (Monfries, 2007, 2008; 2015, p. 136).8 Importantly, the sultan was in fact a passionate advocate of a republic and a strong supporter of Indonesian independence. Furthermore, the sultan was a progressive reformer who had already pioneered institutional developments that now awaited the new state (Kahin, 1982, p. 172). As mentioned before, the sultan had, for example, undertaken various administrative reforms in the region following his coronation by the Dutch (Kahin, 1982, p. 173; Monfries, 2015, p. 152). He had also instructed business officials in Yogyakarta to communicate using Indonesian rather than Javanese (Ricklefs, 2001, p. 270). Following the declaration of independence, he and the Sultan of Surakarta jointly issued Decree 18/1946 to form executive and legislative councils as new governmental institutions. The decree provided the newly created region of Yogyakarta9 with a local parliament, thereby creating a system of checks and balances in which the sultan took on executive power and was responsible directly to the new Ministry of Home Affairs (Monfries, 2015, p. 138). At the village level, he introduced direct elections for village chiefs, with voting rights granted to all adults over eighteen years old. Furthermore, he initiated redistributive policies to subsidise poor villages, for example by collecting taxes from wealthier citizens or by merging rural facilities for education and irrigation. The reforms had the effect that the sultan was able to reinvent himself as a modern ruler, thereby adjusting the basis for his legitimacy to the new times. Contribution to the New Nation-state The sultan and the people of Yogyakarta played an important role in the

8

At least one traditional ruler, Sultan Syarif Kasim of Siak from Sumatra, decided to abdicate after independence (Monfries, 2015, p. 136). 9 Yogyakarta became a region rather than a province after independence because it originated from a special principality with autonomous government under the colonial administrations. Its administrative status was at the same level as that of a province.

53

early developments of the Republic of Indonesia after independence.10 At least three significant contributions could be mentioned. First, the sultan’s pledge of allegiance to Indonesia had a strong political impact on the country. Even though Yogyakarta had been a vassal of Dutch and Japanese colonisers, it was also an established kingdom whose status was recognised by both the Dutch and Japanese. The sultan himself enjoyed strong legitimacy based on his role as a traditional ruler and his political influence was seen when he helped in decreasing tensions between the nationalist youth movement and the remaining Japanese forces while they awaited the return of the Allies and the Dutch army (Monfries, 2015, p. 139). Second, and perhaps most importantly, Hamengkubuwono offered Yogyakarta as a temporary capital city of the new country when the returning Dutch and British troops conquered Jakarta in September 1945. The return of the Dutch forced the Indonesian government to leave Jakarta for security reason, so in January 1946 the capital was moved to Yogyakarta, allowing the new national government to run the state administration with a more effective infrastructure (Lay et al., 2008). At the same time, Surakarta became the home base of ministry offices, allowing for easy travel to and from the nearby Yogyakarta. During this period, Hamengkubuwono IX was appointed as a cabinet member which further increased his prestige and his role in national politics. While in charge as Minister of Defence, he played a significant role in subduing a localised communist uprising in East Java and defending the state against Dutch attacks in 1948. Third, the sultan also offered financial help to the fledgling government. He gave more than 5 million guldens of palace funds to the new Vice-President, Mohammad Hatta, to help cover government expenditures. According to Mochtar (1982, p. 77), he never asked for the money to be returned. In addition, he also provided personal aid to government officials for a few months (Hatta, 1982, p. 213) and supported the Indonesian army waging guerrilla war around Yogyakarta (Tempo, 2015a). Thus, as Indonesia entered a new era, the sultan had emerged as a 10

Statement by Djoko Suryo, as referenced in Lay et al. (2008). Djoko Suryo is a historian and professor at Gadjah Mada University.

54

respected figure who was held in high esteem well beyond the confines of Yogyakarta. Despite the dramatic political events that resulted in the end of colonial rule and the declaration of the independent Republic of Indonesia, he had been able to sustain the special status of the Sultanate of Yogyakarta. Even though earlier sultans had played the role of a puppet for the Dutch during the colonial era, Hamengkubuwono IX was able to maintain political stability, economic prosperity and a cultural identity steeped in Javanese tradition for Yogyakarta (Reid, 2015, p. 288). When the new modern nation-state of Indonesia emerged, the sultan committed his kingdom to the new country to secure a future for his sultanate within the boundaries of the new nation-state. He thus successfully prevented his monarchy from being dismantled by the new modern system. The events of 1945 had path-defining characteristics for the future of Yogyakarta as the sultanate was able to retain a special status within the emerging administrative structure of the new state. Ever since those days, Yogyakarta has remained a special region with important privileges rather than a mere province. As the preceding section has shown, it owed this special status to a large degree to the institutional developments that occurred in Yogyakarta prior to the critical juncture of 1945. Long before the end of colonial rule, Yogyakarta had already built a comparatively advanced bureaucratic structure and this structure was strengthened during the war years through Hamengkubuwono’s various administrative reforms. By the time Indonesia declared independence, this structure became an important asset for Yogyakarta as the central government sought to utilize Yogyakarta’s experience for the new republic. Thus, from a historical institutionalist perspective, it was the critical antecedents that shaped Yogyakarta in the run-up to Indonesian independence which put the kingdom on its path to a special institutional arrangement after independence. The events of 1945 reinforced that path, which, as will be shown later, turned out to be irreversible until today. 3.5. Indonesia and Yogyakarta from 1949-1998: Changing National Regimes, Stable Local Politics It took more than four years after the declaration of independence before

55

the sovereignty of Indonesia was finally internationally recognized. On 27 December 1949, the Sultan of Yogyakarta, in his capacity as Minister of Defence, led the Indonesian delegation to receive the handover of Indonesian sovereignty from the Dutch government to establish the Republic of United States of Indonesia (RUSI). Like his earlier contributions to the revolutionary struggle, this event, too, showed the sultan’s dedication to the new country. These contributions were soon to be formally acknowledged and rewarded with a special piece of legislation by the central government. Just a few months after the formal recognition of independence, Indonesia abolished the Dutch-imposed federation and reverted back to a unitary state as had been envisaged by nationalist leaders in the declaration of independence in 1945. As the transition from the RUSI to the Republic of Indonesia (RI) necessitated a change of status for administrative entities, the then acting President of the Republic of Indonesia, Assaat, oversaw the formulation of a law that would settle the status of Yogyakarta as a special region. Law 3/1950 about the formation of the new Yogyakarta Special Region became the legal foundation for postindependence Yogyakarta, cementing the region’s status as a hybrid political construct that would seek to reconcile elements of traditional rule by a sultan with the requirements of a modern nation-state. Significantly, the law was crafted during the time when Yogyakarta was the national capital of Indonesia. Reflecting the tumultuous circumstances under which it was written, the law is only a short document that focuses on administrative affairs in the region (Hadiwijoyo, 2013, pp. 78-79). It was formulated and passed by the RI’s parliament in haste in order to anticipate the changing status of states that were previously part of the RUSI.11 The law appointed Sultan Hamengkubuwono as Yogyakarta’s regional head and Pakualam as the deputy. The position of Head was equivalent to that of provincial governor, named differently only because Yogyakarta was officially a special region rather than a province (though it was on the same administrative level as a province). Since Hamengkubuwono often travelled to Jakarta to represent

11

Interview with Kusno W. Utomo, 11 February 2015.

56

Yogyakarta’s interests to the central government, Pakualam effectively led the governmental administration of the newly established region. Surprisingly, the Sultan’s status was rarely discussed in the central government in Jakarta, even though he had important influence on the political and economic developments of the central government during this period (Tempo, 2015b, 2015c). Over the coming years, the sultan held at least four strategic positions12 in different cabinets under changing regimes.13 He thus became a figure of national importance in the development of the country, yet thanks to the special law passed in 1950, he also continuously retained the status as Sultan and local ruler of Yogyakarta. Hamengkubuwono IX, Sukarno and Suharto After the RUSI was dissolved and the unitary Republic of Indonesia was reinstated in 1950, Hamengkubuwono IX retained his position as Minister of Defence (Critchley, 1982, p. 159). In 1952, he attempted to launch a reform to have a more professional army. However, he encountered fierce opposition from politicians and local army leaders backed by President Sukarno. The turmoil led to the sultan’s resignation from his position in January 1953 (Ricklefs, 2008, p. 282). The episode highlighted that despite his increased prominence, the sultan’s influence in Jakarta was far more limited than in Yogyakarta. While in Yogyakarta he enjoyed enormous political, economic and social power due to his mix of traditional and charismatic legitimacy, things were different in Jakarta where his power was far more restricted by the competing interests from politicians, the army and the bureaucracy. Although various prime ministers subsequently attempted to coax him back into cabinet, President Sukarno thwarted these ambitions. Eventually, the sultan’s criticism of Sukarno’s relationship with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) and his disapproval of many of Sukarno’s policies and actions led to Hamengkubuwono’s ongoing exclusion from cabinet during the

12

Hamengkubuwono served as 1. Minister of Defense (1949 - 1953), 2. Minister/Chairman of Audit Board (1963 – 1966), 3. Coordinating Minister in economy, finance and industry (1966 – 1972), and 4. Vice President of the Republic of Indonesia (1973 – 1978). 13 Those regimes were the Constitutional Democracy (1949-1957), the Guided Democracy (1957 – 1966), and the New Order regimes (1966 – 1998).

57

Guided Democracy regime (Brackman, 1982, p. 240; Monfries, 2015, pp. 240-241). When the ‘30 September Movement’ occurred in 1965, Indonesia experienced another critical juncture in its national history as the rise of the Indonesian Communist Party (Partai Komunis Indonesia, PKI) came to an abrupt end in the wake of an abortive coup attempt that killed six leading army generals. Hundreds of thousands of alleged communists were subsequently killed as the army under General Suharto sidelined President Sukarno (Cribb, 1990; Roosa, 2006). Despite the massive upheaval, however, the local power structure in Yogyakarta was, apart from the destruction of the PKI, barely affected. Hamengkubuwono IX condemned the murder of the army commanders and asked the people of Yogyakarta to keep calm and help the army restore security and order in Yogyakarta. Significantly, the sultan provided no decisive call to end the killings of alleged communist sympathizers (Monfries, 2015, p. 245). Rather, he positioned himself close to the new strongman, General Suharto. The move not only ensured the sultan’s survival but also safeguarded Yogyakarta’s status as a special region as Suharto erected his so-called New Order. With the economy in tatters at the end of Sukarno’s regime, Hamengkubuwono IX was appointed to serve as Deputy Supreme Commander of Economic Affairs. Soon he was promoted to the post of Supreme Minister of Economy and Finance under the AMPERA cabinet in 1966. The cabinet also included Suharto as Supreme Minister of Defence and Security and Adam Malik as Supreme Minister of Political Affairs. These ministers played a strong role in the government and soon became the triumvirate who gradually diminished Sukarno’s influence and eventually took over the government (Monfries, 2015, p. 246). As part of the incoming New Order regime, Hamengkubuwono contributed to restoring economic growth and stability (Ricklefs, 2008, p. 337). But despite his good performance as a minister, the sultan’s role in the triumvirate gradually diminished as Suharto consoliated his grip on power, allowing no one else to challenge his role in the regime. Nevertheless, the sultan remained loyal to Suharto, telling parliament that a minister is only the President’s assistant in the cabinet (Monfries, 2015, p. 279). He subsequently held the position of Deputy

58

Prime Minister of Economy, Finance and Development and became a prominent campaigner for Golongan Karya (Golkar), the new quasi-state party founded by the New Order regime. Following the success in the ministerial role, Suharto appointed Hamengkubuwono IX as new Vice-President of Indonesia in 1973. At first sight, this seemed to elevate him to the second most powerful figure of the central government. In reality, however, the appointment initiated the decline of the sultan’s role in the decision-making processes of the state as Suharto centralised power in his own hands and further restricted Hamengkubuwono’s involvement in the cabinet. Serving as Vice-President merely served as ‘window-dressing’ to induce people to accept Suharto’s presidency under the New Order regime. Even though the sultan’s mandate as Vice-President included the provision that he ‘should identify and prepare ideas for the further democratisation of Indonesia’14, the sultan was unable to prevent the increasing militarization of Suharto’s rule (Monfries, 2015, p. 290). As the relationship between the two men cooled down, Hamengkubuwono’s influence in Jakarta faded. When he was offered a second term as Vice-President, he declined the offer, but took care to communicate this in a way that would not offend Suharto. After all, he still had to safeguard his local power base in Yogyakarta. Throughout his time as a member of the central government, Hamengkubuwono IX had gained much respect from other politicians, including the two presidents Sukarno and Suharto, who admired him for his supernatural legitimacy as a Javanese ruler (Ricklefs, 2008, p. 325). Being Javanese themselves, both Sukarno and Suharto were closely attached to Javanese culture and often used Javanese symbols in ruling Indonesia (Anderson, 1990, pp. 146-148; Monfries, 2015, p. 308). Thus, given that both presidents had direct connections to Javanese culture, Hamengkubuwono had little difficulty in ensuring that Yogyakarta’s special status would be upheld throughout the Sukarno and Suharto regimes. In fact, the New Order regime actively supported the construction of Yogyakarta as the 14

Monfries found no evidence about the conditions. It came from interview with Frans Seda, see (Monfries, 2015, pp. 300-301)

59

heart of Javanese culture by promoting it as a major tourist destination. With reference to the work of Tsuchiya (1984), business and tourism expert Dahles (2001, p. 53) has aptly summarized this creation of Yogyakarta as what she calls the centre of ‘pancasila tourism’: New Order tourism policy has strongly favoured the Special Region of Yogyakarta and its capital, the city of Yogyakarta, since the late 1960s. Defining Yogyakarta as the second core region of tourism development – second to Bali – the central government made conspicuous efforts to extend the city’s communications and transportation systems, to build hotels and improve the shopping facilities, to restore historic relics, establish monuments of the ‘revolutionary period’ and to preserve cultural artefacts and art forms pervaded by a traditional Javanese quality (Tsuchiya, 1984). As Yogyakarta emerged as a key pillar of the central government’s tourism strategy, President Suharto and Hamengkubuwono IX entered a relationship of mutual benefit. Even though the sultan’s influence in national politics declined, he still received major assistance from Jakarta in strengthening his home base. That way, Suharto kept the sultan at arm’s length but at the same time, appeased him with valuable perks. Thus, during the New Order regime, Yogyakarta was able to further consolidate its developmental advantages over other parts of Indonesia which it had inherited from the colonial period. Thanks to the assistance from the centre, Yogyakarta flourished and the sultan was construed as the living embodiment of Javanese culture. This not only helped his claims for cultural legitimacy, but also reinforced the notion that only the sultan could justifiably claim the right to govern the province. From Hamengkubuwono IX to Hamengkubuwono X When Hamengkubuwono IX passed away in 1988, his deputy Pakualam VIII was asked by Suharto to fill the position of Governor/Head of Yogyakarta. Diplomatically, Pakualam replied to Suharto that the post belonged to the Sultan of Yogyakarta, and that he would remain the deputy governor while administering the

60

region as his commitment to serve the Sultanate.15 As it turned out, however, Pakualam would remain acting governor for another ten years until he, too, passed away in late 1998. That he would retain the position for so long while the actual governor post remained vacant had to do with Law 3/1950 which simply confirmed that the head of Yogyakarta special region is the reigning ruler of the Sultanate. However, there was a growing interpretation that this regulation only applied to Hamengkubuwono IX – who had passed away in 1988 – and not to his immediate successor. The law was now widely interpreted as an acknowledgement of Hamengkubuwono IX’s contribution to the country after independence. Thus, when his successor was crowned as the new sultan in March 1989, he did not automatically become governor as well. Rather, Pakualam VIII continued to administer the region as acting governor. The new sultan, Hamengkubuwono X, stated that he preferred not to be the governor as long as Pakualam VIII was still able to lead the government of Yogyakarta.16 After becoming Sultan Hamengkubuwono X without the governor position attached to him, the new sultan focused on establishing connections with the business community, for example through the Chamber of Commerce and Industry (KADIN). He also took over the leadership of Golkar in Yogyakarta, thus following in the footsteps of his father who had also been a supporter of Golkar. These activities made him often appear in public, and he gave many speeches or statements. Compared to his father who owed his popularity primarily to a carefully constructed image as a nationalist hero and defender of Javanese culture, Hamengkubuwono X obtained his popularity mainly through his appearances in public and symbolic gestures. As the Sultan of Yogyakarta, he had a traditional authority that was still trusted and respected by many people, even though he did not hold the position of governor. That he did not need a formal office such as that of the governor to wield

15

Narrated by Pakualam IX during the interview with him, 12 April 2015. Another version says that it was Golkar politician Akbar Tanjung who came and asked Pakualam VIII to be the governor, however, his answer was the same. Interview with Heru Wahyukismoyo, 11 March 2015. 16 Interview with Heru Wahyukismoyo, 11 March 2015.

61

his influence became clear at the end of the New Order regime, when Indonesia experienced massive student demonstrations and riots across the country (Aspinall, Feith, & van Klinken, 1999). The sultan joined with other reformist leaders supporting the students’ call for reform and proposed a dialogue on the nature of reform. The sultan also suggested a ‘peaceful reform’ to the students and asked them to minimise violence and destruction. In an unusually bold step he even directly attacked President Suharto, asserting that ‘Suharto’s administration had lost its legitimacy as people no longer believed in its wisdom and authority (Woodward, 2011, p. 252). Then, the most momentous event occurred on 20 May 1998. Hundreds of thousands of people of Yogyakarta gathered in the ‘great meeting’ on the North Square to hear their sultan speak about the reform era and ask Suharto to step down (Lay et al., 2008; Woodward, 2011, p. 257). The event was conducted peacefully and people left the gathering without destructive action. The next day, Suharto announced his resignation as the president of Indonesia (O'Rourke, 2002 p. 131; van Dijk, 2001, p. 206). 3.6. Conclusion This chapter has explored the history of Yogyakarta and outlined how the region received its special status shortly after the declaration of Indonesian independence. Examining its history showed that Yogyakarta’s traditional culture originated from a mix of internal and external influences that blended into what is now called Javanese culture. As the traditional leader of one of the most influential kingdoms in the region, the Sultan of Yogyakarta has played a key part in shaping this culture and the political environment in which it is embedded. Successive sultans placed significant emphasis on harmonising Western and Eastern values and obliged themselves to not only preserve the region’s traditional culture but also introduce elements of modern political culture. When Hamengkubuwono IX was crowned in 1940, he gradually launched administrative reforms which brought new public institutions to the kingdom. However, the reforms hardly touched the internal regulations of the palace. The resultant blend of traditional and modern institutions prepared Yogyakarta’s local government

62

apparatus and the society for the post-colonial era. The integration with the Republic of Indonesia proved mutually beneficial to both sides as the sultan asked his apparatus to support the public affairs of the administration of the new state and coordinated with the military to secure the kingdom as the temporary capital city of the Republic. Ostensibly in recognition of its special contributions to Indonesia’s nationalist struggle, Yogyakarta was given special status in the new republic. Compared to heads of other former traditional kingdoms which were abolished in the wake of the nationalist revolution, the Sultan of Yogyakarta maintained the respect of his people, not least because he himself made significant contributions to the nationalist struggle. That kind of people’s respect was unseen among people in other traditional rulers in Indonesia, and most of these rulers preferred to abdicate after independence. Furthermore, the sultan’s manifold contributions to the central government made the government hesitant to question the status of Yogyakarta and so the region was able to retain its special status within the Republic. The chapter has highlighted the importance of critical junctures and path dependency for the emergence of Yogyakarta. Institutional trajectories chosen during the critical junctures of 1755 and 1945 paved the way, first, for the actual creation of Yogyakarta in 1755 and, then, for the retention of the principality after independence and its transformation into a special region with the sultan as appointed governor. The pathways chosen during these junctures put in place an institutional arrangement that emphasized the confluence of monarchical and modern legal-bureaucratic elements. The epicentre of this system has always been the Sultan of Yogyakarta who, despite being legally subordinate first to colonial powers and then to national governments, has retained virtually unchallenged legitimacy due to his linkages with traditional Javanese culture. In the twentieth century, Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX increasingly complemented this traditional legitimacy base with charisma and performance legitimacy as he initiated local reforms and contributed to national politics. His successor, Hamengkubuwono X, may lack the charisma of his father, but in 1998, he too was thrown into national politics when massive student protests in Yogyakarta demanded the resignation of

63

Suharto. By siding with the protesters, Yogyakarta’s tenth sultan showed remarkbale political instinct, but the real challenge was only about to begin as the democratization process that began after the fall of Suharto raised critical questions about the ongoing existence of the seemingly anachronistic monarchy in Yogyakarta. The next chapter will now turn its attention to these questions and examine how Hamengkubuwono X addressed them.

64

CHAPTER 4 DEMOCRATIZATION IN INDONESIA AND ITS INFLUENCE ON YOGYAKARTA “We are now at a turning point in history. God has given us two choices, the path of good or that of destruction. If we choose goodness, ‘Reformasi’ is the only road. ‘Reformasi’ is the desire of the people. We are not simply a movement seeking food, clothing and shelter, but also one [seeking] for the return of the rights of the people that [have] been stolen. No longer will the people be subjected to absolute power and injustice.” Sultan HB X’s speech quoted in Woodward (2011, p. 256). 4.1. Introduction In May 1998, after fasting for one month to seek guidance from the Divine, finally, Sultan HB X addressed the public and gave a speech to summarise his views on ‘reformasi’. The Sultan delivered his speech in front of hundreds of thousands of people who gathered in Yogyakarta’s Alon-Alon (a square court adjacent to the palace) waiting for ‘the Sultan’s word’ about the situation in the region. For many people in Yogyakarta, the Sultan’s word at this critical juncture was irrefutable because they believed that the Divine had guided their ruler, and they would be obliged to obey him for the greater good of society. Therefore, when the Sultan positioned himself together with the people demanding political change to bring democratization to Indonesia, the momentum for reform in Yogyakarta received a massive boost. Indeed, the ‘reformasi’ movement had caused widespread euphoria among the people who were keen to embrace their freedom after suffering during the authoritarian New Order regime. But while they demanded comprehensive reforms for the national political system, the people of Yogyakarta had somewhat different aspirations about the governmental institutions in their own region and, in particular, about the status of the traditional rulers of the area, the Sultan of Yogyakarta and Prince Pakualam, as the head and deputy chief of the area. Locally, in fact, a large number of Yogyakartans actually supported the retention of the existing system, while only a voiceless small number of protesters proposed that

65

democratization should extend to local politics in the sense that the sultan should no longer be automatically the governor of Yogyakarta. Over the following years, as Indonesia’s democratization process got underway, the question of Yogyakarta’s status was temporarily shelved but it eventually resurfaced again in 2004 when Indonesia introduced direct elections for governors, mayors and district heads as part of a comprehensive decentralization program. However, most people in Yogyakarta still seemed to prefer retaining their own system of hereditary succession. This chapter will outline some of the key features of Indonesia’s democratization and decentralization processes, as far as they are relevant to the situation in Yogyakarta. For example, the application of democratic elections, ‘big bang’ decentralization, and especially the introduction of direct elections for the heads of local, provincial/regional and central governments have changed the face of Indonesian politics in general, but they all have had a direct impact at the local level. What is significant is that despite these tremendous changes, Yogyakarta retained its status as a special region, even if it was a long and arduous process of legislating this status. To illustrate how Yogyakarta came through the first few years of Indonesia’s democratization and decentralization processes as an intact special region, this chapter examines how the various reforms influenced local politics of Yogyakarta, particularly the power and legitimacy of the Sultan against the central government and his people. The chapter also explains the growing tensions between proponents and opponents of the special position of the sultan. Moreover, it elucidates the struggle of the regional parliament in interpreting existing institutional arrangements about Yogyakarta. Structurally, this chapter starts with a brief overview of the events that led to the collapse of the New Order regime in Indonesia. Then, it discusses the political development of the country during the early ‘reformasi’ era and the democratic policies launched by the central government. Afterwards, it proceeds to investigate how local politics has been affected by the various decentralization policies, especially the introduction of direct elections to choose a local leader. Finally, it examines how and to what extent local power structures in Yogyakarta

66

were reorganized in response to the central government’s democratic policies. 4.2. The End of the New Order The fall of Suharto’s authoritarian regime in 1998 came as a surprise for many observers (Reuter, 2010, p. 1). Crouch stated that ‘the sudden interruption and indeed reversal of economic growth in response to unexpected external factors’ plunged the country into a deep economic crisis (2010, p. 19). The economic crisis caused a domino effect, triggering a wider social and political crisis which prompted university students to rally and demand ‘reformasi’. Furthermore, the refusal of financial ministers in the cabinet (Robison & Hadiz, 2004, p. 170) and the military to support the regime made Suharto’s position feeble. Accordingly, he admitted that this was the time for him to step down as the president (O'Rourke, 2002 p. 124; Ricklefs, 2008, p. 381; van Dijk, 2001, p. 207). Finally, on 21 May 1998, Suharto resigned from his presidency and handed over to his vice president, Habibie, who was promptly sworn in as the new president. The fall of Suharto’s authoritarian regime opened the door for a democratization process that would soon engulf the whole country. And as one of the incubator cities for reformist groups, Yogyakarta was certain to be affected, too (Purdey, 2011, p. 482). The Multi-dimensional Crisis in Yogyakarta The multi-dimensional crisis caused the decline and then fall of Suharto’s authoritarian regime. The crisis not only heavily hit the tourism industry as the main business sector but also influenced the education sector in Yogyakarta (Subanu, 2008, p. 46; Woodward, 2011, p. 238). Many craft industries went bankrupt and laid off workers. The threat of riots and potentially violent demonstrations kept visitors away and the economy in tatters. Student protests had begun somewhat sporadically in late 1997 (Zamroni & Andin, 1998, pp. 10-11), but the protests grew substantially during the People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR) meeting in March 1998 that chose Suharto again for his seventh term as president. The students were disappointed as the MPR was not responsive to their demands for reform. Moreover, Suharto’s new cabinet was filled with non-reformist ministers and some

67

of them were members of Suharto’s family and his cronies (Ricklefs, 2008, p. 380; Sharma, 2003, p. 156). When shortly afterwards Suharto decided to increase the price of fuel and electricity, the crisis quickly worsened. Students now began protesting outside campuses and demanded Suharto’s resignation. To handle the situation, the Indonesian Military Force (ABRI) were initially ruthless with the students in Yogyakarta. As instructed by the Commander of the Armed Forces, Wiranto, students were told not to conduct rallies and to return to campus (Kompas, 1998). Those who kept protesting and ventured out of campus, soon clashed with the security forces who blockaded the rallies. The first martyr of the ‘reformasi movement’ was killed in Yogyakarta and both protesters and security officers were wounded, and many students were detained (van Dijk, 2001, p. 170). Eventually, the sultan and the rector of Gadjah Mada University intervened, asking local military and police officers to release the detained students. At the same time, the sultan also pleaded with the students to avoid anarchy as it was happening in other cities around Indonesia. Repeatedly, the sultan appeared in the middle of the student rallies, asking for peaceful and safe protests. According to (Woodward, 2011, p. 255), these appeals hypnotised the masses.

Figure 4.1: People and students of Yogyakarta demanding the resignation of Suharto at the point of zero kilometre of Yogyakarta guarding by the Indonesian Armed Force (Dwi Oblo/National Geographic Indonesia)

Indeed, the impact of the sultan’s intervention was immense. As rallies were now peaceful and safe, the security forces changed their tactics towards the student protests in Yogyakarta. The new strategy differed significantly from other

68

cities in Indonesia. Instead of pushing for a confrontation, the security forces now became a safeguard for the reform process as they obeyed the sultan’s appeal to prevent a chaotic situation. Following the events in Yogyakarta, the security forces also changed their approach in other places, including in Jakarta where protesters began to occupy the MPR building. On 20 May 1998, the Sultan of Yogyakarta together with the students and people of Yogyakarta conducted a 4 km long march from Gadjah Mada University Boulevard to the North square without any incident. Both local military and police commanders instructed the security forces to escort rather than blockade the march. On the very next day, 21 May 1998, the ‘reformasi movement’ achieved its main goal when Suharto declared his resignation from his presidency. According to Woodward (2011: p. 253), the end of the New Order was the result of a personal struggle between Sultan Hamengkubuwono X and President Suharto. While this interpretation exaggerates the sultan’s influence on the situation in Jakarta, the events of 1998 did reaffirm Yogyakarta’s reputation as a political hotspot of nationwide significance. Just like in the days of the independence struggle, Yogyakarta had stood up for the interests of the nation and shaped the turn of events during a critical juncture in Indonesian history. For example, like in the revolutionary era, when Hamengkubuwono IX supported the young republic by offering Yogyakarta as a temporary capital, it was now Hamengkubuwono X who supported the reformasi movement and thereby helped guide Indonesia into a new era of democracy. Importantly, during both critical junctures, each sultan made his decision despite inherent risks of uncertainty which put the immediate future of Yogyakarta as a sultanate at considerable risk. It is also noteworthy that during both critical junctures, the two sultans resorted to traditional sources of power when they made their decisions. In 1998, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X was said to have drawn his inspiration and strength from a whole month of fasting. Upon completion of the fast, he felt that he had a spiritual basis to deal with the challenges of the reformasi movement. The fasting of the sultan was done to gain cultural legitimacy as his action was said to be blessed by God. Furthermore, people accepted the action as

69

the tradition in Javanese culture. His final decision to join the movement was also influenced by the realization that Suharto himself was also deeply rooted in Javanese tradition and considered himself as a pseudo-Javanese king. Thus, for the sultan, Suharto’s multiple moral and political failures had made the president vulnerable because he had lost the divine grace.17 As hundreds of thousands of people gathered in the North square of the palace, the signs for the sultan were clear that Suharto had lost his legitimacy as a Javanese leader (ibid).

Figure 4.2: Sultan Hamengkubuwono X reads his reformist statement in front of hundreds of thousands of his people (Kompas/hrd)

‘Reformasi Movement’ in Yogyakarta and its Aftermath The beginning of democratization in Indonesia created a critical juncture in which all existing institutional arrangements were to be scrutinized and, potentially, reformed. This institutional uncertainty cast a shadow over the future of Yogyakarta as a special region. In particular, it raised questions about the status of the Sultan of Yogyakarta as this region’s ruler. For decades, the sultan had routinely been appointed as governor, but this mechanism conflicted with the new spirit of democracy because it limited access to the position of governor to the 17

Al Husni summarises Suharto’s sins as follows: restricting the power of the ulama, paralyzing the economy, encouraging family planning, manipulating history, jailing political opponents, bringing about a decline in social values, looting natural resources and installing himself as a dictatorial tyrant; see Woodward (2011, p. 241)

70

sultan. For many supporters of the sultan, therefore, democratization was a threat as much as it was an opportunity. To pre-empt potential moves from Jakarta to strip the sultan of his privileges, a group of people conducted another pisowanan ageng (great meeting) in the North Square in July 1998. The purpose of the meeting was to symbolically re-inaugurate the sultan as the governor of Yogyakarta. Following the meeting, they pressured the regional parliament to propose to the central government that the sultan would also officially be appointed governor again. The people’s demand was not in line with Law 5/1974 about local government which stated that it is regional parliaments who elect the governor of a province from three candidates nominated by political parties. However, this New Order regulation itself contravened Law 3/1950 about the forming of the Yogyakarta Special Region which stated that the head of the region is the reigning sultan and that only his successors as sultan could be governor in the future. Throughout the New Order, the two laws co-existed side by side. Given that the power of provinces and districts was extremely limited during the New Order and given that the sultan was, until the final moments, a supporter of the New Order regime, this legal uncertainty did not cause any problems. However, now that Suharto was gone, the room for interpretation inherent in the institutional setting proved controversial. In Yogyakarta’s regional parliament, the Persatuan Pembangunan Faction (FPP) pointed to Law 5/1974 and nominated Alfian Darmawan as their candidate for governor. However, the Karya Pembangunan Fraction (FKP) and the Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan Fraction (FPDIP) both nominated the Sultan as their governor candidate, arguing that Law 3/1950, which formed the Yogyakarta special region and put the Sultan as the head of it, necessitates that the sultan be appointed governor again. As no consensus was reached in the parliament, they went to vote with the result that Sultan Hamengkubuwono X defeated Alfian Darmawan by ten votes to four. Thus, the regional parliament then promoted him as the governor (Soewarno, 1998). But the central government through the Ministry of Home Affairs rejected the decision because the processes applied in parliament violated both existing regulations (Kedaulatan Rakyat, 1998). On the one hand, it

71

violated the local government law because the PDI’s decision to join Golkar in nominating the sultan meant that there were not three candidates as mandated by the law. On the other hand, the decision also violated the Law on Yogyakarta’s special status which stated that the governor of Yogyakarta is not to be elected at all. Woodward argues that the filling of the governor position in Yogyakarta became an intense confrontation between the sultan and the central government (2011, p. 258). The tensions intensified after Pakualam VIII, the deputy governor and the acting governor of Yogyakarta, passed away in September 1998. His death created a vacuum of power in the region. As neither Law 3/1950 nor Law 5/1974 mentioned a mechanism to fill the governor post in the event of the death of an acting governor, the struggle for power in Yogyakarta became problematic. Even though Law 3/1950 clarified the status of Yogyakarta as a special region, the law had no provisions for the mechanism to fill the governor post in these circumstances. When the New Order government had drafted the local government law in 1974, it did not revise the Yogyakarta special status law. Instead, it merely reiterated that Yogyakarta enjoys a special status that sets it apart from other provinces without specifying what procedure would be used to fill the post of governor of Yogyakarta. In the end, after prolonged political negotiations, interim President Habibie issued a presidential decision to appoint Sultan Hamengkubuwono X as the governor of Yogyakarta for a five year term, but without explaining the mechanism to fill the post for the next term (Jaweng, 2013, p. 114). At first, people were protesting the decree because it did not sustain a strong legal position for the governor post in Yogyakarta into the future. In other words, it did not resolve the lack of clear regulations to organize the political system in Yogyakarta in the long run (Hadiwijoyo, 2013, p. 2). Nevertheless, in October 1998, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X was eventually inaugurated as the new governor. According to Heru Wahyukismoyo, Habibie’s decision to only grant one five year term for the time being was made in haste, reflecting the tumultuous times at the beginning of Indonesia’s transition to democracy. The government may have intended to simply

72

lay a foundation for future discussions about the governmental system in Yogyakarta, but in leaving the future status of the governor unclear, it contributed to ongoing uncertainty about the status of the sultan as the region’s governor.18 4.3. Democratization and Decentralization Habibie’s decree may not have solved the institutional uncertainty, but it provided an opportunity for the sultan to consolidate his institutional power base in Yogyakarta. Meanwhile, in Jakarta preparations for the first parliamentary election of the post-Suharto era got under way. Even though Habibie was known as a protégé of Suharto who had benefitted from many privileges during the New Order regime, his short administration managed to initiate some path-defining political reforms. In particular, he paved the way for the emergence of a new multiparty system when he oversaw the reform of the laws about political parties, elections and the organization of the parliament (Crouch, 2010, p. 47). The revised laws allowed the establishment of new political parties, which was welcomed by many interest groups in Indonesia. Parliamentary elections were to be held under the closed proportional representation system that had already been used during the New Order. Meanwhile executive posts such as the presidency as well as governors, mayors and district heads were to be filled through indirect elections in the national, provincial and district parliaments. Elections and Constitutional Reforms As the revised institutional framework provided for a powerful role for members of parliament, political parties became important vehicles for aspiring politicians. When the first post-New Order election was held in June 1999, no fewer than 48 political parties contested the poll, competing for 462 parliamentary seats in the House of Representatives.19 In the end, 21 parties won seats, but the four largest parties shared around 80 percent of the vote. Many new parliamentarians were in fact old faces who had already held power during the New Order regime. 18

Interview with Heru Wahyukismoyo, a lecturer of Widya Mataram University, 11 March 2015. The DPR RI consisted of 500 members and 38 of them were of the TNI/Polri fraction who were appointed by the military to post in the parliament. 19

73

Nevertheless, once the parliament assembled for its new term, it began deliberations about far-reaching constitutional reforms. These deliberations stretched over four years and resulted in four rounds of constitutional amendments, leaving the once sacred constitution of 1945 with more new paragraphs than old ones (Horowitz, 2013, p. 58). Among the most significant reforms were the introduction of direct presidential elections, the creation of a second parliamentary chamber called the Regional Representatives Council (Dewan Perwakilan Daerah, DPD) and the establishment of a Constitutional Court. The new court was noteworthy because it created an avenue for judicial review which had never occurred before as the Supreme Court was not equipped with ‘authoritative interpretation’ of a law. Moreover, the Constitutional Court also became the place to solve electoral conflicts that occurred after a ballot took place. For local politics, however, the introduction of direct presidential elections would prove to be the most significant reform because it paved the way for the introduction of the same kind of electoral rules at the local level from 2005 onwards. Before the first direct local election would be held, however, Indonesians first elected a new parliament and president in 2004. The free, fair, and peaceful elections marked the end of the initial transition phase and became the starting point for a new phase of political stabilization. Even though some observers described it as the longest and most complicated ballot in the world of democracy (Dillon, 2004; Freedom House, 2004), the election was widely praised as an important step in Indonesia’s democratization process. Twenty-four political parties competed for 550 seats in national parliament. Two new parties made significant gains, but otherwise the poll largely reinstated those parties who had already done well in 1999. All in all, seven parties collected significant percentages of votes and won sizeable shares of seats. As the election used a new system – partially open list proportional representation rather than closed list proportional representation – 560 electoral disputes were submitted to the Constitutional Court and 376 cases went to trial (Detik, 2007). However, the new court rose to the challenge and decided the disputes efficiently. The election was also noteworthy because it marked the end of

74

appointed military officers in parliament as the TNI/Polri fraction was dissolved and all parliament members were now elected. Following the legislative election, Indonesia’s first-ever direct election of a president took place. Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (SBY) won the election in two rounds, thereby becoming the first Indonesian president whose legitimacy rested on a direct mandate from the people. To further consolidate the new democratic institutions in the country, the government continuously promoted freedom of speech and association to strengthen the civil liberties of the people (Horowitz, 2013, p. 209). Those efforts have made new stakeholders more vocal in their political demands and allowed civil society organizations to flourish and become more involved in empowering the people. An ever-growing number of non-governmental organizations that frequently criticised government policies enhanced accountability and lobbied the government to keep nurturing democratization and eradicating corruption (Freedom House, 2004). Also, the press and mass media benefitted from the new policies by playing a prominent role in fostering democratization (Freedom House, 2006). The media ensured that the people were well-informed about the developments of political reform and at the same time provided them with new avenues to criticise their government. All in all, the early years of the Yudhoyono presidency were years of democratic stabilization at the national level. At the local level, however, stabilization was still elusive as decentralization policies which had been initiated in 1999 were still in flux and subject to amendments and revisions. Decentralization and the Introduction of Pilkada Decentralization in Indonesia began in 1999 and has been a key component of the country’s democratization process ever since. Less than a year after former president Suharto had resigned, the Habibie government ended decades of highly centralized rule when it promulgated Law 22/1999 on regional autonomy and Law 25/1999 about intergovernmental fiscal relations (Smith, 2008). The transfer of extensive decision making powers and governmental affairs from the central to local governments became known as a big bang approach to decentralization because the central government applied it simultaneously to 30

75

provinces/regions and 348 districts/cities (Hofman & Kaiser, 2002). The new regulations gave a robust political power to local governments in managing their regions and defining local policies. Moreover, the new laws weakened the central government’s authority to interfere in local government affairs including the election of local executive leaders. However, the indirect method of electing these leaders through provincial and district parliaments was initially retained. Influenced by political euphoria and endowed with unprecedented decision-making powers, local governments soon began to overstretch their authority, producing many local laws that overruled central government policy (Butt, 2010). Given the new opportunities that came with regional autonomy, the lower levels of government were frequently captured by local elites who misused state resources to weaken their local rivals and, at the same time, enlarge their own financial coffers (Tomsa, 2015a). As many local government elites came from influential family networks with links to the former regime, local politics became an arena for the establishment of ‘petty official fiefdoms’ run by district or city officials (Robison and Hadiz 2004, p. 246) with the support of the local parliament. One result of these new local power alliances was the generation of ‘disorder regulations’ that were passed without consulting local constituents. Between 1999 and 2004, it was not only the local rulers who misused their power, but also the local parliaments that became new epicentres of corruption at the local level. Also, local parliament members exploited their powerful role in the indirect election of local executive leaders by asking for bribes in exchange for supporting certain candidates in the elections (Madril, 2014). Problems with regional autonomy occurred at all levels, but serious intergovernmental conflict was less likely to occur in the provincial/regional governments because most authority had been transferred to the district level, not the provincial level. Law 22/1999 had identified a province merely as an extension of central government administration. The provinces were therefore in the position of intermediary between the central and local government. Their main role was a coordinating function of the local government’s development processes. Four provinces, however, were exempt from the bulk of these regulations. Two of these,

76

Aceh and Papua, were the site of separatist conflict and were therefore awarded special autonomy in order to allow the central government to better address the local grievances in these provinces. Law 44/1999 (later replaced by Law 11/2006) for Aceh and Law 21/2001 for Papua provided the provincial governments in these areas with ‘a wider authority’ to administer their regions compared to other provinces in the country. The other two provinces with special status had been granted their special provisions long before democratization began. These were the national capital Jakarta and of course the special region of Yogyakarta. 4.4. The Regional Autonomy of Yogyakarta The status of Yogyakarta as a special region remained untouched in Law 22/1999. However, the law stated that the regional administration had to refer to the regulations of the revised law (Hadiwijoyo, 2013, p. 77), for example when choosing a deputy governor of Yogyakarta. This position had been vacant, since the death of Paku Alam VIII in 1998, due to internal conflict within the Paku Alam palace to fill the post. So the political parties in Yogyakarta’s regional parliament agreed to undertake an election in 2001. The candidates were two members of the Pakualaman family, as designated by Law 3/1950 which stated that the deputy governor of Yogyakarta was to be a member of the Pakualaman family. Despite protests against the election from a group of people who rejected the process and demanded the appointment mechanism, the parliament did not flinch and continued the election process. As a result, Ambarkoesoemo, Paku Alam IX, became the new deputy governor. During the indirect election in parliament, political party fractions were solid and the elections passed without problems. Securing the Sultan’s Institutional Powers With a new deputy governor now in place, attention reverted back to the post of governor. Given that there was still no legal certainty for appointing the governor post beyond 2003, the regional government in 2002 appointed a team to draft a new specialness law for Yogyakarta. The intention was to secure similar privileges as had been granted to Papua and Aceh in their respective autonomy laws.

77

During the deliberations on the draft, however, problems quickly surfaced. First, the people of Yogyakarta appeared to be split between supporters of the appointment mechanism and supporters of an election for the governor. Second, the draft shifted the focus of Yogyakarta’s privileges to the provincial level and interests directly linked to the sultan. By contrast, in the 1950 law on Yogyakarta’s special status, Hamengkubuwono IX had emphasized that Yogyakarta’s privileges were to be located at the district level. Thus, critics of the draft accused the sultan of a conflict of interest. Third, there emerged a debate over the extent of privileges that were to be extended to the royal family. Fourth, there were different views as to how exactly the specialness of Yogyakarta should be interpreted. Fifth, the discussions about the draft prompted a discourse about a proper constitutional monarchy as an alternative to the existing hybrid system that embedded certain royal privileges in a broader system of democratic governance (Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 3). In the end, the drafting team ignored most of the critical questions. The final draft of the specialness law for Yogyakarta as submitted to the House of Representatives in Jakarta in 2003 only mentioned that the privilege of Yogyakarta was the appointment of the sultan as the governor. Accordingly, this draft received strong criticism because of its narrow focus on the status of Sultan Hamengkubuwono and Paku Alam. Basically, the draft only channelled the interests of the sultan to cement his power in a new democratic environment. The NGO Forum of Yogyakarta said that the draft was elitist and limited to the leadership of the sultan as the governor. There were no apparent benefits for the people who were supporting the sultanate. The draft prompted the pro-democratic NGOs to take no stand in support of the sultan and focused their aspirations instead on advocating and empowering the people.20 Besides, the academic community in Yogyakarta also resisted the appointment mechanism within the draft and suggested the election mechanism instead (Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 8). In the process of the deliberations, however, supporters of the sultan pushing for his ongoing 20

Interview with Tri Wahyu KH, a pro-democratic CSO activist and chair of Indonesian Court Monitoring (ICM), 5 May 2015

78

appointment became increasingly provocative, intimidating those who supported free and competitive gubernatorial elections. According to Wahyukismoyo (2004), the characteristics of the proappointment and pro-election groups could be distinguished based on their different aspirations and backgrounds. On the one hand, there was the aristocratic group which demanded the appointment by the specialness law of the sultan as governor, while on the other side there were the pro-democracy groups who suggested an election to select the governor. The first group mostly consisted of traditional people from the rural areas who lived on and cultivated land that was owned by the sultan.21 The patronage based on land tenure inclined those people to show gratitude towards the sultan by supporting him.22 Indeed, village and hamlet officials from these areas were among the main supporters of the sultan and attended any event related to the specialness of Yogyakarta. Hamengkubuwono himself, as well as his family, also supported the appointment mechanism, but they kept their distance from the rural folk and delegated the coordination of these groups to the sultan’s cronies. On the other side, the liberal groups in support of a free and competitive election were mostly based in the urban areas, especially on the various university campuses around Yogyakarta. They were ‘rational’ people who were well informed about politics through the mass media, and their livelihood did not depend on the Sultanate. Compared to the aristocratic side, the second group was far less influential in the discussion about the specialness law and their views were only sporadically heard in public debates. Media were less likely to report the voice of this group as most of the people in Yogyakarta supported the appointment of Sultan as the governor. Perhaps the most important actor outside the palace during this time was the regional parliament. It played a prominent role in discussing the specialness of Yogyakarta because it had the right to consider and disseminate the draft before ratifying it. But members of parliament were by no means unified in their attitudes

21

Land tenure of Sultan, cultivated by the people for their livelihood. Interview with Sukiman Hadiwijoyo, a palace courtier and the head of Hamlet association “Semar Sembogo”, 9 March 2015 22

79

towards the future of the sultanate. Indeed, the difficulties of devising a system that intertwined elements of traditional rule with modern democratic institutions created many obstacles for parliament in their quest to formulate the draft law. The parliamentarians tried to accommodate various interests and aspirations, most notably of course those of the palace. Indeed, the MPs encountered frequent lobbying attempts and pressure from the sultan and his cronies as they wanted the draft to secure their power in the region. When the draft was finally ready and submitted to the national parliament in 2003, it suggested that the main privilege of Yogyakarta should be the appointment of the Sultan as the provincial governor (Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 40). The ‘Specialness Law’ would, it was hoped, lower the political tensions related to the impending end of the sultan’s term as governor in 2003. But the central government had no response to the proposal before the sultan’s term as governor ended. With the draft law still stalled in Jakarta, the regional parliament began examining the existing regulations to elect Sultan Hamengkubuwono X as the governor for a second term (Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 3). In view of the success of the deputy governor election in 2001 and the lack of a binding mechanism for the election of the next governor, the provincial parliament in Yogyakarta formed a special committee led by a PDIP fraction member to arrange the election rules to choose the next governor. Even though the committee was split between some who wanted the governor to be elected and those who wanted the position to be filled by appointment, the committee eventually agreed to adopt the same rules that had been applied to elect the deputy governor in 2001. These were the indirect election rules as mandated by Law 22/1999 on regional autonomy. However, on the day of the plenary session where the committee was due to report the procedures for selecting the sultan, protestors besieged the parliament building, demanding the cancellation of the election and requesting the appointment of the sultan as governor instead. It was evident from the protestors’ uniform that they were civil servants, village officials and people from Bantul district who had been mobilised by local

80

elites close to the sultan.23 The mobilization of protesters by one of the sultan’s cronies was unlikely to have occurred without the sultan’s consent. The protests therefore could be interpreted as a statement of intent by the palace which was keen to secure the governor position for the sultan without the need to face-off against another candidate, like Alfian Darmawan. The protesters suggested that the post automatically belonged to Sultan Hamengkubuwono X and the post of deputy governor to Paku Alam IX. Moreover, they argued that an appointment was in the people’s interest since several public opinion surveys had indicated that the people of Yogyakarta supported the appointment of the sultan as governor.24 To ease the tensions, the sultan eventually gave a speech in which he expressed his obligation to protect the parliament even though he knew that ‘there were people in the building who did not favour him’.25 As the standoff continued, the parliament members faced the sultan’s pressure to decline the election process.26 Disagreement among fractions soon deepened, thus weakening the decision-making power of the DPRD. At last, the PDIP and Golkar fractions,27 which had the largest number of parliament members, asked to annul the election process for the governor and deputy governor. This move gave the parliament no choice but to accommodate the demands of the protesters. In the end, an election was actually held but no other candidates but the sultan and his preferred deputy could register because the time for registration had already elapsed. Under pressure, the parliament fraction agreed to have only one pair of candidates, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X and Paku Alam IX. The ‘election’ was held and based on the result, the central government inaugurated the sultan as the governor of Yogyakarta for a second term, from 2003 to 2008. The legal limbo, however, remained unresolved as there were still no clear regulations for the 23

According to some of my informants, it was Idham Samawi, the Bupati of Bantul, who mobilized them to the parliament building. 24 Polling conducted by Atmajaya University in 1998, Bernas and Lapera Institute in 2000, and the regional government of Yogyakarta 2002, see Wahyukismoyo (2004, pp. 152-159) 25 Interview with Kusno W. Utomo, an editor of Radar Jogja newspaper, 11 February 2015. 26 Idem. 27 The PDIP and Golkar decision’s seemed to get sympathy for the general election in 2004 rather than the political pressure during the election procedures session, mentioned by Kusno W. Utomo during the interview.

81

position of governor in Yogyakarta. Beyond the Sultan: Reorganising Politics in Yogyakarta Things became even more complicated when in 2004 the central government decided to bring elections for local executive leaders into line with the newly passed law on direct presidential elections. Law 32/2004 on Regional Autonomy completely changed the tone of central government policy for the regions because it prescribed direct elections to choose local executive rulers. Crucially, for Yogyakarta, it removed the clause about the appointment mechanism to fill the governor post of Yogyakarta. However, the new law only superseded the 1999 regional autonomy law, leaving unresolved the tensions between the regional autonomy legislation and the 1950 law about Yogyakarta’s special status. Still, in Yogyakarta the new regional autonomy law was seen as a challenge to the sultan’s position. As the central government pushed for greater democratization by means of universal elections, the tensions between the monarchical elements in Yogyakarta’s system and the modern democratic system imposed from Jakarta became ever more palpable. To deal with this critical situation, the government of Yogyakarta began to refocus its attention on the legislation process of a new specialness law which would cement the sultan’s political power within the new institutional framework (Yanuardy, 2012). Apart from introducing direct local elections, the revision of the regional autonomy law also attempted to reduce intergovernmental conflicts by emphasising the administrative role of provincial/regional governments in supervising their districts/cities. The law allowed local governments to pass their own regulations, but they needed the approval of the central government through the provincial government. Despite that, the new law enacted a ‘strong mayor system’ as the focus of decentralization remained on the third administrative tier. Mayors and district heads therefore remained powerful and their legitimacy was further enhanced by the introduction of direct elections. Direct elections were also intended to reduce the potential for corruption and vote buying in parliament during the indirect elections that had been practised previously. Parliaments were now restricted in

82

their powers, confined largely to budgetary oversight without intervening in the public services’ activities. In Yogyakarta’s four districts and one municipality, the alteration of the election system from indirect to direct went smoothly and without conflict. During the local elections in 2005, all of the candidates who were assumed to be supported by the sultan won their contests. In some areas, however, the new elections brought about some intriguing electoral battles. In Bantul, for example, the Sultan’s brother, Yudhaningrat, ran for the position of head of district, but he lost against the incumbent, Idham Samawi, a powerful local elite and close crony of Sultan Hamengkubuwono. Even though Yudhaningrat asked the sultan to remain neutral in the campaign, it was clear that Hamengkubuwono endorsed the incumbent rather than his brother. The unwillingness of the sultan to be neutral not only revealed divisions within the royal family, but it also provided a preview of a shifting political landscape in which political power was to be distributed on the basis of new institutional rules. Following his loss in the election, Yudhaningrat expressed the view that the changing nature of local politics in Bantul might soon affect the political dynamics of Yogyakarta politics more widely as new stakeholders emerged keen to use democratic procedures to increase the public profile (Sulistiyanto, 2009, p. 204). Sultan Hamengkubuwono X himself was also concerned. While his position seemed secure until 2008, he feared that the central government would insist on a direct election after his second term finished. Although the government of Yogyakarta had submitted the draft of a new specialness law to the national parliament in 2003, this draft actually never received a response because it had not been submitted in accordance with existing mechanisms for the legislation process (Hertanto, 2012). To put the draft in the national legislation programme, the regional government had to revise and resubmit it to the Ministry of Home Affairs first and, then, deliver it to parliament. However, it would be some time before the next draft was ready.

83

4.5. Conclusion The objective of this chapter was to examine the democratization process in Indonesia after the fall of Suharto’s authoritarian regime and to outline how it influenced the local politics of the Yogyakarta special region. After explaining the experience of the ‘reformasi movement’ in Yogyakarta and the dynamics of local politics in the face of the manifold democratic challenges, the chapter showed that democratization and decentralization did indeed have a significant impact on the local politics of Yogyakarta. The main question that arose was how Yogyakarta would be able to retain its privileges enshrined in its status as a special region. Interestingly, Sultan supporters, comprising many people of Yogyakarta, objected to an abolition of the province’s privileges which included a special status for the sultan as unelected governor. In the early days of reformasi, thousands of people expressed their support for the sultan by attending the ‘pisowanan agung’ in the heart of Yogyakarta.28 Attempts to clarify Yogyakarta’s status in the early reformasi years failed. Interim president Habibie shied away from taking the initiative, allowing institutional uncertainty to continue. The flawed elections of the deputy governor in 2001 and then the governor in 2003 cemented the old royal elite’s grip on power and paved the way for the sultan to remain in the driving seat for shaping his future role. However, revisions to the regional autonomy law in 2004 showed a new determination by the central government to deepen democratization and have all local and provincial leaders directly elected by the people. The new legislation prompted the sultan to initiate the formulation of a new draft law about the specialness of Yogyakarta that would strengthen his role as governor and exempt him from elections. Thus, while Indonesian politics at the national level became increasingly stable after 2004, the legal status of Yogyakarta remained contested due to the ongoing existence of contradictory laws.

28

The event was coordinating under Sultan’s instruction to the hamlet official who mobilized the people to the North square of palace; interview with Sukiman Hadiwijoyo.

84

CHAPTER 5 INTER-INSTITUTIONAL RELATIONS IN YOGYAKARTA The construction of the sultan, as both the regional head and the traditional ruler in Yogyakarta, has a paternalistic influence on the internal and external organisation of the province. Externally, it guides the sultan’s coordination with the district heads and the city mayor while internally, regional bureaucrats have a high level of compliance with government instructions.29 5.1. Introduction Having outlined the trajectory of the early democratization process in Indonesia in general and Yogyakarta in particular, it is now time to take a closer look at how the political system in Yogyakarta has functioned on a day to day basis in the post-Suharto era. Prior to democratization, the existence of a monarchy at the sub-national level might have been an anomaly, but in the broader scheme of things, it mattered little because sub-national administrative entities had virtually no autonomy in the heavily centralized New Order regime. With the onset of democratization and decentralization, however, things changed and although the focus of the regional autonomy program lay on the districts and municipalities rather than the provinces, the prestige of governors also increased. For Hamengkubuwono X, it was therefore of immense importance that interim president Habibie had appointed him as governor of the Special Region of Yogyakarta in 1998 if only to preempt the possibility that someone else would take on that role during this momentous period in Indonesian history. However, as discussed in the previous chapter, early efforts to give this arrangement a new legal basis failed and so the sultan had to govern Yogyakarta on a relatively feeble institutional foundation, with the 1950 law on Yogyakarta’s special status, Habibie’s presidential instruction and the new law on regional autonomy all somehow affecting the status of Yogyakarta. It was clear that ultimately a new law was necessary, but until this could be finalized, Hamengkubuwono had to govern

29

Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, Head of Planning and Development Agency (BAPEDA) of Yogyakarta, 5 February 2015.

85

the province and, ideally, do it in a way that would help him later make the case for a renewal of the sultan’s privilege to be governor for life. The following three chapters will, therefore, look at how Yogyakarta’s unusual government model functioned in practice. That the Sultan of Yogyakarta simultaneously holds the positions of governor and monarch has become a defining feature of Yogyakarta’s special status. His dual status reflects the competing influences of modern and traditional values on the institutional arrangement in Yogyakarta. On the one hand, the position of governor provides the sultan with the formal power to command the government apparatus based on modern and legally binding regulations stated in the Regional Government Law. On the other hand, his position as traditional ruler of the enduring Yogyakarta Sultanate equips him with the cultural legitimacy to connect with local people based on traditional Javanese values. Despite the distinctive bases for legitimacy, however, the two positions of governor and sultan are so closely intertwined that it is often difficult to distinguish in which capacity the sultan acts in a given situation. According to Sultan Hamengkubuwono X himself, he is the sultan when he is in the palace and the governor when he is outside the palace.30 Distinguishing the two roles is important for understanding why the special status of Yogyakarta became so contested in the post-Suharto era. Moreover, it is also important in order to properly delineate the relationship between the sultan and other political and economic stakeholders in Yogyakarta. This chapter will, therefore, seek to position the sultan’s dual posts as modern and traditional ruler within the broader institutional framework of local politics in Yogyakarta. The discussion will help to better understand not only the organisational structures in the region but also the rules and conventions applied in the running of Yogyakarta’s governmental system. Since Yogyakarta intertwines elements of the traditional and modern rule as the foundations of its governmental institutions, investigating what kind of cultural values have persisted and how they intermingle with modern democratic rules to form a unique hybrid institutional 30

Interview with Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, the King of Sultanate and Governor of Yogyakarta, 1 June 2015.

86

arrangement will provide important insights into what makes Yogyakarta a special region. Significantly, the chapter will demonstrate that the hybridity inherent in Yogyakarta’s regime can pose tremendous political challenges for different stakeholders. To illustrate how exactly the monarchical and democratic elements are fused in Yogyakarta and how this hybrid regime functions in practice, the chapter will analyse how the sultanate is embedded within other political institutions and actors such as the central government (especially the Ministry of Home Affairs), the national parliament as well as the provincial government administration of Yogyakarta, the provincial parliament, and governments and parliaments at the district level in Yogyakarta. The chapter will argue that the sultan’s dual status as a modern yet unelected governor and traditional ruler is generally accepted at the local level but is far more contested at the national level. Structurally, the chapter starts by explaining the legacy of traditional institutions and how they became intertwined with the modern democratic rules that now underpin Indonesian local politics in the post-Suharto era. Subsequently, it investigates the interactions between the sultan and the central government under President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (2004-2014) which became more and more critical of the institutional arrangement in Yogyakarta over time. The last sections explore the paternalistic relationships at the local level, especially between the sultan and the provincial, municipal and district governments. 5.2. The Institutional Amalgam in Yogyakarta In August 1998, a public opinion survey conducted by a youth organization in Yogyakarta found that 96 percent of Yogyakartans believed their province was special and deserved a special administrative status.31 Subsequently, more polls were conducted in the area, asking about the specialness of Yogyakarta. Results of these polls showed that most people in Yogyakarta consistently 31

The poll was conducted by KNPI Yogyakarta and showed that 96.14% of respondents agreed that Yogyakarta was special (Bernas 7 August 1998). Based on the latest polling about the specialness of Yogyakarta, 97.2% of respondents said that Yogyakarta is special. See Incident (2012).

87

supported the province’s special status (Lay et al., 2008, p. 20; Wahyukismoyo, 2004, p. 152). However, when they were asked what it actually is that makes Yogyakarta special, most respondents did not know what to answer. Following the ‘I don’t know’ category, the second highest percentage of respondents argued that Yogyakarta is special because with Sultan Hamengkubuwono and Paku Alam the province has traditional rulers as its governor and deputy governor.32 Other responses also pointed to the traditional character of Yogyakarta’s institutions, for example, the Sultan ground (SG) and Paku Alam ground (PAG).33 The traditional institutions of the sultanate, in other words, are at the heart of people’s understanding of what makes Yogyakarta special. For many locals, it is not only not unusual that the sultan is both their traditional ruler and the governor of Yogyakarta; it is, in fact, the only conceivable constellation of government. Indeed, as Yanuardy (2012) explains, the people of Yogyakarta have been used to the sultan in not only two but three interlocking roles for decades. First, he is the traditional ruler of a former kingdom whose territorial boundaries are now the same as those of the modern Yogyakarta special region. Second, he is the governor of this province, which is now an administrative entity within a modern nationstate. Third, and often overlooked, Hamengkubuwono X, just like many other provincial leaders in Indonesia, is also a businessman in charge of a range of palace enterprises traditionally run by the royal family.34 In the words of the sultan himself: The palace has the right to maintain its economic activities to be independent of the government as we are affording the expenses of the royal family and our palace’s courtiers. We have our own business. The palace has many assets, but they are managed by other members of the royal family because I am not in charge anymore after I was enthroned as the Sultan.35 32

26.9% of respondents answered ‘I don’t know’, 24% answered that Sultan Hamengkubuwono and Paku Alam as the governor and deputy governor made Yogyakarta special. Incident (2012). 33 7.3% of respondents answered that the existence of Sultan and Paku Alam ground made Yogyakarta special. Furthermore, respondents answered that they appreciated the province’s safety and stability, its integration into the Republic of Indonesia, its popularity among tourists and its reputation as an educational hub (Hakim, Liu, Isler, & Woodward, 2015); see also polling by Incident, April 2012. 34 The third role is prominent, but Hamengkubuwono admitted that the palace has its own businesses to afford the palace’s expenses. Interview with Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, 1 June 2015. 35 Interview with Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, 1 June 2015.

88

The people of Yogyakarta have long accepted these interlocking roles as the norm in their region and have not questioned potential conflicts of interest entailed in the sultan’s various roles. But it is not only the sultan himself who fulfils several roles simultaneously. Other members of the royal family are also occupying a plethora of positions in political, social, and economic organizations, as Table 5.1 makes clear. Table 5.1: The Role of Sultanate Royal Families of Yogyakarta No 1

2

Name

Political

Sultan HB X

Governor

GKR Hemas (The Queen)

Senator of Yogyakarta at The Regional Representative Council since 2004

Social Advisory Board of various social organisations (as governor) Advisory Board of various social organisations (as the wife of governor)

Economic

1.

3

4

GKR Mangkubumi/ Pembayun (Eldest daughter)

KGPH Hadiwinoto (Brother)

1. Head of KADIN (Trade and Commerce Organisation) Yogyakarta 2. Head of KNPI (The Youth National Committee of Indonesia) Yogyakarta 3. Head of Association of Handicraft Exporters and Producers of Yogyakarta.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

1. 2.

Madu Kismo Sugar and Refinement factory (Share with the Central Government) PT Waiser Textiles Indonesia (Share with Austrian investor) PT Mataram Mitra Manunggal (BPR Mataram/Credit Bank) PT Yogyakarta Tembakau Indonesia (Tobacco Factory) PT Yarsilk Gora Mahottama (Silk Factory) PT Indokor Bangun Desa (Shrimp Company) PT Srimanganti Hotel Board of Commissary of Yogyakarta City Mall

89

5

GBPH Prabukusumo (Brother)

6

KPH Purbodiningrat (Son in law)

Former Head of DPD (Regional Leadership Councils) of Democrat Party (resigned) Member of Parliament of Yogyakarta regional Parliament

Head of KONI (The National Sports Committee of Indonesia) Yogyakarta

Sources: Detik (2015), Regional Development of Economic and Investment Agency (2002) It is obvious then that the sultan enjoys a broad range of ceremonial, political and economic powers. To begin with, the ceremonial powers originate from the Javanese traditions associated with the pre-colonial kingdoms of Java. Many people still believe that Sultan Hamengkubuwono is their cultural leader simply by virtue of his royal lineage. So deeply entrenched is the admiration for the palace that it is not unusual for Yogyakartans to become the courtiers of the palace as a dedication to their tradition (Sudaryanto, 2008). This power of the sultan mainly affects the royal family and the courtiers who manage the palace system through its internal bureaucracy. As it is based on traditional authority, it is mostly an informal power based on the sultan’s royal ancestry and cultural appeal rather than any kind of tangible political power (Abell & Stevenson, 2011, p. 499). Significantly though, today the sultan’s traditional power seems to be disappearing because, in contrast to his father, who had actively cultivated his image as the preserver of Javanese culture, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X has been largely absent from many cultural events and asked members of the royal family or courtiers to represent him instead.36 However, one area where the sultan’s traditional role is still being upheld is in the tradition of assigning the heads of districts and municipalities in the province as honorary courtiers of the palace. This convention is intended to reinforce the sultan’s dominant position of power over lower-ranking rulers; however, today these assignments only create cultural links 36

Information gathered from field observation and interviews with local informants in Yogyakarta.

90

between the individuals without affecting their political positions. As mentioned in the previous chapter, district heads and mayors today enjoy a popular mandate through direct elections, so their positions are not dependant on royal assent but electoral success. The second pillar of the sultan’s power is the position of the governor, which in contrast to his royal title, provides him with formal political power rooted in legal-rational authority. Significantly, even though the sultan is the only governor in Indonesia who is appointed by the central government, his political power is actually more or less the same as that of other provincial governors who are elected by their people. The one exception is the sultan’s enormous control over land which is a direct result of the law on Yogyakarta’s special status. The land in Yogyakarta without any evidence of ownership belongs to the Sultan ground or Paku Alam ground. This land tenure system is not applicable to the other part of the country and, in the case of a piece of land without any legal proof of title, it becomes the property of the state. Generally, however, the governor of Yogyakarta, like other provincial governments in Indonesia, acts as the extension of the central government and is responsible for implementing its programs at the provincial level. In other words, despite its special status, Yogyakarta is not an autonomous region that would have extensive privileges comparable to those of Aceh or Papua. Institutionally, the powers of Yogyakarta’s governor do not differ from those of other governors. Therefore, the governor’s main powers simply lie in his mandate to make political decisions as the leader of the executive branch of government and draft regulations and legislation in coordination with the regional parliament. Furthermore, the governor evaluates the annual budgets of the district governments in his province, which gives him substantial leverage over the financial resources of the lower administrative tiers. In the third realm of power, the sultan has continuously retained his economic strength because he is the largest shareholder of family and palace

91

enterprises and because he possesses vast areas of land in Yogyakarta.37 The sultan has the prerogative right to manage the palace assets and businesses and to choose members of the royal family to be the commissioners and directors of these businesses (Bhawono, Shintami, Nugroho, & Wiguna, 2015). In addition, the sultan and his immediate family also have their own private businesses. Taken together, these pillars of the sultan’s extensive business empire provide him and the royal family with enormous patronage resources. In fact, these resources have expanded further in recent years due to the rising prices for land and property which the sultan can lease. People living on land belonging to the sultan are usually allowed to cultivate the ground for years and they even have the right to pass on the land to their descendants as an inheritance, but they cannot sell it. How effective land is as a patronage tool to cultivate support became evident during the early deliberations about the sultan’s status when many of the demonstrators who protested against the planned abolishment of the appointment mechanism came from the rural people cultivating the sultan’s land for their livelihood. In fact, the hamlet association is one of the most ardent supporters of the ongoing appointment of the sultan because its members incomes as village officers are dependent on the cultivation of the sultan’s land. In a typical patronclientelistic relationship, they return the sultan’s benevolence by supporting him as the governor.38 The land tenure regulations are a legacy of traditional institutions in Yogyakarta. As explained in Chapter 3, Sultan Hamengkubuwono I, the first ruler of the Yogyakarta kingdom, once gained the land as a result of the Giyanti Treaty. Subsequently, the status of the land not only remained unchanged throughout the remainder of the Dutch colonial period and the post-colonial period, but the Indonesian government even allowed Yogyakarta to have its own Agrarian office as the former kingdom was deemed to have a better land administration system than other areas in the country. Since the early independence days, therefore, the palace 37

The National Land Agency (BPN) officer explained that it is approximately 3679 hectares. Public hearing treatise between Deputy II of National Land Agency (BPN) with Parliament, 10 October 2011. 38 Interview with Sukiman Hadiwijoyo, 9 March 2015.

92

of Yogyakarta has had its own office for land management named ‘Tepas Panitikismo’ which has made inventories of the land owned by the palace ever since. Significantly, the land tenure system states that any land in Yogyakarta belongs to the sultan as long as there is no legal document of private land ownership that proves otherwise. That economic privileges for the sultan are part of Yogyakarta’s special status is evident in the fact that the Agrarian Law passed in 1960 did not apply to land that belonged to the sultan and Paku Alam.39 Instead, Yogyakarta applied a peculiar dual system of land ownership that was based on both a traditional land tenure system for land tied to Sultan Ground and Paku Alam Ground and modern agrarian law for other forms of private property. The main benefit for the sultan from this arrangement is that he can circumvent property tax regulations that would require him to pay huge amounts of tax if the standard Agrarian Law applied to the palace. As the Agrarian Law is not lucrative for him, Hamengkubuwono X has been keen to keep the traditional arrangements in place and ensure that the tenure land clause remains a key feature of Yogyakarta’s special status.40 In sum, the political system of Yogyakarta combines informal features of a pre-colonial sultanate with a modern administration based on formal institutions such as laws written after Indonesia achieved independence. The Sultan towers at the top of both the Sultanate and the provincial government and can, therefore, draw on a rich mix of power resources. How these power resources stack up in relation to other political stakeholders, both nationally and locally, will be the focus of analysis in the following sections. 5.3. The Sultan and the Central Government As previously discussed, when Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX died in 1988, his successor as sultan, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, initially declined to take up the governor post and Paku Alam VIII ran the provincial administration instead 39

Said by Maria SW Soemardjono during the public hearing with the Parliament, 3 March 2011. Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, the head of government team of the Specialness Drafting Legislation and formerly the General Director of Governmental Affairs and Regional Autonomy, the Ministry of Home Affairs, 15 April 2015. 40

93

as an acting governor. Though he was still affiliated with the New Order regime through his positions in Golkar and KADIN, among others, symbolically at least, Hamengkubuwono’s move not to accept the governor position in 1988 had put some distance between him and Jakarta. Building on this, the sultan’s decision to join the ‘reformasi’ movement in 1998 provided an enormous boost to his popularity and made him one of the leading reformist figures in the country. At the same time, the political momentum generated by the students needed prominent figureheads to support their protests. In Yogyakarta, the sultan was the right symbol to make the protesters unite in a large rally.41 Seizing the opportunity, the sultan transformed his image from that of a locally prominent but otherwise fairly unknown heir to a traditional throne to that of a democratic reformer who was willing to become a popular leader during the ‘reformasi’ movement in Indonesia. This growing reputation helped the sultan to play a greater role in national politics, thereby following in the footsteps of his father who had also been a national figure in Indonesia. Stepping into National Politics The sultan’s leadership in bringing Yogyakarta through the political crisis without any damaging unrest made him a force to be reckoned with among the political elite of Indonesia. His arrival in national politics was cemented when he joined the leading reformasi figures Abdurrahman Wahid, Amien Rais and Megawati Sukarnoputri in signing the so-called ‘Ciganjur declaration’ which urged the Habibie government to implement fundamental reforms. The sultan’s involvement in the Ciganjur agreement increased his bargaining power against the central government which had lost much of its legitimacy when Suharto handed over power to the unpopular Habibie. This increased bargaining power proved useful when Paku Alam died in 1998 and the Sultan suddenly needed the central government’s support to appoint him as the governor of Yogyakarta. Following the impasse about the election process in 1998, when the Minister of Internal Affairs

41

Interview with Yanuardi, protester coordinator during the ‘reformasi’ mass rally in 1998 and lecturer of Yogyakarta State University, 17 May 2016.

94

initially refused to accept the result of the election in Yogyakarta’s regional parliament,42 Habibie stepped in and approved the election of the sultan for the sake of preventing a power vacuum in Yogyakarta (Jaweng, 2013, p. 109). In the following years, the sultan continuously tried to further increase his political influence in Jakarta and simultaneously use this growing prestige for political purposes in his hometown. In 2003, for example, he took part in the presidential convention of the Golkar Party, the former New Order state party which had transformed itself into a successful competitive party (Tomsa, 2008). Back in 1998, Sultan Hamengkubuwono had taken over the leadership of the party’s Yogyakarta chapter and from there he now launched his bid to become the party’s candidate for Indonesia’s first ever presidential election in 2004. The bid failed in the early stages, but even though the convention looked like a disaster for the sultan, he could still reap some benefits out of his defeat (Surdiasis, 2006, p. 158). As it turned out, back in Yogyakarta his move was appreciated as a sign that he was willing to serve the nation at the highest level.43 Thus, when he reiterated this willingness to become president in 2009, he once again received strong local support. After his supporters had conducted another great meeting (pisowanan agung) in October 2008 to show their support for the sultan’s presidential ambitions, a campaign team called ‘rainbow of change’ was formed and Hamengkubuwono intensified his lobbying among Jakarta’s elite. But the campaign, once again, failed to gather any momentum and the major parties threw their backing behind familiar candidates like incumbent president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, PDI-P chairwoman Megawati Sukarnoputri and incumbent vicepresident Jusuf Kalla. The only party that was willing to nominate the Sultan of Yogyakarta was a small party named ‘Republika Nusantara’ (RepublikaN). According to some media reports, the main reason why the Sultan failed to garner any support from the large parties was his failure to provide sufficient

42

See ‘Soal Pemilihan Gubernur DIY: Habibie Oke, ‘Depdagri Main Sendiri’, Kedaulatan Rakyat, 18 August 1998 43 Interview with Meth Kusumohadi, Chair of Satunama (CSO in Yogyakarta) and lecturer at Atmajaya University Yogyakarta, 3 July 2016.

95

‘gizi’44 to the parties (Rurit, 2009). The sultan refuted this report, but there can be little doubt that compared to the other candidates, Hamengkubuwono’s financial resources were simply not large enough to compete. But beyond the issue of ‘gizi’, his second consecutive failure to even secure a presidential nomination also showed that his influence in Jakarta and his nationwide popularity as a reformist alternative leader were nowhere near the levels of support he enjoyed in Yogyakarta. The failure thus indicated that the sultan might be popular among the people of Yogyakarta but, as Surdiasis (2006, p. 159) put it, he was equipped with insufficient ammunition to fight among Jakarta’s political elites. The Sultan and the Central Government Sultan Hamengkubuwono X’s attempts to gain greater influence at the national level should be seen in the context of his concerns about his position in Yogyakarta. Back in 1998, for example, he enhanced his public profile after lending his support to the student movement. This, in turn, made it easier for him to persuade interim president Habibie to endorse his bid for the governorship without due process. When his first gubernatorial term came to an end in 2003, the sultan had largely disappeared from the public view outside Yogyakarta, so by joining Golkar’s presidential convention he probably hoped to once again get better access to Indonesia’s national elites. In the end, these efforts proved futile, but for Hamengkubuwono’s local concerns, it did not really matter. President Megawati Soekarnoputri was so preoccupied with preparing for her first direct election that she paid scant attention to the situation in Yogyakarta. Once the regional parliament had proposed that the Sultan be re-elected unopposed, she readily signed off on the documents, thereby smoothly reinstating the sultan for another term as governor. Megawati’s decision reinforced the notion that as long as the major institutional change was occurring at the national level, Yogyakarta would have to wait for its status to be settled. In the hierarchy of institutional priorities, the introduction of direct presidential election and the preparation for revising the

44

Literally: ‘nutrition’; in the context of Indonesian politics usually referring to money and other material gifts given as bribery, see Tomsa (2006).

96

regional autonomy legislation clearly took precedence over Yogyakarta. Thus, the path of prolonged institutional ambiguity that had emerged for Yogyakarta at the national critical juncture of 1998 continued. While path-defining changes were being implemented elsewhere, Yogyakarta’s existing institutional arrangement, based on the conflicting regulations from 1950 and 1974/1999, remained in place, despite its ambiguity. When Megawati lost the 2004 election, the responsibility to address this conundrum shifted to new president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. And Yudhoyono, once he had settled into the presidency, seemed determined to do just that, namely by implementing the new local election law across the country. For Yogyakarta, this meant that it would have to switch its local government system to a quasi-constitutional monarchy in which the sultan’s role would be reduced to that of a ceremonial figurehead with no effective power.45 This was clearly unacceptable for Hamengkubuwono and so, relations between Yogyakarta and Jakarta became increasingly complicated during the Yudhoyono presidency. The tensions became particularly palpable when negotiations about a new specialness law for Yogyakarta resumed in 2005. The contents of these negotiations will be chronicled in more detail in Chapter 8, so, for now, it is sufficient to point out that from 2004 onwards the central government treated Yogyakarta effectively like any other province. For administrative purposes, this meant that Yogyakarta regional government acted as an extension of the central government to coordinate the districts and city within the region similar to other provinces in the country. As the regional law focuses the development authority on the district and city’s autonomy, the provincial government’s coordinating role is to evaluate and synchronise the program with the central government policy. Consequently, there was no exclusion of the regional government of Yogyakarta compared to another province as the central government referred to the regional law of 2004. All in all then, from an administrative point of view, relations between

45

Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015.

97

Jakarta and Yogyakarta were actually fairly smooth. The central government had far larger headaches with recalcitrant district governments that often overstepped their authority and passed local bylaws that contravened national legislation (Butt, 2010). Nevertheless, President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and his Home Affairs Minister Gamawan Fauzi seemed unhappy with Yogyakarta’s special privileges as the province’s lack of gubernatorial elections was seen as a blemish on the government’s democratic credentials. This attitude overshadowed the otherwise smooth relations between Jakarta and Yogyakarta and, as will be outlined in Chapter 8, it would be a major obstacle to a swift resolution of Yogyakarta’s future status.

Figure 5.2: Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and Sultan Hamengkubuwono X (Viva.co.id)

5.4. The Sultan and the Regional Government of Yogyakarta Having examined the sultan’s relationship with the central government in the preceding section, I now will move to investigate the relationship of the sultan with the provincial government of Yogyakarta. Headed by the sultan himself, this government consists of the various departments of the provincial administration, the provincial parliament and the judiciary all of which are meant to work together to develop the region. In contrast to the central government, whose officials interact with the sultan from faraway Jakarta and do not have any cultural connections with the former traditional kingdom, the three provincial institutions in Yogyakarta

98

experience the sultan not only as their head of government but also as a traditional ruler who commands respect for other reasons than his position as governor. This cultural connection may create conflicting interests among those individuals working for the provincial government in performing their duties and responsibilities. Paternalism in the Bureaucracy As the governor of Yogyakarta, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X runs his administration based on the same formal rules as other subnational governments of the Republic of Indonesia. Even though he is also the traditional ruler of the Yogyakarta Sultanate, his role as sultan is confined to cultural and traditional ceremonies and of less significance than his administrative role. Consequently, the sultan spends most of his time in the governor’s office in the Kepatihan complex rather than the royal palace of Yogyakarta. In running the administration, the sultan applies democratic procedures, for example by allowing the participation of his staff to share their opinions. Significantly, he utilises the Indonesian language which is more egalitarian than the Javanese language in his communication with his team.46 Especially when delivering speeches or statements in public related to his governor position, the sultan expresses himself in the Indonesian language. The use of Javanese, by contrast, is limited to formal palace events.

46

Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, 2 February 2015.

99

Figure 5.3: The Palace of Kasultanan Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat (Ipank/Yogyakarta.panduanwisata.id)

The use of language is significant because it is a prominent mark of distinction between the sultan’s different roles. However, despite the general care taken by the sultan to switch between the languages depending on the specific engagement, Hamengkubuwono’s statements still occasionally cause perplexity among his staff because of the sultan’s tendency to intersperse formal speeches as governor with highly symbolic phrases more likely to be associated with his role as traditional sultan. In fact, such symbolic language is common practice when the sultan addresses public audiences. However, this does not work well with the provincial government. As a governor, the sultan is expected to provide clear instructions in line with existing government procedures. Technical issues and budget questions need to be followed up by local bureaucrats so the lack of clear commands makes it difficult for his staff to comprehend the instructions. At times, bureaucrats need to invite experts on Javanese culture to interpret the sultan’s instructions.47 The relationship between these bureaucrats and the sultan, therefore, resembles the kind of paternalistic connections that would more commonly be

47

This was explained to me by a member of the gubernatorial staff while discussing administrative procedures in the regional government office of Yogyakarta, 22 February 2016.

100

expected from the royal palace.48 In fact, at times there is overlap between staff working simultaneously in the provincial administration and the royal palace where they become the sultan’s courtiers. That the modern democratic and the traditional monarchical institutions tend to overlap is also evident in the requirement for bureaucrats intent on climbing the ranks in the provincial administration to attend a leadership training that focuses on the cultural values of Yogyakarta.49 Many participants of this training subsequently volunteer to become courtiers at the sultan’s palace.50 A Submissive Legislative Council If the relationship between the sultan and the provincial bureaucracy is characterized by culturally induced loyalty, the provincial parliament of Yogyakarta has a more problematic relationship with the sultan. With a mandate to represent the people and provide ‘checks and balance’ vis-à-vis the executive, the parliament’s formal role is to monitor the sultan and hold his administration accountable for its policies. However, the checks and balance system in Yogyakarta is extremely weak, for two main reasons. First of all, like elsewhere in Indonesia (Buehler 2010), the subnational parliament lacks the human and material resources to counter the dominance of the executive in local politics. Second, in Yogyakarta, the sultan is such a towering figure in local politics that opposing or challenging him is politically risky for parliamentarians keen not to jeopardize their prospects for re-election. Even if they did decide to challenge the sultan over policy or personnel decisions, the fact that he is appointed by the central government rather than elected by the people makes it near impossible to defy him. First, parliament’s lack of capacity and expertise has put it in a weak position when it comes to crucial political decisions that affect Yogyakarta’s special 48

Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, 2 February 2015. The training is called ‘SATRIYA’ and was mandated by the provincial government’s regulation number 53 of 2014. The word satriya literally means ‘knight’, but here it is an acronym standing for Selaras (harmonious), Akal budi luhur (sublime rationality), Teladan (paragon), Rela melayani (voluntary to serve), Inovatif (innovative), Yakin dan percaya diri (trust and confidence) and Ahli Profesional (professional expertise). 50 Interview with Jatiningrat, the Sultan’s cousin and the Head of Dwarapura office in the palace, 29 February 2016. 49

101

status. This was most evident during the prolonged process of drafting the specialness law. Back in 2003, for example, the provincial parliament had actually formulated a draft law and submitted it to the central government but because of irregularities during the submission process, this draft was never seriously considered. In addition to general inexperience and lack of capacity, the work of the provincial parliament was also affected by the growing fragmentation of the party system as several new parties won seats in the 2004 and 2009 elections (Tomsa, 2015a). This fragmentation made it even more difficult for the parliament to stand up to the executive. Second, if in the early days of the post-Suharto era, parliament could at least flex its muscles during the indirect election process for the governor (as it did in 1998), the abolition of these indirect elections has tilted the balance of power very clearly towards the sultan. Even in 2003, when parliaments across Indonesia still had the task of electing governors, Yogyakarta’s provincial parliament already failed to impose its authority over the sultan when pro-Sultan demonstrators outside parliament successfully pressured the legislators to abandon plans to hold an indirect election. Ever since this event, the relationship between parliament and the sultan has been extremely unbalanced and the legislature is little more than an ornamental institution to the regional government of Yogyakarta. In fact, the political parties in the regional parliament are in a difficult situation in dealing with decision-making processes involving the sultan. The parliament has been hesitant to directly confront the governor. In a given situation such as the plenary meeting of the regional parliament, it is common practice to respect the sultan with his traditional attributes, and it occurs automatically among people in front of the sultan, including the chair of Parliament (Santoso, 2016, p. 190). Like many other Yogyakartans, many members of parliament feel a strong cultural bond with their traditional leader and therefore powerless to challenge him. Moreover, the relationship between parliament and the governor is less driven by money politics than in other provinces because the sultan is appointed and has no connection with any political party supporting him as governor. Compared to other governors in the country who had to seek their nominations from political parties

102

during expensive election campaigns, the sultan is independent of the parties and has no need to buy support during election times. An Independent Relation with the Judiciary With the advent of decentralization, many local leaders in Indonesia have become involved in large-scale corruption cases (Davidson, 2007; Tomsa, 2015a). By contrast, Hamengkubuwono X has so far managed to steer clear of any legal controversies and has never been implicated in corruption. As a traditional ruler who is widely regarded as a cultural symbol of morality in Yogyakarta, the sultan is well aware of the potentially damaging impact legal problems would have on his legitimacy. Accordingly, up until now, it is still not known whether the sultan is involved in any ongoing investigations. Back in 2005, allegations surfaced that he might be implicated in a corruption case about the project development of a wireless network based on code division multiple access (CDMA). However, even though the sultan, in his capacity as governor, had provided authorization for the financial disbursement, the investigation did not get very far. Although the attorney general’s office formed a team to investigate the case, it eventually closed after the fund was given back to the provincial budget (Amin, 2006). One area that has shed negative light onto the sultan in recent years is his handling of land conflicts that have occurred in areas of land that are palace property but cultivated by ordinary people. A poor administrative process on ‘serat kekancingan’51 conducted by Paniti Kismo52 has caused several legal disputes in the court about the use of royal land in the Yogyakarta region. As the disputes involved business owners who have to hold reference letters from the palace and individuals who have resided in the area for decades while waiting for these reference letters, the conflicts forced the palace to provide clarification about those letters. Hamengkubuwono’s brother Hadiwinoto, who is responsible for the Paniti Kismo office, regretted the trials and urged the involved parties to resolve the

51

The serat kekancingan is a formal reference letter provided by the sultan. It entitles an individual to reside in or cultivate the Sultan ground. 52 The Paniti Kismo is an office in the palace which is responsible for the management of Sultan ground.

103

problem outside the courts.53 So far, however, these trials about land conflicts have failed to produce any tangible results. And while there is no evidence that the sultan or other members of the palace interfered in the judicial process, the cases reinforced the public impression that the palace is untouchable, even if the main problems at the heart of the conflicts seem to lie with the bureaucratic procedures within the Paniti Kismo office. Also, despite allegations of collusion and nepotism between the palace and business owners in the region (Rakhmawati, 2013, p. 50), no evidence has been produced to prove these allegations. Thus, the sultan has, so far, stayed clear of any serious legal problems, maintaining an aura of immense moral authority. 5.5. The Sultan and the District and City Governments in Yogyakarta The Yogyakarta Special Region is the second smallest sub-national unit of government in Indonesia with only five local governments consisting of four districts (Sleman, Bantul, Kulon Progo and Gunung Kidul Districts) and a city (Yogyakarta City). As the extension of the central government, the sultan as the governor is responsible not only for carrying out all central government projects in Yogyakarta but also for coordinating the development policies of local authorities in the region.

Figure 5.4: Map of City and Districts of the Yogyakarta Special Region (Wikiwand)

53

See ‘Magersari Mulai Picu Konflik’, Harian Jogja, 5 December 2012.

104

The Governor and the Local Governments After becoming governor in 1998, Hamengkubuwono X had to gradually reorganise his relationships with local authorities in the region as changing regulations about local autonomy had a significant impact on the relative power of district heads and mayors. The 1999 laws on regional autonomy devolved the bulk of governmental affairs to the local level, giving district and municipal governments the right to formulate their own local regulations and become directly accountable to the central government (Buehler, 2010, p. 270; Hill, 2014, p. 96). During these early years of decentralization, governors were effectively bypassed in the devolution of power. In response, Hamengkubuwono strengthened his political ties with local elites by capitalising on his cultural and political capital as both sultan and governor by supporting them in local elections. He intensified these efforts after the introduction of direct local elections in 2004, but interestingly he did not always support close family members running in these elections. For example, the sultan’s support for Idham Samawi, incumbent district head of Bantul, was evident in the 2005 election even though there were three candidates and one of them was the sultan’s brother (Sulistiyanto 2009). Hamengkubuwono had good reasons to support the incumbent in this election; back in 2003, Idham Samawi had demonstrated his loyalty to the sultan when he mobilized residents of his district to protest in front of parliament against the planned indirect gubernatorial election. In 2005, Hamengkubuwono returned the favour by supporting Idham’s re-election bid. The support, however, was typically delivered in rather disguised fashion such as ‘statements’ and ‘signals’ whose meaning was not always easily understood. According to Sulistiyanto (2009, p. 201) though, most voters were familiar with the sultan’s cryptic messages and understood them as encouragement to vote for Idham Samawi. By choosing this way of political support, Hamengkubuwono avoided the accusation of openly supporting a certain candidate in the election, yet still sent strong signals to the candidates and voters. In 2012, during the election for the mayor of Yogyakarta city, the Sultan seemed not to back any candidate; however, it was obvious, as said by the Sultan’s brother, Prabukusumo, that one of the candidates, Haryadi Suyuti,

105

gained strong support from the palace and finally he won the election to be the mayor of Yogyakarta city until 2017.54 The introduction of direct local elections and, more importantly, the concurrent strengthening of gubernatorial powers in the revised regional autonomy laws of 2004 raised the bargaining power of the governor vis-à-vis local governments as it tended to re-centralise more governmental affairs. This trend, whereby the central government would try to recapture some of the decisionmaking powers it had lost to local governments, would continue throughout the Yudhoyono years (Tomsa, 2015b). For provinces, as the extended arms of the central government, this was good news as governors now had the authority to evaluate local government regulations and reject them if they were deemed to violate higher regulations. In Yogyakarta, Hamengkubuwono made use of these new powers early on when he rejected a new employee welfare policy designed by the mayor of the City of Yogyakarta because it only applied to central government officials and not to local administrators. This provision violated other existing regulations, giving the sultan a pretext to request revisions that would bring the Yogyakarta city policies in line with those of other local governments in Yogyakarta.55 In the end, all local governments in Yogyakarta agreed to apply the same kind of employee welfare policy. An important side effect of the sultan’s strengthened grip over local governments in the province was that he also secured their support for his broader goal of maintaining the special status of Yogyakarta as a province and his own special status as an unelected governor. Bureaucratic versus Cultural Ties with Local Officials Working relations between the governor on the one hand and the various district heads and the mayor of the city of Yogyakarta on the other are shaped by a

54

See ‘Haryadi Suyuti Pimpin Kota Yogyakarta’ Tempo.co, 29 September 2011, https://nasional.tempo.co/read/359063/haryadi-suyuti-pimpin-kota-yogyakarta, accessed 22 December 2017. 55 See ‘Keputusan Gubernur Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta Nomor 94/KEP/2007 tentang Evaluasi Rancangan Peraturan Daerah Kota Yogyakarta tentang Anggaran Pendapatan dan Belanja Daerah Tahun 2007 dan Rancangan Peraturan Walikota Yogyakarta tentang Penjabaran Anggaran Pendapatan dan Belanja Daerah Tahun Anggaran 2007’.

106

mix of professional administrative interactions and the latter’s culturally imbued deference to the Sultan because of his elevated status. According to the mayor of the Yogyakarta municipality, for example, cultural ties with the sultan make it near impossible to decline invitations to meetings with the governor as it would be seen as disobedience towards a traditional ruler. Haryadi Suyuti, the mayor of Yogyakarta municipality said, It is an honour for me to receive invitations from Ngarso Dalem.56 It is actually common for me to have personal communication with the sultan as it is, indeed, often more effective to talk directly to the sultan. By contrast, if we follow the established bureaucratic procedures, it takes more time and is relatively slow. 57 As governor, the sultan frequently comments on socio-political and socio-economic issues in his province. At times, these comments include criticism of district-level policies and developments, prompting district heads to try to solve the issues addressed by the sultan quickly. However, the bureaucratic processes involved in solving these issues take time, and in some cases, local governments have tried to shift responsibility to the provincial government. One recent example relates to developments in the property sector of the hotel and modern retail networks in Yogyakarta city and Sleman district. Hamengkubuwono criticized the massive expansion of the sector as uncontrollable.58 By appealing against the hotel’s development, he got publicity. However, the Sultan provided no formal instruction to the district and city governments because some of those developments involved his family member as part of the projects.59 In January 2014, the Yogyakarta city government’s licensing office said it was processing permits for 106 new hotels in the city (Handito, 2014). Local officials argued that they were unable to stop the construction of these hotels as the sultan had requested as long as the developers 56

Ngarso Dalem is a frequently used term to call the sultan among the people of Yogyakarta. Interview with Haryadi Suyuti, the mayor of Yogyakarta City, 10 April 2015. 58 See ‘Sri Sultan: Pembangunan Hotel Harus Terkendali’, Kompas.com, 22 August 2014, http://travel.kompas.com/read/2014/08/22/1155008/Sri.Sultan.Pembangunan.Hotel.Harus.Terk endali, accessed 21 December 2017. 59 This information obtained during the interview with informants and discussion with CSO’s members. 57

107

had the right permits to build the construction. Many locals shared the sultan’s concerns and expressed their disapproval, arguing that the new developments would cause environmental problems and lead to the eviction of the traditional market (Suyatna, 2011). Despite the seemingly powerful opposition from the sultan and local people, construction of new hotels has continued unabated in Yogyakarta. 5.6. Conclusion This chapter aimed to investigate the institutional relations between the sultan and the central, provincial and district government with whom he often interacts. There is a stark difference in how the central government on the one hand and provincial and district governments, on the other hand, perceive the relative authority of the sultan because of different levels of proximity to the sultan. Many local government officials, for example, have close cultural ties to the palace, which necessitates deference to the traditional cultural authority of the sultan. For the central government, on the other hand, the sultan is little more than just another governor. In fact, during the Yudhoyono presidency, discontent with Yogyakarta’s special

status

increased

within

the

central

government,

prompting

Hamengkubuwono to become more active in national politics to enhance his bargaining power during the ongoing deliberations about a new specialness law. By contrast, the sultan’s cultural and political positions are powerful against members of the provincial, municipal and district governments in Yogyakarta. As a result, intergovernmental relations between the sultan and other administrative institutions at these levels are relatively smooth. Generally, the combination of the sultan’s cultural and political power has made local governments hesitant to oppose Hamengkubuwono’s policies in their regions. Consequently, the sultan has faced no serious challenges to his position from other governmental institutions in Yogyakarta.

108

CHAPTER 6 THE NON-GOVERNMENTAL ORGANIZATION IN YOGYAKARTA

6.1. Introduction Following the discussion of Sultan Hamengkubuwono’s relations with the central, provincial and district governments, this chapter examines the sultan’s relationship with representatives of Yogyakarta’s civil and economic society. The analysis complements the previous chapter insofar as it investigates further to what extent the sultan’s special status as an unelected governor is broadly accepted or not within the political environment in which he operates. While the previous chapter focused on governmental institutions, the analysis now moves on to stakeholders outside the government including civil society organizations (CSOs), community movements, local media, religious organizations as well as the business sector. For all these groups and actors, democratization opened up new political spaces and opportunities to redefine their relations with the sultan. At the same time, however, the sultan’s long-established and deeply-rooted authority also set limits to these new opportunities. This chapter will describe the relationship between the sultan and key representatives of civil and economic society and then analyse how these important stakeholders responded to the path-defining institutional developments that allowed the sultan to hold on to power after 1998. It will show their behaviour under the intertwined institution and how some civil society organizations, especially advocacy groups, became major critics of the sultan, virtually all other influential groups remained loyal to the sultan and avoided challenging him openly. For example, the media rarely criticized the sultan for his policies or personnel decisions, treating Hamengkubuwono instead as a ‘media darling’ because any news related to him ensures wide attention from the people. The religious community, meanwhile, also provided strong support to the sultan, with many groups more interested in deepening patronage relations rather than challenging the

109

sultan’s status. Lastly, the business community also helped strengthen the position of the sultan as they sought the sultan’s support for controversial development projects in Yogyakarta. 6.2. Civil Society in Yogyakarta As a highly urbanized region with a prominent tertiary education sector, Yogyakarta is home to hundreds of civil society organizations and community associations and social movements (Kustiningsih, 2012). CSOs have existed in Yogyakarta since the 1970s and mostly operated as charitable foundations focusing on social work as the New Order regime restricted political space for other types of organizations. Since the beginning of the reform era, their numbers have increased significantly and many new organizations have widened their scope of activities to social justice issues, advocacy and the monitoring of government policies as well as cases of corruption, collusion and nepotism. Consequently, CSOs have become the most critical group of the development process in Yogyakarta under Sultan’s administration. Many civil society groups maintain close relations with Sultan Hamengkubuwono X because his role in the 1998 reform movement earned him a reputation as a defender of democratic values. Furthermore, many community groups feel that they have a special cultural bond with the sultan due to his role as traditional ruler. Hamengkubuwono, for his part, is well-aware of the value of these connections as they provide popular support for him. He has therefore carefully cultivated good relations with many community leaders and activists. The close relations between the palace and civil society are further reinforced by the queen who has been very active in several women’s groups and community organizations. However, relations are not always smooth. Many civil society groups have identified growing economic, social and political problems in Yogyakarta and, increasingly, these problems are related to local development issues and conflicts over land and property, including land that belongs to the palace.

110

Conflicts over Land CSOs empower the society through various activities such as advocating, facilitating, assisting and training programs. One of the most prominent advocacy groups is the Legal Aid Institute (LBH) of Yogyakarta which has assisted people who are vulnerable to discriminative policies in the region since its establishment in 1981.60 With decades of experience, LBH has not shied away from representing people who need legal assistance in conflicts with the government, powerful business corporations and even the royal family. For example, since 2006 LBH and other CSOs have been advocating for the interests of people in the seaboard of Kulon Progo district. Here, the district government and members of the royal family unilaterally changed the agricultural land designation to that of an industrial zone in order to build a sand mining company (Widyanta, 2011). The plans challenged the livelihoods of people who had cultivated the land here for more than three decades. Significantly, the land in question included the Pakualam ground, an important asset of the royal family (Perkasa, 2014). When people resisted the development plans, LBH Yogyakarta provided legal support to those who faced a trial against the unjust policy of the government in the court related to land tenure policy in Yogyakarta. Most cases have shown that the government and developer proceeded to trial on the land dispute as they believed had the right from the Sultan to utilise the land, based on the land tenure system. With the help of LBH and other CSOs, the coastal farmers organised themselves in a new association called Paguyuban Petani Lahan Pantai/PPLP. They then challenged the Kulon Progo local government and the royal family over the land dispute in the courts, arguing that based on the Agrarian Law they were actually entitled to the land. The royal family contested this view and argued instead that based on the traditional right of land ownership, the land belongs to the sultan and the royal family. During the prolonged dispute, which dragged on over several years, the Legal Aid Institute reported an increasing number of human rights violations in the contested area. However, their efforts were ultimately in vain as

60

Mentioned during the FGD with Yogyakarta NGO Forum, 19 March 2015.

111

the mining project went ahead and LBH largely failed in their endeavours to defend the people against the developers and the royal family.61 In a similar case in 2011, community movements also failed to stop plans for a new international airport in Yogyakarta. Here, too, the sultan and the royal family claimed traditional ownership of the land in order to facilitate the development of a local government project. In other instances, civil society groups have been more successful when confronting the sultan and his interests. For example, the Institute for Research and Empowerment (IRE) of Yogyakarta, which was established by several faculty members of Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta in 1994, has at times openly opposed development plans devised in the royal palace. In 2005, the IRE provided a report about the government’s plans for the development of a modern market network in Yogyakarta. In their report, the IRE explained that such a modern market might marginalise the economic activities of the people as they depend on the traditional market sector (Sujito, 2005, pp. 34-35). In that year, Sultan Hamengkubuwono had agreed to build a shopping mall on his land which necessitated the eviction of a cultural heritage building and is located near a traditional market. The sultan argued that the mall would help small and mediumsized enterprises to sell their products and he expressed disbelief at the people’s rejection of the mall development. Sultan HB X, the governor of Yogyakarta special region, claimed to negotiate with the investor of a mall and hypermart operated in Yogyakarta to sell small and medium enterprises products and help the empowerment of people’s economic activities. Accordingly, he wondered and did not understand why there were people rejecting the mall because the mall was similar to other stores but here, they located in one building. “Those who criticize the development of the mall never know that I had been negotiating it with the developer and the logic that said the mall and hypermart are only for outside goods are nonsense… 62

61

“Pelanggaran HAM di Jogja Meningkat 2008, LBH Jogja Tangani 321 Kasus”, Radar Jogja, 24 December 2008. 62 “Saya Heran Kenapa Mal Ditolak. Kalau Mal tidak mau memberi konsesi, jangan berdiri sendiri”, Kompas, 19 December 2005.

112

Initially, the sultan was undeterred and gave the green light for the new development, thus paving the way for a far-flung modern market network in Yogyakarta city and Sleman District. But as the new markets had adverse effects on the traditional markets, criticism against the sultan and the local governments continued unabated (Suyatna, 2011). Eventually, both local governments felt compelled to enact regulations to limit the spread of the new market networks. The development of new markets and the growth of the hospitality sector in Yogyakarta have also raised concerns among environmental groups such as Wahana Lingkungan Hidup (Walhi), who have highlighted conflicts over water supply and missing or faulty environmental impact analyses. Indeed, since 2009 massive developments in the retail and hospitality sectors have led to the construction of many new hotels. These new developments triggered unprecedented conflicts over resources as residents around the new buildings had their water supplies cut due to the increasing usage by the new hotels. Demands to revoke permits for new buildings, however, fell on deaf ears. Sultan Hamengkubuwono evaded his responsibility by appealing to the local governments to terminate the building processes and take into account existing spatial policies. The sultan’s unwillingness to respond to the people’s concerns created disappointment among CSOs and the people in Yogyakarta who subsequently organised themselves into a community movement to strengthen their struggle against the government. Overall, conflicts over land have been the most contentious issue in Yogyakarta’s development since the beginning of the reform era. Accordingly, community movements related to land conflicts have been a key feature of Yogyakarta’s civil society. Many of these movements have come into direct conflict with the sultan as the palace controls large swaths of land around Yogyakarta.63 The main cause of these conflicts was related to ambiguous and contradictory legislation that allowed the sultan to claim possession of land for which ordinary people actually held valid land certificates. In most cases, BPN, the National Land Agency that authorises the legal document of land ownership, simply 63

“Himpunan Masalah Agraria Struktural di DIY Terkini”, see http://selamatkanbumi.com/himpunan-masalah-agraria-struktural-di-diy/

113

crossed out the names of the residents and changed the status of land ownership to the sultan as if the original title of the land belonged to the sultanate. Advocacy groups and community organizations usually lacked the resources to challenge these actions. Thus, even though democratization and decentralization have empowered more local actors to challenge policies by the regional and local governments, these new players struggled to gain wider public attention, allowing the sultan to ignore criticisms about his handling of local land conflicts. Significantly, one reason for the lack of public attention to these issues has been the nature of media coverage about Hamengkubuwono, as the next section will explain. 6.3. The Local Media Yogyakarta has a vibrant media landscape that includes newspapers, radio stations, television channels and online media sites. Indonesia’s first local daily newspaper after independence was the Yogyakarta-based daily Kedaulatan Rakyat (KR)64, which published its first edition on 27 September 1945. For a long time, KR had the largest circulation of all newspapers in the region. Another local newspaper in Yogyakarta is Bernas,65 which was established in 1946 but changed its name several times over the years. More recently, national media conglomerates have also started publishing local newspapers in Yogyakarta. The arrival of papers like Radar Jogja (published by the Jawa Pos National Network/JPNN), Tribun (Kompas Gramedia Group) and Harian Jogja (Bisnis Indonesia Group) on the Yogyakarta market has decreased the circulation numbers of Bernas and KR. Furthermore, the massive spread of online media has further diversified the media landscape, not least because established newspapers have added online versions of their print editions. The new online offers represent responses to the behaviour of young readers who routinely turn to online and social media to gather the information they need. The spread of online media has also forced radio and television stations

64

‘Kedaulatan Rakyat’, literally means people’s sovereignty. ‘Bernas’ means firm but, formerly, it is an abbreviation of Berita Nasional, which means national news. 65

114

in Yogyakarta to expand their offers to the internet. Yogyakarta has many local radio stations, but most of them broadcast music and lifestyle programs only, whereas news content is very limited. The government-owned radio station Radio of the Republic of Indonesia, established in 1945, is the radio station with the most extensive news program. However, most of the news that is broadcasted via RRI covers national events and developments, leaving little scope for local politics. This situation also applies to television in Yogyakarta; although there are a few local television stations in Yogyakarta (one of them owned by the sultan’s family), the dominant broadcasters are the national television networks. Because radio and television have limited time slots for news, they broaden their business to online media to provide people with newsworthy information similar to a newspaper. While the media landscape is diverse, important debates about politics often take place in social media forums. In 2011, Yogyakarta became the city with the third largest number of Twitter users after Jakarta and Bandung.66 The penetration of the internet in Yogyakarta was 38.5% in 201267 and rapidly increased to 63% of people as active users of the web in 2014.68 Today, social media is an important site for political debate. In fact, while much of the mainstream media has shied away from criticizing the sultan and his status, social media provides a new forum where many citizens feel more comfortable to express critical thoughts about the sultan. Sultan as the ‘Media Darling' For the local mainstream media, regular coverage of the movements and statements of the sultan is important because news about him gains the peoples’ attention.69 However, there are subtle differences in how the various media outlets deliver news about Sultan Hamengkubuwono, his policies and other developments that are connected to the royal family. For example, KR has long been known for 66

‘Indonesia Social Media Landscape’ in 2011, 2nd report, by SalingSilang.com. ‘Pengguna Internet 2012’, Asosiasi Penyelenggara Jasa Internet Indonesia (APJII). 68 “Jumlah Pengguna Internet Indonesia Capai 88,1 Juta, see http://tekno.liputan6.com/read/2197413/jumlah-pengguna-internet-indonesia-capai-881-juta, retrieved 3 August 2016. 69 Interview with Kusno W. Utomo, 11 February 2015. 67

115

its close relations with the palace. Accordingly, their coverage of the sultan and regional developments in Yogyakarta is often written in a very positive tone that flatters the sultan. The editor in chief of KR rejects accusations that this positive reporting is related to the fact that he and many journalists have close ties to the sultan. Instead, he explains this approach to journalism as follows that the policy attempts to neutralise any news which may raise a conflict in the society. KR was in the position to deliver peoples’ aspirations, what they want. Even though academic of UGM had its own conception of Yogyakarta specialness. We assumed the conflicting aspirations produced the richness and problematic nature of specialness process. There was an editorial policy on that matter to make sure everything was fine.70 In contrast to KR, another local newspaper, Bernas, applies a different approach when reporting about the situation in Yogyakarta. Bernas implements a pro-business approach to increase its circulation and gain more profit from its news by focusing on the interest of the people in Yogyakarta. Because most attention by that time said to be focused on the aspiring group that supported the appointment mechanism, reporting news on this group made people buy the newspaper and, of course, attracted more advertising. However, abiding by journalism principle in the news on objectivity keeps allowing them to satisfy people’s curiosity by conveying news through overt language even on reportage about Sultan and, of course, Bernas gains more profits (Eprilianty, 2009, p. 208). KR’s editorial policy to suppress critical reporting by changing the news or not publishing articles that are deemed too critical of the sultan has discouraged many local journalists from making critical reports about the government and its policies. Consequently, similar to KR, local media outlets tend to publish only government-friendly news and have become something akin to a public relations tool for the local government.71 In the rare instances when a journalist does write a critical report about the Sultan and it does get published, it may result in an intervention into the media from the government. According to a journalist who 70

Interview with Octo Lampito, the Head of Editor of Kedaulatan Rakyat, 22 February 2016. Interview with Pino Agustin, member of the Alliance of Independent Journalist, 14 August 2016. 71

116

joined the Alliance of Independent Journalists (AJI): There is a local newspaper journalist (Kedaulatan Rakyat) who has critical perspectives on the sultan’s land policy. When he wrote a report based on credible sources and with critical statements, it did get published. But the report was spotted by the regional government, and so the government requested that the newspaper had to publish an additional report which contains a response from the government. I see an intervention.72 Such interventions also affect the national newspapers when they write about local politics; however, these papers are generally a bit more independent than local media outlets. A newspaper editor73 of the Radar Jogja daily criticises the way local media describe local politics of Yogyakarta because the media should inform people about the actual events that occur in the region. In fact, Radar Jogja is well known to be critical towards the sultan as a way of gaining attention from the people and increasing its circulation.74 Similarly, other newspapers that are linked to national publishers in Indonesia also benefit from having no conflict of interest in reporting about the people’s grievances towards the sultan and his government policies. Without clientelistic connections to the palace, editorial boards are more autonomous in their decisions about what articles get published and which ones are better shelved. Like the local press, local electronic media outlets such as local radio and television stations are also rarely critical of the sultan. For example, the local television station JogjaTV frequently reports about the economic, social and political situation in Yogyakarta. But the station is owned by the sultan’s family and, as such, its journalism is hardly independent. When JogjaTV’s news programs present reports about mass rallies by community organizations protesting against government policies, the reports are usually brief and descriptive without background or contextual information. Similarly, complementary reports on the channel’s website also only describe the event without further analysis related to the mass rally.

72

Ibid. Interview with Kusno W. Utomo, 18 February 2016. 74 Mention by informants who have a closed relation to the Sultan. 73

117

Expressing Their Views about the Sultan Online based media provide an opportunity for people to express their voice and communicate with other individuals in society. The limited opportunities to articulate their interests in conventional media outlets such as newspapers, radio and television make online and social media a popular choice for people keen to deliver their opinion about Yogyakarta. But it is not just ordinary citizens who utilize social media. Many civil society organizations and community groups have also resorted to social media to present their criticisms and grievances about the sultan and the government. Blogs, in particular, have become an important outlet for these groups.75 Unrestricted by editorial policies, blogs can be an effective medium to express critical opinions about social, economic and political issues in Yogyakarta. Blog writers use this medium to explain their struggle against the sultan, the government and business owners, thereby revealing many issues that remain unseen in local newspapers and television. For example, the aforementioned PPLP have used their blog, https://kulonprogotolaktambangbesi.wordpress.com/, to write about the land disputes and tenure problems in the coastal areas of Kulon Progo, Bantul and Gunung Kidul Districts. Lacking access to the mainstream media, the PPLP in Kulon Progo have highlighted the sultan’s coercive approach to the dispute in their blog and criticized his proposal to turn the agricultural area into an industrial and mining zone. In their struggle for the local community, PPLP has also used social media to seek broader support from nationally based blogs and facebook groups run by agrarian community movements in other parts of the country (for example, http://selamatkanbumi.com/id/

and

https://www.facebook.com/ForumKomunikasiMasyarakatAgraris). The conflict about the development of new malls and markets is also best documented on social media. At https://wargaberdaya.wordpress.com/ readers will find detailed information about the environmental and water supply problems caused by those projects. The blog explains that the core consequence of the 75

Several CSOs in Yogyakarta have their own website and association and community organization and mostly use Facebook and blogs.

118

building development is that the new hospitality businesses are sucking up the water supply for entire neighbourhoods. As new large wells are being opened, those traditionally used by residents are drying up. To what extent these efforts to raise awareness through blogs are effective is hard to determine. While blogs provide a new outlet for otherwise disenfranchised groups to express their grievances, their reach is limited and the sultan and other stakeholders in the dispute have largely ignored the demands by the civil society groups. In fact, Sultan Hamengkubuwono has been quite effective in utilising social media himself, even though it has to be said that he embraced the opportunities of the internet rather slowly. From 2008 to 2013, the sultan maintained two Facebook pages,76 but they were left mostly unattended. The first page posted pictures about the sultan’s activities during his campaign to become a presidential candidate, while the second one provided occasional comments on social or political events. It was not clear who was responsible for managing these sites and there were no new posts after January 2013. Then, after a two year lull period, in June 2015, the palace launched new social media accounts on Instagram (kratonjogja_), Facebook (#kratonjogja) and Twitter (@kratonjogja). Administered by Hamengkubuwono’s daughter GKR Hayu, they are managed directly out of the head office77 within the palace organization. Through these new social media accounts, the palace now communicates more regularly with the people of Yogyakarta and, at the same time, people have the chance to write their comments about the sultan, the royal family and developments in Yogyakarta more broadly. In reality, however, these pages are not very interactive. There is little dialogue between the palace and the pages’ users and there are certainly hardly any critical posts from users.78 Basically, these accounts serve the purpose of informing the public about the sultan’s activities and cultural events that occur in the palace. But

76

See https://www.facebook.com/sri.sultan and https://www.facebook.com/srisultan.hamengkubuwonox.90 77 Penghageng Tepas Tandha Yekti (The Head of Office for Information and Social Media Affairs), see http://www.infokomputer.com/2016/07/profil/gkr-hayu-srikandi-teknologi-keratonyogyakarta/, retrieved 10 August 2016. 78 There is a negative comment on 7 August 2015 which asks the palace to dismiss its facebook page related the closing of the palace for public because of palace internal activities .

119

they are also a new way of communicating the sultan’s leadership skills to the people as they tend to not only show a good image of the palace and Yogyakarta but also highlight how the sultan manages potential problems in the region, including religious conflict, which will be explained in the next setion. 6.4. Relations between the Sultan and Religious Organizations The former Yogyakarta Sultanate is an Islamic monarchy which is not only steeped in Javanese tradition but also attributed with many Islamic symbols. The most prominent of these is perhaps the title of Sultan.79 This title provides the ruler of Yogyakarta with religious authority to practise Islamic mysticism which is still fairly prominent in Yogyakarta. Because of this authority, some people in Yogyakarta regard the sultan as not only their traditional leader but also their religious/spiritual leader (Woodward, 1989). However, given the region’s legacy as a former centre for Buddhism and Hinduism, the sultanate also represents the Javanese tradition of syncretism which combines elements of various religions.80 This tradition provides a historically rooted mandate for the sultan to uphold the values of religious diversity and to create a conducive environment for freedom of religion/belief in the region (Halili & Naipospos, 2014, p. 152). For the sultan, balancing these two important cultural traditions within his role as leader can at times be challenging. Dealing with Religious Diversity in Yogyakarta The Yogyakarta Sultanate has a historical connection with the largest two Islamic organizations in Indonesia, Muhammadiyah and Nahdhatul Ulama (NU). Muhammadiyah, the modernist Islamic organization in Indonesia, was established by Ahmad Dahlan in the mosque adjacent to the palace, named ‘Gedhe Kauman’ mosque. Dahlan was close to Sultan Hamengkubuwono VII and good relations between the palace and Muhammadiyah have been the norm ever since, even 79

The Sultan has a long name which includes an Islamic attribute in it. The Sultan’s title is ‘Ngarsa Dalem Sampeyan Dalem ingkang Sinuwun Kangjeng Sultan Hamengku Buwana Senapati-ing-Ngalaga Abdurrahman Sayidin Panatagama Khalifatullah ingkang Jumeneng Kaping Sadasa ing Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat’. 80 Religious attributes of Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam exist in several places within the palace.

120

though there is occasional resentment from Muhammadiyah members about the sultan’s perceived lack of piety. Indeed, for the sultan, it has always been important to cultivate good relations with all religious groups in Yogyakarta. Thus, while maintaining close links to Muhammadiyah, the palace has also supported the building of traditional Islamic boarding schools (pesantren) affiliated with Nahdlatul Ulama, the largest traditionalist Islamic organization in Indonesia. ‘Pesantren Mlangi’, for example, is one of the longest standing pesantren around Yogyakarta and was established by the brother of Sultan Hamengkubuwono I and on land provided by the royal family. Based on these historical connections, both Muhammadiyah and NU have maintained close relations with the Sultanate.81 The role of land is particularly important in explaining why and how the palace has balanced competing interests of the modernist and traditionalist communities. Muhammmadiyah, for example, runs many of its education and health facilities such as schools, orphanages and hospitals on land that belongs to the sultan and is located near or directly on the sultan’s grounds. Muhammadiyah is therefore indebted to the sultan for its use of the land, leaving it little choice but to maintain good relations with the palace. However, as a modernist organization, Muhammadiyah activists sometimes criticise the religious practices in the palace, especially syncretic rituals that go against the modernist interpretation of Islam. These rituals are periodic events connected to the Islamic calendar, but they represent the palace’s specific cultural interpretations of the Islamic religion. Significantly, some of these rituals are also practised in the NU tradition and are therefore a way for the sultan to cement his ties with traditionalist Muslims. Indeed, the NU’s cultural interpretations often connect more directly with the palace than modernist interpretations of Islam. NU uses these rituals to nurture its interests by sending many of its members to attend these events which mostly occur in five mosques that are located directly in the sultan’s grounds and were erected

81

Explained by Jadul Maula, member of Regional Leader Board (Pimpinan Wilayah NU) Yogyakarta, 2 June 2015, and Arif Jamali, member of Regional Leader Board (Pimpinan Wilayah Muhammadiyah) Yogyakarta, 6 June 2015.

121

by the sultan as centres of Islamic education for the people.82 Thus, the sultan’s strategy to maintain good relations with the two largest Islamic mass organizations is intimately tied to land usage. Beyond the two largest mainstream organizations, however, there is also a plethora of other groups that operate outside the direct sphere of influence of the palace. Religious minorities such as Christians, Buddhists and Hindus, for example, also exist in Yogyakarta. While the roots of Hinduism and Buddhism go back to the pre-colonial era, Christianity arrived with missionaries during the colonial period. Today, the Javanese Christian Church (GKJ) is the most firmly established Christian organization. Moreover, Yogyakarta is also home to Islamic minority groups such as Shiite and even the Ahmadiyya sect. For decades, all these minorities practised their religions relatively unhindered in Yogyakarta as the region enjoyed a reputation for religious tolerance and peaceful coexistence. Hamengkubuwono X has sought to strengthen this reputation through a variety of symbolic initiatives. He does, for example, periodically host the celebration of a range of religious holidays in his governor office at Kepatihan. These occasions allow the sultan to build formal communication with religious organizations in Yogyakarta. Besides, he has made it a policy to accept non-Islamic applicants for the roles of palace courtier, in the hope of opening further patronage channels with non-Islamic organizations in Yogyakarta. Further, he also gave his full support to the Brotherhood in Faith Forum (FPUB) which was created in 1997 to create dialogue and build tolerance among the various religions (Sakai & Fauzia, 2014, p. 46). Despite these often primarily symbolic gestures, however, religious tensions have been on the rise in Yogyakarta. Previously, religious tensions in Yogyakarta seemed hidden (Pamungkas, 2015), yet several conflicts have recently occurred in the region, posing a challenge not only to the city’s reputation but also to the authority of the sultan.

82

Those mosques are ‘Masjid Gedhe Kauman’ (The Great Kauman Mosque) and four mosques named ‘Masjid Kagungan Dalem Sultan Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat’ (The Mosque belongs to The Sultan of Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat) well-known as Pathok Negari mosques located in Ploso Kuning, Babadan, Wonokromo and Mlangi.

122

Handling Religious Conflict in Yogyakarta Yogyakarta is well-known as a city of education that attracts thousands of students every year to enrol in its many universities. To some extent, campuses have become a recruiting ground for more radical Islamic dakwah organizations, but the more imminent concern is the growing presence of militant organizations such as the Islamic Brotherhood Forum (FUI), the Indonesian Mujahidin Assembly (MMI) and the Islamic Defenders Front (FPI). In the last few years, these groups have been involved in a number of violent attacks on minorities (Subkhan, 2007, pp. 61-62). For example, in 2013 the FUI and MMI attacked the Rausyan Fikr Institute, a Shiite-affiliated organization. In 2014, people identified as FPI members attacked two Christian religious activities, injuring worshippers and damaging properties. Other attacks were also documented by organizations that monitor incidents of religious violence. In 2014, one of these institutions, the Wahid Institute, placed Yogyakarta second in a ranking for religious violence cases in Indonesia’s then 33 provinces (Wahid et al., 2014, p. 33). Confronted with these developments, Sultan Hamengkubuwono and other members of the royal family have been reluctant to take strong steps against the perpetrators. In fact, the sultan himself has been strangely quiet when asked about these incidents. While he keeps appealing to all parties to refrain from violence, he has not issued any policy directives to address the issue.83 His wife Hemas, who is a member of the Regional Representatives Council in Jakarta, has also denied that Yogyakarta has a problem with violence. Instead, she claimed that the city is deliberated targeted by unnamed groups to destroy its image as a peaceful and tolerant place.84 In contrast to her husband, however, Hemas has at least shown her support for the victims, thereby signalling that the Sultanate is taking a stance against the intolerant behaviour.

83

Interview with Benni Susanto, Coordinator of Masyarakat Anti Kekerasan Yogyakarta/Makaryo (The Anti-violence Community of Yogyakarta) and Chair of NGO Forum of Yogyakarta, 25 August 2016. 84 See “Ratu Hemas: Yogya di Sasar Agar Tak Toleran”, https://nasional.tempo.co/read/news/2013/11/11/063528648/ratu-hemas-yogyakarta-disasar-agartak-toleran, retrieved 15 August 2013.

123

Many activists in Yogyakarta, however, would like the royal family to do more to uphold the values of religious tolerance and to prevent the growing rift between religious communities from widening further (Pamungkas, 2015). As most of the religious conflicts in Yogyakarta involve non-state actors (Wahid et al., 2014, p. 26), the sultan can play a crucial role in bridging the gap between different parties. The role of Sultan not only as the cultural but also religious leader encourages tolerance and mediates the conflict. One institution that could be used for such initiatives is the Brotherhood in Faith Forum (FPUB) which the sultan formally supports but without significant resources. Yogyakarta also has one of the oldest organizations for cross-religious dialogue, the Interfidei (Institute for Interfaith Dialogue in Indonesia), which has worked for religious understanding among different religions since 1991 (Bagir et al., 2012, p. 70). At the moment, both the FPUB and Interfidei are fairly ineffective organizations as their membership is removed from the reality on the ground. None of the militant organizations alleged to be causing trouble, for example, are represented in these interfaith organizations (Bagir et al., 2012; Halili & Naipospos, 2015; Wahid et al., 2014). Moreover, the government has not committed meaningful resources to these organizations, which makes it even more difficult for them to act. Instability and violence are a challenge to the Sultan’s authority for a number of reasons. First, they undermine his claims that he and his policies, including his commitment to diversity, enjoy virtually unanimous support from the people of Yogyakarta. Second, they threaten to damage Yogyakarta’s reputation as a safe place to study at the various tertiary education institutions in the city. Finally, they are a direct challenge to economic security as the region depends on stability and security for furthering economic development and attracting the business community to invest their capital in the area. 6.5. Sultan’s Close Relations with the Business Community Well-known as a city of education and culture, Yogyakarta’s economic growth relies strongly on the development of educational and tourism industries. Without natural resources, these industries are indeed key to the regional economy.

124

Yogyakarta has many universities and one of them, Gadjah Mada University, is one of the most reputable universities in the country. Famous tourist attractions like the Borobudur and Prambanan temples near Yogyakarta attract millions of tourists every year, making Yogyakarta the second largest tourism destination in Indonesia.85 To better utilize the economic potential of education and culture, the regional government has encouraged the Meetings, Incentives, Conference, Exhibitions (MICE) industries to invest more in developing Yogyakarta’s infrastructure. Securing Business Interest in Yogyakarta Both domestic and international investors need stability and trust as preconditions to make their investments.86 Despite the growing number of violent incidents in recent years, Yogyakarta has been, overall, characterized by political and social stability. In particular, the sultan has served as an anchor of stability as the royal family has held the position of governor consistently for decades without the need for elections. The enduring presence of the sultan at the top of the provincial government has helped reduce tensions among the political parties in Yogyakarta as they do not need to compete for the nomination of the most suitable candidates for a gubernatorial election. The current sultan, Hamengkubuwono X, has further enhanced the business climate in Yogyakarta due to his own background as a businessman. Under his leadership, the Yogyakarta government has promoted business-friendly policies which expedited and eased the permit to invest and do business in the region. The policy has been well received by large sections of the business community. Nevertheless, there are a number of impediments to doing business in Yogyakarta, especially land availability, business permits and an inadequate business infrastructure. As the second smallest regional government in Indonesia,

85

Interview with Robby Kusumaharta, a businessman and the Chairman of the Advisory Board of KADIN Yogyakarta, 24 February 2016. 86 See “Berharap pada Investasi Baru”, krjogja.com, 3 August 2016, http://krjogja.com/web/news/read/4562/Berharap_pada_Investasi_Baru, accessed 22 December 2017.

125

Yogyakarta has limited space for the corporate sector and land prices are high compared to other regions. The lack of available space is problematic because, in order to develop the MICE industry, large areas of land are required, for example, to build convention and entertainment centres, not to mention the transport infrastructures like an international airport and seaport. To provide the required land to the sector, the government needs to either acquire private land or make its own land available. In this situation, the royal family has at times become directly involved in the development of infrastructure projects. Hamengkubuwono’s own business interests thus become closely intertwined with those of the private sector. The collusive nature of these transactions is further illustrated by the fact that Hamengkubuwono’s eldest daughter, Mangkubumi, is the chairwoman of the provincial chapter of the Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (KADIN). The sultan himself used to be KADIN chair before he became sultan and then governor.87 In short, linkages between the government and the business sector are very close indeed and therefore resemble patterns in other parts of Indonesia. Mutually Beneficial Arrangements The collusive relations between Hamengkubuwono and the business community raise questions about the sultan’s interlocking roles as a traditional ruler, the governor and a business person. For example, in cases where investment projects cause controversy such as the problems surrounding water supply around new hotels, the sultan tends to deny responsibility, pointing the finger instead to the central government for its permissive regulations and the district governments for implementing these regulations without considering the needs of the people. In reality, however, no development project in Yogyakarta goes ahead without approval from the governor. According to Wibisono (2011), there is a tendency for the sultan or his family to receive compensation from investors who invest in Yogyakarta, in return for the feedback and concessions they receive from the ruler of Yogyakarta.

87

Interview with Hari Dendy, the Sultan’s advisor and the Coordinator of Cultural Community “Yogya Semesta”, 6 March 2016.

126

Indeed, the business community usually approaches the sultan and his family to facilitate their business interests rather than other political channels such as district heads or regional and district parliaments. In the eyes of many business people, members of parliament in Yogyakarta simply lack political power compared to the sultan.88 There is also little financial expertise represented in Yogyakarta’s parliament. In contrast to the national and many provincial and district parliaments where oligarchs and entrepreneurs dominate the legislative factions, Yogyakarta has relatively small numbers of entrepreneurs as legislators.89 Thus, business people keen to invest in Yogyakarta prefer to seek assistance directly from the sultan as the ruler of the region. In the words of Nur Ahmad Affandi, a former MP in the regional parliament and former chairperson of KADIN: …there are entrepreneurs who are actively involved in politics as MPs, but not the majority. Business people tend to approach the Sultan personally and the royal family, especially because the institutional arrangement under the specialness of Yogyakarta guarantees the power of the Sultan and the royal family. The institutional arrangements that allow the sultan to fulfil three interlocking roles as sultan, governor and businessman are mutually beneficial to the Sultan and the business sector. First, thanks to his status as a traditional ruler, Hamengkubuwono has a firm grip on land in Yogyakarta, land that he can make available to the partners he trusts. Second, as a governor, Hamengkubuwono has the political power to either grant permits himself or to pressure district heads around Yogyakarta to issue these permits. Though he often denies involvement in these kinds of decisions because the formal decision-making power lies with the district governments, in reality, the provincial government’s approval is usually required. Third, as a business person, the sultan is responsible for running the palace business managed by his family. Cooperation with investors offers him extra revenue to complement his own business profits. All in all, the close relations between the business community and the Sultan constitute a mutually beneficial

88 89

See section 5.3 on The Diminishing Tension with Legislative Councill Explained by Kusno W. Utomo, 1 September 2016.

127

arrangement for both sides in Yogyakarta. 6.6. Conclusion This chapter aimed to examine the relations between the sultan and stakeholders from non-governmental organizations. It focused on community groups, the media, religious organizations and the business community in order to show how these groups have shaped socio-political and socio-economic developments in Yogyakarta. Moreover, the analysis aimed to identify which groups might harbour resentment against the enduring power of the sultan as enshrined in the special status for Yogyakarta. As has been demonstrated, the interests of most of these groups are closely linked to, and in some cases, directly dependant on the sultan. Arguably, the only groups that are highly critical of the sultan are community organizations who attempt to advocate for people suffering at the hands of the government’s pro-business policies. In recent years, these groups have increasingly utilized social media as a platform to express their concerns and criticisms, but overall their influence on government policy is extremely limited. The mainstream media, meanwhile, constitute a very tame part of civil society as most local newspapers and TV stations tend to report favourably about the sultan for fear of intervention from the palace if they are too critical. Media outlets linked to national networks tend to be more critical, but they too often censor contents for business reasons. Religious and business organizations, finally, are linked to the palace through intricate webs of dependence. The main Islamic organizations Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama, for example, run many of their operations on land owned by the sultan. This necessitates good relations with the royal family and has ruled out any meaningful challenge to the sultan’s authority. Similarly, relations between the sultan and the business community are also shaped by the need for investors to secure an endorsement from the sultan for most of their projects.

128

CHAPTER 7 LIVING STANDARDS AND HUMAN DEVELOPMENT IN YOGYAKARTA: THE SULTAN’S PERFORMANCE LEGITIMACY

The quality of Yogyakarta’s human resources is high, but that in itself does not determine proper performance by the administration. The sultan, in his capacity as governor, helps to influence the coordinative patterns among the bureaucrats in the provincial government and this creates behaviour that is relatively free from transactional politics, resulting in accountable government.90 7.1. Introduction The previous two chapters examined the relations between Sultan Hamengkubuwono X and a range of key actors with a stake in Yogyakarta politics in order to identify potential sources of discontent with the ongoing privileges of the sultan as they are embodied in the region’s special status. Given that the institutional uncertainty created by overlapping pieces of legislation had come under scrutiny after 1998, the sultan could no longer just rely on his cultural legitimacy to justify his special position. Rather, he needed to shore up broad public support to prepare for the eventuality of renewed negotiations with the central government about the special status of the region and his own position as an unelected leader. As has been demonstrated, most of Yogyakarta’s key political stakeholders maintained loyal relations with the sultan, though the reasons for this varied from actor to actor. This chapter now moves on to an assessment of the sultan’s performance as a political leader in order to determine whether the general public had any obvious reasons to be dissatisfied with the sultan’s performance as governor after 1998. By looking at achievements and shortcomings of the Yogyakarta administration under the sultan’s leadership, the chapter provides an overview of Yogyakarta’s political and socio-economic development since the beginning of democratization. Utilizing extensive data from the Indonesian Bureau of Statistics 90

Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, 5 February 2015.

129

(Badan Pusat Statistik, BPS), the chapter will demonstrate that Yogyakarta has a relatively strong track record in many socio-economic indicators. This good performance provides Sultan Hamengkubuwono X with an additional pillar of legitimacy, even though technically he only has a coordinating role to play vis-àvis the Yogyakarta city mayor and the district heads within his province. The chapter analyses Yogyakarta’s development by looking at performance indicators such as the Human Development Index, employment rates, local economic growth, crime figures and corruption cases investigated by the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK). It begins with an analysis of data provided by government reports covering developments in the HDI and the Indonesian government’s better governance principles which account for the capacity of regional governments to administer the region efficiently based on universal management principles aimed to enhance public service delivery. Subsequently, the chapter proceeds to focus on regional economic growth in Yogyakarta, before switching attention to socio-political factors such as unemployment, criminality and corruption. As will be seen, the post-1998 period in Yogyakarta was characterized by political stability and solid economic growth. While the region also experienced a number of negative developments, these had a negligible impact on the sultan’s claims to legitimacy. 7.2. The Human Development Index of Yogyakarta In 2013, Yogyakarta climbed up to second spot in the provincial HDI rankings in Indonesia, reaching a score of 77.37. Yogyakarta’s HDI score was significantly higher than the national average and lower only than that of the national capital Jakarta which reached 78.59 (see Table 7.1). Prior to 2013, Yogyakarta had ranked fourth for seven years in a row, as Riau and North Sulawesi had recorded higher standards of human development than Yogyakarta. Nevertheless, Table 7.1 shows clearly that Yogyakarta’s human development during the era of democratization has been consistently one of the best in the country; between 1999 and 2015, the index increased from 68.7 to 77.59, with only

130

a small dip in 2014 due to changes in the method of calculating the index.91 Table 7.1: HDI in 10 Best Provinces of Indonesia from 1996 to 2015 PROVINCE

1996

1999

2002

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

NORTH SUMATERA

70.5

66.6

68.8

71.4

72.03

72.46

72.78

73.29

73.8

74.19

74.65

75.13

75.55

68.87

69.51

WEST SUMATERA

69.2

65.8

67.5

70.5

71.19

71.65

72.23

72.96

73.44

73.78

74.28

74.7

75.01

69.36

69.98

RIAU

70.6

67.3

69.1

72.2

73.63

73.81

74.63

75.09

75.6

76.07

76.53

76.9

77.25

70.33

70.84

-

-

-

70.8

72.23

72.79

73.68

74.18

74.54

75.07

75.78

76.2

76.56

73.4

73.75

DKI JAKARTA

76.1

72.5

75.6

75.8

76.07

76.33

76.59

77.03

77.36

77.6

77.97

78.33

78.59

78.39

78.99

DI YOGYAKARTA

71.8

68.7

70.8

72.9

73.5

73.7

74.15

74.88

75.23

75.77

76.32

76.75

77.37

76.81

77.59

RIAU ISLANDS

BANTEN

-

-

66.6

67.9

68.8

69.11

69.29

69.7

70.06

70.48

70.95

71.49

71.9

69.89

70.27

BALI

70.1

65.7

67.5

69.1

69.78

70.07

70.53

70.98

71.52

72.28

72.84

73.49

74.11

72.48

73.27

EAST KALIMANTAN

71.4

67.8

70

72.2

72.94

73.26

73.77

74.52

75.11

75.56

76.22

76.71

77.33

73.82

74.17

NORTH SULAWESI

71.8

67.1

71.3

73.4

74.21

74.37

74.68

75.16

75.68

76.09

76.54

76.95

77.36

69.96

70.39

INDONESIA

67.7

64.3

65.8

68.7

69.57

70.1

70.59

71.17

71.76

72.27

72.77

73.29

73.81

68.9

69.55

Source:

In Indonesia, a high HDI is not simply a recognition of high standards in education, health and economic wellbeing. Rather, it also has repercussions for centre-periphery relations as the central government uses the HDI index as one of several indicators92 when considering the amounts of General Allocation Grants (Dana Alokasi Umum/DAU) it provides to the regions to finance their development. The higher the index, the larger the budget transfers from the central government, so local governments with a higher index level have an incentive to craft social policies that help increase their HDI (Martha, 2015). However, for local governments with the lower index of indicators, the budget transfer may be higher such as in Papua which gets a lot of DAU because of its low HDI (Nolan et al., 2014, p. 414). Consequently, the budget transfer may differ among regions as they have various characteristics of the indicators. Health Indicators Yogyakarta has recorded particularly good scores for the life expectancy of its residents. The HDI’s life expectancy at birth category estimates the average 91

In 2014, the literacy rate was replaced as an indicator of human development by the expected years of schooling. This changed methodology resulted in lower overall scores for all provinces, but the discrepancy was significantly lower in urban areas such as Jakarta and Yogyakarta than in provinces with larger proportions of rural populations (see Table 7.1 for details). 92 Those indicators are population, area, HDI, construction price level, and per capita economic output (Nolan, Jones, & Solahudin, 2014, p. 414).

131

number of years from birth to be achieved by an individual cohort based on a set of ‘age-specific mortality rates’.93 Based on this method, Yogyakarta has the highest life expectancy of any Indonesian province, even higher than Jakarta which only ranks third in this category (see Chart 7.1).

Chart 7.1: Life Expectancy at Birth in 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia (20102015) 76

NORTH SUMATERA

74

WEST SUMATERA RIAU

Years to Live

72

RIAU ISLANDS

70

DKI JAKARTA

68

DI YOGYAKARTA BANTEN

66

BALI

64

EAST KALIMANTAN NORTH SULAWESI

62 2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

INDONESIA

Source:

This is particularly striking because Yogyakarta actually does not have a particularly high health budget. In fact, in 2012 Yogyakarta allocated the smallest annual budget for health services of all Indonesian provinces. With health expenditure measuring just 3.36 percent of the annual budget (Muryanto, 2013), the Yogyakarta government spent only IDR 5,807 per individual on health services. This was significantly less than Central Java, which recorded IDR 25,848 per capita.94 In 2015, Yogyakarta increased the allocation of the regional budget for health services to 5.28 percent of the annual budget or about IDR 193.7 billion. While the budget increase was notable, it was still a relatively small contribution compared to other provinces. See Life Expectancy at Birth, https://www.bps.go.id/index.php/istilah/26. See Budget commitment on Indonesia Governance Index, http://kemitraan.or.id/igi/index.php/component/content/article?id=107, retrieved 12 September 2016. 93 94

132

The small numbers reflect the broader reality of the politics of health policy-making in Indonesia where many health services are delegated to the district and city governments rather than the provincial governments (Fossati, 2016). Within the Yogyakarta special region, the average health budget in districts and towns was 18.1 percent and one district, Sleman, allocated no less than 33.71 percent of their local budget for health services. Among other important services, district governments subsidise public health institutions such as community clinics and public hospitals as well as the local health insurance scheme (Jaminan Kesehatan Daerah/JAMKESDA) which features free and low contribution provisions, particularly for low-income households in their areas. Healthcare expenditures are also higher in Yogyakarta’s districts because in contrast to the unelected governor, the leaders of these districts need to compete for votes in regular local elections. And like elsewhere in Indonesia, cheap or free healthcare has become a very popular campaign issue that helps candidates attract voters (Aspinall, 2014).

133,621 10,471 14,433 25,082 30,698 54,956 55,348 46,319

19,011 45,643 23,941

9,455 25,848 5,807 46,442 29,031 20,437 27,720 16,458 34,262 32,095 74,617

123,531

166,459 57,993

ACEH NORTH SUMATERA WEST SUMATERA RIAU JAMBI SOUTH SUMATERA BENGKULU LAMPUNG BANGKA BELITUNG… RIAU ISLANDS WEST JAWA CENTRAL JAWA DI YOGYAKARTA EAST JAWA BANTEN BALI WEST NUSA… EAST NUSA… WEST KALIMANTAN CENTRAL… SOUTH KALIMANTAN EAST KALIMANTAN NORTH SULAWESI CENTRAL SULAWESI SOUTH SULAWESI SOUTHEAST… GORONTALO WEST SULAWESI MALUKU NORTH MALUKU WEST PAPUA PAPUA INDONESIA

9,245 32,648 34,232 42,875 36,829 56,824 30,046

156,152

Chart 7.2: The Annual Health Budget of Provinces in 2012

Source: Indonesia Governance Index, 2012

In 2013, Yogyakarta’s provincial government initiated a new insurance

133

scheme for people who are not covered by the local administrations’ health care schemes. This provincial scheme, called the ‘special health insurance’ (Jaminan Kesehatan Khusus/JAMKESSUS), has mostly benefitted people who need to access special aid equipment that is not provided by existing health care. JAMKESSUS thus complements existing health insurance provisons provided by the national and district governments, but compared to the other two schemes it is only of limited significance. Health policy, in short, is largely a matter for other layers of government rather than the provincial government, so Yogyakarta’s good results in this dimension of the HDI can hardly be attributed directly to the sultan’s policies. However, as Fossati (2016) has shown, health insurance coverage in Indonesia’s regions is generally better if district governments cooperate closely with provincial governments. Since the relations between Hamengkubuwono and the various district heads and Yogyakarta’s mayor have been generally good, the sultan can, arguably, take at least some credit for the good health indicators in Yogyakarta. Schooling and Education As has been mentioned before, Yogyakarta is well-known in Indonesia as a centre for learning. While this reputation is primarily linked to the presence of tertiary education institutions such as the prestigious Gadjah Mada University,95 the city also has a dense network of pre-schools, primary schools and high schools, which is reflected in top enrolment statistics. Indeed, according to the Indonesian Bureau of Statistics BPS, Yogyakarta provides near universal education at primary (children aged 7-12) and junior high (children aged 12-15) school level. In 2015, primary school attendance reached 99.89 percent, while junior high school numbers stood at 99.69 per cent. Only at senior high school (children aged 16-18) did the numbers drop noticeably, with attendance down to 86.78 percent. Between 2003 and 2015, Yogyakarta topped the national enrolment statistics in all of these three categories. As a result of the good primary and secondary education opportunities,

95

In 2015, there were four state universities and 139 private higher education institutions in Yogyakarta. BPS Report.

134

children in Yogyakarta also have a very high literacy rate of 93.47 percent, which corresponds to second rank nationwide after Aceh (97.63 percent). These national figures are echoed in Yogyakarta’s rankings in the provincial Human Development Index which measures indicators such as the expected years of schooling (Harapan Lama Sekolah/HLS) and the mean years of schooling (Rata-rata Lama Sekolah/RLS). As can be seen in Chart 7.3, Yogyakarta has been consistently ranked at the top of Indonesia’s provinces in the HLS category. In 2015, Yogyakarta gained a score of 15.03 for the HLS which means that children under seven years old have a very good chance of finishing their education to the level of senior high school or even a one-year diploma.

Chart 7.3: The Expected Years of Schooling in 10 Best HDI Provinces (2010-2015)

Number of Years

16

NORTH SUMATERA

14

WEST SUMATERA

12

RIAU

10

RIAU ISLANDS DKI JAKARTA

8

DI YOGYAKARTA

6

BANTEN

4

BALI

2

EAST KALIMANTAN NORTH SULAWESI

0 2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

INDONESIA

Source:

Significantly, however, despite coming out on top of the HLS rankings, Yogyakarta does not perform equally well in the RLS rankings which indicate the average number of completed years of education, excluding years spent repeating individual grades. Here, a number of other provinces, especially from Sumatra, have recorded higher scores than Yogyakarta, with the latter reaching 9.00 in 2015. Despite the relatively lower rank, however, a score of 9 still means that Yogyakarta ranks higher than the national average in Indonesia (see Chart 7.4.).

135

Chart 7.4: The Mean Years of Schooling in 10 Best HDI Provinces (2010-2015) 12

NORTH SUMATERA WEST SUMATERA

Number of Years

10

RIAU

8

RIAU ISLANDS DKI JAKARTA

6

DI YOGYAKARTA BANTEN

4

BALI

2

EAST KALIMANTAN NORTH SULAWESI

0 2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

INDONESIA

Source:

All in all, then, Yogyakarta’s reputation as a city of learning is underpinned by a strong performance in the HDI’s education benchmarks. However, as with the health indicators, education too is largely outside the provincial government’s responsibilities. Following the fall of Suharto, centralized decision-making in educational policy was transferred to the third administrative tier represented by districts and municipalities. It was only in 2014 that the provincial government obtained slightly more authority over educational policy. Law 23/2014 about regional government altered some regulations related to the division of labour between district and provincial governments. If previously both primary (7-12 years) and secondary (9-11 and 12-15 years) schools were under the purview of the district and city governments, the new regulations allowed a greater role for the provincial government to administer the secondary school sector as well as students with special needs. District and city governments, meanwhile, continued to concentrate on the primary, early childhood and non-formal education sectors. Higher education, meanwhile, remained under the control of the central government, now through the Ministry of Research and Technology rather than the Ministry of Education as previously. In short, Yogyakarta’s provincial government with the sultan as its leader has had relatively little influence over education policy in Yogyakarta and can therefore claim no direct credit for the city’s above average HDI scores in this dimension. That said, public perception is shaped to a large extent

136

by the reputation of Yogyakarta as a city of learning and the sultan no doubt benefits from that reputation. Income Levels and Standard of Living The last dimension of the HDI measures income levels and standard of living based on purchasing power parity (PPP). In this category, Jakarta as the capital city and centre of commerce and trade tops the ranking, followed by the Riau Islands, a special economic zone bordering Singapore and Malaysia, and Indonesia’s main tourism hub, Bali. Yogyakarta follows in fourth spot with a purchasing power parity of IDR 12,684 in 2015 (see Chart 7.5).

Chart 7.5: Purchasing Power Parity in 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia (20102015) 18,000

NORTH SUMATERA

Price in IDR

16,000

WEST SUMATERA

14,000

RIAU

12,000

RIAU ISLANDS

10,000

DKI JAKARTA

8,000

DI YOGYAKARTA

6,000

BANTEN BALI

4,000

EAST KALIMANTAN

2,000

NORTH SULAWESI

0 2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

INDONESIA

Source:

These figures have been sustained by solid if unspectacular economic growth in Yogyakarta over the years. Between 2001 and 2014, Yogyakarta’s economic growth was fluctuating between a low point of 3.7 percent in 2006 and a high point of 5.49 in 2013. These growth rates put it in the bottom half of provincial growth rates, but in fact most of the provinces with a high overall HDI score fared comparatively poorly in terms of economic growth. One reason is that provincial economic growth has been much higher in resource-rich provinces that benefitted from the commodity boom, whereas provinces with few natural resources such as

137

Yogyakarta had to rely on other economic sectors (Hill 2014). Significantly though, between 2005 and 2014, Yogyakarta’s growth rates were always lower than the national growth rate. Table 7.2: The Economic Growth among 10 Best HDI Provinces of Indonesia (2001-2014) PROVINCES

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

NORTH SUMATERA WEST SUMATERA

3.98

4.56

4.81

5.74

5.48

6.20

6.90

6.39

5.07

6.42

6.66

6.45

6.08

5.23

3.66

4.69

5.26

5.47

5.73

6.14

6.34

6.88

4.28

5.94

6.34

6.31

6.02

5.85

0.14

2.66

2.45

2.93

5.41

5.15

3.41

5.65

2.97

4.21

5.57

3.76

2.49

2.62

6.47

6.57

6.78

7.01

6.63

3.52

7.19

6.96

7.63

7.11

7.32

RIAU RIAU ISLANDS DKI JAKARTA

4.74

4.89

5.31

5.65

6.01

5.95

6.44

6.23

5.02

6.50

6.73

6.53

6.11

5.95

DI YOGYAKARTA

4.26

4.50

4.58

5.12

4.73

3.70

4.31

5.03

4.43

4.88

5.21

5.37

5.49

5.18

BANTEN

3.95

4.11

5.07

5.63

5.88

5.57

6.04

5.77

4.71

6.11

7.03

6.83

7.13

5.47

BALI

3.53

3.03

3.58

4.62

5.56

5.28

5.92

5.97

5.33

5.83

6.66

6.96

6.69

6.72

EAST KALIMANTAN NORTH SULAWESI

4.73

1.74

1.86

1.75

3.17

2.85

1.84

4.90

2.28

5.10

6.47

5.48

2.72

1.4

2.13

3.33

3.19

4.26

5.35

5.72

6.47

10.86

7.85

7.16

6.17

6.86

6.38

6.31

INDONESIA

3.29

4.34

4.55

4.26

5.37

5.19

5.67

5.74

4.77

6.14

6.16

6.16

5.74

5.02

Source:

The main drivers of the Yogyakarta economy are trade and tourism, with attractions like the Borobudur and Prambanan temples or Mt. Merapi within easy reach of the city. In 2016, the tourism sector contributed 35 percent of Yogyakarta’s provincial gross domestic product.96 Significantly, the sultan himself has a direct stake in the tourism industry as the kraton is also one of the most popular destinations for tourists visiting the city. Here, Yogyakarta still benefits from the Java-centric tourism policies of the New Order (Dahles, 2001). As with health and education policy, however, the sultan’s role in developing and implementing economic policy is limited as governors have little authority over local development. Instead, it is the city and district governments who provide the necessary permits and licenses for the development of the tourism industry. Indeed, the trade and hospitality sectors of the Yogyakarta municipality have been among the fastest growing of any local government in Indonesia and certainly within the provincial boundaries of the Yogyakarta Special Region. The massive growth of 96

See “Sektor Perhotelan Topang Ekonomi Yogyakarta di 2016”, https://m.tempo.co/read/news/2016/03/11/090752566/sektor-perhotelan-topang-ekonomiyogyakarta-di-2016, retrieved 27 September 2016.

138

these sectors in the city of Yogyakarta has resulted in very high purchasing power parity scores over the years, reaching IDR 17,317 in 2015.97 Other districts within the province have recorded much lower figures, with Sleman reaching IDR 14,562, Bantul IDR 14, 320, Kulon Progo IDR 8,688 and Gunung Kidul IDR 8,336. Local governments may have the authority to issue permits and licenses, but they still need access to land to implement their visions for local development. This is where the sultan and Pakualam enter the fray. As the owners of vast tracts of land, they hold the key to making the construction of new infrastructure projects in Yogyakarta possible. As a matter of fact, Hamengkubuwono and Pakualam, as the owners of the Sultan and Pakualam grounds, have often provided their land for such projects.98 Examples include the development of the airport and seaport as well as tourism destinations on the south coast of Yogyakarta in the Kulon Progo, Bantul and Gunung Kidul districts. As these projects bring a significant amount of investment to the region, they strongly influence the nature of regional economic growth, which is explained in the next section. 7.3. Beyond Regional Economic Growth Economic growth may have been solid over the last decade or so, but as in Indonesia as a whole, this growth has not been felt equally across Yogyakarta’s population. Inequality has been on the rise across Indonesia (World Bank, 2015), and Yogyakarta is no exception. The Statistics Bureau measures income distribution among people using the Gini index and discrepancies between districts through the Williamson index. For both of them, a higher score means a wider gap between measured entities. Thus, the higher the Gini coefficient, the larger the income gap, and the higher the Williamson index, the larger the gap between local administrative entities within the province of Yogyakarta. Inequality in Yogyakarta Based on data from the National Statistics Bureau from 1996 to 2015,

97 98

See http://www.yogyakarta.bps.go.id Interview with Nur Ahmad Affandi, 1 September 2016.

139

Yogyakarta has had high Gini indexes for most of the last twenty years. In fact, in some years it recorded the highest inequality figures in the whole of Indonesia. In 2015, Yogyakarta’s index was 0.43 and together with Jakarta, it had the highest coefficient of the ten provinces with the highest HDI in Indonesia (see Chart 7.6.). Chart 7.6: Gini Coefficients among 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia (19962015) 0.45 0.4

0.37

GINI Index

0.35 0.35

0.43 0.44

0.42

0.41 0.37

0.42

0.43

0.4

0.38 0.36

0.34

NORTH SUMATERA WEST SUMATERA RIAU RIAU ISLANDS DKI JAKARTA DI YOGYAKARTA

0.3

BANTEN BALI

0.25 0.2 1996 1999 2002 2005 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015

EAST KALIMANTAN NORTH SULAWESI

Source:

The numbers illustrate that while economic development in Yogyakarta has been steady, this development has not resulted in equal wealth distribution. BPS reports suggest that the gap is particularly high in urban areas (0.443) whereas rural areas recorded a slightly lower score of 0.332. The results shed light on the uneven socio-economic impacts of Yogyakarta’s development strategy focused on trade and hospitality, which are largely concentrated in the urban areas around Yogyakarta city and Sleman district. And while growing inequality is a nationwide trend, the provincial government has acknowledged that the numbers in Yogyakarta are cause for concern. In the governor’s 2015 accountability report, he finally pledged to take measures to lower the coefficient.99 The urban-rural divide that is reflected in the Gini coefficient is further highlighted in the numbers of the inter-regional inequality index which compares the district-level GRDP and GRDP per capita. As can be seen in Charts 7.7 and 7.8,

99

See “Laporan Keterangan Pertanggungjawaban Gubernur DIY 2015”.

140

the discrepancies between the city of Yogyakarta and the four districts within the province are striking, especially in the per capita category. The city of Yogyakarta and Sleman district, which have the largest urban areas in the province, have disproportionately benefited from development in Yogyakarta, while the more rural districts of Bantul, Kulon Progo and Gunung Kidul are left behind. Sleman now has a GRDP that is more than four times higher than that of Kulon Progo. Meanwhile, Yogyakarta city has by far the highest GRDP per capita, with a large gap to the other four districts in Yogyakarta.

IDR milion

Chart 7.7: The GRDP of City and Districts in Yogyakarta Special Region 20,000,000 18,000,000 16,000,000 14,000,000 12,000,000 10,000,000 8,000,000 6,000,000 4,000,000 2,000,000 0

2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 Kulonprogo

Bantul

Gunungkidul

Sleman

Kota Yogyakarta

Source:

Chart 7.8: The GRDP per capita of City and Districts in Yogyakarta Special Region 45,000,000 40,000,000

IDR

35,000,000 30,000,000

2009

25,000,000

2010

20,000,000

2011

15,000,000

2012

10,000,000

2013

5,000,000 0 Kulonprogo

Source:

Bantul

Gunungkidul

Sleman

Kota Yogyakarta

141

Poverty Alleviation High inequality means that substantial parts of the population in Yogyakarta are still poor. Indeed, statistics on poverty in Yogyakarta make for sobering reading. In 2015, Yogyakarta ranked twelfth in the statistics that record the highest number of poor people in Indonesian provinces. It was the highest ranked of all the provinces in Java, which is generally regarded as the most developed island in Indonesia. Among the ten best HDI provinces, Yogyakarta had the highest percentage of poor people with 13.25 percent (see Table 7.3.). This was higher than the national figure of 11 percent. Table 7.3: The Percentage of Poor People in 10 Best HDI Province in Indonesia PROVINCES NORTH SUMATERA

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

11.51

11.31

11.33

10.67

10.06

10.19

10.57

WEST SUMATERA

9.54

9.5

9.04

8.19

8.14

7.10

6.90

RIAU

9.48

8.65

8.47

8.22

7.72

8.21

8.40

RIAU ISLANDS

8.27

8.34

7.40

7.11

6.46

6.32

5.88

DKI JAKARTA

3.62

3.48

3.75

3.69

3.55

4.01

3.68

DI YOGYAKARTA

17.23

15.26

16.08

16.05

15.43

14.73

13.25

BANTEN

7.64

16.56

6.32

5.85

5.74

5.71

5.59

BALI

5.13

4.88

4.20

4.18

3.95

4.75

4.75

EAST KALIMANTAN

7.73

7.66

6.77

6.68

6.06

6.27

6.11

NORTH SULAWESI

12.31

17.05

10.29

10.11

9.54

8.46

8.66

INDONESIA

14.15

13.33

12.49

11.96

11.37

11.09

11.00

Source:

The distribution of poverty mirrors the findings from the previous statistics. Low-income families mostly come from rural areas and work in the agricultural sector. Accordingly, they are largely concentrated in the districts of Bantul, Kulon Progo and Gunung Kidul (see Chart 7.9) where there are neither mining nor manufacturing industries, not to mention tourism sites. As employment opportunities in these areas are scarce, economic conditions have improved little over the last decades.100 Thus, even though the percentage of poor people has been 100

See “BPS Ungkap Kesenjangan Ekonomi di Yogyakarta Tinggi”, Tempo, https://m.tempo.co/read/news/2015/12/12/058727170/bps-ungkap-kesenjangan-ekonomi-diyogyakarta-tinggi, retrieved 8 October 2016.

142

decreasing, it is still a high number compared to other provinces in Java.

Chart 7.9: Poor People in City and Districts of Yogyakarta Special Region 25

Percentage

20 2010 15

2011 2012

10

2013 2014

5 0 Kulonprogo

Bantul

Gunungkidul

Sleman

Kota Yogyakarta

Source:

The national, regional and local governments have attempted to decrease the poverty in Yogyakarta by organising poverty reduction programs. They have launched various programs, ranging from a village-based poverty alleviation program in 1997 to a new poverty alleviation program in 2013. Based on a survey conducted by the Kemitraan project in 2013, Yogyakarta’s provincial government allocated IDR 100,147 per capita for poverty reduction. One of the governor’s initiatives is the community-based program called Segoro Amarto,101 which means the spirit of cooperation to develop a progressive Yogyakarta (Semangat gotong royong agawe majune Ngayogyakarta). It promotes cultural values to poor people and seeks to involve them more directly in alleviating poverty. Allowing people to participate vigorously in administering the activities provides new work opportunities to them. Ultimately, however, people will need to find a longer-term work if they are to be lifted out of poverty.

101

See “Sultan Luncurkan Segoro Amarto”, Antaranews, http://www.antaranews.com/berita/239215/sultan-luncurkan-segoro-amarto, retrieved, 3 October 2016.

143

7.4. The Employment Sector in Yogyakarta In 2015, a total of 2.1 million people in Yogyakarta were employed, comprising 1.68 percent of the national workforce in Indonesia.102 The unemployment rate in Yogyakarta was 4.07 percent which was below the national rate of 5.99 percent. Compared to other provinces, unemployment in Yogyakarta was the tenth-lowest out of 34 provinces in Indonesia. Interestingly, among the ten provinces with the lowest unemployment rate, only Bali and Yogyakarta have a high HDI index whereas the rest are provinces with a lower HDI index. Among the ten best HDI provinces, Yogyakarta has the second-lowest unemployment rate after Bali which in fact had the lowest unemployment rate of all Indonesian provinces (see Chart 7.10). Perhaps most significantly, Yogyakarta has been able to reduce unemployment markedly over the last few years, after it had increased and then stagnated for several years in the early years of the post-Suharto period. Between 2009 and 2014, rates declined for five consecutive years before picking up again in 2015. Chart 7.10: The Unemployment Rate among 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia 20.00

NORTH SUMATERA

18.00

WEST SUMATERA

16.00

RIAU

Percentage

14.00

RIAU ISLANDS

12.00

DKI JAKARTA

10.00

DI YOGYAKARTA

8.00

BANTEN

6.00

BALI EAST KALIMANTAN

2.00

NORTH SULAWESI

-

1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015

4.00

INDONESIA

Source:

Unsurprisingly, in Yogyakarta most people work in the trade and tourism

102

See “Keadaan Ketenagakerjaan Februari 2016”, BPS Report Series No. 46/05/Th. XIX, 04 Mei 2016.

144

sector which makes up 26.6 percent of the overall workforce. Agriculture, however, is still the second largest sector with 22.81 percent and the most widespread occupation in the rural areas of the Yogyakarta special region, although even here the number of people contributing to agriculture keeps decreasing. Workforce participation in rural areas is generally higher than in urban areas, reaching 81.09 percent compared to just 68.55 percent in urban areas. It is noteworthy, however, that rural areas have a very high disguised unemployment rate of 35.34 because people in these areas tend to work fewer than 35 hours a week. In urban areas, by contrast, the disguised unemployment rate is only 18.79 percent. For the provincial government, economic development is focused clearly on trade and tourism. For years, it has been working with city and district governments to try and ease investment regulations for those sectors in order to open new job opportunities for the workforce in Yogyakarta.103 For example, the sultan issued a regulation about investment and cooperation at the regional level which set guidelines for all local governments in the province to plan, promote and facilitate the development in Yogyakarta.104 This policy has been successful insofar as it has gradually increased the number of people who work in the trade and tourism sectors. The success confirms Fossati’s (2016) findings about the health sector that local policy outcomes tend to be dependent on effective and efficient collaboration between district and provincial governments. As trade and tourism form the main focus of the government’s economic policy, other sectors tend to receive less favourable treatment from the government. In Kulon Progo, for example, people had turned previously unproductive, sandy land into a rich soil which supported their livelihoods for decades, providing work for young farmers around the place and effectively reducing the disguised unemployment in the local farming sector.105 The area attracted large numbers of local people into new forms of agriculture, but these successful local initiatives eventually clashed with the government-supported mega developments of a new 103

Interview with Nur Ahmad Affandi, 1 September 2016. See Governor Regulation no. 49 of 2010 about Cooperation and Investment Agency 105 See “Lahan Pasir Berbuah Sayur”, Bina Desa, http://binadesa.org/lahan-pasir-berbuahsayur/, retrieved 13 October 2016. 104

145

seaport and airport in Kulon Progo. In order to implement these developments, the government sought to relocate many farms. Thus, investments in trade and tourism were promoted at the cost of removing successful agricultural initiatives. The government has defended these policies by pointing out that those jobs offer better salaries and regular income. Significantly, however, incomes in Yogyakarta, especially at the lower end of the wage spectrum, are comparatively low, as the next section will show. Regional Minimum Wage Among the ten best HDI provinces in Indonesia, the provincial government of Yogyakarta has applied the lowest minimum wage for workers since 1997. As of 2016, a worker earned a minimum of IDR 1.238 million per month which was well below the national average wage of IDR 1.999 million (see Chart 7.11). In Jakarta, a worker earned more than double as the minimum wage there was IDR 3.1 million. Yogyakarta’s provincial government argued that the minimum wage is cognizant of the amount required for a decent living in the province and the need to keep inflation in check.106 With regard to that goal, it has been fairly successful, as Yogyakarta’s inflation has indeed been lower than that of many other areas of comparable size.

106

Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, 17 February 2016. As the head of Planning and Development Agency of Yogyakara Regional Government, he is the right informant related to the performance of the Regional Government. The Agency is responsible for planning and synchronising the development process in the region including at the district and city levels.

146

IDR (Thousands)

Chart 7.11: The Regional Minimum Wage (UMR) among 10 Best HDI Provinces in Indonesia 3,500.0 3,000.0 2,500.0 2,000.0 1,500.0 1,000.0 500.0 0.0

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

Source:

While the provincial minimum wage is already low, it is noteworthy that many workers in the agricultural sector actually earn even less than the minimum wage. In 2015, an agricultural worker earned only IDR 0.788 million as a monthly income. This is less than half of the average monthly income of people working in the service sector who earned an average of IDR 1.892 million per month in 2015. To determine the provincial minimum wage, the Yogyakarta government applies the lowest district level minimum wage. Between 2012 and 2016, this was found in Gunung Kidul district which set the lowest wage of all municipalities and districts in Yogyakarta. Thus, the provincial government of Yogyakarta used it as the threshold for the whole province (see Chart 7.12). Similar to other provinces in Indonesia, labour unions in Yogyakarta have repeatedly demanded higher wages related to the territorial limit. They argue that despite the relatively low cost of living in Yogyakarta, the wages are too low to cover their monthly expenses. Furthermore, they suggested the provincial government used sector-based wages to provide fairer income opportunities for workers. Another frequently articulated demand has been to involve labour unions directly in drafting the minimum wage

147

regulations.107 So far, however, the provincial government has resisted these calls for a more inclusive approach to the setting of the minimum wage. As a consequence of the persistent wage disparity and the government’s economic focus on the trade and tourism sectors, many people are looking for better paid work in the city of Yogyakarta, causing increasing (though not always voluntary, see Gunung Kidul) labour migration from rural to urban areas. Every day they commute from their homes in the outer suburbs and adjacent rural areas to the city to look for work. However, for many people this search is unsuccessful due to a lack of education which limits their opportunities to work in the trade and tourism sectors.108 Chart 7.12: The Minimum Wage of City and Districts in Yogyakarta 1,500,000 1,400,000

Kulon Progo

IDR

1,300,000

Bantul

1,200,000

Gunung Kidul

1,100,000

Sleman

1,000,000

Yogyakarta

900,000

D.I. Yogyakarta

800,000 2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

Source:

7.5. Crime and Corruption in Yogyakarta Having established that Yogyakarta’s Human Development Index and its overall socio-economic track record under Hamengkubuwono X have been reasonably strong, this last section of the chapter will discuss other indicators of social stability such as crime rates and corruption. In the absence of available public

107

See “Buruh Desak Pemberlakuan Upak Layak di DIY”, Tribunnews, http://jogja.tribunnews.com/2016/05/01/buruh-desak-pemberlakukan-upah-layak-di-diy, retrieved 22 October 2016. 108 Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, 17 February 2016.

148

opinion surveys about the sultan’s performance in office, it is hoped that analysing crime and corruption data will further help to establish whether there were grounds for public dissatisfaction with the sultan’s performance as governor that could be exploited by opponents of his special privileges during the deliberations about a new specialness law. Crime Rates Based on 2015 provincial police reports in Indonesia, there were 9,692 criminal cases in Yogyakarta that were being investigated by police. This figure was lower than the national average of 11,029 cases, but given Yogyakarta’s small population, this is a sizeable number of criminal cases. Even more concerning are two other statistics. First, the number of criminal acts in Yogyakarta has, with a few exceptions, risen in most years, reaching unprecedented heights in 2015 (see Chart 7.13). Second, only a small number of cases is being resolved by police. While the national average of resolved cases stood at 58.13 percent in 2015, in Yogyakarta only 48.64 percent of the documented cases were resolved.

Chart 7.13: Crime Cases across Java 70 000 60 000

Criminal Acts

50 000 40 000 30 000 20 000 10 000 0 Metro Jaya 2000

Jawa Barat 2001

2002

Banten 2003

Jawa Tengah DI Yogyakarta Jawa Timur 2004

2005

2006

2007

Sources:

Criminal cases in Yogyakarta are dominated by conventional crimes,

149

such as theft, persecution, beating, and crimes against private property and honour that cause physical and psychological damage. Other types of crime that were documented in Yogyakarta include transnational crimes and crimes against state property. However, their numbers are small, comprising only 7.5 percent of all cases in Yogyakarta, while the rest are conventional crimes. Some criminal acts have decreased over the years, but cases of deceit have risen sharply first between 2006 and 2010 and then again after 2014 (see Chart 7.14). Chart 7.14: Five Highest Conventional Crimes in Yogyakarta 1800

Crime Cases Numbers

1600 1400 1200 1000 800 600 400 200 0 2006

2007

Grand Larceny

2008

2009

2010

Motor Vehicle Theft

2011

2012

OrdinaryTheft

2013

2014

Deceit

2015 Fraud

Sources:

Another type of criminality that has gained widespread public attention in Yogyakarta since the 1970s is gang violence, including brawls between youth and student gangs. Even though the number of preman109 appears to have decreased since the so-called petrus killings110 in 1983, which started in Yogyakarta and killed thousands of preman (Kristiansen, 2003, p. 114), there are still many notorious gangs in Yogyakarta. Gangs control large tracts of territory to run their illicit security businesses, and some of them have good connections to prominent local figures and political parties (Azca, 2013, p. 89). The number of violent crime cases involving gangs in Yogyakarta is lower than conventional crime; however, when it 109 110

Preman: young males in group engaged in criminal activities, gangsters. Petrus is an abbreviation of pembunuhan misterius, which literally means mysterious killings.

150

does occur, these cases usually attract widespread public attention. For example, in 2013 a member of the army’s special forces commando (Kopassus) was killed during an altercation with preman in Hugo’s Café in Yogyakarta. Following the incident, twelve members of Kopassus broke into the Cebongan prison where the suspects were being detained and shot four of them dead. Those suspects were all members of a well-known gang that controlled the eastern part of Yogyakarta city, including the location of the café.111 Though the Kopassus members later surrendered, they received only very light sentences.112 Somewhat surprisingly, some communities expressed their gratitude to Kopassus as they felt that gang violence was a problem that does indeed need to be eradicated with brute force.113 The case and the subsequent public reactions illustrated that gang violence is indeed an issue of great public concern. Yogyakarta has also experienced brawls between student gangs, especially in the mid-1980s and early 1990s. Even though such brawls are rare, they do still occur occasionally, casting a dark shadow on Yogyakarta’s reputation as an education hub. Based on regional police reports from 2013, there were still 79 school gangs in Yogyakarta (Efianingrum, 2016, p. 537). Student gangs evolve from youth gangs to school-based gangs, and their members are not only active students but also alumni who still have contact with their school gangs. Clashes in the form of brawls, ambushes and motorbike attacks occur sporadically but rarely make it into the police statistics as the police only document student gang violence cases if they result in casualties that are reported to police. Sultan Hamengkubuwono has repeatedly urged politicians and educational institutions to do more to get young people away from criminal networks.114 In response, a number 111

See, “Menyibak Peta Kekuatan Preman di Yogyakarta”, Suara Pembaharuan, http://sp.beritasatu.com/home/menyibak-peta-kekuatan-preman-di-yogyakarta/32853, retrieved 30 October 2016. 112 “Vonis Cebongan, Kopassus Tetap Bangga pada Ucok Cs”, Tempo.co, https://nasional.tempo.co/read/news/2013/09/09/063511716/vonis-cebongan-kopassus-tetapbangga-pada-ucok-cs, retrieved 30 October 2016. 113 “Masyarakat Dukung Kopassus karena Muak dengan Premanisme”, Okezone.com, http://news.okezone.com/read/2013/04/10/337/789608/masyarakat-dukung-kopassus-karenamuak-dengan-premanisme, retrieved 30 October 2016. 114 “Sultan: Camat, Bupati bahkan Gubernur Bertanggung jawab atas Tawuran Remaja”, Harianterbit.com,

151

of schools in Yogyakarta have initiated new programs to prevent gang violence in their schools, for example new school regulations and extracurricular activities (Azca, 2013, pp. 135-152). If the governor is concerned about the ongoing youth violence, so are community groups and NGOs. Apart from gang violence, it is especially the rise of religiously and ethnically motivated intolerance and violence that has alarmed human rights groups. According to the Setara Institute, 53 cases of violations of religious freedom were documented between 2007 and 2016, making Yogyakarta a ‘red area’ for religious intolerance.115 The increasing number of attacks on minorities prompted the Anti-violence Community of Yogyakarta (Makaryo) to declare a state of emergency of violence in Yogyakarta.116 Other groups like the well-known Legal Aid Institute of Yogyakarta (LBH) have accused the government of inaction and urged the sultan to work harder in providing public safety for the people of Yogyakarta.117 Corruption Arguably the most prominent crime that affects political legitimacy in Indonesia is corruption. Since the establishment of the Corruption Eradication Commission in 2004, countless politicians, bureaucrats and business people have been arrested and convicted with lengthy jail sentences (Butt, 2011; Schütte, 2012), but the constant stream of new cases indicates that prosecution has only a limited deterrent effect when it comes to corruption in Indonesia. The country’s Corruption Perception Index (CPI) produced annually by Transparency International (TI) has improved slightly over the years, but remains low by international standards. http://pembaca.harianterbit.com/daripembaca/2015/08/11/37839/81/20/Sultan-Camat-BupatiBahkan-Gubernur-Bertanggung-Jawab-Atas-Tawuran-Remaja, retrieved 30 October 2016. 115 “Yogyakarta Becoming More Intolerant: Study”, The Jakarta Post, 28 February 2017, http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2017/02/28/yogyakarta-becoming-more-intolerantstudy.html, retrieved 18 October 2017. 116 See “Makaryo: Deklarasi Jogja Darurat Kekerasan”, Sindonews.com, http://daerah.sindonews.com/read/802857/22/makaryo-deklarasi-jogja-darurat-kekerasan1383806862, retrieved 7 November 2016. 117 See “Kasus Intoleransi di Yogyakarta Tinggi”, Tempo.co, https://m.tempo.co/read/news/2016/03/11/173752571/kasus-intoleransi-di-yogyakarta-tinggi, retrieved 6 November 2016.

152

Significantly, TI’s Indonesian branch also publishes CPIs for selected cities in Indonesia. Between 2004 and 2010, Yogyakarta was included in these reports and the results show that the city with the special status did reasonably well on the CPI (see Chart 7.15).

Chart 7.15: Corruption Perception Index (CPI) of 10 Provinces Capital Cities in Indonesia 7

MEDAN

6.5

PADANG PEKAN BARU

CPI Score

6

PANGKAL PINANG

5.5

JAKARTA

5

YOGYAKARTA

4.5

CILEGON/SERANG DENPASAR

4

BALIKPAPAN

3.5 2004

2006

2008

2010

2015

MANADO

Sources:

The number of cases reported to the KPK in Yogyakarta has fluctuated over the years, but has usually stayed under 100 reports per year. The only exception was in 2014 when 138 public complaints were registered by the KPK (see Table 7.3). Compared to other provinces, especially those ranked highly in the HDI index, these are relatively low figures, but given Yogyakarta’s small population, it is clear that Yogyakarta is by no means immune from corruption. In fact, since 2004 there have been a number of corruption cases that ended in convictions by the KPK. Among those sentenced to jail terms have been district heads, members of parliament, bureaucrats and local business people such as Ibnu Subiyanto, the head of Sleman’s District. The corruption court sentenced Ibnu Subiyanto to 3 years in jail after he proved to be guilty in a corruption case of mark up the budget of school

153

textbook procurement in Sleman District.118 In another case was 14 members of parliament of Gunung Kidul District who was guilty on corruption case of misuse the DPRD allowance fund. The court sentenced them to one year and four months in jail.119 Table 7.4: Number of Public Complaints on Corruption in Selected Provinces Provinces/Year

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

203

694

621

516

815

634

617

573

536

728

815

505

WEST SUMATERA

86

237

195

113

178

136

135

103

142

125

125

84

RIAU

41

98

97

209

277

254

181

177

174

231

272

167

NORTH SUMATERA

RIAU ISLANDS

34

133

100

142

85

77

96

64

62

56

82

59

DKI JAKARTA

403

1,308

1,427

1,181

1,270

1,422

1,295

1,263

1164

1,269

1,157

790

DI YOGYAKARTA

19

96

68

86

75

62

57

97

83

83

138

86

BANTEN

45

127

145

125

149

127

115

139

125

139

166

125

BALI

27

100

82

76

107

82

77

95

73

76

101

69

EAST KALIMANTAN

82

284

244

252

209

190

153

172

157

182

238

177

NORTH SULAWESI

39

93

64

89

124

116

69

87

98

95

112

64

2,281

7,361

6,939

6,510

8,699

7,246

6,265

6,319

6,344

6,801

9,432

5,694

Total

Sources:

What is important to note, however, is that the royal family has, so far, never been implicated in such cases. For the public legitimacy of the sultan, this track record is important as it underlines his status as a different kind of leader. However, corruption allegations have at times been levelled against close allies of the sultan, for example the former district head of Bantul. In 2011, Idham Samawi was alleged to have embezzled budget funds allocated to a local football club. The investigation dragged on for a long time but was eventually terminated after Samawi repaid the grant to avoid prosecution.120 In its annual report, the KPK cited

118

See, “Narapidana Korupsi Mantan Bupati Sleman Bebas”, Tempo.co, 16 Juli 2012, https://nasional.tempo.co/read/417217/narapidana-korupsi-mantan-bupati-sleman-bebas, retrieved 23 December 2017. 119 See, “14 Mantan Anggota DPRD Gunung Kidul Masuk Bui Ramai-Ramai”, Tempo.co, 16 Januari 2017, https://nasional.tempo.co/read/836598/14-mantan-anggota-dprd-gunungkidul-masuk-buiramai-ramai, retrieved 23 December 2017. 120 “Idham Samawi Kembalikan Dana Hibah Rp 11.68M Persiba ke Kas Daerah”, Kompas.com, http://regional.kompas.com/read/2014/03/13/0607319/Idham.Samawi.Kembalikan.Dana.Hibah. Rp.11.68.M.Persiba.ke.Kas.Daerah, retrieved 2 November 2016.

154

insufficient evidence as the reason for closing the case before bringing it to court.121 The handling of the case was heavily criticized by CSOs like PUKAT Korupsi (Pusat Kajian Anti Korupsi/The Centre of Anti-corruption Study) UGM and ICM (Indonesian Court Monitoring) Yogyakarta. They argued that the case was closed due to political intervention from the highest levels because the suspect was wellconnected to government officials in Jakarta as well as the Sultan of Yogyakarta. No such intervention could be proven, of course, and the sultan came out of the scandal without serious damage to his reputation. 7.6. Conclusion This chapter aimed to account for the performance of Yogyakarta under the leadership of Sultan Hamengkubuwono X. In his capacity as governor, Hamengkubuwono has a coordinating role to play between the provincial, municipal and district governments in Yogyakarta. Though most policy responsibility lies with the districts and city of Yogyakarta, the sultan still has an important function to fulfil as effective cooperation between different tiers of government is a crucial factor in facilitating successful policy outcomes at the local level. For the sultan, his role as mediator and coordinator works well because it reinforces public perceptions of him as a neutral arbiter who stays aloof from the bickering of day-to-day politics. Over the years, he has cultivated this image of a paternalistic figure by making regular appeals to district heads and the mayor of Yogyakarta to serve the people better. In the rare events where conflicts arise over public policy (for example over land), Hamengkubuwono successfully deflected the blame for controversial policies to the lower level governments, even though the royal palace often has a direct stake in these policy decisions. For the sultan, solid socio-economic development has added another layer of legitimacy to his deeply rooted cultural legitimacy and his role in providing political stability. As the chapter has shown, by and large, the special region of Yogyakarta has performed reasonably well on most important indicators of socioeconomic development. Outcomes in some policy areas remain underwhelming, for 121

KPK annual report 2015, p. 147.

155

example, in the areas of poverty alleviation and inequality, but public attention to these issues has been limited as the most heavily affected regions are the rural areas at the outskirts of the province. One may argue that Yogyakarta’s decent socio-economic development is an indication that the province’s unique governmental arrangement with an unelected governor has worked well. Indeed, supporters of the sultan’s privileges as an unelected governor can claim that the appointment mechanism has freed the provincial governor from political commitments to reward donors and supporters through illicit transactional politics, which are all too common in other provinces in Indonesia where governors are freely elected. Bureaucrats are also believed to have higher levels of dedication to serving their governor because of their deeply rooted respect for the sultan as a cultural leader. In short, Yogyakarta’s special status has facilitated rather than obstructed good governance, even though the provincial leader is not elected by democratic means. Given the good governmental performance, the political stability and deeply rooted legitimacy bestowed upon the governor due to his royal heritage, it would seem that there was no reason to alter Yogyakarta’s governmental structure. However, as explained in Chapter 4, the legal framework for regional autonomy that became effective in 2004 necessitated amendments or revisions to the legal foundations of Yogyakarta’s special status. Many people in Yogyakarta may have hoped that these amendments were only a formality that would reiterate their province’s special status, but it soon became clear that the central government had other ideas. And so, when negotiations about the future of Yogyakarta began in earnest during the presidency of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, the sultan and his followers found themselves confronted with a political adversary who seemed intent on abolishing Indonesia’s last sub-national monarchy.

156

CHAPTER 8 THE EMERGING CHALLENGE ON SPECIAL STATUS OF YOGYAKARTA “Initially, the government remained in a position suggesting a constitutional monarchy system […]. After seeing the development of Yogyakarta, the president tried to explain and convey that it is the best formula for Yogyakarta. The constitutional monarchy corresponds to the constitution and the future development of government, and is the best [option] for the people of Yogyakarta. If the people of Yogyakarta and the sultan cannot accept this, then let history record that we have tried, but the people of Yogyakarta and the sultan do not want to understand. That is the conclusion delivered by SBY at a cabinet meeting.”122 8.1. Introduction In August 2012, the House of Representatives eventually passed a new law about Yogyakarta’s special status. Law 13/2012 confirmed that the governor of this special region would be appointed rather than elected and that the position of governor would be reserved for the region’s traditional leader, the Sultan of Yogyakarta. The law also identified a number of other key privileges for the province. Practically all these privileges relate to the institution of the sultanate, reinforcing the ongoing prominence of this traditional institution within the otherwise democratic framework of local politics in contemporary Indonesia. The passing of the law was therefore a victory for Sultan Hamengkubuwono X who not only cemented his own power, but also took an important step toward securing these royal privileges beyond his own reign as sultan. By enshrining the appointment mechanism in law, he succeeded in providing his traditional rule with a modernlegal institutional foundation. In achieving this goal, he benefitted from the prolonged institutional uncertainty that followed his coronation as sultan in March 1989 and his first appointment as governor in October 1998. Once the central government had missed the opportunity of including Yogyakarta in its broader decentralization blueprint including the direct election of governors, the sultan and his supporters worked

122

Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015.

157

assiduously toward ensuring that any new legislation about Yogyakarta would not challenge but reconfirm the existing power structures in Yogyakarta. Ultimately, this outcome was not surprising. Previous chapters have shown that existing institutional arrangements had become entrenched and widely accepted and most of the key political stakeholders in Yogyakarta were content with the status quo. Moreover, the regional government had been performing well under Hamengkubuwono’s leadership, giving ordinary citizens few reasons to demand change. Hybrid though the system may be, it appeared to work well. What was surprising in this context was not that the governor’s special privileges were confirmed in the new law, but that the central government had actually tried to abolish them when deliberations about a new specialness law resumed in 2005. This chapter will sketch the process that led to the eventual passing of the new law in 2012. After a brief recap of the institutional developments that unfolded in the early post-Suharto era, the chapter’s main focus is on the tug-of-war between the central government under Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, which attempted to introduce

direct

gubernatorial

elections

in

Yogyakarta,

and

Sultan

Hamengkubuwono X, who resorted to a range of different strategies to protect his privilege as the only unelected provincial governor in Indonesia. The chapter will argue that the central government’s challenge to the status quo ultimately failed because of three main reasons. First, as historical institutionalists would expect, the existing formal and informal institutions that underpin the governmental structure of Yogyakarta were too difficult to alter radically once the window of opportunity provided by the fall of Suharto had passed. Outside such critical junctures, institutional change occurs more incrementally than radically and such incremental change was reflected in the eventual passing of new legislation. Second, once the opportunity for more radical change was missed, the ongoing ambiguity inherent in the existing institutional arrangement allowed Hamengkubuwono to delay the negotiations for so long that President Yudhoyono was eventually cornered because he had no institutional tools left to extend the legal ambiguity that had characterized Yogyakarta’s status for so long. Third, once that point was reached, Hamengkubuwono complemented his persistent lobbying with mass mobilization

158

in the streets of Yogyakarta. Given that one of the central government’s main goals in changing the rules of the game had been to avoid future instability, the now imminent threat of prolonged demonstrations and protests convinced Yudhoyono and his ministers to give in and allow the sultan to retain his privileged position. 8.2. Living with Institutional Ambiguity As discussed in Chapter 4, the end of the Suharto regime in 1998 had caused the most important critical juncture in Indonesia since 1965. The subsequent democratization process led to far-reaching institutional reforms including the introduction of direct elections for executive leaders at the national, provincial, municipal and district levels. Yogyakarta, however, was exempt from this change, thanks to its status as a special region, which dates back to the immediate postindependence era. Nevertheless, the intense public debate about democratization and decentralization also raised questions about Law 3/1950, which identified a number of special privileges of Yogyakarta and granted the governorship to the region’s traditional leader, the Sultan of Yogyakarta. A regional government law passed during the New Order period in 1974 never challenged this arrangement in practice and so the two laws co-existed side by side for more than two decades. But after the end of the New Order, these laws came under scrutiny, and Sultan Hamengkubuwono X sensed that democratization could pose a serious challenge to his authority. In the immediate aftermath of the fall of Suharto, the sultan staved off this challenge by siding with the pro-democracy movement and strengthening his ties with national elites. As the new central government was preoccupied with reorganizing power in Jakarta and deliberating plans for an unprecedented decentralization program, no one paid serious attention to the status of Yogyakarta. Hamengkubuwono benefitted from this period of institutional uncertainty as interim president Habibie eventually inaugurated him as governor in October 1998. Four years on, however, the challenge returned and this time it seemed more threatening to the sultan than before. By 2002, constitutional amendments had been completed and the central

159

government turned its attention again to its decentralization policy, now with a view to introducing direct elections for governors, mayors and district heads. As the deliberations unfolded, they coincided with the expiry of Hamengkubuwono’s first term as governor in 2003. Therefore, the sultan deemed it necessary to be proactive and pre-empt any attempt by the central government to include Yogyakarta in the new pilkada legislation. To that end, he initiated the drafting of a new specialness law for Yogyakarta that would provide a legal basis for his status as an unelected leader. But, as shown in Chapter 4, the submission of the draft law by members of Yogyakarta’s provincial parliament violated procedural requirements for national legislation and so the proposal was not considered by lawmakers in Jakarta. Still, the initiative sent a strong signal that Yogyakartans did not want the position of the sultan

to

be

challenged,

prompting

President

Megawati

to

reinstate

Hamengkubuwono as governor for a second term, despite question marks about the procedure. Thus, by the time Indonesians in other parts of the country began electing their local leaders directly in 2005, Sultan Hamengkubuwono held on to his anachronistic privilege as an unelected governor. However, this privilege did still not rest on a durable institutional foundation. On the contrary, the 2004 Law on Regional Government actually stated that the central government should draft a new law about the privileges of Yogyakarta so that the special region’s privileges could finally have a legal basis. Until such a law would be enacted, according to the wording in the 2004 Regional Government Law, the administration of this special region had to comply with broader decentralization policies as formulated in the Regional Government Law. Significantly, these policies included direct elections for provincial governors. It is therefore clear that institutional ambiguity no longer served the sultan so well, as Yogyakarta was now effectively treated like any other province. A new law was now in the interest of the sultan, and he had to ensure that this law would protect the traditional institution of the sultanate and his own position as unelected governor. This, however, was by no means assured. The newly elected president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, who had assumed the presidency in 2004, was keen

160

to promote Indonesia as a modern Muslim democracy and parts of his administration began to see Yogyakarta’s ongoing exceptionalism as compromising that ambition. About half way through Hamengkubuwono’s second term, therefore, the sultan made another move to push for a new specialness law. It was the beginning of a protracted tug-of-war between the sultan and the central government in Jakarta, especially President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. 8.3. Drafting a New Specialness Law In 2005, the Governor Assistant of General Governmental Affairs of the Yogyakarta special region, Dahlan Thaib, formed a team to draft a new version of Yogyakarta’s specialness law. The team sought to remind the central government of the special services Yogyakarta had provided to the nation back in the 1940s and the constitutional provision that allowed some regions to have a special status. Most importantly, however, the team from Yogyakarta urged the central government to finalize legislation on Yogyakarta as mandated by the Regional Government Law of 2004. Unsurprisingly, they proposed to enshrine in law that the Sultan of Yogyakarta be appointed governor without the need for elections. In addition, during the drafting process, the team from Yogyakarta also pressed for the perpetuation of the land tenure system that had served the sultan’s interests so well in the past.123 The proposal to strengthen the legal status of the practice of appointing the Sultan of Yogyakarta as governor of the province of Yogyakarta was based primarily on concerns that the existing political convention of having the sultan as non-elected governor might be undermined and eventually swept away by the new spirit of democratic accountability that was taking root in Indonesia. As direct elections were now mandated for all executive leaders at the national, provincial, municipal and district level (Erb & Sulistiyanto, 2009), the ongoing institutional ambiguity about the privileges for the ‘special region’ of Yogyakarta was beginning to threaten the interests of the sultan. In building the case for the formal institutionalization of the appointment mechanism, the sultan’s team pointed to the 123

Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015.

161

broad acceptance of the existing arrangements in Yogyakarta. Despite strong public support for democracy as the best system of government (Liddle & Mujani, 2006), there was neither a strong political grassroots movement nor a group of influential elites in Yogyakarta that would have demanded the introduction of direct gubernatorial elections in this province. On the contrary, as the discussions in Chapters 5 and 6 have shown, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X had adroitly utilized a mix of cultural legitimacy, patron-clientelism and control over land to sway most political stakeholders in Yogyakarta into supporting the continuation of existing institutional privileges for the royal palace. Indeed, many people in Yogyakarta had been so familiar with the sultan fulfilling a dual role as traditional ceremonial leader and political head of government that they seemed to take it for granted that the sultan was the governor. Even though they readily embraced the introduction of elections at the district and municipal levels, many people felt that exposing the sultan to an election process would violate their traditional cultural heritage. People have been quietly comfortable with the existing system in Yogyakarta. But this quiet support was changed when the government proposed an election for the governor position. They then became more vociferous, conducting mass rallies to show they refused the initiative and asked for the appointment of the sultan, their cultural leader, as the governor.124 Thus, when the sultan’s team drafted their proposal for a new specialness law, they highlighted the high levels of cultural and political legitimacy as key factors that would justify the strengthening of the sultan’s position in the new law. In other words, even though the traditional Javanese conception of power may not recognize legitimacy and popular support for a king, Hamengkubuwono X clearly saw the need to frame traditional notions of identity as a distinct form of cultural legitimacy in order to embed his power within the emerging democratic framework. The response from the Ministry of Home Affairs to the sultan’s initiative was lukewarm. Rather than engaging directly with the proposal from the Yogyakarta government, the ministry first sought assistance from the Department

124

Interview with Tavip Agus Rayanto, 2 February 2015

162

of Politics and Government (JPP) at Gadjah Mada University (UGM), the most prominent of Yogyakarta’s many tertiary education institutions. The ministry had good reasons to choose the scholars from UGM. Several of them were also involved in a project to write an academic monograph about the specialness law. Funded by an international development project through the Partnership Institute, the book was completed in 2007. To the dismay of the sultan, the monograph recommended the election rather than the appointment of the governor and advised that the best future system of government for Yogyakarta would be a form of constitutional monarchy (Lay et al., 2008). Following the completion of the monograph, the team of UGM academics used the existing material as the basis for formulating new draft legislation on behalf of the Ministry of Home Affairs. The draft was a comprehensive document covering not only extensive background information about the situation in Yogyakarta, but also comparative studies of other similar systems in the world, such as the constitutional monarchy of the United Kingdom and Malaysia. The authors had sought input from a wide range of stakeholders including Sultan Hamengkubuwono X himself (Lay et al., 2008). However, the sultan was disappointed when he read that the draft legislation echoed the recommendations from the previous book, namely to change Yogyakarta’s political system to a constitutional monarchy.125 The UGM team emphasized that despite the sultan’s popularity, there were in fact groups in Yogyakarta who preferred a democratic election for the governor. Supporters of such an election scenario were mostly university academics and members of pro-democratic NGOs. For example, members of the Yogyakarta CSO forum maintained that a continuation of the appointment mechanism merely served the Sultan’s interests but failed to address the objective needs of the people of Yogyakarta.126 This argument implied that issues such as poverty reduction,

125

Purwo Santoso explained to the member of parliament in the hearing session between experts and MPs that Sultan during the consultation session with the UGM team the Sultan had suggested the term of ‘parardya’ to name his position within the constitutional monarchy system. However, in the end, that term was not conferred on the Sultan within the UGM proposal. 126 Interview with Tri Wahyu KH, Coordinator of Indonesian Court Monitoring, 5 May 2015.

163

health and education would be better tackled by a governor who had a public mandate through a direct election.127 The forum therefore endorsed the election of the governor in the hope that better social programs and public services could be developed. Ultimately, however, the pro-democracy activists had little public standing and lacked resources and structure to spread their views widely to the people. Cognizant of this situation, the UGM academics did not base their argument in favour of a constitutional monarchy on alleged broad public support. Instead, in an attempt to beat the sultan at his own favoured game, the authors resorted to cultural-historical arguments. The main argument for change, according to the authors, was that the position of sultan should be kept sacred and the Sultan of Yogyakarta, in the reasoning, should be distanced from the dirty work of day to day politics, with the position of sultan a representative and thus higher office than that of governor (Lay et al., 2008, p. 38). The argument recalled widespread antiparty attitudes among academics and activists at the time as more and more members of political parties were accused of incompetence, inefficiency and, of course, corruption (Tan, 2010). Accordingly, the UGM team suggested the appointment of the Sultan and Paku Alam as ceremonial heads of the province of Yogyakarta, leaving the daily grind of everyday politics to a freely elected governor and deputy governor under the framework of a subnational constitutional monarchy (Lay et al., 2008). These recommendations then formed the basis of the draft legislation that would eventually be submitted to Parliament by the Ministry of Home Affairs in 2008. At this point it is noteworthy that it was not only the Sultan of Yogyakarta and the central government’s Ministry of Home Affairs who formulated draft versions of the new legislation. The Regional Representative Council of the Republic of Indonesia (DPD RI), a new institution formed in 2004 in the wake of the constitutional amendment process, also entered the fray, in a bid to mediate between the two opposing sides by suggesting its own specialness draft. The DPD, 127

Interview with Suryo Putro Nugroho, Chair of NGO Forum of Yogyakarta of 2006-2008 , 26 April 2015.

164

however, has no legislative powers and can only make recommendations to the House of Representatives (Rich, 2011). Its initiative was therefore largely symbolic and an attempt to remind the public of its existence. In 2007, the four DPD members representing Yogyakarta began formulating a new draft and asked the council to support them in their intention to propose a new specialness law for consideration by the House of Representatives. Significantly, among the four members was Sultan Hamengkubuwono X’s wife, Queen Hemas, who had been elected to the DPD in 2004. Given her involvement, it seemed surprising that the councillors initially dodged the most crucial question about the selection mechanism for the governor. Instead, in their first draft, which was completed in 2007, they focused on the meaning of specialness as the privilege of Yogyakarta. However, they then approached a Law Professor from Yogyakarta’s Islamic University of Indonesia, Jawahir Thontowi, to assist them with a new draft and eventually included a clause which suggested that the governor be appointed and that only the Sultan of Yogyakarta could hold this office.128 The DPD, in other words, at last sided with the provincial government of Yogyakarta in supporting the sultan as appointed governor. As with many other DPD initiatives, however, the two drafts by the four Yogyakarta councillors were largely ignored in the public debate. Instead, the main players in this unfolding tug-of-war were the Sultan of Yogyakarta, the government of President Yudhoyono and, as the deliberations shifted to the House of Representatives, the legislators in charge of debating and, ultimately, passing the specialness law.

128

Interview with Heru Wahyukismoyo, 11 March 2015.

165

Table. 8.1: The Draft of Specialness Law Based on Organisational Version No

Organisation

Team Leader /Consultant

Years

Governor Post

Result

1

Palace

GBPH Joyokusumo

1999

Appointment

Sent to the State Secretary Office

2

Regional Government team - UGM

Mukhsan (Law Faculty UGM)

2001

Election

This team was dismissed by the sultan and replaced by a new one

3

Regional Government team - UGM

Afan Gaffar (JPP UGM)

2002

Appointment

Sent to the Parliament

4

Secretariat Office of Regional Government

Dahlan Thaib

2005

Appointment

Sent to the Ministry of Home Affairs

5

JPP UGM Monograph

Cornelis Lay

2007

Election

Forwarded to the Ministry of Home Affairs

6

DPD

Subardi

2007

Not Discussed

Sent to the Parliament

7

Ministry of Home Affairs

Sodjuangan Situmorang

2008

Election

Discussed with the Working Committee of Parliament

8

DPD - UII

Djawahir Thontowi (Law Faculty UII)

2010

Appointment

Sent to the Parliament

9

Ministry of Home Affairs

Djohermansyah Djohan

2010

Election

Discussed with the Working Committee of Parliament

10

Ministry of Home Affairs

Djohermansyah Djohan

2012

Appointment

The Specialness Law of Yogyakarta

Sources: Collected from various interviews

166

8.4. The Draft Enters Parliament In contrast to 2002/2003 when the sultan’s team had failed to fulfil procedural requirements by sending its draft directly to the parliament, this round of deliberations followed protocol. Once again, the sultan’s team had taken the initiative, but this time they sent their version of the new law to the Ministry of Home Affairs, which is in charge of coordinating intergovernmental relations between the central, provincial and local administrations. Upon receiving the draft proposal from Yogyakarta, the ministry then added its own amendments based on the recommendations from the UGM team and then submitted this draft to the House of Representatives. According to one of the government representatives in charge of the negotiations, the fact that the central government sought assistance from Yogyakarta-based academics showed that the government wanted to avoid the impression that the central government was meddling in local affairs without seeking input from the locals.129 Once the ministry received the recommendations from the UGM team, it then merely ‘exercised its right to add a democratic nuance by promoting the system of constitutional monarchy.’130 However, of course the amendments were not just nuances; they affected the most important provision in the law about the future status of the sultan. One reason for the ministry to make such radical amendments to the original draft was to bring Yogyakarta in line with other provinces and allow for a more consistent implementation of the regional autonomy framework. Furthermore, the Ministry of Home Affairs recommended the constitutional monarchy model in order to separate the palace from the institutions of provincial government. With this recommendation, the government hoped to ensure that the position of governor would not be affected in case a problem would arise in the palace during a royal succession from one sultan to the next. The central government apparently feared instability in Yogyakarta because the sultanate had traditionally followed a patrilineal system whereby the title of sultan is passed on 129 130

Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015. Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015.

167

to the oldest son of an outgoing ruler. Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, however, has only daughters but no son. Dreading the prospect of royal family conflict over the upcoming succession, the ministry argued that disruptions to public service delivery and local governance could best be avoided if the sultanate was separated from the offices of provincial government.131 The ministry submitted its draft to the House of Representatives in 2008. However, it soon became clear that the ministry’s suggestions in the document faced opposition from most of the factions in the House. Only President Yudhoyono’s Partai Demokrat supported the draft. According to Khotibul Umam Wiranu, this was simply because the PD was the government party at the time and ‘it was Yudhoyono’s idea to implement the direct election policy’. 132 Most other factions backed Sultan Hamengkubuwono and questioned why the government’s draft version promoted a constitutional monarchy system with direct elections for the governor of Yogyakarta. During the deliberations in the House of Representatives, some political parties responded to the government’s proposal with caution, others with outright rejection. According to Golkar spokesperson Nurokhmah Ahmad Hidayat Mus, for example, ‘the Golkar Party suggests to have a comprehensive study and pay attention to people’s aspirations so that the solution does not cause any negative effect that disturbs the peace for the people in Yogyakarta.’133 The PDI-P, whose chairwoman Megawati Sukarnoputri was arguably Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s largest rival at the time, rejected the proposed election straight away. The PDIP party urges the parliament to ensure that the characteristics of Yogyakarta’s specialness including the unique positions of the sultan and Paku Alam as the governor and deputy governor remain through the appointment mechanism and direct responsibility to the President.134 131

Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015. Interview with Khotibul Umam Wiranu, a MP of Democrat Party, 17 April 2015. 133 Delivered by Nurokhmah Ahmad Hidayat Mus, spokesperson of Golkar party. The minutes collection of Specialness drafting meeting of House Representative, the Secretary Office of DPRRI, 2010-2011. 134 Delivered by Alexander Litaay, spokesperson of PDIP party. The minutes collection of Specialness drafting meeting of House Representative, the Secretary Office of DPR-RI, 20102011. 132

168

The sultan tried his best to use the opposition from the House to his advantage. As the deliberations dragged on, his team members undertook extensive lobbying efforts in Jakarta, targeting in particular parliamentarians from Yogyakarta, but also many other legislators involved in the negotiations.135 Committee members who did not hail from Yogyakarta were provided with detailed information about the local politics in the area and the historical significance of Yogyakarta that provided the initial basis for the province’s special status. The efforts paid off. As the deliberations progressed, opposition from the House against the government’s plan to abolish the appointment mechanism for the governor hardened.136 With no agreement in sight by 2008, the working team postponed the deliberations and put the draft onto the legislative agenda for the next governmental period from 2009 - 2014. For the sultan himself, the postponement had immediate consequences. His term as governor ended in 2008 and without an agreement about the method for determining the next governor, he was, once again, in institutional limbo. Pending the passing of a new specialness law, Yogyakarta was bound by the regulations in the 2004 Law on Regional Government and based on this legislation, the central government was unable to simply appoint him governor again. Not only would such an appointment have violated the requirement for an election but it would also have breached the clause that sets a limit of two consecutive terms for provincial governors. To make Yogyakarta governable in the short term, the province was now in need of a temporary solution. In 2008, the central government eventually offered the sultan an extension of his administration for a period of three years from 2008 to 2010 under a presidential decree.137 Hamengkubuwono accepted this offer, but by the time this extension expired, there was still no solution, so that another presidential decree became necessary to further extend his term in office. In other 135

Interview with Beni Susanto, former Sultan’s lobbying team and Chair of NGO Forum of Yogyakarta. 136 Interview with Ganjar Pranowo, former MP of PDIP Party and Governor of Central Java, 19 April 2015. 137 See, ‘Presiden perpanjang masa jabatan gubernur DIY’, (Sekretariat Negara Republik Indonesia, 2008).

169

words, institutional uncertainty continued, leaving the sultan in a precarious situation in which he did not know whether his position as governor could be secured on a permanent basis. When parliament resumed deliberations about the specialness law after the 2009 elections, attention quickly returned to the critical issue of royal succession. The sultan’s team argued that existing palace regulations (‘paugeran’) would ensure an orderly succession to Hamengkubuwono XI, but the Ministry of Home Affairs was not convinced. Rather than removing the constitutional monarchy clause in its second draft, the ministry merely replaced the name of the position the sultan would hold under the constitutional monarchy arrangement. To that end, the new draft gave the sultan the title of ‘Prime Governor’, but without changing the substantive meaning to the constitutional monarchy at Yogyakarta.138 Hamengkubuwono was not impressed. Well aware that parliament remained sceptical about the ministry’s intentions, he insisted on the acceptance of his own proposal, which rejected an election for the governor outright. For the central government, that was clearly unacceptable, especially after President Yudhoyono had won the 2009 election on a platform which, among other things, emphasized his administration’s democratic credentials (Aspinall, 2010). Increasingly then, the public debate turned towards the question of whether a traditional monarchy could be allowed to exist within the framework of a democratic polity. At a cabinet meeting in November 2010, President Yudhoyono made it clear that in his opinion this was impossible. In a frequently quoted statement to his ministers, Yudhoyono said: ‘It is impossible to have a monarchical system that collides with the constitution and the values of democracy [Tidak mungkin ada sistem monarki yang bertabrakan dengan konstitusi dan nilai demokrasi]’.139 Two months later, his Home Affairs Minister reiterated this point at a meeting with members of parliament in charge of deliberating the draft 138

Sultan explanation in the hearing meeting with the House of Representatives. The minutes collection of Specialness drafting meeting of the House of Representatives, the Secretary Office of DPR-RI, 2010-2011. 139 ‘Demokrasi vs Monarki Yogyakarta’, Kompas.com 01 Desember 2010, https://nasional.tempo.co/read/294722/presiden-yogyakarta-tidak-mungkin-anut-sistemmonarkhi#CofWf5Fj1WitS5Jb.99; accessed 23 May 2016.

170

specialness law. Like Yudhoyono, Gamawan Fauzi, too, insisted that the government would not ignore Indonesia’s democratic values while preparing this law. According to the minister, the central government was committed to an accountable and transparent administration at all administrative levels.140 A nonelected sultan was clearly not part of such a commitment. These statements demonstrated that the central government was intent on terminating years of institutional ambiguity on its own terms. These terms were unequivocal in the sense that the government saw no room for special arrangements when it comes to electing provincial governors. According to a member of Yudhoyono’s Democratic Party, the president often referred to his own experience as a directly elected president when talking about the situation in Yogyakarta during party meetings. In the words of Khotibul Umam Wiranu, Yudhoyono wanted to provide equality to the people of Yogyakarta by letting them elect their governor who then could be accountable to the people. The appointment mechanism, by contrast, provided no means of accountability.141 Based on that consideration, the Ministry of Home Affairs kept its draft version of the new specialness law closely aligned with the 2004 Law on Regional Government. Pointing to other provinces with special privileges like Aceh and Papua, the government argued that special administrative status could not exempt a province from the running of gubernatorial elections. Indeed, both Aceh and Papua enjoy special autonomy but elect their governors using the same electoral system as all other provinces (Mietzner, 2007). Specialness, therefore, in the eyes of the central government, needs to be respected but expressed in other ways than in the continuation of an anachronistic monarchy. For the parliamentarians in charge of passing the specialness bill into a new law, the tensions between the central government and the sultan’s team made the deliberations exceedingly difficult. Moreover, although the process received relatively little attention in the national media due to the localized nature of the 140

The statement of Ministry of Home Affairs, Gamawan Fauzi, during the meeting with the parliament members, 26 January 2011. The minutes collection of Specialness drafting meeting of the House of Representatives, the Secretary Office of DPR-RI, 2010-2011. 141 Interview with Khotibul Umam Wiranu, 17 April 2015.

171

contents, the stalled negotiations were followed intensely in Yogyakarta. Hamengkubuwono himself frequently commented on the ongoing drafting process in local media outlets, while the central government’s official statements about the specialness law were always critically scrutinized. Indeed, many Yogyakarta-based media outlets turned the specialness issue into daily news. Between 2007 and 2011, Efendi (2012, p. 129) noted a significant increase in coverage about the specialness question. Beyond Yogyakarta, meanwhile, other regions in Indonesia with monarchical traditions similar to Yogyakarta’s also took note of the protracted deliberations. Some saw it as an opportunity to demand special status for their own regions as well. For example, in December 2010, a group of traditional supporters of the old Surakarta sultanate declared that the modern town of Solo should also be granted special status as it had a similar history to Yogyakarta’s.142 However, the government quickly rejected these ambitions and attention remained firmly on Yogyakarta. 8.5. The Challenge Fails, Status Quo Maintained As the negotiations dragged on without much progress, the atmosphere in Yogyakarta became increasingly tense as people began to see the central government as antagonistic toward the cultural traditions of Yogyakarta. The sultan now played a very active role in mobilizing the public against Jakarta because he sought to increase the pressure on the central government. As the sultan and his supporters gradually intensified the pressure in their struggle for a favourable outcome, a number of events and developments eventually prompted the central government to reconsider their stance and agree to the key demands from the sultan. Ever since Hamengkubuwono’s team had produced the first draft of the specialness bill in 2005, the sultan had largely relied on lobbying to persuade the central government and the relevant DPR committee that the new law should prescribe the appointment, rather than the election of the governor. By the end of 2010, however, it became increasingly clear that the central government ignored these lobbying efforts. Moreover, all other strategic moves by Hamengkubuwono 142

https://nasional.tempo.co/read/298914/keraton-dukung-gagasan-daerah-istimewa-surakarta

172

had also failed to produce the desired result. For example, in 2008 when his second term as governor was about to end and there was no regulation in place to fill the governor post beyond 2008, the sultan expressed reluctance to stay on as governor, stating publicly that it was up to the people to decide whether he should be governor or not.143 In essence, the statement was merely a political ploy to gauge public support for his continuing governorship. But while the public support he had anticipated did indeed materialize in the form of calls for his continuation as governor, the sultan initially failed to achieve his broader goal – a change of mind by the central government and an acceptance of his ongoing appointment as governor into the future. Rather than revising the draft specialness law in accordance with the sultan’s demands, the government only offered him a temporary extension of his term for three years by means of a presidential decree. Thus, the sultan was still unable to secure his position as Yogyakarta governor into the future. Another strategy the sultan attempted at around the same time was to raise his profile in Jakarta and increase his bargaining power vis-à-vis the capital’s entrenched patronage networks by declaring his readiness to join the presidential election in 2009. However, like the public reluctance to accept an extension of his governor term, this strategy, too, failed to yield tangible results as none of the major parties considered the sultan as a serious candidate. The election, of course, was won easily by incumbent president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, and so the sultan knew that a change of tactics would be necessary to sway the government into agreeing to his demands. Yudhoyono’s statements in 2010 that it would be impossible to tolerate a monarchy within Indonesia’s democratic system only increased the pressure on Hamengkubuwono to act. And so, the sultan eventually turned to his people for support. Through a series of statements, speeches and public events, the sultan sought to increase the people’s resistance against the Yudhoyono administration’s effort to bring direct

143

See, Sultan HB X: Saya tak Mungkin Gubernur Seumur Hidup, Kompas.com, 20/09/2008/, http://megapolitan.kompas.com/read/2008/09/20/17210718/Sultan.HBX:.Saya.tak.Mungkin.Guber nur.Seumur.Hidup, retrieved 19 December 2017.

173

gubernatorial elections to Yogyakarta. In other words, Hamengkubuwono attempted to mobilize the people of Yogyakarta into demanding the appointment of their traditional ruler as governor. Some supporters took these appeals very seriously indeed and intimidated those who were sympathetic to the idea of direct elections.144 Mostly, however, the ensuing protests and demonstrations targeted government top officials such as Home Affairs Minister Gamawan Fauzi and President Yudhoyono himself. In 2011 and 2012, several events took place in Yogyakarta that aimed at pressuring the House of Representatives to endorse the original draft submitted by Sultan Hamengkubuwono’s team.

Figure 8.1: People are making a theatrical demonstration by aiming their catapults and arrows at Yudhoyono’s plans (Tribun Jogja/Hasan Sakri Ghozali, 15 June 2012) At one such major event in 2012, the sultan declared in a royal statement (Sabdatama) that Yogyakarta was an independent sultanate ruled by himself and the Pakualam as governor and deputy.145 Even though this decree had no formal legal basis and was directed primarily at the people of Yogyakarta, it also sent a strong message to the central government about the historical significance of 144 145

Interview with Suryo Putro Nugroho, 26 April 2015. “4 Sabdatama Raja Yogya untuk Warganya”, Tempo.co, 10 May 2012.

174

Yogyakarta and the sultan’s intentions for himself and the province within the modern nation-state of Indonesia. The mass rallies that were held in support of the sultan in 2011 and 2012 were a reflection of the growing outrage against the central government’s plans. For many Yogyakarta residents, the proposed introduction of gubernatorial elections was a violation of their cultural beliefs. According to Efendi (2012, p. 104), the existing institutional arrangements in Yogyakarta with the sultan as unelected governor are a kind of ‘everyday politics’ and part of people’s ordinary life. The introduction of direct elections to select the governor would disrupt this ordinary life because the sultan as their traditional ruler occupies a special position in their tradition (Harsono, 2011). Many believed that forcing the sultan to run in a gubernatorial election was disrespectful to him as a traditional leader who needs no public legitimacy. The longer the stand off between Yogyakarta and the central government lasted, the more impatient and provocative the protests in the streets of Yogyakarta became. While the situation in Yogyakarta heated up, the DPR’s working committee tasked with deliberating the specialness law conducted a series of public hearings with a range of stakeholders from Yogyakarta to collect further information for the legislation process. Following these hearings, it became clear that most factions in the working committee still agreed with the specialness proposal from Yogyakarta. Only President Yudhoyono’s Democratic Party faction and the National Mandate Faction rejected the proposal and supported the central government’s draft.146 Since legislation in Indonesia is usually passed by consensus rather than voting, the deadlock continued and threatened to extend past the second extension of the sultan’s term. Eventually, the breakthrough came in the fourth meeting between President Yudhoyono and Sultan Hamengkubuwono in late May 2012. According to Djohermansyah Djohan, it was this personal meeting between the two main protagonists which eventually led to the solution of the conflict.147 Hamengkubuwono X backed this assessment in a personal interview with 146 147

Interview with Ganjar Pranowo, 19 March 2015. Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015.

175

the author when he claimed that after three unsuccessful meetings with the president, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono finally agreed to accept the draft initially proposed by the provincial government of Yogyakarta in that fourth meeting in May 2012.148 The president, according to the sultan, then instructed the Democratic Party faction in the working committee to also change their stance and approve that very first draft.149

Figure 8.2: SBY and the Sultan after the second meeting at Wisma Negara (the Presidential Sekretariat/Rizky) Unsurprisingly, the House of Representatives would later maintain that the reason for accepting the initial draft from the Sultan was that parliament had to consider the people’s aspirations and the increasing rejection of the central government policy towards Yogyakarta. However, despite the parliament’s statements, there is no reason to doubt that the personal meetings between

148

Sultan mentioned in the interview that SBY agreed to the appointment mechanism of the Sultan as the governor of Yogyakarta at the fourth meeting with him by the end of May 2012. Furthermore, there were no exact dates from Sultan about when the previous three meetings were conducted. However, Djohermansyah Djohan explained that those meetings occurred in conjunction with the House of Representatives plennary session to discuss the specialness draft in 2008, 2010, and 2011. 149 Interview with Sultan, 1 June 2015.

176

Yudhoyono and Hamengkubuwono were the decisive factor on the way to a solution. In the end, the passing of Law 13/2012 about the special status of the province of Yogyakarta was a victory for Sultan Hamengkubuwono X. His uncompromising stance about the key contents of the law exasperated President Yudhoyono and ultimately left the president with no options but to succumb to Hamengkubuwono’s demands. According to Djohermansyah Djohan, President Yudhoyono believed that the government had made the maximum attempt to implement democratisation in Yogyakarta.150 However, by 2012, after years of fruitless negotiations, a solution simply had to be found because the president had already twice extended the sultan’s term as governor via presidential decree. Another extension was legally impossible as the extension period could not be five years or the same as a proper term as governor. Had there been no agreement by 2012, Yogyakarta would have been forced to have another governor than the sultan and that prospect was clearly not in the interest of President Yudhoyono. Thus, faced with a combination of institutional obstacles to perpetuating the negotiations, resistance from parliament and growing public mobilization in Yogyakarta, the Yudhoyono administration eventually gave in. From Yudhoyono’s perspective, there was simply nothing to gain any more from insisting on the implementation of elections in Yogyakarta. Moreover, by 2012 the president’s priorities lay elsewhere, especially in view of a large-scale corruption scandal engulfing his Democratic Party. The president also faced a direct repercussion from the situation in Yogyakarta as the sultan’s brother, Prabukusumo, resigned from his position as the Regional Council Head of the Democratic Party’s Yogyakarta chapter. Significantly, Prabukusumo stepped down from his position to show solidarity toward his family during the drafting process of the specialness law. Thus, by 2012, Yudhoyono’s eventual about-face was not really a surprise anymore. Ultimately, Sultan Hamengkubuwono did not even have to make too 150

Interview with Djohermansyah Djohan, 15 April 2015. See also the quotation at the beginning of this chapter.

177

many concessions to ensure his victory in this war of attrition. Having secured not only the privilege to remain as the only appointed provincial governor in Indonesia but also the protection of his land, Hamengkubuwono agreed to a number of features which the central government wanted to include in the law. For instance, every five years the sultan will have to follow certain procedures to be reinstated as governor without election. Basically, however, these procedures can be reduced to the submission of formal documents and a health check. All in all then, the new law formalized what the sultan had wanted from the beginning: the continuation of the long-existing hybrid institutional arrangement of a monarchy within a democracy. The Sultan of Yogyakarta remains at the heart of his system, effectively untouchable and above all democratic mechanisms of accountability. 8.6. Conclusion It took eight years of deliberations to finally have the bill about Yogyakarta’s special status passed into law. During this time, key political actors arranged themselves with the ongoing presence of the sultan at the helm of the provincial government. Existing institutions thus proved durable, playing into the hands of the defenders of the status quo. Thus, for Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, it was well worth the wait. In the end, radical institutional change was impossible so many years after the critical juncture that had prompted radical changes to other parts of Indonesia’s political system. Hamengkubuwono therefore managed to preserve the sultanate in its traditional form and have his ongoing appointment as governor enshrined into law. After he initially benefitted from the institutional ambiguity that emerged after the fall of Suharto, the implementation of regional autonomy including direct elections for provincial governors forced him to seek better legal protection of his interests. Law 13/2012 provides exactly that. To get to this point, Hamengkubuwono demonstrated remarkable political skill, changing strategies and tactics in response to the changing institutional environment. If in the beginning, he had largely relied on lobbying Jakarta’s established political elite, he eventually turned to his largest asset at home to increase the pressure on the central government: his own people. When tensions with Susilo

178

Bambang Yudhoyono rose after the president had stated that he regarded the continuation of a monarchy in Indonesia as impossible, Hamengkubuwono mobilized mass demonstrations and protests in Yogyakarta to signal to the central government that he was determined to resist the government’s reform efforts. Yudhoyono may have intended to provide a more democratic future for Yogyakarta with more transparent regulations that would ensure democratic accountability for the governor. However, the sultan clearly had a different point of view about the central government’s proposition and kept insisting on his ongoing appointment. The public reaction to the increasing tensions between 2010 and 2012 clearly indicated that for most people in Yogyakarta, democratic procedures are secondary to upholding traditional institutions such as the sultanate. The central government struggled to accept this, but was eventually forced into a corner when it had no legal mechanisms left to impose its will. The sultan found important allies in the House of Representatives, which seized the opportunity to present itself as the protector of the people’s interests. Thus, Yogyakarta’s hybrid system of government was preserved and monarchical traditions will live on within a broader framework of democratic institutions.

179

CHAPTER 9 CONCLUSION AND OUTLOOK “After going through a political journey full of dynamics, struggles and debates guided by reason, passion and conscience, Law No. 13 of 2012 about the Specialness of Yogyakarta Special Region has successfully instituted an amalgam of the prestigious values of Yogyakarta’s culture and democracy that have underpinned the people’s practice of everyday life of Yogyakarta for decades. Also, the success proves that the culture that grew up in Indonesia can sustain the process of combining values of aristocracy and democracy. This is the social capital of the Indonesian people that needs to be maintained and developed to establish the cohesion of a very heterogeneous community (Kristiadi, 2013, p. 15). 9.1. Introduction This study sought to investigate the peculiar governmental structure of Yogyakarta and answer the question why this Indonesian province has continuously enjoyed special privileges from its creation after Indonesian independence until today. The thesis paid particular attention to the most prominent of these privileges, namely the fact that the traditional ruler of Yogyakarta from the pre-independence era, the Sultan of Yogyakarta, has been allowed to hold the position as governor virtually unchallenged. The sultan has maintained this privilege throughout different periods of Indonesia’s turbulent political history, from Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX during the Sukarno and Suharto eras to Sultan Hamengkubuwono X during the current era of electoral democracy (though there was a short period after the death of Hamengkubuwono IX when a caretaker took over the role of provincial governor). Today, provincial governors in Indonesia are normally elected through free and fair elections, but the Sultan of Yogyakarta has never had to contest such an election. Instead, the sultan holds office for life, continuously appointed as governor every five years by the central government. Yogyakarta, therefore, maintains a rather anachronistic peculiarity in its local politics, creating a hybrid institutional regime in which elements of modern democracy coexist side by side with pre-modern monarchical institutions. This peculiar hybrid regime was formalized in 2012 when the House of Representatives passed Law 13/2012 about the special status of Yogyakarta. The

180

law had become necessary because of the institutional ambiguity surrounding the legal status of the province in the early post-Suharto period. Up until then, Yogyakarta’s special status had been based primarily on a rather ambiguously formulated law from 1950, which had granted Yogyakarta certain privileges as a token of appreciation for its special role in the struggle for independence. For decades these privileges had remained untouched, but the democratization process that began in 1998 challenged the validity of Yogyakarta’s special status. Especially the introduction of direct elections for provincial governors from 2005 onwards exposed Yogyakarta’s hybrid regime as a seemingly pre-modern oddity in a nation keen to embrace the pillars of modern democracy. Accordingly, the central government under then president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono endeavoured to abolish the appointment mechanism for the Yogyakarta governor in order to bring the province in line with the electoral procedures applied elsewhere. However, as this thesis has shown, these efforts failed. When a new law about the status of Yogyakarta was eventually passed after years of tense negotiations, the appointment mechanism was retained and the Sultan of Yogyakarta had defended his privilege as the only non-elected governor in Indonesia. This thesis argues that the failure of the central government to abolish the appointment mechanism in the 2012 legislation can be explained at least partly as a result of the institutional choices made earlier, namely during and shortly after the critical junctures of 1998 (the fall of Suharto) and 2004 (passing of the pilkada legislation). It was during this period when Indonesia undertook the comprehensive institutional reforms that resulted in free and fair elections on all admininstrative levels. Yogyakarta, however, was exempted from these early reforms because in the hierarchy of institutional reforms it featured well below the need for new national electoral rules, a recalibration of presidential power and regional autonomy across the archipelago. As Yogyakarta was not a national priority, the province was allowed to diverge from the institutional pathways determined for the rest of the country. Once the opportunity to include Yogyakarta in nationwide institutional reforms was missed, it became impossible for the central government to

181

retrospectively change the rules of the game. During the prolonged years of institutional ambiguity, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X had succeeded in consolidating the status quo by strengthening his ties with key local stakeholders and by shoring up public support through good government performance and emotional appeals to traditional Javanese values. Thus, when the central government proposed to abolish the appointment mechanism for the governor, it found virtually no support for its ostensibly democratic reforms because by now Hamengkubuwono’s leadership rested on a solid foundation of performance and cultural legitimacy. This concluding chapter will recap the main findings of this study, illustrate its broader theoretical implications and provide a brief outlook into the future of the Sultanate in Yogyakarta. It will begin with a summary of the main features of Yogyakarta’s peculiar political system. Then, it will outline again why the province was able to sustain these features in the face of significant political changes in the rest of Indonesia and sustained attacks from the central government in Jakarta. The chapter, as well as the thesis as a whole, concludes with a discussion of the implications of the new specialness law for the future of the Sultanate, especially in light of recent developments in regards to royal succession in Yogyakarta. 9.2. How Yogyakarta’s Special Status was Preserved Yogyakarta’s status as a special region dates back to the immediate postcolonial period when its contributions to the independence struggle were acknowledged in the constitution and in Law 3/1950. At its core, special status has meant that the traditional cultural leader of the region, the Sultan of Yogyakarta, has been allowed to be the provincial governor for life. During the tenure of Hamengkubuwono IX, this provision facilitated the formal and informal institutionalization of royal dominance over provincial affairs as it allowed the sultan to consolidate power and redefine his cultural legitimacy in the face of rapid modernisation. In the context of national politics, the existence of a local level monarchy was unproblematic as sub-national administrative entities had little

182

autonomy vis-à-vis the central government, and Indonesia’s first two presidents, Sukarno and Suharto, had nothing to gain from challenging Yogyakarta’s special status. Although the beginning of democratization in 1998 did eventually lead to a legal challenge from the central government, all efforts to relegate the sultan to a purely ceremonial leader failed and the status quo was eventually reconfirmed in a new law passed in 2012. Thus, today the key difference between Yogyakarta and other Indonesian provinces is still that the provincial governor of the Special Region of Yogyakarta is not directly elected by the people but appointed by the central government. More importantly, this appointment mechanism is not open to anyone who might be favoured by the central government but is restricted to the Sultan of Yogyakarta. Although most other formal institutions of regional governance in Yogyakarta such as local parliaments and judiciaries are identical with those in other provinces, the position of governor is always to be held by a monarch whose legitimacy rests not on a democratic mandate, but on deeply rooted cultural traditions of monarchical rule that date back to pre-colonial times. In addition to the privileged role for the sultan, Law 13/2012 also grants Yogyakarta special status in regards to the institutions of the provincial government, cultural and land policy as well as spatial planning. All of these privileges more or less directly benefit the sultan and cement his dominant position in Yogyakarta. Power in Yogyakarta, in other words, still rests firmly with the royal family. While decentralization in Indonesia primarily strengthened local executives at the district and municipal level (rather than the provincial level), the special privileges enshrined in Law 13/2012 give the governor of Yogyakarta important additional powers that allow him to exercise significant influence not only over provincial politics but also over district level politics. Especially the aforementioned special privileges in regards to culture, land and spatial planning are useful for the sultan as they give formal institutional recognition to notions of traditional legitimacy that have underpinned the sultan’s dominant position in Yogyakarta for decades. With the passing of the legislation, the sultan’s claims to represent the embodiment of traditional Javanese leadership are now grounded in a

183

modern institutional framework. Today, Yogyakarta is the only province in Indonesia where a traditional ruler continues to exercise not only informal influence but also formal political power. It is a peculiar type of hybrid regime in which elements of a traditional monarchy coexist side by side with modern features of electoral democracy. This thesis has shown that enshrining this hybrid regime type in law took years of protracted negotiations between the Sultan of Yogyakarta on the one hand and representatives of the central government on the other hand. Some other actors also became involved, but ultimately the negotiations were a power struggle between Jakarta and Yogyakarta. The thesis argues that the sultan won this struggle because of three main reasons. First, as historical institutionalists have posited, drastic institutional change is best achieved during a critical juncture, but in the case of Yogyakarta, the critical juncture of 1998 passed without any serious attempt by the central government to overhaul the province’s special status. As the government’s attention was firmly focused on other issues during that time, the path for Yogyakarta was defined as continuity, not change. Relevant stakeholders in Yogyakarta including the sultan himself responded accordingly. While Hamengkubuwono X tightened his grip on local politics through an effective mix of performance legitimacy, patron-client relations and control over land and property, other influential groups such as religious organizations or the business community rallied behind the status quo to secure their own material interests. Thus, during the crucial period between 1998 and 2004, when Indonesia implemented a vast range of comprehensive political reforms, support for a continuation of the sultan’s dual function as political and ceremonial leader was actually strengthened rather than challenged. Second, when the central government under new President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono did eventually decide to scrutinize the status of Yogyakarta, the sultan turned out to be a shrewd negotiator who played his cards wisely to eventually secure his interests in the new law. Not only was he successful in lobbying members of parliament but he also effectively manouvred President Yudhoyono into a corner after he had already secured two extensions to his second

184

gubernatorial term. This situation basically coerced Yudhoyono into finding a solution quickly because otherwise he would have needed to install a new governor after the end of Hamengkubuwono’s extended term. Such a decision would have risked an immense public backlash and so he eventually gave in to Hamengkubuwono’s demands for the continuation of a governorship for life for the sultan. Third, when negotiations between Jakarta and Yogyakarta threatened to become deadlocked, it became clear that the sultan could rely on vocal public support from ‘his’ people in Yogyakarta. Indeed, when President Yudhoyono stated publicly that the continued existence of a monarchy within Indonesia’s democratic framework was unacceptable, he provoked widespread public anger in Yogyakarta. The ease with which Hamengkubuwono was able to exploit this anger and mobilize participation in demonstrations and cultural performances showed that despite the lack of an electoral mandate, the sultan continued to enjoy enormous public support in Yogyakarta. Though public opinion data is unavailable, anecdotal evidence gathered during fieldwork for this thesis suggests that many Yogyakarta residents did indeed want the sultan to remain as governor for life. For some, this was simply a matter of cultural loyalty, but arguably many Yogyakartans also simply respected the sultan because he had provided the region with stability and prosperity during the difficult transition years after the fall of Suharto. Cultural legitimacy, in other words, had been effectively augmented by performance legitimacy, giving the sultan a remarkably strong basis for public support. 9.3. Critical Junctures and Path Dependence in Yogyakarta’s Political Trajectory Conceptually, the thesis has illustrated how decisions made by key political actors during critical junctures can put institutional trajectories on a path that is difficult to alter afterwards. This does not only apply to institutional change, but also to institutional endurance. Building on basic tenets of historical institutionalism, the thesis thus emphasized the difficulties in achieving radical institutional change in times when there is no sense of immediate crisis. That

185

Yogyakarta today retains its unique hybrid system of government with elements of democracy and absolute monarchy is formally a result of the legislation that was passed in 2012, but the groundwork for this unusual political system was laid much earlier, during critical junctures in Indonesian history in 1949/1950, 1998 and, to a somewhat lesser extent, 2004. As was outlined in Chapter 3, the origins of Yogyakarta’s special status go back to the critical juncture of Indonesian independence. At this point in time, after the withdrawal of the Dutch and the diplomatic recognition of Indonesia as an independent state, Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX had to decide whether or not Yogyakarta was to become part of the new Republic of Indonesia. Given that the sultan had already offered important support to the nationalist cause during the revolutionary war, the decision was never really in doubt. The reward for the sultan came soon after in the form of the 1950 Law on the special status of Yogyakarta. With a formal institutional framework now in place, a number of privileges for Yogyakarta’s traditional ruler that had already existed in one form or another during the colonial days had found expression in a modern legal document. In particular, of course, the law ensured that traditional and modern sources of power would be fused as the sultan was assured to be governor for life in the modern Indonesian nation-state. Had Yogyakarta not obtained its special privileges back in 1950, the province’s path would have been very different and the region would be highly unlikely to have any kind of special status today. For nearly fifty years, Yogyakarta’s status was never questioned and the notion that ‘the sultan is the governor and the governor is the sultan’ became institutionalized. But in 1998 decades of authoritarian rule came to an abrupt end in another critical juncture in Indonesian history and suddenly Yogyakarta’s entrenched monarchy with its inherently non-democratic features seemed strangely at odds with the new dominant political narrative of democracy. Luckily for the sultan, however, Yogyakarta eluded any challenge to its special status, partly because national elites were preoccupied with seemingly more pressing issues and partly because Yogyakarta’s status was affected by no fewer than three overlapping legal documents: the constitution, a specialness law for Yogyakarta dating back to

186

1950 and a law on regional government from 1974. In view of these complexities, it appears that Yogyakarta was put in the ‘too hard’ basket during the heyday of institutional reform in the immediate aftermath of the fall of Suharto. The constitutional reform process that followed the events of 1998 showed once again that institutional trajectories are dependent on the pathways chosen during critical junctures and that it is difficult to diverge from these pathways afterwards. Between 1999 and 2002, Indonesia initiated a series of farreaching constitutional changes, but Yogyakarta remained unaffected even when decentralization became a key feature of these changes. Then, another opportunity to challenge Yogyakarta’s status arrived in 2004 when amendments to the original decentralization framework led to the introduction of direct elections for governors as well as mayors and district heads. Once again, however, existing institutions proved their ‘stickiness’ as lawmakers chose not to include Yogyakarta in their considerations. As a result, the special region in the heart of Java was allowed to continue to be governed by a sultan who liked to claim democratic credentials but was adamantly opposed to direct elections in his own province. Had Yogyakarta been included in any of the path-defining reforms between 1999 and 2004, it might well have lost its special privileges and the province might now be ruled by an elected governor, just like every other province in Indonesia. As it turned out, however, it was not until Indonesian politics eventually stabilized during the presidency of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono that the central government at last began to question the status of Yogyakarta. By this time, however, the momentum for institutional reform was lost. As Crouch (2010) has highlighted, crisis mode had turned into business as usual after 2004 when new reform initiatives became scarcer and, where they did occur, more difficult to fully implement. In Yogyakarta, most political stakeholders as well as the general public had come to accept that the sultan’s dual function as political and ceremonial leader would continue to be the norm. The sultan himself, meanwhile, had made the most out of the immediate post-Suharto years as he managed local governance through an effective mix of successful development strategies, patron-client relations and control over land and property. In this political context, the existing institutional

187

arrangement proved durable and difficult to alter. The president was now up against a coalition of interests in Yogyakarta and in the national parliament. None of these key stakeholders saw any benefit in institutional change. And so, Yogyakarta’s unique hybrid regime was allowed to continue. On the one hand, the polity is characterized by basic features of a modern democracy such as competitive elections for provincial, municipal and district parliaments, elections for mayors and district heads, an independent judiciary and respect for the rule of law (within limits, cynics may argue). Furthermore, Yogyakarta’s citizens enjoy the same comprehensive political rights and civil liberties as their fellow citizens in other parts of Indonesia. On the other hand, however, some key democratic features such as competition and electoral accountability are severely restricted because the executive leader of the province is not elected. Moreover, the sultan’s control over land and spatial planning gives him enormous privileges which effectively place him above the law. Even though the specialness law was only passed in 2012, for the people of Yogyakarta, this kind of hybrid regime has been the norm now for nearly twenty years. More importantly, perhaps, even before democratization began in 1998, the sultan had always been the governor, so Yogyakartans simply have no experience with a non-monarchical leader. While a small minority of activists sought to change this status quo after 1998, the majority of citizens seem comfortable with this status quo. Rather than mass protests against the continuation of a seemingly anachronistic monarchy, Yogyakarta saw protests against plans to abolish the dominant role of this monarchy. Many people have apparently internalized the traditional values represented by the sultanate and they are keen to see these values embodied in a modern leader who does not simply fulfil ceremonial functions but also rules the province as a governor. Thus, the notion that ‘the sultan is the governor and the governor is the sultan’ does not appear to be unusual at all for many Yogyakartans. Today, the sultanate enjoys a remarkably strong mix of cultural and performance legitimacy, even though, or perhaps because the sultan often pretends to be above politics in Yogyakarta. During contentious policy debates, he tends to

188

delegate responsibility to district leaders and mayors, playing the neutral arbiter who seeks to mediate between squabbling factions. Critics have argued that he plays this role too often and that he should intervene more actively to help solve acute social problems in Yogyakarta. That, however, is unlikely because many of these problems are, in one way or another, linked to the sultan’s privileges, especially where they intersect with issues surrounding land acquisition and development. As the Law 13/2012 includes land tenure policy as part of the special regional affairs, Sultan Hamengkubuwono X has used the law to try to acquire land from villages and make this land part of the the sultanate ground. Acquiring this land would ease the need to provide the area for new development projects in the region. Affected citizens have argued that the sultan’s policy violates the Agrarian Law, so further conflict over land seems likely in Yogyakarta. Here, some of the problems of Yogyakarta’s hybrid regime become very obvious. Especially when it comes to land, the sultan often finds himself in a conflict of interest between his roles as a governor and a businessman. This, of course, is a common conflict of interest for many politicians in Indonesia, but the sultans’s status as a privileged unelected leader who likes to claim the moral high ground in contentious debates makes these conflicts of interest particularly problematic in Yogyakarta. How Hamengkubuwono X and his successors deal with these challenges will be one of the most important questions for the future of Yogyakarta. 9.4. A Female Future for the Monarchy? Significantly, this future may very well see a major disruption to established patterns of succession in Yogyakarta. As Hamengkubuwono X does not have any sons, the question arose during the deliberations about the specialness law how the sultanate would arrange the immediate succession following the current sultan. In fact, as outlined in Chapter 8, the central government framed one of its main arguments against continuing the appointment mechanism around the question of succession. Like many other monarchies, the Sultanate of Yogyakarta has traditionally followed a patrilineal line of succession and up until now, this

189

never caused any problems. Now, however, things are different and Hamengkubuwono X had to present a credible scenario for succession that would ensure future stability for Yogyakarta beyond his own death. Law 13/2012 confirmed that the title of sultan would be passed on to a male heir. However, Hamengkubuwono X soon challenged the relevant passage in the law as he is keen to have his oldest daughter to succeed him on the throne. What he challenged was Article 18 (1), Point m, which stipulates that gubernatorial candidates of Yogyakarta should submit a curriculum vitae outlining their education record and the occupation of their siblings, wife and children to the Yogyakarta Provincial Legislative Council. The inclusion of the word ‘wife’ clearly implied that only men can be sultans and governors, so Hamengkubuwono X wanted this clause removed. The legal challenge eventually went to the Constitutional Court and on 31 August 2017 the court did indeed annul the word ‘wife’, thus effectively allowing a woman to become the first female sultan of Yogyakarta.151 By promoting his daughter as his successor, Hamengkubuwono X has taken another step that brings Yogyakarta’s traditional monarchy closer in tune with modern democratic values. Some media have described it as a ‘royal revolution’152, while the sultan himself defended his initiative by arguing that he has to adapt to the changing times. Not everyone, however, agrees with the need to adapt. Friction has occurred not only between the sultan and his more traditionally inclined brothers, but also between the sultan and people who previously supported him during the specialness legislation processes. While some have rejected the sultan’s move for religious reasons, arguing that a female ruler cannot conduct important Islamic rituals expected from a sultan, others have put forward cultural arguments, claiming that female succession violates existing royal regulations (paugeran). Hamengkubuwono X countered his critics by pointing out that he had made necessary changes to the paugeran. Not only that, he claimed to have made those 151 152

‘Court rules woman can become Yogyakarta sultana’, The Jakarta Post, 1 September 2017. ‘Royal revolution as Indonesian sultan taps female heir’, Straits Times, 29 June 2016.

190

changes based on mystical instructions he received from the Divine through his ancestors. In doing so, he once again used elements of traditional culture to justify a strategic political move – a trademark of Yogyakarta’s sultans since the beginning of the region’s special history.

191

BIBLIOGRAPHY Abell, J., & Stevenson, C. (2011). Defending the faith(s)? Democracy and hereditary right in England. Political Psychology, 32(3), 485-504. Alagappa, M. (1995). Political legitimacy in Southeast Asia. California: Stanford University Press. Amin, S. (2006, 8 September). Sekretaris daerah Yogyakarta dicopot. Tempo. Tempo. Anderson, B. R. O. G. (1990). Language and power: Exploring political cultures in Indonesia. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Aspinall, E. (2010). Indonesia in 2009: Democratic triumphs and trials. In D. Singh (Ed.), Southeast Asian Affairs 2010 (pp. 103-125 ). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Aspinall, E. (2014). Health care and democratization in Indonesia. Democratization, 21(5), 803-823. Aspinall, E. (2015). The Surprising democratic behemoth: Indonesia in comparative Asian perspective. The Journal of Asian Studies, 74(4), 889902. Aspinall, E., Feith, H., & van Klinken, G. (Eds.). (1999). The Last days of President Suharto. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute. Azca, M. N. (Ed.). (2013). Kekerasan pemuda di tiga kota: Studi tentang reproduksi dan resolusi kekerasan di Makassar, Yogyakarta, dan Jakarta. Jakarta: Kemenpora Indonesia; ASKI; YOUSURE FISIPOL-UGM; PUSKAMURA-UI; PKK-UNHAS. Bagir, Z. A., Rahayu, M., Tahun, M., Martiam, N., Asyhari, B., Cholil, S., . . . Saputra, E. (2012). Laporan tahunan kehidupan beragama di Indonesia 2011. Yogyakarta. Baumgartner, F. R., & Leech, B. L. (1998). Basic interests: The Importance of groups in politics and in political science. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Benda, H. J. (1962). The Structure of Southeast Asian history: Some preliminary observations. Journal of Southeast Asian History, 3(1), 106-138. Benda, H. J., & Bastin, J. S. (1968). A History of modern Southeast Asia: Colonialism, nationalism and decolonization. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall.

192

Bhawono, A., Shintami, M., Nugroho, I., & Wiguna, O. (2015, 25-31 May). Mangkubumi: Komandan bisnis keraton. Detik. Brackman, A. C. (1982). Seorang Jawa yang besar, seorang Indonesia yang besar, manusia berjiwa besar. In Atmakusumah (Ed.), Tahta untuk Rakyat. Jakarta: Gramedia. Brooker, P. (2009). Non-democratic regimes. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Buehler, M. (2010). Decentralisation and local democracy in Indonesia: The Marginalisation of the public sphere. In (pp. 267-285). Butt, S. (2010). Regional autonomy and legal disorder: The Proliferation of local laws in Indonesia Sidney Law Review, 32(2), 177-197. Butt, S. (2011). Anti-corruption reform in Indonesia: An Obituary? Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies, 47(3), 381-394. Campbell, J. L. (1998). Institutional analysis and the role of ideas in political economy. Theory and Society, 27(3), 377-409. Carothers, T. (2002). The End of the transition paradigm. Journal of Democracy, 13(1), 5-21. Collier, D., & Levitsky, S. (1997). Democracy with adjectives: Conceptual innovation in comparative research. World Politics, 49(3), 430-451. Collier, R. B., & Collier, D. (1991). Shaping the political arena: Critical junctures, the labor movement, and regime dynamics in Latin America. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Cribb, R. (Ed.). (1990). The Indonesian killings of 1965-1966. Clayton: Monash University Centre of Southeast Asian Studies. Critchley, T. K. (1982). Pangeran di sebuah republik: Seorang patriot yang unik. In Atmakusumah (Ed.), Tahta untuk rakyat (reign to the people). Jakarta: Gramedia. Crouch, H. (2010). Political reform in Indonesia after Soeharto. Singapore: ISEAS Publishing. Cut, M. (2009). Mixing religious rituals and mystical experience with modern democracy: Indonesia's Sultan Hamengku Buwono IX. Political Theology, 10(4). Dahl, R. A. (1971). Polyarchy: Participation and opposition. New Haven: Yale University Press.

193

Dahles, H. (2001). Tourism, heritage and national culture in Java: Dilemmas of a local community. London: Taylor and Francis. Davidson, J. S. (2007). Politics-as-usual on trial: Regional anti-corruption campaigns in Indonesia. The Pacific Review, 20(1), 75-99. Davidson, J. S., & Henley, D. (2007). The Revival of tradition in Indonesian politics: The Deployment of Adat from colonialism to indigenism. N.Y.: Routledge. Davies, M. I. J. (2009). Wittfogel's dilemma: Heterarchy and ethnographic approaches to irrigation management in Eastern Africa and Mesopotamia. World Archaeology, 41(1), 16-35. Detik. (2007, 5 July). MK: Sengketa pemilu 2004 sebanyak 560 kasus. Retrieved from http://news.detik.com/berita/801812/mk-sengketa-pemilu-2004sebanyak-560-kasus Diamond, L. (2011). Democracy's third wave today. Current History, 110, 299307. Diamond, L., & Morlino, L. (2005). Assessing the quality of democracy. Baltimore: John Hopkins Press. Diamond, L. J. (2002). Thinking about hybrid regimes. Journal of Democracy, 13(2), 21-35. Dillon, P. (2004, 1 July ). 'SBY' is the people's chioce in Indonesia. USA TODAY. Retrieved from http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/news/world/2004-07-01-indonesiausat_x.htm Efendi, D. (2012). Local politics and local identity: Resistance to “liberal democracy” in Yogyakarta special regions of Indonesia (Political Science, University of Hawaii, Mānoa). Efianingrum, A. (2016). Realitas kekerasan pelajar SMA di Kota Yogyakarta. Proceedings of the Seminar nasional: Meneguhkan peran penelitian dan pengabdian kepada masyarakat dalam memuliakan martabat manusia, Yogyakarta. Eprilianty, L. C. H. (2009). Framing opini masyarakat tentang polemik jabatan Gubernur DIY dalam koran lokal DIY (Communication, Atma Jaya, Yogyakarta). Erb, M., & Sulistiyanto, P. (2009). Deepening democracy in Indonesia? Direct elections for local leaders (pilkada). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies ISEAS.

194

Feith, H., & Castle, L. (Eds.). (1970). Indonesian political thinking. Ithaca: Cornell university press Fossati, D. (2016). Is Indonesian local government accountable to the poor? Evidence from health policy implementation. Journal of East Asian Studies, 16(3), 307–330. Freedom House. (2004, 20 December). Freedom in the World 2005 - Indonesia. Washington. Retrieved from http://www.refworld.org/cgibin/texis/vtx/rwmain?docid=473c54fc23 Freedom House. (2006). Indonesia. Washington. Retrieved from https://freedomhouse.org/report/freedom-world/2006/indonesia French, R. D. (2011). Political capital. Representation, 47(2), 215-230. Gathorne-Hardy, G. M. (1953). The Democratic monarchy. International Affairs (Royal Institute of International Affairs 1944-), 29(3), 273-276. Geddes, B. (1999). What do we know about democratization after twenty years? Annual Review of Political Science, 2(1), 115-144. Geertz, C. (1980). Negara: The Theatre state in nineteenth century Bali. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Gibson, E. L. (2005). Boundary control: Subnational authoritarianism in democratic countries. World Politics, Vol. 58, No. 1, 101-132. Gilbert, L., & Mohseni, P. (2011). Beyond authoritarianism: The Conceptualization of hybrid regimes. Studies in Comparative International Development, 46(3), 270-297. Grafstein, R. (1981). The Failure of Weber's conception of legitimacy: Its causes and implications. The Journal of Politics, 43(2), 456-472. Gray, D. B. (2006). Mandala of the self: Embodiment, practice, and identity construction in the Cakrasamvara tradition. Journal of Religious History, 30(3), 294-310. Hadiwijoyo, S. S. (2013). Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta: Dalam Sistem ketatanegaraan Indonesia. Yogyakarta: Graha Ilmu. Hague, R., Harrop, M., & McCormick, J. (2016). Comparative government and politics: An Introduction (10th ed ed.). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Hajramurni, A., & Somba, N. D. (2013, 22 January 2013). S. Sulawesi set for vote; Papua rules on 'noken'. The Jakarta Post.

195

Hakim, M. A., Liu, J. H., Isler, L., & Woodward, M. R. (2015). Monarchism, national identity and social representations of history in Indonesia: Intersections of the local and national in the Sultanates of Yogyakarta and Surakarta. Asian Journal of Social Psychology, 18, 259-269. Halili, & Naipospos, B. T. (2014). Stagnation on freedom of religion: The Report of condition on freedom of religion/belief of Indonesia in 2013. Jakarta: Setara Institute. Halili, & Naipospos, B. T. (2015). Dari stagnasi menjemput harapan baru: Kondisi kebebasan beragama/berkeyakinan di Indonesia tahun 2014. Jakarta: Pustaka Masyarakat Setara. Hall, P. A., & Taylor, R. C. R. (1996a). Political science and the three new institutionalisms. Political Studies, 44(5), 936-957. Handito, D. N. (2014, 14 January). Kota Yogya sudah berikan izin 11 pembangunan hotel baru. Tribun Jogja. Gramedia. Harjono, S. (2012). Kronik suksesi keraton Jawa 1755 - 1989. Yogyakarta: PolGov. Harsono, D. (2011). To reign for the people: Exercising the 'democratic monarchy' in Yogyakarta (Erasmus University). Retrieved from http://books.google.com.au/books?id=-ethMwEACAAJ Hatta, R. M. (1982). Uang belanja pemberian Sri Sultan masih tersimpan sebagai kenangan. In Atmakusumah (Ed.), Tahta untuk rakyat. Jakarta: Gramedia. Hawes, G. (1996). Political legitimacy in Southeast Asia: The Quest for moral authority. The Academy of Political Science, 111(4), 740-741. Heinz, J. P., Laumann, E. O., Nelson, R. L., & Salisbury, R. H. (1993). The Hollow core: Private interests in national policy making. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Hellmann, O. (2011). Political parties and electoral strategy: The Development of party organization in East Asia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hertanto, L. (2012). Jalan berliku penetapan Sultan HB X jadi gubernur DIY. Detik, (11). Retrieved from http://hot.detik.com/read/2012/10/11/132116/2060125/10/jalan-berlikupenetapan-sultan-hb-x-jadi-gubernur-diy Hill, H. (2014). Regional dynamics in a decentralized Indonesia. In H. Hill (Ed.), Regional dynamics in a decentralized Indonesia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies.

196

Hofman, B., & Kaiser, K. (2002). The Making of the big bang and its aftermath: A Political economy perspective. Paper presented at the Can decentralization help rebuild Indonesia?, Atlanta, Georgia. Horowitz, D. L. (2013). Constitutional change and democracy in Indonesia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Huntington, S. P. (1991). Democracy's third wave. Journal of Democracy, 2(2), 12. Jaweng, R. E. (2013). Keistimewaan Yogyakarta: Babak baru yang menyisakan sejumlah catatan. Jurnal Ilmu Pemerintahan Indonesia, 42, 105-119. Jayasuriya, K., & Rodan, G. (2007). Beyond hybrid regimes: More participation, less contestation in Southeast Asia. Democratization, 14(5), 773-794. Jeffie, L. (2014). Hongkong post criticised for refusing to send democracy activists' fliers. South China Morning Post, p. C.2. South China Morning Post Ltd. Kahin, G. M. (1982). Sultan dan Belanda. In Atmakusumah (Ed.), Tahta untuk rakyat. Jakarta: Gramedia. Kan, K. (2013). Occupy central and constitutional reform in Hong kong. China Perspectives, (3), 73-78. Karl, T. L. (1995). The Hybrid regimes of Central America. Journal of Democracy, 6(3), 72-86. Kedaulatan Rakyat. (1998, 26 August). Depdagri tolak usul DPRD DIY. Harian Kedaulatan Rakyat. Kedaulatan Rakyat. Kompas. (1998, 15 May). Menhankam/Pangab: Hentikan penjarahan dan pembakaran. Kompas. Gramedia. Retrieved from http://www.seasite.niu.edu/indonesian/Reformasi/Chronicle/Kompas/May 15/hent01.htm Krasner, S. D. (1984). Approaches to the state: Alternative conceptions and historical dynamics. Comparative Politics, 16(2), 223-246. Kristiadi, J. (2013). The Specialnes of Yogyakarta special region: Knitting traditions, aristocracy and democracy. In The Directorate General of Local Autonomy (Ed.), Himpunan risalah proses penyusunan undang-undang republik Indonesia nomor 13 tahun 2012 tentang keistimewaan daerah istimewa Yogyakarta. Jakarta: Ministry of Internal Affairs The Republic of Indonesia.

197

Kristiansen, S. (2003). Violent youth groups in Indonesia: The Cases of Yogyakarta and Nusa Tenggara Barat. Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia, 18(1). Kustiningsih, W. (2012). Transfer pengetahuan, interaksi sosial, dan efektivitas kerja-kerja jejaring organisasi masyarakat sipil (OMS) di Yogyakarta (Sociology, Gadjah Mada, Yogyakarta). Lay, C., Pratikno, Dwipayana, A. A. G. N. A., Santoso, P., Haryanto, Mas'udi, W., . . . Sandi, A. A. T. T. L. (2008). Keistimewaan Yogyakarta: Naskah akademik dan rancangan undang-undang keistimewaan Yogyakarta. Yogyakarta. Leat, D. (1972). Misunderstanding verstehen. The Sociological Review, 20(1), 2938. Levitsky, S., & Way, L. (2010). Competitive authoritarianism: Hybrid regimes in the post-Cold War era. New York: Cambridge University Press. Liddle, R. W., & Mujani, S. (2006). Indonesia in 2005: A New multiparty presidential democracy. Asian Survey, 46(1), 132-139. Linz, J. J. (2000). Totalitarian and authoritarian regimes. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Lukes, S. (1974). Power: A Radical view. New York: Macmillan. Lustick, I. S. (2011). Taking evolution seriously: Historical institutionalism and evolutionary theory. Polity, 43(2), 179-209. MacIntyre, A. J. (2003). The Power of institutions: Political architecture and governance. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Madril, O. (2014, 13 Sept). DPRD dan korupsi. Kompas. Gramedia. Retrieved from http://pukatkorupsi.ugm.ac.id/?p=3446 Mahoney, J. (2000). Path dependence in historical sociology. Theory and Society, 29. Martha, L. F. (2015, September 9). Memaknai indeks pembangunan manusia yang baru. Kompas. Kompas Gramedia. Retrieved from http://print.kompas.com/baca/opini/duduk-perkara/2015/09/09/MemaknaiIndeks-Pembangunan-Manusia-yang-Baru McVey, R. T. (1978). Southeast Asia transition: Approaches through social history. New Haven: Yale University Press.

198

Mei, C., & Pearson, M. M. (2014). Killing a chicken to scare the monkeys? Deterrence failure and local defiance in China. The China Journal, 72(1), 75-97. Mietzner, M. (2007). Local elections and autonomy in Papua and Aceh: Mitigating or fueling secessionism? Indonesia, No. 84 (Oct., 2007), 1-39. Mochtar, K. (1982). Pak Sultan dari masa ke masa. In Atmakusumah (Ed.), Tahta untuk rakyat (reign to the people). Jakarta: Gramedia. Moedjanto, G. (1993). The Concept of power in Javanese culture. Yogyakarta: Gadjah Mada University Press. Monfries, J. (2007). Hamengku Buwono IX of Jogjakarta: From Sultan to Vice President. Life Writing, 4(2). Monfries, J. (2008). The Sultan and the revolution. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Landen Volkenkunde, 164(2/3), 269-297. Monfries, J. (2015). A Prince in a republic: The Life of Sultan Hamengku Buwono IX of Yogyakarta. Singapura: ISEAS. Montero, A. P. (1998). Assessing the third wave democracies (Vol. 40). Beverly Hills: University of Miami. Muryanto, B. (2013, September 13). Yogyakarta gets low score for health budget. The Jakarta Post. Gramedia Kompas. Retrieved from http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2013/09/13/yogyakarta-gets-lowscore-health-budget.html Nolan, C. (2016). “Papua's central highlands: The 'Noken' system, brokers, and fraud.”. In E. Aspinall & M. Sukmajati (Eds.), Electoral dynamics in Indonesia: Money politics, patronage and clientelism at the grassroots (pp. 398–415). Singapore: National University of Singapore Press. Nolan, C., Jones, S., & Solahudin, S. (2014). The Political impact of carving up Papua. In H. Hill (Ed.), Regional dynamics in a decentralized Indonesia (pp. 409-432). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. North, D. C. (1991). Institution. The Journal of Economic Perspectives, 5(1), 97– 112. O'Reilly, D. J. W. (2006). Early civilizations of Southeast Asia. Lanham: AltaMira Press. O'Rourke, K. (2002 ). Reformasi: The Struggle for power in post-Soeharto Indonesia. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin.

199

Page, S. (2006). Path dependence. Quarterly Journal of Political Science 1(1), 87115. Pamungkas, C. (2015). Religious identification and social distance between religious groups in Yogyakarta. Humaniora, 27(2), 141-155. Perkasa, A. (2014, 24 June). Jejak hitam keraton di Kulon Progo. The Stories with Impact. Retrieved 2016, from https://anugerahperkasa.wordpress.com/2014/04/13/jejak-hitam-keratondi-kulonprogo/ Pierson, P. (1996). The Path to European integration: A Historical institutionalist analysis. Comparative Political Studies, 29(2), 123-163. Puddington, A. (2015). Discarding democracy: A Return to the iron fist. Washington: Freedom House. Purdey, J. (2011). From Vienna to Yogyakarta: The Life of Herb Feith. Sidney: University of New South Wales Press. Rahardjo, S. (2011). Peradaban Jawa: Dari Mataram kuno sampai Majapahit akhir. Jakarta: Komunitas Bambu. Rakhmawati, R. (2013). Pengaruh pengelolaan arsip serat kekancingan terhadap pengaturan hak atas tanah berstatus Magersari paska pemberlakuan Undang-undang Pertanahan dan Agraria (UUPA) 1960: Studi kasus arsip serat kekancingan di Kota Yogyakarta Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta (Library, Diponegoro University, Semarang). Rakner, L., Menocal, A. R., & Fritz, V. (2007). Democratisation’s third wave and the challenges of democratic deepening: Assessing international democracy assistance and lessons learned. London: Overseas Development Institute. Ratnawati, T. (2011). Antara “otonomi” sultan dan "kepatuhan” pada pusat di era reformasi: Studi kasus Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta (DIY). Governance, 2(2), 42-68pp. Reid, A. (2015). A History of Southeast Asia. Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Reuter, T. (Ed.). (2010). The Return to constitutional democracy in Indonesia (Vols. 1-30). Caulfield: Monash Asia Institute. Rich, R. (2011). Designing the DPD: Indonesia's regional representative council. Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies, 47(2), 263-273. Ricklefs, M. C. (2001). A History of modern Indonesia since c.1200 (3rd ed.). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

200

Ricklefs, M. C. (2007). Polarizing Javanese society: Islamic, and other visions, c. 1830-1930. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Ricklefs, M. C. (2008). A History of modern Indonesia since c.1200 (4th ed.). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Robison, R., & Hadiz, V. R. (2004). Reorganising power in Indonesia: The Politics of oligarchy in an age of markets. London: RoutledgeCurzon. Roosa, J. (2006). Pretext for mass murder: The September 30th movement and Suharto’s coup d ‘etat in Indonesia. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Rurit, B. (2009). Sultan tak nyapres lantaran modal cekak. Retrieved from https://m.tempo.co/read/news/2009/05/16/149176653/sultan-tak-nyapreslantaran-modal-cekak Saikkonen, I. (2017). Electoral mobilization and authoritarian elections: Evidence from post-Soviet Russia. Government and Opposition, 52(1), 51-74. Sakai, M., & Fauzia, A. (2014). Islamic orientations in contemporary Indonesia: Islamism on the rise? Asian Ethnicity, 15(1), 41-61. Sambanis, N., & Milanovic, B. (2014). Explaining regional autonomy differences in decentralized countries. Comparative Political Studies, Vol. 47(13) 1830 –1855. Santoso, D. (2016). Linguistic politeness strategies in Javanese political discourse (Department of Languages and Linguistics, La Trobe University, Melbourne). Schmitter, P. C. (1993). Democracy's third wave: Review of Samuel P. Huntington's "The Third wave. Democratization in the late twentieth century" (Book Review). The Review of Politics, 55(2), 348-351. Schmitter, P. C., & Karl, T. L. (1991). What democracy is . . . and is not. Journal of Democracy, Volume 2(Number 3). Schütte, S. (2012). Against the odds: Anti-corruption reform in Indonesia. Public Administration and Development, 32(1), 38. Sekretariat Negara Republik Indonesia. (2008, 23 May 2016). Presiden perpanjang masa jabatan gubernur DIY. Retrieved from http://www.setneg.go.id/index2.php?option=com_content&do_pdf=1&id= 2768 Sharma, S. (2003). The Asian financial crisis: Crisis, reform and recovery. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

201

Sharp, M. P. (1935). The Classical American doctrine of "the separation of powers". The University of Chicago Law Review, 2(3), 385-436. Sievers, A. M. (1974). The Mystical world of Indonesia culture and economic development in conflict. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Slater, D., & Simmons, E. (2010). Informative regress: Critical antecedents in comparative politics. Comparative Political Studies, 43(7), 886-917. Soewarno, P. J. (1998, 11 August). Sengketa keistimewaan Yogyakarta. Bernas. Bernas. Stepan, A., Linz, J. J., & Minoves, J. F. (2014). Democratic parliamentary monarchies. Journal of Democracy, 25(2), 35-51. Subanu, L. P. (2008). Governing urban development in dualistic societies. In T. Kidokoro, N. Harata, L. P. Subanu, J. Jessen, A. Motte & E. P. Seltzer (Eds.), Sustainable city regions: Space, place and governance. Tokyo: Springer. Subkhan, I. (2007). Hiruk pikuk wacana pluralisme di Yogya. Yogyakarta: Kanisius. Sudaryanto, A. (2008). Hak dan kewajiban abdi dalem dalam pemerintahan Kraton Yogyakarta. Mimbar Hukum, 20(1), 163-177. Sujito, A. (2005). Mal dan marginalisasi. Flamma, 10(Special Edition). Sulistiyanto, P. (2009). Pilkada in Bantul district: Incumbent, populism and the decline of royal power. In M. Erb & P. Sulistiyanto (Eds.), Deepening democracy in Indonesia? Direct elections for local leaders (pilkada). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Surdiasis, F. (Ed.). (2006). Denny JA: Membangun demokrasi sehari-hari. Yogyakarta: LKiS. Suyatna, H. (2011, 28 October). Keraton dan peminggiran ekonomi rakyat. Paper presented at the Politik Ekonomi Kesultanan Yogyakarta, Yogyakarta. Tan, A. (2010, 2-3 July ). Detecting fraud Paper presented at the The White collar crime and serious fraud conference, Auckland. Tempo. (2015a, 23 Agustus). Hilangnya episode Bangka. Tempo. Tempo. (2015b, 23 August). Jalan berkelok sang Dorodjatun. Tempo. Tempo. (2015c, 23 August). Pentas politik sang raja. Tempo.

202

Tempo. (2015d, 23 August). Pundi-pundi Ngarso Dalem. Tempo. Tempo. (2015e, 23 August). Selokan penyelamat rakyat Tempo. Tempo. (2015f, 23 Agustus). Setia di belakang dwi tunggal. Tempo. Tempo. (2015g, 23 Agustus). Sudahlah, teken saja... Tempo. Theen, R. H. W., & Wilson, F. L. (1986). Comparative politics: An Introduction to six countries. N.J.: Prentice-Hall. Thelen, K. (1999). Historical institutionalism in comparative politics. Annual Review of Political Science, 2(1), 369-404. Thelen, K. A. (2004). How institutions evolve: The Political economy of skills in Gemany, Britain, the United States, and Japan. New York: Cambridge University Press. Tirtakoesoema, R. S. (2003). The Anniversary of the accession of his highness the Sultan of Yogyakarta. In S. Robson (Ed.), The Kraton: Selected essays on Javanese courts. Leiden: KITLV Press. Tomsa, D. (2006). Dominance by default: Golkar and uneven party institutionalisation in post-Suharto Indonesia (Asia Institute University of Melbourne, Melbourne). Tomsa, D. (2008). Party politics and democratization in Indonesia: Golkar in the post-Suharto era. New York: Routledge. Tomsa, D. (2015a). Local politics and corruption in Indonesia’s outer Islands. Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences of Southeast Asia and Oceania, 171(2-3), 196(124). Tomsa, D. (2015b). Toning down the ‘big bang’: The Politics of decentralisation during the Yudhoyono years. In M. Mietzner & D. Tomsa (Eds.), The Yudhoyono presidency : Indonesia's decade of stability and stagnation (pp. 155-174). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Tsuchiya, K. (Ed.). (1984). 'States' in Southeast Asia: From 'tradition' to 'modernity '. Kyoto: Kyoto University: Center for Southeast Asian Studies. Tsui, K., & Wang, Y. (2008). Decentralization with political trump: Vertical control, local accountability and regional disparities in China. China economic review, 19(1), 18-31. Tucker, W. T. (1965). Max Weber's "verstehen". The Sociological Quarterly, 6(2), 157-165.

203

van Dijk, K. (2001). A Country in despair. Leiden: KITLV Press. van Klinken, G. (2007). Return of the sultans: Communitarian turn in local politics. In J. Davidson & D. Henley (Eds.), The Revival of tradition in Indonesian politics : The Deployment of Adat from colonialism to indigenism. New York: Routledge. Wahid, Y. Z., Vulovick, V., Azhari, M. S., Djafar, A. M., Nisa, N., & Ferdhi, G. (2014). Laporan tahunan kebebasan beragama / berkeyakinan dan intoleransi. Jakarta: T. W. I. a. T. B. Shop. Wahyukismoyo, H. (2004). Keistimewaan Jogja vs demokratisasi. Yogyakarta: BIGRAF. Walker, J. L. (1983). The Origins and maintenance of interest groups in America. The American Political Science Review, 77(2), 390-406. Weber, M. (1978). Economy and Society. Los Angeles: University of California Press. Widyanta, A. B. (2011, 24 June). Konflik mega proyek tambang pasir besi Kulon Progo. Spotaker Blank. Retrieved 2016, from http://spotakerblank.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/konflik-mega-proyektambang-pasir-besi.html Wigell, M. (2008). Mapping 'hybrid regimes': Regime types and concepts in comparative politics. Democratization, 15(2), 230-250. Wittfogel, K. A. (1957). Oriental despotism: A Comparative study of total power. New Haven: Yale University Press. Wood, M. (2005). Official history in modern Indonesia. Leiden: BRILL. Woodward, M. (2011). Java, Indonesia and Islam. Tempe: Springer. Woodward, M. R. (1989). Islam in Java : Normative piety and mysticism in the Sultanate of Yogyakarta. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press World Bank. (2015, December 8). Indonesia: Rising inequality risks long-term growth slowdown [Press release]. Jakarta: The World Bank. Retrieved from http://www.worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2015/12/08/risinginequality-risks-long-term-growth-slowdown Yanuardy, D. (2012). Commoning, dispossession projects and resistance: A Land dispossession project for sand iron mining in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. Paper presented at the Global land grabbing, Itacha: Land Deals Politics Initiative.

204

Zamroni, A., & Andin, M. (1998). Pahlawan reformasi: Catatan peristiwa 12 mei 1998. Jakarta: Pabelan Jayakarta.

205

Appendix 1: Ethic Approval for Fieldwork Study

FACULTY OF HUMANITIES AND SOCIAL SCIENCES MEMORANDUM To:

Mr Dwi Harsono Politics Program School of Social Sciences and Communication

From: Subject: Title:

Chair, Faculty Human Ethics Committee Review of Human Ethics Committee Application No. 2084-14 A monarchy without a Kingdom: Yogyakarta’s exceptional system of government

Date:

22 October 2014

Thank you for your recent correspondence in relation to the research project referred to above. The project has been assessed as complying with the National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research. I am pleased to advise that your project has now been granted final approval. You may commence the study now. The project has been approved from the date of this letter until 31.08.2018. Please note that your application has been reviewed by members of the Faculty Human Ethics Committee (FHEC) to facilitate a decision before the next University Human Ethics Committee (UHEC) meeting. This decision will require ratification by the UHEC and it reserves the right to alter conditions of approval or withdraw approval at that time. You will be notified if the approval status of your project changes. The UHEC is a fully constituted Ethics Committee in accordance with the National Statement under Section 5.1.29. The following standard conditions apply to your project: 

Limit of Approval. Approval is limited strictly to the research proposal as submitted in your application while taking into account any additional conditions advised by the UHEC or FHEC.



Variation to Project. Any subsequent variations or modifications you wish to

206

make to your project must be formally notified to the FHEC for approval in advance of these modifications being introduced into the project. This can be done using the appropriate form: Ethics - Application for Modification to Project which is available on the Research Services website at http://www.latrobe.edu.au/research-services/ethics/HEC_human.htm. If the FHEC considers that the proposed changes are significant, you may be required to submit a new application form for approval of the revised project. 

Adverse Events. If any unforeseen or adverse events occur, including adverse effects on participants, during the course of the project which may affect the ethical acceptability of the project, the Chief Investigator must immediately notify the FHEC Secretary on telephone (03) 9479 3505. Any complaints about the project received by the researchers must also be referred immediately to the FHEC Secretary.



Withdrawal of Project. If you decide to discontinue your research before its planned completion, you must advise the FHEC and clarify the circumstances.



Monitoring. All projects are subject to monitoring at any time by the University Human Ethics Committee.



Annual Progress Reports. If your project continues for more than 12 months, you are required to submit an Ethics - Progress/Final Report Form annually, on or just prior to 12 February. The form is available on the Research Services website (see above address). Failure to submit a Progress Report will mean approval for this project will lapse.



Auditing. An audit of the project may be conducted by members of the UHEC.



Final Report. A Final Report (see above address) is required within six months of the completion of the project or by 28 February 2019.

If you have any queries on the information above or require further clarification please contact the Secretariat on telephone (03) 9479-3505, or e-mail at: [email protected] On behalf of the Faculty Human Ethics Committee, best wishes with your research! Yours sincerely

Dr Norva Lo Chair, Faculty Human Ethics Committee cc:

FHEC Secretary

Dr Dirk Tomsa, Politics Program, School of Social Sciences and Communications

207

Appendix 2: Example of Consent Form DD/MM/YYYY Consent Form Consent to participate in the research project “A Monarchy without A Kingdom: Yogyakarta’s Exceptional System of Government” conducted by Dwi Harsono, School of Social Sciences, La Trobe University, Australia 

I have read the information about the project and have received a copy of that information.



I have received an adequate explanation of any potential effect arising from my participation in this project.



My participation in this project is voluntary and I am free to withdraw at any time.



I am free to set my own restrictions on the use of my interview data. Further, I have the right to have all traces of my participation removed provided that this right is exercised within four weeks of the completion of the participation.



I understand that after seeking my permission the interview/s may be recorded and kept by the researcher.

As a participant in this project I would like to (PLEASE CIRCLE ONE): a. use my own name b. be anonymous for the information I provide.

Dwi Harsono will protect the confidentiality of the information provided by you, subject to legal limitations.

I __________________, have read the above conditions and I hereby consent to participate in the project.

____________________ (Participant signature)

208

List of Interviewees Achiel Suyanto, Advocat and Legal Advisor of Sultan’s Family, 8 June 2015. Affrio Sunarno, Head of Research and Development Section of Bappeda of Yogyakarta City, 6 April 2015. Arif Jamali, Member of Regional Leader Board (Pimpinan Wilayah Muhammadiyah) Yogyakarta, 6 June 2015. Arif Nur Hartanto, MPs of Regional People’s Representative Council, 1 April 2015 Bayu Dardias, Lecturer of Gadjah Mada University, 18 March 2017. Benni Susanto, Coordinator of Masyarakat Anti Kekerasan Yogyakarta/Makaryo (The Anti-violence Community of Yogyakarta), former Sultan’s lobbying team, and Chair of NGO Forum of Yogyakarta, 25 August 2016. Djohermansyah Djohan, Head Of Government Team of the Specialness Drafting Legislation and Former the General Director of Governmental Affairs and Regional Autonomy, The Ministry Of Home Affairs, 15 April 2015. Fitri Nurmahmudah, Officer of Bappeda of Sleman District, 16 February 2016. Ganjar Pranowo, former MP of PDIP Party and Governor of Central Java, 19 April 2015. Hari Dendy, Sultan’s Advisor and Coordinator of Cultural Community “Yogya Semesta”, 6 March 2016. Haryadi Suyuti, Mayor Of Yogyakarta City, 10 April 2015. Heru Wahyukismoyo, a Lecturer of Widya Mataram University. 11 March 2015. Ichsanuri, former Secretary of Regional Government of Yogyakarta Special region, 26 February 2016 Isti’anah, Lecturer of Muhammadiyah University of Yogyakarta and former MPs 23 February 2015 Jadul Maula, the Deputy Head of Regional Leadership Board of Nadhatul Ulama (NU) of Yogyakarta, 2 June 2015. Jatiningrat, Sultan’s cousin and the Head of Dwarapura Office in the palace, 29 February 2016. Meth Kusumohadi, Chair of Satunama (CSO in Yogyakarta) and Lecturer at Atmajaya University Yogyakarta, 3 July 2016. Khotibul Umam Wiranu, a MP of Democrat Party, 17 April 2015. Kusno W. Utomo, editor of “Radar Jogja” newspaper, 11 February 2015. Nico Harjanto, President Director of Populi Center, 15 April 2015. Nur Ahmad Affandi, former MP in the regional parliament and former Chairperson of KADIN, 1 September 2016. Octo Lampito, Head of Editor of “Kedaulatan Rakyat”, 22 February 2016.

209

Pakualam IX, Adipati (Duke) of Pakualaman, 12 April 2015 Pino Agustin, Journalist and Member of the Alliance of Independent Journalist, 14 August 2016. Pramutomo, Lecturer at the Indonesian Institute of the Art of Surakarta, 5 May 2015. Purwanto, Official of Bappeda of Bantul District, 25 February 2016 Robby Kusumaharta, Businessman and the Chairman of the Advisory Board of KADIN Yogyakarta, 24 February 2016. Silvi Maynina, Official of Bappeda of Yogyakarta City, 25 February 2016 Sukiman Hadiwijoyo, palace courtier and the Head of Hamlet Association “Semar Sembogo”, 9 March 2015 Sultan Hamengkubuwono X, King of Sultanate and Governor of Yogyakarta, 1 June 2015. Suryo Putro Nugroho, Chair of NGO Forum of Yogyakarta of 2006-2008, 26 April 2015. Tavip Agus Rayanto, Head of Planning and Development Agency (BAPEDA) of Yogyakarta, 5 February 2015. Tenty NK, Member of CSO of IDEA, 3 March 2016 Tri Wahyu KH, pro-democratic CSO Activist and Chair of Indonesian Court Monitoring (ICM), 5 May 2015. Usep Syaiful Ahyar, Executive Director of Populi Center, 14 April 2015 Wawan Mas’udi, lecturer of Gadjah Mada University, 12 February 2016. Yanuardi, Lecturer of Yogyakarta State University, 17 May 2016. Yudhaningrat, Sultan’s brother, 5 March 2015.