Traditional Authority, Islam, and Rebellion: A Study of Indonesian Political Behavior [Reprint 2019 ed.] 9780520318212

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Traditional Authority, Islam, and Rebellion

This volume is sponsored by the C E N T E R F O R S O U T H AND S O U T H E A S T A S I A S T U D I E S University of California, Berkeley

The Center for South and Southeast Asia Studies of the University of California is the coordinating center for research, teaching programs, and special projects relating to the South and Southeast Asia areas on the nine campuses of the University. The Center is the largest such research and teaching organization in the United States, with more than ISO related faculty representing all disciplines within the social sciences, languages, and humanities. The Center publishes a Monograph series, an Occasional Papers series, and sponsors a series published by the University of California Press. Manuscripts for these publications have been selected with the highest standards of academic excellence, with emphasis on those studies and literary works that are pioneers in their fields, and that provide fresh insights into the life and culture of the great civilizations of South and Southeast Asia. RECENT PUBLICATIONS OF THE CENTER FOR SOUTH AND SOUTHEAST ASIA STUDIES

PADMANABH S. JAINI The Jaina Path of Purification LEWIS R. LANCASTER The Korean Buddhist Canon: A Descriptive

Catalogue

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K A R L D. J A C K S O N

Traditional Authority, Islam, and Rebellion A Study of Indonesian Political Behavior

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley . Los Angeles • London

University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. L o n d o n , England © 1980 by T h e Regents of the University of California ISBN 0 - 5 2 0 0 3 7 6 9 - 3 Library of Congress Catalog Card N u m b e r : 7 8 - 6 2 8 5 3 Printed in t h e United States of America

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To my father Walter T. Jackson

CONTENTS

List of Maps and Figures

ix

List of Tables

x

Abbreviations

xvi

Preface 1.

xvii

The Ideology and Chronology o f the Dar'ul Islam Rebellion

1

2.

Methods: The Story of the Study

3.

The Sundanese Village Setting and the Influence of

24

Structural Variables

46

4.

Introducing the Three Primary Villages

72

5.

Religion, Politics, and Rebellion among the Sundanese

77

6.

Economic Deprivation, Education, and Rebellion

7.

Mass Media Exposure, National Symbols, and Political

129

Behavior

145

8.

Patterns of Traditional Authority in Sundanese Villages

184

9.

The Sources of Traditional Authority

209

10.

Traditional Authority, Politics, and Rebellion

237

11.

Political Integration and Modernization

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Appendix A. Documents of the Negara Islam Indonesia

317

Appendix B. Scale Validation

339

Bibliography

357

Index

367

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MAPS AND

FIGURES

Maps

1. Location of Dar'ul Islam Base Areas, May 1954 2. Areas of Dar'ul Islam Predominance in 1954 3. Islamic versus Nationalist Political Party Affiliations in 1963 4. Subdistrict Political Party Affiliations in 1963

14 116 117 119

Figures

5.1 5.2 5.3 8.1 10.1 10.2 10.3

Religious Variants among the Javanese Political Party Affiliation and Religious Variants Items in the Scale of Religious Beliefs Leadership Pyramid for the Dar'ul Islam Village Leadership Pyramid for Tanggerang Leadership Pyramid for Cikujang Leadership Pyramid for Rancabentang

ix

80 82 90 206 248 248 249

TABLES

2.1 2.2 2.3 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8

Results of Content Analysis of News Clippings on the Dar'ul Islam for 1954 and 1955 Location and Political Classification of the Villages Selected for the Preliminary Survey Sampling Information for Tanggerang, Rancabentang, and Cikujang Land Distribution in West Java Percentage of Total Village Production Traded Outside the Village Proportion of Village Production Traded Outside the Subdistrict Frequency with Which Newspapers Reach the Villages Access to Social and Economic Services: Ranked from Most to Least Accessible Index of Frequency of Visits by Officials Residing Outside the Village Questions Comprising the Scale of Religious Beliefs and Practices Classification of Individuals on the Basis of Total Scores on the Scale of Religious Beliefs Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Type of Respondent (Three Primary Villages Only) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Individual Daily Expenditures (Three Primary Villages Only) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Occupation (Three Primary Villages Only) Education, by Occupation (Three Primary Villages Only) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Occupation, by Education (Three Primary Villages Only) Education, by Occupation, by Scale of Religious Beliefs (Three Primary Villages Only) X

30 34 43 47 54 55 56 58 60 89 90 92 94 95 95 96 97

TABLES

5.9 5.10 5.11 5.12 5.13 5.14

5.15 5.16 5.17 5.18 5.19 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

6.5 6.6 6.7 6.8

Scale of Religious Beliefs (Three Primary Villages Only) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Three Primary Villages (after Weighting) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by the Dar'ul Islam and Pro-government Villages (after Weighting) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by the Dar'ul Islam and Swing Villages (after Weighting) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by the Swing and Progovernment Villages (after Weighting) Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages Only, after Weighting) Religious Beliefs, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion, by Village of Residence Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Fanaticism, by Attitude toward an Established State Religion (Three Primary Villages Only) Fanaticism, by Attitude toward an Established State Religion, by Scale of Religious Beliefs Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Reported Level of Participation in the Rebellion (DI Village Only) Daily Expenses for the Three Primary Villages (Unweighted) Daily Expenses, by Types of Respondents for the Three Villages (Unweighted) Daily Expenses, by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, Elites Only) Daily Expenses, by Attitudes toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages, Elites Only, after Weighting) Daily Expenses, by Reputed Level of Participation in Rebellion (Dar'ul Islam Village Only) Daily Expenses, by Religious Fanaticism (Three Primary Villages, Elites Only, Weighted) Formal Education, by Type of Respondent (Unweighted) Formal Education, by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting)

xi

100 103 104 105 106

108 110 112 113 114 115 131 131 133

134 13 5 135 137 139

lii

6.9 6.10 6.11 6.12 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 7.9 7.10 7.11 7.12

7.13 7.14 7.15 7.16

TABLES

Education, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Primary Villages, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion, by Formal Education (after Weighting) Formal Education, by Reputed Level of Participation in Rebellion (Dar'ul Islam Village Only) Formal Education, by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Frequency of Exposure, by Mass Media (Primary Villages Only) Mass Media Exposure Scale Mass Media Exposure Scale, by Respondent Types (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Number of Provincial Subdivisions Named for Each Geographic Entity (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Contours of the Nation Scale, by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Knowledge of the Pancasila, by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Knowledge of National Leaders, by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Meaning and Aims of Repelita (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Knowledge of Repelita, by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Correlation between Sources of Nationalist Information and Knowledge of National Symbols (Gamma) Scale of Mass Media Exposure, by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages after Weighting) Scale of Mass Media Exposure, by Attitudes toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Scale of Mass Media Exposure, by Religious Fanaticism (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Contours of the Nation, by Village Political Behavior (after Weigh ting) Contours of the Nation, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Knowledge of National Contours, by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting)

140 142 143 143 148 149 150 152 154 155 156 158 159 161 163 165

166 168 169 170

TABLES

7.17 Knowledge of the Pancasila, by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 7.18 Knowledge of the Pancasila, by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, Elites Only, after Weighting) 7.19 Knowledge of the Pancasila, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 7.20 Knowledge of the Pancasila, by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 7.21 Knowledge of National Leaders, by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 7.22 Knowledge of National Leaders, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 7.23 Knowledge of National Leaders, by Reputed Level of Participation in Rebellion (Dar'ul Islam Village Only) 7.24 Knowledge of National Leaders, by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 7.25 Knowledge of Repelita, by Village Efficiency in Utilizing Repelita Funds (Primary yillages, Combined Elites, after Weighting) 7.26 Knowledge of Repelita, by Village Efficiency in Utilizing Repelita Funds (Primary Villages, after Weighting) 8.1 Perception of Self as Advisor, by Strata in Response to Question : Do People Come to You for Advice or Help? 8.2 Number of Persons Coming for Advice or Help 8.3 Responses to Question: How Often Do You (the Advisor) Meet with Them? 8.4 Responses to Question: Do These People Come for Financial Advice Only, for Personal Advice, Political Advice, Religious Advice, or for All Kinds? 8.5 Consultation with at Least One Advisor 8.6 Overlap between Role of Advisor and of Advisee 8.7 Duration of Relationships with Advisors 8.8 Responses to Question: How Often Do You See This Chief Advisor? 8.9 Single, Mixed, or Multiple Advisors

xiii

172

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174 175 176

177 178 179

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197 198 199

199 200 202 203 204 205

XIV

9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5

9.6 9.7 9.8 9.9 9.10 9.11 9.12 9.13 9.14 9.15 9.16 10.1 10.2 10.3 10.4

10.5 10.6

10.7

10.8 10.9

TABLES

The Advisor's Perception of Why People Have Chosen Him to Be Their Advisor Traits o f Chief Advisor Leading You to Seek His Advice Context in Which Relationship with Advisor Began What Is Special about Your Relationship? The Interrelationship between Having Many Advisees and Being Able to Raise Many Men during Time of Danger Index of Bapakism Age by Index of Bapakism Formal Education by Index of Bapakism Mass Media Exposure Scale by Index of Bapakism Knowledge of Pancasila by Index of Bapakism Occupation by Index of Bapakism Daily Expenses, by Index of Bapakism Bivariate Relations with the Index of Bapakism (Gamma) Wealth, by Bapakism, by Mass Media Exposure Mass Media Exposure, by Bapakism, by Wealth Motivations for Staying with the Old Party Feelings o f Moral Obligation toward a Financial Benefactor Number of Persons That Can Be Raised in Time of Danger Alternative Actions Selected for Pa Dadap Village of Residence, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Village of Residence, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion, by Top Leaders vs. Followers Top Leaders vs. Followers, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion, by Village of Residence Scale of Religious Beliefs, by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion, by Village o f Residence (Top Leaders Only) Village of Residence, by Religious Fanaticism (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Village of Residence, by Religious Fanaticism, by Top Leaders vs. Followers

210 214 215 216

217 218 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 226 227 233 239 241 242

252 254

255

256 257 258

TABLES

10.10 Top Leaders vs. Followers, by Religious Fanaticism, by Village of Residence 10.11 Age, by Village of Residence (Top Leaders Only) 10.12 Main Occupation, by Dar'ul Islam vs. Pro-government Villages (Top Leaders Only) 11.1 Characteristics of Institutions Linking Center and Periphery 11.2 Differences in Patterns of Power 11.3 Traditional Authority 11.4 Physical Force 11.5 Changing Basic Values Persuasion 11.6 11.7 Reward/Deprivation B.l Karamat Places B.2 Breaking a Taboo and Punishment B.3 On Being Entered by Spirits B.4 Determinism B.5 Monotheism B.6 Keeping the Selamatans B.7 Inter-item Correlations for the Scale of Religious Beliefs and Practices (Gamma) B.8 Critical Ratios for Each Item, by the Low and High Quartiles of the Scale of Religious Beliefs B.9 Factor Matrix for the Scale of Religious Beliefs B.10 Weightings and Marginals for Mass Media Exposure B.l 1 Inter-item Correlations for the Scale of Mass Media Exposure (Gamma) B. 12 Critical Ratios for the Mass Media Scale B.l3 Factor Matrix for the Mass Media Scale B.14 Inter-item Correlations for the Contours of the Nation Scale (Gamma) B.l5 Critical Ratios for the Contours of the Nation Scale B.16 Factor Matrix for the Contours of Indonesia Scale B.17 Marginals and Weightings for the Knowledge of National Leaders Scale B. 18 Inter-item Correlations for the Knowledge of National Leaders Scale (Gamma) B.l9 Critical Ratios for the Knowledge of National Leaders Scale B.20 Factor Matrix for the Knowledge of National Leaders Scale

xv

259 262 263 281 289 311 312 313 314 315 341 344 345 345 346 347 348 348 349 351 352 352 352 353 353 353 354 355 355 355

ABBREVIATIONS

DI GOLKAR GPPS KPK OKD Nil NU PAD I PKI PNI PRRI PSII Til TNI

Dar'ul Islam Golongan Karya Gerakan Pembela Panca Sila Komite Pembela Kebenaran Organisasi Keamanan Desa Negara Islam Indonesia Nahdatul Ulama Pahlawan Dar'ul Islam Partai Kommunis Indonesia Partai Nasional Indonesia Pemerintah Revolusioner Republik Indonesia Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia Tentara Islam Indonesia Tentara Nasional Indonesia

xvi

PREFACE

The crux of the problem of state-building and subsequently nationbuilding is the process of political integration. This process by which unconnected and semiconnected elements of a territorial entity are transformed into a functioning state and eventually into a nation has been at the heart of the problem o f political development during the postwar era in both the developed and the developing world. In Western Europe, a great deal of practical and scholarly attention has been focused on the prospects for the creation o f a supranational government between existing and established nations. In the developing areas, while regional integration between states has received attention, the more pressing problem has been the preservation o f the state structures and boundaries passed down by a departing colonialism. In Asia and Africa, and especially in Southeast Asia, history is replete with revolts by groups either attempting to opt out of the state to form a new independent entity or seeking to oust the postcolonial elite in order to change the underlying bases of the state. However, rebellions are merely the most dramatic examples of low political integration. More important to the everyday dealings of the population and more salient for the considerations of the economic planner are the situations in which the majority of the population are members of communities that are effectively independent of the national government. The majority of the population, usually residing in villages, are seldom touched by the government whose apparatus does not extend with regularity and vigor to the local level. From the economic planner's viewpoint, growth seems beyond grasp because the government's regulations either do not reach the villagers or are ignored by them. Rather than being met with enthusiasm and voluntary compliance, the planner's instructions are ignored or defied.

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PREFACE

The noncommunist political parties, fragmenting at every turn with little or no relationship to programs, policies, or ideologies, supply a final instance of low political integration. Even among the elite, surrounded by the panoply of modern organizational instruments, there appears a disquieting unwillingness or inability to organize and mobilize the polity in order to bring action on pressing problems. Moreover, from the view of the party rank and file, there appears to be no method for disciplining the oft capricious leadership, which seldom seems to represent the interests of the followers. In all of these cases of low political integration, one is confronted by the spectre of organizational breakdown and the concomitant failure to achieve compliance. Structural networks and power relationships both seem out of hand. In some cases, it is the networks of communication between the political structures and the people that are incomplete. In other cases, the failure o f society to become attached to the structures of polity stems from a failure of the elite to understand the types of power relationships that are most meaningful to their followers in the society at large. It is often assumed that defunct rebellions, like dead men, can tell us little about political life among the living. This volume concerns the relatively unknown and quite dead Dar'ul Islam rebellion that raged in West Java between 1948 and 1962. What differentiates this study from other treatises on rebellion and national integration is that it is only secondarily concerned with the rebellion itself. Instead, it takes the rebellion as a laboratory for analyzing frequently propounded but almost never tested theories o f current Indonesian political behavior; it takes degree of loyalty to the modern nationstate (national integration, if you will) as the behavior to be explained and tests the relative power of explanatory variables, such as religious beliefs, economic deprivation, education, knowledge of national symbols, and adherence to local traditional authority figures. A second way in which the present study differs from most discourses on rebellion is that it recognizes that armed rebellion is almost always the behavior of a minority within a given society. Most of the people, most of the time, prefer suffering in silence to assuming the life and death risks of armed rebellion. Most studies of rebellion concentrate solely on those who rebel, and explain rebellion by selecting out an exceptionally prominent characteristic of the rebels. What is almost always neglected is checking to determine whether

PREFACE

xix

the same characteristic is not just as prominent among those who did not rebel. For instance, problems of tenancy and land scarcity may be growing in a particular province, but what is striking is that some villages react to this social strain with rebellion while other villages remain loyal to the central government. The central problem for the political scientist is not only to deduce the underlying, long-term roots of social conflict but to understand why equally distressing conditions often lead to remarkably different, sometimes diametrically opposite, political outcomes. Thus, students of rebellion must discover not only why men rebel but also why others do not—not only why polities disintegrate but why equally likely candidates for disintegration endure. The major finding of this volume is that political integration among the Sundanese depends on a system of traditional authority relations animating village social life and connecting each village with the world of regional and national politics existing beyond the village gate. Virtually all Sundanese villagers are organized into networks of dyadic, personal, diffuse, affect-laden, and enduring superiorsubordinate relationships. Although these relations are social and economic in genesis, they can have profound political implications when a particular traditional authority figure, or the village elders as a group, become involved in extravillage politics. Out of a binding sense of moral obligation the followers of a traditional authority figure will do his bidding even if the actions required might seem, at least to the outside observer, to contradict the economic interests, religious beliefs, or ideological values of the followers. The personal allegiances ordering the village internally, and the equally personal links of the chief man (or men) of the village with the structures of the national system, provide the vital factors determining the position of the village in peace and war, in election and development plan. These top leaders of the village, who may or may not be the formal governors of the village, are able to commit villages or large segments of villages to political courses having very considerable consequences for each villager in spite of the fact that the villagers themselves know little if anything about the political, social, or religious values which outside observers perceive as the heart of the conflict. The importance of these traditional authority relations is established by the study of village-level participation in the Dar'ul Islam rebellion. Whether a village became a part of this religious rebellion,

XX

PREFACE

remained neutral, or fought strenuously on the side of the national government was not related to differences in religious beliefs or to the relative levels of economic deprivation found in each village. Instead, the historic decisions taken by the villages in this study were the product of the personal relationships established prior to the Indonesian revolution between the chief elders of each village and the political figures in nearby towns who came to represent competing factions of the Indonesian independence movement. The essence of my contention is that the Sundanese villager will partake of national politics according to the dictates of his bapak (literally, father) with little regard for the ideological or economic issues involved. This is because the bond between superior and subordinate is one of traditional authority. The subordinate obeys the superior, either without questions about morals, religion, values, or ideology or in spite of initial reservations on these matters. The bapak is obeyed simply because he is the "leader" in a relationship that may have endured for decades. Once the relationship has been established, the reaction of the subordinate to the desires of the superior involves a nearly automatic, almost reflex action, rather than a detailed examination of how the decision will affect the follower's immediate material interests. In this sense, traditional authority relations are distinct from the more opportunistic and materialistic patron-client relations with which they are sometimes confused. Chapter 1 and Appendix A concern themselves with the history of the Dar'ul Islam rebellion in West Java, its formal ideology, and its founding father, the dynamic S. M. Kartosoewirjo. Chapter 2 elucidates the methods and assumptions which guided the study from the data collection stage in 1968-1969, through its initial presentation in dissertation form at MIT in 1971, to the substantially revised and reanalyzed version presented here. All that needs to be said at this point is that the research design began not from a random sample of villages but from villages that provided especially clear examples of high national integration (fighting against the rebellion), low national integration (fighting for the rebellion), and middle-level national integration (vacillation or neutrality). The basic thrust of the study is the comparison of attitudes, leadership structures, and physical characteristics of the villages in order to understand why some villages fought for the nation-state and others participated in fourteen years of bloody rebellion.

PREFACE

xxi

Chapter 3 describes the Sundanese village setting and uses the data on structural variables to compare the six Dar'ul Islam, six swing, and seven pro-government villages. The concern is whether the DI villages differ from the pro-government villages in economic structure, access to services supplied by the central government, and extent of physical isolation from urban areas as well as from the national road and rail networks. Chapter 4 introduces the three villages, selected from among the original nineteen because they most clearly represented the respective groups of Dar'ul Islam, swing, and pro-government villages. These three primary villages became the main focus of the research. Most of the formal interviews were clustered in them, and they were the site of our most detailed micro-historical research on the rebellion. In Chapters 5 - 7 the most commonly offered explanations of the attempt to establish an Islamic state are tested and found wanting. Although the constellations of religious belief posited by Geertz (1960a) are indeed present, religious differences do not distinguish supporters from opponents of the concept of an Islamic state. Similarly, variations in wealth and education fail to have a formidable impact on political attitudes and behaviors regarding the rebellion. Differences in exposure to the mass media and knowledge of a whole array of national symbols do not correlate significantly with political behavior. These findings challenge the tendency to depict village politics in West Java as dominated by either religious or secular ideological considerations. In addition, it is obvious that political divisions among Sundanese peasants are not those predicted by conventional class analysis; political competition instead is fought between opposing, economically hetereogeneous coalitions in which the relatively more wealthy and more knowledgeable lead the poor and the ignorant. Chapters 8 - 1 0 deal with traditional authority in Sundanese villages. Throughout, a major goal is to add blocks of hard data to confirm or deny propositions from the burgeoning literature on traditional authority and patron-client relations. Chapter 8 describes the concept of traditional authority and differentiates it from the more material, opportunistic, and short-term interpersonal bonds called patron-client relations. Chapter 9 questions why particular men are selected as major traditional authority figures. It shows that,

xxii

PREFACE

although superior wealth is a characteristic of traditional authority figures, other variables play an equal and perhaps more important role, indicating that leadership among the Sundanese is the product of more than mere material exchange. Chapter 10 concentrates on the political implications of traditional authority relationships, showing that the respondents perceive these relationships as crucial to political decision-making, that the decision taken by whole villages toward the rebellion can be more readily "predicted" from the attitudes of a few top leaders than from the attitudes of entire villages, and that, according to historical data, traditional loyalty bonds actually played a critical role in determining the stances of the three primary villages toward the Dar'ul Islam rebellion. Chapter 11 extrapolates the findings of the present study by formulating a typology of political integration, which emphasizes differences in the process of political integration between traditional and modern societies. The final chapter thus attempts to place the present study in a wider theoretical context, thereby indicating why political integration among the rural Sundanese is so different from the kind of political integration that is sometimes achieved in more modern societies. The central contention is that, although all types of societies utilize all means of generating political power, in traditional society physical coercion and traditional authority are the types of power most frequently and effectively used. In contrast, transitional and modern societies resort more frequently to economic rewards, changing basic values, and persuasion as types of power. Many institutions and individuals contributed to this study. First, the Center of International Studies and the Department of Political Science of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology generously supported the research from fieldwork through the dissertation stage. Several Indonesian institutions provided invaluable assistance: The UNPAD (Universitas Padjadjaran) made students available as interviewers and contributed mimeograph facilities. The UNPAS (Universitas Pasundan) provided a valuable group of student interviewers, and the UNPAR (Universitas Parahiangan) supplied facilities for interviewer training as well as a team of student interviewers. The Siliwangi Division of the Indonesian army helped by supplying free and unfettered access to officers who had fought against the rebellion and to the military archives in Bandung. The Communication Institute and the Population Institute of the East-West Center in Honolulu provided support that facilitated the

PREFACE

xxiii

extensive reanalysis of the data begun in 1971. Finally, the Department of Political Science, the Committee on Research, the Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, the Mass Communications Project, and the Institute of International Studies of the University of California, Berkeley, all contributed the bits and pieces of support that were required to complete the final analysis and rewriting. Obviously, none of the institutions mentioned can in any way be held responsible for the conclusions reached by this research. The list of individuals who contributed is too long to be addressed in full. First among these is Lucian W. Pye, who supported this venture from start to finish with both encouragement and an everpresent insistence that I get on with the job. Second, Dr. Johannes Moeliono's energetic and imaginative contributions to the fieldwork and preliminary analysis cannot be overstated. While he cannot be held responsible for errors of analysis or interpretation, his intellectual and organizational talents, and his indefatigable zest for social research contributed greatly to the entire research project. There is no doubt in my mind that this volume would have benefited greatly if we could have collaborated on the analysis and writing as we did on the field research, but, alas, constraints of time and distance prevented this. Third, I must thank the team of Indonesian university students who shared, for only marginal monetary compensation, all of the trials and tribulations of data collection. Ajatrochaedi, Machuddin Adam, Sjam Hutomie, Abdurachman, Edi Ekadjati, Sudirman, Kuraesin, Karmini, Ade Budi Permana, Jugosariun, and Teddy Suherman delivered high quality interviews, and their good fellowship and team spirit sustained me through the long months of field research. Fourth, I should like to express my gratitude to the many village leaders and common people who contributed approximately a thousand hours of time as respondents in formal and informal interviews. Finally, there is a special group of individuals who made unique personal contributions: Kolonel Abas and Lt. Kolonel Soemantri of the Siliwangi Division supplied information as well as practical assistance; R. Djuchro Sumitradilaga, Koesna Puradiradja, and W. M. F. Hofsteede assisted greatly in the early planning; Frank and Linda Weinstein shared the fieldwork experience and had the courtesy to refrain from yawning when compelled by friendship to discuss the subject for the better part of a decade; Robert Arseneau, Mary Dietz, and Gladys Castor skillfully performed countless tasks in preparing the manuscript for publication; and my

xxiv

PREFACE

colleagues Robert Axelrod, Chris Achen, Robert Scalapino, and Leo Rose encouraged me and offered sound criticism of an earlier version of the manuscript. Last and most important, Virginia H. Jackson shared all of the toil from grant application, through typing questionnaires, to endless hours of coding and manuscript editing, to the years of waiting for the project to be finished at long last.

1. The Ideology and Chronology of the Dar'ul Islam Rebellion

In September 1962, S. M. Kartosoewirjo was executed for treason against the Republic of Indonesia. This man, a radical nationalist who otherwise would have been hailed as a hero of the revolution, initiated a rebellion against the Indonesian Republic, rejected all attempts at compromise, and inspired fifteen years of brutal conflict that cost forty thousand Indonesians their lives. What were the aims of Kartosoewirjo's Dar'ul Islam? What are the historical outlines of the rise and demise of the most sustained violent challenge to central authority in the history of independent Indonesia? In short, what were the ideals and events that led to the nationalist leader Kartosoewirjo's execution by an Indonesian firing squad? The Ideology of the Indonesian Islamic State The ideology of the Indonesian Islamic state is steeped in paradox. On the one hand the Negara Islam Indonesia was the "Gift of God," a divinely revealed and hence immutable order predetermined by the Islamic law as vouchsafed by the Prophet himself in the Koran and the Hadiths. In this religiously preordained political order, all sovereignty rested with God, and government legislated only on matters not specifically dealt with in the time of Muhammad. Even down to the details of penalties to be extracted for common crimes, the Penal Code of the Islamic state relied on the revealed wisdom of the Koran rather than on the judgments of men confronting the social circumstances of the twentieth century. In contrast with these preordained elements, the Constitution and the Penal Code of the Negara Islam Indonesia also contain markedly modern provisions. For example, the Constitution proclaimed that the form of the state would be a Republic; ultimate legislative power would reside in an elected Parliament; the head of state, the Imam, would be elected by Parliament and could not make laws without it; 1

2

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND R E B E L L I O N

the Imam could be dismissed for violating the law; there would be equality before the law, freedom of worship, speech, and assembly for all citizens; all citizens had "a right to work and to a standard of living befitting man," and the state would administer all important branches of production. Taken together, the Constitution and the Penal Code of the Islamic state present a mixture of Islamic fundamentalism derived directly from the Koran and a blueprint for a somewhat modern, although nonetheless Islamic, state. Applying labels such as right or left, absolutist or republican, theocratic or libertarian does not greatly illuminate the concept of the Negara Islam. These distinctions have scant explanatory power because the Indonesian Islamic state was all of these. It was both absolutist and republican, both anticommunist and anticapitalist; it both guaranteed freedom of worship for non-Muslims and decreed death for a variety of degrees of apostasy and religious backsliding by Muslims. The apparent contradictions can only be resolved by taking a wider view of the Islamic state, by consulting Islamic political theory beyond the Indonesian context, and by understanding the corporatist view of rights on which the Constitution and Penal Code are based. Although the Koran is specific in its injunctions concerning personal religious and ethical obligations, it remains silent regarding the political structure of the state. Islamic doctrine in general obligates the state to preserve religious values, respect religious ordinances, and insure that personal religious conduct coincides with the Koranic ideal. Regarding these obligations the Islamic law is indeed immutable, an absolute source directly revealed by the will of God representing the final word on the subject, and the documents of the Indonesian Islamic state are direct and unequivocal in adherence to Koranic precedent (see Appendix A). Penalties for theft, homicide, use of alcoholic beverages, adultery, failure to pray or to pay the Islamic alms-tax, and above all, penalties for religious apostasy devolve directly from the Koran. The number of limbs to be severed for stealing, and the use of the death penalty against all who profess but do not practice Islam, are rationalized by direct reference to the Koran; Koranic precedent is sufficient in itself and the only legitimate authority for decision in such matters. Further, as is revealed in the following commentary on the concept of the Islamic state by a prominent Islamic political leader, prohibitions and penalties specifically included in the Islamic law are not subject to present-day interpretation or modification by majority rule.

IDEOLOGY AND CHRONOLOGY OF DAR'UL ISLAM REBELLION

3

Islam is "democratic" in the sense that Islam is against absolutism, arbitrariness. But this does not mean that in the government of the free Islamic State all affairs are left to the decisions of parliament. In a parliament of a free Islamic state it is not necessary to discuss beforehand the basis of the government, and we ought not wait for approval of parliament before [deciding] whether it is necessary to combat the evils of alcohol, eradicate gambling and vice, and counter paganism and polytheism, and whether or not to use Islamic laws of inheritance, etc. No, not at all. All of this is outside of the jurisdiction of parliament. What possibly may happen is that they should have to discuss the methods for executing all of these laws, [but] only the technicalities of implementation. Because the principles are fixed in Islam, it should not and must not be interfered with; it should not be surrendered to the lottery system of 50 percent plus 1 voting. It is not possible and must not be given over to the results of the political appetite of state politics. Democracy is all right but the state system of Islam does not delegate all affairs to the mercy of democratic institutions. (Anshary 1951: 274-275)

The appearance in the Constitution of the Indonesian Islamic state of parliamentary republicanism, freedom of speech, assembly, and worship, state control of major enterprises, and a guaranteed right to work might seem to contradict the traditional and theocratic bent of Koranic precedent. However, the more modern and liberal aspects pose no contradiction because the Koran and the Hadiths are silent regarding the political theory of the state. While Islamic law theoretically infuses every sphere of life, the basic documents of Islamic civilization go no farther than defining the moral duties of the governors toward the governed. As Gibb has stated, in theory and historic practice government was expected "to protect the territories and religious institutions of the community and to respect the general principles of Muslim conduct," but beyond this "there is no 'political theory' in Islam—that is to say, no discussion of the means by which these ideal ends were to be safeguarded" (Gibb 1965: 9). Thus while Islamic precedent spoke precisely regarding moral duties and obligations, the institutional contours of the state remained undetermined, thereby allowing Kartosoewirjo to devise a republican constitution while remaining true to the Koran. The relative silence of the Koran on political matters allowed a parliamentary structure and legislative solutions for all matters not specifically revealed in the Islamic law, thus legitimately fusing parliamentarism with Islamic fundamentalism. The second perspective underpinning the Indonesian Islamic state was a corporate vision of society in which different groups had justly

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unequal rights and responsibilities and were subject to drastically different legal obligations. Islamic society from the Prophet to the present has held to the principle of freedom of worship for nonMuslims. Rather than automatically putting all nonbelievers to the sword, as Christian myth would have us believe, Islamic societies, at least in peacetime, have guaranteed Jews and Christians the right to free worship. In contrast, those born of Muslim parents remain responsible to a different and most severe set of religious strictures. According to the Penal Code of the Indonesian Islamic state, religious backsliding by Muslims must be severely punished. Freedom of religion did not mean that Muslims could change religions; with direct reference to Koranic precedent, the Penal Code stipulated that those whose parents pronounced the Confession of Faith and were married according to Islam were forbidden to change their religion. If they disavowed Islam, they were to be labeled as apostates, given three days to repent, and in the event of noncompliance they were to be slain. Thus, in a limited sense, subject infidels as a corporate group were to have greater freedom of religion than Muslims within the Islamic state. The same severe logic applies to any failure by Muslims to practice daily prayer; noncompliance, in this instance, made deviants subject to the death penalty. Of course, decreeing death for religious deviance by Muslims inevitably restricted the religious freedom of non-Muslims because, while they might practice their own religions, the regulations regarding apostasy clearly precluded proselytizing among Muslims. A corporate theory of society also limits equality before the law and freedom of speech. While the Constitution of the Indonesian Islamic state formally guarantees these, the principle of equality is repeatedly violated through the provision of separate penalties and prerogatives for Muslims and non-Muslims. According to the Penal Code, killing a subject infidel is a less serious offense than killing a Muslim. With similar logic, the penalties levied against abid (infidels enslaved in wartime) are less severe than those applied to a freeman. Further, one provision of the Constitution reserves all "offices and positions of importance and responsibility in the civil and military administration" to Muslims. In the event of a Dar'ul Islam victory, this blatantly corporatist provision would have required radical redistribution of the economic and social fruits of the anticolonial revolution. Any less than orthodox Muslim would have been barred access to the largest source of nonagricultural employment in the

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postwar era, the Indonesian government. The office of head of state, the Imamate, would, of course, have been reserved for a pious orthodox Muslim, and the practical effect would have been to exclude secular nationalists such as Soekarno. This prohibition against a nonMuslim or a less than completely orthodox Muslim was more than an expression of mere political opportunism. According to Islamic ideals, secular rule, be it colonial or independent, could not be legitimate; legitimate authority could only be exercised if the officers of the state were staunch orthodox Muslims (see Samson 1978). The proponents of the Indonesian Islamic state were most definitely nationalists. The events of the Indonesian revolution link the rise of the Dar'ul Islam rebellion directly to Kartosoewirjo's rejection of the diplomatic strategy for obtaining Indonesian independence that was favored by dominant nationalist politicians such as Sjahrir, Soekarno, and Hatta. The Negara Islam Indonesia (Nil) was committed to armed struggle rather than negotiation as the means most likely to produce an Indonesia that was not only independent but also Islamic. The first aim was sovereignty from colonial domination, but sovereignty could not be cloaked in the garb of a secular state, because a secular state, no matter how beneficial, could not free the Islamic community (the ummat Islam) from rule by infidels (the ummat kafiran). Intolerance of rule by infidels made Islam a bulwark against the legitimacy of colonial rule, but rebellion against the secular state after sovereignty flowed from the same belief that legitimate governmental authority could be exercised only by orthodox Muslims acting in the name of God and according to the precepts of the Islamic law. In the memories of most Indonesians the Dar'ul Islam was distinguished from most contemporary political movements by its virulent anticommunism. Its proponents perceived the Islamic state as a natural barrier to atheistic communism, and at least in its declining years the rebellion seemed to pin its hope on the coming of a third World War, which would bring aid from the "Free World" to the army of the Negara Islam. However, anticommunism did not entail the adoption of a liberal or a conservative economic ideology. The movement opposed liberal capitalism and simultaneously rejected atheistic communism. The first responsibility of any Muslim was toward the ummat Islam; the pursuit of individual gain was legitimate only within the constraints imposed by Islamic ethics, which, for instance, prohibit interest on loans as a form of usury. The

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Constitution of the Islamic state favored nationalization of major economic enterprises and asserted state control over all natural resources (see Article 32). The socialist proclivities echoed by the Constitution were an outgrowth of a longstanding anticapitalist stream within Indonesian Islamic politics, and proponents of the Islamic state such as Isa Anshary maintained that this position was sanctified by Islamic practice at the time of the Prophet. "Indeed Islamic socialism is not a theory found only in stacks of books but has been practiced by the Islamic community at the time of the Prophet of God" (Anshary 1951: 238). In almost any violent political endeavor a chasm exists between the ideals enshrined in the constitution and the behaviors of the rebellion's participants. This was, of course, true of the fight to found the Negara Islam Indonesia; at every turning the Constitution's more moderate and modern provisions were sacrificed to the exigencies of Holy War (jihad), and as time passed the movement became more renowned for unspeakable atrocities than for its piety. The Constitution's lofty parliamentary structure was immediately set aside, martial law was declared, and Imam Kartosoewirjo ruled by decree for the duration of the conflict (see Constitution, Articles 3 and 34). Constitutional protection for the rights of Muslims and non-Muslims alike were abrogated in favor of the Islamic law of war, which specified that war should be made upon those who have Gods other than Allah; who have broken their oath; who do not recognize as baram [forbidden] what has been forbidden by God and His Prophet; who do not adhere to the true Religion (the Religion of Islam); who obstruct the observance of the Religion of Islam under the guise of Islam; who are Bughat, that is, people refusing to obey the Imam, adducing arguments from their own reason, invalidating the Imam's right by suspect means; [and those] who rob in collaboration with others. (Penal Code, Guideline No. Ill, Article 3)

The all-inclusive list of enemies left few free from attack but the Dar'ul Islam operatives themselves. The theory of parliamentary republicanism, guaranteed though unequal rights for non-Muslims,

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and the freedoms generally espoused by the Constitution were drowned in the absolutism of the Islamic state of war and siege. Chronology of the Rebellion, 1948-1962 Rebellions result from sources of societal strain rather than from the day-to-day circumstances imposed by the flow of historical events. The Dar'ul Islam rebellion had its roots in the social disorganization, economic privation, and collapse of authority occasioned by the Japanese occupation. The disgraceful ease with which the Japanese defeated the Dutch in 1942, the wave of violence and chaos that immediately swept Java, the internment of the colony's functional elite (the Dutch), the rampant inflation, the massive forced rice deliveries, the famine, black-marketeering and corruption, and the impressment and forced exportation of tens of thousands of Indonesian peasants to feed the labor demands of the imperial Japanese war machine—these conditions all led to an unprecedented level of social and economic disruption on Java at the close of World War II. In addition to disruption, the Japanese administration introduced destabilizing political novelties such as mass political mobilization, an enhanced position for Islamic political leaders, nascent party organizations, military and paramilitary training for hundreds of thousands of young Indonesians, and the promise of independence for Indonesia (see Anderson 1972a; Benda 1958; Brugmans et al. I960; Kahin 1952). The Indonesian revolution was born in the political vacuum created by the surrender of Japan and the absence of an immediately available Allied occupation force. In the late summer of 1945 Dutch rule stood discredited, Japanese authority was ebbing, and it was by no means clear whether any Indonesian organization would succeed in filling the political void and thereby freeing Indonesia from foreign rule. The breakdown of old relationships and the attendant social, economic, and political chaos brought forth an atmosphere of acute anticipation (Anderson 1972a). The society had come undone, change was everywhere in the air, everything seemed equally plausible and implausible, and it was only a question of who would seize the initiative and determine the outcome by filling the vacuum of authority with a meaningful, nationwide political organization. Everywhere youth groups were forming without central control, seizing Japanese arms, occupying public buildings, and claiming to speak for

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the revolution in each local area. In the political void many armed groups competed simultaneously for power, attempting to expand local forces into regional or even national movements. The Islamic fighting groups Hizbullah and Sabilillah were an important part of the politico-military jostling for power throughout Java; they were a force to be reckoned with, and it seemed that a powerful, and perhaps even a dominant, political movement might be created by welding the traditionally anticolonial network of village religious teachers (kiyayi) into an instrument for instigating Holy War (jihad) against the infidel Dutch. The Koranic teachers (kiyayi) in each village were bound together by the perception of themselves as a distinct elite providing moral leadership within each village and relating villages spiritually to the wider ummat Islam through each kiyayi's personal connection to the religious teacher who trained him and the students trained with him at the same rural religious school (pesantren)} Islam's prestige as a traditional bulwark against colonial intrusion, the past prominence of kiyayi in leading violent but easily quashed local rebellions, and the fully articulated tradition and ideology supplied by the Koranic injunctions on Holy War provided Islam with a well-established, readily mobilized claim on peasant loyalties. The potential for Islamic paramilitary mobilization was given impetus by the isolation, underrepresentation, and consequent frustration of Islamic aims during the constitutional debates and political maneuvers of the early revolution. Under Japanese tutelage the political leadership of the Islamic community emerged as a newly robust political force. However, as Japanese plans for granting Indonesia independence matured in the closing days of the war, the mantle of national leadership descended on the secular or nominally Islamic leaders, and the pious leaders representing the religious mobilization structures of village Java were relegated to relative political impotence. The secular or nominally Muslim leaders were more urban, Western educated, and politically attuned to the international arena and to the potential it offered in the Indonesian struggle for indepen1. The size of this potential mobilization network should not be underestimated. Although figures are unavailable for the revolutionary period, in the single district (kabupaten) of Tasikmalaya in 1958, there were 983 pesantren of various sizes with 170,366 students (santri) (Pikiran Rakyat, December 6, 1958). Another report from 1959 gives 600 pesantren with tens of thousands of santri in the district of East Priangan (Pikiran Rakyat, August 10, 1959). Of course, many students are mere boys, six to eight years of age, yet nonetheless, the santri on Java are undoubtedly very formidable in number and paramilitary potential.

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dence. It was men like Soekarno and Hatta among the older generation who were most influential in determining the basically nontheocratic tint of the Constitution of 1945. The most divisive moments of the summer constitutional debates revolved around the place of Islam in the new state. Islamic representatives sought a state where Muslims would be obligated to practice the Islamic law and where the President legally must be a Muslim. Initially, a compromise was reached, called the Jakarta Charter (Piagam Jakarta). The Republic of Indonesia was to be founded on the people's sovereignty and these five principles: belief in God, moral humanitarianism, the unity of Indonesia, democracy of mutual deliberation, and social justice. Included in the compromise Preamble were what subsequently became known as "the seven little words," belief in God, "with the obligation for adherents of Islam to practice Islamic law." This formulation, which might have satisfied the yen of orthodox Muslims for a state with an Islamic identity, did not appear in the final version of the constitution adopted on August 18, 1945. The phrase "belief in G o d " was expanded to "Belief in the One and Only God," but although this phrase prevented the Constitution of 1945 from being overtly secular, the forces of orthodox Islam had clearly lost their struggle to make the state overtly Islamic and responsible for enforcing the Islamic law. (On the Jakarta Charter, see Boland 1971.) In the period 1945-1949 Kartosoewirjo repeatedly proclaimed the Indonesian Islamic state. The on-again, off-again nature of Kartosoewirjo's activities reflected the chronically unstable political condition of the revolution in which an appeal might be repeatedly raised and lowered until it eventually found significant support or dropped out entirely. Kartosoewirjo first proclaimed the Islamic state on August 14, 1945, but subsequently threw his support to the Republic declared on August 17 by Soekarno and Hatta (Boland 1971: 57). It was by no means certain that the August 17 declaration by the secular nationalists would prove definitive, and while watching the early political maneuvering, Kartosoewirjo waited for the most propitious moment for rallying substantial backing for his struggle. The initial lack of enthusiasm for his cause led him to switch tacks and devote most of his time to local military activities and involvement in Islamic party politics. His national stature was recognized when the coalition of Muslim political forces, the Masyumi, was reorganized as a political party in November 1945. At that time Kartosoewirjo was

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named a member of the party executive and subsequently became its Commissioner for West Java. In the year of negotiating that ended with the signing of the Linggajati Agreement in March 1947, Kartosoewirjo became increasingly disillusioned with the "diplomatic strategy" being pursued by the Sjahrir cabinet. Consequently, he concentrated on building up the Hizbullah units under his control and successfully resisted incorporation of these fighting units into the Indonesian army.2 The depth of his disillusionment with the strategy of negotiation is indicated by his refusal of the post of Second Vice-Minister of Defense in the cabinet of Amir Sjarifuddin in early July 1947. The first Dutch Police Action extended from July 21 through the formal ceasefire of August 4, 1947. In this period Dutch troops rapidly captured most major cities and towns in Java and Sumatra while suffering minimal casualties. An effective ceasefire did not exist, and on August 14, 1947, Kartosoewirjo declared Holy War against the still advancing Dutch (Nieuwenhuijze 1958: 170). This solemn declaration, not unlike earlier efforts to found the Negara Islam Indonesia (Nil) in August 1945, does not seem to have fallen on fertile ground. However, in November 1947 the West Java branch of the Masyumi under Kartosoewirjo's direction took action to coordinate the efforts to expel the Dutch with efforts to found an Islamic state (Nieuwenhuijze 1958: 168). The conference held at Mount Cupu in southeastern West Java established coordinating organizations for directing Hizbullah and Sabilillah military activities against the Dutch in the districts of Garut and Tasikmalaya. In spite of the formal ceasefire of August 4, 1947, the Masyumi concurred in Kartosoewirjo's independent military initiatives against the Dutch. On January 19, 1948, the Renville Agreement was ratified by the Republic and the Netherlands. Under its terms West Java was abandoned, and approximately thirty thousand Republican troops withdrew to the truncated Republican territory in Central Java. In this, one of the darkest hours of the Indonesian revolution, the time at last was ripe for Kartosoewirjo's concept of the Islamic state, and Kartosoewirjo lost no time in exploiting the evident failure of the Republic's diplomatic strategy. Kartosoewirjo rejected the Renville 2. In his attempt to maintain autonomy and increase the area of his local control, he seems to have planned an attack on the headquarters of the Siliwangi division at the beginning of 1946. For this he was arrested and later released by Njsution, the division commander (Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 505-507).

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Agreement and ordered his troops to withdraw to the mountains to continue the jihad. All Indonesian accounts agree that the perception of abandonment by the Republic gave dramatic stimulus to the Dar'ul Islam and enabled Kartosoewirjo for the first time to marshal substantial support among rural leaders in West Java. Kartosoewirjo's decision to continue armed struggle against the Dutch was tacitly supported by the Republic and especially by members of the Masyumi. On February 10-11, 1948, a conference was held in Tasikmalaya in which the West Java branch of the Masyumi suspended its operations. In addition, the Majelis Ummat Islam was established to coordinate all Muslim organizations in West Java and to pursue armed struggle against the colonial forces. Somewhat more ominously for the Republic, all fighting forces became part of the Tentara Islam Indonesia (Til, the Islamic Army of Indonesia), and elite troops were organized into the Pahlawan Dar'ul Islam (PADI, Heroes of the Islamic State) (Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 507). A follow-up conference in March ratified these decisions, and during the first week of May 1948, Kartosoewirjo declared himself Imam, formed a cabinet, commissioned a constitution, and devised a civil and military structure for the new state (Horikoshi 1975: 71; Departemen Penerangan 1954: 213-215). With the promulgation of the Constitution on August 27, 1948, the Negara Islam Indonesia was formally established as a separate political entity (Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 507; Nieuwenhuijze 1958: 172). During this period the Dar'ul Islam engaged in guerrilla activity against the Dutch army and the Dutch-sponsored state of Pasundan. Pasundan and the Dutch military forces were confined to the towns and main roads while the Dar'ul Islam ruled the countryside as the only major nationalist force that had not abandoned West Java. The main effect of the Renville Agreement was to make Kartosoewirjo's Holy War the only credible independence movement in West Java for the final year and a half of the Indonesian revolution, thus allowing the Dar'ul Islam precious months to establish the legitimacy of its army and civil administration. The second Dutch Police Action, commencing on December 1 8 - 1 9 , 1948, proved a military disaster for the Republic. In Kartosoewirjo's words, "the Government of the Republic, in the wink of an eye, fell into the hands of the Dutch" (quoted by Pinardi 1964: 71). In their attack on the Republic's capital city, Yogyakarta, Dutch forces captured President Soekarno, Vice-President Hatta, and most

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of the cabinet. Moreover, the remaining towns on Java rapidly fell under Dutch military control. Kartosoewirjo, whose movement had been independent but allied with the Republic, seized upon the disgraceful military performance of the Republic as a pretext for assuming leadership of the entire Indonesian revolution. In declaring Holy War once again, he intoned that the "late" Republic had ceased to exist and that his own Negara Islam Indonesia had become the only legitimate embodiment of the revolution. In Ordinance No. 6 of the Negara Islam Indonesia on December 21, 1948, Kartosoewirjo as Imam declared: To all brothers and friends of the Indonesian Nation in whose veins still flow Republican blood and in whom still lives the spirit to fight, know ye all, that our struggle resulting in the establishment of the Negara Islam Indonesia is the continuation of the Fight for Independence according to the Proclamation of August 17, 1945! Hear ye, leaders of Islam and all followers of Islam! May you consider the Dutch invasion and the fall of the Government of the Republic of SoekarnoHatta as a boon from God which opens [up] a new field—that of Holy War and the opportunity to receive still greater boons—namely, the birth of the Indonesian Islamic State. Receive this, God's Gift, even though its taste is somewhat bitter in swallowing. (See Appendix A)

With the political support nurtured during the absence of Republican authorities from West Java and as a sign of Kartosoewirjo's unwillingness to accept the terms of independence obtained by the Republic from the Dutch, on August 7, 1949 (six days after the final ceasefire ending the military phase of the Indonesian revolution), Kartosoewirjo made the final, formal declaration of the existence of an Indonesia-wide Islamic state (see Proclamation in Appendix A). By August 1949 direct military hostilities between the Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI) and the Til were almost six months old. From the second Police Action onward Kartosoewirjo considered West Java to be de facto Nil territory. When the Siliwangi division of the Indonesian army returned to West Java during early 1949, their arrival was perceived as a flagrant infringement of the authority of an existing sovereign state. The first clash between the two armies, the Antralina Incident, occurred in Malangbong, West Java, on January 25, 1949. The period from the Antralina Incident to the conclusion of hostilities with the Dutch was a three-cornered conflict. Village leaders were forced to contend simultaneously with the demands of

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the Dutch-backed Pasundan state, the Dar'ul Islam, and the army of the Republic of Indonesia. Incoming TNI infantry were initially at a disadvantage, given Dar'ul Islam legitimacy in the countryside and Dutch control over the towns and, according to Nasution, the major source of TNI casualties in West Java was not the Dutch but the Til (Departemen Penerangan 1954: 189-190). Indonesia became a sovereign state on December 27, 1949. However, the security situation in West Java in 1950 remained extremely uncertain. In addition to the Dar'ul Islam, the Siliwangi division confronted simultaneous challenges from the Bamburuncing, a leftwing guerrilla movement led by Chaerul Saleh, and a substantial bandit population, which until sovereignty had conducted their activities under the guise of the revolution. Finally, the Siliwangi division faced a direct frontal assault from Westerling's APRA movement which captured and relinquished military control of the city of Bandung on June 23, 1950.3 (See Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 345-346.) Given this array of competing demands, the TNI's activities against the Til did not begin in earnest until June of 1950. During its early operations the national army achieved considerable success because the Til elected to defend its territory rather than practice hit-and-run guerrilla tactics (Sadjidiman 1958: 50). Superior TNI resources and firepower combined with Til willingness to accept battle led to substantial DI losses and to the prediction of an early demise by some observers (see Nieuwenhuijze 1958 and Kahin 1953). From 1950 until 1962 the primary bases of the Dar'ul Islam were in the Residency of Priangan, which contains the districts (kabupaten) of Bandung, Sumedang, Garut, Tasikmalaya, and Ciamis, the last three of which were the core areas of support for the movement (Sadjidiman 1958; see also Table 2.1). As was indicated by army situation maps drawn during the conflict, substantial pockets of Dar'ul Islam strength also existed around Bogor, near Indramayu on the north coast, and over the border in Central Java (see Map l). 4 The 3. Westerling was a former captain in the Royal Netherlands Indies Army (KNIL). The forces he led in the attempt to overthrow the newly sovereign government of Indonesia were called the APRA (Angkatan Perang Ratu Adil, Army of the Just Prince) (see Feith 1962). 4. Although the Dar'ul Islam is usually depicted as a Sundanese movement limited to West Java, it is important t o keep in mind that 15 to 20 percent of the guerrillas operated in Central Java (see Pikiran Rakyat, May 7, 1958, and October 5, 1959; Duta Masyarakat, June 13, 1962 ; Antara, June 28, 1962).

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bands established bivouacs on the unpopulated mountaintops throughout the region. For example, the district of Garut alone afforded the movement with no less than twenty-two 3,000-6,000-foot peaks. The rebels sallied forth from these natural redoubts to attack and burn villages, government offices, TNI posts, and cars, buses, and trains. Rebel strength varied from year to year. At its peak in 1957 the movement may have mustered as many as thirteen thousand operatives with three thousand firearms (Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 518; Pinardi 1964: 99). In most years, however, there were approximately four thousand active guerrillas (see Siliwangi 1958, 1960a, 1960b, and 1962). Obviously caution must be exercised in interpreting these figures. All armies engaged in counterinsurgency operations minimize the size of the opposition while magnifying their own achievements. However, the most important social fact concerning the Dar'ul Islam recruiting is that the manpower reserves were always much greater than the arms available, and down to the bitter end the movement was capable of recruiting

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replacements for the approximately one thousand combat fatalities incurred during each year of the rebellion. In addition to military forces, the Dar'ul Islam organized a civilian administration duplicating the central government structure at all levels, extending even down to the village level. The provision of elaborate civil and military structures may have been one key to the attractiveness of the Dar'ul Islam as a movement because it offered bureaucratic office or military command to men who for lack of secular education and administrative experience would not have been employed by the Republic. The Dar'ul Islam, as well as other armed bands, benefited from the attentions of these men, who felt deprived of the fruits of revolution or simply did not want to return to the humdrum routine of village life after the excitement of revolution. The scale of warfare and attendant social dislocation in West Java were considerable. For instance, in the district of Garut in 1952 there were over five thousand incidents in which 443 officials and common people were killed and another 83,000 became evacuees (Pikiran Rakyat, January 14, 1953). On Java during the entire course of the conflict approximately 25,000 civilians and members of the Indonesian armed forces lost their lives, 120,000 homes were burned, and property losses totaled 650 million rupiahs. (On casualties and property losses, see Pinardi 1964: 179; Antara, August 17, 1962; Harian Rakyat, August 17, 1962; Pikiran Rakyat, January 20, 1951; August 4, 1954; January 10, 1955; February 25, 1955; January 3, 1956; February 26, 1956; July 26, 1958; and February 4, 1959; and Departemen Penerangan 1954: 238-239). In the course of the prolonged struggle both insurgents and counterinsurgents adopted distinctive tactics. After absorbing heavy casualties by attempting to hold territory in 1950 the Islamic army returned to the guerrilla tactics practiced during the revolution. Although the movement obtained some initial support from diehard colonial elements, on the whole the Dar'ul Islam lacked significant, sustained outside support. Having neither a regular external supplier nor foreign sanctuaries, the rebels obtained military supplies from the Indonesian military establishment by either capturing weapons or buying them on the black market. A prime source of ammunition seems to have been the government-equipped local self-defense forces, Organisasi Keamanan Desa (OKD). As villagers patrolling their own territory, the OKD usually reflected the political stance of

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individual villages toward the rebellion. In Dar'ul Islam villages the OKD, although armed by the central government, functioned as an intelligence and logistical network for the rebellion. In neutral villages they sought to avoid provoking either side, and only in pro-government villages did the self-defense forces perform the anti-Dar'ul Islam function for which they were designed. The military effect of nationally funded self-defense forces was predictably determined by local political option, and to the extent that villagers kept OKD activities confidential the central government was never the wiser. A basic Dar'ul Islam organizational principle utilized in recruiting both its civil administration and its soldiery was the ststem wadah (receptacle system). Administrative control was expanded by appointing an individual as Dar'ul Islam village head before even part of the village had joined the rebellion. If the Dar'ul Islam headman successfully filled his "receptacle," he would be promoted to subdistrict officer and again asked to fill the receptacle. Likewise, in the military, capable commanders would be promoted without increasing the number of troops under their command. The rank and territorial responsibility of a Til officer would be expanded, and he would be expected to raise the necessary troops to accord with his new rank. Hence, the rewards of status preceded the recruitment of an active following, and the recruitment process remained a vertical one emphasizing the particularistic relationship between the Dar'ul Islam operative and his local, personal following (see Pinardi 1964: 84-85, 102). In all rebellions, the authorities are prime targets for persuasion and coercion. With the Dar'ul Islam, almost all resources were extracted directly from the peasantry through levies of manpower and taxation. If a pro-government village headman was encountered and contributions were withheld by common villagers, the rebels would either attempt to assassinate the troublesome headman or mount a general attack on the whole village. The systematic slaughter of village leaders can create such intense feelings of physical insecurity that individuals and groups will perceive the insurgents, rather than the central government, as the superior source of protection. If systematic terror is coupled with an organization designed to politicize and reward recruits, a powerful revolutionary movement may be born (see Berman 1974). Although the Dar'ul Islam did not lack for terror, its terror was not systematic, and while it possessed a powerful ideology in Islam, its organization was not designed to convert

IDEOLOGY AND C H R O N O L O G Y OF D A R ' U L ISLAM REBELLION

17

raw peasant recruits into an organization of monolithic true believers. What is strikingly absent from descriptions of daily life among the TI I is any mention of political or religious indoctrination sessions. Van Kleef, a Dutchman who fought and died for the Dar'ul Islam, left behind a diary, and notably absent from this record of life in the rebel camps is any mention of the kind of intense political or religious socialization of recruits that has come to distinguish successful peasant revolutions in the twentieth century. Instead of attempting to instill monolithic orthodoxy among peasant recruits, animist and syncretist beliefs and practices were rife among the Dar'ul Islam soldiery, and the movement never fostered among the rank and file a clear conception of how Indonesian life might be altered in the event that the rebels succeeded in superseding the Jakarta government. As the Dar'ul Islam disintegrated its ferocity increased, and its terror became dysfunctional as it became more indiscriminate. Rather than using terror against selected enemies and thereby encouraging affiliation with the movement as a means to survival, the Dar'ul Islam increasingly attacked whole villages. Perhaps the most infamous attack was directed at Cibuggel in the subdistrict of Balubur Limbangan. During the rebellion the village suffered from more than fifty raids, one of which left 120 dead and 60 wounded, the vast majority of dead being women, children, and infants who had been intentionally executed rather than caught in the crossfire (Pinardi 1964: 200-206; Pikiran Rakyat, November 26, 1959; November 28, 1959; and December 2, 1959). In 1961 Kartosoewirjo had a vision that the road to the Islamic state would be covered by mounds of corpses. This led to the Perintab Perang Semesta (the Order of Total War) or Perintab Perang tanpa Kembali (the Order for War from Which There Is No Return) issued on June 11, 1961. With the exhortation to total war, Dar'ul Islam operatives were authorized to kill all men, women, and children who did not actively assist the Islamic bands (Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 512, 527). As a direct result, the ferocity of individual Dar'ul Islam attacks increased even as their total number declined. The eventual demise of the Dar'ul Islam was hastened by three factors. First, in dealing with the multitude of postwar insurrections, the Indonesian authorities repeatedly sought to negotiate rather than to exterminate rebels, and in several instances the Dar'ul Islam itself engaged in secret preliminary negotiations (see Boland 1971: 6 0 - 6 1 ; Merdeka, January 9, 1950; June 24, 1950; July 1, 1950; Pikiran

18

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Rakyat, October 10, 1950; November 23, 1950; March 8, 1951; January 21, 1956; February 14, 1956). There were continual offers of amnesty, and in some instances rebel groups were offered the possibility of integration into the Indonesian civil and governmental structures. Also, the TNI took care to mitigate the sting and shame of defeat by arranging dignified formal surrender ceremonies when whole groups came down from the mountains in various parts of Indonesia. Although the twin policies of negotiation and amnesty did not have dramatic effect on Dar'ul Islam strength during the 1950s, these procedures gave rebels an alternative to victory or death, and surrender with honor was the form of social behavior that eventually brought an end to the movement in the summer of 1962. The second factor responsible for increasing government effectiveness was a new set of tactics for flushing guerrillas out of their mountain lairs. At first, the Indonesian army concentrated on search-and-destroy missions, with predictably frustrating results. Repeatedly, the public was assured that the Dar'ul Islam had been eliminated from an area, only to find, after the successful TNI sweep, that the guerrillas had returned to their mountain bivouacs to begin raiding again. The chief tactical innovation was the pagar betis (literally, fence of calves), referring to the barrier formed by the legs of the civilians used to encircle rebel-occupied mountains. Male populations of entire villages were transported to the base of a mountain. Once the foot of the entire mountain was surrounded by civilians, the TNI would march them slowly up the mountain, forcing the Islamic rebels to fire upon the civilians. After drawing enemy fire, TNI forces would attack, rapidly concentrating firepower on the Dar'ul Islam detachment (see Pauker 1963; Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 530-546). According to former Dar'ul Islam officers, the pagar betis was both psychologically demoralizing and militarily effective. The Dar'ul Islam commanders mentioned how difficult it was to shoot unarmed noncombatants, especially if the victims were "good Muslims." Til morale remained high when attacking the TNI or those considered allies of the TNI; however, these rebel leaders spoke of the strain of waiting for the pagar betis while watching "good Muslim peasants" praying in the hours before the morning march up the mountain. Changed political and military circumstances in the nation as a whole constituted a third and most telling factor facilitating the demise of the Dar'ul Islam in the early 1960s. In 1960 the political

I D E O L O G Y A N D C H R O N O L O G Y OF D A R ' U L I S L A M REBELLION

19

party most sympathetic to the concept of an Islamic state, the Masyumi, was banned by President Soekarno in the wake of the PRRI rebellion in Sumatra. The once powerful Masyumi had always been reluctant to apply maximum military force against the Islamic rebels, and its eclipse allowed the army to carry out counterinsurgency operations unhindered by political constraints. Furthermore, the failure of the regional rebellions in Sumatra and Sulawesi meant that almost the entire strength of the best units of the Indonesian army could be concentrated on West Java. Thus, developments outside West Java and TNI tactical innovations combined to produce military pressure that the Til had never before encountered. (On the regional rebellions see Feith and Lev 1963.) The vastly increased TNI activity made it more difficult for the rebels to raid, forage, and recruit. In the last two years of the rebellion the bands were constantly harried from mountaintop to mountaintop across East Priangan. Absent were the periods of uneven TNI pressure that had allowed the Til to recover in the 1950s. In the spring of 1962 the TNI mounted a massive operation, and it achieved dramatic results. In the first seventy-eight days of the Baratayuda Operation, between April 1 and June 17, 1962, 1,236 men surrendered, 215 were killed, and 207 were captured. The peak was reached in the last three weeks of the period when 500 operatives and 300 women, children, and infants returned to the fold of the Republic (see Duta Masyarakat, June 20, 1962). Although increased military pressure undoubtedly accounted in part for the Dar'ul Islam's capitulation, why, after nearly a decade and a half of sacrifice, did most of the rebels surrender within the same one-month period? Why did the movement, as a group, lay down its arms? The most important single factor accounting for the rash of surrenders was the wounding and subsequent capture of S. M. Kartosoewirjo. The man who had raised the rebellion through his influence over interpersonal networks of religious leaders in West and Central Java and who had been its guiding light throughout the long insurrection was captured on June 4, 1962. After his capture he issued his final order as Imam of the Negara Islam Indonesia. This order instructed all operatives to cease hostilities and surrender (Sejarah Militer Kodam VI 1968: 553-555). The personal authority of the founder of the movement remained potent even after he had obviously lost all vestiges of power as a prisoner of the Republic. All but twenty members out of three thousand guerrillas obeyed the Imam's final order, and the impact of the order was indicated by the

20

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND R E B E L L I O N

fact that the majority surrendered only after the captured Kartosoewirjo issued his order (see Duta Masyarakat, June 20 and June 27, 1962; Antara, June 28, 1962). In the end, as in the beginning, the potency of traditional loyalty bonds seemed undiminished. Although the Islamic state had not been achieved, the authority of the rebellion's founding father proved instrumental in bringing forth the mass surrender that fourteen years of military pressure had been unable to produce. Sekarmadji Maridjan Kartosoewirjo, 1905-1962 Thus far, little has been said about Kartosoewirjo as an individual. He was born in East Java on February 7, 1905, the son of a lowerechelon figure in the Dutch civil service. He was educationally advantaged, acquiring Dutch language skills by graduating from a European school (ELS) and attending the Netherlands Indies Medical School (NIAS) in Surabaya (Pinardi 1964: 20-21). In 1926 he was expelled from medical school for radical leftist political activities. By 1927 he had joined the Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia (PSII), and H. O. S. Tjokroaminoto, the charismatic founder of Indonesia's first mass movement, the Sarekat Islam, became Kartosoewirjo's foster father and patron (Boland 1971: 55). After serving as Tjokroaminoto's private secretary from 1927 to 1929, Kartosoewirjo became seriously ill and retired to his wife's home village in Malangbong, West Java. His father-in-law was a locally renowned religious teacher named Ardiwisastra, and thus, through his marriage Kartosoewirjo attained access to an extensive network of religious teachers in the area which two decades hence would serve as the heartland of the Dar'ul Islam. In 1929 he became the PSII Commissioner for West Java, and two years later was elected General Secretary of the PSII. After the death of Tjokroaminoto in 1934, the PSII was badly rent by factional infighting. Kartosoewirjo was elected Vice-Chairman of the party in 1936 and became one of its chief spokesmen for total noncooperation with Dutch governing institutions. In 1936, he published a long essay on the meaning of hijrah, advocating complete withdrawal from any contact with the colonial state in preparation for eventual Islamic rule.s Kartosoewirjo proposed the creation of a Suffah Insti5. Hijrab means retreat and refers to the Prophet's withdrawal from Mecca to Medina in A.D. 622. The word hijrab connotes not only withdrawal but purification, not only retreat from the worldly but the promise of ultimate, divinely ordained victory.

I D E O L O G Y AND C H R O N O L O G Y OF DAR'UL ISLAM REBELLION

21

tute to instruct Islamic youth in an ascetic atmosphere on the fundamental responsibility of all Muslims to create a state ruled by Muslims. By the time his proposal was acted on, the PSII had already adopted a more cooperative stance toward the colonial government. Therefore, at the 1939 party congress the proposal was rejected (see Noer 1973: 142-153). At this juncture, Kartosoewirjo formed the Komite Pembela Kebenaran (KPK, Committee for the Defense of Truth) within the PSII. In reality this committee was a halfway house, utilizing the revered symbolism of the PSII while rejecting its authority. The organizational fiction that the KPK remained a part of the PSII made it easier for Kartosoewirjo and important supporters such as Kamran (head of the party's youth section and later Nil Defense Minister) to lead their followers out of the party as whole units. In any case, Kartosoewirjo was expelled from the party, and in March 1940 the KPK emerged as a new political party. Simultaneously, Kartosoewirjo founded his Suffah Institute in Malangbong. The name Suffah referred to an institution existing at the time of the Prophet where students were instructed by the Prophet himself in ways to propagate Islam (Noer 1973). The Institute was a religious boarding school where students resided for four to six months. The ways of life emphasized asceticism, self-reliance, egalitarian ism, and religious zeal. Individual possessions were pooled, hard manual labor was required of all (even Kartosoewirjo), and instruction was in subjects as diverse as the Dutch language, astronomy, and the mystical brand of Islam that Kartosoewirjo espoused throughout his career (Pinardi 1964: 27-28; Noer 1973: 148-149; Nieuwenhuijze 1958: 168). The training period at the Institute was too limited to produce bona fide religious teachers (kiyayi). The main intent of the program was the inculcation of zealous devotion to Islam, to the concept of total bijrah, to the KPK, and to the person of Kartosoewirjo. The Japanese occupation initially suspended all party activity, including the KPK, and the Suffah Institute became a more conventional and nonpolitical pesantren. However, in 1945 the political mission of the Suffah Institute was resuscitated when it became a site for training (with Japanese assistance) the paramilitary youth section of the Masyumi, known as the Hizbullah. The total number of individuals trained by the Institute both before and during the Japanese occupation was fairly modest (probably less than 2,000) but their importance to the Dar'ul Islam was magnified by the much greater number

22

T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM. AND REBELLION

of followers that the pupils proved capable of mobilizing from their native villages in Priangan and Central Java. The chief figures in the Dar'ul Islam (such as Kamran, Zainal Abidin, and Oni) had all been in the KPK or trained at the Suffah Institute. Besides the Hizbullah training center in Malangbong, Kartosoewirjo was actively engaged in other political and military activities during the occupation. These included joining the Hokokai in 19446 and his subsequent selection as guerrilla training supervisor for Banten, the western portion of West Java. Kartosoewirjo's cooperation with the Japanese occupation thus gave him access to military training and also supplied the opportunity to travel extensively and thus form personal relationships with local leaders throughout West Java. The most striking aspect of Kartosoewirjo was the extent to which he exemplified the contradictions subsequently mirrored in his heterogeneous movement to found an Islamic state. He was a Javanese who led a movement composed primarily of Sundanese, an urban Dutch-educated man who led largely illiterate peasants. Further, by education and beliefs, Kartosoewirjo himself seems to have been only tentatively attached to the strict interpretation of Islamic orthodoxy that supposedly formed the core ideology of the movement. The Imam of the Negara Islam was not a kiyayi (religious teacher) and had not been a santri (a pupil in a pesantren). His knowledge of Arabic was slight and his expertise on Islam derived almost entirely from Dutch publications (Pinardi 1964: 27-28). Further, his own commitment to mysticism, while sanctioned by some interpretations of Islam, ran beyond the bounds of acceptability of the modern orthodox Islamic community in Indonesia (see Noer 1973: 148). Wherever he went, Kartosoewirjo carried two pusaka (magical heirlooms), a kris (Javanese dagger), and a sword (Pinardi 1964: 43; Sejarah Militer Kodam VI Siliwangi 1968: 514). Kartosoewirjo's propaganda portrayed him as the Ratu Adil, the Just Prince, who according to pre-Islamic Javanese prophecy would come from the east to establish the just kingdom. In addition, Kartosoewirjo was portrayed as the Islamic equivalent, the Imam Mhadi, who would drive away the evil spirits dominating the world (Sjarifuddin 1962: 15-20; Horikoshi 1975: 73). Further, he was purported to perform 6. The Java Hökökai was designed by the Japanese military administration to mobilize Java down to the village level in the later stages of the Pacific war (see Anderson 1972a).

I D E O L O G Y A N D C H R O N O L O G Y OF D A R ' U L I S L A M R E B E L L I O N

23

miracles extending beyond the pale of Islamic orthodoxy; for instance, he was supposed to be able to vanish with the speed of light and to be capable of conferring invulnerability to bullets (Sjarifuddin 1962: 20-21; Horikoshi 1975: 75). (For condemnation of similar practices by an orthodox advocate of the Islamic state, see Anshary 1964: 107-113.) Thus, the symbolism surrounding Kartosoewirjo was syncretic rather than wholly orthodox or strictly Islamic. Kartosoewirjo's Dar'ul Islam, like most peasant movements preceding it on Java, appealed to Islamic and pre-Islamic symbols to demonstrate that power had justly descended upon his person, that he was the leader capable of concentrating within himself pre-Islamic symbols and magical allure even while promoting the cause of an Islamic state. 7 Thus, the orthodoxy of the Imam never overcame the concepts of power and symbolic attachment of Kartosoewirjo the man. On April 24, 1962, the invulnerable Imam of the Nil was wounded in a fire fight. He was captured on June 4, tried in August, and on September 12 (at a related trial) the presiding judge announced that Kartosoewirjo would be unable to testify because he had been executed (Antara, September 12, 1962). 7. On other Javanese movements interchangeably using both Islamic and pre-Islamic symbolism, see Sartono Kartodirdjo 1972. For the Javanese concept of power implicitly adhered to by Kartosoewirjo, see Anderson 1972b.

2. Methods: The Story of the Study

Rebellions are not dinner parties, nor are they regular political events amenable to standard methods of inquiry. Rather than abandoning rebellions because they fail to conform to methods developed for studying nonviolent political behavior, a variety of means, none of them perfect, have been devised, including post hoc historical analyses; first-person descriptions of ongoing rebellions; systematic studies of prisoner samples; analyses of aggregate data on rebellions from many nations; and the ex post facto experimental design adopted by this study. Post hoc historical analyses depend heavily on the written words and pronouncements of rebel leaders. As T. E. Lawrence remarked, the praises of the rebel rank and file always remain unsung because the lower ranks write neither the dispatches nor mémoires de guerre. Ideological documents and the dispatches reflected by the public press are unlikely to produce a precise description of the beliefs and motives of the rural and usually illiterate rank and file who do most of the killing and dying in peasant rebellions. If analysis is limited to formal documents and newspaper accounts, the emerging picture is almost inevitably a portrait of the rebellion's elite with few direct insights into the much larger group whose actions determined the movement's ultimate fate. In addition, post hoc analyses favor successful rebellions, whose copious records are preserved by the victors to magnify the heroic stature of the winning side. Similarly, the analysis of unsuccessful rebellions depends on the artifacts selected for preservation by those who eliminated the rebellion. The best descriptive analyses of ongoing rebellions are the result of interviews with participants, and thus are free from undue dependence on either the records of the victor or the formal ideological pronouncements of the leaders of the movement. However, even the best descriptions usually have major drawbacks. First, except under extraordinary circumstances the investigator cannot interview participants on both sides of the conflict. Second, the physical destruction 24

METHODS: THE STORY OF THE STUDY

25

typifying rebellions usually precludes the development of systematic research instruments and sampling methods capable of divining with precision the motives of representative participants. Analyses based on prisoner data manifest greater precision but retain several unsatisfactory attributes. No matter how precisely refined are the research instrument and sampling procedures, analyses of prisoner data inevitably contain substantial sampling bias because interviews are restricted to the peculiar subset of antigovernment forces who fall into the custody of the authorities in preference to dying or continuing the struggle. By definition most diehards are eliminated in the fighting, not interviewed in the prison camp. Even more crucial for peasant rebellions, prisoner samples inevitably are divorced from the group context and social structure in which the rebellion may have been initiated and sustained. The study of individual peasant prisoners removed by the vicissitudes of war from their village context virtually precludes structural explanations emphasizing leadership, local social structure, and small-group phenomena, because the prisoner by dint of his location in the stockade has been removed from the social context that may have played a profound role in eliciting and sustaining his rebellious behavior. Analyses of aggregate data on rebellions are weakened by the unavailability of data on individual motives and political behaviors. This type of analysis must concentrate on national income statistics, patterns of land tenure, degree of involvement in export agriculture, urbanization, literacy, the number of radios per capita, and so forth, its list of explanatory variables having been predetermined by governments and international agencies that collect these data for other purposes. Regarding the dependent variable frequency of rebellion, the research situation is even less precise, with whole nations being labeled as stable or unstable on the basis of reports reaching the international press or the even more qualitative judgments of experts who implicitly may be using quite different criteria for categorization. Further, the validity of even the most sophisticated data analysis is ultimately dependent upon the accuracy of the original data, and the capacity of governments for generating social statistics varies widely within as well as between nation-states. Finally, aggregate statistics apply to whole nations or provinces, whereas rebellions are the work of small or medium-size groups within a province or nation.

26

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

While aggregate data analysis can illuminate the general social situations that are conducive to rebellion, they cannot convincingly explain why groups and individuals within a given society join, remain neutral, or oppose a particular rebellion.

An Ex Post Facto Experiment No research method can claim absolute perfection. This caveat notwithstanding, in the design adopted by this study an attempt was made to avoid or at least alleviate the defects just discussed. First, the design selected history's most common form of rebellion, the rebellion that fails and hence is demythologized. Second, instead of adopting an elite bias the study concentrated on the motives and behaviors of villagers who were the rebellion's chief protagonists and victims. Third, it utilized systematic interviews with representatives from all three sides of the rebellion: protagonists, neutrals, and opponents. Fourth, the interviews were conducted in the village social setting that witnessed both the birth and the death of the Dar'ul Islam. The sampling of individuals within the village context made it possible for structural variables, such as village leadership, to emerge as plausible explanations. Fifth, the research occurred long enough after the rebellion for protagonists and antagonists to have returned to their places in society, but not so long afterward that memories and feelings had faded. The research design of this study is an ex post facto experiment; that is, although the phenomena studied had already occurred, the study adopted the laboratory experiment's orientation toward sharply structuring the research situation by controlling certain factors in order to test the explanatory power of other factors (see Nagel 1961: 457; Campbell and Stanley 1963; Kaplan 1964: 126-170; Kerlinger 1973: 314-326, 378-409). There are several ways in which ex post facto experiments differ from those conducted in the laboratory. The classic laboratory experiment intentionally manipulates the independent variable, introducing it at will to the experimental group in order to gauge the consequent change (or lack thereof) in the dependent variable by comparing the experimental group with a control group which has not been exposed to the independent variable. Comparison of the experimental and control groups is facilitated by random assignment of the population to the two groups.

METHODS: THE STORY OF THE STUDY

27

Of course, in the case of an already defunct rebellion the social scientist cannot exercise the same control over the independent variable. Because the ex post facto experiment deals with past events, it reverses the order found in classic laboratory experiments. Instead of controlling the independent variables directly, the scientist consciously seeks a situation that would be most likely to expose wide variation on the independent variables. He increases the probability of the appearance of significant differences on the independent variables by purposively selecting cases representing distinctly different levels on the dependent variable. Ex post facto experimental research is much less rigorous than what could be achieved in the laboratory— if laboratory research were possible on the particular subject. For this reason, the researcher must be doubly careful in selecting the cases specifying the dependent variable. In addition, the necessarily retrospective measurement of the independent variables requires special precautions. The researcher must be sure that the variables have remained stable relative to each other in the interim between the occurrence of the event being investigated and the time when the variables are actually measured. In addition, he must cast his net as widely as possible and investigate the largest reasonable number of alternative hypotheses to avoid designating one variable as causal without having investigated other equally plausible sources of causality. Although no single study can investigate all possible alternative hypotheses, any ex post facto study that is to be taken seriously must investigate at least the most plausible alternatives in the course of the research. In the particular study presented here, the main reason for selecting an ex post facto, quasi-experimental design was the desire to test as stringently as possible a wide range of variables that might account for rebellion. Rather than assuming a priori that there were connections between ideology and political action or between primordial sentiments and political behavior, this study sought to test each of these hypotheses. Repeatedly during the research, hypotheses I was initially inclined to accept were either disproven or "not proven." However, this is precisely the value of an experimental orientation and what Kaplan has described as its cardinal principle. —The scientist c a n n o t lead us i n t o n a t u r e ' s secret retreats unless he will risk having her slam t h e d o o r in his f a c e ; e x p e r i m e n t k n o c k s on t h e d o o r . T h e cardinal principle of e x p e r i m e n t a t i o n is t h a t we m u s t accept t h e o u t c o m e w h e t h e r or n o t it is t o our liking.

28

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION —By submitting to the judgement of experiment we correct the presumption of the demand that the world conform to our expectations. (Kaplan 1964: 145)

Selecting the Sample of Villages The most crucial step in any ex post facto experiment is selecting cases that show wide variation on the phenomenon to be explained, thus making highly probable the appearance of significant differences on explanatory variables. Villages were not selected at random; rather, a controlled situation was created by sorting villages into three experimental categories on the basis of behaviors toward the Islamic state. Villages that had fought for the establishment of the Islamic state were placed in the category Dar'ul Islam villages. Villages that actively fought against the rebellion were classified as progovernment villages. And the villages that cooperated alternately with both sides were labeled swing villages. Respectively, these past political behaviors indicated a high, middle, and low position on the dependent variable national integration. Designating villages as Dar'ul Islam, swing, or pro-government was the most vital methodological decision of the study. Most individuals committing murder and mayhem, even in the name of God, become reticent about their participation after a rebellion has failed. Therefore, it was necessary to utilize multiple measures on the dependent variable, attitudinal as well as behavioral, and direct as well as unobtrusive measures. These measures included (1) delineation of the positions taken by whole villages toward the rebellion and (2) designation of individual attitudes and behaviors toward the Islamic state. Villages as Political

Actors

A cardinal assumption underpinning most analyses of political behavior in the United States is that the individual is the only sensible unit of analysis because the individual is the prime locus of decision-making in a modern heterogeneous society. In contrast, this study adopts the village as a major unit of analysis because many villages in the Sundanese area, as in many other traditional settings, react rather monolithically toward extravillage political stimuli, whether they are peasant organizations, political parties, government programs, or a movement to found an Islamic state. Further, we intentionally sought villages that were pure types: Dar'ul Islam,

METHODS: THE STORY OF THE STUDY

29

swing, and pro-government. We chose villages spread across nine subdistricts because their political histories clearly indicated that the villages had acted as whole units in their response to the rebellion. Sorting villages into these three categories proved much more difficult than was anticipated. Two months of full-time micro-historical research were required to select six Dar'ul Islam villages, seven antiDar'ul Islam (or pro-government) villages, and six swing villages. The first step in identifying the villages was to consult military leaders in Bandung. Given the paramount role played by the Siliwangi division in destroying the Dar'ul Islam, I naively thought that highly reliable information on past political behavior of specific villages would be readily available. Although the officers of the Siliwangi Division were most open and cooperative, they could not supply the necessary detailed information. Instead, positively identifying each village required the construction from independent and often contradictory sources, of a subdistrict and village-by-village profile of involvement in the Dar'ul Islam. It was only after the information had been triangulated and checked that a reliable assignment of a village to one of the three categories could be made. At the National Military Archives in Bandung, the Pusat Sejarah Militer (PUSSEM), the Indonesian army allowed access to their extensive newsclipping file covering postindependence insurrections throughout Indonesia. The volumes of clippings contained a massive number of accounts of DI (Dar'ul Islam) attacks all over West Java. To determine the primary location of DI and counter-DI activities, the clippings for the years 1954 and 1955 were tabulated by district for all the districts of West Java. These tabulations revealed that two districts southeast of Bandung, Tasikmalaya and Garut, shared approximately half of the violent incidents in 1954 and 1955 (see Table 2.1). 1 A map in the military archives giving the strength of DI units in January 1955 confirmed the newsclipping analysis showing that half the DI soldiery operated from Tasikmalaya and Garut. Even as the rebellion disintegrated during 1960 and 1961 the same area southeast of Bandung remained the geographic center of hostilities (Siliwangi 1960b). Although the newsclippings and official reports identified the general area in which the study should be concentrated, these sources 1. T h e news coverage and clipping files were i n c o m p l e t e b u t could b e utilized as r o u g h i n d i c a t o r s for locating t h e fighting.

30

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M . AND REBELLION TABLE 2.1 Results

of Content Analysis of News Clippings Dar'ul ¡slam for 1954 and 1955

Number of Incidents 1954

Number of Incidents 1955

Percentage of Total for All of West Java 1954

1955

on

the

Rank for Rank for 1954 1955

Tasikmalaya

98

93

36

28

1

1

Garut

49

67

18

20

2

2

Bandung

36

53

13

16

3

3

Ciamis

21

52

8

16

4

4

Bogor

16

14

6

4

5

6.5

Sukabumi

15

4

6

1

6

8

Kuningan and Majalengka

14

14

5

4

7

6.5

9

16

3

5

8

5

269

327

Cianjur Total number of incidents tallied for West Java

were not sufficient for the selection of particular villages. Furthermore, potential selection criteria derived from the Vietnam experience proved inconclusive. Being a "pacified," trouble-free village was not equivalent to being pro-government. The most clearly Dar'ul Islam village in the study lost only a single building during the fourteen-year conflict. The rebels protected their home villages with elaborate ruses and in several instances actually put to the torch part of a village to convince the TNI that the village was victim rather than villain. Likewise, the degree of government penetration manifested by continued operation of the government school was not a useful clue to the political behavior of the village. The Dar'ul Islam's followers wanted education for their children, and consequently children were often left under the tutelage of the government's school system while their fathers fought against the secular state on a nearby mountaintop. Finally, the election records for 1955 and 1957 were largely useless because vote tallies were available only for whole districts or subdistricts, when the village-by-village returns were the relevant data set indicating affiliation with either Muslim or nationalist political parties. The information gathered from civilian and army leaders in Bandung, while correct in some instances, was never sufficiently

METHODS: THE STORY OF THE STUDY

31

specific. Nor did consultations with district military and civilian officials reveal the details necessary for classifying villages. Therefore, the next sources consulted were the subdistrict officials throughout the area. Most subdistrict officers (as well as village headmen) had been changed since 1965, and interviewing the top man in an office usually did not achieve reliable results. Hence, we interviewed the official who had served longest in the particular subdistrict. The interview concerned the political history of every village in the subdistrict. A list of the villages was composed, and most, but not all, of the following questions were asked regarding each village. 1. Which villages participated most strongly in the fight to expel the Dutch? 2. How many revolutionary fighters were drawn f r o m each of the villages? 3. How many people were killed f r o m each village in the fighting against the Dutch? 4. Which villages were the most nationalistic during the revolution? 5a. Which revolutionary organizations were strongest in this subdistrict? 5b. From which villages did they draw their followers? Why did they tend to come from these particular villages? 6. From which villages did the Dar'ul Islam draw the greatest number of its followers? 7. How many members of the DI came f r o m each of these villages? 8. Have the former DI returned to their original villages? Which villages at present have the greatest number of former DI followers living in them? 9. In which villages was the DI shadow government actually able to rule? 10. Why do you think people joined the DI? 11. Why do you think the DI eventually lost the support of the people? 12. Which were the most anti-DI villages? 13. What actions did they take which would lead you to think that they were anti-DI? 14. Why were they so anti-DI? 15. Which political parties were strongest during the elections of 1955 and 1957 in the various villages? 16. Why were certain parties very weak in some villages and very strong in others? 17. In which villages was the DI able to collect taxes without coercion? 18. Which were the villages in which the DI f o u n d it difficult to collect taxes? 19. Which were the villages that were caught in the middle between the DI and the TNI? 20. Which were the neutral villages that helped the DI when the DI was in the area in force but also helped the TNI when they were the strongest?

32

T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

21. Which were the villages that the central government ruled only in the daytime and the DI ruled at night? 22. In which villages were the village headmen able to sleep in their own houses at night during the era of the DI? 23. What were the villages from which the headman and his assistants were forced to flee at night?

During the Dar'ul Islam rebellion the ability of an official to function or even to survive depended on his knowledge of the political affiliations of specific kampungs and villages. However, official memories proved decidedly dim regarding the political paths chosen by the ten or eleven villages in each subdistrict. Typically, after an hour of interviewing in the regional language, Sundanese, only a few meager leads would have emerged. After this fragmentary historical sketch was obtained from the subdistrict official, the village headman of longest standing in the subdistrict was interviewed independently. Given that the same set of ten or eleven villages was being discussed with both headman and subdistrict officials, one might expect a clear picture to result from the combination of the two interviews. This was almost never the case. Instead, there was almost always substantial overlap and considerable direct contradiction. At this point in the investigation, several new tactics were devised. The first was to interview extensively former DI military leaders. These few Dar'ul Islam sources were extremely useful. Their information was the most specific and reliable. Subsequent independent checks attested to its trustworthiness. The Dar'ul Islam leaders knew precisely which villages were DI and which areas had been unsafe for the forces of the DI. The Preliminary

Survey

The second tactic was to attach an informal, unstructured interview to the preliminary survey of the nineteen villages. A trained interviewing team of four Sundanese university students was sent into the nineteen villages that had been conditionally classified as DI, swing, or pro-government. The overt, stated purpose was the collection of aggregate data about the village as a whole and the administration of three in-depth interviews with the apex of the village leadership structure. However, the most important task was to verify the information already obtained about the political tack taken by the villages during DI times. The information previously gathered was not divulged to the teams. After the formal interviewing had been

METHODS: THE STORY OF THE STUDY

33

completed, each team obtained informal answers to a shortened version of the twenty-three questions about village history. High agreement resulted between the information supplied by the Dar'ul Islam leaders and the investigations carried out informally by the students. The nineteen villages selected and classified by this microhistorical investigation are found in three districts (kabupaten)-. Bandung, Sumedang, and Garut. Each district is divided into subdistricts (kecamatan), and each subdistrict contains approximately 50,000 people divided among nine to twelve villages. The total population of the nine subdistricts represented in Table 2.2 is approximately 475,000 out of the total West Javanese population of over 20 million. Three additional purposes were fulfilled by the preliminary survey: (1) collecting aggregate data on structural variables for all nineteen villages; (2) obtaining a sample of headmen, elders, and religious leaders extending beyond the three villages eventually picked for intensive study; and (3) gathering data to facilitate the selection of three primary villages to represent the three types of villages. The aggregate data from the nineteen villages provided the basis for the analysis of structural variables in Chapter 3. Eighty-four different questions were asked of officials in each village office. All were information questions; none concerned opinions. Although the sample is small, systematic differences could legitimately be sought because the villages themselves were chosen for the sharp differences they illustrated on the dependent variable. Two-thirds of the villages investigated were at diametrically opposite poles on the degree of integration into the nation. If some variable such as physical isolation were truly significant to national integration, comparisons between extremes of national integration should illuminate differences in isolation with a power that might be expected only from a much larger group of randomly selected villages. The second purpose of the preliminary survey was to obtain interviews with village elite members that would indicate the generality of findings based only on the three villages ultimately selected for intensive study. During the preliminary survey three individual interviews were conducted with the village headman, a village elder, and the village religious leader. Of course, these interviews with nineteen religious leaders and thirty-eight community leaders must be used in

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RELIGION, POLITICS, AND REBELLION

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differences are small, the effect of village residence is substantial. Where a person lives has direct implications for his attitude toward the concept of an Islamic state, whereas his religious beliefs per se do not have systematic influence over this particular political attitude. Killing for an insult to one's religion is considered here to be an indicator of religious fanaticism. Only an extremist, an unreasoning zealot, could believe that he was doing God's work by committing homicide in retaliation for religious rudeness. Hence, 1 assume that a degree of fanaticism is implied by affirmative replies to the following question, "If your religion were insulted, would you kill then?" Three hypotheses relating religious fanaticism to politics are often heard in Indonesia. The first, heard most frequently among Christians and syncretists, is that the santri are more prone to religiously motivated violence. This argument is often used as a rationale for limiting the power and influence of orthodox Islamic political leaders and organizations in national politics. A second proposition is that supporters and opponents of the Dar'ul Islam rebellion were clearly distinguished by the greater willingness of DI adherents to shed blood over religious issues. A third proposition is that the Dar'ul Islam was staffed by santri fanatics—that is, joining the Dar'ul Islam required one to be both a religious fanatic and a pious orthodox Muslim. The first hypothesis, that santri are more fanatical, finds no support whatever within our data. Orthodox and syncretist alike show great readiness to commit violence over something as vague as an "insult to religion." Seventy percent of respondents from all nineteen villages and 66 percent from the three primary villages answer the question affirmatively. As Table 5.16 indicates, religious variant has little, if any, influence on religious fanaticism. While most respondents are religious fanatics, being a santri neither increases nor decreases the proclivity for violence. When we appraise each village separately, we find that Islamic orthodoxy correlates with fanaticism at a statistically significant level only in Cikujang. In Tanggerang, most people are willing to kill for religion, but religious variant has no influence whatever. Although the relationship is not statistically significant, it is syncretism that goes with fanaticism in Rancabentang. 21 21. For Tanggerang there is no association between orthodoxy and fanaticism. Fiftyeight percent of the syncretists are willing to kill for religion, which is not significantly less than the 60 percent of the orthodox Muslims who volunteer a similar willingness to kill.

112

TRADITIONAL

AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND

REBELLION

T A B L E 5.16

Scale of Religious Beliefs by Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Religion I St Quartile

2nd Quartile

3rd Quartile

Willing to Kill

63% (32)

72% (38)

74% (32)

53%(21)

66%

Unwilling to Kill

37% (19)

28% (15)

26% (11)

48% (19)

34%

100%(51)

100% (53)

100% (43)

101% (40)

Totals

4tb Quartile

Totals

(123) (64)

100%(187)

N o t e : Chi-square reaches a confidence level o f .13. If religion is considered t o be the independent variable, 1.1% o f total uncertainty is reduced. T h e Mann-Whitney U-Test is insignificant, and theta is o n l y .06. T h e significance test f o r gamma reaches the .28 level, and its correlation c o e f f i c i e n t is .07, indicating virtually no ordinal relationship between religion and fanaticism. T h e same relationships hold if w e eliminate elite w o m e n and the village p o o r . T h e relationship becomes even weaker if w e collapse the table by dichotomizing religious beliefs into o r t h o d o x and syncretist.

T h e second hypothesis predicts that fanaticism will distinguish proponents

from

opponents

of

the Dar'ul Islam. A s T a b l e

5.17

indicates, the relationship between willingness to kill f o r religion and support f o r establishing a state religion is very weak. Eighty-six percent o f those willing t o kill f o r religion favor a Negara Islam, but an almost equal percentage o f more moderate individuals also favor establishing a state religion. T h e third hypothesis posits that support f o r the Islamic state was confined t o the segment o f the population that was both o r t h o d o x in its religious beliefs and willing t o c o m m i t violence over religious issues. If w e appraise the relationship between fanaticism and favoring the Islamic state among o r t h o d o x Muslims, there is no statistically significant d i f f e r e n c e between fanatical o r t h o d o x Muslims and In Tanggerang the statistics are as f o l l o w s : chi-square is .93; if religious beliefs are considered

the

independent

variable, virtually

no uncertainty

reduction occurs: the Mann-

Whitney U-test reaches o n l y the .43 confidence level, and theta is .02. In Cikujang o r t h o d o x Muslims are significantly m o r e fanatical than syncretists. Chisquare is significant at the .03 level. If religion is taken as the independent variable, 7.7 percent o f uncertainty is reduced. T h e Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta is .33. T h e significance test f o r gamma reaches the .02 level, and its measure o f strength o f association is .67. In Rancabentang the differences are not significant, but the relationship is in the opposite direction, with syncretists manifesting a greater willingness t o kill over an insult to religion. Chi-square is .42; 1.4 percent o f uncertainty is reduced if religion is considered to be the independent variable; the Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .14 level, and theta is , 1 4 ; g a m m a is - . 2 9 , but the related test reaches o n l y the .21 level.

113

R E L I G I O N , POLITICS, AND REBELLION TABLE 5.17 Fanaticism by Attitude toward an Established (Three Primary Villages mi

Kill

State Only)

Will Not Kill

Religion Totals

In F a v o r

86% (102)

79% (44)

84% (146)

Opposed

14%

(16)

21% (12)

16%

100% (118)

100% (56)

Totals

(28)

100% (174)

Note: In this table we are considering two nominal variables, hence gamma and the Mann-Whitney U-Test are not reported. Chi -square reaches the .27 confidence level, and if fanaticism is considered the independent variable, only 0.8% of total uncertainty is reduced. A Fisher's Exact Test yields an exact probability of .14 for the one-tailed test.

nonfanatical orthodox Muslims (see Table 5.18). If we contrast fanatical orthodox Muslims with fanatical syncretists, the former are more unanimous in their support of the Islamic state; however, this statistical finding is not theoretically fruitful, because the overwhelming majority (79%) of fanatical syncretists support the concept of an Islamic state. During the course of the field research the man who led the Dar'ul Islam troops from Tanggerang was interviewed informally in Bandung. He specified the individuals in our sample from Tanggerang who followed him. Unfortunately, because of the extreme sensitivity of the information sought, only twenty-six respondents were classified as those who "followed" (ikut) and those who did not (tidak ikut). The distinction was between those who actually joined the fight and those who adopted a somewhat more passive position toward the rebellion. However, the contrast here is between different levels of participation rather than between rebellion and opposition to rebellion. As in the other tests, the correlation between religious beliefs and this index of participation fails to reach statistical significance, and confidence in the outcome is marred by the very small number of individuals who manifested a lower level of support for the rebellion (see Table 5.19). In this section we have appraised a variety of indicators of individual attitudes and behaviors relevant to joining or opposing the rebellion, and the results cast doubt upon the hypothesized strong and substantial relationship between religious beliefs and political behaviors. When the individual is the unit of analysis, orthodox

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RELIGION. POLITICS, AND REBELLION TABLE 5.19 Scale of Religious Beliefs by Reported Level of Participation in the (DI Village Only)

115

Rebellion

Religion 1st Quartile

2nd Quartile

3rd Quartile

4tb Quartile

Followed

83% (10)

86% (6)

60% (3)

50% (1)

77% ( 2 0 )

Did Not Follow

17%

(2)

14% (1)

40% (2)

50% (1)

23%

100% (12)

100% (7)

100%(5)

100% (2)

Totals

Totals

(6)

100% ( 2 6 )

Note: Chi-square is irrelevant because of small expected frequencies in several cells. Collapsing the columns to perform a Fisher's Exact Test contrasting orthodox with syncretist yields a confidence level of .15. The Mann-Whitney U-Test reaches a confidence level of .13 for the one-tailed test that the orthodox will manifest a higher level of participation. Theta is .29, and gamma is .40.

Muslims are not more inclined toward establishing a state religion or more prone to religious fanaticism. In spite of substantial and consistent differences in religious beliefs, orthodox and syncretic respondents in East Priangan seem virtually indistinguishable in their support for an Islamic state and in their predisposition toward religious violence. Party Affiliation and Religious Beliefs The relationship between politics and religion on Java is most often phrased in an electoral or political party context. Unfortunately, election records for the 1955 and 1957 elections are very difficult to obtain on a village-by-village basis. With the passage of time these records have been either lost or intentionally mislaid, and in addition, memories of the elections are vague even among subdistrict officials of long standing. Hence, almost all that is said here is distinctly qualitative and derived from informal interviews. My overall impression is that party affiliations and electoral stances tend to be adopted by whole villages as units. The few village election statistics I was able to obtain show this to be the predominant pattern. For example, in the subdistrict of Balubur Limbangan, only two of the eleven villages had anything resembling a competitive party system. In the village housing the subdistrict headquarters, the Masyumi gathered 2,946 votes, or 71 percent of the total votes cast. The second largest party obtained 329 votes, or 8 percent of the

116

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND R E B E L L I O N

total. The next two parties obtained 259 and 248 votes. This was the village in the subdistrict with the most competition at the polls (Kantor Kecamatan Balubur Limbangan 1957). More typical was the village of Cikondang, which had been a DI village. In the 1957 elections the Masyumi garnered 1,134 out of the 1,331 votes cast, or 85 percent. The next largest party was the PKI, which had 118 supporters, or 9 percent of the votes. The next two parties were the NU and the PNI with 24 and 11 votes respectively. Thus, there was a pattern of overwhelming Masyumi strength with minor PKI competition. Cikondang did not represent the most concentrated pocket of Masyumi strength in the subdistrict. The village of Surabaya gave 1,486 votes to the Masyumi and only 24 votes to all other political parties combined. In Surabaya the second largest party was the NU with 6 votes. Voting patterns in Sundanese villages are unstable, often crossing the entire political spectrum in one quantum jump. For example, the DI village of Cikondang gave 85 percent of its votes in 1957 to the

RELIGION, POLITICS, AND REBELLION

117

Masyumi, but apparently became a strongly PKI village after 1962. Thus, party affiliation of the entire village turned around completely after the demise of the Dar'ul Islam movement. The case of Cikondang is probably an extreme one, but the ability to change political hue with the times is also evident from another source. A Siliwangi division intelligence report in 1963 included a map of the political party affiliations for the subdistricts of West Java. If we compare areas of Dar'ul Islam predominance in 1954 with the geographic distribution of Islamic and nationalist political party dominance in 1963, three-quarters of the subdistricts in Priangan (formerly the heartland of the DI) had become PKI or PNI and less than 20 percent of the subdistricts continued to be affiliated with Islamic political parties such as the PSII and NU (see Maps 2, 3, and 4). 22 Many of the subdistricts that had been prime supporters of the 22. For complete details regarding political party affiliations in West Java in 1963, see Map 4. The original version of Map 4 (from which Map 3 was produced) was contained in an intelligence report of the Siliwangi Division (Siliwangi 1963). Initially, I doubted the accu-

118

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Dar'ul Islam rebellion in the 1950s seem to have changed political affiliations across religious lines; that is, from being predominantly DI and hence within the Islamic aliran, by 1963 they had become PNI or PKI dominated. Another general impression is that voting statistics often are an inaccurate guide to village politics. This is because village leaders are well aware that the government closely scrutinizes the village vote as an indicator of village loyalty to the central government. During the 1950s, in villages that were unanimously in league with the DI, the village leaders used the elections as a ruse to confuse army intelligence reports by casting sizable numbers of votes for the nationalist parties. For example, the village from which Kartosoewirjo's wife hailed was almost certainly in the thick of the DI movement. And yet, according to the election statistics, the PNI and the PKI gathered almost as many votes as the combined total of the Masyumi, NU, and PSII (Kantor Kecamatan Balubur Limbangan 1957). Thus, a village that was most certainly heavily involved in the Dar'ul Islam was simultaneously voting for secular nationalist parties. With this general perspective, we can now appraise party affiliation and electoral behavior in the three primary villages. The DI village, Tanggerang, has been securely in the grip of an Islamic party, the Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia, since the 1920s. During the 1930s, party meetings were held there by national party figures such as Tjokroaminoto, the founder of the PSII. Tjokroaminoto's son married a woman from Tanggerang, making the link a personal as well as a political one. Kartosoewirjo, as Tjokroaminoto's private secretary, also frequented the village well before World War II. Hence, long-standing personal links existed between Tanggerang and the inner circle of the national PSII. When the elections of 1955 and 1957 came, the village officers, the pamong desa, were playing a double role as both the Dar'ul Islam shadow government and the legitimate government of the Republic. One way to protect the village from the TNI was by mending political fences at election time. To blur the village's Islamic image, the village leaders, along with an undetermined number of common villagers, voted for the PNI in spite of the fact that they had been acknowledged PSII leaders for decades. racy of the map, but I was satisfied when several nationalist political party leaders as well as respected military intelligence officers certified its authenticity during informal interviews in which they tested the map against their recollections for each individual subdistrict.

120

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M . AND R E B E L L I O N

After the rebellion ended, the village reverted to being steadfastly PSII. The amount of party activity in Tanggerang was more regular and frequent than in any other village visited during 1968-1969. Except for the Machiavellian feint toward the PNI, Tanggerang has remained within the Islamic voting coalition, and the PSII garnered 72 percent of the total vote in the 1971 election in spite of the pressures brought to bear on villagers to convince them to vote for the government party, GOLKAR. For the majority of persons interviewed, and probably for the majority of the villagers of Tanggerang, this means that religious beliefs and political party affiliations are well correlated. The village of Rancabentang presents data directly contradicting the hypothesis that orthodox Muslims will not vote for secular political parties. The party that won the 1955 elections in Rancabentang was a splinter group from the PNI led by Gatot Mangkupradja. Though the village is similar in its religious beliefs to Tanggerang, the whole village seems to have voted for the Gerakan Pembela Pancasila. Similarly, in the 1971 election, GOLKAR, rather than one of the religious parties, swept the religiously orthodox village of Rancabentang, carrying 75 percent of the votes. Voting behavior in 1955 and 1971 parallels Rancabentang's stand against the DI, and all three political actions contradict the hypothesis that religious schism determines political division. Cikujang's history of party affiliation is difficult to interpret unless we assume that some variable other than religious beliefs exercises a powerful political effect. Cikujang's original political ties were with the Masyumi and the DI. After the end of its flirtation with the DI, Cikujang moved in a secular political direction. A PNI man became the headman, and in the national elections the village split its support between the PNI and the Islamic parties. With the banning of the Masyumi after the 1958 rebellion in Sumatra, those affiliated with the Masyumi became NU members. During the early 1960s the village also developed a group of PKI supporters. However, immediately after the 1965 coup the village dramatically switched tacks. The PNI headman was ousted, PNI party activity ceased, and the NU became the only party in the village. At the time of the field research Cikujang was considered solidly NU and certain to support the Islamic parties in the upcoming national election. However, in 1971 the swing village again aligned itself with the dominant national force

RELIGION, POLITICS, AND REBELLION

121

by deserting the religious parties and giving 71 percent of its votes to GOLKAR. Thus the most syncretic of the three villages supported, in turn, the Dar'ul Islam rebellion and the Masyumi; the NU, the PNI, and the PKI; the NU; and GOLKAR. Politics in Cikujang is the politics of protective reaction. It affiliated with the DI and the Masyumi when both were strong in the surrounding area. It shifted toward the secular parties when these seemed to be the wave of the future. And it returned to the fold of the Islamic aliran with the destruction of the PKI and the guilt by association of the PNI. If we assume that whole villages do not change their religious beliefs overnight, at least half of Cikujang's postwar political oscillations violate the orthodox/syncretist theory of political behavior. Conclusions and Implications To what extent can we generalize the findings beyond the three villages? To what extent do other sources of information corroborate the interpretation presented here? First, the only published studies of village politics in West Java explicitly mentioning the impact of religion on political behavior in the postwar era support my conclusion that religious beliefs do not exercise massive, direct influence over village political behavior. Andrea Wilcox Palmer, working in Situraja in the 1950s, concluded that the orthodox/syncretist division among Muslims did not exercise a significant influence on party affiliation at the village level (Palmer 1959: 50-51). Hiroko Horikoshi's ethnographic history of the village of Cipari during DI times also provides support by describing what seems to have been an orthodox Islamic village, which initially supported and then actively opposed the forces of Kartosoewirjo. While religious values remained constant, village political behaviors altered entirely under the leadership of the same village religious teacher (Horikoshi 1975). Second, much of what van Leur, the noted prewar Dutch scholar, has said concerning the relative weakness of the Hindu influence on Javanese institutions might apply almost equally to Islam. Whether the foreign import is Hinduism, Islam, Western influence, or communism, these complex patterns of symbols have washed over traditional village society but have left its basic way of life intact. Though the symbols of each successive wave have been adopted, the underlying structure of village life remains largely unchanged. Ideologies, whether religious or secular, are but "a thin and easily chipped layer

122

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

of varnish" on village society (van Leur 1934: 102). As van der Kroef has said, "precarious fads of foreign origin cannot compete with the security which communalism offers" (van der Kroef 1954: 99). Three additional sources lend credence to the interpretation that far from being a monolithic religious movement staffed entirely by orthodox Muslims, the Dar'ul Islam was shot through with heterodox religious beliefs. First, there are the persistent tales of mystical power and magical prowess surrounding the Javanese-born leader of the Dar'ul Islam. According to the statements of his close associates, Kartosoewirjo, the self-professed Imam of the Negara Islam Indonesia, practiced both Islamic and non-Islamic forms of mysticism (Pinardi 1964: 41-48). To support his position, he resorted to both Islamic and non-Islamic symbolism, claiming not only that he was the Chalifatullah (the representative of God on earth for Indonesia and for all of mankind), but also that he was the Ratu Adil, or Just Prince, forecast by the pre-Islamic Javanese seers. In utilizing both orthodox and pre-lslamic symbolism, Kartosoewirjo was simply using the variety of appeals appropriate to his religiously heterogeneous followers. In addition to pre-Islamic symbolism, Kartosoewirjo's leadership rested on his professed ability to assure invulnerability to bullets through special incantations. Other forms of mysticism transgressing the line demarcating Islamic orthodoxy were present at the highest levels of the Dar'ul Islam movement. For example, Kartosoewirjo, like his opponent President Soekarno, collected magical swords (kris). Kartosoewirjo is reputed to have received the gift of a magical Sundanese sword from Zainal Abidin, one of the chief military leaders of the DI. Also, Kartosoewirjo's bodyguard claimed that one of the signs of the coming demise of the DI in 1962 was that Kartosoewirjo's personal magic was fading. This was indicated by the fact that Kartosoewirjo was proven to be vulnerable by a TNI bullet in April 1962 (Pinardi 1964: 48). Informal interviews also indicated that syncretic beliefs pervaded the Dar'ul Islam battalions in the same way that they have found their niche in Sundanese village life. For example, a former DI battalion commander, after years of fighting for the establishment of an Islamic state, returned to civil life and became a registered dukun in Cicelengka. This was to an extent fitting because his fame as a commander rested on his ability to insure invulnerability to bullets. A whole range of examples of nonorthodox practices and beliefs

RELIGION, POLITICS, AND REBELLION

123

among the Dar'ul Islam soldiery come from the diary of a Dutchman, van Kleef, who marched all over West Java and died fighting for the DI. His diary provides a rare eyewitness account of the fight to establish an Islamic state, by a participant who as an outsider recorded the day-to-day customs of the Negara Islam's fighting forces. As a former Dutch intelligence officer he was attached to the headquarters section of the movement and appears to have had frequent contact with individuals of high and low status in the DI movement. Quotations from his diary illustrate that, even among soldiers attached to headquarters, recourse was frequently made to mystical and syncretic explanations of events. The common events of daily life were explained by the soldiers of Islam in terms that could easily have been branded as heretical, bid'ab, by the exponents of orthodox Islam. The diary indicates that nominal Muslims and syncretists who fought with the Dar'ul Islam were not resocialized by their involvement in the movement; instead they continued to express openly their heterodox beliefs. In the first quote from November 7, 1952, there is a curious mixture of Islamic and non-Islamic elements. As is true of many entries in the diary, van Kleef punctuates important points with Islamic incantations such as AlhamdulUlah, meaning Praise to God. In addition, "the boys," as he refers to them, are portrayed as carrying out the fasting required by Islam. And yet, at the same time, polytheism is ever apparent. Sounds in the night are explained as the work of spirits constantly circling the camp while sounding a gong, and one man explains his redemption from the edge of death as the work of a female spirit and a mysterious tiger. The entry may seem ironic to some. A rebellion pledged to ridding Islam of pre-Islamic practices at its operational level is composed of men whose religious beliefs and practices are in clear violation of monotheistic Islamic orthodoxy. November 7, 1952 The group of Plm. W. VII and Pa Kamil have again made a fruitless trip to the Cimanuk river. The water stands t o o high to wade across; they have returned to Kampung Jati, Kecamatan Sukawening to the southwest of the f o o t of our mountain. At 11.00 hours there are the sounds of fighting from that direction of— afterwards word came that the TNI was attacking their group—fighting is still going strong at 13.00 hrs. At 18.00 hrs a report that the enemy is being pursued by our boys

124

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND R E B E L L I O N

(two companies of Regiment IV) in the direction kampung Tegalawi. Alhamdulillah! [Praise to God] Reports of increased enemy activities in the kecamatans of Sukawening, Cibatu, Winaraja, and Malangbong. Their posts are kept manned signifying a f o o d and communications blockade—the enemy generally makes frequent use of mortars in their operations. The boys are still fasting. Exactly at 19.00 hrs a kohkol is tolling not far f r o m us. A kohkol is a b a m b o o or wooden instrument which the village guards use on their routine patrols through the kampungs. It is a well-known sound and it reaches us purely. We have heard it now for some evenings running—and with the nearest kampung or cultivated field kilometers away at several hours walking distance—I can't explain it otherwise than that we have invisible neighbors or guardians. Indeed, according to the people from the region these environs are the dwelling place of spirits (jin). Judging from the sound the patrol moves in a circle around our camp. In the course of time I've come to hear much about the Indian spirit world—Eastern mysticism! In the evening Pa Supradja tells me the wonderous tale of his 20 days' stay on Mt. Haruman where he was left behind after the well-known battle for Haruman (November 1950). He had, seeing no way o u t , already given himself up into the hands of the Almighty. Yet a female figure brought him food on a certain evening. In a mysterious way for days a tiger kept him company at night—etc. Stories also about jins and silumans (spirits) do the rounds.

The entries for February 22 and April 28 contain obvious references to the possibility of being entered by spirits. And in addition, the short entry for April 29 indicates that the soldiers of the Negara Islam consulted dukuns to solve even minor problems. Within the rebel rank and file orthodox and syncretic beliefs and practices mingle without apparent friction. This corroborates the interview data showing that nominal Muslims and syncretists supported the Islamic state along with modern and traditional orthodox Muslims. February 22, 1953 This part of the mountain must accommodate jivs (spirits) according to the boys. Putting our bathing place in order took the greatest difficulty although it was a seemingly simple job. One of the boys (who with much e f f o r t cut down a thin small tree—it took him nearly a day) has promptly fallen ill and has to move around with a stick now. Like events occur often in the forest. The Indian spirit world??—May God come to our aid!! Insya Allah Amin. [God Willing, Amen]

RELIGION, POLITICS, AND REBELLION

125

April 28, 1953 At 20.00 Watji a knap sack carrier has disappeared without a trace! In the morning he was missed but he turned up at about 12.00 hrs.—totally shaken up and benumbed—with the story that he has been captured by eight men who wanted to kill him. There are suspicions that he is possessed by evil spirits or devils. The boys are still searching now at 21.15. No trace however of the missing man. [Van Kleef is not specific on this point but he seems to be referring to a second missing man.] He is a very unusual boy, full of humor and as cheerful as they come. I am also worried about him. As the stories go, this region has been known from days of old for its many dukuns [sorcerers or spirit healers], mediums, hypnotists, and the like. I pray to God that nothing bad may happen! April 29, 1953 No trace of Ahri [the missing man]. The dukun contends that he may have been put under a spell and that he has gone off in a westerly direction. A f o r m e r regimental c o m m a n d e r o f the DI was asked a b o u t van Kleef's observations. The f o l l o w i n g n o t e s f r o m the interview verify and e x t e n d the generality o f van Kleef's description. He replied that the soldiery of the DI were very much inclined to keep their own regional religious traditions. For example, the DI from Cirebon kept all kinds of amulets and stones on their bodies. . . . He knew the former DI dukun of Cicelengka. He explained that in many cases former DI persons had reverted back to traditionalism. . . . He said that the strange things in the woods were ascribed by the soldiery to spirits and to the traditional figures of the wayang.23 T h e magical swords and incantations o f Kartosoewirjo and t h e e x p l a n a t i o n s given t o strange events by the soldiers o n the march described b y van Kleef c o n f i r m the hard data presented in this chapter. F r o m the formal interviews and f r o m more indirect sources, it is e v i d e n t that persons o f quite diverse religious beliefs f o l l o w e d the Dar'ul Islam. The findings o f this chapter call for a reassessment o f the importance o f religious values t o the study of political c h o i c e in West Java and perhaps all o f Java. D i f f e r e n c e s in religious attitudes exist, but their c o n n e c t i o n t o political choice, at least in this study, has proven tenuous. 23. Interview conducted June 1969 in Bandung.

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T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Those remaining skeptical of the data presented here have offered the following rejoinder: "Does this mean that Islam is completely irrelevant to the Dar'ul Islam rebellion? Does this mean that Kartosoewirjo would have been as successful if he had not been a Muslim?" My answer is "No, but—." First of all, importance is a relative concept. It requires an ordinal judgment about "more or less" rather than a categorical one phrased in terms of "either . . . or." Religion remains important to politics in West Java in several ways, but religious value systems do not directly dictate decisions to the extent assumed by the aliran interpretations of politics for the island of Java. The importance of Islam is that it supplies groups that are heterogeneous in their religious beliefs with a panoply of symbols that can be used to legitimize the leadership and ignite political action. Though the various groups in the sample were religiously diverse, no significant differences existed in the willingness to kill for religion. "Insulting religion" is a cry that can be used to galvanize orthodox and syncretist alike in groups long since predetermined by traditional authority networks. In the same fashion, nationalist symbols are used by groups that are diverse in their values to attack and label outgroups symbolically by calling them "anti-Pancasila." Thus, religion in politics is a specialized set of magical symbols that are used to direct the actions of groups held fast by other forms of social cement. In the study of religion in Java there has been too great a tendency to assume that where political conflict uses religious symbolism the pattern of recruitment and the motivations for participation are determined by the religious differences themselves rather than by some third variable. This assumption can be traced at least in part to a tendency to use the European experience of the past three hundred years as a model for the political meaning of religion. The postReformation European experience has led to the assumption that religious strife always takes place between groups having different religious values. This assumption ignores an earlier era of political development when whole groups out of fealty to a prince converted from paganism to Christianity en masse with little knowledge of the meaning of the change. Likewise, it ignores the portion of European experience in which the modus operandi of politics was Cuius regio, eius religio (He who owns the land determines the religion) (Holborn 1967: 243-246). It is well to remember that the word ideology, a word describing the politics of ideas, entered the language only at the

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127

close of the eighteenth century. In other eras of the European past, religious conflict has been motivated as much by loyalty to a particular person as by passionate adherence to the particular set of ideas defining the group's identity. As we shall see in Chapters 8 to 10, West Javanese village society is still a traditional one, and we must be doubly careful not to project the images of an "age of ideology" onto a social system in which the politics of ideas is still subordinate to the politics of personal fealty. In West Java, group identity is the sum total of personal connections rather than a bond derived from an agreement on values. This is so even though the rhetoric of conflict between the leaders of these groups may be replete with religious symbols and discussions of religious differences. Another way that religion contributes significantly to the decisionmaking process is through the provision of an organizational medium in which vital bonds of interpersonal loyalty are initiated and reinforced. Religious schools, religious political parties, and noninstitutional exchanges of "advice" between religious authority figures and their followers supply an environment in which a religious teacher or a dukun is able to create for himself a reservoir of authority which can then be mobilized in time of political turmoil (see Samson 1978 and Geertz 1960b). As is stated in Chapter 9, one of the most important elements invigorating traditional authority relationships is the exchange of specialized knowledge, and in many cases the type of knowledge being dispensed by superior to subordinate is religious knowledge. Through teaching and educating his subordinates, whether in an institution such as a pesantren or informally, the religious sage builds up the habit of deference that may later be converted into politico-military power. The important thing is not the amount or quality of religious knowledge dispensed or the degree to which it is thoroughly absorbed; instead, the act of giving and receiving, almost regardless of its content, has potential political implications. Exchanging status, and establishing one's sense of security by reaffirming a dependency relationship with a respected figure, are at least as central as the content of the knowledge being passed between teacher and pupil. When the relationship assumes institutional form, such as in a pesantren, the religious teacher through his ability to control the entire environment of the school becomes a diffuse authority figure to whom all must defer strictly in matters of doctrine and behavior.

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Kartosoewirjo's life prior to the establishment of the DI represents a successful manipulation of this religiously infused traditional authority relationship. First, he married the daughter of a famous religious teacher from Malangbong. Through this marriage he acquired immediate access to a whole network of religious teachers in East Priangan who had studied under his father-in-law. Second, Kartosoewirjo's establishment of the Suffah Institute allowed him to play the role of chief religious teacher to a whole generation of West Javanese paramilitary units. He was able to initiate relationships as the chief superior with the boys of the Masyumi fighting groups, Sabilillah and Hizbullah. With the coming of the DI, these personal relationships of a religious teacher with his pupil formed the network of organization for the early DI movement. Once he had established himself as religious teacher and benefactor during the days in the Suffah Institute, he could readily resurrect his authority and give it political and military meaning with the coming of the DI. If Kartosoewirjo had lacked the all-important system of kiyayi, it is doubtful whether he could have generated the networks of personal loyalty through some non-Islamic equivalent of the Suffah Institute. Islam, through its institutions rather than the compelling quality of orthodox belief structures, provided Kartosoewirjo with the medium through which he fostered the traditional authority relations vital to his movement. It was the combination of Islamic institutions and symbols working within the system of traditional authority that allowed Kartosoewirjo to build a movement which in many ways is a study in contradiction. Kartosoewirjo was an urban Javanese, but he successfully led Sundanese peasants. He was a mystic and Ratu Adil as well as an Islamic Imam. Thus Kartosoewirjo's own person embodies contradictions that make it impossible to reduce this study to a simple description of religious values determining political divisions. As we shall see, what we are witnessing in West Java is a process of group formation that depends on non ideological bonds for its primary source of power.

6. Economic Deprivation, Education, and Rebellion

Economic Deprivation and Rebellion Level of economic deprivation has frequently been cited as an explanatory variable in the study of social conflict. From the vantage point of industrial society, rebellions by poor peasants naturally seem to be explosions ignited by escalating economic inequality. Kahin's initial description of the Dar'ul Islam emphasized increasing poverty as one of the prime reasons for the rise of Kartosoewirjo's movement (see Kahin 1952: 326-331), and while subsequent observers have raised doubts about this, economic data capable of settling the question have proved unavailable (see Boland 1971: 58). After religion, economic issues constitute the second most plausible cause for choosing different sides in the rebellion; that poor villages should have supported the rebellion out of desperation and that rich villages supported the central government from which they were receiving substantial benefits is inherently plausible. Obviously, income data derived after a rebellion's demise do not provide the ultimate yardstick for measuring economic deprivation. However, in light of the relatively meager economic changes transpiring in village Priangan between mid-1962 and the time of the research, it can be assumed that if economic differences were ever substantial enough to account for disparate stances toward the rebellion, these differences should remain apparent eight years after the conflict. Given the lax pace of economic change, the rich village-poor village dichotomy should still be evident. Indicators

of

Income

Three items deal with income levels. The first two ask the respondent about daily and monthly expenses, the third inquires about the

129

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T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, I S L A M . AND R E B E L L I O N

size of his household on the assumption that it will be a rough indicator of his wealth. The three questions are as follows: 18. What are your daily expenses? 19. After o t h e r expenses are added, how m u c h d o y o u spend per m o n t h ? 11. How many people are living with y o u ?

The word "expenses" was used in the first two questions because it was impossible to obtain even reasonably reliable answers to questions inquiring directly about "total income" or "land owned." Tax collections have been increasing under the Suharto regime, and villagers are suspicious about anyone who asks about income or land. Inquiring about expenses is less threatening because it does not ask the respondent to speak about his net worth as a lump sum, and if pressed by the tax collectors, the respondent could always claim that his expenditures exceed his income. Although the answers we obtained undoubtedly include a degree of subterfuge and probably underestimate real income, they provide at least an indicator o f the range of income inequality within and between villages. Further, although the figures allow us to estimate relative income levels, they are probably less accurate guides to the absolute value of any individual's total cash and noncash income. Finally, in this chapter, only data on daily expenses are presented because village economies are without monthly salaries, and hence monthly-expense estimates are probably less accurate than daily ones. The superiority of daily expenses as an indicator is shown by its more robust correlation with the number of individuals supported by a particular household. 1 Income and Social Role

Daily expenses as an index of income is divided into four levels ranging between one and one thousand rupiahs per day. The relative income levels of the respondents from the three primary villages are given in Table 6.1. The lowest two categories, representing average incomes of $48 and $ 1 4 6 per annum, contain 83 percent of the respondents, and the two upper income categories ( $ 2 4 5 - 6 3 9 ) are occupied by less than 20 percent in spite of the elite-centric nature of the samples. The distribution of incomes across the five types of respondents is contained in Table 6.2. The economic elite is the most well off, with 1. Correlating daily expenses with household size produces a g a m m a o f . 4 6 , whereas monthly expenses with household size results in . 3 8 .

ECONOMIC DEPRIVATION, EDUCATION, AND REBELLION

131

T A B L E 6.1

Daily Expenses for the Three Primary Villages (Unweighted) Low Income

Rp. 1-100 per day (an average of 13rf per day), or $48 per annum

30% (59)

Middle Income

Rp. 101-200 per day (an average of 40tf per day), or $146 per annum

53% (104)

High Income

Rp. 201-300 per day (an average of 67i per day), or $245 per annum

12% (23)

Very High Income

Rp. 301-1,000 per day (an average of $1.75 per day), or $639 per annum

5% (11)

Total

(196) T A B L E 6.2

Daily Expenses by Types of Respondents for the Three Villages (Unweighted) Community Leaders Women Religious Leaders Economic Leaders Village Poor Totals

Low

Middle

High

Very High

Totals

27%a (18) 27% (9)

52% (34) 48% (16)

14% (9) 15% (5)

8% (5) 9% (3)

(66) (33)

34% (10)

52% (15)

7% (2)

7% (2)

(29)

18%

(5)

61% (17)

21% (6)

0

(28)

43% (17)

55% (22)

3% (1)

0

(40)

30% (59)

53%(104)

12% (23)

5% (10) (196)

' P e r c e n t a g e s are h o r i z o n t a l .

only 18 percent falling in the low-income bracket. The second most wealthy group are the community leaders and their wives, the elite women. Religious leaders are not as affluent as the community and economic leaders, but they are substantially richer than the village poor. The most important thing about income is the absolute magnitude of the differences between the low-income category and the two high-income categories. If the estimates presented in Table 6.1 are valid, a very small number of men in each village have almost preponderant economic control. Those who are in the high and very

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T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y . I S L A M , AND R E B E L L I O N

high categories spend five times as much on any given day as persons in the low category. There are six to ten such individuals in our sample from each of the three villages. The number of individuals falling in the high categories in each village population is, perhaps, three times as high, in the range of twenty to thirty families. However, even given this generous estimate, these villages must be classified as economic oligarchies. This last statement goes far beyond legitimate inference on the basis of the samples drawn in each village, but cut-and-dried distributions do not adequately express the true degree of inequality of income within each village. Put in human terms, the persons falling in the lowest income category are chronically close to the point of physical malnutrition. These are the respondents who told my interviewers that they often had only salt to put on their rice because they could not afford to buy either fish or meat. These are the parents of the children with the swollen stomachs that one occasionally glimpses in the villages even in good times. The majority of villagers probably fall somewhere between the destitution of the village poor and the much higher wealth of the economic oligarchs. The dominant impression of village life is one of large-scale inequality of income. Several dozen families in a village of four thousand have most of what is worth having: stone houses, decent food, access to education, and Western clothing. The majority of the population (that is, those who are not included within the elite samples) have none of these. They live in straw houses, subsist on a terrible diet, and cannot afford even the luxury of lighting their houses with candles when a guest comes calling. Differences between Villages

If the incomes of just the combined elites are compared, the differences between the three primary villages are distinctly unimpressive.2 If it were not for the four persons of very high income in Cikujang and Rancabentang, there would be virtually no variation between the three elites (see Table 6.3). 2. Because elite women are the wives of half of the community leaders sampled, their incomes are not independent of those reported by their husbands. Including them would involve counting the same households twice. The thirteen-to-fourteen respondents drawn from the village poor in each village are also not included in the comparison because of the small size of the subsamples. Hence, comparisons of income are limited to combined elites even though substantially the same conclusions would be reached by comparing whole villages.

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133

TABLE 6.3

Daily Expenses by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, Elites Only) Expenses Medium

Low

Dar'ul Islam Swing

a

39% (13) 29% b 24% (8) 21%

Pro-government

36% (12) 28%

Totals

99% (33) 27%

High

34% (22) 35% (6) 56% 15% 34% (22) 29% (5) 55% 14% 32% (21) 35% (6) 49% 100% (65) 53%

14% 99%(17) 14%

Very High

Totals

0

(41)

50% (4)

(39)

10% 50% (4)

(43)

9% 100% (8) (123) 7%

Note: Chi-square reaches a confidence level of only .51, and if income is considered the independent variable, 2.8% of total uncertainty is reduced. The most appropriate statistic, the one-tailed significance test for gamma, reaches a confidence level of .19, and the related measure of association equals .11. If the table is collapsed into low, medium, and high income, the differences between the villages remain insignificant. If women and village poor are added to the collapsed table, the differences reach the .06 confidence level with the corresponding correlation coefficient (gamma) equaling .15. However, the differences do not follow the predicted path. The Dar'ul Islam and swing villages are significantly different from each other, while differences between the Dar'ul Islam and pro-government villages fail to reach statistical significance. a Vertical percentages. k Horizontal percentages.

When we turn to the individual as the unit of analysis and to the effect of wealth on attitudes toward both the Islamic state and religious violence, support for an economic theory of rebellion remains weak. As Table 6.4 shows, the vast majority of individuals having relatively high incomes support the Islamic state, although not with the near unanimity manifested by those having lower incomes. In addition, if we control for village, the relationship becomes even weaker, and it becomes apparent that the entire complement of highincome opponents of the Islamic state come from the progovernment village of Rancabentang. 3 Furthermore, if we appraise the relationship between village of residence and support for the Islamic state while holding income 3. Even in Rancabentang the correlation between wealth and disenchantment with the concept of the Islamic state fails to reach statistical significance.

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TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, A N D REBELLION T A B L E 6.4 Daily by Attitudes (Three

Primary

Expenses

toward Establishing a State Villages, Elites Only, after

Religion Weighting)

Income Low

Medium

Totals

High

In Favor

85% (28)

80% (47)

70% (16)

(91)

Opposed

15% (5)

20% (12)

30%

(7)

(24)

Totals

100%(33)

100% (59)

100% (23)

(115)

Note: Chi-square reaches a confidence level of .38, and 0.8% o f total uncertainty is reduced if income is considered the independent variable. Gamma is .26, and its one-tailed test of significance reaches the .11 level of confidence. The most appropriate test for one nominal and one ordinal variable, the Mann-Whitney U-test, reaches the .09 level for the one-tailed test, and the corresponding measure of association equals .16. If elite women and the village poor are added, the relationship becomes significant at the .05 level on one test, the Mann-Whitney U-test. However, if we control for village, the relationship remains significant only in the pro-government village, Rancabentang, where the majority of high income respondents oppose the Islamic state. For the pro-government village, the Mann-Whitney test is significant at the .02 level, while the measures of association, theta and gamma, are .29 and .43 respectively. In the swing village the relationship runs in the opposite direction (although it does not reach statistical significance), with high-income respondents unanimously favoring the Islamic state. The near unanimity of support among rich and poor alike in the rebel village fails to support the hypothesized relationship between poverty and favoring the Islamic state.

constant, the between-village differences remain strong and significant, indicating that income differences per se have no influence on support f o r the Islamic state. 4 In addition, the information on individual levels o f participation supplied b y Sjarif Abdullah, the rebel t r o o p commander o f Tanggerang, does not support a thesis that relative poverty leads t o participation in rebellion (see Table 6.5). 4. For each income level the differences between villages are statistically significant. The Mann-Whitney U-test in each instance is significant at better than the .01 level, and the strengths of association measured by gamma and theta range from .63 to 1.0 and from .46 to .81 respectively. Thus, the relationship between village of residence and attitude toward the Islamic state is not diminished when income level is held constant. For each level of income the differences are almost entirely between Tanggerang and Cikujang, on the one hand, and Rancabentang, on the other. If Tanggerang and Cikujang are combined and a Fisher's Exact Test is run, the resulting differences are significant at better than the .01 level for the low, medium, and high income subtables respectively.

E C O N O M I C D E P R I V A T I O N , E D U C A T I O N , A N D REBELLION TABLE 6.5 Daily Expenses by Reputed Level of Participation in (Dar'ul Islam Village Only)

135

Rebellion

Income Low

Medium

High

Totals

Followed

75% ( 6 )

85%(11)

60% ( 3 )

(20)

Did N o t F o l l o w

25% ( 2 )

15%

(2)

40% ( 2 )

(6)

100%(13)

100% ( 5 )

(26)

Totals

100% ( 8 )

Note: Chi-square is inappropriate because of small expected frequencies in several cells. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches a confidence level of only .35 for the one-tailed test, while the measures of association, theta and gamma, are .10 and .15 respectively.

Finally, no significant relationship exists between wealth and religious fanaticism, and to the extent that any relationship is present, it is a weak negative one where the wealthy seem more willing to kill for an insult to religion than do those with lower incomes (see Table 6.6). From these data it is difficult, if not impossible, to derive an economic theory of rebellion. By any standards all these villages are poor, and variations in the level of poverty between the DI village and the pro-government one are almost nonexistent. The three elites are almost equal in their incomes, and therefore the hypothesis that TABLE 6.6 Daily Expenses by Religious Fanaticism (Three Primary Villages, Elites Only, Weighted) Income Low

Medium

Totals

High

Willing t o Kill

56% ( 1 8 )

69%(43)

63%(15)

(76)

Unwilling to Kill

44% ( 1 4 )

31% ( 1 9 )

38%

(9)

(42)

100% ( 3 2 )

100% ( 6 2 )

101% ( 2 4 )

(118)

Totals

Note: The relationship in this table does not reach statistical significance. Chi-square reaches a confidence level of .44, and income as an independent variable reduces only 0.7% of total uncertainty. Gamma is - . 1 0 , and the related significance test reaches the .29 level for the one-tailed test. The MannWhitney U-test is similarly insignificant. If we control for village, only in the swing village of Cikujang does the relationship become stronger. Gamma becomes - . 4 6 , and the related significance test reaches the .10 level for the one-tailed test. The Mann-Whitney U-test achieves a confidence level of .07, and theta equals - . 2 9 .

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TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM. AND REBELLION

pro-DI and anti-DI political behavior is simply a case of the "have nots" against the "haves" is rejected. This lends validity to the argument in Chapter 3 that there were no obvious differences in economic structure between the DI, pro-government, and swing villages in the preliminary survey. However, what is most interesting is that the substantial inequality of income within each village does not have a politically disintegrative effect. Instead of coalitions of the impoverished rising up to strike down the handful of oligarchs, the political coalitions are of poor men led and manipulated by their far richer elders. Resentment of inequality of income, while it undoubtedly exists beneath the surface, does not affect political coalition building within each village. Far from chafing sullenly beneath the burdens of obvious inequalities of income and opportunity, the disadvantaged willingly serve the advantaged in return for real and vicarious participation in the wealth and status of their betters. The tendency to defer to those of high status precludes coalitions of the poor against the small pockets of rich. This is why any attempt to depict the Dar'ul Islam as a revolt of the desperately poor is unrealistic. The DI was composed of coalitions of poor and relatively rich taken largely as units from single villages. Given the lack of primacy of economic interests in Sundanese culture in general, the DI could not have been merely a coalition of the poor opposing a coalition of rich, pro-government villagers. Education in the Primary Villages Educational backgrounds in the three primary villages are surprisingly complex. This is because middle-aged adults may have been exposed to three distinct school systems: the prewar Dutch system; the Islamic religious schools; and the postwar national school system. Because of the elite-centric nature of the samples, even the comparatively small Dutch school system touched the lives of a small group of villages through the Vervolgscholen (Vernacular Elementary School), the HIS (Dutch language elementary school), and the MULO (Dutch higher elementary school). Religious schools consist of the madrasah (official village religious school), pesantren (independent religious boarding schools), and religious teachers college (PGAA). The bottom rung of the national school system is the Sekolah Desa, which lasts three years and in which Sundanese rather than Indonesian is the language of instruction. The Sekolah Desa is

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137

referred to here as subelementary school to distinguish it from Sekolah Dasar, elementary school, which lasts for six years and introduces the Indonesian language. The next step on the educational ladder is junior and senior high school (SMP and SMA), which in a few cases is followed by teachers college (SGB) or attendance at the local university, Universitas Haruman. Three basic categories of educational exposure result from a melding of the influence of these three educational systems. The category low education comprises individuals who have never been to school or who have attended only subelementary school. Medium education consists of those having attended elementary school or its equivalent in religious education. High exposure to formal education consists of those individuals who have gone beyond elementary school to junior or senior high, teachers college (religious or secular), or university. The vast majority of respondents cluster in the low and medium categories, but a substantial 17 percent of those interviewed in the three primary villages have progressed beyond elementary school. Education

and Social

Role

As Table 6.7 indicates, there are large differences in exposure to formal education. The community leaders and their wives, the elite women, have greater educational achievements to their credit than other groups. Sixty-eight percent of the community leaders have been educated in elementary school or beyond, while only a few (5 percent) have never been to school. If the category "medium exposure to formal education" is divided into secular and religious TABLE 6.7 Formal Education by Type of Respondent (Unweighted) Education Low

Medium

High

Totals

C o m m u n i t y Leaders

32%" ( 2 1 )

42%(28)

26%(17)

66

Religious Leaders

39%

(11)

39%(11)

21%

(6)

28

E c o n o m i c Leaders

69%

(20)

24%

(7)

7%

(2)

29

Elite Women

35%

(12)

47%(16)

18%

(6)

34

Village Poor

60%

(24)

33% ( 1 3 )

8%

(3)

40

Totals

45%

(88)

38%(75)

17%(34)

197

"Percentages are horizontal.

138

T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

educational experiences, religious teachers are predictably less exposed to the secular school system, with only 46 percent having attended secular elementary school (Sekolah Dasar) or beyond. However, scores on political knowledge items discussed in Chapter 7 show that religious schooling imparts approximately the same level of knowledge as the secular school system. Although the economic elite is the wealthiest group, it is nearly indistinguishable from the village poor in its exposure to formal education. Both the economic elite and the village poor are significantly less exposed to formal education than other types of respondents, and the economic elite's relatively low rung on the educational ladder is paralleled by the Java-wide low status accorded to business pursuits. Educated men gravitate toward government employment, while the clever but uneducated perform the vital but nonetheless lower-status economic tasks of the trader and entrepreneur. Educational Differences between Villages

National school systems are schools for citizenship; they consciously teach the symbols and values of nationalism in Indonesia as in most countries. As Inkeles has indicated in research crisscrossing six diverse cultures, formal schooling, more than any other institutional mechanism, is most rapidly and directly connected with the decline of parochial loyalties and the growth of attachment to wider, less traditional communities (Inkeles 1969). As a result of the connection between nationalism and education, it seems reasonable to posit that the vastly different political choices of the three primary villages might flow, at least partially, from substantial variations in levels of exposure to formal education. This hypothesis is doubly attractive because Kahin's original interpretation of the rebellion stresses that the movement was comprised of Muslims from East Priangan who were most opposed to Western ideas, to the very type of concepts that would have spread from a national school system (see Kahin 1952: 326). Table 6.8 displays the variation between whole villages in exposure to formal education. The posited ordinal relationship between participation in rebellion and education is absent. Furthermore, the villages, taken as pairs, show significant differences, but these differences do not confirm the relationship between participation in rebellion and low exposure to formal education. The rebel and progovernment villages are indistinguishable from each other, and both

E C O N O M I C D E P R I V A T I O N , E D U C A T I O N , AND REBELLION

139

TABLE 6.8

Formal Education by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Education Low

Dar'ul Islam

a

27% (22) 34% b

Medium

High

Totals

39% (30) 47%

32% (12)

(64)

19% 16% (6)

(67)

Swing

40% (33) 49%

42%

9%

Pro-government

34% (28) 42%

25% (19) 29%

51% (19) 29%

(83) 42%

(77) 39%

Totals

36% (28)

(66)

(37) (197) 19%

Note: Chi-square is significant at the .02 level, and if education is regarded as the independent variable, 2.9% of total uncertainty is reduced. The ordinal relationship between education and village participation in rebellion remains unconfirmed. Gamma is only -.01, while the related onetailed significance test reaches a confidence level of only .48. If just the combined elites are compared, chi-square reaches a confidence level of .07, and 3.6% of total uncertainty is reduced when education is regarded as the independent variable. The ordinal relationship between education and rebellion is not confirmed ; gamma i s - . 0 2 , and the significance level for gamma is .44. a

Vertical percentages. ^Horizontal percentages.

in turn evince significantly greater exposure to education than the swing village that initially joined and subsequently withdrew from the rebellion. As in the case of religious values, with regard to education, the political opposites are alike, and both are significantly different from the swing village.5 Thus, while these data might support a relationship between political participation and exposure to formal education, formal education alone cannot predict the direction in which the political energies related to formal education will flow. 5. If the Dar'ul Islam and pro-government villages as whole units arc compared with each other, no differences exist; gamma is .00, and the related, one-tailed significance test reaches a confidence level of .50. The Dar'ul Islam village is significantly more exposed to formal education than the swing village, with gamma being -.30, and the related test is significant at the .03 level. Likewise, the pro-government village is more exposed to formal education than the swing village, with gamma being -.25, and its significance test reaching the .04 level.

140

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , ISLAM, AND REBELLION

While the data thus far presented do not confirm a relationship between low exposure to formal education and participation by villages in the rebellion, the possibility remains that formal education exercises substantial influence on individual attitudes toward the Islamic state. When individual attitudes toward establishing a state religion are considered, the relationship flows in the predicted direction but fails to reach statistical significance (see Table 6.9). Regardless of educational exposure, more than 75 percent of all individuals favor the concept of an Islamic state. Furthermore, when we look at the relationship between education and attitude toward the Islamic state within each village separately, the relationship holds only in the pro-government village. Virtually all residents of the Dar'ul Islam and swing villages, whether they are high or low in education, support the idea of an Islamic state. 6 TABLE 6 . 9

Education by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Low

In Favor

Medium

88% a (56) 38% b

Opposed Totals

13%

84% (64) 43%

High

Totals

76% (29)

(149)

19%

(8)

16% (12)

24% (9)

(29)

101% (64)

100% (76)

100% (38)

(178)

36%

43%

21%

Note: Chi-square reaches a confidence level of only .33, and uncertainty is reduced by only 0.6% if education is considered the independent variable. Gamma equals .23, and the related one-tailed significance test reaches the .10 confidence level. The most relevant test, the Mann-Whitney U-test for one nominal and o n e ordinal variable, reaches a confidence level of .08, and the relevant measure of association, theta, is .15. If just t h e combined elites are considered, the relationship weakens still f u r t h e r . The Mann-Whitney U-test's confidence level is .15, and theta and gamma respectively equal .14 and .21. 'Vertical percentages. Horizontal percentages.

b

6. No statistical tests were performed on Tanggerang because of the virtual absence of opposition t o the Islamic state. There is obviously no meaningful relationship between level of education and support for the Islamic state, because those with low and high education are almost equally unanimous in their support for a Negara Islam. No statistically significant relationship exists within the swing village. Chi-square reaches a confidence level of only .53, and the most appropriate test, the Mann-Whitney U-test, reaches a confidence level of only .48, with a theta of .01.

ECONOMIC DEPRIVATION. EDUCATION, AND REBELLION

141

With an important exception, the critical factor is the village in which an individual resides rather than his exposure to education. When we take village of residence as the independent variable while holding level of education constant, the relationship between village and support for the Islamic state washes out among respondents with virtually no education, but the predominance of the village as a determining influence increases as we move up the educational ladder. Among respondents who have benefited from at least elementary education, support for or opposition to the Islamic state stems from village of residence and is unaffected by level of education. For example, highly educated individuals in Tanggerang and Cikujang unanimously favor an Islamic state, while their educational equals in Rancabentang are more likely to oppose the idea (see Table 6.10). Finally, it is noteworthy that, although the uneducated of Rancabentang favor the concept of an Islamic state, their behavior during the fourteen-year rebellion correlates with the attitudes of their betters rather than with their own expressed opinions. When the issue was most crucial, in the years 1948-1962, the uneducated of Rancabentang put their lives on the line and fought against the Islamic state. The behaviors of individuals in the rebel village also confirm the preponderant influence of conformity to village decisions. When we combine the information on past behaviors supplied by their excommander with self-reported data on education, respondents having low, medium, and high educations manifest equal levels of participation in the rebellion (see Table 6.11). The proposition that willingness to kill for an insult to religion should decline with formal education is not confirmed. In fact, the relationship moves in the opposite direction. Religious fanaticism increases with educational level, although in the three primary villages the negative relationship stops short of statistical significance (see Table 6.12). 7 However, when we look at the relationship within each village, it In the pro-government village chi-square reaches the .09 level, and 4.1 percent of uncertainty is reduced if education is regarded as the independent variable. Gamma is .43, and the related significance test reaches the .03 level. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .02 level, and theta is .30. 7. If we add the elite interviews derived f r o m the other sixteen villages during the preliminary survey, the relationship remains negative and becomes statistically significant. Gamma is -.24, and the related significance test reaches the .03 level. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .02 level, and its measure of association, theta, equals - . 1 5 .

• 3 . 8 « W I/J 8

S E

E C O N O M I C D E P R I V A T I O N , E D U C A T I O N , AND R E B E L L I O N

143

T A B L E 6.11 Formal by Reputed

Level (Dar'ul

Education

of Participation Islam

in

Village

Rebellion

Only) Education

Low

Medium

Totals

High

Followed

71% (5)

85%

(11)

75%

(3)

(19)

Did N o t F o l l o w

29% (2)

15%

(2)

25%

(1)

(5)

100% (13)

100%

(4)

(24)

Totals

100% (7)

Note: Chi-square is inadmissible here because several expected cell frequencies violate the Mann rule. Gamma i s - . 1 3 , and the related statistics confidence level reaches only .47. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches a confidence level o f only .38, and theta is a meager .08. If education is dichotomized by collapsing medium and high education into a single category, a Fisher's Exact Test reaches only the .46 level, and the relationship remains weakly negative.

TABLE 6.12 Formal Education by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Education Low

Medium

High

Totals

Willing t o Kill

58% (45)

68%(52)

69% (24)

(121)

Unwilling t o Kill

42% (32)

32% ( 2 5 )

31% (11)

(68)

100%(35)

(189)

Totals

100% (77)

100%(77)

Note: None of the tests for this table attain significance. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .10 confidence level, gamma is - . 1 6 , and theta is - . 1 0 . If just combined elites are included from the three villages, the relationship becomes even weaker. r e m a i n s s t a t i s t i c a l l y s i g n i f i c a n t o n l y in t h e D a r ' u l I s l a m village w h e r e t h e e d u c a t e d a r e m u c h m o r e w i l l i n g t o kill o v e r a n i n s u l t t o r e l i g i o n . 8 In t h e s w i n g a n d p r o - g o v e r n m e n t v i l l a g e s r e s p o n d e n t s a t a l l l e v e l s o f education

remain

almost

equally inclined t o w a r d religious

violence.

Conclusion A f t e r assessing t h e e f f e c t s o f i n c o m e a n d e d u c a t i o n on f o u r different a t t i t u d i n a l a n d b e h a v i o r a l i n d i c a t o r s o f p a r t i c i p a t i o n in r e b e l l i o n ,

the

8. In Tanggerang only 38 percent of respondents in the low-education category say they are willing to kill if their religion is insulted. The difference is significant at the .02 level on the Mann-Whitney U-test, gamma is - . 4 4 , and theta is - . 2 8 .

144

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

evidence requires rejection of these quite plausible explanatory variables. Substantial inequality of income is apparent within each village, but systematic differences between politically antagonistic villages do not appear. Further, when we consider individuals to be the unit of analysis, individual differences in wealth do not affecr attitudinal support for the Islamic state or expressed willingness to kill over an insult to religion. While there can be no doubt that the economic and social strains of the Japanese occupation and the revolution raised the proclivity of many Indonesians for revolution and rebellion, at least with regard to the villages and individuals studied here, economic privations were evenly distributed between political opponents, and hence economic differences do not predict participation or resistance to rebellion. The fight to found a Negara Islam may have been many things, but it was not a civil war between rich and poor peasants. Regarding education, there are statistically significant differences between villages, but the two villages that fought hardest on opposite sides of the conflict are educationally indistinguishable and both are significantly more exposed to formal education than the swing village. At the individual level, those with no schooling or three years or less in a Sekolah Desa are predisposed to favor the Islamic state as a concept. However, as one moves beyond the nearly uneducated, medium and higher education go equally well with supporting and opposing the concept of an Islamic state. In sum, it is the respondent's village of residence, not his education, which plays the predominant role in determining his opposition to or support for an Islamic state.

7. Mass Media Exposure, National Symbols, and Political Behavior

A country without loyalty to a common set of primary political symbols is a state rather than a nation, an administrative entity rather than a reservoir of loyalty and legitimacy. Primary political symbols vary across cultures and time. The Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Founding Fathers, and the Union are all fundamental to the American political system because affect toward these social objects distinguishes the "we" from the "they," Americans from the citizens of other countries. In a psychological sense, American children become citizens before they become adults, by absorbing the nation's "civil religion," by learning and developing at a very early age an attachment to the country's prime political symbols (see Doob 1964; Grodzins 1956; Guetzkow 1955; Hyman 1959; Teune 1964). Learning the common symbols or myths of the nation is vital to the development of an individual sense of national identity. Indeed, absence of knowledge of the nation's primary symbols characterizes only those who have not yet become a psychological and social part of the nation. The early socialization process provides the knowledge and affect that in turn constitute the reservoir of loyalty that is subsequently mobilized for behaviors ranging from voting in an election to fighting to maintain the nation. From this theoretical perspective, first comes the learning, then the affect, and finally the nationalistic behavior. This perspective assumes that the driving force for patriotic behavior is an emotional attachment to the nation, which is founded upon knowledge of that nation, the physical contours of its land, and the ideals of its people. The purpose of this chapter is to determine

145

146

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

whether the nationalist behaviors we have isolated by contrasting Dar'ul Islam and pro-government villages have an ideological basis. At the early stage of social development represented by the primary villages, are the first glimmerings of knowledge of the nation and its symbols more apparent in pro-government village? Or are the political behaviors of fighting for or against an armed rebellion largely unrelated to the primary symbols of the nation? The role of information or misinformation in rural politics was repeatedly emphasized during the course of the research. In November 1957, when the Dar'ul Islam rebellion was nearly a decade old, a reporter from the major Bandung newspaper filed the following story about the level of political knowledge found among the common people in the districts southeast of Bandung: I asked each adult I met, "What is this c o u n t r y called, Pak [sirl ? " a n d t h e answer was always, "Negara I n d o n e s i a , " b u t in answer to t h e q u e s t i o n " W h a t is t h e n a m e of t h e Head of S t a t e ? " t h e y always answered w i t h o u t i n f l e c t i o n , " K a r t o s o e w i r j o . " (Ptkiran Rakyat,

N o v e m b e r 11, 1 9 5 7 )

Informal interviews with Indonesian officials and former DI rank and file often made a similar point. Many of those who fought for Kartosoewirjo's army were uninformed about its ultimate aims and in fact barely realized that they were fighting against the troops of an already fully sovereign and independent Indonesia. The obvious contradiction between (1) a theory of national integration in which political behaviors flow from knowledge and adherence to a set of symbols and (2) the press descriptions of the Dar'ul Islam as a crisis of national integration being fought in an information vacuum must be resolved before we can understand rebellion at the village level among the Sundanese. How extensive is the penetration of the mass media into the primary villages? Is mass media exposure a reliable indicator of the different levels of knowledge that individuals possess about national symbols and programs? When villages are considered as units, are different levels of knowledge about national symbols an accurate guide to political behavior vis-avis the Dar'ul Islam rebellion? Likewise, can we predict the efficiency of execution of a program of development from the extent of knowledge about that program possessed by villagers? The last two questions are part of a more general question having implications for the political behavior of peasants: how important is the symbolic information transmitted by the mass media in determining the political and economic behaviors adopted by villages?

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

Mass Media Printed

147

Exposure

Media

With the exception of the Koran and religious materials, the penetration of printed media into the village is low. Forty-eight percent of those responding have never or only rarely read a newspaper. This is particularly impressive because the level of exposure for the general population is probably even lower: the samples utilized in deriving the figures were primarily elite samples, with a much higher level of exposure to media than the general population. Nevertheless, even among the community leaders and the religious leaders, a third have never or almost never read a newspaper. Among the randomly selected sample of the village poor, the proportion having no contact with newspapers rises to approximately three-quarters. Cinema

Among the electronic media the cinema has not yet touched the lives of the majority of villagers interviewed. Nearly 68 percent of the total sample have not had any contact with the movies. Among various sub-elites of the sample, the community-leaders stratum is the only one in which more than half of the individuals have ever seen a movie. Among the religious and economic leaders, the elite women, and the village poor, 73 percent to 85 percent have either never, or only once or twice in their lifetimes, witnessed a motion picture. Radio

The extent of radio's penetration contrasts sharply with the other media. Radio messages from the outside world reach the village elite with high frequency. A majority of those interviewed, 58 percent, stated that they listen to the radio daily, and an additional 20 percent listen to it at least weekly. Radio is the only mass medium from the outside world that reaches the majority of all strata on at least a weekly basis. Even the Koran and religious works receive lessfrequent attention than radio. While the respondents probably overestimate the frequency of attendance to modern media such as radio and newspapers, the evidence clearly suggests that radio is more important than any other mass medium from the standpoint of relative frequency of attendance. 1 1. In 1969 televisions did not exist in Sundanese villages, and t h e national TV audience was restricted almost entirely to t h e small upper-class populations of t h e cities of Bandung and J a k a r t a .

y-s os Os Os i-H a1-4 Os •w'

y*. 00 Os Os Os t NW

m i

00 S O IA «-H •w "W 0\ 00 O M

3

O y—s

>>

•w' as Os o

e

^

o •û

il (/) M 1/ u « w

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

153

its bare physical outlines, not to mention its ideology, had not yet penetrated deeply into the mass consciousness. 2 Pancasila:

the Founding

Principles

of Indonesian

Nationalism

As Heine-Geldern pointed out thirty-five years ago, the traditional Southeast Asian concept of the state was nonterritorial, and although much of the verbiage of postwar nationalism has been couched in geographic terms, it is conceivable that respondents have difficulty in naming the provinces of Indonesia because the concept of the territorial nation-state is peculiarly foreign to the Southeast Asian cultural context (see Heine-Geldern 1942; DuBois 1949). While villagers might be unable to picture the portion of the earth's surface occupied by the modern Indonesian nation, they might still have absorbed the national ideals embodied in the Pancasila. The Pancasila is the primary overarching symbol of Indonesian political unity. It was coined by Soekarno in 1945, was written into the preamble of the Constitution of 1945, and is generally accepted as the philosophical foundation stone of the modern Indonesian state (see Feith and Castles 1970: 40-49). The five principles of the Pancasila are belief in one God, humanitarian internationalism, the unity of the Indonesian people, democracy, and social justice. As a formulation, the Pancasila has been used by Soekarno and Suharto alike as a rubric under which to gather the disparate groups and factions of opinion into a single national coalition. The five principles of the Pancasila are seen everywhere in West Java, posted in all public offices, in private homes, and on public-notice boards. Within a few miles of the villages in this study, the Pancasila has even been chiseled out of the mountainside as a forty-foot-tall reminder of its importance. The 2. In another set of questions t h e respondent is given t h e names of various ethnic groups, such as the Sundanese, t h e Javanese, t h e Bataks, t h e Menadonese, and t h e Chinese, and is asked to rate each group according to a set of contrasting adjectives—for example, rich/poor, strong/weak, refined/crude, quick-to-anger/patient, and so f o r t h . Even when t h e respondent is given t h e n a m e of the ethnic group, approximately t h e same percentage of respondents are unable t o p e r f o r m the task because t h e y simply do not k n o w anything about various groups. This finding corroborates t h e low levels of knowledge revealed b y t h e national c o n t o u r scale. Interestingly, knowledge of geography and awareness of ethnic diversity increase dramatically when individuals move f r o m Sundanese villages into the city of Bandung. This finding is derived f r o m an additional study using a similar research instrument on first-generation migrants t o several neighborhoods in Bandung. The increased prominence of ethnic stereotyping probably results f r o m the greater contact with other parts of Indonesia t h a t is gained through education, the mass media, and interpersonal dealings in the city melting pot.

154

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND REBELLION TABLE 7.5

Contours of the Nation Scale by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Knowledge Low

Medium

High

Totals

Community Leaders

20% ( 1 3 ) a

37% ( 2 4 )

43% ( 2 8 )

100%

(65)

Religious Leaders

43%(12)

25%

(7)

32%

(9)

100%

(28)

Economic Leaders

44% ( 1 2 )

41%(11)

15%

(4)

100%

(27)

Elite Women

55% ( 1 7 )

26%

(8)

19%

(6)

100%

(31)

Village Poor

59% ( 2 3 )

31% ( 1 2 )

10%

(4)

100%

(39)

41% ( 7 7 )

33%(62)

27% ( 5 1 )

Totals

100% ( 1 9 0 )

Note: The total scale scores ranged from 0 to 25. Respondents replying "don't know" or knowing 1 - 3 provinces or geographic divisions were coded as low. Persons who mentioned 4 - 9 provinces were classified as medium, and scores of 10-25 were included in the high knowledge category. Chi-square reaches the .01 confidence level, and 6.8% of uncertainty is reduced if knowledge of national contours is considered the independent variable. Theta equals-.27. ^ h e percentages are horizontal.

present salience of the Pancasila as a political symbol, as well as the effort expended in disseminating it over the last twenty-five years, make it an ideal measure for testing the degree to which national symbols have entered the understanding of the villagers. During the course of the interview each respondent was given a piece of paper containing the Pancasila.3 The respondent was asked to read each sila (principle) aloud, and after each he was asked to give his opinion of what it meant in his own words. The interviewers were instructed to record every word the respondent uttered. The results of the five-part, open-ended question were coded according to whether the respondent was able to give an answer that was more than a mere parroting of the exact words he had just read aloud. The 3. The long form of the Pancasila was used: (1) the existence of one God, (2)humanity which is just and civilized, (3) unified Indonesia, (4) democracy which is led by wisdom and discretion in collective consultation and representation, and (5) social justice for all Indonesian people.

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

155

coding of the meaning attached to the five sila was very lenient. Only flagrant errors of interpretation and complete direct parroting were taken as indicators of lack of knowledge. In spite of the lenient coding, the lack of knowledge of the Pancasila was striking. The level of knowledge of the Pancasila held by most of those interviewed was summed up by one respondent, who said, "I know the Pancasila but I don't know its contents." Table 7.6 gives the number of errors or parroting for the different types of people sampled. As can be seen in the third column, 32 percent of the total sample have perfect or near perfect knowledge of the Pancasila as measured by our lenient coding criteria. This group with high knowledge is composed primarily of community leaders and religious teachers; the economic elite manifests a lower level of knowledge; and the elite women and village poor together have very scant knowledge of the nation's most prominent political abstraction. Given the vast effort expended on communicating this symbol during the postwar era, the generally low level of comprehension TABLE 7.6

Knowledge of the Pancasila by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Low

Community Leaders Religious Leaders Economic Leaders Elite Women Village Poor Totals

Medium

High

Totals

19% (12) a

38% (24)

44% (28)

100% (64)

14% (4)

41% (12)

45% (13)

100% (29)

34% (10)

38% (11)

28% (8)

100% (29)

48% (15)

39% (12)

13% (4)

100%

59% (23)

21%

(8)

21% (8)

100% (39)

33%(64)

35% (67)

32% (61)

100%(192)

(31)

Note: The low category consisted of respondents who either parroted back all five sila without adding anything or made errors in all five principles. The medium category contained persons who made errors or parroted 2 - 4 of the sila. Those classified as high in knowledge either answered perfectly or made only one error. Chi-square reaches the .01 confidence level, and 7.4% of uncertainty is reduced if knowledge of the Pancasila is considered the independent variable. Theta equals - . 2 8 . a

T h e percentages are horizontal.

156

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

indicates the difficulty of communicating abstract, ideological formulations to the villages. Knowledge

of National

Leaders

The media that inform the masses transmit images more efficiently than information and convey the charismatic personalities of national politicians better than issue orientations. Individuals may be more receptive to the gestalt of a whole personality than they are to the complexities involved in policy problems. To test this hypothesis each respondent was given the names of five national leaders: Soekarno, Suharto, Sultan Hamengku Buwono, Adam Malik, and Governor Mashudi. The assumption that political personalities are more readily remembered than other types of political information is confirmed by Tables 7.4, 7.6, 7.7, and 7.8. A full 35 percent of the respondents in the three villages have perfect knowledge of the offices held by the particular national leaders; this percentage is higher than on the other items relating to political knowledge in spite TABLE 7.7 Knowledge of National Leaders by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Low

Medium

High

33%(22)

53% (35)

100%

(66)

34% (10)

31%

(9)

34% (10)

99%

(29)

54% ( 1 ? )

18%

(5)

29%

(8)

101%

(28)

68% ( 2 3 )

12%

(4)

21%

(7)

101%

(34)

58% (23)

20%

(8)

23%

(9)

101%

(40)

41% ( 8 0 )

24% (48)

Community Leaders

14% a

Religious Leaders Economic Leaders Elite Women Village Poor Totals

(9)

35% (69)

Totals

100%(197)

Note: The low category consists of respondents who do not know the offices of three or more of the leaders named in the interview. Medium knowledge contains those individuals who know the offices held by four out of the five leaders. Respondents who were able to give the offices of all five leaders were classified as high. Chi-square is significant at better than the .01 level, and 9.7% of uncertainty is reduced when knowledge of national leaders is considered the independent variable. Theta equals -.31. 'Percentages are horizontal.

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

157

of the fact that inclusion in the high category for knowledge of national leaders required perfect knowledge of the men and their offices. Repelita:

The Five-year Development

Plan

Lack of understanding of the Pancasila is matched by the low levels of knowledge about Repelita. Repelita differs from Pancasila as an indicator of knowledge of national symbols because Repelita was a fresh new symbol at the time of the research. The symbol, moreover, refers to an ongoing program that had already manifested itself at the village level through the Rp. 100,000 development grants from the central government. In addition, the primary aim of the five-year plan was raising agricultural production, an activity of central interest to the villagers. The following open-ended questions were asked about Repelita: 183. What does Repelita mean and what in general are its aims? 184. What will the influence of Repelita be on your life, now and in the future?

Given both the amount of publicity devoted to Repelita during the first half of 1969 and the behavioral impetus supplied by the Rp. 100,000 development grants, we expected most respondents to possess a very concrete image of the aims of the Repelita and its possible effect on their own lives. This did not prove to be the case. Almost all respondents understood the literal meaning of the acronym but little more. In responding to Question 183, almost all respondents stated that Repelita meant rencana pembangunan lima tahun (five-year development plan). However, very few possessed a concrete programmatic image of Repelita's aims. Instead of stating that Repelita's aim was to increase rice production or improve irrigation or help villages build new schools, most respondents explained Repelita by giving yet another, more traditional symbol, such as subur makmur, loh jinawi, adil makmur (prosperity, fertility, peace, and justice). The most frequent single response was pembangunan, construction or development, with no specific objects being mentioned. Respondents knew it was about construction, but they could not say what was to be constructed or developed. The following literal replies indicate the largely symbolic, as distinct from programmatic, understanding of Repelita that was prevalent at the time of the survey.

158

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Question:

What does Repelita mean and what in general are its aims?

Respondent A: "I keep hearing about it, but I don't know what is meant by it." Respondent B: "All those things from that five years and the aim is construction." Respondent C: "Rencana pembangunan lima tahun. Moral and material upbuilding in the mental and material field." Respondent D: "You have to construct. Its aim I don't know y e t . " Respondent E: "Rencana pembangunan lima tahun. Fulfilling the ideals of the people of Indonesia." Respondent F: "Rencana, pembangunan lima tahun. Construction, 'mental,' economics, education, and increasing knowledge about the state."

Table 7.8 contains the categories into which the responses were eventually sorted and the number of persons falling into each one. The categories are mutually exclusive and run from high to relatively low knowledge of Repelita. If a response contained a programmatic goal in addition to the acronym and various slogans (as in the case of Respondent F), the response was coded only as programmatic. Any person mentioning a concrete goal or activity was classified as high in knowledge. Most persons mentioning programs also mentioned symbols, as well as giving the literal meaning of Repelita. TABLE 7.8

Meaning and Aims of Repelita (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Type of

Response

Program or goal mentioned: agriculture, irrigation, roads, bridges, schools, education, family planning, trade, or construction of buildings

19% (38)

Slogan or abstract answer only: construction with no object mentioned, mental upbuilding, subur makmur, loh jinawi, adil makmur

59%(117)

Literal meaning of Repelita acronym only: Pembangunan Lima Tahun Don't know Total

Rencana 6% (12)

16% (31) 100%(198)

MEDIA, S Y M B O L S , AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

159

In sum, only 19 percent of the respondents gave answers that referred to programs and specific activities. The majority of respondents, 59 percent, explained Repelita by referring to other symbols rather than to activities having to do with rice, irrigation, and food production. Most respondents were capable of manipulating the acronym as a symbol, but as of late 1969, there was little sense of Repelita as a concrete program at the village level. The breakdown of the Repelita question by substrata differs from the tables concerning the map of the nation, Pancasila, and national leaders. The community leaders and the religious elite are not significantly higher in their knowledge of Repelita than the village poor and the elite women (see Table 7.9). This is probably because Repelita was so new at the time; if the survey were replicated today, there would probably be a substantial rise in the number of combined elite who would specify programs instead of answering with symbols and slogans.

TABLE 7.9 Knowledge of Repelita by Types of Respondents (Primary Villages, Unweighted) Low (don't know and acronym only) Community Leaders

Medium (slogans)

High (programs)

Totals

6%a

(4)

73%

(48)

21% (14)

100%

(66)

Religious Leaders

17%

(5)

62%

(18)

21%

(6)

100%

(29)

Economic Leaders

17%

(5)

72%

(21)

10%

(3)

99%

(29)

Elite Women

36%

(12)

42%

(14)

21%

(7)

99%

(33)

Village Poor

41%

(17)

39%

(16)

20%

(8)

100%

(41)

22%

(43)

59% ( 1 1 7 )

Totals

19% ( 3 8 )

100%(198)

Note: The differences in this table produce a chi-square that is significant at above the .01 level. If knowledge of Repelita is regarded as the independent variable, 7.6% of the total uncertainty is reduced, and theta equals - . 1 7 . percentages are horizontal.

160

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

The second question on Repelita focused on its effects on the respondent's life. It was thought that this probe would bring forth specific personal expectations. However, Question 184 revealed that only a few respondents had a well-defined concept of how the fiveyear plan would affect them. If anything, the responses to Question 184 betrayed an even vaguer understanding of Repelita than did the responses to Question 183. First of all, the proportion of outright "don't knows" more than doubled, rising from 14 percent to 34 percent. Second, the number of persons who gave specific instances of how they expected it to affect their lives was only nineteen (10 percent). The remaining majority either answered in terms of slogans (e.g., subur makmur) or stated that Repelita had begun to influence them, without mentioning the character of this influence. The overall conclusion to be drawn thus far is that mass media exposure, knowledge of the contours of the nation, and an understanding of Pancasila and Repelita have hardly scratched the surface of village consciousness. Only knowledge of national leaders is somewhat more widespread, and even it remains lower than one might expect. These findings attest to the difficulty of bringing the programs and symbols of the center to the villages. The outlines of the nation and its most important political formulation, the Pancasila, are not understood after twenty-five years of reiteration, and the five-year plan is understood as a symbol, an acronym to be manipulated, rather than as a practical program affecting the villagers' lives. Education, Mass Media Exposure, and Knowledge of National Symbols

The villages we are dealing with are characterized by scant exposure to formal education, low exposure to mass media, and low knowledge of national symbols. However, this does not mean that education and mass media have been ineffective in the past or that they will be ineffective in spreading information in the future. It means that both formal education and mass media have reached only a relatively small proportion of villagers. Only 17 percent of our largely elite respondents have progressed beyond elementary school (see Table 6.8), and for the population as a whole extensive exposure to formal education is a future promise rather than a present reality. Similarly, with the partial exception of radio, the mass media have only begun to penetrate the villages (see Table 7.1). Table 7.10 displays the positive, statistically significant correla-

M E D I A , S Y M B O L S , AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

161

TABLE 7.10

Correlation between Sources of National Information and Knowledge of National Symbols (Gamma) Sources

Contours of the Nation Pancasila National Leaders Repelita

Education

Mass Media

.71»

.58

.43

.49

.53

.56

.26

.41

Note: These correlations were obtained by running the trichotomized measure of exposure to formal education and the quartiled mass media scale against the four indices of knowledge of national symbols. The interviews from all nineteen villages were used and no weighting process was included. a AU of the relationships referred to in this table are statistically significant at the .01 level.

tions between knowledge of national symbols and exposure to formal education and the mass media. Formal education is more powerful than mass media exposure as a predictor of knowledge of the shape of the nation. 4 The probable explanation is that the schoolhouse is the chief source of national maps in a village, and formal schooling covers events that have occurred beyond the province and even beyond the island of Java. While education and mass media exposure both influence knowledge of the Pancasila, Repelita, and national leaders, the mass media have a slightly greater influence. 5 Mass Media Exposure and National Integration One of the primary hypotheses with which this study began was that the pro-government village would be significantly different from the Dar'ul Islam village in exposure to mass media and knowledge of national symbols. It was felt that this hypothesis would be sustained, 4. When we control for education, the relationship between mass media exposure and knowledge drops out among those with low education, indicating that education is having an independent effect at least in one partial. 5. When media exposure is held constant, several of the relationships between education and these indicators of political knowledge drop out, indicating that mass media exposure has an independent effect in some but not all of the partials.

162

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

because the study of political integration has largely been dominated by a concern for various kinds of communications transactions as indicators of the level of political integration. 6 In studies carried out largely in Western settings, emphasis has been given to communications transactions (such as message counts for mail, telephone, and radio broadcasting), trade transactions (with counts of the exchange of goods and services), and interpersonal transactions (concerning the frequency of personal contact). The basic assumption of the transaction studies is that there will be "a close correlation between relative frequency of transaction and the amount of political agreement and corporate activity among members of a particular c o m m u n i t y " (Jacob and Teune 1964: 24). In essence, the more frequent the interaction, the greater the tendency toward agreement, and hence there should be a high correlation between the transaction map of a territory and the political boundaries marking the landscape. 7 The transaction theory of political integration is centrally concerned with patterns of information exchange. It contends that political integration can be measured by investigating the communication system of a political unit. Political cohesion will be high between groups that exchange large amounts of information over a wide range of topics (Deutsch 1963: 145-162). The assumption is that the quantity of communications alone, regardless of the particular temporary political issues, will tell us a good deal about the strength of a political organization as a unit. Thus, by looking at communications flows it is possible to predict political cohesion without the interference imposed by fleeting political issues. Such indicators as the dispersion of radio, newspapers, and magazines should provide formidable clues to the direction in which the struggle for integration is going at any time (Deutsch 1964: 75-97). Through the mass media as well as through face-to-face communication, the shared myths and memories vital to the cohesion of a nation are dispersed. 6. For a review of the literature on political integration, see Jacob and Teune 1964: 1-45. 7. The point is not that one would expect all political behavior to be predictable from differences in levels of political knowledge and exposure to the national mass media, but only that the gross difference between being part of the nation and joining a rebellion aimed at completely reconstituting the nation might be expected to coincide with distinct differences in the levels of exposure and knowledge about the symbols of the legitimate government.

163

MEDIA, S Y M B O L S , A N D POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

In studying the rebellion in West Java I expected that discontinuities in the level of integration into the nation-state would be paralleled by differences in exposure to national mass media and variations in the density of national symbolism. The measures of mass media exposure and knowledge of national symbols will now be examined to determine whether differences in political integration are reflected in differences between the Dar'ul Islam and progovernment villages in media exposure and the spread of the symbols of the nation. The Villages Compared

Table 7.3 shows that there are significant differences in mass media exposure between different types of respondents. None of the differences between the villages is as great as the difference between types of respondents. The variation between villages reported in T a b l e 7.11 does not reach statistical significance. The progovernment village indeed shows the highest exposure to mass media, TABLE 7.11

Scale of Mass Media Exposure by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Very Low (ist Quartile) D a r ' u l Islam

40%

a

(21) 32%b

Swing

27%

(14) 21%

Pro-government

33%

(17) 25%

Totals

100%

(52) 26%

Low (2nd Quartile) 27%(11) 17% 44% (18) 27% 29% (12) 18% 100% (41) 21%

Medium (3rd Quartile) 38% ( 2 0 ) 31% 35% ( 1 8 ) 27% 27%(14) 21% 100% (52) 26%

High (4th Quartile)

Totals

24% (13) 20%

(65)

31%(17)

(67)

25% 44% (24) 36%

(67)

99% (54) 27%

(199)

Note: Chi-square reaches a confidence level of .24, and 1.4% of uncertainty is reduced if mass media exposure is considered the independent variable. The most appropriate statistic, the significance test for gamma, reaches the .07 confidence level for the one-tailed test, and the related measure of strength of association equals .13. If the combined elites from each village are compared, the differences remain insignificant. Chisquare reaches a confidence level of only .23, and media exposure as the independent variable reduces 2.6% of total uncertainty. The statistical test for an ordinal relationship reaches a confidence level of .13, and its measure of association, gamma, equals .13. a

Vertical percentages. ''Horizontal percentages.

164

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM. AND REBELLION

the swing village is second, and the Dar'ul Islam village is third; however, the differences are very small. Fifty-seven percent of the respondents from the pro-government village are in the high and medium exposure quartiles, while 52 percent of the persons interviewed in the swing village fall in the top two quartiles. The percentage for the Dar'ul Islam village is only slightly lower at 51 percent. These data do not support the interpretation that high exposure to national mass media is a quality that sharply distinguishes among various levels of national integration. The differences, though in the correct direction and order for the villages as a whole, are not sufficiently strong to sustain the prediction that the map of mass communication transactions will distinguish between high and low levels of integration. The variations within the villages between types of respondents are much greater than the variations between the villages. The clear difference between revolting against and fighting for the nation is not reflected by an equally sharp distinction in the amounts of mass media exposure. Attitudes toward the Islamic State

There is a statistically significant relationship between mass media exposure and attitude toward the Islamic state. However, this difference is not very meaningful, because 74 percent of those with a high exposure to mass media favor the Islamic state. One certainly cannot conclude from these data that persons with high mass media exposure oppose the idea of an Islamic state (see Table 7.12). Moreover, when the relationship is examined within each separate village, there is no correlation whatever between media exposure and attitude toward the Islamic state in the Dar'ul Islam village.8 The opponents of the Islamic state in the swing village are low in mass media exposure, and the opponents of the Islamic state in the pro-government village are high. 9 8. The absence of a relationship between media exposure and belief in the Islamic state within the Dar'ul Islam village is corroborated by the information on individual levels of participation in the rebellion supplied by Sjarif Abdullah. Among the respondents identified by the former Dl commander, those who followed him are just as exposed to the mass media as the individuals whom he identified as having participated less wholeheartedly in the rebellion. The Fisher's Exact Test comparing dichotomized mass media exposure with reputed level of participation in rebellion yields a confidence level of only .58. 9. In Tanggerang, regardless of the level of mass media exposure, virtually everyone supports the concept of a Negara Islam.

M E D I A , S Y M B O L S , A N D POLITICAL B E H A V I O R

165

TABLE 7.12

Scale of Mass Media Exposure by Attitudes toward Establishing a State Religion (Three Primary Villages, after weighting) Very Low (1st Quartile)

In Favor

a

86% (37) 25%b

Opposed

14%

(6) 19%

Totals

100% (43)

(2nd

Low Quartile)

Medium (3rd Quartile)

(4th

High Quartile)

Totals

85% (40) 27%

74% (39) 26%

(148)

22%

11% (4) 13%

15% (7) 23%

26% (14) 45%

(31)

89% (32)

100% (36)

100% (47)

100% (53)

(179)

Note: Chi-square reaches the .21 confidence level, and mass media exposure as an independent variable reduces 0.9% of total uncertainty. Gamma is .26, and the related onetailed test is significant at the .04 level. The most relevant test, the Mann-Whitney U-test, is significant at the .04 level, and theta equals .20. 'Vertical percentages. k Horizontal percentages.

The findings regarding mass media exposure parallel those on religion, wealth, and education in that the village of residence rather than media exposure seems to be the predominant variable in determining attitude toward the Islamic state. There is, however, an important exception to this generalization. Among individuals having practically no mass media exposure whatever, differences between villages disappear. This indicates a predisposition toward the Islamic state among the very least exposed parts of the population. Similar findings regarding various measures of knowledge of national symbols indicate that, in the vacuum of political knowledge and media exposure that exists at the base of the Sundanese village social structure, there is an almost automatic deference to the idea of an Islamic state. However, it is important to distinguish between predispositions and actual political behaviors. While those least exposed to In Cikujang chi-square is illegitimate because of small expected cell frequencies. The significance test for gamma reaches the .01 level, and its measure of association is -.89. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta is - . 7 4 . If the table were collapsed by dichotomizing mass media exposure, a Fisher's Exact Test would be significant at better than the .01 level. In Rancabentang the differences are significant but in the opposite direction from Cikujang. Chi-square reaches the .01 level, and 8.5 percent of uncertainty is reduced if mass media exposure is considered the independent variable. Gamma equals .66, and the related significance test attains the .01 level. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta equals .51. If the table were collapsed to run a Fisher's Exact Test, the differences would be significant at the .01 level.

166

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND REBELLION

the mass media in the pro-government village are favorably inclined toward the idea of an Islamic state, their behavior in the period 1948-1962 was profoundly anti-Dar'ul Islam. Attitudinal predispositions are a particularly poor guide to political behavior among the least powerful, least informed segments of the population, who tend to do the bidding of their betters even when the required behaviors contradict the individual's original predisposition (see Chapters 8 - 1 0 ) . Mass Media and Religious

Fanaticism

One fondly cherished hope of the Enlightenment was that religious fanaticism would decline precipitously as individual knowledge and sophistication increased. In the present study one might postulate that as education and mass media exposure increase, willingness to kill over an insult to religion should decrease. At the early stage of social change represented by the Sundanese villages in this study, Enlightenment hopes remain confounded. Those manifesting the highest exposure to mass media are most willing to kill for religion (see Table 7.13). 1 0 Within individual villages, however, the relationship is far from uniform. In the Dar'ul Islam and swing villages high media exposure correlates significantly with religious fanaticism, but in the proTABLE 7.13

Scale of Mass Media Exposure by Religious Fanaticism (Three Primary Villages, after Weighting) Very Low a

Low

Medium

High

Totals

Willing to Kill

56% ( 2 8 )

59% ( 2 2 )

68% ( 3 4 )

74% ( 3 9 )

(123)

Unwilling to Kill

44%

(22)

41% ( 1 5 )

32% ( 1 6 )

26% ( 1 4 )

(67)

100%

(50)

100% ( 3 7 )

100% ( 5 0 )

100% ( 5 3 )

(190)

Totals

Note: Chi-square reaches a confidence level of .24, and if mass media exposure is considered the independent variable, 0.8% of uncertainty is reduced. The Mann-Whitney U-test is the most appropriate for one nominal and one ordinal variable; its test is significant at the .02 level, and thetaequals - . 1 7 . Gamma i s - . 2 3 , and its significance test reaches the .02 confidence level. a

Vertical percentages.

10. If we control for educational level, the relationship between mass media exposure and avowed willingness to kill decreases slightly but does not disappear. Hence, the relationship between high exposure to mass media and willingness to kill is not an artifact of educational differences.

M E D I A , S Y M B O L S , A N D POLITICAL B E H A V I O R

167

government village the relationship disappears almost entirely. 11 Thus, while media exposure increases the propensity for religious violence, the village in which one lives exerts considerable control over the strength of this tendency. Knowledge of National Symbols and Political Behavior Contours of the Nation

While modern nationalism has universally emphasized the uniqueness of the territory or "land" occupied by "a people," as we have already noted in Table 7.4, our respondents possess only rudimentary cognitive maps of their fatherland. Although respondents as a whole share a relatively dim picture of the territorial nation-state, this does not preclude the possibility that clarity of perception of the nation might correlate highly with the political behavior of fighting for the state against a rebellion. The village that fought most staunchly for the Republic of Indonesia might be expected to evince significantly greater knowledge of all national symbols. Being favorably predisposed toward the Republic, the pro-government village might be expected to learn and retain national symbols with greater alacrity. In contrast, the rebel village that rejected the Republic's legitimacy and defended a religiously narrow concept of the Indonesian nation might be less predisposed to learn about distant portions of the archipelago, such as East Indonesia, where the Islamic faith does not predominate. Similarly, the habit of rejecting republican propaganda might have made the rebels less predisposed to accept information about the nation as a whole, because the main source of this information was the despised Republic. Unfortunately, however, the data do not confirm the theory; village political behavior is not related to refinement in knowledge of the nation (see Table 7.14). The DI and pro-government villages, which theoretically should have been quite different from each other, manifested no statistically significant differences. These political opposites are similar to each other and more knowledgeable than the swing village. 11. Within Tanggerang those on the upper half of the scale of mass media exposure are more likely to kill for religion than individuals who arc low or very low on the scale. The same holds true for Cikujang. However, although the relationship runs in the same direction in Rancabentang, the influence of media exposure on fanaticism falls far short of statistical significance.

168

T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION TABLE 7.14

Contours of the Nation by Village Political Behavior (after Weighting) Low

Medium

Dar'ul Islam

31% a ( 2 2 )

Swing

37%

34% b (26) 44%

Pro-government

32% ( 2 3 ) 36%

Totals

100%

(71) 38%

42% ( 2 6 ) 40% 35% ( 2 2 ) 37% 23% ( 1 4 ) 22% 100% ( 6 2 ) 33%

High

Totals

31% ( 1 7 )

(65)

26% 20% ( 1 1 )

(59)

19% 49% ( 2 7 )

(64)

49% 100% ( 5 5 )

(188)

29%

Note: The differences in this table yield a chi-square that is significant at the .03 level, and 2.7% of uncertainty is reduced if knowledge of the contours of the nation is regarded as the independent variable. The ordinal relationship implied by the theory being tested here does not reach statistical significance. The one-tailed test associated with gamma reaches the .21 confidence level, and as a measure of association gamma equals only .08. If we compare the villages two at a time, only the difference between the pro-government village and the swing village is statistically significant. If just the combined elites are considered, chi-square reaches a confidence level of .11, gamma equals .11, and its statistical significance test reaches only the .20 level for the relationship between knowledge of the nation's geographic outline and village political behavior. "Vertical percentages. ^Horizontal percentages.

Testing the same theory against individual attitudes toward creating an Islamic state reveals a statistically significant relationship that at first glance confirms a general relationship between knowledge of the nation-state and attitude toward the Negara Islam (see Table 7.15). However, when we look at each of the three villages separately, it is clear that refinement in knowledge about the nationstate does not influence attitudes toward the Negara Islam. In the rebel village, those possessing high knowledge of the contours of the nation nonetheless support the concept of an Islamic state; further, the reputed differences in levels of participation in the rebellion do not correlate with differences in knowledge of the nation. 12 In the 12. For the whole village of Tanggerang there is unanimity of support for the concept of an Islamic state regardless of level of sophistication about the constituent parts of the nation. Likewise, knowledge of the nation's contours does not predict degree of active participation in the rebellion among the subsample of individuals from the Dl village who were

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, A N D POLITICAL

BEHAVIOR

169

T A B L E 7.15 Contours by Attitude

of the

Nation

toward Establishing a State

(Primary

Villages, after

Low

Medium

High

In Favor

89% ( 5 5 )

85% ( 4 7 )

Opposed

11%

15%

Totals

(7)

100% ( 6 2 )

Religion

Weighting) To tab

75% ( 4 3 )

(145)

(8)

25% ( 1 4 )

(29)

100% ( 5 5 )

100% ( 5 7 )

(174)

Note: Chi-square for this table reaches the .13 confidence level, and 1.0% of uncertainty is reduced by knowledge of national contours as the independent variable. The most appropriate test, the MannWhitney U-Test, is significant at the .03 level, and theta equals .21. Gamma is .31, and the related significance test reaches the .03 level.

swing village, relatively less refined knowledge about the nation goes with opposing the Islamic state, but the relationship is not significant. 13

Finally, in the pro-government village, there is a strong rela-

tionship between high knowledge and opposition to the idea of an Islamic state. 14

Thus, in t w o of the three primary villages, the gen-

eral relationship between high knowledge o f national contours and a tendency to reject the concept of an Islamic state drops out. A s w e have seen before, village of residence exercises a p o w e r f u l influence on attitudes toward the Islamic state. Furthermore, when w e hold level of

knowledge constant, village of residence continues to be

more important than level of knowledge of national symbols, except in the case of those individuals w h o show nearly complete ignorance concerning the geographic outlines of Indonesia. 15 categorized by their leader, Sjarif Abdullah. Those who supported the rebellion less actively were equally distributed across the levels of knowledge of the national map. 13. In Cikujang, the Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .11 confidence level, with a theta of -.31. Gamma equals -.50, and the related significance test attains the .16 level. 14. In Rancabentang the Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .02 level, and theta equals .30. Gamma is .45, and its significance test attains the .03 level. 15. Among the respondents possessing virtually no knowledge of the geographic components of Indonesia, the impact of differences between villages on attitude toward the Islamic state drops out. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .15 level, and theta equals .23. Gamma equals .34, and the related significance test reaches the .20 level. If we combine Tanggerang and Cikujang and perform a Fisher's Exact Test, the significance level reaches .40. Among respondents with medium knowledge of the contours of the nation, the effect of between-village differences on attitude toward the Islamic state does not drop out. The Mann-Whitney U-test remains significant at the .01 level, and theta equals .74. Gamma is significant at the .01 level, and its measure of association equals .92. If Tanggerang and

170

T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM. AND REBELLION TABLE 7.16

Knowledge of National Contours by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Low

Medium

High

Totals

Willing t o Kill

62% (41)

68% (41)

64% (36)

(118)

Unwilling t o Kill

38% ( 2 5 )

32% ( 1 9 )

36% ( 2 0 )

(64)

100% (66)

100% ( 6 0 )

100% (56)

(182)

Totals

Note: Chi-square reachcs a confidence level of .76. If knowledge of national contours is considered the independent variable, 0.1% of uncertainty is reduced. The most appropriate test, the Mann-Whitney U-Test, gives a confidence level of .38, and theta equals a meager - . 0 3 . Gamma is -.04, and its significance test attains a confidence level of .41. If each village is considered separately, none of them shows a significant relationship between knowledge of the nation and willingness to kill over religion. If just combined elites are compared, all of the relationships remain far from statistical significance.

Finally, one might hypothesize that the more cosmopolitan and nationalistic an individual's cognitions, the less inclined he w o u l d be to c o m m i t violence for a subnational loyalty, in this case, a religious loyalty. Underpinning this hypothesis is the assumption that the greater the knowledge of national symbols, the greater the attachment to them, and the greater the tolerance of diverse groups within the nation-state. As Table 7.16 shows, this hypothesis remains unconfirmed. There is no relationship whatever between higher knowledge of Indonesia as a geographic entity and diminished willingness to kill for religion. Religious fanaticism predominates among cosmopolitans and parochials alike. Knowledge of Pancasila Because the idea of the territorial nation-state is a relatively recent import from western Europe, it might not be surprising that an indicator such as knowledge o f the nation's contours falls short of predicting political behavior. Following this argument, it is the Cikujang are combined to perform a Fisher's Exact Test, the resulting differences remain significant at the .01 level. Among respondents with highly differentiated knowledge of the map of Indonesia, the relationship between village of residence and attitude toward the Islamic state is maintained. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta equals .56. The significance test for gamma reaches the .01 level, and its measure of association equals .87. If Tanggerang and Cikujang are combined, the Fisher's Exact Test remains significant at the .01 level.

M E D I A , S Y M B O L S , A N D POLITICAL B E H A V I O R

171

foreign quality of the concept of the territorial nation-state that explains why the Dar'ul Islam and pro-government villages are similarly ignorant about the provinces constituting Indonesia. T o test the proposition that the absence of a positive relationship between knowledge of national symbols and national integration is the result of a poor choice of indicators, the same tests are applied to knowledge of the Pancasila (the nation's most salient postwar political doctrine and one that was specifically rejected by the Dar'ul Islam as disguised atheism). The hypothesis in this instance is that knowledge of the Pancasila should be greatest in the pro-government village, which shed its blood fighting for Pancasila democracy, and that knowledge about it should be least widespread in the Dar'ul Islam village, which rejected the basic principle of the Pancasila. The data on village political behavior and knowledge of the Pancasila not only fail to confirm the hypothesis but in fact directly contradict it: knowledge of the most important national symbol reaches its greatest density in the Dar'ul Islam village, and knowledge of the Pancasila is least apparent in the village that fought t o defend the Republic based on the Pancasila (see Table 7.17). When just the combined elites of the three villages are compared, the Dar'ul Islam village evinces the greatest knowledge of the Pancasila, and the pro-government village shows the least comprehension of the symbol. The swing village is almost identical to the Dar'ul Islam village and considerably higher in its level of knowledge than the pro-government village. Thus we find that the elites of the Dar'ul Islam and swing villages, both of which had been at least initially involved in the fight to destroy the state based on the Pancasila, together share higher knowledge of the primary nationalist symbol than the elite of the pro-government village, which made heavy sacrifices to protect and defend the state based on the Pancasila (see Table 7.18). The fight for or against a government based on the principles of the Pancasila is not related to knowledge of the contents of this symbol. At least in this case, high knowledge of the nationalistic symbol is not related to nationalistic (that is, progovernment) political behavior. Those who fought for the Pancasila were ignorant of it; those who violently rejected it seem to have absorbed it. Whatever the pro-government villagers may have been fighting for, these data make it difficult to contend that passion for the Pancasila was their all-consuming motivation.

172

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , ISLAM, AND REBELLION TABLE 7.17 Knowledge of the Pancasila by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Medium

Low D a r ' u l Islam

29%

a

(18) 28%

Swing

35%

(22) 34%

Pro-government

37%

(23) 36%

Totals

101%

30% ( 2 0 )

(63)

b

31% 30% ( 2 0 ) 31% 40% (27) 42% 100% ( 6 7 )

Totals

High 42% (26)

(64)

41% 35% ( 2 2 )

(64)

34% 23%(14)

(64)

22% 100% ( 6 2 )

(192)

Note: The differences in this table yield a chi-square which reaches a confidence level of .22. If knowledge of the Pancasila is the independent variable, 1.4% of total uncertainty is reduced. The most appropriate statistic for this cable is the significance test for gamma, which reaches the .04 level. Gamma as a measure of strength of association equals - . 1 8 . If we compare whole villages, the DI village shows significantly higher knowledge than the pro-government village. The significance test for gamma reaches the .04 level, and its strength of association equals - . 2 7 . The MannWhitney U-Test attains the .03 level, and theta equals - . 1 8 . Differences between the swing and pro-government villages or between the Dar'ul Islam and swing villages are not statistically significant. »Vertical percentages. ''Horizontal percentages.

If we consider attitude toward establishing a state religion, the data on the Pancasila again fail to support the contention that a selective learning and forgetting process will lead individuals labeled as nationalists (because of their political actions) to possess systematically greater knowledge of important nationalist ideas. Table 7.19 shows that respondents with the most refined knowledge of the Pancasila are most likely to support the Islamic state, the very antithesis of the Pancasila ideal. However, if we study the relationship within each village separately, we find no relationship whatever in the Dar'ul Islam village,16 low knowledge of the Pancasila goes 16. If we consider reputed levels of individual participation in the rebellion in Tanggerang, those who followed the Dar'ul Islam seem more sophisticated about the Pancasila, and those respondents who manifested lower levels of participation were less sophisticated about the Pancasila. The differences, however, are not statistically significant. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .10 level, and theta equals -.35, while the significance test for gamma attains the .IS level, and its measure of association equals -.51.

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, A N D POLITICAL

BEHAVIOR

173

T A B L E 7.18

Knowledge of the Pancasila by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, Elites Only, after Weighting) Low

Dar'ul Islam

20% a

Medium

(5) 13% b

Swing

28%

(7) 17%

Pro-government

52% ( 1 3 ) 31%

Totals

100%

(25)

34% ( 1 6 ) 40% 28% ( 1 3 ) 32% 38% ( 1 8 ) 43% 100% (47)

High

Totals

38% (19)

(40)

47% 40% ( 2 0 )

(40)

50% 22% ( 1 1 )

(42)

26% 100% ( 5 0 )

(122)

Note: Chi-square reaches the .10 level, and 3.1% of uncertainty is reduced if knowledge of the Pancasila is regarded as the independent variable. The most relevant measure of association, gamma, equals -.29, and its significance test attains the .01 confidence level. If we compare the DI and pro-government elites, the combined elite of the rebel village manifests significantly greater knowledge of the Pancasila. The significance test for gamma attains the .01 level, and its measure o f association equals -.43. The Mann-Whitney U-Test is significant at the .01 level, and theta is - . 2 8 . If the Dar'ul Islam and swing village elites are compared, they are virtually indistinguishable. If the swing village elite is compared to its counterpart in the pro-government village, the elite in the swing village shows significantly greater knowledge. The significance test for gamma reaches the .02 level, and its strength o f association is -.37. The Mann-Whitney U-Test attains the .01 level, and theta equals -.25. a Vertical percentages. ''Horizontal percentages.

with opposing the Islamic state in the swing village, 17 and support for the Islamic state is voiced by nearly two-thirds of the progovernment respondents regardless of their knowledge of the Pancasila. Finally, with the exception of respondents who have almost no knowledge whatever, village of residence rather than knowledge of the Pancasila exercises the fundamental influence on attitude toward the Islamic state. As with other measures, support for the concept of an Islamic state is widespread among the least informed regardless of village. A m o n g the people who exercise a 17. The relationship within the swing village is significant-, the highly knowledgeable are the most likely to favor the Islamic state. In neither of the other two villages does the relationship near statistical significance. For the swing village the Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .02 level, and theta equals -.45. Gamma's significance test attains the .03 level, and its measure of association is -.65.

174

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M , AND REBELLION TABLE 7.19

Knowledge of the Pancasila by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Low

Medium

High

Totals

In Favor Opposed

76%(38) 24% (12)

82% (53) 18%(12)

90% (54) 10% (6)

(145) (30)

Totals

100% (50)

100% (65)

100% (60)

(175)

Note: Chi-square attains a confidence level of .14, and if knowledge is the independent variable, 1.1% of total uncertainty is reduced. The most appropriate test, the Mann-Whitney U-Test, is significant at the .03 level, and theta equals - . 2 1 . Gamma is -.32, and the related significance test attains the .03 confidence level. If comparison is restricted to just the combined elites, chi-square attains a confidence level of .14, and knowledge reduces 1.7% of uncertainty. The Mann-Whitney U-Test is significant at the .02 level, and theta equals - . 2 5 . The significance test for gamma reaches the .03 level, and its measure of association equals - . 3 7 .

decisive influence over village life, the village as a sociopolitical unit exercises substantial constraint on political attitudes regardless of religious values, educational differences, mass media exposure, or varying knowledge of national symbols. 1 8 Considering that the principles intoned by the Pancasila include humanitarian internationalism, democracy, and social justice, one might hypothesize that knowledge of these moral imperatives would reach their zenith among the most enlightened, least dogmatic segments of the population. However, in parallel with the results on mass media exposure (see Table 7.13), the third of the sample having 18. The relationship between village of residence and attitude toward the Islamic state is substantially reduced among respondents having minimal knowledge of the Pancasila. The Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .29 confidence level, and theta equals a meager .09. If the villages that participated in the Dar'ul Islam in varying degrees (Tanggerang and Cikujang) are combined and compared with the pro-government village, using the Fisher's Exact Test, the confidence level equals only .60. When we control for levels of knowledge, the between-village differences do not drop out among respondents showing a middle level of knowledge. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta equals .50. Gamma equals .75, and its significance test reaches the .01 level. If Tanggerang and Cikujang are combined to run a Fisher's Exact Test, the differences remain significant at the .04 level. Among individuals with high level of knowledge, between-village differences maintain their effect on attitude toward the Islamic state. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta equals .60. Gamma is .77, and its significance test reaches the .01 level. If the Dl and swing villages together are compared with the pro-government village, using a Fisher's Exact Test, the differences remain significant at the .01 level.

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, A N D POLITICAL

BEHAVIOR

175

T A B L E 7.20 Knowledge

of the Pancasila

by Religious (Primary

Fanaticism

Villages, after

Low

Weighting)

Medium

High

Totals

Willing to Kill

58% ( 3 4 )

65% ( 4 0 )

76% ( 4 7 )

(121)

Unwilling to Kill

42% ( 2 5 )

35% ( 2 2 )

24% ( 1 5 )

(62)

100% ( 5 9 )

100% ( 6 2 )

100% ( 6 2 )

(183)

Totals

Note: The relationships in this table yield a chi-square that reaches the .10 confidence level. The most relevant test, the Mann-Whitney U-Test, is significant at the .02 level, and theta equals -.18. The significance test for gamma attains the .02 level, and its measure of association equals -.27. The differences among combined elites are not as strong. Chi-square reaches the .22 level. The Mann-Whitney U-Test attains the .06 confidence level, and theta is - . 1 7 . Gamma equals - . 2 6 , and its significance test reaches the .07 confidence level.

the most detailed appreciation of the principles of the Pancasila is the most willing to kill over an insult to religion (see Table 7.20). When w e look at each village separately, village of residence seems to exercise an influence, albeit a slight one. T h e proclivity for religious fanaticism among those having high knowledge of the Pancasila is most pronounced in the Dar'ul Islam and swing villages, whereas the strength of association declines substantially in the pro-government village. 19 National

Leaders

The link so confidently sought between cognitive elements of a nationalist ideology and behavior toward the rebellion has proven elusive. The absence of clear, p o w e r f u l relationships between knowledge

of

Indonesia's

provinces

and

political

behavior might have

resulted f r o m the foreign nature o f the concept of the territorial nation-state; similarly, the absence of politically meaningful differences between villages concerning knowledge of the Pancasila might be dismissed as an artifact of the abstract nature of that doctrine. Discussing belief in G o d , humanitarian internationalism, the unity of 19. When we hold village of residence constant, the relationship between knowledge of the Pancasila and willingness to kill for religion remains significant only in the swing village, where the Mann-Whitney U-test attains the .05 level, and its measure of association, theta, equals -.27. In the DI village the relationship is weaker but in the same direction; the MannWhitney U-test attains the .10 level, and theta is -.18. However, in the pro-government village the Mann-Whitney U-test reaches only the .21 confidence level, and theta equals -.11.

176

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y . ISLAM, AND REBELLION

the Indonesian people, democracy, and social justice may have been an unfair test of nationalism's penetration of village society, because the level of conceptualization was too high, too blatantly ideological and abstract. Given the broadly similar findings derived f r o m the contours of the nation and the Pancasila, perhaps a less abstract indicator, one largely devoid of issue content, such as knowledge of national leaders, might produce a radically different analytic outcome. Hence, we now turn to knowledge of national leaders as an indicator of attachment to national symbols; as an indicator it requires neither skill in conceptualizing nor an affinity for a territorial concept of the nation. Contrary to the above hypotheses, the findings derived from knowledge of national leaders are remarkably similar to those derived from the earlier analysis of the Pancasila and knowledge of the nation's contours. As Table 7.21 indicates, there is no systematic relationship between village political behavior and the distribution of knowledge about prominent national leaders. The pro-government and rebel villages are almost identical; nationalists and rebels are equally informed (or uninformed) about the personalities who have dominated the government of postwar Indonesia. The two villages that fought on opposite sides of the civil war are much more knowledgeable about national leaders than the swing village. Knowledge of TABLE 7.21

Knowledge of National Leaders by Village Political Behavior (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Medium

Low a

DI Swing Pro-government

26% (19) 29% b 39% (28) 42% 35% (25) 38%

Totals

100% (72)

40% (20) 31% 42% (21) 32% 18% (9) 14% 100% (50)

High

Totals

35% (26) 40% 23%(17) 26%

(65)

42% (31) 48%

(65)

100% (74)

(66)

(196)

Note: Chi-square attains a confidence level of .03, and if knowledge of national leaders is considered the independent variable, 2.8% of total uncertainty is reduced. The most relevant test for the hypothesis, the significance test for gamma, shows no ordinal relationship whatever; it reaches a confidence level of .46, and its measure of association equals - . 0 1 . a

Vertical percentages. ^Horizontal percentages.

M E D I A , S Y M B O L S , AND P O L I T I C A L B E H A V I O R

177

national leaders seems to correlate with an active stance toward the rebellion, with fighting hard for or against it, rather than with fighting for the preservation of the state. When individual attitudes toward the Islamic state are considered, the findings parallel those for knowledge of the nation's contours. Greater opposition to the concept of the Islamic state is more probable among individuals who know the offices occupied by national leaders (see Table 7.22). However, when village of residence is held constant, the only relationship remaining significant is found within the pro-government village, and village of residence rather than level of knowledge again seems to be a powerful influence. Only among those who manifest minimal knowledge of the nation's most prominent figures, the habitual parochials of the Sundanese village, is there a steady predisposition toward the idea of an Islamic state that remains unaffected by village of residence. 20 TABLE 7.22

Knowledge of National Leaders by Attitude toward Establishing a State Religion (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Low

In Favor

Medium

88%' (50)

89%

34%b Opposed

12%

(7) 24%

Totals

100%

(57)

(41) 28%

11%

(5) 17%

100% ( 4 6 )

Totals

High

77%(58)

(149)

39% 23%(17)

(29)

59% 100% ( 7 5 )

(178)

Note: Chi-square for this table reaches the .14 confidence level. The most appropriate test, the Mann-Whitney U-Test, is statistically significant at the .04 level, and theta equals .19. The test of significance for gamma reaches the .05 level, and its measure o f association equals .29. If just the combined elites are considered, substantially the same results are obtained. Chi-square reaches a confidence level of .17. The Mann-Whitney U-Test is significant at the .04 level, and theta is .21. The significance test for gamma attains the .06 confidence level, and its strength of association equals .36. Vertical percentages. k Horizontal percentages. a

20. Among respondents with low knowledge of national leaders, village o f residence has no effect on attitude toward the concept of a Negara Islam; the Mann-Whitney U-test attains the .23 confidence level, and theta is .17. The significance test for gamma reaches the .29 level, and its measure of association equals .25. If the two villages that fought in varying degrees to establish an Islamic state are combined and compared with the pro-government village, the resulting Fisher's Exact Test reaches only the .47 level.

178

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION TABLE 7.23

Knowledge of National Leaders by Reputed Level of Participation in Rebellion (Dar'ul Islam Village Only) Low

Followed Did Not Follow Totals

Medium

High

Totals

80% (4) 20% (1)

83% (5) 17% (1)

79% (11) 21% (3)

(20)

100% (5)

100% (6)

100% (14)

(25)

(5)

Note: None of the relationships in this table approaches statistical significance. The Mann-Whitney U-Test attains the .44 level, and theta equals .04. If the low and medium columns are combined, the resulting Fisher's Exact Test reaches the .62 confidence level.

The inability of the knowledge of national leaders to indicate differences between levels of support for the rebellion is reinforced by the data supplied by the troop commander, Sharif Abdullah. Lukewarm participants and the fanatics who fought actively to found the Negara Islam are indistinguishable in their sophistication about nationalist leaders (see Table 7.23). Finally, while slightly higher knowledge of national leaders is found among individuals who are most inclined toward killing over religion, the trend is not statistically significant. No clear difference exists between cosmopolitans and parochials on religious fanaticism (see Table 7.24).

Knowledge of Repelita and Economic Behavior At this point the political typology (DI, swing, pro-government) gives way to an economic one: very low, low, and high efficiency in the utilization of government f u n d s from Repelita, the five-year development plan initiated in 1969. Village utilization of development funds was observed at the same time that publicity about Repelita was at its height. That the findings regarding knowledge of Repelita and For respondents having medium knowledge of national leaders, the between-village differences remain significant; the Mann-Whitney U-test reaches the .03 level, and theta equals .48. Gamma is .64, and its significance test attains the .05 confidence level. If Tanggerang and Cikujang are combined to run a Fisher's Exact Test, the differences are significant at the .03 level. Village of residence remains the determinant variable among the highly knowledgeable. The Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at the .01 level, and theta equals .66. Gamma is .91, and its significance test reaches the .01 level. If the Dar'ul Islam and swing villages are combined, the resulting Fisher's Exact Test is significant at the .01 level.

179

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR TABLE 7.24 Knowledge of National Leaders by Religious Fanaticism (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Low

Medium

High

Totals

Willing to Kill

57% (39)

71% (35)

66% (48)

(122)

Unwilling to Kill

43% ( 3 0 )

29% (14)

34% (25)

(69)

100% (69)

100% (49)

100% ( 7 3 )

(191)

Totals

Note: Chi-square for this table attains the .23 level, and 0.7% of uncertainty is reduced if knowledge of national leaders is the independent variable. The most relevant test, the Mann-Whitney U-Test, reaches the .13 confidence level, and theta is -.09. Gamma is -.14, and the related significance test attains the .15 level. The differences among combined elites are even weaker. The Mann-Whitney U-Test attains the .44 level, and theta equals .02.

village economic behavior are similar, although not identical, to findings relating knowledge of national symbols to past political behavior lends credence to the claim that behaviors (economic or political) are largely unrelated to the ideas and knowledge of programs and symbols possessed by the village masses, and this is as true for an absolutely contemporary issue with maximum salience (Repelita) as it was for the Dar'ul Islam. Of the three villages, Rancabentang was much more efficient in the use of its Rp. 100,000 Repelita grant. It completed five separate projects: a large school with three airy classrooms, and four other projects of road, bridge, and dike construction. The Rp. 100,000 were used only to pay for materials. All labor was communal (gotong royong) and organized by the energetic and commanding village headman. In addition to grant-related activities, the village was undergoing economic change. The proportion of land in rice and cassava was being lowered. The land taken out of these basically subsistence crops was being converted to tobacco and vegetables. Both of these were cash crops sold in the cities, and an increasing concentration of them reflected a growing market orientation in the village economy. Cikujang contrasted sharply with Rancabentang. The Rp. 100,000 were used inefficiently or pilfered by the village officials. A small school had been built in the central kampung, and one minor repair had been carried out on the village road. In addition, the foundations had been laid for a new madrasah-, however, during the last three

180

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM. AND REBELLION

months of 1969 no further work had been done on it. In contrast with the "high" efficiency village, the Rp. 100,000 grant was spent on wage labor as well as on materials. And finally, the headman of this "very low" efficiency village (who was not a wealthy man and did not engage in activities likely to bring windfall profits) was building for himself a fine stone house with expensive roof tiles. One can only suppose that more than mere chance alone accounts for the close correlation between the headman's new-found prosperity and the dearth of Repelita achievements in the village. The third village, Tanggerang, occupies a middle position with regard to project output from the Rp. 100,000. Two small schools had been started, and a proportion of the casement for the village road in the central kampung had been repaired. As in the case of the "very low" efficiency village, wage labor consumed a large share of the Rp. 100,000. Tanggerang will be referred to as the "low" efficiency village, because the quality and quantity of its Repelita achievements are closer to the "very low" efficiency village (Cikujang) than they are to the "high" efficiency village (Rancabentang). Table 7.25 compares the combined elites of the three villages in regard to levels of knowledge of the five-year plan. The expectation TABLE 7.25

Knowledge of Repelita by Village Efficiency in Utilizing Repelita Funds (Primary Villages, Combined Elites, after Weighting) Low (don't know and acronym only) Very Low Efficiency

64% a

Low Efficiency

18%

18%

(2)

(2) 5%

Village Totals

b

5%

Village High Efficiency

(7) 17%

Village

Medium (slogans)

100%

(11)

High (programs)

33% (29) 72%

16%

34% (30)

36%

(4)

(40)

10% (9)

73%

22%

33%(29) 67%

48% (12) 28%

100% (88)

Totals

100% ( 2 5 )

(41)

(43)

(124)

Note: Chi-square is illegitimate here because three of expected cell frequencies are less than five. The ordinal nature of the relationship is confirmed; the significance test for gamma reaches the .01 level, and its measure of association equals .39. »Vertical percentages. ^Horizontal percentages.

MEDIA, SYMBOLS. AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

181

was that the "high" efficiency village would display much greater knowledge than either the "low" or "very low" efficiency villages. This expectation is seemingly confirmed by Table 7.25 in which high, low, and very low efficiency are paralleled by the differences in knowledge among the combined elites. The elite in the "very low" efficiency village is less knowledgeable than in the "high" efficiency village. However, this confirmatory trend disappears when we note that the difference in knowledge between the elites of the "very low" and "low" efficiency villages is almost as great as the difference between the "very low" and "high" efficiency elites in spite of the fact that unimpressive performances in carrying out Repelita make the "very low" and "low" villages nearly undistinguishable in their behaviors. When the elite women and the village poor are added to the combined elites, the prospects for confirming a relationship between knowledge and behavior are further diminished. 21 The "low" efficiency village has the greatest knowledge of Repelita as a program in spite of the fact that its behavior in executing Repelita remains deplorable. The village distinguished by widespread participation in gotong royong development schemes does not possess significantly higher knowledge of Repelita than the "low" efficiency village, where public participation in development projects has been rare. The disparity between Tables 7.25 and 7.26 is caused by the dearth of knowledge of Repelita's aims among the non-elite elements of the "high" efficiency village. A theory of mobilization assuming that participation results from the successful communication of information to non-elite elements would find the results from the three villages inexplicable. It is the non-elite elements in the "high" efficiency village, the very segment of the population whose unusually high level of participation is responsible for the successful development activity, who manifest relatively lower levels of knowledge. 22 21. The only between-village d i f f e r e n c e that remains significant contrasts the " l o w " and "very l o w " efficiency villages. T h e d i f f e r e n c e s between t h e " h i g h " and "very l o w " efficiency villages as well as b e t w e e n t h e " h i g h " and " l o w " efficiency villages d o not reach statistical significance. 22. If we contrast t h e non-elite elements f r o m t h e " h i g h " and "very l o w " efficiency villages, the Mann-Whitney U-test attains only t h e .32 c o n f i d e n c e level, and t h e t a equals - . 0 7 . The contrast between non-elite e l e m e n t s of t h e " h i g h " and " l o w " efficiency villages indicates that mass elements in t h e " h i g h " efficiency village show significantly less knowledge of Repelita; the Mann-Whitney U-test is significant at t h e .01 level, and t h e t a equals - . 4 4 . Finally, non-elite elements in t h e " l o w " efficiency village are significantly m o r e knowledgeable a b o u t Repelita t h a n their c o u n t e r p a r t s in t h e "very l o w " efficiency village; t h e MannWhitney U-test reaches t h e .01 level, and t h e t a is .34.

182

T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION TABLE 7.26 Knowledge of Repelita by Village Efficiency in Utilizing Repelita (Primary Villages, after Weighting) Low (don V know and acronym only) Very Low Efficiency

50%

15%

Village High E f f i c i e n c y

31%

(6)

35%

(14) 21%

100%

(40)

(37) 56%

36%

9%

Village Totals

(20) 30% b

Village Low Efficiency

a

Medium (slogans)

(43) 65%

32%

(38) 58%

99%(118)

Funds

High (programs) 22%

(9)

Totals (66)

14% 42%(17)

(66)

26% 35% ( 1 4 )

(66)

21% 99% ( 4 0 )

(198)

Note: Chi-square attains .03 confidence level, and 2.9% of uncertainty is reduced by considering knowledge of Repelita as the independent variable. The most relevant test, the significance test for gamma, reaches the .07 confidence level, and its measure of association equals .16. a

Vertical percentages. ^Horizons! percentages.

Mobilization for Repelita apparently does not require an understanding of its basic aims. Clearly, factors other than information about the five-year plan, facets of social leadership other than those involving the dissemination of ideas, must be at work to account for the presence of high levels of mobilization in the absence of knowledge of the objectives of mobilization. Conclusion

The painstaking search for a relationship between the distribution of national symbols and political behavior has ended in failure. The villages considered here, like most Indonesian villages, are not heavily exposed to the mass media, and perceptions of the contours of the nation, comprehension of the Pancasila, and knowledge of the offices occupied by the nation's most prominent leaders remain very low even though the samples overrepresent village elites. Overall differences among the three villages do not support the thesis that sharing the myths and symbols of the nation is a necessary precondition to being solidly integrated into the functioning nation-state. The distribution of national symbols does not follow the demarcation lines so

MEDIA, SYMBOLS, AND POLITICAL BEHAVIOR

183

prominently etched on the political landscape by the Dar'ul Islam rebellion. Even when we turn from a past rebellion to a present policy (Repelita) and, in so doing, turn from knowledge of an ideological abstraction (Pancasila) to an issue having an important substantive effect on each village, a positive relationship between ideas and village behavior is not evident. The individuals whose contributions of unpaid labor made the vital difference to village accomplishments in the "high efficiency" village are least knowledgeable about the aims of the five-year-plan; the highest participation by non-elite respondents actually took place in the village where non-elites were the most ignorant of Repelita and its aims. An explanation for these findings exists in the still quite vital nature of traditional Sundanese village society in 1969. National symbols, like religious beliefs, do not determine the direction of political participation, because the polity remains basically nonideological. As we shall see in Chapters 8-10, conflict and cohesion among Sundanese peasants continues to follow the paths provided by personalized traditional authority relations rather than the avenues of material interest or ideological imperatives. Fighting for the nation need not rest upon the foundation supplied by intense attachment to national symbols and ideology in a system of politics integrated by personal rather than ideological bonds, by enduring attachment to local traditional authority figures rather than to the as yet dimly perceived ideological structure of the modern nation-state.

8. Patterns of Traditional Authority in Sundanese Villages

One's first, albeit fleeting, impression of Indonesian politics is that it is dominated by issue-oriented, ideologically diverse organizations articulating the plight of different classes and interest groups in the society. There are mass political parties, trade unions, peasant cooperatives, and all manner of voluntary associations. These organizations respond to the issues of the day, and newspapers are replete with the positions taken by various factions and parties. Meetings are frequently held, party conventions are well attended, and party chapters exist in the major cities as well as in a scattering of villages. In addition, intellectuals in cosmopolitan urban areas analyze politics primarily by referring to differences between religious or other primordial groupings. In sum, the plethora of organizations and the articulation of systematic value systems among the urban elite give the impression that Indonesian political life is dominated by issues, programs, deep religious convictions, and overarching political symbols. In our thus far unrewarded search for an explanation of the diverse political stances of the three primary villages toward the Dar'ul Islam rebellion, we have, in effect, been testing the applicability of these ideological theories of Indonesian politics. In doing so, we have been considering reductionist explanations of political behavior; that is, we have been trying to explain the behavior of villages from the sum total of the individual attitudes and interests found within each village. We have assumed that villages act differently because individuals inhabiting them possess very different religious beliefs, incomes, educations, and levels of political sophistication. The implicit paradigm has been one in which individual villagers enter politics to realize ideological goals or to improve their economic lot through action in the national political arena. By this time it should be abundantly clear that these basic theories are far from

184

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

185

valid for villagers who are as poor, uneducated, unexposed to mass media, and unknowledgeable as most of the villagers in this study. The major contention of this volume is that, at least among Sundanese villagers, traditional ingredients of politics weigh more heavily than modern ones when vital decisions are in the offing. Beneath the rhetoric of issues, programs, and symbols there lies a traditional reality which controls the ebb and flow of political action. At the critical moments of political choice, effective political power is more likely to be mobilized by an appeal to traditional authority than by one to ideology, economic interest, or even basic value differences. At historic junctures—such as national elections, recruitment to revolution, or formation of armed rebellion—the critical factor for the vast majority who live in villages is that the decisions have already been made for them by their superiors in the networks of previously established superior-subordinate relations that dominate their social and hence their political lives. The chief act of participation for an individual is his affiliation with traditional authority figures from whom he will obtain affect, social security, spiritual advice, physical protection, bureaucratic intervention, and political direction. Once a traditional authority figure has established himself, his relationship with individual followers endures for decades, and most of the follower's decision-making power is effectively displaced onto those with whom he has formed dyadic, personal, and initially nonpolitical connections. Individual decisions, according to this theory, are based not on the political knowledge, religious beliefs, or ideological beliefs of individual followers, but on the place occupied by the individual in an ongoing structure of traditional authority relationships. Because of an individual's placement in a particular traditional authority network, he may receive general advice, financial help, spiritual instruction, or emotional support, and reciprocally, in the event that his traditional authority figure becomes involved in extravillage politics, the followers will be obligated to mobilize on his behalf and to supply votes or even physical protection, regardless of whether they initially understand or agree with the political stance chosen by him. This chapter defines traditional authority and presents empirical evidence on the traditional authority structures found in Sundanese villages. Chapter 9 will explore the methods by which traditional authority is accumulated, and in Chapter 10 traditional authority

186

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

will be offered as an explanation of the stances adopted by the three primary villages toward the Dar'ul Islam rebellion. The Concept of Traditional Authority Traditional authority is a type of power. Power is defined behaviorally as an interaction between persons or groups in which at a particular moment in time one actor (the influencer, R) changes the behavior of a second actor (the influencee, E). 1 Traditional authority is an interaction with the following characteristics: R sends a message to E, and E adopts it as the basis of his behavior: (1) without evaluating the request of R in terms of his own standards or (2) in spite of his initial evaluation of the request in terms of his own standards and interests; E adopts the message as the basis of his behavior because of his perception of the existence of a diffuse, long-standing, affectladen, binding mutual obligation between R and himself. Traditional authority is the exercise of personalistic power accumulated through the past and present role of the influencer as provider, protector, educator, source of values, and status superior of those who have an established dependency relationship with him. Once established, the traditional authority figure need not threaten, offer material or symbolic rewards, attempt to persuade, or refer to rules regulating roles; his commands are accepted solely on the basis of who he is and the particular personal, diffuse relationship that he has cultivated with each of his followers. Tennyson observed that "obedience is the courtesy due to kings." It is in this atmosphere of nearly unquestioning obedience that traditional authority finds its dynamic; once traditional authority exists, the only normal reaction to command is compliance. Unlike persuasion, a second type of power, traditional authority does not require opinion change prior to behavior change. In traditional authority, obedient behavior is not based on agreement with the leader's ideological stance; the followers adhere to the leader's position regardless of the ideologically contradictory turns that he may take. The traditional leader may espouse a political or a religious ideology or appeal to communal sentiments such as ethnicity, but while these appeals may serve a psychological function for the leader in connecting him with other segments of society, the part played by 1. This notation is taken from Frey 1970: 3 4 9 - 4 0 8 . For a similar perspective, see Easton 1958.

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

187

the content of these appeals is probably marginal as far as his followers are concerned. This is because the traditional leader is probably addressing his ideological, religious, or communal appeals to a village audience that is politically ignorant, relatively insensitive to differences in religious beliefs, and almost totally unaware of the existence of other ethnic groups. This is not to deny that discussions utilizing political, religious, and ethnic symbols take place between leaders and followers. In fact, just prior to climactic events like elections, such discussions are rife. However, the function that the discussion has for the follower is different from persuasion. The follower does not ask himself, "Do I agree with what my leader has proposed?" or, "Does it agree with my opinions and beliefs?" Instead, such discussions with the leader are a means of determining where the follower should stand on the issue. The discussion is an educative process in which superior informs subordinate, not a negotiation for the follower's support as a result of the views put forward by the leader. In a fundamental sense, the opinions of the follower were determined long ago, perhaps twenty years earlier when he entered into a dependency relationship with the particular leader. The discussion communicates commands rather than attempting to sway opinions. Traditional authority, in its pure form, is not vitally dependent on ideological and communal appeals. Traditional authority also differs from a third form of power called reward/deprivation. Unlike reward/deprivation, traditional authority does not involve calculation of immediate personal interests by the follower. Nor does the follower perceive it as a contract in which he supplies a specific service in return for a predetermined level of compensation. Although the leader may have done many things for his followers in times past, and even though he may be obligated to continue dispensing favors in the future, the pattern of power is not simply one of exchanging rewards for services. The concept of the follower deciding whether or not to support his leader politically on the basis of careful calculation of the excess of benefits over costs is foreign to the system of traditional authority. Why is this type of power labeled traditional? Chiefly because its possession almost always depends on the passage of time and because it is often legitimized by inheritance across generations. First, the endurance of traditional authority relations is counted in decades rather than in years. When the habit of obedience to a particular

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TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

leader has existed for more than twenty-five years, and when this relationship was inherited from one's father, to change leaders over trifles as ephemeral as party labels and political issues would be a dysfunctional breach of time-honored wisdom as well as of etiquette. Traditional authority relationships are not mere alliances of opportunity and convenience but are viewed as bonds binding both leader and follower to former generations. The traditional authority bonds establish the continuity of the individual's place in the closed community of the past as well as the more open community of the present. These relations are legitimate not only because they are efficient and prosperous but because they transcend time in ways sanctioned by the customs of the elders (see Weber 1947: 341-358, and Hagen 1962: 55-75). Second, "traditional" implies that leadership is more likely to devolve upon those possessing inherited rather than achieved status. For instance, the holders of traditional authority in a village often belong to the same family or group of higher-status families. While it is not unthinkable for a village to confer such authority upon a person from outside the traditional ruling families, selection usually devolves upon a stable set of families possessing unique sacred or secular knowledge or a distinct role in the historic evolution of the community. Rather than asking "Who is the most efficient leader?" or "What are his achievements?" traditional authority emphasizes questions such as "Who is he?" "Who was his father?" and "Did his family treat my father well?" Traditional authority and patronage (or patron-client relations) obviously share many qualities. However, a comprehension of village politics in West Java requires an appreciation of the important differences between these two kinds of social relationships and the distinctive political outcomes that each type of relationship produces. 2 To begin with the similarities, both types of relationships are vertical, dyadic, and asymmetric. 3 The critical bond is the personal, face-to-face relationship between the leader and the follower, with few, if any, strong horizontal linkages between those of equal status, even among individuals owing fealty to the same leader. The success2. From a separate study comparing village and urban interviews I concluded that traditional authority predominates in the Sundanese villages, while patronage is a distinctly urban phenomenon in West Java (see Jackson 1978). 3. For an excellent article summarizing much of the work on patron-client relations, see Scott 1972 and Schmidt, Scott, Lande, and Guasti, 1977.

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

189

ful patron or traditional authority figure is one who establishes himself as the indispensable intermediary between a group of individuals having heterogeneous but complementary skills. The whole is thus able to satisfy the needs of its parts only through the personal intervention of the leader, who sends the follower in need to another follower previously obligated to the leader and hence willing to supply the sought-after service. It is for this reason that coalitions mobilized through the use of traditional authority and patronage may be marked by heterogeneity of ethnic composition, values, and interest (see Milne 1973). The critical aspect of affiliation is identification with leader rather than identification of followers with each other because of similar economic status, ideological point of view, or even primordial characteristics. Both patrons and traditional authority figures relate to their followers through asymmetric exchanges. Thus the economically hard-pressed follower will obtain sustenance from his leader, but in return he will volunteer his labor, his vote, and in some cases, even his life, although these obligations are never made explicit at the time of the original favor. Maintenance at the subsistence level, crisis insurance, physical protection, brokerage, specialized knowledge, and the psychological reassurance of having a protector are provided by the leader in return for the follower's amplifying the leader's status, magnifying his power and prestige in the community, placing one's skills at his disposal, contributing to his financial support, and, in some instances, mobilizing militarily or politically on his behalf. The asymmetric quality of the exchange is expressed in the perception held by leaders and followers alike that a debt in money is seldom repaid in either money or kind. Instead, the obligation incurred is left unstated and unclear, and often, therefore, open ended. The asymmetric quality of the items being exchanged to some extent accounts for why patron-client and traditional authority relationships are unions of opposites uniting the "haves" with the "have nots," the knowledgeable with the ignorant, and the powerful with the politically impotent. Both types of power are noncontractual, diffuse, whole-person relationships. The same leader may be called upon to provide institutional entree, to find his follower a bride, to pay hospital bills, and to decide how the follower should vote. In some cases, the leader may also be responsible for the spiritual progress of his flock, being expected to "teach them to do right in this world and the next."

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TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Predictably such personal relationships tend to supersede institutional arrangements. The patron or traditional authority figure can dictate that followers join a political organization, and he can likewise lead them out of it en masse and on short notice. Even within bureaucracies under patron-client or traditional authority systems, loyalty flows to persons rather than to offices or institutions, and the ability to manage effectively is restricted to those whose formal subordinates are also their dependent followers. Paradoxically, the administrator who is "able to get things done" may be the one who allows the official car to be used as a taxi during office hours in order to earn money to support his subordinates and thereby insure their obedience to his will in official matters. Finally, the social conditions that bring forth both patronage and traditional authority as types of power are similar. These types of power thrive in conditions of gross income inequality, restricted social mobility, government paralysis or bankruptcy, declining respect for law and order, and even civil war. Social chaos generally increases the salience of the informal protective shield offered by patron-client and traditional authority relations. The major differences between traditional authority and patronage are qualitative. Patronage is primarily instrumental, responsive to changing opportunities, and more attuned to material facets of life. As such, these relationships have a shorter duration and entail less extensive feelings of binding, affect-laden reciprocity. Reciprocity exists but is more limited in scope and more ephemeral in duration. The power interaction between a patron and a client has the following characteristics: the patron (or influencer, R) sends a message to the client (or influencee, E), and the client adopts it as the basis for his actions to the extent that the following conditions are met: 1. The client clearly acknowledges the patron as the superior partner in the dyadic relationship. 2. The patron and client must have sustained a mutually rewarding, respectfilled relationship over at least a few years. 3. The patron and client must have sufficient trust in the reciprocal nature of their relationship to enable it to transcend exchanges disproportionately benefiting only one of them. 4. The patron and client, while not sharing identical interests, knowledge, skill, and power, must possess a general complementarity of interests, especially within the economic realm.

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

191

5. The patron's requests must be moderate, rather than unlimited, and tailored in magnitude to relatively recent services performed by the patron.

Patronage stresses the material qualities of the interaction between the leader and his followers. The ability of the patron to assert power flows more directly from his monopolistic or oligopolistic control over resources vital to the client. While neither patronage nor traditional authority is a short-term contractual relationship, instrumental and material aspects are more important to the former than to the latter. The traditional authority relationship is endowed with a strongly affective quality such that, once the relationship has been firmly established, the follower will be bound to obey almost without regard for the pecuniary content of the leader's immediate request. In contrast, in patronage the balance between affective and instrumental bonds tips decidedly in favor of the latter. The client's perception of his interests plays a much more prominent role in deciding whether to accede to the patron's request. His willingness to obey the patron is no longer so predictable; the aura of absolutism surrounding the traditional authority figure's call for support is partially replaced by a calculation of medium- and long-term cost and gain. The variation between the two kinds of power is clarified by the way in which each handles the moral and ethical obligations arising from a debtor-creditor relationship with a patron or traditional authority figure. In both cases, the follower feels a debt of moral obligation, hutang budi, extending beyond the purely monetary aspect of the debt. However, the lengths to which the individual will go to pay back hutang budi are much more limited in the patronclient relationship than in traditional authority. In the patron-client relationship, repayment is envisioned as more defined and likely to take the form of labor service or merely the honoring of the patron "as a second father," while in the case of traditional authority the Indonesian maxim that "debts in money are easily paid but debts in hutang budi endure til the grave" is more readily applied. In general, patronage has a more abbreviated time horizon than traditional authority, being measured in years, not decades. Patronclient unions are more opportunistic. The patron acquires clients to enhance the size and self-sufficiency of his entourage, and he gives due regard to his present preoccupations instead of inheriting the

192

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

followers of his father or father's father simply because such relations existed in a former generation. Patronage is oriented toward the present and immediate past and does not concern itself with defining the individual's relationship to past generations and to the entire, all-encompassing local community. While the traditional authority relationship deals extensively in deferred gratifications, patronage bonds have a foreshortened time perspective. Clients switch patrons and patrons abandon clients according to changing circumstances and opportunities, whereas the relationship to the traditional authority figure endures. One of the reasons why patronage is more characteristic of city life than traditional authority is that the rational quality of investment in lifelong relationships is vitally dependent on the stability provided by village social, economic, and political relations. In urban areas the rising merchant suddenly loses his business, or the office manager is transferred, whereas in the village the primary landed families are more stable, and the future of political leadership is more predictable (see Jackson 1978). The patron-client relationship with its greater emphasis on the instrumental quality of the relationship places more weight on the achieved characteristics of the patron. Although such traditional marks of status as noble birth and good family remain important supplementary traits of the patron, his most important characteristics are his own resources, official position, or hold over specialized knowledge. While traditional authority tends to be inherited across generations, the patron is selected largely because his own achievements have marked him as a man to whom it would be desirable to be attached. Patronage is a transitional form of power that falls between traditional authority and reward/deprivation. While the instrumental and material assets and liabilities are more important to patronage than they are to traditional authority, patronage remains separate from the explicit, impersonal, and completely opportunistic interactions defined as reward/deprivation. Patronage remains a personal relationship extending over time with qualities of friendship that are not central t o reward/deprivation. The importance of patronage as a power type in the analysis of migration and urbanization is that it forms a particularly attractive way station for those who have abandoned traditional authority but as yet show no sign of entering horizontal interest groups based on homogeneity of economic and

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

193

social interests. While patronage marks a definite movement in the direction of more opportunistic, instrumental, and short-term power relations, it maintains the vertical, leader-led format familiar in traditional society. In Indonesia, both traditional authority and patronage are referred to as bapak-anak buab relationships. The father ( b a p a k ) accumulates authority by building what is, in effect, an extended family for which he must assume diffuse responsibilities. The bapak forms relations with his anak buab (children) by assuming responsibility for their spiritual, material, and social needs. Many examples of bapakism and its effect upon Indonesian political behavior are found in the existing literature (see Chabot 1950 and 1967; Fagg 1958: 2 3 3 - 2 4 0 , 2 7 5 - 2 7 6 , 2 8 2 - 2 8 3 ; Feith 1962:. 115, 127; H. Geertz 1959: 2 5 - 2 9 ; Goethals 1959 and 1967; Grant 1975; Haan 1912; Koentjaraningrat 1967: 279; Palmer 1959: 43, 4 9 - 5 1 ; Palmer 1967; Soedjatmoko 1956: 131-133; Selosoemardjan 1962: 138-139; Willner 1963 and 1967: 515). 4 The following example, describing the interchange between a traditional authority figure and his followers about whether or not t o join the Dar'ul Islam, was reported by Boyd R. Compton during the 1950s: The clearest picture of all was of the paternal relationship between my friend and his troops. He began one of his speeches, "My c h i l d r e n . . . . " Some of the "children" squatting respectfully on the dirt floor of the meeting house were easily seventy years old. When he had finished admonishing them, t h e questions and complaints began. "Papa, please answer this. . . . " "Papa, we are troubled. . . . " Later, I left the hall with my friend—"papa" was a man of thirty years— and we went to the village office. The orange crush was just being poured, when three youngsters from the audience came into the room, obviously dissatisfied about something. They spoke to their chief. "Papa, we know you understand better than we. But we can't stand this government any longer." (The Ali cabinet had just come into office.) He answered their excitement calmly. "You're very young. We who have had more experience know how you feel. The government may be no good, but we fought to establish a legal state, a democracy. We must respect our victory, musn't we?" "Well, yes, of course." Their excitement was visibly evaporating. One of 4. For similar points describing politics in Burma, the Phillipines, and Thailand, see Hanks 1962, 1968a, and 1968b; Nash 1963; Lande 1965; Nowak and Snyder 1974; Phillips 1958 and 1965. For the best available description of the effects of traditional authority on village life, see Wiser and Wiser 1963.

194

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

them sparked it again, "But that man Sukarno is anti-Islam. Can we Muslims accept this?" The leader spoke again: "If you d o n ' t like Sukarno, wait for the elections. Vote against him. Vote for anyone you like. But be patient. Don't let your spirits overflow. Use your intelligence." The youngster answered, "But if the government oppresses us, we must fight." "If you want to fight, go join the Dar'ul Islam. We Masjumi will have nothing to do with you. You are like my children. Would I give you wrong advice? If you wait for the election, we can build a Muslim state legally. Do you really want t o go into the jungle?" ( " T o go into the jungle" is the popular euphemism for "joining the rebels.") "No, papa. We will try to be patient. But it is difficult to bear insults without fighting." As impressive as the fighting spirit of the Muslim villagers was the apparent ease with which my friend brought their rising anger under control. They seemed to accept his paternal authority naturally, and their arguments melted less before the weight of his rebuttals than the strength of his position as papa. (Compton 1955)

The followers in this case had formerly been members of the Hizbullah, from which the Dar'ul Islam movement recruited whole units. As ex-members of the Hizbullah and as residents of West Java they were probably "strong in their Islam," and yet they were easily restrained from joining the Dar'ul Islam through the actions of their former leader. Though the value judgments of the potential recruits to the Dar'ul Islam predisposed them to joining the movement to establish an Islamic state, this did not occur, because they were members of a traditional authority network led by this particular leader. This interaction illustrates the paradigm for traditional authority: the influencer sends a message to the influencee and the influencee adopts it as a guide for his behavior in spite of his value judgments. The leader is successful not so much because of the sagacity of his argument as because of the habits of deference and obedience of the followers. The identity of the communicator is more important than the persuasiveness of the content of the communication. Traditional Authority as an Explanation of Participation in Rebellion This volume is centrally concerned with why a group of villages in East Priangan made markedly different choices with regard to the Dar'ul Islam movement. It asks for an explanation rather than a

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

195

description. It not only asks who did what to whom as shown in a catalogue of events but also requires an explanation in terms of general causal principles. Whenever research uses traditional authority or patronship as an explanation, it is easily charged with offering only a description of events. To state that Village X joined the Dar'ul Islam and Village Y fought against it because of differences in the interpersonal relations connecting each village with the respective sides is an adequate historical description and a form of genetic explanation. To transform it into more than a genetic explanation, the singular statements about events must be paired with a general principle or universal concerning the phenomena under consideration. A true explanation requires at least one universal in addition to singular statements (Nagel 1961: 15-32). In order for traditional authority to qualify as an explanation of the degree of participation in the Dar'ul Islam, the following criteria must be met: 1. Traditional authority must be shown to be a general principle present at all levels in the village communities of West Java. 2. The connection must be established between traditional authority and insurrectionary activities, such as quasi-military mobilization, in the perceptions of the respondents. 3. Historical information must determine whether the political choices of each village followed the direction dictated by the traditional loyalty bonds which connect its chief leaders with the world of intravillage politics.

Only after the generality of the bonds and their connection to politics have been proven independently by the attitudinal data can the historical information provided by particular instances be used to form an explanation rather than a mere description of events. Traditional Authority Linkages in Sundanese Villages To establish as conclusively as possible the generality of traditional authority bonds in the villages under study, all 248 interviews were used, that is, both those from the preliminary survey of community leaders and religious leaders in nineteen villages and those from the intensive survey of five strata in three villages. While increasing the number of respondents extends the test of generality beyond the confines of the three primary villages, this procedure might have

196

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

prejudiced the analysis if religious and community leaders from the three primary villages had differed substantially from their counterparts in the villages used only for the preliminary survey. This did not prove to be the case, but the reader should bear in mind that comparisons between community and religious leaders, on the one hand, and economic leaders, elite women, and village poor, on the other, are actually contrasts between community and religious leaders drawn from nineteen villages and economic leaders, women, and village poor drawn from only three villages. The evidence for asserting the general presence and efficacy of traditional loyalty bonds came from a battery of sixty-seven questions, including projective and direct as well as open-ended and closed questions. The sixty-seven questions were divided into five groups. The first group inquired into the respondent's perception of himself as an advisor, and the remaining four groups asked about the general, financial, and political situations in which the respondent perceived himself in the role of advisee or client. Though several items bearing directly on politics in general and insurrectionary politics in particular are used below to define the connection between seemingly apolitical advisor-advisee relationships and political mobilization, it was necessary to eschew most directly political questions in the interviews. Sensitivity on the subject and the concomitant risk of alienating respondents made projective questions more productive, and there is every reason to believe that the questions about hypothetical situations elicited answers sufficiently spontaneous to reflect reality. The presence of traditional authority relations is inferred f r o m the respondents' admission that they go to others for "advice," "help," or "information about the world outside the village." In the questions themselves the traditional authority figure is referred to as an advisor. At first glance this might seem a dubious inference. Individuals merely consulting each other do not fit the traditional authority paradigm. This objection is satisfied in succeeding chapters, which make clear that the respondents view their advisors as traditional authority figures, as elders to be obeyed rather than as mere casual acquaintances whose opinions can be taken lightly. The isomorphic relationship that may exist between the role of "advisor" and the concept of traditional authority in Sundanese culture is illustrated by the following description of the informal village-leadership structure, which was taken from an interview with a village headman: "These

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

197

elders (sesepuh) were not officials; they would refuse jobs as servants. You know, these are the men who supervise the village, come up with advice even when not asked for, but to whom come and ask how something can be done. Then they tell (emphasis added). Prevalence

of the Role of

civil who you you"

Advisor

The majority of villagers were involved in relationships in which they were the advisor. Asked if other persons came to them to seek advice and financial assistance or to pay deference, 89 percent said yes. Community leaders, religious leaders, and elite women were almost unanimous in so perceiving themselves as advisors,5 while the figure for economic leaders and village poor was substantially lower; but the fact that 76 percent of the village poor considered themselves advisors would seem ample confirmation of the prevalence of the role at all levels of village society (see Table 8.1). One of the most interesting theoretical issues concerning traditional authority structures is the size of the client groupings. Although the upper limit for these groupings is usually thought to be approximately twenty persons, 26 percent of those replying claimed that the number of persons who came to them exceeded twenty, and T A B L E 8.1

Perception of Self as Advisor by Strata in Response to Question: Do People Come to You for Advice or Help? Strata

Yes

Don't Know

No

Totals

Community Leaders

93%

(92)

7%

(7)

0

100%

(99)

Religious Leaders

98%

(44)

2%

(1)

0

100%

(45)

Economic Leaders

72%

(21)

28%

(8)

0

100%

(29)

3%

Elite Women

97%

(33)

(1)

0

100%

(34)

Village Poor

76%

(31)

24% (10)

0

100%

(41)

89%(221)

11%(27)

0

100% (248)

Totals

5. T h e near u n a n i m i t y with which c o m m u n i t y and religious leaders perceive themselves as advisors is not an e f f e c t of sampling error i n t r o d u c e d b y adding t h e c o m m u n i t y and religious leaders f r o m t h e nineteen villages of t h e preliminary survey t o t h e sample t a k e n in t h e three p r i m a r y villages. If we scan just t h e t h r e e p r i m a r y villages, 9 3 p e r c e n t of t h e c o m m u nity and religious leaders perceive themselves as advisors.

198

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION TABLE 8.2

Number of Persons Coming for Advice or Help Less than 5 persons 5-10 persons 11-20 persons 21-30 persons 31-40 persons 41-50 persons 51-60 persons More than 60 persons Don't know or error Total

27% 25% 15% 8% 2% 4% 2%

(60) (56) (33) (17) (4) (9) (4)

10%

(23)

7% (15) 100% (221)

among these were twenty-three respondents who said that "more than sixty" persons came to them for advice (see Table 8.2). These figures broken down by strata indicate that the community and religious leaders had the greatest number of advisees or clients, with 48 percent of the community leaders and 44 percent of the religious teachers in the range of eleven to more than sixty advisees. By contrast, the percentage figures for the economic leaders, elite women, and village poor claiming eleven or more advisees were respectively 24, 26, and 15. However, the most important single datum is that 71 percent of even the village poor perceived themselves as having at least one advisee. From this one can conclude that having advisee-clients is not a monopoly of the top of the village social structure. While it is true that the large groups tended to cluster around the community and religious leaders, almost every individual in the village perceived himself to be an advisor in at least one relationship. Another aspect of the traditional authority relationship is the frequency of interaction between the advisor and his followers. As Table 8.3 testifies, the majority of advisors (61 percent) reported meeting with their advisees at least once each week. The high frequency of interaction probably signifies that the act of mixing itself assumes importance. Certainly not every one of the meetings has some specific material purpose, such as obtaining rice or assistance in dealing with the bureaucracy. On the contrary, beyond the material and earthly benefits, the acts of deference involved in approaching

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

199

TABLE 8.3

Responses to Question: How Often Do You (the Advisor) Meet with Them? Once a year or less Once a month Twice a month Three times a month Four times a month More than four times a month Uncodable reply Don't know Total

3% (6) 15% (32) 8%

(18)

5% 21% 40% 4% 5%

(12) (47) (87) (8) (10)

101%(220)

the advisor are probably rewarding in and of themselves. Through the frequent interchanges both the traditional authority figure and the follower are assured of their positions in the social hierarchy. Both giving and receiving help and advice add to the warmth and security of the relationship. Table 8.4 supports the interpretation that meetings between advisor and advisee were not merely material in intent. When asked what types of advice were sought, most respondents replied "personal advice" or "all kinds," suggesting that advisors viewed their function as nonspecialized and diffuse. When this perception is combined with the high frequency of interaction and the large number of TABLE 8.4

Responses to Question: Do These People Come for Financial Advice Only, for Personal Advice, Political Advice, Religious Advice, or for All Kinds? Personal advice and all kinds Financial advice Political and governmental advice Religious advice Don't know Total

76% 21% 11% 28% 2%

(167) (46) (25) (61) (5) (220)

Note: The percentages are of those answering rather than of the total sample or of the total number of replies. The equestion was open ended and many respondents gave answers that were coded into more than one category. Hence, the total exceeds 100 percent.

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TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

advisees attached to each traditional authority figure, a picture emerges of an engrossing social phenomenon far removed from a contractual exchange of limited favors and obligations. Interaction itself is a commodity being exchanged, and as will be shown, the habits of deference and obedience thus fostered are not limited and defined. Prevalence of the Role of Advisee

The role of advisee was explored through four sets of questions covering different kinds of leader-follower interchanges in which the respondent is an advisee. The first probed the advisee role at its most general level by asking whether there were "people here whom you go to in order to ask their advice or opinions." The second set was concerned with the financial aspect, for example, "If your son needs a hajat (a religious festival) for which you don't have the money, is there a man who can give you help?" The third and fourth sets tread upon the edge of political subject matter by inquiring whether the respondent went to an advisor about "problems outside the village" and whether he frequently discussed the "problems of the region or state" with a man who lived outside the village. Taken together, the four sets of questions scan a wide range of advisor-advisee relationships. The prevalence of the habit of contacting fellow villagers as well as outsiders for advice or help was indicated by the fact that 95 percent of those questioned placed themselves in at least one of the four advisee relationships. Moveover, participation in advisee relationships proved uniformly high across the substrata sampled, the lowest percentage being the 85 percent recorded among the village poor (see Table 8.5). TABLE 8.5

Consultation with at Least One Advisor Consults

Community Leaders Religious Leaders Economic Leaders Elite Women Village Poor Total

96% 98% 93% 100% 85%

(95) (44) (27) (34) (35)

95% (235)

Does Not Consult

4% 2% 7% 0 15%

(4) (1) (2) (6)

5% (13)

Totals Totals

100% 100% 100% 100% 100%

(99) (45) (29) (34) (41)

100% (248)

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

201

Not only did the vast majority of respondents participate in at least one of the four advisee-role situations, but 79 percent took part in more than one, and 18 percent sought advice in all four situations. If it is recalled that the third and fourth situations pertained to problems of the world outside the village and of the region or state, the fact that 50 percent of the respondents admitted going to others for such advice is evidence of the political content of this consultation system. In political affairs, as in social life generally, decisions tended to be reached only after consultation with a traditional authority figure. The most significant single quality of the pattern of consultation and patronship is that 85 percent of all respondents perceived themselves as playing both the role of advisor-patron and the role of advisee-client (see Table 8.6). Only 2 percent of the respondents felt they occupied neither role, and 13 percent felt that they were just an advisor or an advisee but not both. Almost all respondents were sources of advice and help in addition to being recipients of advice and help as clients. Important differences emerge between social strata. A significantly lower proportion of the economic leaders and the village poor played both roles, and approximately 20 percent in these two strata perceived themselves as advisees only. This finding is less surprising for the village poor, who are understandably limited by low access to material resources, by low social status, and by inferior levels of education. In the case of economic leaders, our findings indicate that traditional authority relations do not flow exclusively from control of economic resources, an observation consistent with general observations concerning the position of the businessman or the man of wealth in Sundanese and Javanese culture. Traditional authority, though enhanced by wealth, does not flow exclusively from control over economic resources, and economic leaders do not automatically accumulate a following (see Chapter 9). The concept of traditional authority was predicated on the assumption that the leader-follower relationships were of long duration. The longevity of leader-follower bonds provided evidence, albeit not conclusive evidence, that these bonds, and not the rapidly changing political issues themselves, determined the followers' political choices. If traditional authority bonds endure through long periods fraught with the rapid rise and fall of issues, ideologies, parties, governments, and constitutions, then these bonds are probably

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o

y—». (S

P A T T E R N S OF T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY

203

more important to the process of affiliation and organizationbuilding than transient ideological or issue-oriented motives for participation. The data yielded by five questions on duration of advisor-advisee bonds support the above interpretation. Not only are most bonds of long duration but they frequently began before the advent of Indonesian independence. Thus the most frequent single reply to four out of five of the questions was "more than twenty-five years." Very conservatively estimated, most advisor-advisee relations endure for more than fifteen years. 6 In fact the majority of all respondents stated that they had at least one relationship of "more than twentyfive years." Moreover, 43 percent of the respondents indicated they had more than one relationship of more than a quarter-century's duration (see Table 8.7). Loyalty bonds of more than twenty-five years' duration were not equally common in all strata of the sample. First, elite women were least likely to have relationships of more then twenty-five years in length; only a minority had one or more such relationships. In all other strata sampled, even the village poor, the majority of individuals had at least one quarter-century advisor-advisee relationship. Secondly, religious leaders showed the greatest tendency to maintain such lengthy relationships; 73 percent had at least one relationship of TABLE 8.7

Duration of Relationships with Advisors At least one relationship of 1-15 years At least one relationship of 16 to more than 25 years Respondent did not have an advisor Error Total

59% (147)* 69% (170) b 5% (13) 1% (3) (248)

a

T h e sum of the percentages exceeds 100 percent because 85 respondents have relationship of both 1-15 years and from 16 to more than 25 years in length. b Of these 170 respondents the vast majority (81%) listed relationships of "more than 25 years."

6. Because the responses for these questions ranged from 1 year to "more than 25 years," a true mean could not be computed. In order to get a rough estimate, the "more than 25 years" responses were all taken to be 26 years in the averaging process. This process results in a mean of 15.4 years for all five questions. However, given the method of calculation, this figure is probably lower than the true mean.

204

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

more than twenty-five years' duration. The political implications can easily be seen if one realizes that an advisor-advisee relationship of "more than twenty-five years" at the time of interviewing in 1969 would have begun in the early 1940s or before, almost antedating modern Indonesian political life. While the content of political discourse has changed, the traditional loyalty bonds among villagers have remained the same. In their answers to a question concerning frequency of meeting between advisors and advisees (see Table 8.8), nearly 80 percent of those answering and 64 percent of the entire sample stated that they saw their chief advisor four times a month or more. Because of the relative dearth of mass media contacts with the outside world, this finding assumed special importance. The frequency of interaction with traditional authority figures was considerably higher than the frequency of exposure to newspapers, magazines, and other printed material. Only reading the Koran and listening to the radio approached the frequency of communication found in the advisoradvisee dyads. TABLE 8.8 Responses to Question: How Often Do You See This Chief Advisor? Less than o n c e a year

0%

(1)

1 - 2 times a year

3%

(6)

14%

(28)

Once or twice a m o n t h 3 times a m o n t h

2%

(4)

4 times a m o n t h

29%

(58)

More than 4 times a m o n t h

50% ( 1 0 0 )

Uncodable

2%

(4)

Don't k n o w

0%

(1)

Total

100% ( 2 0 2 )

Note: Question 139 in the interview schedule asked how many general advisors each respondent had. Most respondents disclosed that they had more than one such advisor. Therefore, in the follow-up questions the words "chief advisor" were inserted to insure that the respondent's testimony would refer to only a single advisor. If subsequent probes had been inserted regarding all the general advisors a man possessed, the total frequency of attendance to traditional face-to-face communication networks would probably be even higher than that reported in this table.

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

205

The final structural aspect investigated concerned the number of advisors per client. Four separate questions sought to establish how many advisors the respondent frequented for advice on general matters, "problems outside the village," "problems of the region and state," and for advice in more than one field (e.g., general advice in addition to advice about "problems outside the village"). Table 8.9 summarizes the data. Another method of distilling the same data would be to compute the average number of advisors per respondent for the four situations. This statistic was 3.3, meaning that respondents l^ad an average of slightly more than three advisors in any given situation. 7 Thus, multiple advisors instead of a single, omniscient traditional figure are the rule rather than the exception. How does the existence of multiple advisors affect traditional loyalty bonds? Although the advisors are multiple, the advisee is not required to exercise choice on issues by listening to different advisors, since the same advice and orders filter down through the multiple hierarchies in the village because at its apex the pyramid of traditional authority relations is very narrow. In each village there will be five or six individuals who are the chief sources of authoritative messages. Moreover, these five or six will tend to have the same superadvisor (whether inside or outside the village), so that the existence of multiple hierarchies need not result in alternative sources of information or divergent interpretations of information. In an unfactionalized village, the existence of multiple hierarchies TABLE 8.9

Single, Mixed, or Multiple

Advisors

No advisor in any situation Primarily one advisor Mixed (1 advisor in half of the situations; more than 1 advisor in half of the situations) Primarily multiple advisors (from 2 to more than 5 advisors in the majority of situations) Don't know, refused, error on all 4 situations Total

5% (13) 16% (40) 9% (23) 66% (163) 4% (9) 100% (248)

7. The mean number of advisors is probably artificially low because the category "more than 5 advisors" was conservatively tabulated as "6 advisors" in the calculation. The average, 3.3 advisors for all situations, should therefore be taken as the least possible estimate for the sample.

206

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

does not produce a pluralistic system in which the individual can pick and choose between alternative opposing positions. The hierarchies, though multiple, are not independent of each other and therefore do not result in cross-pressure being exerted on a client by a multiplicity of viewpoints. In a village that is severely factionalized, the cross-pressuring of clients is a logical possibility; however, in the single partially factionalized village for which we have extensive data the problem was resolved because significantly fewer persons state that they had multiple advisors, thus avoiding the possibility of being cross-pressured. Just how narrow the leadership pyramid may be at the apex is illustrated in the analysis of authority patterns in the three primary villages. Asked to name the ten most important men in their village, the respondents in each village produced a list averaging seventy names in length. The majority of men were mentioned as important by only one respondent, thus reflecting each advisee's perception of his own advisors as being among the ten most important men in the village. At the same time there was remarkable consensus about approximately five or six individuals in each village, ranging from such obvious choices as the village headman to informal leaders who held no offices. The combination of the small number of persons appearing in many lists and the large number of individuals in the total list suggests a pyramid that is wide at the bottom and very narrow at the top (see Figure 8.1 for the leadership pyramid of the Dar'ul Islam village). D a r u l Islam Village

• «3 •20t-

?

5.55:'; Number of Individuals in Each Level of Pyramid

Figure 8.1. Leadership Pyramid for the Dar'ul Islam Village

PATTERNS OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

207

The lowest step of the leadership pyramid of the Dar'ul Islam village contains fifty-five names that were mentioned by between one and five respondents. The second step comprises the eight men who were mentioned as highly influential by six to ten respondents. The third level includes eight individuals who were deemed very important by between eleven and twenty of the respondents questioned. The fourth, fifth, and sixth steps contain the chief leaders of the village. Each name was specified as "most important" by more than twenty different respondents. Not surprisingly, the headman is most frequently mentioned as important. However, the second and third most frequently named individuals did not hold any office in the village, and the fourth, who held what is sometimes considered to be a minor office, was in fact one of the truly powerful men in the village. Their high ranking as traditional leaders or village elders was achieved even though they either were young in years or held no village office at all. The wide base of the pyramid indicates the presence of multiple hierarchies and many second-level bapaks, but the sharpness of the pyramid's peak confirms the observation that multiple hierarchies need not result in a pluralistic decision-making arena of largely equal influentials. This finding is reinforced by answers to the interview questions concerning the number of advisees a man perceived himself as having and the number of followers he felt he could raise in time of danger. The same individuals named most frequently by the respondents as "important" proved to be the ones claiming to have the greatest number of people coming to them for advice and the ability to call up large numbers of clients for protection. Thus the few individuals who are perceived as the sesepuh of the village are also the individuals who perceive themselves in this role.8 The most interesting aspect of these interlocking role perceptions is that by both measures the number of individuals falling into the top leadership category is very limited. That each village will usually have a few men who are recognized as paramount by other elite members as well as by the populace in general was relatively easy to establish. For an explanation of why this happens it is necessary to look to the general tendency in Sundanese culture to rank all personal relations hierarchically (see 8. It was possible to determine that this was in fact true, because we had the names of each of the persons interviewed. Those persons most frequently mentioned as important could thereby be treated as a separate subset of interviews.

208

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Wessing 1974). One pervasive indicator of this hierarchic view is found in the status games played with terms of respect in the Sundanese language. Even among university students living in the same few rooms different titles of respect are assigned. A culture which minutely ranks all persons and customarily defers authority upward will not be the locus of a pluralistic decision-making process even if the formal shape of the advisor-advisee networks at first might suggest this possibility. Although a man may have as many as ten advisor-patrons, they are not equal; though the communicators are diverse, the information transmitted by them is largely uniform. Conclusion Within each of the villages in this study traditional authority relations continue to exercise a binding hold on the loyalties of individuals. Virtually every individual, regardless of social status, participates with high frequency in the exchange of material goods, personal advice, respect, and affection that is the currency through which social standing, and hence, political power, is accumulated within the system of traditional authority. Each individual participates fully as both advisor and advisee, both as a person who gives help and accumulates power from his social subordinates and as a person who receives help and, accordingly, accumulates debts of obligation toward his betters. In the village context, acquiring dependents is more important than obtaining wealth because, while the value of money may vanish in an inflationary spiral, the dependents of a powerful traditional authority figure remain permanently at his beck and call. A constant stream of minor exchanges of material goods, knowledge, personal favors, respect, and affect flows between superior and subordinate, and this stream of favors binds whole families to one another across generations with little regard for either the passing whims of the outside political world or the precise costs and benefits of any particular transaction. These long-term social relationships antedate the arrival of national independence, and as we shall see in Chapter 10, the political behaviors of individuals at a particular time are determined by the traditional authority networks in which they have been imbedded for decades.

9. The Sources of Traditional Authority

The most elusive aspect of studying any type of power is the analysis of the sources from which it springs. When one asks a Sundanese peasant why he goes to a particular man for advice, one often receives the answer "Because he is my advisor." A further probe, "What is so special about him that leads you to seek his advice," produces the answer "He is special because he has always been my advisor." And so we go, round and round: the respondent skillfully leads the interviewer repeatedly into the same cul de sac, and the answers seem to parrot the questions rather than to offer an explanation. At such a juncture one is tempted to discard the respondent's description of his own motivations in favor of a direct recourse to social background data. However, yielding to this temptation would be a crucial error because in the end the seemingly circular answers lead to a far better understanding of the phenomenon. An analysis of the perceptions of the individuals operating within the system makes it possible to weigh the true significance of findings derived from social background data. Perception of Self as an Advisor Most respondents (85 percent) perceive themselves as being both advisors and advisees. In an attempt to understand the system of traditional authority, we asked, "What are the reasons why they [the people coming to you for advice] consider you their advisor and respect you?" Table 9.1 tabulates the responses to this question. In the first category of answers the respondent is saying he is an advisor because he is a bapak or a sesepuh. He assumes that this is all the explanation that is called for; it is in the natural order of things that "they" should visit him in order to pay their respects and obtain his wisdom. He perceives no instrumental motives in their behavior. 209

210

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M . AND R E B E L L I O N TABLE 9.1

The Advisor's Perception of Why People Have Chosen Him to Be Their Advisor I am a sesepuh, a second father to them; I have authority, am trustworthy, am esteemed; it is customary; it is their duty

39% (71)

My official position

30% (54)

My knowledge (religious or secular)

21% (38)

Because we are neighbors, co-villagers, co-workers, friends

12% (21)

Because of my age

11% (19)

Because of family ties

7% (13)

Because I am an organization leader

2%

(3)

Because we have the same opinions

1%

(2)

Because of my wealth

1%

(1)

Total number of respondents offering codable replies

(181)

Note: In tables 9.1 to 9.4 the whole numbers represent the number of replies that mentioned a quality such as age. However, the same reply may have included family ties in addition to age. In this case the reply was scored in both categories. Because several respondents gave multi-faceted responses, the sum of the percentages exceeds 100 percent. On this question there were 14 " d o n ' t knows," 2 "refused," 11 uncodables, and 13 interviewer errors. Of the 221 persons who were asked the question, only 181 had answers that were included in the table.

Having a purpose that extends beyond paying respect is not necessary, because paying respect in itself is sufficiently important to make visiting him a social necessity. The respondent's attitude reflects his sense of himself as clearly superior to the group of men who visit him. Responses reflecting this attitude of assumed, natural social superiority are the most frequent in reply to the question. Thirty-nine percent of the respondents replying do so with phrases such as "because of my authority," "because I am a second father to t h e m , " "because it is customary" and "because they trust m e . " The literal replies that follow highlight the advisor's automatic tendency to place himself on a higher rung of the social ladder than his advisees. This is true even when the advisor himself is of low status in

THE SOURCES OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

211

the community as a whole. There are always persons who are of relatively lower status than he is, and these persons are duty-bound to respect and consult him. Interviewer:

What are the reasons why they consider you their advisor and respect you?

Respondent A: The community (society) recognizes me as its teacher. Respondent B: In this community, no conflicts are allowed, because I am the big cheese here.

The second most frequent answer mentions official position, which is clearly an important reason for being consulted. The third reason for visiting emphasizes the advisor's perception of himself as a person of relatively superior knowledge. Whether this is religious knowledge or knowledge of the world outside the village, the superior perceives knowledge itself to be a sufficient reason for visiting him. The fourth and fifth categories are of interest because, like the first, they are very vague. Coming to a person for advice simply because he is a co-villager is almost no answer at all. What is interesting is what remains unstated. The social superior in this case is visited because there is a custom of visiting. It is part and parcel of the culture to use the visitation system as a rite of dependency and a ritual of status. Fellow villagers and neighbors frequent each other, but seem to have no instrumental purpose in mind. Advice for advice's sake is pursued by superior and subordinate alike because it fills a need to extinguish all status ambiguity even within the neighborhood. Visiting a person simply because he is a co-villager is a method of defining status. Like the levels of respect in the Sundanese language, visiting by itself and for its own sake fills a psychological void. Finally, the one respondent who answers "wealth" is perhaps the most thought-provoking by dint of the utter minority in which he finds himself. In spite of the fact that bapak-anak buah relations certainly involve a lopsided material exchange, the respondent, in the role of bapak, does not perceive this as being the reason why people come to him. This same pattern holds true even in situations when the relationship is actually one of borrowing money (see Table 9.4). The absence of wealth as a response indicates that, although it may seem central in the foreign observer's value system, it is not central in

212

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

the minds of the men and women who operate the system of traditional authority in West Java. Even though material worth is being exchanged, the important aspect is the act of exchanging and the affective payoffs accruing to both sides.

The Advisee's Perception of His Advisor From the vantage point of the anak buab, the most important quality of the bapak is his knowledge and experience. The following replies catch the quality of intellectual submissiveness entailed by the bapak-anak buab relationship. Interviewer:

What are the personal traits of the chief advisor which lead you to seek his advice?

Respondent A: [He is) more religious and more concerned with matters of state. Respondent B:

[He is] older and more knowledgeable.

Respondent C: When he explains, I understand better.

As in the advisor's description of the relationship, the advisees frequently respond to the question with the statement "Because he is my bapak." By this the advisees mean that they go to the particular man because in the natural order of status relationships he is their advisor—the superior-subordinate relationship is of such long standing that no other explanation is deemed necessary by the respondent. Again, the literal replies capture the flavor of deference and respect with which the bapak is regarded. Interviewer:

What are the personal traits of the chief advisor which lead you to seek his advice?

Respondent A: I see that he is honest, trustworthy—in common everyday words, he is an Elder. Respondent B: Because I consider him my Elder [dipikah sepub]. For example, when a tokoh partai (party leader] visited me and asked me to become a member I went to him and asked his advice. Respondent C: I consider him an Elder [sepuh\ and so does my father. Respondent D: His trait is that he is a tukang fessional craftsman of advice].

nganasahatan

[literally, a pro-

Respondent E: If there is a quarrel in the neighborhood, the Elders go and ask him for advice because he is the one who has pamor [charismatic power] in this village.

THE SOURCES OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

213

Respondent F: He can put society in order, (he is) wise, and he can establish harmony and peace.

Respondent B specifically mentions the political role of the Elder. Respondent C's reply catches what is traditional about the system of traditional authority; the man who is considered an Elder by the respondent's father is, almost as a matter of course, adopted as the respondent's sesepuh, thus extending the bapak's influence into a new generation. Respondent D's use of the word tukang indicates that he views the matter of giving advice to be almost a professional role. Respondents E and F both stress the ability of the advisor to compel peace and harmony. Table 9.2 shows that family ties play an important part. However, the large size of families should be kept in mind in interpreting this figure. The most frequent answer to the question "How many children have you had?" is twelve, and even given the winnowing effect of disease and malnutrition, the most frequent answer to the question "How many of these are still alive?" is six. People live all their lives in the same village, and therefore the kin group of any villager is very large. When a person states that the reason he goes to a particular advisor is because of family ties, the answer is probably only a superficial one. He must have some basis for selecting out one from among his many relatives. Finally, Table 9.2 confirms the interpretation that wealth and economic ties are not seen as a reason for choosing an advisor. The wealth that is undoubtedly being exchanged is not perceived as the standard for selecting a leader. The traditional authority figure's patronage (in the narrow material sense) is not salient in the perceptions of the advisor held by the advisee. An additional probe inquires about the circumstances under which the relationship was initiated. As such, it delves into the institutional context in which bapak-anak buab relations are spawned and nurtured. The replies accent the long-term nature of these relationships. The relationships often begin in childhood—in the family, the school, or the neighborhood—and a pecking order is established that transcends both time and situation. In the following exchanges it is possible to discern the development of a habit of obedience to a particular bapak. What is established well in one context is applicable in another. The teacher-pupil relationship becomes the bapak-anak buab connection, and the same relationship is transferred to an organizational (and perhaps political) context.

214

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M . AND R E B E L L I O N TABLE 9.2

Traits of Chief Advisor Leading to Seek His Advice

You

His knowledge (religious and/or secular) and his experience

67% (121)

He is a sesepub, his goodness, trustworthiness, authority

41%

Family ties

15% (28)

His official position

14% (25)

(75)

His age

9% (16)

His position in an organization

7% (12)

His wealth and economic ties

2%

(4)

He is a co-villager

1%

(1)

Total number of persons giving codable replies

(181)

Note: Because of filter questions, only 202 respondents were asked this question. Of these, 5 gave uncodable answers, 2 said " d o n ' t know," and there were 15 interviewer or coding errors. Therefore the N on which the percentages are calculated is 181. The sum of percentages exceeds 100% because replies often contained material fitting into several categories.

Interviewer:

How did your relationship start?

Respondent A: In addition to being related to him I am also bound to him by party f r o m childhood. Respondent B: From when we were youths, 'til now, he still leads. Respondent C: It started with being his pupil, then [I began] to consider him as a second father [dip: sepub], and then we were united in an organization. Respondent D: His father was my guru and now to his son I behave as if he were my guru too. Respondent E: We were neighbors when we were children. Then I took him as a teacher and father which has continued up to the present when I am the headman.

The reply of Respondent E is particularly interesting in the context of the history of the three primary villages. Respondent E is in fact Pa Waru, who is named as influential by almost all of the respondents from Cikujang. The man to whom he refers is almost certainly Raden Sumantri, the behind-the-screen manipulator of politics in

THE SOURCES OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

215

Cikujang. The interview instrument is evidently uncovering bonds that are political as well as social. The advisor-advisee relationships we have been discussing are not mere happenstance acquaintances. Instead, as will be shown in Chapter 10, these diffuse personal bonds have very strong implications for the direction of village political life. What is clear from Table 9.3 is that modern organizations and official contacts play a relatively minor part in the initial generation of bapak-anak buab relations. Instead of beginning as the result of joining organizations or through contacts with the village leaders, these relationships typically began before the present-day institutional context existed. Childhood, the family circle, the school, and the neighborhoods are the breeding ground for relations which at a much later date have organizational and political implications. In some instances analysts confuse traditional authority relations with their more short-run and usually urban counterpart, the patronclient relation (see Jackson 1978). The following question taps the financial side of traditional authority relations at the village level. 145.

If your son wants to give a religious festival and for that reason needs a considerable amount of money which you happen not to have, is there a man who can give you help? TABLE 9.3

Context in Which Relationship with Advisor Began Family School or religious school Village or neighborhood context, or by chance When he became my second father, sesepuh, advisor Childhood Organizational context Official context Other replies Number of persons giving codable replies

34% (68) 24% (48) 23% (46)

15% (30) 15% (28) 11%

(22)

6% (13) 4% (8) (201)

Note: There was only one person who gave a "don't know" or uncodable response to the question. The percentages sum to more than 100% because many replies included material from more than one category.

216

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION

Although the content of the series of questions is blatantly financial, when Question 147 inquires "What is special about your relationship with this man?" only 11 percent of the respondents mention wealth or economic ties. What distinguishes the man who will be approached for financial help is that he is a family member, a sesepub, a member of the neighborhood, or some combination of these. Clearly, for most respondents even the relationship with a financial benefactor must have a préexistent nonmaterial base. We will now compare the major bapaks with the minor ones on such variables as age, education, income, mass media exposure, and political knowledge. On all but one of these variables, wealth, the findings corroborate the statements presented by the respondents themselves. Wealth has played a minor part in the perception of the respondents; however, the next section will show that it is an important, although perhaps unconscious, basis of bapakism. What accounts for the apparent disparity between the respondents' descriptions and the social reality of the importance of wealth? The explanation that will be offered is that although exchange requires wealth, it is the process of exchange itself rather than the matter being exchanged that forms the center of traditional authority relationships within the Sundanese cultural context. Although wealth facilitates exchange, the participants do not perceive wealth itself to be the most important facet of a bapak-anak buah relationship. TABLE 9.4

What Is Special about Your Relationship? Family ties Sesepub, feeling of being of one family, trust, advisor, treats me like a son Co-villagers, neighbors Debtor-creditor relationship, employer, we help each other, wealth Other replies Number of respondents giving codable answers

50% (85)

25% (42) 17% (28) 11 % (18) 7% (12) (169)

Note: Fifteen respondents answered "don't know," "refused," or gave replies that could not be coded. Again the sum of the percentages exceeds 100 because many of the open-ended responses fell into more than one category.

THE S O U R C E S OF T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y

217

Several factors stand out from the respondents' perceptions of traditional authority figures. First, the respondents share a hierarchical view of social life in which all persons are ranked by age, status, and specialized knowledge. Second, they perceive this system of ranking as a permanent one that develops in childhood and endures throughout subsequent social and political circumstances. The connections between bapak and anak buab are a continuing force to which other events in life must adapt themselves, and as the last section of the chapter will show, new organizations such as political parties are not exceptions to this general social rule. The Social Basis of Traditional Authority To analyze the social basis of bapakism, a simple index was constructed from the following questions: 129. How many of them [people coming to you for advice or help] are there? 132. If you need help from a considerable number of people because you are in danger from those who want to do you harm, how many people could you call up who consider you their advisor and patron?

The basic results of these two questions are displayed in Table 8.2 and Table 10.3. Table 9.5 shows that the two items are strongly related to each other. Those who have a large number of persons TABLE 9.5

The Interrelationship between Having Advisees and Being Able to Raise Many Men during Time of Danger Number of Men That Can Be Raised 0-4

5-10

11-20

21-50

Tertiary Bapaks ' S 1 V I

>N ha ha g

X c S S y §

•S O. 3 0 S- * a? o o

>r>

m

00 >n

iß

aP in

a* Ov

sO 1 —'

s, S? (N IA (N 00 m

tt -* ¡i e ä, s a rt _ »

\o

^

^

0\ 1 a

*

O

_

m ri-

i/t -W 3 Vl

in m

(S vO

\0 —-

ij .. V S

¥

z

ïi

. 5¡ •£ ai « -3 « "2

H

« ~

8 ? es c

a. a 2

8 I e M C o .a > = t : M -C S

THE SOURCES OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY TABLE 9.8 Formal Education by Index of Bapakism Education .Medium

Low 1

Low

54% (31) 42%b

(tertiary) Medium

45%(18) 24%

32% ( 1 8 )

40% (29)

35% ( 1 4 )

30%

48%

23%

(8)

26% (19)

14%

(chief) Totals

Total

34%

(secondary) High

34% ( 2 5 )

High

23% 100% (47)

54% 100% (73)

20%

(8)

(74)

(61)

(35)

23% 100% (40)

(170)

Note: Chi-square reaches the .21 confidence level, and 1,6°o of uncertainty is reduced if formal education is the independent variable. The one-tailed significance test for gamma attains the .10 confidence level, and its measure of association equals .14. The low education category includes individuals who have never been to school or who have attended only sub-elementary school. Medium education includes attendance of elementary school or its religious equivalent. High exposure for formal education is defined as having progressed beyond elementary school. a

Vertical percentages. ^ Horizontal percentages.

and knowledge of the national symbols are the more distinctive attributes of a chief bapak; his leadership position results more from his ability to know and manipulate the symbols of the extravillage world than from his formal educational attainments. Mass Media

Exposure

Although exposure to formal education does not distinguish the powerful from the relatively powerless leaders, there are substantial differences on exposure to the modern mass media. Nearly half of the tertiary bapaks are found in the very low and low quartiles of the mass media exposure scale (see Table 9.9). In contrast, chief bapaks and secondary bapaks cluster in the medium and high quartiles. A two-step flow of communications is probably at work here, in which the modern mass media influence common villagers only after their contents have been filtered by the traditional leaders of the village. 1 1. On the two-step and multi-step flow, see Rogers 1973.

222

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M . AND R E B E L L I O N TABLE 9.9 Mass Media Exposure Scale by Index of Bapakism Mass Media Very Low/Low a

61% (36)

Low

47%b

(tertiary) E

Medium

&

(secondary)

5

29% (17) 27% 10%

High

(6) 17%

(chief) 100%

Totals

(59)

Exposure

Medium/Higb

Totals

35% (40)

(76)

53% 39% (45)

(62)

73% 25% (29)

(35)

83% 99% (114)

(173)

Note: Chi-square is significant at the .01 level, and 5.4% of uncertainty is reduced if media exposure is regarded as the independent variable. Gamma is significant at the .01 level, and the related measure of association equals .45. If the quartiled version of the mass media exposure scale is utilized, chi-square is significant at the .01 level, and 4.5 of uncertainty is reduced. The significance test for gamma reaches the .01 level, and its measure of strength of association equals .38. a

Vertical percentages. ''Horizontal percentages.

Thus, the chief bapaks attend more heavily to the mass media and probably function as gatekeepers. As indicated in Chapter 10, advisees are almost unanimous in stating that they always agree with the opinions of their advisors, and hence, the chief bapaks' ability to lead village "public opinion" is partially explained by their much greater direct exposure to the issues of the outside world through the mass media. Knowledge

of National

Symbols

If political sophistication is measured by variations in knowledge of the Pancasila, the nation's contours, and the offices occupied by the national leaders, chief bapaks are more politically sophisticated than tertiary bapaks. Those most adept at mobilizing followers through the system of traditional authority have the greatest political sophistication, according to these indicators. If we appraise the strongest of these relationships, the association of knowledge of the Pancasila with bapakism, the majority of chief bapaks have high knowledge of the nation's primary symbol, and less than one quarter

THE SOURCES OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

223

TABLE 9.10

Knowledge of Pancasila by Index of Bapakism Low Low

71%a (27)

(tertiary) Medium

40% (29)

36%b 24%

(secondary)

(9)

39% 42% (30)

15%

High

5%

(chief) Totals

Medium

(2)

51% 18%(13)

6% 100%

41%

(38) 100% ( 7 2 )

High 33% ( 1 8 )

Totals (74)

24% 36% ( 2 0 )

(59)

34% 31%(17)

(32)

53% 100% (55)

(165)

N o t e : Chi-square is significant at t h e . 0 1 level, and 5 . 3 % o f u n c e r t a i n t y is reduced if knowledge o f t h e Pancasila is regarded as t h e independent variable. T h e most appropriate test, t h e one-tailed significance test f o r g a m m a , attains t h e .01 c o n f i d e n c e level, and its strength o f association is . 4 2 . " V e r t i c a l percentages. ''Horizontal percentages.

of the tertiary bapaks manifest such sophistication (see Table 9 . 1 0 ) . 2 Just as the chief bapaks attend to the mass media more carefully, they are the custodians for the national symbols that have as yet imperfectly penetrated even the most well-informed sectors of village society. To the degree that their knowledge o f the national symbols remains unique, they have the ability to wield power by using these symbols to channel the political participation of the less knowledgeable masses surrounding them. Occupation and Income Occupation does not prove to be a strong and significant predictor of bapakism. The occupations of the three types of bapaks are fairly uniform. The one major difference is that village officials tend to be chief bapaks or secondary bapaks more often than individuals drawn from other occupations. 3 In addition, the traders of the village are 2. T h e relationship b e t w e e n knowledge o f t h e nation's c o n t o u r s and b a p a k i s m is significant at t h e .01 level, and g a m m a equals . 2 4 . T h e correlation b e t w e e n knowledge o f national leaders and bapakism is likewise significant at t h e .01 level, and its measure o f association, g a m m a , equals . 3 2 . 3. If farmers, traders, and civil servants are c o m b i n e d into a single c o l u m n and c o m p a r e d with village officials, the differences are statistically significant. Chi-square is significant at t h e . 0 2 level, and if o c c u p a t i o n is the independent variable, 6 . 1 percent o f u n c e r t a i n t y is reduced. T h e most appropriate statistic, t h e Mann-Whitney U-test, attains t h e . 0 1 dence level, and its measure o f association equals . 3 3 .

confi-

224

T R A D I T I O N A L A U T H O R I T Y , I S L A M . AND REBELLION TABLE 9.11 Occupation by Index of Bapakism Farmer Low

44%

Medium

a. oo

(secondary)

*

High

40%

59% ( 2 0 )

(25)

16%

(10) 30%

100%

(63)

19%

24%

(8)

48%(13)

14% 18%

(6) 18%

101%(34)

(5)

43%(16)

7%

29%

42%

(chief) Totals

(28) 41%b

(tertiary) E -a

a

Civil Servant

Village Official

Trader

(9) 27%

100% (27)

(69)

23% 35%(13)

22% 33%

Totals

(59)

22% 22%

(8)

(33)

24% 100% (37)

(161)

Note: The most appropriate test for this table is chi-square, which attains a confidcnce level of .07. If occupation is regarded as the dependent variable, 2.8% of total uncertainty is reduced. The Mann-Whitney U-test is not used here, becausc it cannot be calculated for more than a dichotomized nominal variable. Gamma statistics are inappropriate because occupation is not an ordinal variable. a

Vertical percentages. ^Horizontal percentages.

least likely to be important bapaks, indicating once again the tenuous relationship between wealth and power in Sundanese culture; rather than power resulting from wealth, wealth results from power, with wealth being effortlessly acquired as a seemingly natural consequence of authority. Table 9.12 shows that bapakism and wealth are intimately related. The higher an individual's daily expenses, the greater the probability of his being a chief or at least a secondary bapak. Thirty-nine percent of the chief bapaks list expenses in the "high" or "very high" categories. Among secondary bapaks, 32 percent fall into the two high categories. On the other hand, the tertiary bapaks have only 9 percent of their number in the top income categories. The disparity is great in absolute as well as relative terms. While more than a third of the chief bapaks exceed $200 per year in expenses, only 10 percent of the tertiary bapaks reach this exalted level. Only 11 percent of the chief bapaks fall into the $48 per year category, whereas this is the lot of 33 percent of the tertiary bapaks,4 4. These last two statements are based on the table displaying all four income categories separately. The relationship between wealth and bapakism in the more elaborate table remains statistically significant. Gamma equals .44, and its related significance test attains the .01 level.

THE SOURCES OF TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY

225

TABLE 9.12 Daily Expenses by Index of Bapakism Income Low/Middle Low

52%

a

32%

(42) 68%

High

17%

(22) 63%

Totals

17%

(68) 91 %

Medium

High/Very High

101% ( 1 3 2 )

b

(7)

Totals (75)

9% 50% ( 2 0 )

(62)

32% 32%(13)

(35)

37% 99% (40)

(172)

Note: Chi-square is significant at the .01 level, and 8.5% of uncertainty is reduced if the independent variable is daily expenses. The most appropriate test, the one-tailed significance test for gamma, is significant at the .01 level, and the related measure of association is .52. 'Vertical percentages. ''Horizontal percentages.

In Chapter 8, as well as in the present chapter, the importance of wealth was minimized as a cause of bapakism. This is so in spite of the strong bivariate relationship between wealth and leadership. Deemphasizing the role of wealth in the development of traditional authority is partly a response to its overemphasis in much of the literature on clientelism. While wealth remains a strong predictor of bapakism, it is by no means the only one. Exposure to mass media and knowledge of national symbols are equally important bivariate relationships (see Table 9.13). When we delve into the interrelationship between wealth, media, and bapakism, it becomes clear that neither variable is spurious, that both exercise substantial influence on whether one becomes a major bapak, and that mass media exposure has an equal and perhaps a greater direct effect on bapakism. This is indicated by the results of testing two competing theories: (1) that wealth has a direct effect on bapakism regardless of the amount of mass media exposure, and (2) that amount of mass media exposure has a direct impact on bapakism regardless of income level. The first theory can be tested by removing the effect of mass media exposure by holding it constant. When this is done, the first

226

TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, ISLAM, AND REBELLION TABLE 9.13

Bivariate Relations with the Index of Bapakism (Gamma) Wealth Mass Media Pancasila Knowledge of National Leaders Knowledge of Contours of the Nation Age Exposure to Formal Education Occupation

.52» .45» .42» .32» .24» .21» .14 .11

»Statistically significant at the .01 level.

theory is contradicted because the relationship between wealth and bapakism ceases to be statistically significant among respondents with low and very low mass media exposure, while the relationship remains unimpaired for respondents with medium or high media exposure (see Table 9.14). Thus, in the first partial, when the effect of media exposure is removed, the significant relationship between wealth and bapakism disappears, indicating that at least part of what initially appeared to be an effect of wealth is in fact a consequence of mass media exposure. TABLE 9.14

Wealth by Bapakism by Mass Media Exposure Very Low and Low Media Exposure

Medium and High Media Exposure

Wealth Low

£ |

Low Medium High

Wealth High

Low

High

65% (33) 25% (13) 10% (5)

38% (3) 50% (4) 13% (1)

43% (35) 36% (29) 21% (17)

13% (4) 50% (16) 38% (12)

100% (51)

101% (8)

100% (81)

101% (32)

DO

Totals

Note: Among respondents having low or very low exposure to the mass media, the one-tailed significance test for gamma drops to the .13 confidence level, and its measure of association declines to .41. Among medium and high mass-media consumers, the relationship of wealth to bapakism remains significant. Gamma equals .49, and its related significance to test attains the .01 confidence level.

T H E S O U R C E S OF T R A D I T I O N A L AUTHORITY

227

The second theory that mass media appears to have a direct effect on bapakism without regard to income comes closer to confirmation. When we test the direct effect of mass media on bapakism while removing the influence of income by holding it constant, the direct relationship between mass media exposure and bapakism is maintained in both partials (see Table 9.15). This indicates (along with the other multiple variable relationships such as wealth, knowledge of national symbols, and bapakism) that being a bapak is not based solely on material resources. To be a chief bapak, wealth alone is not sufficient; one must also be exposed to the mass media and be knowledgeable about important political issues such as the Pancasila. Interestingly, this confirms part of what the respondents were trying to point out in describing their advisors (see Table 9.2). Given the literature's emphasis on wealth as the predominant source of political power in clientelist political cultures, why is it that wealth alone does not make one a bapak in the Sundanese political culture? The bapak's wealth allows him to foster and maintain many relationships with followers, but as we have shown, the participants on both sides of the relationship do not perceive money values as central to the relationship. The money value of the goods being exchanged between bapak and anak buah are not the heart of TABLE 9.15

Mass Media Exposure by Bapakism by Wealth Low and Medium Wealth Media

•a

n y O o

> j= > J= o -2? o -2f> J I J I

•2

I V tu •s i -s M• 3§ M R