Indonesia's Police: The Problem of Deadly Force
Indonesia's Police: The Problem of Deadly Force
Briefing 108 / Asia

印度尼西亚:巴布亚岛深陷僵局

概述

有 两种情绪可以体现巴布亚岛的政治僵局,一边是众多巴布亚人因“特别自治”形同虚设而倍感沮丧,另一边则是印度尼西亚政府官员因巴布亚人对现状不满而恼羞成 怒。二者之间的鸿沟或许可以通过对话来弥补,但雅加达方面不愿承认问题的本质是政治问题而非经济问题,使得展开真诚对话的前景堪忧。为了推动问题的解决, 印尼总统苏西洛·班邦·尤多约诺首先必须认识到自治不仅仅意味着预算拨款或是加快经济建设,他还需要与可信赖的巴布亚领导直接探讨如何扩大政治自治,在各 个部门加强扶植当地民族的行动,以及如何缓解巴布亚人对于迁入人口的担心。除非这三个问题在面对面会谈中得到解决,否则僵局难以打破,而且将很有可能激 化。

双方的沮丧与恼怒来源于2009年11月巴布亚人民议会(Majelis Rakyat Papua, MRP)的一项决议(该组织是根据特别自治立法为保护巴布亚文化价值而设立的),决议规定所有省级以下的民选公职候选人必须是土生土长的巴布亚人。之所以 作出这一决定是因为议会担心美拉尼西亚的巴布亚人将会很快被已经在某些城市占人口大多数的非巴布亚裔印尼人口淹没。正如一位巴布亚人所说:“每一天都有飞 机入港带来移民。”

这一决议,被称为SK14,得到了巴布亚群体广泛支持,并被视为扶植当地民族行动的榜样。它也被视为是对于自治法中规定地方长官和副地方长官必须为本土巴布亚人条款的自然延伸。然而,在雅加达,民政事务部却以其具有歧视性以及地方政府违反国家法律而驳回了该决议。  

激 怒了解内情的巴布亚人的不只是雅加达对决议的断然拒绝,而是在整个决策过程中,政府丝毫没有顾及SK14在当地得到的广泛支持,也没有做出任何努力去了解“特别自治”并不等同于盲目遵行国家法律,甚至没有表现出一点商妥的意图。雅加达的反应突显了巴布亚人民议会的无力以及政府官员对人民议会权威的轻蔑不 屑。

怨恨既已产生,查亚普拉的游说团体认为争端反映了特别自治中(印尼语称为otonomi khusus otsus) 更深层的问题,并公开寻求渠道表达忧虑。五月末,他们与巴布亚人民议会接洽,打算举行一个半公开的咨询会,在其议会成员第一个五年任期临近时评估议会工 作。议会的领导层同意在目标日期到来前发出200封邀请信,并在6月9日至10日举办了名为“巴布亚人民议会与本土巴布亚人”的咨询会 (Musyawarah MRP dan Masyarakat Asli Papua)。最后到场参加的人数是受到邀请人数的三倍。

咨 询会提出了11项建议,其中包括拒绝自主权,要求国际调停对话,就独立问题进行全民公决,以及承认1961年12月1日宣告的巴布亚独立主权。这令有些巴 布亚人民议会成员感到尴尬。组织者还要求巴布亚人民议会正式将建议提交给小议会(巴布亚人民代表会,DPRP)以进一步开展行动。

巴 布亚人民议会在6月18日提交了建议。当时巴布亚中部高地的活动分子已经组织了数千抗议者从人民议会办公室“长征”到小议会以象征性地“交还”特别自治。 他们在7月8日举行了第二次大规模示威,向小议会施压,呼吁举行特别会议来决定下一步措施。随后又有比较小的游行行动。

警 方和军队的非巴布亚官员认为不仅示威是非法的,而且咨询会本身也是非法的,因为巴布亚人民议会的职能本应是文化性的而非政治性的。地方情报人员几乎肯定幕 后有人向宗教领袖、民选官员、学者发送了大量原始短信,区域遍及查亚普拉甚至整个巴布亚。这暗示了那些参与抗议的人实际上正私下大量敛财。在安全部队看 来,抗议者既不合法也不真诚,但他们允许这些人在和平抗议的条件下继续前进。

SK14的命运所 引发的愤怒淡化了同期发生在巴布亚的其他一些政治局势。其中之一是总督巴纳巴斯·苏部的村庄发展战略规划(Rencana Strategis Pembangunan Kampung,RESPEK)开始将政府固定拨款投入当地社区以决定款项在某些范围内的用途。在查亚普拉,几乎没有巴布亚领导能够对村庄发展战略规划提 出指责,而对于政府官员,他们觉得一个直接民选出来的巴布亚官员是难以接近的,对当地民生漠不关心,所以也对其有所褒扬。但在村庄发展战略规划已经产生影 响的村落,情况则截然不同,并不是所有的受益者都同意查亚普拉的抗议者的观点。

第二个政治发展是pemekaran或 者说是将巴布亚人划分到越来越多的行政单元:行政区、分区和村庄。这种划分方式本已在全国内暂停,但巴布亚的离心力似乎太强以至于难以挽回。村庄被划分的 结果是更小的行政单元可以得到村庄发展战略规划的资金;同样的推动力混合了少数民族团体想成为本地区主导的愿望,加速了新行政区的产生。2010年巴布亚 地区举行了20场当地选举,这也是将SK14推到首要位置的因素之一。候选者无意于抛弃特别自治,因为那是从根本上保证他们政治和经济权利的基础。因此, 城市抗议者和本地精英利益和以村庄为重点的发展举措,两者毫无联系。

简言之,广泛的怨恨、歧视、无法兑现的承诺和过去的不公正都存在着。对此,雅加达越是迟迟拒绝讨论,激进的声音就会变得愈发强大。

雅加达/布鲁塞尔, 2010年8月3日

Overview

The two sentiments that define the political impasse in Papua are frustration on the part of many Papuans that “special autonomy” has meant so little, and exasperation on the part of many Indonesian government officials that Papuans are not satisfied with what they have been given. The gulf between the two might be reduced by dialogue, but any prospect of serious talks is hampered by an unwillingness of Jakarta to treat the problem as essentially a political, rather than an economic one. To move forward, President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono needs personally to take the lead in recognising that autonomy means more than increased budgetary allocations or accelerated economic development. He needs to explore directly with credible Papuan leaders how political autonomy can be expanded; affirmative action policies strengthened in all sectors; and Papuan fears about in-migration addressed. Unless these three issues are tackled head on in face-to-face meetings, the impasse is unlikely to be broken and increased radicalisation is likely.

Frustration and exasperation crystallised over a decision in November 2009 by the Papuan People’s Council (Majelis Rakyat Papua, MRP), a body set up under special autonomy legislation to protect Papuan cultural values, that all candidates for elected office at the sub-provincial level had to be indigenous Papuans. The decision stemmed from fears that Melanesian Papuans were being rapidly swamped by non-Papuan Indonesians who in some towns already were a majority. As one Papuan put it, “Every day planes come in, vomiting migrants”.

The decision, known as SK14, had wide support in the Papuan community and was seen as an example of affirmative action. It was also seen as a natural extension of a provision in the autonomy law stating that the governor and deputy governor had to be indigenous Papuans. In Jakarta, however, the Home Affairs Ministry rejected the decision as discriminatory and in violation of a national law on local government.

It was not just the flat rejection that irritated the Papuans who were privy to the process, it was how it was done: without any acknowledgment of the concerns behind SK14; without any effort to understand that “special autonomy” meant something different than the blind application of national law; and without any attempt to meet them half way. Jakarta’s reaction underscored the powerlessness of the MRP and the contemptuous disdain of officials toward its attempt to assert authority.

As the anger built, advocacy groups in Jayapura saw the issue as reflecting the deeper problems of special autonomy – in Indonesian, otonomi khusus or otsus – and looked for a vehicle to express those concerns publicly. In late May, they approached the MRP about holding a semi-public consultation that would evaluate its work as the end of the members’ first five-year terms approached. MRP leaders agreed, sent out 200 invitations only days before the target date, and on 9-10 June, hosted an event billed as a Consultation of MRP and Indigenous Papuans (Musyawarah MRP dan Masyarakat Asli Papua). About three times as many people showed up as had been invited.

To the discomfiture of some MRP members, the consultation produced eleven recommendations that included a rejection of otsus, a demand for an internationally-mediated dialogue and a referendum on independence, and a recognition of Papua’s sovereignty as proclaimed on 1 December 1961. The organisers then asked the MRP to formally turn the recommendations over to the provincial parliament (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat Papua, DPRP) for further action.

The MRP did so on 18 June, by which time activists from Papua’s central highlands had organised thousands of protestors for a “long march” from the MRP office to the provincial parliament to symbolically “hand back” special autonomy. They held a second mass demonstration on 8 July to pressure the parliament to hold a special session to determine how to follow up the recommendations. Several smaller street actions followed.

Non-Papuan officials from the police and military regarded not just the demonstrations but the consultation as unlawful because the MRP’s role is supposed to be cultural, not political. Local intelligence operatives were almost certainly behind a slew of crude text messages sent to religious leaders, elected officials, academics and others across Jayapura, and probably across Papua, insinuating that those involved in the protests were actually raking in large amounts of money on the side. In the view of the security forces, the protests were neither legitimate nor sincere but they allowed them to go ahead as long as they stayed peaceful.

The anger over the fate of SK14 obscured several other political developments in Papua that are taking place simultaneously. One is Governor Barnabas Suebu’s Strategic Plan for Village Development (Rencana Strategis Pembangunan Kampung, RESPEK), an initiative to get block grants to local communities that can then decide on their use within certain parameters. Few Papuan leaders in Jayapura have anything bad to say about RESPEK or anything good to say about the governor, a directly-elected Papuan, whom they see as inaccessible and focused only on his own agenda. But it is almost certainly a different story in the villages where RESPEK has had an impact, and not all its beneficiaries would see eye to eye with the protestors in Jayapura.

The second development is pemekaran or the dividing of Papua into more and more administrative units: districts, subdistricts and villages. There is supposed to be a nationwide moratorium on this fragmentation but the centrifugal impetus in Papua seems too strong to hold back. Villages are dividing up so that smaller units can get RESPEK funds; the same impetus, combined with the desire of minority ethnic groups to become dominant in their own territory, fuels the creation of new districts. Twenty local elections are being held in Papua in 2010, one of the factors that prompted SK14 in the first place. The candidates have no desire to throw away special autonomy because it underpins their chance for political and economic power. There is thus a disconnect between the urban protests on the one hand, and local elite interests and village-focused development initiatives on the other.

That said, there are also widely shared grievances, over discrimination, unfulfilled promises and past injustices. The longer Jakarta refuses to discuss them, the stronger the radical voices will become.

Jakarta/Brussels, 3 August 2010

Op-Ed / Asia

Indonesia's Police: The Problem of Deadly Force

My four year-old daughter recently came home from her Jakarta kindergarten with a story about a visit to the school from the head of our local police station. 'If there is a robber and he's running away, the policeman will pull out his gun, fire in the air, and if he doesn't stop then he will shoot him in the leg', she recounted breathlessly.

I have spent 25 years working in and around conflict zones, including more than a decade in Indonesia. My reaction might not have been that of the average parent. 'That', I replied, 'is a violation of Perkap Number 8.' Needless to say, my reference to Police Regulation Number 8 of 2009 regarding Implementation of Human Rights Principles and Standards in the Discharge of Duties of the Indonesian National Police was lost on her. She thought the visit was great.

I had recalled Perkap 8 when re-reading the Hansard of the recent sparring between Australian Foreign Minister Senator Bob Carr and Victoria Greens Senator Richard Di Natale over the police shooting of protesters in Papua. But it is not just in Papua where questionable use of deadly force by the Indonesian National Police (INP) takes place. It happens across the country. And this was what Perkap 8 was put in place to prevent.

Article 47 of Perkap 8 says that 'the use of firearms shall be allowed only if strictly necessary to preserve human life' and 'firearms may only be used by officers: a. when facing extraordinary circumstances; b. for self defense against threat of death and/or serious injury; c. for the defense of others against threat of death and/or serious injury.' This is Indonesian law, taken from the UN Code of Conduct for Law Enforcement Officials, and this is what should be used to assess police actions, wherever in the country they occur.

The fatal shooting on 14 June 2012 of Mako Tabuni, deputy head of the National Committee of West Papua (KNPB), in Jayapura, capital of Papua province, made Senate Estimates in 2012. The shooting of three protesters in Sorong on 30 April 2013, West Papua province, was mentioned in the testy 5 June 2013 exchanges between Senators Carr and Di Natale. You can watch it above.

In the first incident, detectives shot a suspect in the leg as he was running away and then left him to die in a hospital allegedly without making any effort to treat his wounds. In the second, police claim they were threatened by armed KNPB activists. Without more information it is difficult to judge if their response was disproportionate. Police always say they are shooting in self-defense, but it has become such a common excuse that it has started to lose its plausibility.

Cases outside Papua do not garner much attention in Australia, but lethal shootings happen all the time. On 1 September 2011 seven villagers were killed during a rowdy protest against police brutality in the Central Sulawesi district of Buol, a place so obscure even most Indonesians cannot find it on a map.

On 7 March 2013, soldiers burned down a police station in Baturaja, South Sumatra, after their off-duty comrade, First Private Heru Oktavianus, was shot dead by a police officer while speeding away from a traffic violation.

On 8 May 2013 police in Java killed six suspected terrorists in a series of raids. The police usually claim the suspects were armed and resisted arrest. But it is not always true, and many could have almost certainly been captured alive.

Ordinary criminals are shot with distressing frequency, as my daughter's visitor suggests, without any outcry at home or abroad.

Perkap 8 was signed by the then police chief Sutanto, a real reformer. It has not gotten very far. One foreign police officer working on a bilateral community policing program in a large metropolitan command told me he had once seen a copy of the Perkap on the chief's desk but suspected it had been disseminated no further.

Even when progressive regulations or orders are issued and disseminated, they are not always followed. In October 2012, the police chief of Papua, Tito Karnavian, former head of the anti-terrorism unit Detachment 88 (Densus 88), announced that he had banned police from using live ammunition when handling demonstrations in the region. This was progress and it was implemented for some demos, but the deaths in the Sorong case suggest live ammunition was used.

As Article 46 of Perkap 8 says, 'all officers must be trained in the use of power, equipment and firearms that can be used in applying force' and 'must be trained in non-violent techniques and methods.' Training almost 400,000 officers across 33 provinces is a logistical challenge, though it might be a good idea to start with elite units such as Densus 88 or personnel in the Papua provinces.

The new national head of the INP, about to be appointed, might breathe new life into two reforms already in place: implementation of Perkap 8 and Chief Sutanto's other landmark regulation on community policing, Perkap 7. The INP is a very hierarchical organisation that does follow firm orders from above. While its size makes complex reform difficult, its hierarchical nature makes implementing existing regulations with firm orders easier.

The first duty of the incoming INP chief, who reports directly to the president, will be to secure the 2014 elections. Making sure those deployed to safeguard this 'festival of democracy' are properly trained and equipped to use non-lethal force will be an important first step. After a new head of state is elected, he or she should consider issuing a directive that would see Perkap 8 properly implemented. The use of less deadly force could even be politically popular in some parts.

Outside help may also be needed, and this is where Australia comes in. A few decades back, the Victorian state police had a problem of using too much deadly force and created Project Beacon to try to rectify it. They changed the way they thought about the problem, overhauled training, and gave officers on the beat new tools, like pepper spray. Foreign assistance along these lines could help the INP improve performance and increase accountability. Crisis Group has long argued that the INP needs better orders, training, and equipment for the use of non-deadly force.

If the INP is to be more the service it aspires to be rather than the force it is, it needs to shed its military mindset, hold serious post-operation reviews after each fatal incident, and decrease reliance on shooting first and asking questions later, regardless of whether officers are following locally accepted standard procedure. When the time comes and the INP is ready to carry forward the reform of Perkap 8, Australia should be there to help.

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