Reflections on Development in Southeast Asia 9789814379090

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The Institute of Southeast Asian Studies was established as an autonomous organization in May 1968. It is a regional research centre for scholars and other specialists concerned with modern Southeast Asia, particularly the multi-faceted problems of stability and security, economic development, and political and social change. The Institute is governed by a twenty-two-member Board of 'frustees comprising nominees from the Singapore Government, the National University of Singapore, the various Chambers of Commerce, and professional and civic organizations. A ten-man Executive Committee oversees day-to-day operations; it is chaired by the Director, the Institute's chief academic and administrative officer. The ASEAN Economic Research Unit is an integral part of the Institute, coming under the overall supervision of the Director who is also the Chairman of its Management Committee. The Unit was formed in 1979 in response to the need to deepen understanding of economic change and political developments in ASEAN. The day-to-day operations of the Unit are the responsibility of the Co-ordinator. A Regional Advisory Committee, consisting of a senior economist from each of the ASEAN countries, guides the work of the Unit.

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LIM TECK GHEE University of Malaya

ASEAN ECONOMIC RESEARCH UNIT

INSTITUTE OF SOUTHEAST ASIAN STUDIES

Published by Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Heng Mui Keng Thrrace Pasir Panjang Singapore 0511 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies.

© 1988 Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Cataloguing in Publication Data Reflections on development in Southeast Asia I edited by Lim Thck Ghee. 1. Asia, Southeastern-Economic conditions. 2. Asia, Southeastern-Social conditions. 3. Economic development-Religious aspects. I. Lim, Thck Ghee. II. Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. HC441 R331 1988 ISBN 9971-988-99-2 (soft cover) ISBN 981-3035-00-5 (hard cover) The responsibility for facts and opinions expressed in this publication rests exclusively with the contributors and their interpretations do not necessarily reflect the views or the policy of the Institute or its supporters. 'JYpeset by The Fototype Business Printed in Singapore by Chong Moh Offset Printing Pte Ltd

Contents

Acknowledgements vii Introduction ix

1 Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia CHANDRA MUZAFFAR

1

2 A Buddhist Approach to Development: The Case of "Development Monks" in Thailand SOMBOON SUKSAMRAN

26

3 Thai Bureaucratic Behaviour: The Impact of Dual Values on Public Policies KANOK WONGTRANGAN

49

vi

Contents

4 Distributive justice in the Philippines: Ideology, Policy and Surveillance MAHAR MANGAHAS 80

5 The Emergence of the Bureaucratic Capitalist State in Indonesia ARIEF BUDIMAN 110

6 Outlines of a Non-Linear Emplotment of Philippine History REYNALDO C. ILE1D 130

7 Non-Government Organizations and Human Development: The ASEAN Experience LIM TECK GHEE 160 Notes on Contributors

192

Acknowledgements

This edited volume was made possible by a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation, New York. I would like to thank especially Dr Laurence Stifel and Dr joyce Mook for their support and encouragement in the preparation of this volume. I am also indebted to Prof. Kernial Singh Sandhu and the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies for providing assistance in the publication of the volume. I am sure that the contributors to this volume will join me in my expression of gratitude to the entire Rockefeller Foundation team which was responsible for the "Reflections on Development" programme that brought us together from the different parts of the world. In addition to Larry and Joyce, we are indebted to Dr William Klausner, the programme's co-ordinator in Southeast Asia, Kernial Singh Sandhu, Thufik Abdullah, and jose Abueva, the programme's Southeast Asian advisers, as well as the participants at the Bellagio conference held in 1985, all of whom subjected our ideas to scrutiny. Lim Thck Ghee

Introduction

In 1983, the Rockefeller Foundation announced a programme of social science fellowships for scholars in Southeast Asia and English-speaking Africa to advance knowledge on fundamental development issues in these regions. Although the Foundation did not specify any substantive theme to which proposals were to be directed, it indicated that it was particularly interested in studies which would 1. examine the assumptions underlying alternative development objec-

tives and the relation of these assumptions to development practices and outcomes; and 2. probe the human dimensions of rapid economic and technological change, including the relationship of traditional values, structures and power relations to development aims and institutions, and the concept and role of the state in the development effort. This volume, which brings together contributions from the Southeast Asian scholars selected for the fellowships, represents an important part of the programme which officially ended with an international workshop at Bellagio in September 1985. However, the seven papers included here form only a part of the larger social and historical studies that these chosen scholars are undertaking on the process of development as it relates to their individual societies. In the interests of a manageable volume, I have had to considerably prune down the original manuscript submissions - in one case, the paper published in this volume is only one-third the length of the original submission. Nevertheless, most if not all of the central concerns that sparked off the Rockefeller Foundation's initiative in this programme are addressed in these edited papers. The volume begins with two papers that focus on Islam and Buddhism and the important role that these organized religions and

X

Introduction

their adherents play in the development process in Malaysia and Thailand respectively. However, the approaches that Chandra Muzaffar and Somboon Suksamran employ in emphasizing the need to consider religion as a means to understand the behaviour of individual groups and the society at large, are quite different. Chandra, in his study of Islamic resurgence, is concerned with examining the broad spectrum of forces - internal and external - that have helped to produce a startling increase in religious consciousness among the Malay community in Malaysia. The contradictions and inadequacies of capitalist development and modern ideology, the material and spiritual insecurities of Malay migrants to urban centres, ethnic dichotomization and polarization between the non-Muslims, non-Malays and the Muslim Malays, and the impact of the Iranian Revolution of 1979, which was the first Islamic revolution in modern history, provide the broad context for Islamic resurgence. In addition, Chandra identifies a number of vested interest groups and organizations that are major actors influencing the substance and course of the new Islamic wave in culture, politics and other aspects of life. The Darul Arqam (an orthodox religious movement), the Angkatan Belia Islam (a Muslim youth movement), the main Malay opposition political party, Parti Islam SeMalaysia, and segments of the ruling Malay political party, the United Malays National Organization (UMNO) - despite their internecine fighting to claim the right to speak up on behalf of the Muslims are mainly inclined to enhancing the rituals, symbols, forms and practices of the religion without much consideration as to how Islam can constructively and creatively resolve the shortcomings of a modern economy and society. More disturbing in their espousal of an enlarged Islamic role in Malaysia is the lack of concern for the sensitivities of other religions and cultural groups in a multiracial and multi-religious nation. Indeed, the most important outcome of the deepening Islamization process is the increase in ethnic and religious polarization. Under these circumstances, it is difficult to share Chandra's optimism that a progressive Islamization process rather than the prevalent conservative one can bring about a societal transformation that can be viewed with equanimity or confidence by the non-Muslims. Somboon's study is cast over a less ambitious canvas. Drawing on fieldwork conducted with what he refers to as "development monks" in North Thailand, he draws a profile of a movement that has recently emerged among a section of the rank and file monks, aimed at freeing the rural people they live with from exploitation, poverty and ignorance through a variety of grassroot-oriented activities and programmes. Whilst the involvement of monks in social service has long been a tradition in Thailand, Somboon argues that the new movement is remarkable in a number of ways. Not only are the monks working independently of the control of government and the Sangha (monk) authorities, but their concepts, strategies and approaches to development can be considered to comprise alternatives

Introduction

xi

to conventional ones in that they are concerned with ends that are rooted in the Buddhist ethical-social system as much as they are concerned with attacking the material causes of poverty. It is interesting to note that, in this work, Somboon has repudiated his earlier disapproval of Sangha involvement in rural development, a disapproval based on fear that the monks might be co-opted into the government structure through development work and be manipulated for political ends. In responding to the material needs of the local communities, activist monks in Thailand are pursuing a course of inserting religion into the lives of the people, which is very different from that followed in Malaysia where the consciousness-raising and community-mobilizing efforts of Islamic leaders and clergy have been directed at the high ground of national politics. In both cases, whether successful or not, the impact is likely to pose new and difficult questions, not only in the realms of everyday life and politics but also for the dogmas of the religions concerned, and their notions of purity and spirituality, besides calling into question the "correctness" of involved clergy and religious leaders. These efforts, whether ambitiously aimed at directly involving religion in national politics or using it more modestly to resolve some of the everyday problems of communities are, of course, not unique to Southeast Asia. Elsewhere in Latin America, Africa and other parts of the world where a clear dividing line has yet to be drawn between secular and religious life, much controversy still exists on what role religion should play, especially in public life. Thgether with studies from other societies, the Southeast Asian ones offer a wealth of material from which to obtain a better perspective of this ongoing drama. In all these instances, whilst not questioning the wisdom or sincerity of proponents who argue that an enhanced role for religion can provide a continuing sense of historical consciousness and source of identity to communities that might otherwise lose their moorings in the modern development process, it is important to be reminded that frequently it is narrow, parochial and even dogmatic religious and political interests rather than enlightened, democratic and emancipatory ones which are working towards an enhanced role. Transformed religions might yet have an important contribution to make to the formulation and implementation of alternative ideologies erected on more lofty ideals and principles while meeting the mundane material needs of modern economy and life in Southeast Asia and elsewhere. Still, it is the bureaucracy that mans the infrastructure of state systems and leaves imprints on the lives of ordinary people. In Thailand, a considerable bureaucratic apparatus has grown up since the 1850s to administer law, run schools, provide medical services and undertake other house-keeping chores of the modern state. Kanak Wongtrangan's study focuses on what he calls the dual-value behaviour of Thai bureaucracy which, in his opinion, "is more important than any political institution in the Thai political system''.

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Introduction

Thai bureaucracy is comprised of modern administrative values or the "bureaucratic code" centred on conventional principles of scientific administration, including specialization, impersonalization, differentiation and deculturalization, and traditional values, or the personal relations bond based on clientship, and associated with traditional Thai social values. This dual-value behaviour, together with what Kanok identifies as the "risk" factor (assessed on such indicators as degree of politicization, number of bureaucratic agencies involved, degree of public understanding and degree of participation by interest groups) is held to be largely instrumental in deciding the responses of Thai bureaucrats in national policy-making and implementation. After discussing how rice-price policy and land-reform policy have been influenced by the dual-value behaviour of policy-makers, Kanak points out that any approach that excludes either the bureaucratic code or personal relations bond in the development process is bound to be ineffectual. He suggests that a possible alternative approach to development should systematically utilize the two-value system. Finally, he makes the telling point that even when public participation is brought to bear on Thai bureaucracy, informal clientship and personal relations tend to be influential in the "participation'' and decisive in the outcome. Unfortunately, Kanok does not specify how personal relations can be used as a tool to achieve development objectives nor does he explain how it can be implemented in a manner that will not lead to self-interest or abuse of position and undermine efficiency and equity. It is too much to expect a Thai bureaucrat (or any other bureaucrat), if the personal relations bond is sanctioned as part of the modern bureaucratic code, not to use it for personal gain and aggrandizement. The problem that would-be reformers of the bureaucracy confront, of personal social ties and relations coming in the way of what should be neutral policy or decision-making, and resulting in privileged or unequal access, is of course to be found (although less admitted to) even in societies with long-established and model bureaucracies. But the solution appears to lie less in integrating traditional values of relations into new development institutions (at least in this case) than in improving conditions of service within the bureaucracy (low wages and poor working conditions are often the main reasons to explain why many bureaucrats permit their personal relations to influence the conduct of public business), educating the public (for example, on what constitutes correct relations with the bureaucracy and what expectations of public service can be reasonably held), and enforcing stricter standards of neutrality. Bureaucratic behaviour is influenced not only by old and new values of social conduct and relations but also by the systems used in recording and measuring socio-economic phenomena. The resultant data and policies can help towards the attainment of greater distribution or greater inequalities in the development process. Mahar Mangahas's paper argues that while

Introduction

xiii

people do not hold their political struggles in abeyance of scientific assessment of social problems, there is an important role for information systems that uncover policy errors through surveillance of equity variables. Good socio-economic analysis of a good data base, as he puts it, "when shared with society . . . may make the problem better understood, and allow the solutions to be discovered and applied in a less disruptive and more humane process than otherwise:' In the Philippines, the need for remedying the knowledge gap by identifying distributive justice as a central concern is highlighted in Mahar's recounting of the Filipino historical experience with ideologies of economic inequity and the policies that reinforced them, beginning with pre-Spanish times and ending with the fall of the Marcos regime. The revolution of February 1986 appears to usher a new beginning for the developmental process in its emphasis on the attainment of distributive justice. But the adoption of an official poverty line which will target poverty reduction seems an inadequate data base for monitoring the new goals. In charting future shortfalls and achievements, Mahar calls for a value-conscious economic science that would incorporate new variables such as the classification of actual and potential antipathetic groups including racial and cultural minorities, control over natural resources, indicators of violence, and other variables related to distributive justice into the diagnosis of societal change. In doing so, he emphasizes that it is not enough to accept knowledge as a social product but that it should also be seen as particular products, reflecting the dominant political and administrative structures and processes of their time. The next two papers move our attention away from the bureaucracy, its behaviour and its instruments of operation, and questions related to technical and conceptual considerations within the confines of policy-making to the larger edifice of the state, controlled by bureaucrats, politicians, technocrats, capitalists and other power-holders. However, their authors approach this important subject in rather different ways. Arief Budiman's study builds upon the tradition of Marxist studies concerned with explaining social change through a class struggle perspective. He focuses on Indonesia as an example of a strong, relatively autonomous authoritarian state which, however, has failed to develop an efficient state bureaucracy while, at the same time, has stifled the growth of a strong bourgeoisie outside the state sector. Employing a historical perspective, he begins with an examination of the colonial state in Indonesia under the Dutch and its maintenance of a feudal structure upon which Dutch capitalism was superimposed . In this system dominated by foreigners, neither the indigenous land-owners nor urban bourgeoisie were able to develop, a situation which partially changed during the first decade after independence when the Indonesian bourgeoisie came into political power and control of the state bureaucracy. However,

xiv

Introduction

the establishment of numerous state enterprises stifled development. The smaller number of independent local enterprises and the conditions of political and economic instability that preceded and followed Soekarno's downfall in 1965 further prevented any strong expansion of the local bourgeoisie. State support of "dienC bourgeoisie (private businessmen dependent on state business patronage for their survival) and the cultivation of the Indonesian Chinese bourgeoisie group by the New Order government of Soeharto further stifled the development of an independent indigenous bourgeoisie. Behind these moves was the fear that an independent indigenous bourgeoisie might become a political competitor to the present military-dominated elite. Thus, the last two decades of Indonesian history, in Ariefs opinion, have seen the steady emergence of the bureaucratic capitalist state, and explain the inability of the Indonesian economy to achieve the same progress and transformation that has taken place in South Korea, another example of a strong authoritarian state. In contrasting South Korea with Indonesia, and in arriving at the conclusion that "development in Indonesia managed by a bureaucratic capitalist state is . . . more a political problem than an economic one'' Arief seems to agree with the World Bank's advocacy of deregulation and development of a "normal" capitalist system as the answer to Indonesia's economic woes. Given the potent mix of contending forces, including the military, Muslim religious groups and new political forces, and their widely opposed perceptions of societal change, including economic, it could be that such an evolution might be the least traumatic alternative in a slate of difficult options. However, adverse developments in the international economy, on which Indonesian exports are dependent, could still have a deciding effect and help produce an even more unstable future. Whilst Arief is preoccupied with exposing the limitations of the Indonesian state and its role in the development process, Reynaldo Ileto is concerned with questioning the legitimacy of the "linear development" mode of comprehending national problems and prospects and, with it, implicitly, the model of the modern state and what and whom it stands for. Drawing on his studies of state approaches to key medical episodes in Philippine history, including the 1820, 1882, and 1902 cholera epidemics, Ileto shows that the colonial medical and administrative remedies have proceeded along basic assumptions of the rationality, progress and infallibility of modern science and its practitioners, as against what was perceived to be the ignorance, superstition and backwardness of traditional folk medicine and its native curers and herbalists. In turn, they have generated historical writing and moulded national consciousness which have suppressed various unsavoury aspects of colonial health development, including the ineffectiveness of much of the new science, the disciplining of the masses, the supervision and regulation of more and more aspects of life to meet the needs of disease control and the repression of forms of

Introduction

XV

resistance and disorder deemed as inimical to "progressive'' development. The implantation of certain notions of modernity and scientific attributes was also associated with the hegemony of town centres and outside learning and, together with the repudiation of what was unscientific, disorderly or deviationist as irrational and backward, has become a continual thread running through Filipino history, whether from the liberal or radical tradition. In addition to medical histories, Ileto analyses Filipino banditry and illicit associations to illustrate state attempts to ignore or marginalize the "dark side", despite the latter's claim to authenticity and inclusion in the new order. Whilst Ileto's work does not distil from the various experiences of the "dark side" an alternative development ideology, his plea that "a reflection on development has to take into account those things which have stood in opposition to it" since those "irreducible differences . . . in the final analysis may be our only way out of the present development bind" is a timely reminder of our need to remove the blinkers that stand in the way of remembrance of (and learning from) experiences and events denied a place in history. The final paper by Lim Teck Ghee similarly proceeds from the assumption that the state in Southeast Asia is far from being a beneficial protector of society or a neutral arbiter in the development process. As it grows increasingly strong and effective in its outreach, the need for effective and knowledgeable countervailing groups in society becomes correspondingly more necessary. Voluntary non-governmental organizations (NGOs) have now become well established in many parts of the world, and there is increasing evidence that they possess much potential for generating or energizing grass-root development and mobilizing public participation to act as a check to the excesses of the state. Beginning with some general information about the social and political framework within which the new NGO movement is located in the ASEAN region, the paper provides brief country profiles of NGOs and the specific problems they face in the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand, before proceeding to a detailed case study of the interaction between a local NGO and a fishing village that resulted in local community mobilization and consciousness-raising, and a new socio-economic development project. The case study in particular shows that NGOs are well-fitted to play the role of activist reform groups and that the most energetic and committed of them might well make a wide national impact on an array of socio-economic issues such as environmental pollution, lack of access to basic needs and exploitation of labour. However, it also demonstrates that long-term solutions to these issues are often beyond the intellectual and resource reach of NGOs. Instead, solutions demand a blend of community acceptance, hard work, good leadership, correct knowledge as well as some unique ingredients that are difficult to anticipate or predict, even when drawing upon the past experiences of social action. This complexity makes

xvi

Introduction

alternative development work all the more challenging. It also poses the intriguing question to social scientists on the degree of generalizati on that might be gleaned from social action to serve useful purposes. Lim Teck Ghee

1

Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia ----------------CHANDRA MUZAFFAR-----------------

The Background There are 6.9 million Muslims in a population of 13.07 million in Malaysia. The rest are made up of Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, Silrns, followers of Confucianism, Thoism, other traditional Chinese religions, various folk religions, and others. 1 Nearly all Malays are Muslims. This means that the majority of the indigenous people are Muslims. The overwhelming majority of non-Malays are non-Muslims. Since 1957, when the country achieved independence, Islam has been the official religion of the Federation. The position of Islam as the official religion is essentially a recognition of its premier status in the evolution of the Malaysian polity - a status which for a long time expressed itself mainly through the performance of Muslim prayers at official functions, the construction of mosques by the State, the holding of Qur'an-reading competitions, the organizing of the Haj (the annual pilgrimage to Mecca) through the agency of the government, and the like. It is against this backdrop that Islamic resurgence is taking place. Islamic resurgence - or the rising again of Islam - is a description of the endeavour to re-establish Islamic values, Islamic practices, Islamic institutions, Islamic laws, indeed Islam in its entirety, in the lives of Muslims everywhere. 2 It is an attempt to re-create an Islamic social order guided by the Qur'an and the Sunnah (the Way of the Prophet).

Manifestations The signs of Islamic resurgence are everywhere. The rapid diffusion of what is regarded as Islamic attire among a significant segment of the Muslim female population in urban areas, in particular, is but the most obvious of these signs. It is perhaps no exaggeration to say that a good 60 to 70 per cent of all Muslim females above adolescence wear such apparel. A 1

2

Chandra Muzaffar

number of Muslim males, too, put on what they perceive to be religiously sanctioned attire. Many of them also grow beards as their way of emulating the Prophet and his companions. With this change in dress-form, there has also been a decline in social intercourse between the sexes. Women who are part of the resurgence have far less significant public roles compared to their male counterparts. Islamic resurgence is also expressing itself through other little ways, like the form of greeting: Islamic - in effect, Arabic - terminology fills the speeches of the resurgents. At the same time, there is much more overt concern about Muslim dietary rules. There is now a great deal of sensitivity about whether gelatin is used in chocolates, cakes, tomato sauce or even medicines. Resurgents would also be very wary about eating in the homes of their non-Muslim friends even when all the conventional Muslim dietary rules have been taken into account. Consequently, there has been a noticeable decline in inter-religious socializing. There are other instances of how hobbies, tastes and even values are slowly being moulded by this new attachment to the religion. As a case in point, female resurgents would deem it wrong to be involved in outdoor games especially if they have to wear the usual sporting gear. They would rather that Muslim women developed home-based hobbies and past-times. Similarly, among Muslim youths, Western pop music, dances, drama, and films would be regarded as decadent indulgences. 3 As part of this change, cassette tapes and a whole variety of publications dealing with Islam have become very popular, among not only young Muslims but also the older members. In Muslim bookstores and little roadside stalls, tapes and booklets which discuss personal morality, religious rituals, duties to God, "the Day of judgment and the Hereafter", are making brisk business. Some explicitly political tapes are also selling well. 4 Certain other changes which are not apparent include the performance of religious duties. This strict adherence to religious duties is not confined to prayers; fasting in the month of Ramadhan, paying zakat (the Islamic tax) and performing the Haj have all assumed greater significance in the life of the ordinary Muslim. Islamic activists want a new social order. In the last few years, countless seminars and forums have called for the establishment of an Islamic education system, an Islamic economy, an Islamic political order, an Islamic legal framework. Most of all, the activists want an Islamic State. The State has been responding to the demands of these Islamic activists. In so doing, the State - specifically, the government - becomes part of the Islamic resurgence. In the early seventies, when the first signs of growing Islamic consciousness were becoming apparent, the government decided to broadcast the Azan - the call for prayer - over the state-run radio and television services. Since then, a series of new programmes about the pristine ideals of the religion have become part of the weekly fare in both media.

Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia

3

From the mid-seventies onwards, political leaders in the United Malays National Organization (UMNO), the leading political party within the Barisan Nasional, the inter-ethnic coalition that rules Malaysia, began to emphasize Islam in their communication with the Malay (Muslim) populace. Invariably, most of them dwell upon two related themes: a) how much the UMNO-led government has done for Islam, and b) the danger of religious extremism in a multi-religious society. With the introduction of its Islamization programme in 1982, the Islamic tone of the government has become more pronounced.

Antecedents While dating the resurgence to the early seventies, we should not erroneously downplay the impact of Islam in earlier periods of our history. All along, the Muslim female population as a whole, has attached some significance to modest, decent dressing. The Malay baju kurung is proof. It is not the concern for modesty in attire that differentiates the earlier periods from the present era of Islamic resurgence. What distinguishes resurgence is that this attitude is now being expressed through a specific dress-form which is regarded as Islamic. The young, educated and urban middle-class Muslim woman, who, in a different period, would have taken quite easily to Western clothes, is now putting on Islamic attire. As with attire, so it is with food. The revulsion towards pork, for instance, has always been extraordinarily strong within the Malay community. The local Muslim community has always been very conscious about adhering to all the dietary rules embodied in Islam. The situation in the present resurgence era is, however, different in three ways. Firstly, the sphere of food taboos has widened considerably. Secondly, it is the younger, urban middle-class generation who is most concerned about the rigorous enforcement of dietary prohibitions. Thirdly, in view of the rapid urban migration of the Malays into hitherto non-Muslim environments, there is much more insistence today upon a clear, unambiguous categorization and labelling of what is halal (permissible) and what is not. One of the other facets of Islamic resurgence which also has precedence is the commitment to Islamic education, Islamic laws and an Islamic economy. Muslim reformers in the twenties and thirties, such as Syed Shaykh Al-Hadi and Thhir jallaluddin were already propagating the concept of an Islamic education system. 5 Likewise, the Islamic Party of Malaysia (PAS), UMNO's most important political adversary, has been suggesting guidelines for the establishment of an Islamic economy since 1955. 6 PAS has also been an ardent advocate of Islamic law. However, the early Muslim reformers were not antagonistic towards Western secular education. Al-Hadi, for instance, believed that intellectual disciplines which had developed in the West should be made part and parcel of formal religious education. 7 Moreover, the type of economy that the early PAS dubbed "Islamic" was

4

Chandm Muzaffar

a far cry from the puristic, doctrinaire-type of Islamic economy conceived by a significant number of today's resurgents. The Islamic laws that were espoused by PAS of yesterday were also conceptually different from what the resurgents demand today. The emphasis then appeared to be on the underlying morality, the guiding values that should accompany laws, rather than the laws as such. This contrast between the past and the present is perhaps most vivid when it comes to the concept of an Islamic State. PAS has always wanted an Islamic State. But the Islamic State it had in mind before the seventies was also going to be a defender of Malay nationalism. The present PAS rejects the stance on Malay nationalism and professes commitment to an "unalloyed", "unadulterated" Islam. Like PAS, the State has also had a long relationship with Islam which reveals similarities and dissimilarities when the past is compared to the present. Since 1957, the State has recognized Islam as the official religion but with the advent of Islamic resurgence, the State has gone beyond mere public projection of religious rituals and practices. It is now concerned with the role of Islamic values and institutions in the larger spheres of public life. Its Islamization programme has given a more national character to the religion. Islam is no longer a Muslim affair; it is as much a concern to non-Muslims. Islam has become more national, more pervasive, more ubiquitous through the activities of the middle-class Malay. Underlying the differences between present and past attitudes to attire and food, to education and the economy, to law and state, is the perception of the importance of an exclusive Islamic identity.

Causes

The Development and Modernization Ideology: The Urban-Industrial Society Undoubtedly, Islamic resurgence has been influenced by the developmental process and the type of societies that are being created in the name of modernization and progress. This is why the phenomenon is simultaneously taking place in different parts of the world which are politically, economically, sociologically and culturally quite diverse. In non-Muslim societies too - including the so-called "developed West"8 - there are unmistakeable, irrefutable signs of the return to religion. It is this that has made some scholars wonder whether we are not actually witnessing the beginning of a universal religious upsurge in response to development and modernization. Modern "city-living" tends to create a spiritual vacuum in man. Th fill the spiritual vacuum in him and to give meaning to his existence, he seeks out religion. This may be one of the reasons that religious cults and spiritual movements have sprouted in a number of Western cities in the last two decades. This may also be part of the reason for Islamic resurgence in

Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia

5

Malaysia. For Malaysia, and in particular the Malay community, has experienced rapid urbanization since 1957. At the receiving end of this massive urbanization is Kuala Lumpur, the capital city. There is a tendency within the Malay community to look to Kuala Lumpur to provide education and employment, opportunity and upward mobility. Many of the urban migrants of the last fifteen years or so managed to adjust and adapt to life in Kuala Lumpur. However, there are others who cannot adjust to the demands and dictates of the capital. They see the city as impersonal and uncaring and are disturbed by the difficulties encountered in trying to adhere to Islamic ethics and Islamic etiquette in their daily lives. The monotony and drudgery of work add to their frustration and unhappiness. Consequently, a proportion of these Malays turn to religion for solace and comfort. They perform faithfully the various rituals, put on Islamic attire and join one or another Muslim organization. Through enthusiastic participation in its activities, a group spirit develops. A new solidarity is thus created. The members become more conscious of their Muslim identity. Thus, urban society has helped to create the conditions that give rise to Islamic resurgence. However, there are other factors responsible for this renewed dedication to an Islamic way of life.

The Capitalist Approach to Development One of the most important factors contributing to Islamic resurgence is the capitalist concept of, and approach to, development. Capitalist development is related to Islamic resurgence in at least four ways. Firstly, since capitalist development is inherently uneven, it leaves whole segments of society without adequate access to those tangible and intangible goods and services which make life meaningful. At the same time, it reinforces the wealth and power of those at the upper echelons of society and widens the disparities between them and the "have-nots': Secondly, the capitalist mode of production and consumption also results in the growth of an acquisitive, egoistic, materialistic culture. Islamic resurgence is perhaps a reaction to this culture that capitalism cultivates. 9 The acquisitive drive 10 that capitalist development glorifies is the antithesis of religion and religious values. In religion, it is the ethic of giving, sharing and sacrificing that is emphasized. In Malaysia, the New Economic Policy (NEP), the government's main strategy of development, has, in a way, lent credence to the drive towards "materialistic" success fostered by the ruling elite. It appears that the criteria of success are all linked to wealth and power and the adulation that accompanies them. Thirdly, any analysis of the culture of capitalism must lead inevitably to a discussion of elite life-styles. Malay elites, especially those who have acquired immense riches in the last ten or fifteen years, tend to put their affluence on display. Very often, these elites are viewed by Islamic resurgents

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and even other Muslims as people who are corrupt and greedy. Apart from being condemned for a social vice like corruption, these high-living elites are also chastised for not caring about religion. It is alleged that many of them do not perform regular daily prayers or adhere strictly to the fast, and are lax in their moral and sexual conduct. Fourthly, while the moral standards of the elites have been a factor, the dominance of the West and its impact is also beginning to exert some influence upon Islamic resurgence. As an economic and social unit, Malaysia is overwhelmingly dependent upon the international capitalist system. This dependence is most obvious in the economic arena but is also felt in the cultural, intellectual, educational, administrative and legal spheres. While it would be a gross exaggeration to suggest that Islamic resurgence came into being to oppose continuing imperialistic domination in post-independent Malaysia, it would be equally wrong to ignore its concern with various issues related to imperialism. Opposition to Western thought has continued to play a vital role in strengthening and sustaining the Islamic movement. It is not just rejection of secularism but also of modernism, nationalism, capitalism and socialism as defined by the West. The resurgents also feel that various dimensions of Western culture, such as Western thought, are contrary to Islamic ethics. It is this feeling that Western thought and culture threaten the very existence of Islam that has helped to galvanize Islamic resurgence around certain antipathies. However, neither the capitalist approach nor the ideology of development and modernization explains everything about resurgence. For both these causes can also be found in certain other Muslim societies experiencing a similar phenomenon. Compared to a number of other Muslim countries, it is perhaps only in Malaysia that there has been such a rapid diffusion of the Islamic female attire and overt emphasis on Islamic symbols, practices and institutions. Part of the explanation lies in the ethnic cause of resurgence.

The Ethnic Dichotomization of Society The indigenous (bumiputera)/non-indigenous (non-bumiputera) dichotomy is a major consideration in the public life of the nation. It is a dichotomy which affects the economy, politics, culture, education and almost every other realm of activity. When a society is totally dichotomized in the ethnic sense, identity becomes a matter of paramount importance. Each community becomes overly conscious of its own ethnic identity. Language, culture and religion are among the usual forms of expression. The question of the role of the Malay language does not evoke the same response in the eighties as it used to in the sixties. This is because it has ceased to be a distinguishing identity symbol in an ethnically-divided society. With the implementation of Malay as the medium of instruction in the school system, a new generation of non-bumiputeras has emerged who

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are as articulate as the bumiputeras in the national language. And yet, the bumiputera-non-bumiputera dichotomy is as powerful as ever. Indeed, it has become much stronger with the implementation of the New Economic Policy. For the NEP is in reality a strategy designed to accommodate, entrench and extend the interests of the bumiputera middle and upper classes. 11 For this purpose, the bumiputera-non-bumiputera dichotomy has to be maintained, indeed, reinforced, at all costs. Is it any wonder then that in the seventies and eighties, in the era of the NEP, the bumiputeranon-bumiputera dichotomy has become overwhelmingly powerful? Nowhere is the functional role of an exclusive identity more evident than in the urban areas, especially Kuala Lumpur. What impels the Islamic resurgent to go out of his way to emphasize identity is the largely nonMa1ay, non-Muslim characteristics of the city. The resurgent becomes acutely conscious of his own ethnic identity because the atmosphere is ethnically alien. This is especially true of the newly-arrived migrant. At this point, one might ask how one could attribute Islamic resurgence to the bumiputera-non-bumiputera dichotomy when many of the resurgents appear opposed to that dichotomy? It is true that at the rational, intellectual level there is this opposition. But the resurgents, like most other people who live in an ethnically-divided society, whether bumiputeras or non-bumiputeras, Malays or non-Malays, Muslims or non-Muslims, are unsuspecting victims of an all-pervading identity consciousness. This consciousness may not express itself in strict ethno-cultural terms; it may assume a religious tag. The fact of the matter, however, is that consciousness of identity is strong in societies where ethnic dichotomies are formidable. This is why the Islamic resurgents, while rejecting the bumiputera-non-bumiputera dichotomy, are unshakeably committed to the Muslim-non-Muslim dichotomy. For them, it is a dichotomy that is sacred. Thus, the ethnic factor becomes significant because the concept of, and approach to, development tends to aggravate ethnic cleavages. Indeed, the dichotomies themselves are created and maintained only because a more holistic structural transformation based upon some other vision of society has not been attempted. 12 And so it is that the development and modernization theology, the capitalist approach to development and the ethnic dichotomization of society have in different ways given rise to yet another cause. This is the role of vested interests in Islamic resurgence.

The Role of Vested Interests At least four groups with vested interests can be discerned. The first group comprises students in universities and colleges at home and abroad who have an interest in pushing for the kind of Islamic resurgence that has become dominant. Unlike the small clusters of Malays in the fifties and early

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sixties who generally came from better-off familities, students in the postseventies are more rural in origin, less well-off and more deeply attached to religious rituals and symbols. They tend to be much more fluent in Malay than in English whilst an aura of naivete permeats their analytical and critical thinking. This background has affected their outlook. They are very susceptible to the argument that suggests that knowledge outside traditional Islam is bunkum, ideas from the West are dangerous and destructive, and secularism is the greatest enemy of humanity. Such thinking justifies their own inability or unwillingness to seek knowledge. 13 It provides legitimacy to the act of keeping their minds closed. They have a vested interest in seeing that their type of Islam triumphs. The second category of individuals who have also helped to promote the same kind of Islamic resurgence, is certain academics. These academics may be described as "second-generation'' academics. In contrast to the first generation (those who are in their mid-forties and above) the second generation academics are, by and large, less accomplished both as researchers and as teachers and yet, by jumping onto the bandwagon of Islamic piety, they hope to procure scholastic promotions within the university. There is a third category of vested interests. This is perhaps the most important of the four groups. Acutely aware of the tremendous emotional force behind ethnic symbols and ethnic identities, politicians from the early seventies onwards have not ceased to portray themselves as ardent advocates of Islam. Among politicians within the government, it is a question of demonstrating to the people how much the government has done for Islam. There are certain Muslim politicians who are able to deceive the people with their religious zeal even though the misdeeds they may have committed on matters affecting the public good are totally repugnant to Islamic values. 14 Islam has been skilfully exploited by these politicians to serve the interests of certain individuals and of the group in power in general. 15 Groups outside, often opposed to the establishment, whether political or not, have also played the "Islamic game'' to their advantage. The act of insisting upon "Islamic" and "un-Islamic" spheres of living serves the interests of these groups. Since they are the ones who are supposed to know what is Islamic and what is not, their authority and prestige would be enhanced. A fourth group consists of those officials who have been promoting Islam long before Islamic resurgence. Though it would be inaccurate to perceive their role as a cause, or a product, of the present phase in Islam, none the less, by pushing for greater emphasis on Islamic rituals, symbols, practices and forms, these religious officials have helped to increase the Islamic content in national administration. Students, academics, politicians and religious elites, among others, have a vested interest in Islamic resurgence. Though they relate to the phenomenon in different ways, the ultimate goal is an Islamic State. This goal, the

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faith in it and the belief that it will be accomplished, is in itself a cause of Islamic resurgence.

The Ideal of an Islamic State Many resurgents are now convinced that an Islamic State is not only desirable but possible because existing social philosophies have failed mankind. They argue that neither capitalism nor socialism nor any of the other Western philosophies has the answers to the problems of our times. The whole of human civilization is in total disarray because of the impact of secular thought and secular systems. 16 The resurgents also want an Islamic State because of their complete disillusionment with economic, political and social conditions in Malaysia itself. They find that poverty, especially rural and, by implication, Malay, Muslim poverty, is as serious as ever. The gap between the rich and the poor, particularly within the Malay community, is getting wider. It is alleged that corruption has increased in scale and scope. At the same time, ethnic relations have deteriorated to such an extent that the government itself now acknowledges that there is ethnic polarization. Th the resurgents, all these problems are occurring because government is based on a secular theology.

The Example of Iran The Iranian Revolution of 1979 was the first Islamic revolution in modern history. It was perceived by Muslims everywhere as a revolution born within the womb of Islam insofar as its leading personalities, its important political forces and its major slogans derived their strength from Islam. 17 Though there have been varying degrees of disenchantment with the revolution in the last six years, its impact and influence continue to be felt within and outside the Muslim lands. For the resurgents in Malaysia, the Iranian Revolution has meant that an Islamic State can be established in modern times. The Revolution in Iran shows that an Islamic State has its own identity. All that it has to do is to establish its own exclusive Islamic identity, reflected in the dominance of the imam (leaders), and the power of the religious elites, the ulama ( religous teachers), in politics and administration. The Iranian teachers have given a great deal of emphasis to the implementation of laws derived from the Qur'an and the Sunnah. This again strikes a responsive chord in the resurgents in Malaysia since they regard faithful adherence to the laws, rules and prescriptions as indicative of one's commitment to the preservation of an Islamic character. More specifically, Islamic resurgents hold in high esteem the Iranian government's insistence upon proper Islamic attire for women, its efforts to segregate the sexes in schools and universities, its endeavour to abolish interest rates, and other Islamic socio-cultural policies.

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Indirect Causes A good example of an indirect cause would be how discrimination in development assistance against, and suppression of, Islamic resurgents, especially PAS members and supporters, by the authorities has in fact reinforced Islamic resurgence. This is a case of the government acting against Islamic resurgence because it fears the potential threat to its political power. When PAS villages are denied piped water and electricity, and deprived of primary schools and health clinics, when PAS members are discriminated against in various ways, they become so incensed that they are even more determined than ever to pursue their struggle. Similarly with political suppression. Over the last few years a number of PAS officials and grass-root activists have been arrested under the infamous Internal Security Act (ISA) which provides for detention without trial. PAS has not been able to obtain a licence from the government to publish a newsletter for public circulation. It has also become increasingly difficult for the party to hold meetings with the general public. There is yet another indirect cause of Islamic resurgence. The response to resurgence itself sets off a reaction. For example, a girl puts on Islamic garb as her way of preserving her Islamic identity. Her friend does the same because she wants to conform. In this way forms and rituals associated with Islamic resurgence spread very quickly. This is partly because of the ethnic situation which strengthens the desire for group identity which, in turn, persuades people to herd together. Finally, it would be legitimate to ask whether foreign funding - as it is sometimes suggested - has also helped resurgence in Malaysia. There is certainly some external support for Islamic missionary work undertaken mainly by the Islamic Welfare Society of Malaysia (PERKIM). Other Muslim organizations also receive money from abroad for specific projects and purposes. But all these activities count for little as far as the growth and development of Islamic resurgence are concerned.

Organized Islamic Groups The young, educated, middle-class types are part of the resurgence and constitute one of the two main groups within the Malay Muslim middle class. University and college students are part of this group. Others include graduates working in government offices, private firms and factories, or teaching in schools, colleges and universities. Thus, among the resurgents are professionals, executives and academics. Many of them are new to the middle class. More importantly, the vast majority of them are the products of a secular education system. The second group within the Malay middle class is different in that it has long been committed to the creation of an Islamic State. Comprising graduates of Islamic universities in the Middle East and of Islamic Studies

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departments and faculties in local universities, this group is numerically much smaller than the first group. None the less, this group is becoming more and more important. Elements from this group are providing intellectual leadership to both sides - the government and the opposition. Outside the middle class but still within the urban milieu is a third group, the Malay working class. This class would constitute junior clerks, technicians, production operators, office-boys, labourers, and the like. They are often led by individuals and groups from the middle class. Many of these resurgents, whether they are in rural or urban areas, work through various organizations. It would be useful to examine some of these organizations and their ideologies. The Thbligh groups have existed since the early fifties but have become more active in the seventies and eighties under the impact of Islamic resurgence. Informal and loosely structured, these groups do not operate on an organizational basis. Thbligh groups are found in both urban and rural areas and involve both young and old individuals who go round the country, spreading the message of Islam. Some of them even go overseas, especially to Indonesia and India. 18 This missionary work is done at their own expense. Their main activity in Malaysia consists of organizing informal talks in the homes of friends and acquaintances. In these talks, people are asked to return to the path of Islam and to remember Allah in their daily lives. This means being pious, kind and considerate, observing the various religious rituals and developing one's personal integrity. Another important group is the Darul Arqam movement. Established in 1973 by Ustaz Ashaari Muhammed, the movement takes its name- Arqam - after one of the companions of the Prophet Muhammad. Darul in Arabic means "country" or "land': Its centre of activities is Sungei Pencala, just outside Kuala Lumpur. It now has branches in certain other parts of the country and operates through a formal leadership structure and an established organizational pattern. Darul Arqam is unique in that it is an actual community with its own land, houses, mosques, schools, a clinic, shops, factories, and vegetable plots. In the initial years, the leaders were solely concerned with cultivating personal morality. The Arqam school reflected this orientation. The curriculum gave a lot of prominence to individual character training through theological education. This traditional, orthodox interpretation of Islam has remained though the curriculum now incorporates instruction on business skills and elementary management techniques. This is to enable the Arqam membership to undertake and organize the various commercial enterprises that the community is known for. This signals a departure from the pure fardhu A in (religious duties at the individual level) approach of the founding years. In fact, Arqam's economic involvement - which is presently its most outstanding characteristic - is a reflection of some of the values and ideas

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the movement stands for. It has gone ahead with its own economic ventures because it believes in creating Islamic communities here and now instead of waiting for the establishment of an Islamic State. It realizes that in evolving an Islamic community, an autonomous economic base is crucial. Its attempt to develop its own economic programme is also an expression of a desire to reduce what it perceives as the non-Muslim stranglehold upon the national economy. This perception which sometimes manifests itself as strong antagonism towards the non-Muslim, non-Malay presence as a whole, is a powerful driving force in Arqam's struggle. Here again is proof of the strength of ethnic sentiments in an ethnically divided society even when they are camouflaged by religion. This in turn shows how the question of creating one's own economic system is tied up with the assertion of identity. For example, many of the economic enterprises that Arqam is involved in deal with foodstuffs. To reiterate a point made earlier on, such enterprises help to ensure that the Islamic (Malay) identity is protected at all costs. It is significant that Arqam has not given itself an explicit political role in order to achieve its aim. Both Arqam and Thbligh place exaggerated emphasis on the importance of individual character in achieving social change without any understanding of the impact of the environment upon the individual. Both Arqam and Thbligh are traditional, with uncritical attachment to ideas, values and life-styles from the past, often sanctioned by scriptures other than the Qur'an. Arqam is undoubtedly more traditional, for it regards the restoration of the Meccan and Medinan social atmosphere associated with the Prophet Muhammad as a crucial precondition for the establishment of an Islamic society in today's world. Thus, its members eat Arab-style, Arqam males wear Arab-style green robes and turbans, and Arqam females are in purdah most of the time. Obviously, Arqam has misunderstood what the eternal truth embodied in the Qur'an and to a lesser extent, in the life of the Prophet, really means. The eternal truth cannot be bound by the time period, place-setting, the mode of dressing and food consumption. It must mean values and principles, ideals and world-views which transcend time and place because they are intrinsically universal and eternal. 19 For example, one can argue that modesty and simplicity in attire are eternal Qur'annic values. But this does not mean that Muslims everywhere, irrespective of climate and condition, should wear Arab clothes. The inability to distinguish universal, eternal values and principles from particularistic, ephemeral customs and practices leads to yet another criticism of Arqam. While Arqam's involvement in economic activities is commendable, one cannot help but observe that its very rudimentary approach to economic production and organization suggests a lack of understanding of the workings of a modern economy. The question here is not the scope or scale of production, for we know that Arqam industries are essentially backyard industries. Small-scale industries may even be welcome, given

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some of the obvious flaws in the energy-intensive, capital-intensive type of industrialization that the government is committed to. 20 But the real problem is Arqam's inability to harness scientific knowledge and apply it to the development of appropriate technology for the various industries it has launched. 21 Another group, ABIM, or the Muslim Youth Movement of Malaysia, was formally established in 1972. It has an estimated membership of about 40,000. The vast majority of members are between the ages of fifteen and forty and live in urban and semi-urban areas. 22 A good number of them are from the middle class, although it also has working-class members. ABIM's primary aim is to transmit a proper understanding of Islam. To achieve this aim, ABIM organizes talks, discussions, seminars and conferences on a large scale. It has active training programmes for its members. It publishes a monthly magazine and has produced numerous pamphlets and books. In addition, the organization runs a secondary school in Kuala Lumpur which has a few branches in other parts of the country. These schools prepare students for government examinations but at the same time provide them with an Islamic education. It is through this aspect of its school programme that ABIM furthers its goal of creating Islamic consciousness among the young. ABIM regards secularism and other Western ideologies as antithetical to its ideal of an Islamic State. Secularism, to ABIM, is an ideology that restricts the concept of existence to "this world" and to "the here and now·: It denies the relevance of God and revelation and the values and laws emerging from that source, in the growth and development of the individual and society. 23 Apart from philosophical denunciations of secularism, modernization and Western-oriented development, which are often described by ABIM officials as the major causes of the chaos that plagues Muslim countries like Malaysia, there have also been some specific criticisms of the more tangible dimensions of politics, economics and culture. ABIM, for instance, has sometimes lamented the over-dependence of the Malaysian economy on the international capitalist system. It has attacked the government for allowing income disparities to grow, and perpetuating poverty. 24 It has criticized the leaders for putting up all sorts of prestige projects. On other issues too, ABIM has been equally vocal. It has condemned the government for not tackling corruption with enough earnestness. It has also upbraided the government for continuing to tolerate horse-racing, gambling, lotteries, the consumption of liquor and the like. 25 In this connection, ABIM has also been an unrelenting critic of youths who revel in what it sees as "decadent" modern music and dances. While ABIM wants cultural control in the interest of a healthy Islamic society, it has not ceased to demand greater freedom for political expression and has asked for the elimination of "acts and practices which violate fundamental human rights, like the Internal Security Act (ISA )". 26 At the same time, ABIM is one of

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a handful of organizations in the country that have chosen to oppose the Printing and Publication Act (1984) which imposes severe limitations upon the freedom of expression. As far as ethnic relations are concerned, ABIM has been a consistent opponent of communalism and racism. One of the more lucid expositions from any Muslim leader on Islam's total rejection of ethnic discrimination was former ABIM president, Anwar Ibrahim's address at the 1979 ABIM Congress. In Anwar's words, "Islam regards discrimination as a criminal act because it is contradictory to the (Islamic) call to unite different communities and to encourage tolerance, friendship and mutual respect among all human beings". 2 7 Islam, to paraphrase him, not only emphasizes tolerance but is also opposed to sectarianism, including the sectarianism that urges blind loyalty to one's own kind without considering values of morality and justice. ABIM has often criticized the government, more specifically UMNO, for promoting Malay nationalism. It is also a direct criticism of bumiputeraism. The ABIM argument is that the adulation of Malay nationalism, or bumiputeraism, leads to a relegation of the community's Islamic identity. Islam, which should be second to none, is subordinated to a narrow ethnic concept. The UMNO attempt to gloss over the distinction between "Malay" and "Islam'' by arguing that it does not really matter since all Malays are, after

all, Muslims, is not acceptable to ABIM and other Islamic resurgents. For they maintain that if Islam is projected as a "Malay" religion, it will be even more difficult to propagate the faith among the non-Malays. Between 1977 and 1982 in particular, ABIM was right in the forefront of Islamic resurgence. Since the middle of 1982, however, it has become less significant. It no longer commands the same respect or wields the same influence even among Muslim youths. Why is this so? The answer appears to lie in the changes in the structure of Malay society and the leadership of Anwar Ibrahim. It was during his presidency (197 4-82) that ABIM became a power to reckon with. In March 1982, he decided to contest the general election of that year under the UMNO banner. 28 His quitting created some confusion and a great deal of depression within ABIM. The movement lost its momentum; lethargy set in; there was no sense of direction. Anwar's exit saw a significant exodus of ABIM leaders to PAS and by the end of 1982, this new group of ex-ABIM leaders were in a position to take over the party leadership. This explains why PAS's new ideological thrust and its present orientation is very similar to that of ABIM. The new PAS has, in a sense, rendered ABIM irrelevant.

Islamic Political Parties Parti Islam SeMalaysia (PAS) PAS is the oldest and best known Islamic political party in the country. 29

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The party has a complicated history. Its genesis can be traced to the politics of the immediate post-war period. As a political party, PAS has taken part in every general election since 1955. It is significant that in an electoral system dominated by the ruling coalition, the party has somehow managed to secure some representation in each of the elections held so far. Its best performance was in 1969 when it captured a huge slice of the Malay vote. It also managed to come to power in two states, Kelantan and Thengganu, in the 1959 elections, and succeeded in retaining control of the former till 1978. It is also worth noting that for a period of five years, from 1973 to 1978, PAS joined the ruling Barisan Nasional as a coalition partner. This enabled UMNO to share power with PAS in Kelantan while it provided an opportunity for PAS leaders to sit on the Cabinet and serve in other governmental positions. However, PAS was forced out of the coalition in early 1978 after a crisis involving the Kelantan State Assembly. 30 Right from the outset, PAS's goal has been the establishment of an Islamic State based on the Qur'an and Sunnah. Like ABIM, it is committed to an untainted, untarnished Islam. It shares the same rhetoric about the evil character of secularism and all other Western ideologies. The PAS leadership regards nationalism as a particularly dangerous force since it is the ideology of the group in power. Fighting narrow nationalism which the party has described as Asabiyyah is a major plank in its political platform. It is because of the practice of Asabiyyah in an oppressive manner that the Malays have become backward, according to PAS. Guided by the rejection of Asabiyyah, PAS has criticized a number of government policies. It has criticized the New Economic Policy, for instance, as a policy that has only succeeded "in creating a wealthy Malay middleclass and a handful of millionaires who are the symbol of the true character of NEP': 31 At the same time, the party has chastized the government for its total failure to eradicate poverty. Like ABIM, PAS has also often condemned the government for what it describes as its "oppressive laws" under which PAS officials continue to be arrested from time to time. 32 Outside the economy and politics, PAS leaders, just like the ABIM officials, have raised their voices against corruption, gambling, liquor, prostitution, and pornography. They have been vocal critics of local television programmes, concerts and cultural shows which, in their reckoning, disseminate decadent values. For a party which for more than thirty years has argued for an Islamic alternative, it has done very little analysis on the character and content of that new society it wants to create based upon the Qur'an and Sunnah. This is obvious when one examines PAS's thinking on some of the issues which emerged in their attempt to conceptualize an Islamic State. On politics and administration, for instance, PAS has said very little about what the actual structure of government should be. What would be the relationship between different levels of administration? Would it be hierarchical or horizontal?

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How would power be shared between the legislature, the executive and the judiciary? Would these three spheres of government remain distinct and separate? Would the Islamic polity PAS has in mind veer towards the concept of a strong, powerful leader at the centre or would it gravitate towards the idea of enhanced rights and responsibilities for the ordinary individual? Similarly, in economics, PAS like most Islamic groups elsewhere, has been concerned largely with the abolition of interest rates and the replacement of the Western tax system with zakat laws. ABIM, in this respect, has gone one step ahead and made it clear that it wants the present technological dependence and the export orientation of the economy to be reappraised. But neither ABIM nor PAS has pondered upon some of the other equally crucial dimensions of an alternative economic system. What will be the relationship between labour and capital in an Islamic economy? What will be the role of private property as against public enterprise? How would savings be transformed into investments without violating basic ethical tenets? How would an Islamic economy define basic needs? Or, perhaps a more pertinent question, should an Islamic economy set aside all "conventional" concerns and begin anew on entirely different premises? The inability to look at the concrete and the tangible may also explain why PAS and ABIM denounce Western civilization in toto in such derogatory terms. For if they were prepared to examine actual realities, they would realize that while there are serious maladies in the West, there are also certain strengths in that civilization. While secularism has its flaws it does not necessarily follow that all the problems of production and consumption, of alienation and bureaucratization are directly attributable to it. Is the notion of unlimited growth and continuous progress a product of secularization? It may be but it could also be the direct outcome of the in-built expansionary tendencies within a capitalist market economy. It could be a result of the type of technology that now determines economic relations. By the same token, can we blame secularism for the pressures upon the modern family? Or are they more closely connected to the nature and structure of work in an industrial society and the stratification of society? The real causes of a particular social ill can be established only after much probing and reflection. The Islamic resurgents have been too simplistic in putting all the blame upon secularism. By presenting secularism as that great barrier that separates the West from an ideal Islamic polity, the resurgents have unwittingly given the impression that there are no common elements in human behaviour and action that unite people everywhere. Whether one is a citizen of a secular European state or an Islamic Republic, the response to joy and sorrow will be the same. Once human conduct is seen from a human perspective, the secular-Islamic dichotomy appears less formidable. Finally, the resurgents have failed to recognize what is quite obvious: that the West has also done a lot of good to humanity. Leaving aside its

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oft-quoted accomplishments in the development of contemporary science and technology, Western civilization has elevated our understanding of social justice, equality and even of freedom in certain respects. Though it has caused misery to the Third World through colonialism and imperialism, within its own shores it has enhanced the welfare and dignity of the human being. This it has achieved through material progress resulting from a sense of compassion and justice derived from both its Judea-Christian religious roots and its secular humanism. In one sense, the intellectual superficiality of Islamic resurgence is global. The decline of the great centres of Islamic learning from the thirteenth century onwards and the rise of ulamas who feared that innovative ideas would create schisms were among the initial causes. Conservatism soon became the credo of the ruling elites. Then there was the colonial epoch. Almost all Muslim societies came under the colonial yoke. It was a tragedy that colonial suppression destroyed whatever seeds of progressive thinking that existed amongst Muslim scholars. After the colonial epoch, a new elite emerged in Muslim societies estranged from its own religion, except when it came to rituals and ceremonies. It could not be depended upon to initiate an intellectual reawakening of the Muslim community through a progressive reinterpretation of Islam. The other group, the conservative ulama, was inclined towards preserving and perpetuating the rituals and symbols of the religion without any comprehension of its inner dynamism and deeper meanings. All these impediments to the growth of sober, rational intellectual analysis and reflection within Islam would, in varying degrees of significance, apply to the Malaysian situation. There are, however, two other factors that should be taken into account as far as we are concerned. Firstly, because the Malay ruling class, historically speaking, has never really been effectively challenged by other strata of Malay society, a certain "authority syndrome" has developed which has become an integral aspect of Malay culture. There is ready acceptance of authority and unquestioning loyalty to those at the apex of society. This attitude to authority means that religious authority too enjoys a certain aura. The type of progressive Islamic thinking advocated in this paper would be seen as a challenge to such authority. Secondly, the overwhelming power of identity in an ethnically divided society is also a major obstacle to progressive thinking on Islam. For progressive Islam, with its emphasis upon universal values and principles, would transcend not only the Malay-non-Malay but also the Muslim-non-Muslim dichotomy. This is because when values such as freedom and equality are brought to the fore and laws and rules from the Shariah, which are no longer capable of giving meaning to these values, are set aside, it would be easier for everyone to identify with both the values and those new structures created to provide expression to them. In this sense, progressive Islam seeks to establish a social order that every religious community can

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identify with. In a society where the perpetuation of one's exclusive identity is crucial, such a goal will have little support. Once again, it will be observed that the PAS approach to Islam does not face the same problems since it reinforces identity, albeit a religious one. It therefore harmonizes well, as we have seen, with an ethnically dichotomized environment.

The United Malays National Organization (UMNO) Of the five organizations being studied under "Islamic Resurgents and their Ideologies", UMNO has the least claim to the Islamic apellation. Though its constitution mentions "Islam" and UMNO now describes itself as the largest "Islamic Party in the world", it has not committed itself formally to the establishment of an Islamic State based on the Qur'an and Sunnah or to the propagation of an Islamic way of life. None the less, UMNO has now embarked upon a wide range of Islamic ventures and is increasingly concerned about its Islamic image. As an organization there is perhaps no other body of individuals that exerts so much influence upon Malaysian public life. UMNO is not only the mainstay of the coalition in power, but it is also the party that has played the most decisive role in Malaysian politics since 1946. Every UMNO leader is committed to preserving the integrity of Islam as the religion of the Malays. It is part of the overall commitment to the Malay position. This makes UMNO's relationship to Islam very different from PAS's or ABIM's attitude to the religion. Among the values which the UMNO-led government has chosen to propagate are diligence or hard work, discipline, sincerity, honesty, respect, and loyalty. Propagation is done through radio and television programmes. Competitions are organized with these values as the themes. Civil servants and school children have been the main target groups of this campaign on behalf of Islamic values. While values are stressed through laws, university courses and the media, the government has embarked on yet another prong of its Islamization programme: the establishment of Islamic institutions. An International Islamic University, jointly sponsored by Malaysia and a few other Muslim countries was set up in mid-1983. It offers courses in law, economics, management and other related disciplines from an Islamic perspective. An Islamic Bank was inaugurated on 1 July 1983. The UMNO-led government's emphasis on Islamic values and institutions is undoubtedly a political response to the rise of Islam. The magnetic power of Islam as a symbol and a slogan is so strong among the Malays that UMNO could lose considerable electoral support if it is seen to be "neglecting the religion': However, there are perhaps two other factors that are worth reflecting upon. Firstly, since Islamic resurgence has many adherents within the Malay middle class, it has generated tremendous fear among some UMNO leaders. This is because the Malay middle class - until the resurgence - was

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solidly united behind the party. A significant number of the articulators and mobilizers for UMNO come from the middle class. Secondly, there are now individuals within the UMNO leadership - the PAS challenge and middle-class attachment to resurgence notwithstanding - who, on their own volition, are committed to the development of UMNO in the direction of Islamic values and principles. The values that UMNO has selected for presentation and absorption as "Islamic values" reflect the true character of its Islamization programme. Hard work and discipline are stressed but no emphasis is given to values such as equality, freedom, justice, compassion, and the like. What is the reason? It could be so that the assimilation of Islamic values will not lead to a questioning of the existing social order. If equality is highlighted, it is quite conceivable that people would want to know whether existing political and economic relationships are egalitarian. Similarly, if freedom is given prominence, the public may wonder why there are so many acts and ordinances restricting their political and civil rights. The same pattern unfolds with the "institutions" under the Islamization programme. The Islamic University is yet another channel through which the middle and upper echelons of society will be further strengthened. It reinforces the lopsided character of the national education system. Indeed, one should ask whether the development of an elite group, which is what the Islamic University and all other universities are doing, is not contradictory to the egalitarian spirit of Islam. Likewise, the Islamic Bank is but another bank. It may abolish interest but given the capitalist structure of the economy, the Bank will continue to mobilize the savings of the ordinary people for investments that will earn high profits - which almost always will benefit those in the middle and upper echelons of society.

The PAS-UMNO Conflict Even before, but more so after resurgence, PAS perceives itself as the only pure, righteous advocate of Islam in the political arena. More importantly, PAS perceives UMNO in particular as "impure'', "tarnished" and "contaminated" from the Islamic standpoint. Because UMNO has failed to establish an Islamic State, because it does not uphold the Shariah, it is said to be outside the pole of Islam. Without saying it in so many words, PAS has made it quite explicit that it regards the UMNO leadership and UMNO members as kajir (unbelievers). The Muslim-kafir demarcation is not the only dichotomy. PAS has also begun of late to describe itself and its followers and supporters as the Mustazaffin (the oppressed) as against the Mustakbirin (the oppressors). The Muslim-kafir dichotomy has a very strong, emotive appeal in a society where identity is central to politics. By denying UMNO an Islamic identity, PAS is, in effect, delegitimizing the party and all its leaders, members and

20

Chandm Muzaffar

supporters. It is tantamount to stripping them of what we have described elsewhere as the most potent identity symbol of the community. In the process, PAS is suggesting, even if obliquely, that they (the UMNO people) are non-Muslims (kafir). In a society where power and authority depend largely upon allegiance to identity, such insinuations can do irreparable damage. The Mustazaffin-Mustakbirin dichotomy has less of an emotional pull. None the less, because the oppressed are the Muslims and the oppressors are the kafir, the dichotomy can be transferred quite easily to the identity plane. It must be emphasized that this does not mean that PAS is suggesting, even indirectly, that non-Muslims and therefore non-Malays (in the formal, conventional sense) are oppressing the Muslims and the Malays. However, at the subliminal level, it is quite conceivable that the dichotomy is perceived in ethnic perspectives. What the PAS leadership would like is for the Mustakbirin to be seen as kafir, which is to be recognized in the UMNO leadership. There is another dimension to the oppressor-oppressed dichotomy. Since PAS represents to a great extent the disadvantaged and deprived among the urban Malay working class and Malay rural dwellers, the term Mustazaffin assumes a class connotation of sorts. In contrast, Islam has always been an eminently successful medium of protest. PAS, by identifying itself with Islam and all its idioms and symbols, is therefore operating from a strong and secure foundation. However, the legitimacy provided by Islam, and its own position as defender and articulator of the religious identity of the community, would not be enough to ensure PAS's success in its quest for an Islamic State. Much depends on one other factor: the non-Muslim presence.

The Non-Muslim Reaction When almost half the population of the country comprises non-Muslims, it goes without saying that their reaction to Islamic resurgence will have to be given serious consideration. Generally, the non-Muslims are fearful of the pronounced emphasis on Islam. In the late fifties and sixties, the activities the State organized were largely ritualistic or symbolic in nature - such as Qur'an-reading competitions, building mosques, and so forth. Such activities did not affect the non-Muslims directly. However, with the State moving into the realm of societal values and setting up Islamic institutions in the economy and in education, the situation has changed. Will these lead to other endeavours in the name of Islam? Will the entire economy be Islamized one day? Will there be an Islamic State? These are some of the latent and manifest fears of a significant segment of the non-Muslim community. What has lent some credence to their fears is the Islamic values programme. Since the values the government seeks to propagate seem to be universal, non-Muslim politicians and intellectuals have often asked why

Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia

21

they should be called "Islamic values"? "Why can't they be presented and propagated as universal values", they demand to know. 33 The Buddhists, Hindus, Christians and others feel left out and this creates further alienation among non-Muslims. It appears that the government is overly concerned with projecting an "Islamic image" - even at the cost of dividing the people. The non-Muslims see this as an ominous signal of how the government will respond to Islam in the future. There are other grievances. It is alleged that it has now become more difficult to get land from the State to build temples and churches. In new development plans for existing cities and towns, there is insufficient allocation, it is said, for non-Muslim places of worship and for non-Muslim burial grounds. Certain denominations within Christianity are apparently not able to bring missionaries from abroad as freely as before. 34 The government has also prohibited other religions from using certain terms such as Allah and firman in Malay translations of their scriptures. In spite of all this, however, non-Muslim religious leaders concede that religious tolerance is still very much a part of the social ethos. The followers of different faiths have been able to practise, and often propagate, their respective forms of worship. 35 However, if the pressures to Islamize increase - as they well might - it is not inconceivable that certain spheres of public life will cease to offer "other options" to the non-Muslim segment of the population. One such sphere would be culture, incorporating radio, television, videos, films, music and dancing. Because both Muslims and non-Muslims are exposed to the same cultural influences, the government may feel that the only way to meet the demands of the resurgents would be to impose the same puritannical standards upon everyone. Similarly, in education, the government may have no choice but to concede to the resurgents' incessant call for the replacement of the secular system with an Islamic system. Even certain areas in law pertaining to sexual morality might be Islamized if the resurgents continue to find it intolerable that when a Muslim is caught committing khalwat (sexual proximity) with a non-Muslim the latter is set free since the Shariah law does not apply to non-Muslims. Apart from the fact that culture, education and law are issues which the resurgents have always emphasized, the UMNO-led government may not be averse to making concessions in these areas for the simple reason that it would not pose any direct or immediate threat to its power and position. Conversely, this is also why UMNO will not consent to the creation of an Islamic State as conceived by PAS ·and other resurgents in Malaysia. For, in an Islamic polity of that sort, UMNO-type leaders would be rendered irrelevant as theologically educated, tradition-oriented, Muslims would assume the reins of authority with the participation of, and support from, the ulama. The establishment of an Islamic State, then, under the UMNO leadership, does not seem likely at all. It is something that non-Muslims need not fear.

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Chandra Muzaffar

It is also highly improbable that PAS would be able to set up an Islamic State

through the electoral process. Since a complete sweep of every Malay majority constituency is beyond the capability of any party (whether PAS or UMNO) there is no way a victorious PAS can muster the necessary twothirds vote in Parliament to change the national constitution in order to set up an Islamic State. As with other aspects of its concept of an Islamic State, PAS has been vague and amorphous about the specific rights and responsibilities of nonMuslims and their relationship to Muslims in such a polity. Frequently, it emphasizes that there will be no discrimination against non-Muslims. They will have the right to practise their own religions and cultures and pursue their own economic activities. However, they will not be at the crux and core of politics. Neither will they occupy crucial positions in the bureaucracy, the judiciary, the armed forces and police. Since Islam is the ideology of the State, these roles will have to be reserved for Muslims. From the non-Muslim point of view, the pledge that there would be no discrimination holds some appeal. Though it has not been spelt out in detail, it is generally accepted within the PAS leadership that this means that there would be no differentiation based on ethnicity, ancestry, or religion in matters pertaining to jobs, educational opportunities, scholarships, and the like. Compared to the present situation where non-bumiputeras feel deprived by ethnic quotas and the like, they would regard it as a welcome change. In other respects, however, PAS's Islamic State promises very little to the non-Muslims. For the non-bumiputeras, especially the younger members, whose most passionate quest is equality in the exercise of political power, a situation which continues to deny them full participation in national life, this time through religion, would be unacceptable. Allowing participation in the economic and cultural spheres of society would not be enough to compensate for curtailed political rights and responsibilities. For one thing, they already enjoy a considerable degree of economic, and to a lesser extent, cultural freedom. For another, in societies such as Malaysia's, it is politics that determines the entire pattern of social development. Without equal and adequate access to political power, a community or class is bound to perceive itself as a victim of injustice. If non-Muslims are reacting to Islam and Islamic resurgence in any way, it is by going back to their own religious and cultural roots. There is a significant religious revival taking place among the non-Muslims too. Dormant customs and practices are being resurrected to emphasize the uniqueness of their respective religions and cultures. Buddhist festivals which used to attract minimal attention in the mid-sixties have become immensely popular in the eighties. Hindu rituals, which had gone out of vogue twenty years ago, are back in practice now. Christians are rediscovering Christ. There is a much greater commitment among the Chinese to the preservation of their

Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia

23

culture while the Hindu-Indian cultural identity is becoming a major concern to the secularized Indian intelligentsia.

Conclusion There are already signs that as non-Muslim groups stress their respective identities in reaction to the Muslim emphasis upon its own identity, the nation is slowly becoming popularized along narrow religious lines. Except for formal, functional situations, there is very little social interaction among people of different religions. This portends danger in a multi-religious society. However, the problem is not with non-Muslim revivalism or Islamic resurgence as such. Islamic resurgence is a manifestation of deeper social processes. It is a product of certain public policies. It is a response to certain political episodes. The ideology of development and modernization, the capitalist approach to development, the ethnic dichotomization of society, poverty, corruption and the abuse of power, manipulation by vested interests, and the example of the Iranian Revolution are among the real causes of Islamic resurgence. The State is not able to come to grips with the roots of resurgence. One can therefore expect it to become more repressive as it tries to contain this growing threat to its political power. The scope and space for freedom will diminish. Issues of social justice will recede into the background as the State gives priority to the maintenance of its political dominance. Within this developing crisis, Islamic resurgence promises the "Islamic State" as the panacea to all the ills of society. Unfortunately, its proponents have not thought out their alternative. Neither have they understood the complexities of the situation that confronts the Malaysian nation. Their solution, therefore, offers little hope. On the contrary, it fills the soul with despair.

NOTES 1. See Population & Housing Census of Malaysia 1980, Report of the Population

Census Vol. 2 (Kuala Lumpur: Department of Statistics, 1983). The detailed breakdown is as follows Muslims 6,918,307 Christians 842,990 Hindus 920,393 Buddhists 2,265,456 Followers of Confucianism, Thoism & other traditional Chinese religions 1,518,683 Followers of folk religions 259,455 Others 69,750 No religion 275,338 1DTAL 13,070,372

24

Chandra Muzaffar

2. For a fuller discussion, see Chandra Muzaffar, "Islamic Resurgence: A Global View", in Islam and Society in Southeast Asia, edited by Thufik Abdullah and Sharon Siddique (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1986). 3. See "Pestabudaya - a Challenge to Religion and Morality'; in Readings in Islam, Hijra 1399, no. 3 (Kuala Lumpur). See also "Islamisasi Selepas Rombakan KabineC Risalah (newsletter of ABIM), Bil. 3 (1983). 4. This is particularly true of the tapes of the charismatic PAS vice-president, Haji Hadi Awang. 5. See Al-Imam (November 1907), and Al-Ikhwan (16 February 1931). 6. See john Funston, Malay Politics in Singapore, A study of UMNO and PAS (Kuala Lumpur: Heinemann, 1980), especially pp. 153-55. 7. See Chandra Muzaffar, "Some Dominant Concepts and Dissenting Ideas on Malay Rule and Malay Society from the Malaccan to the Colonial and Merdeka Periods" (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Singapore, 1977), especially chapter 6. 8. See Theodore Roszak, Where the Wasteland Ends. Politics & ltanscendence in Post-industrial Society (New York: Anchor Books, 1973). 9. For a discussion of the values in capitalism, see Daniel Bell, The Cultural Contradictions of Capitalism (New York: Harper Colophon Books, 1978). 10. For a brilliant exposition on this theme, see R. H. Thwney, The Acquisitive Society (New York: Harvest/HBJ Book, 1984). 11. See Chandra Muzaffar, "Some Political Perspectives on the New Economic Policy", in Fourth Malaysian Economic Convention (Malaysian Economic Association, May 1977). 12. There is a more detailed analysis of this in Chandra Muzaffar, "Has the Communal Situation Worsened over the Last Decade? Some Preliminary Thoughts", in Ethnicity, Class & Development in Malaysia, edited by S. Rusin Ali (Kuala Lumpur: Persatuan Sains Sosial Malaysia, 1984). 13. See Syed Hussein Alatas, Kita Dengan Islam (Singapore: Pustaka Nasional, 1970), especially "Thmbuh Tiada Berbuah". 14. This is alluded to in Than Haji Yusuf bin Abdullah Al-Rawa Yang diPertua Agung, "Menggempur Pemikiran Asabiyyah'; Ucapan Dasar (Kuala Lumpur: Parti Islam SeMalaysia, April 1984). 15. For an analysis of this, see the chapter on "Ugama", Pandangan Aliran (Penang: Aliran, 1985). 16. A number of international Muslim magazines adopt such a position. See, for instance, Ajkar Inquiry 2, no. 7 (London, 1985), especially Abrahim Sulaiman, "Education as Imperialism': 17. See "A Grand Alliance against Islam'' and "The Defence of the Islamic State", among other essays, in Issues in the Islamic Movement 1980-81, edited by Kalim Siddiqui (London: Open Press Limited, 1982). 18. Interviews with Thbligh members (a university lecturer and a mosque official), Penang, August 1984. 19. I have adopted this approach in a number of articles. See, for instance, "AlQur'an: Nilai dan Peraturan", Dewan Budaya (Kuala Lumpur, February and March 1980); and "The Concept of Brotherhood in Islam'; Equality (Sri Lanka: International Centre for Ethnic Studies, forthcoming).

Islamic Resurgence and the Question of Development in Malaysia

25

20. See George McRobie, Small is Possible (London: Abacus, 1981 ), for numerous examples from different countries of the viability of small and medium-sized industries. 21. For a discussion on the larger issue of scientific development, see Chandra Muzaffar, "Need for a Scientific Base in the Third World", Alimn Monthly 4, no. 3 (Penang, March 1984). 22. For an evaluation of ABIM since its founding, see ''ABIM dan Pergolakan Semasa'; Pembina Genemsi, Bil. 1 (Kuala Lumpur, 1984). 23. See "Negara Islam - Kenapa Ada Yang Alergik?", Risalah, Bil. 2 (Kuala Lumpur, 1983), p. 12. 24. See Siddiq Fadil, "Islamisasi ala-Malaysia", Pembina Genemsi Ouly/August 1985), p. 10. 25. See "Menyahut Cabaran Abad Kebangunan'', Risalah, Bil. 4 (1983), p. 6. 26. Siddiq Fadil, "Dari Pembinah Aqidah Pembangunan Ummah" (Kuala Lumpur: ABIM, December 1984), p. 25. 27. See Anwar Ibrahim, "Islam - Penyelesaian Kepada Masalah Masyarakat Majmuk'; Ucapan Muktamar, ABIM ke 8 (Bangi: Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia 1979), p. 11. 28. Many dissidents and social critics who had worked with him when he was leading ABIM, regarded his action as a "betrayal of principles·: 29. Another Islamic party is HAMIM, led by former PAS president, Datuk Asri. It is formally with the opposition, though to all intents and purposes it is a pro-UMNO party. The other is Berjasa, also founded by a former PAS leader. Berjasa is a component party of the Barisan Nasional. 30. The crisis is analysed in Chandra Muzaffar, "Malaysia: the National Front on 1hal", Southeast Asian Affairs 1978 (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1977). 31. Than Haji Yusuf bin Abdullah Al-Rawa, "Menggempur Pemikiran Asabiyyah'; Ucapan Dasar (Kuala Lumpur: PAS, April 1984), p. 21. 32. See Than Haji Yusuf bin Abdullah Al-Rawa, "Bertindak Menentang Kezaliman", Ucapan Dasar (Kuala Lumpur: PAS, 13 April 1985), p. 24. 33. Interview with a non-Muslim political leader, Penang, August 1984. 34. Some of these grievances are mentioned in Majlis Perundingan Malaysia Ugama Buddha, Kristian, Hindu dan Sikh, Contempomry Issues on Malaysian Religions (Petaling jaya: Pelanduk Publications, 1984). 35. Propagation of religions other than Islam among Muslims is, however, constitutionally prohibited. See Thn Mohammad Suffian bin Hashim, An Introduction to the Constitution of Malaysia (Kuala Lumpur: Government Printer, 1976), p. 218.

2 A Buddhist Approach to Development The Case of ~~Development Monks" in Thailand* --------SOMBOON SUKSAMRAN--------

Introduction In a previous study (Political Buddhism in Southeast Asia: The Role of the Sangha in the Modernization of Thailand [London: C. Hurst and Co. 1977] ), I contended that government manipulation of the Sangha (brotherhood of monks and novices) for political ends and their involvement in the government's programmes were likely to create a dilemma for the Sangha and be detrimental to its stability. I disagreed strongly with participation by the monks in rural development programmes directed by the government, as they placed their prestige and position in grave jeopardy by associating themselves with policies which in fact perpetuated underdevelopment. Some indigenous critics pointed out that my conclusions may have been premature. More recent intensive field-work has illuminated new dimensions of the Sangha's involvement in development programmes and has required me to revise my previous conclusions. One of the most innovative movements in the last few years has involved monks who voluntarily organized themselves for development tasks in villages throughout the country. Their commitment to development is a commitment to liberate the rural population from oppression, exploitation, poverty and ignorance. These active monks, who represent a vital, though relatively small segment of the entire Sangha, are commonly referred to as Phra Nak patthana or "development monks". The "development monks", the focus of this study, are extraordinary in that their involvement is independent of the control and directives of the government and the Sangha authorities. It is a response to the rapid sociopolitical changes of the 1970s. Their concepts, strategies and approaches to development take into account the importance of improving the quality of life, strengthening self-reliance and self-respect, and preserving the 26

A Buddhist Approach to Development

27

individual community's culture. They also seek to assure the survival of the Sangha as a whole. The "development monks" are not only responding to the development needs of villages not yet reached by the government's efforts but are also initiating an alternative mode of development. The monks themselves are important agents of change. It is, therefore, pertinent to analyse the monks' concepts of development, their rationale for involvement in development acitivities, and their strategies for development. The relative effectiveness of the government's development strategies and those of the Sangha should be probed. Finally, this study attempts to assess whether or not the monks' concepts and strategies of development are an effective alternative mode. On the basis of data collected from the late 1970s, 77 monks who appeared to be representative of the category of "development monks" were short-listed and intensive field-work was carried out between December 1983 and june 1984. Forty-five monks were from 45 wat (monasteries) located throughout nine provinces in the Northeastern region, and 32 monks were resident in 32 wat in eight provinces in the North, where they were most active. Semi-structured questionnaires were used to determine: 1. The socio-economic status of the "development monks"; 2. Their rationale and motivation for involvement in development activities; 3. The monks' concepts, strategies of, and approaches to development, including types of development activities; 4. The attitudes of other monks and villagers towards the "development monks':

The reseachers also observed the development activities being carried out by the monks in the North and Northeast regions. Informal conversations with villagers involved in the activities illuminated views regarding the differences in strategies and the effectiveness of the programmes carried out by the monks and the government. The survey was followed by intensive case studies of several monks and their development activities.

The Sangha, Society and Development In the Thai belief system, the three inter-related pillars of Thai society are the nation (chat), religion (satsana) and the monarch (phra mahakaset). Religion (Buddhism) sets the national moral tone and serves as the binding social force for society, while the monarchy symbolizes the unity of the Thai nation. 1 The three entities form a threefold moral bond. Thgether, they have been instrumental in preserving the freedom of the Thai people. Thai rulers have been deeply concerned with the prosperity and integrity of Buddhism. The Buddha, the Dhamma (the teachings of the Buddha) and

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Somboon Suksamran

the Sangha are the triple gems of the Buddhist faith. The survival and significance of Buddhism largely depend on a sound and uncorrupted Sangha, which preserves, continues, studies and disseminates the teachings of the Buddha. For the Thais who are Buddhists (approximately 95 per cent of Thailand's population), the Sangha is one of society's most vital institutions. The members of the Sangha have played a prominent role in, and are closely involved with, the life of almost every Thai, in both religious and secular matters. 2 They are held in esteem, respected, revered and considered indispensable to the welfare of both society and individual members of society. Because of these recognized qualities, the monks can function as an integrative force in the social and cultural life by helping to promote national solidarity and security, and regulate social life. 3 They can also exercise their powers to mould the social and political behaviour of the Buddhist faithful. Apart from the family, the wat is the next most important institution in Thai rural life. Nearly every village has its own wat, standing as a symbol of the commitment of the people to Buddhism and as the core of village unity. The social and cultural life of the village revolves around the wat. The centrality of the wat in village affairs has the effect of increasing the influence of the monks. In almost all activities, the monks represent the wat and become the villagers' spiritual leaders, a source of respect, trust and co-operation. 4 The Sangha is expected to comply with both ecclesiastical and secular rules of conduct. According to a strict interpretation of tradition, the monks should abstain from secular activities and association with the secular world. The monks' way of life is differentiated from that of laymen by rules of conduct and behaviour, both physically and spiritually. A monk's life is viewed by the lay people as being full of austerity, discipline, blameless activities and familiarity with sacred literature through study, teaching, and meditation. Thai Buddhists perceive a monk's life to be clean, pure, self-denying and intellectual. It thus constitutes a model of behaviour which is to be praised and serves as an ideal to which laymen can aspire but rarely, if ever, attain. 5 The pattern of relationships between the monk and the laity is reciprocal and symbiotic but is not regarded as such in Buddhist theory. Actually, the monk is entirely dependent upon the laity for his material support. This derives from the prescription of the Vinaya that monks cannot engage in economic transactions or in agricultural civilization. The Buddhist laity provides the Sangha with the four necessities of life, that is, food, housing, clothing and medicine. The Sangha, for its part, is virtually obliged to contribute service for the benefit of the laity (obligation of Dhammadana, or gift of spiritual service). Thus, monks are expected not to turn their backs on society but to render service when their skills are needed. 6 Because the monkhood is viewed as a field of merit, it is understandable

A Buddhist Approach to Development

29

that the main traditional religious function of the monk is to facilitate and officiate at the merit-making ceremonies which are directed towards the laymen's spiritual benefit. 7 The role of the Sangha, insofar as its ritual religious functions are concerned, tends to create a sense of community. Since only the monks can properly officiate at the various religious ceremonies and rituals, their role enables them, by way of edification and unification, to exert a great deal of influence on the Thai people. The monks also render to the laity services relating to secular affairs. These services involve social welfare and community activities, which the Sangha has carried out since the establishment of Buddhism in Thailand. In the past, before the establishment of the government-run school system, the monks were regarded as the most important teachers, and the wat was the major educational institution, where both religious and secular subjects were taught. Today, the monks are no longer responsible for public education, and fewer monks teach in schools. However, monks still provide remedial teaching as well as vocational education and, although the number of schools run by the wat has declined, the majority of schools are still attached to the wat. The monks also serve as counsellors, mediators and arbitrators in village secular affairs. A monk, especially an abbot or a respected monk, is regarded as impartial, wise and trustworthy, and is always asked for advice in resolving conflicts, in dividing inheritances and in settling family disputes. Monks may also be asked to determine an auspicious date for raising house pillars, holding a wedding or house-warming, having a son enter or leave the monkhood, holding various ceremonies, undertaking a new job, or beginning a journey. Other secular functions that monks used to perform, as practitioners of traditional medicine or technicians in architecture, sculpture or well-digging, have gradually been taken over by government agencies. But the often minimal extension of government services, such as schools, police, court systems, banking institutions, social welfare services and development programmes, leaves the villagers' daily requirements unmet, and monks are often in a position to provide substitutes for these missing elements. Even where government services have reached a village, some monks play an innovative and constructive role by providing an alternative model of development which they perceive as being more responsive to both the spiritual and material needs of the villagers and more conducive to the development of a democratic ideology and process.

Past and Present Experiences It has been nearly three decades since Thailand inaugurated its first Na-

tional Development Plan. Thailand is now half-way through the Fifth National

30

Somboon Suksamran

Economic and Social Development Plan. The first four national development plans of the Thai Government (1961-81) have followed "conventional" Western development models. Thai leaders during this period have given high priority to economic development efforts and internal security programmes. The prime stimulus to change economically, as with other development goals, has not been a response to the felt needs of the population at large, but rather, a response to the felt needs of the political-bureaucratic-commercial complex. 8 In the attempt to realize national development policies, the Thai Government since the 1960s has consciously involved traditional institutions of the nation - especially the monarchy and religion - to symbolize, legitimize and explain its development programmes. In response to the government's request for co-operation, the Sangha, with varying degrees of government support, instituted a series of schemes "to win the hearts and minds" of the rural people. The basic aim of all of these schemes was identical: the Sangha was expected to promote both Buddhism and socio-economic development, thereby deterring subversion while at the same time diminishing rural dissent and discontent. Given the Buddhist concept of a "decent society", the Western model of development may be viewed as fostering the Buddhist "triad of evils", that is, greed, hatred and ignorance. In following Western modes of development, Thai development planners have emphasized the end results of development in terms of production, consumption and political power. Human beings have been seen as instruments to provide labour, to produce and consume, and to save and invest. Economists have discussed development in terms of increased wealth, thus fostering greed (lobha). The politicians have seen it in terms of increased power, thus fostering hatred ( dosa). Both have pooled their resources to increase quantity in general, thus fostering ignorance (moha). 9 The question naturally arises whether there is an alternative mode of development, a mode which would entail a commitment with the least cost in terms of both human life and suffering, and which would foster the greatest possible respect for human dignity. For years there have been debates concerning the best alternative model of development. In the 1970s, the progressive ideas represented by Myrdal's Fabianism 10 and dependency theories 11 were considered replacements for the conventional development theories of the Positivist school, which equated development with economic growth. 12 In addition, there are theories of development belonging to neo-Marxist schools, 13 especially those which propagate the socialist revolution, aiming at the destruction of world capitalism. By the late 1970s, Swedish scholars 14 identified with the Dag Hammarskjold Foundation had provided an additional alternative called "Another Development Model': The central focus of this model is on the development of human beings so that they can improve the quality of their own lives.

A Buddhist Approach to Development

31

This theory appears to be an acceptable alternative in a number of developing countries. In Thailand, concerned development planners, scholars and leaders of non-governmental voluntary organizations have been receptive to alternative development ideas which emphasize: 1. People's participation in the development effort, with the people in

the community managing and controlling the just acquisition and redistribution of communal resources for their own benefit; and 2. Self-respect and self-reliance to the extent that the people can determine their own goals. These alternative development ideas hold that: 1. Thai people within the community are the main actors in the develop-

ment effort - a role previously assumed by government officials; 2. That the ultimate goal of development is to improve the quality of life materially and spiritually. Spiritual improvement is signified by a high standard of morality, by a willingness to co-operate for communal benefit and by giving higher priority to public interest than to personal ones; 3. That throughout the development process, if there is any intervention from outside, outsiders should limit their role to encouragement and support; intervention from outside in taking initiative and in decisionmaking is taboo. As these alternatives have spread, there have been attempts from the late 1970s to adjust existing development concepts and strategies in Thailand. Private, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) are among those active in propagating and expanding alternative development ideas, although progressive elements in the government have managed to achieve modest adjustments to the Fifth National Development Plan. This period also marks the crystallization of the movement of the "development monks':

The "Development Monks" In general, the Thai Sangha may be broadly classified as "conservative" or "traditionalist': Their primary concern is with the study, preservation and dissemination of the Buddha's teachings while maintaining minimal involvement in secular, political, and economic affairs. Modernization and ''Development Monks"

In response to the pressures of modern society, however, there emerged a group of "modernizing monks" 15 within the Sangha who felt that the Sangha should refine and adapt its traditional role in order to keep pace

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with and accommodate to changing socio-political conditions. Since the 1960s, "modernizing monks" have given concrete expression to this new role by their involvement in national development and integration programmes. Buddhist traditions and values have been invoked to legitimize the involvement of the Sangha in secular activities that are political in nature. Leading "modernizing monks" and political leaders alike have justified the Sangha's involvement as being necessary to assure national stability and the progress of the people as well as the security of the region. 16 A description of three integration programmes follows.n

Community Development: This programme helped to train graduate monks from Buddhist universities in community and rural development courses, at both the theoretical and practical levels. These trained monks were expected to lead and advise other local monks and the general populace in community development programmes, the ultimate goal being to raise the standard and quality of village life while strengthening rural unity. Dhammatuta Programme: A second programme, which involved more government direction, was initiated on the assumption that the people's attachment to Buddhism was a safeguard against communism. In this programme, trained monks were expected to strengthen the people's faith and adherence to Buddhism and teach the people correct and useful (but simplified) Buddhist tenets and the applications of Buddhism in everyday life, including the relevance of religious practices to the development goals of the nation. Dhammajarik Programme: This programme's underlying assumptions were similar to those of the Dhammatuta programme, but the target groups were non.:rhai and non-Buddhist, primarily hill people living in the North. The ultimate goal of the Dhammajarik programme was to integrate the hill people into Thai culture and the national social and administrative order. Although the "modernizing monks" have largely been involved in government-sponsored schemes, a small number of these monks have concerned themselves in various development efforts with little connection to the government-directed programmes. This development-oriented movement crystallized in the early 1970s, the participants being termed "development monks" (Phra nak patthana). They share the basic view of the "modernizing monks", that is, that they are part of society and are thus obligated to reach beyond the walls of the monastery, but unlike their modernizing brothers, they have consciously endeavoured to be independent of government direction. Socio-economic Status of the "Development Monks" It is interesting to note that the majority of the 77 "development monks" interviewed during the course of this study were in the age group 35-45.

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Only three of them were under 35 years of age and three over 65. Most of them were career monks and had spent between 10 and 50 years in the monkhood. Many of them had been ordained as novices and remained after becoming monks. Only four younger monks said they might consider leaving the monkhood, while the rest were satisfied with their vocation. 18 The motivation for entering the monkhood can be broadly divided into two categories: those who entered for both religious and secular education, and those who entered the monkhood because of custom and tradition. 19 Most admitted that initially they were following custom or had considered monkhood as a venue to obtain an education and to ascend the social ladder. Later, however, they found satisfaction in the monkhood and stayed on. There were also a few monks who had entered the monkhood because of disappointment in secular life. This group of monks entered the monkhood after the age of 30. The great majority of the "development monks" had a high degree of geographic mobility. Many of those interviewed had moved many times from one monastery to another, both within one province and between provinces; almost all had spent some years in monasteries either in Bangkok or in other large urban centres where good religious and secular education was available. The stated reasons for their mobility were to obtain both religious and secular education and to broaden their intellectual horizons. Our field data indicate that the "development monks" were indigenous to the region where they currently resided. The pattern seems to be that these monks finally settle in the province of their birth. There were also a few renowned younger "development monks" who had been invited from other districts by the provincial Sangha authorities or by the more senior "development monks" to help stimulate development programmes in less developed villages, such as Phra Chalerm Thitilo and Phra Ruengchai Punyakamo. The majority of the "development monks" were administrative monks in the lower echelons of the Sangha administrative hierarchy, that is, the village abbots and commune head monks (chao kana tambon). (See the Appendix for a chart of the Sangha organization.) These monks, living in the villages, understood the problems and shared common experiences with the villagers. They were, as indicated earlier, also natural leaders of the village communities. All of the "development monks" interviewed had passed their compulsory primary education in the secular education system. Very few of them had formal secular education at the secondary level. However, all had passed religious education at different levels, ranging from Naktham-ek to Barien. All the "development monks" in this study came from peasant stock or families with similar economic status. Only five or six of them came from more affluent peasant families. All of them had experience in development work. We also learned that the co-operation and support of the Sangha authorities in the province, especially at the level of the Deputy Sangha

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Governor and higher, was very important for the success or failure of their activities. Whatever differences there might have been in their age, position, education, family background, experience and locality, the "development monks" shared a common motivation, namely, the desire to be involved in development work.

Monks' Rationale for Involvement in Development Efforts The Thai Sangha has been both institutionally and voluntarily involved in a wide variety of development programmes for about twenty years. Debates on the "propriety" of this kind of activity are still continuing. Criticism of the monks' involvement in development work is mainly on the grounds that they are indulging in mundane affairs which are not proper for the monkhood. Proper monks, it is often argued, should confine their role to religious and monastic activities. All the monks in the study were fully cognizant of such criticism. All chose to ignore it. Their reasons for their involvement in development activities stemmed from several diverse sources. Firstly, involvement in development activities is consistent with the Sangha's responsibility to serve society. The ideological legitimization for this is alleged to be the Buddha's teaching that, because monks depend on material support from the laity, they are morally obliged to promote the latter's well-being. Secondly, the prosperity of the religion and the Sangha very much depends on the prosperity of society. If society is backward and people are in grinding poverty, how can the religion and the Sangha prosper? Thirdly, although their involvement in secular affairs to benefit the layman is defended on doctrinal grounds, the monks are required by the normative and traditional beliefs of the villagers to observe strictly the rules of discipline while serving the community. Most of the monks interviewed maintained that if government services were extended to the villages and government officials executed their functions effectively, the monks would not need to be so involved in caring for people and could concentrate more on "purely religious functions': We were told time and again: The monks eat only two meals, have no attachment to family, property, and other kinds of longing. We don't need to strive for 'C' (government officials' grade) nor bureaucratic promotion. What we care about is the well-being of the people.

Fourthly, there is a shared feeling on the part of the monks interviewed that the pace of secular development has progressed too rapidly and people have become excessively materialistic. In consequence, people neglect religion; this leads in turn to the weakening of kinship and community ties, rendering village society more prone to communist infiltration. Fifthly, the Sangha's involvement in development programmes is necessary

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because Thai society is rapidly changing and the Sangha must involve itself in order to maintain its status in society. In other words, the monkhood has to change or it will become obsolete. Sixthly, in the context of the perennial conflict between the government and the communist terrorists, the monks have been officially neutral. In areas where the government cannot penetrate and the Communist Party of Thailand (CPT) is unable to lift the people out of their poverty, only the monks can sincerely render effective help. Finally, communism represents the most dangerous enemy of the nation, religion and monarchy. Many leading local monks argue that underdevelopment leads to poverty and that poverty is the rationale for communist subversion. To avert communism, it is necessary to improve the quality of the people's lives materially while, at the same time, uplifting them morally. It should also be noted that the pace of socio-political change in the 1970s was remarkably rapid and fluid. With political liberalization, the country experienced a growth of various political interest and pressure groups, including promotional groups. These groups tried to provide alternatives for reforming the social, economic and political structures of the country. They included groups 20 whose major interests focused on rural development. Their activities included training, orientation, seminars and publication programmes. In training and orientation programmes, they focused on new ideas of development, development planning and strategies. By Thai standards, their ideas of, and approaches to development were considered to be radical. Many of the "development monks" had contact with various promotional groups, some having actually gone through their development orientation courses and seminars.

Laymen's Attitudes Towards the Monks' Involvement in Development Work During field studies, discussions were held and opinions exchanged with villagers, village leaders and government officials about the involvement of monks in various development programmes. The villagers believed that the monks should do at least two things at the same time - namely, preserving and continuing to promote Buddhism, and developing (patthana) the community. Concepts of "sacred" and "profane" are intellectual distinctions of little concern to the villagers, but most of them disagreed totally with the idea that monks should confine themselves to monastic work and divorce themselves from secular affairs. Almost all the government officials interviewed agreed that the monks had a very high potential for development tasks. Local government officials, district officials and their assistants, non-formal education officers and lay development workers all agreed that they must seek the co-operation and

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support of local monks if government programmes in the rural areas were to succeed.

Buddhist Sangha's Concept and Strategies of Development The most difficult aspect of our study has been to probe the monks' concept of development. Although their idea of development comes from diverse sources, it is simple and practical. Career socialization, actual experiences and contact with secular development ideas from outside the monastery 21 play important roles in the formation of their concept of development. Socialization in their religious career has also influenced their thoughts.

The Sangha's Concept of Development The first important element in the evolution of the monks' concept of development relates to the central Buddhist aim of "relieving human beings from suffering and revealing to them the path to happiness': The fact that the monks are "sons of rural areas" (look-chon-bot), sharing all aspects of village life with the rural population, has also had an important impact on their concept of development. The second essential component of the monks' concept of development is related to the first and is concerned with the improvement of the material well-being of the rural populace, with emphasis on self-reliance, self-respect and the utilization of local resources. While some "development monks" have focused their attention and energies on material development aspects and others on spiritual needs, the great majority under study have chosen to follow a middle way. They maintain that meaningful development is impossible if material development is devoid of a spiritual dimension. The people should be educated about appropriate kinds of development, which are suitable and applicable to the socio-economic environment and the cultural setting of the people. Material development should not be achieved at the expense of local traditions and the culture of the people. At the same time, the development monks recognize that socio-political and economic changes are occurring at a fast pace and that rural society cannot avoid the effects of these changes. Although the orientations, experiences and ideologies of the individual monks may be diverse, at the operational level very few differences could be observed. The monks realize that, in practice, compromises and adjustments to specific cultural and social situations must be made. The general principles of development to which they subscribe can be summarized thus. Development is a continuing process which contributes to improvement in the quality of life of the people. An efficient development effort requires participation by both the religious (Sangha and associated

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institutions) and secular (government officials and people concerned) domains. In order to achieve successful development, both the spiritual and material dimensions of the quality of life must be improved. As the people gain confidence, self-respect and self-reliance, they become the most important factor in the development process. Initiatives for development should come from the villagers since they have the best understanding of their needs and problems. Finally, material well-being should go hand-inhand with spiritual development.

Strategies of Development The monks believe that a central aim of development is to inculcate a sense of self-confidence and self-importance which will lead inevitably to the achievement of a better life. Lack of education and poverty are two constant variables that act on each other repeatedly as cause and effect, thereby producing a vicious circle of rural underdevelopment. Th minimize the impact of this vicious circle, one must strike at its cause or root, which requires substantial resources, expertise and determination. The place where the Sangha should start is in the villages to which the monks belong. While a government official's understanding of the problem of development may be as comprehensive as that of the local monks, there is at least one major difference between the official and the monk: local monks appreciate local problems more deeply than government officials because they live in the villages and are natives of the area. By contrast, most officials see themselves as government employees (kharajakam) assigned to perform a certain role for a certain period. The development monks' strategies for carrying out development programmes in the North and Northeast include: 1. Raising Income. Since the great majority of the rural populace are poor peasants, the initial goal is to raise income. This is done through various means, including improving soil conditions by using local and available fertilizers; introducing seasonal cash crops; and establishing co-operatives (including rice banks) which enable the peasants to help each other and make them less dependent on money-lenders and middle-men. Providing vocational training in various fields such as dress-making, hair-dressing and electrical mechanics is another popular means of helping peasants to raise their incomes.

2. Improving the Quality of Rural Life. The monks also seek to improve the quality of rural life. This involves improving sanitation, hygiene, nutrition and living conditions. Equally important is the quality of mind and soul. The monks include at least an hour a day of lectures on morality, culture

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and Dhamma in their course of vocational training. 1tainees are exhorted to remain steadfast to virtues that lead to benefits in this life, promote good households, and group integration and leadership. The monks also exhort youth to be proud of their local customs and traditions. 3. Communal Co-operation. The monks also emphasize communal cooperation. Co-operative shops, paddy banks, buffalo banks and child-care centres are encouraged. 4. Co-operation with other Development Agencies. The final element of the monks' development effort is to promote co-operation between them and other development agencies. They encourage participation and co-operation by many parties - the Sangha, villagers, government officials and nongovernmental agencies - in any kind of activity that is conducive to village unity. Village unity, in turn, encourages the people's social spirit and brings prosperity to the village. Co-operation is also politically important because participation in community activities leads to the formation of groups to solve communal difficulties.

Village-Level Development Activities In the North and Northeast, the development programmes undertaken by the "development monks" include the following in order of importance: 22 1. Agricultural promotion.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Vocational training. Co-operative self-help programmes. Sanitation and health care. Community public service. Cultural preservation. Campaign against causes of ruin (Apayamukha).

The differences that distinguish the programmes of the "development monks" from the government-sponsored programmes are as follows. Firstly, the monks are involved in development activities at their own initiative, independent of the government and the directives of the Sangha authorities. Secondly, they are promoting long-term programmes with continuing infrastructure and are not merely responding to village needs on an ad hoc basis. Thirdly, each of the monks' programmes and activities not only has its own objective but also serves as a basis for initiating other programmes.

Agricultural Promotion Programme. Activities to further agriculture include the promotion of agricultural practices that are more economical and give higher yields, soil improvement through the use of locally available fertilizers, and the introduction of seasonal cash crops. The development monks'

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outstanding contribution to this programme has been their leadership in encouraging and mobilizing the villagers not only to participate in various projects but also to initiate and manage projects by themselves. These include the building of dams and reclamation of land for farming.

Vocational1raining. The "development monks" are much preoccupied with the educational well-being of the villagers. They regard the absence of vocational training for rural youth as a major educational deficiency which robs them of local employmen t opportuniti es and causes them to leave their own villages in search of better alternatives. Since the 1970s, the monks have introduced new careers for rural youth, concentrating especially on dress-making, an extremely popular occupation among rural female youth. The monks have also tried to promote traditional or local handicrafts, especially weaving, by introducing modern technology to improve the quality of the products. "Development monks" in occupationa l training projects serve mainly as initiators, organizers, and administrators. This is, in fact, the revival of a traditional function performed by the Sangha before modernizat ion and a specialized division of labour were introduced. Co-operative Selfhelp Programmes. Co-operative self-help programme s are recent initiatives and have become increasingly attractive to the villagers. The most popular co-operative self-help programme s are the setting up of rice banks, buffalo banks, co-operative shops and village drugstores. The rice bank began as an effort to overcome the shortages of seed grain and rice for consumptio n, which have always presented serious problems for poor farmers. It is the usual practice that the farmers go to a merchant, middle-man or money-lender for paddy (unmilled rice), polished rice or money to buy necessities. They are charged high interest rates, ranging between 30 and 120 per cent per annum. The rice bank overcomes this problem by accumulatin g paddy at the end of the harvest from members who deposit a certain number of kilograms of paddy with the rice bank committee, which is usually chaired or supervised by a "development monk': The paddy is stored in a village store or barn, in some cases built in the wat compound, with a clerk to keep the accounts. Any member can borrow the paddy when needed and return it to the bank soon after the harvest. Interest is determined by the committee. The co-operative shops, in addition to selling items necessary to the daily life of the villagers, also buy and sell the handicrafts and agricultural produce of co-operative members. The shops also offer basic medicine and sometimes operate as a first-aid centre. The monks usually avoid any involvement in economic transactions , acting as resource persons when their advice is needed.

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In rural Thailand, the buffalo has been an indispensable work animal since ancient times. It was, and still is, considered to be the farmers' benefactor and thus deserving of their gratitude and love. Capitalizing on these Buddhist concepts of gratefulness, loving kindness and merit-making, the governor of Chiengmai, who is credited with starting the bank, propagated the idea that if one bought cattle from the slaughterhous e and donated them to the wat, this act would bring great benefits. The buffalos are then loaned to selected farmers who vow to keep steadfast to Dhamma and promise to care for the animals. The farmer must also commit himself to return the animal's first off-spring to the bank; if he breaks the vow, the animal will be taken back. The buffalo bank idea has now been adopted by many villages throughout the North and Northeast, with monks in many cases playing a major role in the planning, organization and implementation of the programme. Sanitation and Health Care. The monks are very concerned about the health of their fellow villagers, especially the village youth. Many monks have tried to promote child-care centres so that children can be properly looked after. They provide space in the wat or even allow the preaching hall to be used as a child-care centre as well as mobilize funds for the operation of the centres. The monks themselves help to supervise and look after the children. Community Public Service. The monks have traditionally played a secular role in community public service. They are currently involved in mobilizing villagers to co-operate and participate in the construction of such public utilities as small dams, village roads, village wells, communal water reservoirs, community rest houses, public halls, village libraries and bridges especially in the more remote villages. In the villages where secular leadership is not sufficiently strong, only the monks can mobilize the villagers to carry out community service projects for the benefit of the entire village. The "development monks" have reacted negatively to the government's job creation scheme and policy to allocate a large fund for the rural areas and create temporary employment in the annual dry season. The monks have complained that the programme is making the villagers more materialistic and selfish, thinking only in terms of exchanging labour for money while eroding the traditional spirit of mutual and reciprocal co-operation. Cultural Preservation. In the past, the wat served as the institutional focus for village culture, tradition and the arts. With the pressures of modernization and with administrative specialization in government, functional government departments have in many cases taken over the wat's and the monks' traditional roles. However, the government gives relatively low priority to this activity, while the "development monks" have attempted to revive certain

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cultural traditions, viewing local tradition and culture as an effective foundation for building a sense of identity and unity and for preserving a sense of personal dignity and integrity in the process of development.

Campaign against Causes of Ruin (Apayamukha). Some "development monks" have directed tireless efforts to the campaign against Apayamukha, a Buddhist concept of causes of ruin. 23 They view Apayamukha not only as a cause of underdevelopment but also as a hindrance to development. The major causes of ruin are seduction of women or debauchery, drunkenness, indulgence in gambling, and bad company. Despite their relatively small success in ridding Thailand of the "causes of ruin", the work of the monks in this area is symbolically important. Gambling and drinking alcohol have long been considered social ills in Thai society.

Differences in Strategies of "Development Monks" and Government Officials Although government officials and "development monks" share a common objective regarding the need for development, their strategies and approaches to development are markedly different. These differences inevitably produce different results. The approach of the "development monks" is directed at the root of underdevelopment seen from the perspective of individual villages. Once the causes of underdevelopment have been identified, a development plan is designed for that particular village. In most cases, this is done by the monks and villagers together. The government is responsible for developing a national plan and, in particular, has exercised this responsibility by constructing programmes which would be applicable to every village. When a development programme is bureaucratically implemented, rules and regulations are inevitably imposed on the villagers. These bureaucratic procedures are always complicated and not well understood. Censure and/or punishment may well be meted out if violations occur. The villagers are unfamiliar with the bureaucratic rules and regulations and will shun participation, or even co-operation, if they are afraid of being reprimanded or castigated for being ignorant. A bureaucratic approach is, therefore, obviously not conducive to people's participation. Our field research also suggests that small and simple self-help projects at the village level are more effective and efficient when supervised and led by the local Sangha than by government officials. The monks' approaches to development place the individual at the centre of the development universe. Self-respect, self-confidence, self-reliance and spiritual improvement are indispensable elements in all their programmes. On the other hand, government development programmes especially those executed by, or under the guidance of, government officials, seem to neglect this aspect of development, as they are too concerned with bureaucratic achievement.

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Limitations and Contributions of the "Development Monks" Limitations of the Sangha Approach Development projects initiated and implemented by the Sangha appear to have achieved a high degree of success. Although their strategies are varied, they have a common ultimate goal. Because of their role as both spiritual and secular leaders, the monks are still the best possible agents of change at the village level, provided that the development activities involved are simple and small. There are, however, reasons to believe that the "development monks" could have contributed more to rural development if they had been able to overcome some common hindrances. Although the efforts of the monks have gradually become institutionalized, each specific development project still tends to depend on individual initiative. There is also a need for material reinforcement in the development process. The monks do not involve themselves in economic transactions. The lack of resources to support development programmes has become a serious obstacle to success. The development process with its emphasis on self-reliance, self-respect and determination also seems to run counter to the traditional Thai heritage of ancient absolutism and modern authoritarian rule. 24 There are also some monks who are overly concerned with the virtues of loving kindness and compassion (Metta-Kaurna). They take pity on the villagers to such an extent that they confuse development principles with social welfare activities motivated by charity. These kinds of activities do not help to promote desirable development strategies. Rather, they perpetuate underdevelopment. Despite all these constraints on the Sangha's approach to development, the monks' concepts and strategies have great potential for contributing positively to Thai rural society. Socio-political Effects of the Sangha Approach Although it is difficult to make a quantitative evaluation of their sociopolitical effects on the rural populace, the monks' development programmes can affect people in the following ways. Firstly, such programmes strengthen self-confidence. In the process of operating various development programmes, the monks have always encouraged villagers to participate. In doing so, the villagers naturally become more socially conscious. Such programmes also strengthen ties between monks and laymen. It must be recognized that economic survival and material advancement are the prime concerns of most people in an age of development patterned after conventional Western models. The rural populace is no exception. The Sangha's programmes have been successful in demonstrating to the villagers that the monks are still useful, worthy and capable of showing

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them not only "the way to heaven'' but also the way to improve their economic well-being. Sangha development programmes have also contributed greatly to the revival of the Sangha's prestige and position in rural society. It should be recognized that the survival of the Sangha depends heavily on the "goodwill" and support of the villagers. Villagers today expect their monks to be not only a spiritual refuge but also a refuge in terms of suffering. Only those monks who show the villagers the way to overcome mundane suffering and who work with them to improve their lives deserve their "goodwill" and support. The Sangha's development programmes in the villages invariably mobilize the villagers to participate. The mobilization of villagers by the Sangha is different from the efforts by the government which are reinforced by bureaucratic infrastructure, authority and power. In the Sangha's development programmes, the villagers participate voluntarily, knowing that while there may be no immediate individual regard, the communal interest is served. Such voluntary civic action promotes communal unity, which in turn helps to strengthen the political awareness of the villagers. The Sangha's development programmes have thus provided a compromise between Western models of development and traditional values and attitudes. The Western models of development, which have been followed closely by the government's decision-makers and development planners, tend to place greater emphasis on economic (material) development than on socio-political development and the restoration of useful traditional, ethical, social and cultural values. It is, therefore, common that the expectations of the rural people are raised very high while political and other institutions are still incapable of absorbing and responding to such high expectations. This often leads to frustration and violence. The introduction of the Sangha's programmes in the villages has provided the villagers with an alternative, in which traditional modes of belief and life-styles are not abruptly affected while their economic plight is improved. It can also be seen that the Sangha's development programmes have encouraged various kinds of group formation, which is conducive to strengthening solidarity not only within the group but also within the village. Finally, the Sangha's development programmes in the villages invariably expose the villagers to socio-political formation. The major information carriers are the monks themselves, together with resource persons from outside, including government officials, experts and academics. In encouraging the people to participate enthusiastically, the monks tell them about the importance of development and its contributions to society. On every occasion that such discussions take place, the monks also invariably draw the villagers' attention to the importance and indispensability of the "sacred institutions": nation, religion and the monarchy.

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APPENDIX Organization of the Sangha Administration Illustrating the Hierarchical Line of Control Supreme Patriarch (Somdet PhrasangharaJ) Appointed by the King Council of Elders (Mahathera samakom) The sole administrative body of the Sangha consisting of about 12-14 most senior monks appointed by the King Ecclesiastical General Governor (Chao kana yai) Appointed from 5 monks of very high rank by the Supreme Patriarch Ecclesiastical Regional Supervisors (Chao kana phak) 18 appointees by the Chao kana yai from high-ranking monks Ecclesiastical Provincial Governors (Chao kana changwat) 7 3 monks appointed by the Chao kana phak Ecclesiastical District Officers (Chao kana amphur) 515 monks appointed by the Chao kana changwat Ecclesiastical Commune Officers (Chao kana tambon) 3,560 monks appointed by the Chao kana amphur Abbots (28,000) Rank and File Monks (300,000)

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NOTES • This study focuses on an alternative model of development as formulated and practised by Buddhist monks in Thailand. It has been generously supported by the Rockefeller Foundation under its "Reflections on Development" fellowship programme. I am particularly indebted to the "development monks" who gave their time so generously in countless discussions. Similarly, the villagers throughout North and Northeast Thailand were most helpful to me, providing not only hospitality but also much food for thought. My special thanks are reserved for my former student and present colleague, Khun Pinit Lapthananon, who acted as my principal research assistant and worked assiduously both in Bangkok and in the provinces to assure the success of this study. I have also relied on his excellent unpublished M.A. thesis for part of the data on certain "development monks" in the Northeast. Professors T.O. Ling, William]. Klausner, Withaya Sucharithanarugse and Dr Sharon Siddique, in their different ways, provided me with much spiritual and intellectual sustenance. I shall always be in their debt. The comments of Fellows from Africa and Southeast Asia at the Bellagio Conference have been very useful for the revision of this paper. Professors Albert 0. Hirschman, Clifford Geertz, and Kernial Singh Sandhu also offered suggestions for improvement and I thank them all sincerely for their contribution. 1. For more details, see, for example: H.R.H. Prince Dhaniniwat, Monarchical Protec-

2.

3.

4.

5.

tion of Buddhist Church in Siam (Bangkok: The World Fellowship of Buddhists, 1964); Phra Rajavaramuni, Thai Buddhism in the Buddhist World (Bangkok: Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University, 1984); and Somboon Suksamran, Phuttha Sasana kab karnpleanplaeng thang karnmuang lae sangkom [Buddhism and Socio-political Changes] (Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, 1984), especially chapters 1-3. The Buddhist Sangha, the professional carriers of the faith, is composed of monks, or bhikkhus (Pali) or phra (Thai), novices or sam-ma-nane (Thai), and nuns, or bhikkuni (Pali). There are no fully ordained bhikkuni, their line of ordination having died out in Ceylon over one thousand years ago: see Khantipalo Bhikku, Buddhism Explained (Bangkok: Social Science Association Press of Thailand, 1968), p. 78. There are now about 28,196 wat (monasteries) and 339,648 monks and novices in Thailand; see Department of Religious Affairs, Annual Report for 1983 (Bangkok: Department of Religious Affairs, 1984). For an elaboration of the roles and functions of religions, see, for example, Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Form of Religious Life (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1971), especially Book I, chapters 1-2; and Bronislaw Malinowski, Magic, Science and Religion (New York: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1954). Neil J.A. Mulder, Monks, Merit and Motivation: An Explanatory Study of Social Functions of Buddhism in Thailand in the Process of Guided Change, Special Series, No. 1 (Northern Illinois University: Centre for Southeast Asian Studies, May 1969); see also Somboon Suksamran, Political Buddhism in Southeast Asia: The Role of the Sangha in the Modernization of Thailand (London: C. Hurst & Co, 1977). For an anthropological analysis of the Vinaya (rule of conduct for monks) in relation to the way of life of the monks and their interaction with the laity, see,

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6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

Somboon Suksamran for example, SJ. Thmbiah, Buddhism and the Spirit Cults in Northeast Thailand (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), pp. 80-90; and Sujib Punyanuphab, 1h-pi-dok samrab-prachachon ['Ihpitaka for People] (Bangkok: Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University, 1979). William]. Klausner, "Popular Buddhism in the Northeast" in Visaka Puja B. E. 2514 (Bangkok: Buddhist Association of Thailand, 1971), pp. 34-39; and Thmbiah, op. cit., p. 17. The interrelated concept of merit (bun), demerit (baab) and merit-making (tam-bun) is an integral part of Thai culture, and constitutes the fundamental interaction between the monks and laymen. Merit is the fruit of what we do, say and feel. The good that we may do and the reward that we may receive is merit (bun). Thus, it increases one's chances of, for example, a good education, possessing or obtaining wealth, gaining more power, and so forth. Demerit, on the contrary, is the result of the bad deeds we have committed. Demerit is expressed in evil choices and punishment falls upon the perpetrator of demerit. Merit and values sought can be acquired through merit-making (tam-bun). Ten ways of merit-making are suggested. These are: giving (dana); holding steadfast to religious rules ( sila); meditation with the purpose of understanding Dhamma (pawana); reverence; helpfulness; transference of merit; rejoicing in others' merit; listening to Dhamma; teaching and propagating Dhamma; and striving after the knowledge of the truth of good and evil. For an elaboration, see Khantipalo Bhikku, Buddhism Explained (Bangkok: Social Science Association Press of Thailand, 1968), pp. 69-70; jasper Ingersoll, "The Priest's Role in Central Village Thailand" in Anthropological Studies in Theravada Buddhism, edited by Manning Nash (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966); and Thmbiah, op. cit., pp. 6 7-68. For details of Thai national development plans, see Government of Thailand's National Economic and Social Development Plans, 1962-84 (Nos. 1 to 4). Most authoritative and impartial comments on the Thai national development plans can be found in The World Bank, Thailand: 1bwards a Development Strategy of Full Participation (2 vols), Report No. 2059 (September 1978); and Kosit Panpiemrath, Chonbot Thai [Thai Countryside] (Bangkok: Social Science Association Press of Thailand, 1984). Sulak Sivaraksa, in his Religion and Development (Chiengmai: Payap College, 1981), has strongly supported this view. See pp. 1-68. For an elaboration, see, for example, G. Myrdal, The Challenge of World Poverty (London: Allen Lane, 1970); and P. Streeten, The Frontier of Development Studies (London: Macmillan, 1972). Scholars in this school are, for example, C. Furtado, Development and Underdevelopment (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1964); Economic Development of Latin America: A Survey from Colonial Times to the Cuban Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976); T. DosSantos, "The Crisis of Development Theory and the Problem of Dependence in Latin America" in Development and Underdevelopment, edited by H. Bernstein (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973); and A.G. Frank, ''The Development of Underdevelopment", Monthly Review 18, no. 4 (1966). For examples, see W.A. Lewis, The Theory of Economic Growth (London: Allen & Unwin, 1955); D. McClelland, The Achieving Society (New York: Free Press,

A Buddhist Approach to Development

13.

14.

15.

16.

47

1961 ); WW. Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971 ); and H. Chenery, et a!., Redistribution of Growth (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 197 4 ). For examples, see G. Kay, Development and Underdevelopment: A Marxist Analysis (London: Macmillan, 1975); Paul Baran, The Political Economy of Growth (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973); Paul Baran and Paul Sweezy, Monopoly Capital (London: Penguin, 1966); Immanuel Wallerstein, The Modern »brld System (New York: Academic Press, 1974). Scholars who employ Marxist concepts to formulate Neo-Marxist theories are Dudley Seers, "The New Meaning of Development" in Development Theory: Four Critical Studies, edited by D. Lehmann (London: Frank Cass, 1979); and S. Amin, Unequal Development (London: Harvester, 1976). One of the leading scholars in this group isjohan Galtung; see his "Self-reliance: Concepts, Practice and Rationale'' in Self-reliance: A Strategy of Development, edited by johan Galtung et a!. (London: Bogle-I..:Ourerture, 1980). Modernizing monks (phra tan samaz) in this discussion refer to monks who either consider themselves or are recognized by society as modern. They perceive themselves as part of the society, not separate entities, and thus do not confine themselves and their role to the boundaries of the monastery. Buddhist teachings, values, and conventional roles and activities ascribed to monks are interpreted and redefined in the context of social reality. For details of their views and arguments, see Phra Maha Prayudh Payutto (now Phra Rajavaramuni), "Problems, Status and Duties of the Sangha in Modern Society': Visakha Puja B.E. 2511 (Bangkok, 1968), pp. 58-72; and "Bothat khong Prasong nai Sangkom Thai" [The Sangha's role in contemporary Thai society) in Phutthasatsana kap Sangkom Thai Patchuban [Buddhism and Contemporary Thai Society) (Bangkok: Sivaporn Press, 1970), pp. 14-22, 65-68. See also, Phra Maha Chai Aphakaro, "Kan Prubprung botbak khong Phrarsong" [The adjustment of the Sangha's roles), Kalapruk 1, no. 1 (Bangkok, 1972): 1-3; and "Phrasong kap kan Phatthana thongthin" [The monks and community development], Buddhachak 26, no. 5 (1972): 19-30. The institutionalized involvement, roles and activities of the Thai Sangha in these government policies have been analysed in Somboon, Political Buddhism in Southeast Asia, and Somboon, Buddhism and Politics in Thailand: A Study of Socio-political Change and Political Activism of the Thai Sangha (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1982). For details about national economic development plans of the 1960s and 1970s, see National Economic Development Plans, 1961-66 and 1967-77 (Bangkok: National Economic and Social Development Board, 1982). For an evaluation and assessment of the implementation of the plans and their contribution to the modernization of Thailand, see Chatthip Nartsupha, The Economic Development of Thailand, 1956-1965 (Bangkok: Phrae Phitthaya Press, 1970); james C. Ingram, Economic Change in Thailand, 1850-1970 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1971); World Bank, Thailand: 1bwards a Development Strategy of Full Participation, Report No. 2059 (September 1978); Norman jacobs, Modernization without Development: Thailand as an Asian Case Study (New York: Praeger, 1971 ); and Kosit Punpeimrath, Chonbot Thai [Thai Countryside] (Bangkok: Social Science Association Press of Thailand, 1984).

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17. For more details of these programmes, see Somboon, Political Buddhism in Southeast Asia, especially chapter 4. 18. While these statistics most likely represent reality as far as the commitment to the monkhood for life is concerned, it should be noted that it is considered inappropriate for a monk to discuss whether he is planning or considering leaving the monkhood. 19. It is an established tradition that every male Thai should spend at least three months in the monkhood in order to be educated in religious tenets and become a "mature" man. It is also believed that ordination is the greatest merit-making activity and this merit accrues to his parents. 20. For example, the Catholic Church for Development of Thailand; The Religious Committee for Development; The Rural Development Foundation; and Thai Volunteer Services. 21. Such contacts include having the opportunity to attend seminars and/or orientation courses on development organized by both non-government organizations (that is, Thai Volunteer Services, Catholic Church for Development in Thailand, Co-ordinating Group for Religion in Society) and by governmental departments, such as the Department of Community Development, the Department of Nonformal Education, and the Agricultural Promotion Department. 2 2. They are ranked according to priority as indicated by the number of programmes contained in the plans of these "development monks". There are, of course, differences in the style of operation of the individual monks, and in the specific content of the programmes, but the priorities basically apply across all regions. 23. For an elaboration, see Phra Rajavaramuni, A Dictionary of Buddhism (Bangkok: Mahachula Buddhist University, 1975), pp. 115-18. 24. For details about the government under monarchical absolutism, see, for example, H.G. Quaritch Wales, Ancient Siamese Government and Administration (London: Bernard Quaritch Ltd., 1934); Kukrit Pramoj, "Sangkom samai ayudhya" [Society in Ayudhya Period] in Raum pathakatha gnan anusorn ayudhya songroi phi [Collections of Articles on the Bicentennial of Ayudhya], Vol. 1 (Bangkok: Kurusapha Press, 1963); and Prince Dumrong Rajanubhab, Laksana karn pokkrong sayam thae borna [Ancient Forms of Government in Siam] (Bangkok: Chareontham Press, 1951 ). On the aspects of bureaucratic domination in Thai politics and society, see, for example, Kukrit Pramoj, op. cit.; Fred W. Riggs, Thailand: The Modernization of Bureaucratic Polity (Honolulu: East-West Center Press, 1966); and William J. Siffin, The Thai Bureaucracy: Institutional Change and Development (Honolulu: East-West Center Press, 1966). Literatures on authoritarian rule after the 1930s are rich, both in Thai and English. See, for example, David A. Wilson, Politics in Thailand (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966); Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: The Politics of Despotic Paternalism (Bangkok: Thammasat University Printing Press, 1979); and David Morell and Chai-Anan Samudavanija, Political Conflict in Thailand: Reform, Reaction, Revolution (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Oelgeschlager Gunn & Hain, 1981). As these last two books made use of Thai sources extensively, one can find further information in their references. See also, Chai-Anan Samudavanija, "Watthanatham karnmuang kap rabob karnmuang baed prachathipathai" [Political Culture and Democratic Political System] in Thai Political Cultures, edited by Pornsak Pongpeaw and Polsakjirakaisiri (Bangkok: Social Science Association Press of Thailand, p. 2524).

3 Thai Bureaucratic Behaviour: The Impact of Dual Values on Public Policies - - - - - - - - K A N O K WONGTRANGAN--------

Introduction Since the undertaking of bureaucratic reforms in the second half of the nineteenth century by King Chulalongkorn, Thai bureaucracy has expanded in both size and role. Although the King may have had other motives for restructuring his bureaucracy, he genuinely sought a more effective and efficient administrative system. The King was convinced of the necessity to renovate the machinery of government partly on account of the following conditions which Malcolm Smith described: There was no fixed code of laws; no system of general education; no proper control of revenue and finance; no postal or telegraph service .... The opium laws were badly administered; there was no medical organization. . . . There was no army or modern railways and almost no roads. 1

In renovating the government's machinery, the King not only reformed his court structure but also introduced a new educational system. 2 As David K. Wyatt puts it, the King felt that "literacy and general improvement in educational standards worked to the benefit of the society as a whole". 3 Educational reform, however, was originally concentrated among younger members of the royal family and nobility 4 so that they would be available to provide "better" service in the royal bureaucracy. Thus, King Chulalongkorn's educational reform was, in part, a supporting mechanism to facilitate his bureaucratic reform. In undertaking educational reform as well as reforming the court structure, King Chulalongkorn initiated and supported the first major bureaucratic growth in Thailand. The second major growth of the Thai bureaucracy was related to the 1932 revolution. An important spark for this revolution was a decision by King Prachathipok to reduce the number of bureaucrats, an action known as dullayaparp (balancing), because of a financial crisis in the country. 5 49

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The dullayaparp which created widespread dissatisfaction, was an important contributing factor to the 1932 revolution. 6 Almost all the key leaders of the revolution were either civilian or military bureaucrats, including Pridi Panomyong, Col. Praya Phaholpolpayuhasena, Col. Praya Songsuradaj, and Major Phibulsongkram. Moreover, the Thai political system after 1932 seems to have been more responsive to the interests of the bureaucrats than to those of the people. As Fred W. Riggs writes: The actual political system that was set up in 1932 corresponds to the implicit premises of the June (1932) manifests. Cabinet members, for the most part, have been officials who have risen to political eminence, and in the conduct of their roles as members of a ruling circle, cabinet politicians have shown themselves more responsive to the interests and demands of their bureaucratic subordinates than to the concerns of interest groups, political parties, or legislative bodies outside the state apparatus. 7 It can be inferred from the above that the 1932 revolution was, in one

respect, a revolution of the bureaucrats, by the bureaucrats and for the bureaucrats. It is, therefore, not surprising that the Thai bureaucracy is a strong element of the Thai political system. According to Riggs, the modernity of a political system may be judged by "referring to the extent to which the functionally specialized state bureaucracy has been brought under effective control by political institutions outside of the governmental bureaucracy". 8 Riggs continues: An implicit premise of this proposition is that the administrative duties which officials are called on to perform are always onerous and the resultant rewards never enough to satisfy all their wishes. Consequently, unless the government possesses effective sanction by means of which it can assure a substantial level of conformity to official policies, it will not be able to rely upon its bureaucracy as an instrument of administration capable of reliably translating policies and rules into reality. Lacking any major center of power and policy-making outside the bureaucracy, a government elite must become the spokesman and instrument of the bureaucracy. 9

Riggs classifies the Thai political system as a "bureaucratic polity'; which suggests that the Thai bureaucracy is strong, particularly in relation to Thai political institutions. An important characteristic of the bureaucratic polity is "to provide more employment opportunities for public officials". 10 Thai bureaucracy tends to enlarge itself continuously, a growth which could ultimately produce an "empire" of bureaucrats. In contrast to the Thai bureaucracy, which has consistently expanded, important political institutions such as parliament, political parties and interest groups have failed to institutionalize themselves. As a result, no political institution can really generate effective control over the bureaucracy.

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Kasem Sirisampan, former university professor, former Minister of Education and deputy leader of the Social Action Party, describes the bureaucracy thus: "When I was walking into the Ministry, I really felt that I was walking into a tiger's cage with bare hands". 11 This remark typtfies the views of Thai politicians towards the bureaucracy and reflects the weaknesses of political institutions in the Thai political process. Moreover, politicians give greater emphasis to the symbols of political institutions than to their effectiveness. In other words, they use political symbols, namely, the constitution, parliament, political party and elections, to maximize their personal interest or their group's interests but not the interests of the people. 12 Apparently, only the elites are capable of manipulating such political symbols in Thai politics, 13 and the bureaucrats, including both military and civilian bureaucrats, form a key group within these elites. Thus, Thai bureaucrats play an active role in the political process in maximizing or, at least, securing their own interests. This suggests that Thai bureaucrats are, to a great extent, not an administrative tool of political institutions but, rather, a political institution in themselves, an institution which is crucial to the Thai political system. Since the introduction of constitutional monarchy in 1932, the Thai political system has consistently followed the concept of parliamentary democracy. But within this parliamentary framework, the legislature's power is not equal to that of the executive. Under all constitutions, the executive is generally empowered to enact decrees to handle particular problems when the parliament is not in session. 14 In Thailand, a regular session of the parliament usually lasts three months in a year. Hence, the executive can enjoy the privilege of "legislating" during nine months. In addition, the constitution gives special power to the Prime Minister regarding all fiscal or monetary bills, that is, members of the parliament can propose a fiscal or monetary bill only when the Prime Minister endorses that bill. 15 These examples indicate that the Thai parliamentary system tends to favour a strong executive and is not a real "checks and balances" system. The legislative branch tends to play a subservient role to the executive. Given this characteristic of Thai parliamentary democracy, the representative body cannot really dictate the executive's performance. At the same time, as suggested above, the executive cannot determine the bureaucracy's performance. On the contrary, the bureaucracy strongly affects the executive's policies and their implementation. As a result, the government tends to be more influenced by the bureaucracy than by the legislative body. In short, Thai bureaucracy is more influential than any political institution in the Thai political system. As indicated above, Riggs classifies Thailand as a "bureaucratic polity': He describes this as follows: Such a polity was defined in terms of the domination of the official class as a ruling class, even though formal constitutional characters and ceremonial doctrines of government might give lip service to modern

Kanok Wongtrangan

52

ideas of popular sovereignty or a traditional concept of royal and divine sovereignty. 16

In reflecting on development in Thailand, it is essential to consider the strength of the bureaucracy. Clearly, the Thai bureaucracy is very strong compared with other political institutions such as political parties, the parliament, and interest groups. By its nature, the bureaucracy also controls most of the informational and implementing powers in the policy-making process. Hence, it is impossible to achieve effective government policies without co-operation from the bureaucracy. In order to understand development in Thailand, it is extremely important to understand the bureaucracy, especially how it behaves. This paper analyses Thai bureaucratic behaviour and the factors that affect this behaviour. If we understand the factors that shape the bureaucracy's behaviour, we can better understand the bureaucracy and its role in the development process. We must also remember that the bureaucracy is not independent of the social system - in other words, bureaucrats behave within a social context. Logically, a change in the social system would affect bureaucratic behaviour. In order to understand the bureaucracy at work, it is necessary to understand how the social system impacts on the bureaucracy and the nature of the bureaucratic structure, both of which shape bureaucratic behaviour. This paper first discusses the impact of social change on the bureaucracy. It then analyses the behaviour of the bureaucracy in order to abstract some "pattern" of Thai bureaucratic behaviour. Understanding these factors may give us some insights into the bureaucracy and its role in the development process in Thailand.

Bureaucracy and Changes in the Thai Social System Every social system has a set of values which governs the thoughts and actions of its members. Furthermore, when a social system changes, its set of values also changes. It is evident that each social system is not wholly isolated from other social systems. As a result, value transfers from one social system to another always take place, especially in a modern world system. The Thai social system is no exception. In the last 150 years it has seen many fundamental changes in its value system, as well as in its system of government. When a society's value system is confronted with or pressured by another value system, either it changes or it resists the new values. If it changes, the change can be either complete or partial. In order to understand the value system of Thai society, we must explore the process of value change in Thailand.

"Clientship" Akin Rabibhadana, the well-known Thai anthropologist, classifies Thai

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society in the early Bangkok period as a society which is governed through a patron-client structure. 17 This means that "clientship" was a dominating characteristic of Thai social relations. According to Akin: An important dichotomy in Thai life is between sung "high" and tam "low". A child was taught early to distinguish between the high and the low (ruchak thi sung thi tam). In terms of the human body the relevant distinction was between the head and the feet. In social relations, the distinction was between phuyai and phunoi. When contrasted with dek (the young), the term phuyai means grown-ups. When contrasted with phunoi, it means subordinate or superior. At the national level, the relationship was based on the relative amount of sakdina and consisted of patterns of respect. 18 This quotation indicates that a social relationship in Thai society was not between equals but, rather, between the superior and the subordinate. However, this relationship was not a totally exploitative relationship; rather, it was a mutually beneficial one. Clientship lay at the core of the crucial nai-phrai (superior-subordinate) relationship. On the one hand, phrai provided the gifts on which the nai subsisted. In general, clients (male phrar) constituted an important source of income for their master ( nai). If the latter did not oppress his clients but let them earn their living in peace, they would give him not inconsiderable gifts of rice, fruit, vegetables, and fish (Pallegoix, jean Baptiste, 1854. Description du royaume thai ou Siam, Vol. I, p. 298.) On the other hand, nai settled disputes among their phrai and provided protection and assistance. 19 "Clientship" involved a kind of exchange of services between the two parties. The services exchanged were not the same; rather, they were complementary to one another. In other words, each party performed a different function in the relationship, and these functions complemented each other. In effect, each party depended on the other in his course of actions. As Akin puts it: The concept of phueng (to depend on) was an important complement of the relationship between a superior and his subordinate. A person who had no thiphueng (someone to depend on) was unfortunate indeed. 20 In Thai social life, the role of thiphueng tended to belong to the superior more than the subordinate. Implicitly, the superior was expected to provide assistance, protection, kindness and generosity to his subordinate. This has been described as follows: ''The Thai view of a superior seems to have contained an image of a large tree in the shade of which he could rest and be content:' 21 When a superior had many subordinates under his leadership, the quantity of these subordinates could help to increase his power, particularly in

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relation to other superiors. In this respect, the subordinate was a source of power to the superior. Akin aptly explained his point and its impact on Thai social stratification as follows: We have seen that in Thai society manpower was the scarce resource par excellence and that control of manpower brought not only wealth but also political power. Thus, the main function of the formal political structure was the control of manpower. In theory, the king distributed manpower to his officials according to sakdina. So long as the amount of manpower under a person's command corresponded to his sakdina, the latter served as an adequate official map of stratification in the society. 22

This suggests how Thai "clientship" has governed social relations and the stratification of Thai society. "Clientship" could involve either "formal" or "informal" relations. "Formal clientship" was imbedded in the formal structure of Thai kingship, namely, the sakdina system of Thai society. In this system, the Thai people were grouped into four classes: Chao (princes), khunnang (nobles), phrai (commoners), and that (slaves). 23 On the other hand, "informal clientship" arrangements "grew up around or within the formal organization without being incorporated into it': 24 "Informal clientship" could be used to distort or abuse the formal structure of the administration. In other words, the "informal clientship" of an official was an important determinant of the services he would provide to those soliciting service. To be specific, a person would receive either good or bad service from an official depending on his informal clientship with that official. These inconsistencies of service evidently caused administrative problems for the Thai Government. Akin explains this point as follows: The ineffectiveness of the administration of justice also encouraged the growth of informal clientships. Persons of wealth or high rank could manage to stop a trial by using their influence . . .. Some persons, clients of foreigners or the wealthy, committed petty crimes and boasted that the foreign consuls could give them protection from justice or that their patrons could bribe the judges to avoid punishment.2 5 It is clear that not only formal but also informal clientship shaped the behaviour of Thai officials. Both formal and informal clientship shared a common quality, namely, the relationship between the superior and the subordinate. More importantly, the two forms of clientship were tied together neatly in the Thai administrative organization. Informal clientship became an effective means of building up influence or power for the superior within the formal structure of Thai society. 26 When King Chulalongkorn restructured his bureaucracy according to

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the Western model of "modernization", the restructuring inevitably led to a decline in the original formal structure of clientship. In 1932, the formal clientship of the kingship was completely ended. A Civil Service Commission (Gaw Paw) was set up by the Civil Service Organization Act, which was promulgated soon after the change-over to a constitutional regime. This Commission was directly responsible to the Prime Minister's Office. 27 Since its establishment, it has "standardized the methods of examination, recruitment and grading of the civil service". It has also "promulgated disciplinary rules and is responsible for setting up committees of inquiry into any cases of indiscipline or dereliction of duty". 28 The Civil Service Commission sought to restructure the whole bureaucracy of the Thai Government according to a Western concept of administration - for example, to standardize payment, recruitment, promotions and pensions. In other words, a new formal structure was introduced into the Thai civil service. Consequently, the former formal clientship came to an end. Without question, the new formal structure of Thai bureaucracy holds a new set of values considered "modern", for example, specialization, impersonalization, differentiation and secularization. The concept of "rational" administration has become the skeleton of Thai bureaucracy. One might conclude that these values were implanted in Thai bureaucracy, and that a new set of values was introduced when the original formal structure of the bureaucracy was terminated. An important question to be asked, then, is what happened to informal clientship after modern bureaucracy was introduced?

Informal Clientship The new concept of administration substantially changed the formal structure of the royal administration. Despite its Westernization, however, the Thai bureaucracy failed to eliminate all traces of formal clientship. The hierarchical role-play has been suppressed in modern bureaucracy but lingers on in new forms. Barend j. Terwiel explains this process of change as follows: In present day Thailand, most traditional hierarchical role-play is effectively banned from government offices and agencies. When a lowly public servant approaches a superior he is not permitted to prostrate himself. Nevertheless, a close look at the customary interaction between individuals of different ranks soon reveals that in some ways the traditional role-play has not so much been relinquished as found a new mode of expression. 29

The hierarchical role-play described by Terwiel is the formal structure of clientship. Similarly, Terwiel regards the informal structure of clientship as

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the "unwritten rules". 30 As stated above, informal clientship could be found inside and outside the hierarchy of the royal administration. This suggests that in ordinary daily life the Thai people also observed the practice of informal clientship. According to Thrwiel, informal clientship became informal bondage in modern Thai society. He cites an example as follows: The custom of having families or parts of families attached to servitude in rich households continues until [the] present. The exact degree of servitude depends to a large degree on the initial agreement. It ranges from a rich person (the superior) directly buying the rights over a youngster (the subordinate) to help in the household by making a Joan of money in return for bringing a boy or girl to serve, to taking in a poor relative to help with the daily chores, to looking after someone else's child as if it were one's own, and full adoption. The extremes of outright purchase and legal adoption seem relatively rare, but various intermediate schemes appear very common though, because there is no legal record of these transactions, it is difficult to assess exactly how many people are involved. Nevertheless it is my impression that these practices are widespread in middle-class Bangkok families as well as amongst wellto-do farmers in the Central Plain. 31

This quotation identifies one form of informal clientship which has survived since the abolition of formal clientship, particularly after the 1932 revolution. It indicates that informal clientship has been deep-rooted in the thoughts and actions of Thais in all walks of life. As Kukrit Pramoj puts it, "it (informal clientship) is a part of our lives and it is an essence of the Thais:' 32 It seems clear that only formal clientship has been relinquished, not informal clientship. Although informal clientship can be found in various forms, it always involves the relationship between a superior and a subordinate. This relationship is characterized by a "benevolence-allegiance" dichotomy. As Thai society evolved, there were some changes and some continuities. Th conclude the discussion of this point, let me quote Terwiel again: The data brought together range in time from the late-seventeenth century until the present, a full three hundred years, or some fifteen generations. It has been demonstrated that formal structures, such as the system of ranking and legal categorization of slaves and rights over their labour, have changed to such a degree that hardly any trace of Ayuthayan organization can be found in present-day Thai society. In contrast, quite a different picture emerges from the study of the practice of etiquette and the informal, non-legalized, relationships which exist within the family and in society at large. In these respects, the situation as described centuries ago still very much applies today. 33

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While the Western concept of administration has been implanted in Thai bureaucracy, informal clientship still survives, although its form may be different in the new bureaucratic structure. Dual-Value System

Two sets of values coexist in Thai society and Thai bureaucracy. On the one hand, the new value system of modern bureaucracy has been introduced and implemented in the Thai bureaucratic system, although this modern bureaucracy is, in reality, an alien value in the traditional Thai system. For many reasons, however, especially political reasons following the 1932 revolution, this alien value has persisted and has eventually become a part of the Thai bureaucracy. On the other hand, informal clientship evidently exists in the Thai bureaucratic structure. Many principles of modern administration fail in practice, largely because they cannot get around the informal clientship that survives among the bureaucrats. Within the framework of informal clientship, according to Akin, the Thais view a bureaucrat as a symbol of power which can be used to assist or protect people. Therefore, people must seek personal relationships with bureaucrats in order to receive their services and protection. As Akin writes, "in most of their relationships with outsiders, particularly with the officials, Irok Tai people felt that personal relationship was needed. Without personal relationship the services could not be obtained, and they would be looked down upon by the officials:' 34 The coexistence of these two sets of value systems within the Thai bureaucracy is clearly observable. In theory, the two value systems may appear to contradict each other. For instance, the modern concept of administration emphasizes "rationality", that is, impersonalization, secularization, specialization, efficiency, optimization, and the like. On the other hand, informal clientship attaches greater importance to personal relations, friendship, superior-subordinate dependence, and so forth. The existence of these two systems suggests that a "dualism of value orientation" governs Thai bureaucracy today. Circumstances or conditions that might make one or the other value system paramount are discussed later. The problems arising from a "rational" approach in bureaucracy are relatively familiar. This paper focuses more on the role of informal clientship in Thai bureaucratic behaviour. But before looking at the role played by informal clientship in the bureaucracy, its place in society as a whole will first be discussed. Clientship requires at least two parties. Without either the superior or the subordinate, there can be no clientship, whether formal or informal. Informal clientship also rests on a foundation of "personal relations" between the complementary parties, that is, personal relationship is an essence

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of informal clientship. Because informal clientship still rules Thai social structure, personal relations are at the root of most Thai relationships.

Cycle of Thai Social Relationships Social relations in Thai society are illustrated by the following cycle:

ASSISTANCE AND PRafECTION

~

/

DEPENDENCE

FRIENDSHIP

REGULAR JONThCT

TJST

~CWSE/ RELATIONSHIP

For the Thais, it is impossible to have personal relations without contact. Hence, Thais value personal contacts 'highly. In order to establish a good personal relationship, "regular contact" at a personal level is considered extremely important. With regular contact, a "close relationship" between two parties may be formed. This close relationship in turn builds up "trust': In this respect, trust is based on a foundation of personal relations. Without personal relations, the Thais cannot have trust among themselves. 'frust is also an essential component of "friendship". Friendship is based mainly on trust. Similarly, friendship is also built on personal relations. Thai friends are obliged to help and protect each other. More importantly, it is quite common for Thais to be willing to help their friends even though this help may go against some principles. When Thais put principles above friendship, they are criticized or blamed for not helping their friends. Thus, there is a compelling social force that affects behaviour among Thai friends. This social force reflects the importance of personal relations in Thai society. Friendship is a very important factor in giving or receiving assistance and protection in the Thai social structure. 35 It is typically remarked, ''The wrong could be the right among friends but also the right could be the

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wrong among enemies". For these reasons, personal bonds frequently override "rationality" in the Thai social system. The provision of assistance and protection helps to create a state of "dependence" among Thais. A Thai depends on his friends to accomplish anything. This is readily observed in the Thai bureaucracy. Because this dependence is based on personal relations, which can be created or maintained by regular contacts, any Thai who is dependent on a friend must maintain regular contacts with his friend. At this point, the cycle completes itself. It will rotate, for the same reasons, again and again, in order to secure personal relations among friends. Without such personal relations, it is probable that collaboration among Thais would be much less possible. The above suggests that informal clientship, expressed through "personal relations", governs Thai behaviour. A bureaucracy is not an isolated organization; rather, it exists within a social system. The value system of the society affects the thoughts and actions of its bureaucrats. Personal relations obviously play an important part in determining the behaviour of the Thai bureaucracy. They form part of Thai bureaucracy, but the new concept of modern administration also helps to structure Thai bureaucracy. The values inherent in modern administration are also important in modern Thai bureaucracy. This dualism in the value orientation of the Thai bureaucracy today leads to a complexity in the thoughts and actions of bureaucrats. Under some circumstances, bureaucrats may observe modern administrative principles. Under different circumstances, their behaviour may be affected by personal relations. It becomes critically important to know the circumstances under which Thai bureaucrats will adhere to modern administrative principles or depend on personal relations. The existence of a dual-value orientation in Thai society, particularly in the bureaucracy, reflects its imperfect socialization. This implies that efforts and means to implant the new value among the Thais are not effective. As a consequence, the old value remains observable. Thus, Thai bureaucracy does not behave according to the new value system completely. With this dual-value orientation, Thai bureaucracy has failed to establish a good controlling system within its structure. In other words, the bureaucracy cannot really compel its personnel to perform their duties according to its new value criteria. Thai bureaucrats thus have substantive autonomy in shaping their performance. Undoubtedly, their personal relations play a crucial role in this autonomy. This paper will also demonstrate that the "old value" (informal clientship) and the "new value" (modern administrative concepts) coexist and that the two values jointly determine the behaviour of Thai bureaucrats. The traditional value structure ( clientship) has transformed itself and survives in present-day Thai society. At the same time, the introduction of modern administrative principles in the Thai bureaucracy has institutionalized a

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new value system. Thus, a "dualism of value orientation" has resulted in the Thai bureaucracy.

Impact of Dual-Value Orientation on Thai Bureaucracy Because Thai bureaucrats have two sets of values, two sets of norms govern their behaviour. The first norm involves modern administrative principles and the second involves informal clientship. Modern principles of "rational" or "scientific" administration undergird the structure and function of the administration and are eventually reflected in laws, rules, regulations, codes, orders, policies, programmes, and the like. They will be referred to here as "bureaucratic codes" since they are an important source of official guidance and power on which bureaucrats rely in performing their duties. Conversely, informal clientship is based mainly on personal relations in shaping bureaucratic behaviour. We can describe the two important variables affecting the behaviour of Thai bureaucrats as being bureaucratic codes and personal relations. The more a bureaucrat relies on the bureaucratic codes in his behaviour, the less he relies on personal relations, and vice versa. This paper addresses the circumstances or conditions that are most likely to lead to reliance on bureaucratic codes or on personal relations. Interviews with Thai bureaucrats indicate that they tend to adhere to bureaucratic codes when the task they are carrying out has a high risk. 36 If the issue is perceived as a low-risk one, there is a greater tendency for the bureaucrat to exercise personal relations in his performance. 37 A bureaucrat must analyse the issue he is handling to determine its level of risk; his perception of the nature of the issue is crucial to his assessment of the risk involved. "Risk", therefore, is a third variable that shapes a Thai bureaucrat's behaviour. Here it is necessary to define the meaning of "risk': Interviews with Thai bureaucrats show that they view as "risky" something that might jeopardize their position, status, prospects of promotion or interest - something that could cause them problems, demotion, losses, or the like. In deciding how to handle an issue, the bureaucrat must weigh the possible benefits or gains he might receive against his possible losses. In this sense, "risk" might be defined as a ratio between the gains a bureaucrat could make and the losses he might suffer. If the ratio of gains to losses is low, it means that the issue has a high risk for him, and vice versa. This meaning of "risk" reflects an assumption about bureaucratic behaviour, namely, that bureaucrats want to maximize their interest at low risk. Bureaucrats tend to preserve the status quo when there is risk involved. From these findings, we can make two correlations of the three variables: bureaucratic codes, personal relations, and risk. The first correlation is between the risk variable and the bureaucratic codes variable: if the issue has a high risk, it is probable that the bureaucrat will act according to

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bureaucratic codes, and vice versa. This correlation can be presented by the graph: High P(B.C.)

0

P(B.C.) R

= Probability of using

High Risk the bureaucratic codes

Risk of the issue

The second correlation is between the risk variable and the personal relations variable: if the issue has a high risk, the probability that the bureaucrat will use personal relations is low. Conversely, if the issue has a low risk, it is probable that the bureaucrat will use personal relations. This correlation can be put in graph form as follows: High P(P.R.)

0 P(P.R.) R

High Risk

Probability of using personal relations Risk of the issue

This study has identified only the bureaucratic codes and personal relations as forms of behaviour. Other patterns of behaviour may exist, but these are the two principal forms.

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Data also suggest that the probability of using the bureaucratic codes (P [B.C.]) is the reverse of the probability of using personal relations (P [P.R.]). As the equation states: P(B.C.) + P(P.R.) = 1 In short, when the issue confronting a bureaucrat has a high risk for him, the probability of his using bureaucratic codes in shaping his behaviour is high and the probability of his using personal relations is low. Secondly, the degree of risk of a particular issue depends on the nature of the issue as perceived by the bureaucrat. A question to be asked at this point is what indicators of the nature of an issue suggest the risk level of the issue?

Indicators of the Nature of an Issue Data show there are five major indicators of the nature of an issue: (1) degree of politicization, (2) degree and number of bureaucratic agencies involved, (3) power of the bureaucratic agencies involved, (4) degree of public understanding, and (5) degree of participation by the interest groups involved. By using these indicators to assess the nature of the issue, it is possible to identify the level of risk involved in the issue and, through the two correlations given above, determine the probability of the bureaucrats using either the bureaucratic codes or personal relations to address the issue. The five indicators can be defined as follows. The "degree of politicization" means the level to which a particular issue is provided a priority on the political agenda of the government or agencies. For example, land reform policy was politicized as an issue to help Thai peasants during Sanya's government. The government was forced to adopt an official land reform policy and his officials were obliged to follow this policy strictly. 38 The "degree and number of bureaucratic agencies involved" refers to the number of bureaucratic agencies which are involved in a particular issue and how strongly they are competing among themselves over the issue. For example, there are two bureaucratic agencies involved in shaping government policies on rice prices: the Department of Foreign 'frade of the Ministry of Commerce and the Farmers' Aid Fund of the Ministry of Agriculture and Agricultural Cooperatives. Both are important, but the Department of Foreign 'frade plays a larger role. In government procurement operations, there are also two bureaucratic agencies involved: the Marketing Organization For Farmers and the Public Warehouse Organization. 39 The "power of the bureaucratic agencies involved" indicates the level of power of the bureaucratic agencies which are involved in a particular issue. For example, the Agricultural Land Reform Office ( ALRO) has minimal

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power in designating land reform areas because it is legally controlled by the national Agricultural Land Reform Executive Committee but, at the level of implementation of land reform policy, ALRO has much greater power through its distribution of the designated land to farmers. 40 The "degree of public understanding" signifies the level of public attention of a particular issue, that is, how much information about the issue has been received by the public and/or how much knowledge of the issue the public has. This also refers to the level of attention paid by the public to the particular issue. For example, public understanding of tax policy is much lower than of rice pricing policy. The public also pays more attention to tax policy at the decision-making level than at the implementation level. 41 The "degree of participation by the interest groups involved" means how strongly interest groups participate in the issue. This also includes resistance by interest groups on the issue. For example, the degree and number of interest groups participating in rice pricing policy is higher than in land reform policy. 42 The characteristics of interest groups participating in the policy issue also affect their participation. For example, homogeneous and heterogeneous interest groups will participate in different ways as far as their impact on the decisions of the bureaucrats are concerned. How all these indicators affect the bureaucrat's perception of risk is discussed below.

How Bureaucrats judge Risk Readers should note that the data which follow are not broadly "representative': They were obtained from bureaucrats involved in determining specific policies: rice price policy, land reform policy and tax policy. Nevertheless, they are empirical data in a form which may give some picture of risk for each indicator mentioned. Rice price policy is a good example of a policy which is highly politicized. Many reasons explain its high degree of politicization. Firstly, rice price policy affects the majority of the population since at least 7 5 per cent of the Thai people engage in rice production. Because any decision on rice issues could be politically significant to the government, the government must be aware of the political effects of its policy. Secondly, many organized interest groups attempt to influence rice price policy. They always use all available means to inject their demands into the government's decisionmaking process. As a result, many political actors are involved in shaping the price of rice. Thirdly, since rice is a major export commodity, probably generating the country's highest income, there is strong competition when a rice price policy is on the political agenda. In addition, the bureaucrats involved state that no clear directive regarding rice price policy is available from the government since the intense political competition over the policy

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can easily jeopardize the political standing of the government. Because of these factors, the bureaucrats concerned with rice pricing find it difficult to address themselves to the issue, especially at the policy-making level. As a result, they stick to bureaucratic codes, such as the laws, regulations and principles by which they are empowered, when handling this politicized policy. 43 At the other end of the rice pricing issue, that is, at the implementation level, it is clear that the bureaucrats follow the laws and regulations less strictly than they do at the policy-making level. Many studies indicate that the implementors of rice procurement programmes have engaged in various kinds of abuse of power. 44 These abuses are explained in part by the isolated nature of their activities. When a policy implementor (an official of the Marketing Organization for Farmers) is arranging transactions of rice between rice farmers and rice millers, it is difficult to observe politicization and in effect no one is really watching how pricing policies are implemented. As a result, bureaucrats are not significantly constrained to follow laws or regulations in policy implementation. This suggests that when the degree of politicization is low, bureaucrats are more likely not to follow the bureaucratic codes. Rather, they are likely to rely on their personal relationships with counterparts. This leads to abuse of power. The evidence also indicates that bureaucratic behaviour differs when an issue being handled involves various organizations. When an issue involves only one bureaucratic organization (an intra-organizational issue), bureaucrats respond in one fashion. But, when the issue involves more than one bureaucratic organization (an inter-organizational issue), they react in another way. Land reform policy offers some examples. When a piece of land has been redistributed under the land reform programme, many bureaucratic agencies are involved in its development, including agencies from the Ministry of Agriculture and Agricultural Co-operatives such as the Land Development Department, Agricultural Academic Department, Animal Husbandry Department, Fishery Department, Agricultural Promotion Department, Irrigation Department, Agricultural Land Reform Office, Forestry Department, Co-operative Promotion Department, Co-operative Auditing Department, and Marketing Organization for Farmers. Bureaucratic agencies outside the Ministry of Agriculture and Agricultural Co-operatives that are involved include the Bank for Agriculture and Agricultural Co-operatives, Land Department, Military Cartography Department and the local Administration Department. 45 A Deputy Secretary General of the Agricultural Land Reform Office has stated that no serious problems exist in co-ordination among these agencies because there is a relatively clear differentiation of function and responsibility among the agencies. Each agency follows its own differentiated function without interferring in the others' activities. 46 An empirical correlation shows that, in working with bureaucrats from other agencies, bureaucrats tend to follow the bureaucratic codes.

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A study by Visakorn Srathongkam offers some clues to the reasons for this. He explains the working relationship among bureaucratic organizations involved in land reform as follows: Development activities are under the responsibility of the Agricultural Land Reform Office. But other agencies have already engaged in various forms of land reform activities which are different from the ALRO. Thus, when the ALRO has to coordinate with other agencies, many committees are formed and each agency has its representative in those committees. The committees are aimed at establishing a coordinating body among all concerned agencies. However, in practice, these committees or subcommittees cause all kinds of delay or inefficiency of implementation. When an agenda is considered in a committee and cannot be decided, a new working group or task force is formed to handle that agenda. Then the working group has to work on the agenda and submit its result to the committee again. 47 This can be interpreted to mean that a committee (composed of various representatives from many bureaucratic organizations) may not be willing to make a decision on an unclear or controversial issue_ It pushes responsibility onto a group, which is supposed to decide the issue for it. But the committee tends to cite administrative principles and conduct (the bureaucratic codes) in supporting its decision to delegate the issue to a working group. At a superficial level, the committee seems to be very responsible because it claims to need a thorough study of the issue prior to making a final decision. In reality, according to the researcher's experience in many committees and working groups, the committee's decision is more irresponsible than responsible. 48 From this example, it is clear that an inter-organizationa l issue can easily generate conflicting viewpoints or interests, leading representatives of the bureaucratic organizations involved to refer to bureaucratic codes in handling the issue, including delegating the issue to other agencies. Inter-organizational issues tend to impel bureaucrats to follow the bureaucratic codes. But many issues involve only one organization. An "intra-organizationa l issue'' is one that involves only one bureaucratic agency, which has the legal and administrative power to address the issue. An official of the Revenue Department commented on the behaviour of the bureaucrats in charge of tax collection as follows: Sometimes we must give some power of interpretation to officials in collecting taxes. But if these officials do not observe justice, their interpretation power could be used subjectively against some tax payers. Or it could be used to acquire personal interests. 49 In fact, the bureaucracy gives decisive powers to officials to collect taxes, for example, corporate taxes, and only officials of the Revenue Department have the power to enforce that tax. No officials from other departments are

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involved in enforcing corporate tax collection. The possibility of competing or opposing power from outside the Department of Revenue is, therefore, very minimal, probably none. As a result, the bureaucrats can implement tax policy as they wish. 50 Quite often in reality, their wishes tend to conform to their personal relationships with the taxpayers. Bureaucrats are more likely to rely on personal relations in handling tax collections than on bureaucratic codes. One may conclude that bureaucratic codes are used more often in inter-organizational issues while personal relations are used more often in intra-organizational issues. Let us turn to the notion of the power of the organizations involved. Bureaucratic agencies have different degrees of power, with some having more power than others in regard to the same policy. Because of this, the agencies behave differently on a policy issue. It has been found that bureaucrats from an agency with considerable power on a particular issue tend to use personal relations when addressing the issue. For example, an official of the National Economic and Social Development Board commented as follows: If we consider various tax laws or the range of custom taxes, we see that tax collectors (bureaucrats) are empowered to estimate prices or taxes, such as commercial taxes. In some businesses, e.g., the restaurant or hotel business, tax collectors have the power to estimate the business income. (Then they collect tax on the estimated income.) Therefore, a problem of standardization of income estimation emerges, namely, an estimated income can vary unevenly from one case to another. Consequently, tax loop-holes are created. 51

This interview suggests how tax collectors use their power of income estimation to serve their personal interests. This distortion of their legal power shows the unwillingness of bureaucrats to observe the bureaucratic codes. To put it in another way, when bureaucrats have substantial power to handle a bureaucratic issue, they are unlikely to conduct themselves according to the bureaucratic codes. Rather, they rely on personal relations to handle the issue. In comparison, the Secretariat Office of the Rice Policy Committee, charged with following up on policies decided by the Rice Policy Committee, was relatively weak. It was totally unequipped in terms of power, money or personnel to carry out its tasks. 52 Because the Secretariat Office lacked the power to handle its responsibilities, its staff attempted mainly to co-ordinate with other concerned bureaucratic agencies, such as the Department of Foreign Thade, Public Warehouse Organization, and Marketing Organization for Farmers, relying on routine mechanisms, such as bureaucratic rules and regulations, which could not produce an effective outcome. 53 They followed the bureaucratic codes because their power was weak. Thus, our empirical findings suggest that bureaucrats tend to rely on personal relations in addressing issues more frequently when their agency is powerful in

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regard to the issue; they tend to observe the bureaucratic codes when their agency has no real power in the issue. Public understanding of a particular issue also affects the behaviour of the bureaucrats involved. Even though the public may not have direct influence on bureaucratic decision-making, bureaucrats take the public into consideration when they decide or implement a policy issue. Certainly, the public has traditionally been claimed as an important source of legitimacy, with bureaucrats often using the public to justify their conduct. In this respect, the public serves as a constraint on bureaucratic behaviour. The more knowledgeable it is about a policy issue, the more effective the public can be in affecting bureaucratic behaviour regarding the issue. Conversely, when public understanding of an issue is low, the bureaucrats can address the issue according to their wishes. Personal relationships enter more frequently into their activities. Mathi Krongkaew, a Thai scholar concerned with tax policy, explains the impact of public resistance to tax reform as follows: They (the bureaucrats) had been trying to do (something about taxes). Local taxes had a regressive rate. This meant that a high-valued property had a lower tax rate than a low-valued one. They had been trying to do two things, namely, to convert the tax rate to a progressive rate and to estimate the value of the property according to market price. Evidently, their attempts were not successful .... Whenever there is an attempt to change the property tax system, there will always be losers who resist and stop the attempt. 54

This indicates that public resistance can prevent an attempt by bureaucrats to change rules or regulations in ways that are perceived as adversely affecting the public's interests. Bureaucrats are not willing to fight against the public's interests, even if these interests conflict with such principles as a regressive rate of property tax especially when they view the fight as a risk to their own interests. This suggests that bureaucrats are likely to withdraw from unnecessary confrontations with problems. Insofar as rice price policy is concerned, when rice farmers clearly express their interest and show that they understand how the policy works, that is, how interest groups participate in the government procurement programmes, bureaucrats responsible for these programmes must handle them carefully and observe strictly the rules, regulations and procedures. On the other hand, in areas where the farmers have little understanding of the procurement programmes, bureaucrats may use their personal contacts with rice merchants to share the benefits from the programmes. 55 Thus, through their personal relationships, the bureaucrats and rice merchants who are involved may serve their own interest in the rice price support programmes. It should be noted that public understanding need not always be rational or correct Misunderstandings or skepticism can also generate public reactions (for example, resistance) to a particular policy. The land reform

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programme offers an illustration. According to a Deputy Secretary General of the Agricultural Land Reform Office, during an early stage of land reform implementation ALRO was faced with serious problems of resistance by farmers in a particular area covered by the programme. They did not understand ALRO's objectives, and most were fearful that ALRO would take away their land. As a consequence, they did not co-operate with ALRO, and in some areas they even resisted the programme. 56 ALRO officials were obliged to explain the objectives and activities of the land reform programme and may eventually be required to enforce the laws, rules or regulations (the bureaucratic codes). 5 7 This reliance on the bureaucratic codes suggests that bureaucrats tend to cling to the laws or regulations that empower them when they are faced with problems such as public resistance. In short, bureaucrats tend to adhere to the bureaucratic codes when public understanding, attention or resistance is high on a particular policy issue. They are more likely to exercise personal relations when public understanding is low. Finally, the last indicator of the nature of an issue, that is, the degree of participation by interest groups, is also relevant to predictions of bureaucratic behaviour. When many interest groups are competing over a particular policy, the bureaucrats involved with that policy are put in a difficult position owing to conflicting pressures. In order to survive, they are likely to cite the bureaucratic codes carefully at every step. For example, many interest groups, such as the Rice Exporters Association, the Farmers Co-operatives and the Rice Millers Association, seriously compete to influence rice price policy. These interest groups lobby strongly with the bureaucrats responsible for rice pricing, including officials in the Department of Foreign 'frade and Marketing Organization for Farmers. Before setting policy, the bureaucrats tend to be very cautious in their responses to the interest groups and in presenting their own viewpoints. This is mainly because they are unwilling to jeopardize their position or status by opposing a particular position, recognizing that such opposition will not benefit them but could cause harm. As a result, they prefer to stand apart from the competition and hope to exploit loopholes in the laws or regulations at a later stage, that is, when the policy is being implemented. 58 It should be noted, however, that relatively few interest groups participate in the Thai policy-making process, mainly because the number of such groups in Thai society is small. Nevertheless, even though the evidence is limited, it is enough to confirm the correlation between the participation by interest groups and bureaucratic behaviour. Variation According to Policy Level The above discussion suggests that a single policy issue may change its nature at different stages, for example, from the policy formation stage to

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the implementation stage. Rice price policy at the policy formation level is highly politicized but has a low degree of politicization at the implementation level. Analysts of the policy issue must recognize the policy's level in order to understand the forces at work. The discussion also implies that the nature of the policy issue determines the risk of that issue. It should be noted here as well that the nature of the policy issue is dependent on the bureaucrat's perception of that issue at that point in time. In other words, under a different environment or circumstance, the same policy issue could have a different nature as far as the bureaucratic behaviour is concerned. Thus, the risk of the policy issue is a product of the bureaucrats' perception of that policy issue through the five indicators discussed. With his perception of a particular issue, a bureaucrat will decide how risky the issue is and consequently consider his bureaucratic behaviour towards the handling of the issue. Correlations with Risk A study of the indicators of the nature of the policy issue shows, firstly, that when the degree of politicization is high, bureaucrats are more likely to rely on the bureaucratic codes rather than on personal relations. It has also been shown that bureaucrats will probably use the bureaucratic codes when the policy issue has a high risk. One may conclude that when the degree of politicization of a policy issue is high, the policy issue has high risk. Conversely, the policy issue has low risk when the degree of politicization of the issue is low. Secondly, when the number of bureaucratic agencies involved is low, bureaucrats are more likely to draw on personal relations in handling the issue. This suggests that when the number of bureaucratic agencies involved is low, the policy issue has low risk. Thirdly, when the power of the bureaucratic agency involved is great, bureaucrats are more likely to use the bureaucratic codes in addressing the issue. This suggests that the issue has high risk. Conversely, the issue has low risk when the bureaucratic agencies involved have little power. Fourthly, when the degree of public understanding of an issue is high, the bureaucrats involved tend to follow the bureaucratic codes. They are more likely to rely on personal relations when public understanding of the issue is low. It can be concluded that when the degree of public understanding on an issue is high, the issue has high risk for the bureaucrats involved. The issue will have low risk when the degree of public understanding is low. Finally, when the degree of participation by interest groups is low, the bureaucrats are likely to conclude that the issue has low risk and to use personal relations rather than bureaucratic codes in handling the issue. Conversely, the issue will have risk when interest groups are actively participating or competing in the issue.

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The relationship between risk and the five aspects of an issue can be seen in the following diagram: Risk The Nature of the Issue 1. Degree of Politicization

2. Number of Bureaucratic Agencies involved 3. Power of Bureaucratic Agencies involved 4. Degree of Public Understanding 5. Degree of Participation of Interest Groups

Degree

High

High Low High Low High Low High Low High Low

•

• • •

•

Low

•

• • • •

This diagram helps us to classify policy issues in one of two categories: high-risk issues and low-risk issues. By analysing the nature of the issue through the five indicators given above, the bureaucrats can determine whether the issue has low or high risk and act accordingly. Thus, the bureaucrats' perception of a particular issue is very important in shaping their behaviour regarding the issue. This conclusion assumes that bureaucrats will make a "rational'' decision in determining their behaviour.

Factor of Personal Relationships Although we have assessed the probability of bureaucrats' using either bureaucratic codes or personal relations in handling a policy issue, we cannot conclude with certainty that they in fact rely on one value orientation or the other since, in reality, the bureaucrats involved may have personal relationships with people receiving services under the policy. We can say that if bureaucrats analyse a particular issue and determine that it has high or low risk, they are more or less likely to use the bureaucratic codes or personal relations in addressing the issue. But whether they will, in fact, rely on the "logical" value depends in part on their personal relationships with others involved. For example, it is more likely that bureaucrats will use personal relations in estimating taxes because tax collection has low risk, but we do not really know how much they will rely on personal relations. It is important, therefore, to identify the personal relationships between the bureaucrat and his counterparts. If there is a strong personal relationship, the bureaucrat is very likely to use personal relations in estimating the tax. Conversely, if the personal relationship is weak, the bureaucrat would rely less on personal relations. A high-ranking official of the Revenue Department

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explains the significance of personal relationships in Thai bureaucracy as follows: Personal management in Thai bureaucracy, I think, has two problems. First, there is the political problem. Second, superiors tend to use their personal relations (friendship), not accomplishments in evaluating a subordinate's promotion, particularly at a high level. Therefore, we cannot have an objective evaluation of a high-ranking position. Because they like or dislike the official, they do not consider his work or how much work he has produced; rather they consider his etiquette or relations with them. This is our value system. I do not say that it is right or wrong. We have been trained in this way. 59

The personal relationship that exists among bureaucrats or between a bureaucrat and individual members of the public is important in shaping the bureaucrat's behaviour. This leads us to conclude that when the issue has low risk and when the responsible bureaucrats and their counterparts have a close personal relationship, it is even more likely that the bureaucrats will rely on personal relations in managing the policy issue. Even when the issue has high risk and the bureaucrats involved would normally rely on bureaucratic codes to address the issue, their approach may change if they have a close personal relationship with others engaged in the issue, that is, they may be more flexible in applying bureaucratic codes. The strength of their personal relations may convince them to help or assist their "friends". This suggests that the existence of close personal relationships between bureaucrats and their counterparts - either bureaucrats or members of the public - also independently determines bureaucratic behaviour. The correlation between personal relationship and the probability of using either the bureaucratic codes or personal relations can be summarized in graph form as follows: High P(P.R.)

0~--------------------

P(P.R.) P.R.

High P.R. Probability of using personal relations Personal relationship between the bureaucrats and their counterparts

Kanok Wongtmngan

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High P(B.C.)

oL---------~~----~--

P(B.C.) P.R.

High P.R. Probability of using bureaucratic codes Personal relationship between the bureaucrats and their counterparts

We have identified two major factors that help to determine whether Thai bureaucrats adhere to one behaviour pattern or the other: namely, the risk of an issue and the existence of a personal relationship between the responsible bureaucrats and their counterparts. When a bureaucrat handles a policy issue, he must analyse the issue with a view to determining how to maximize his interest at low risk, that is, he must assess the potential risk the issue holds for him. He must also consider the nature of his personal relationships with those who would receive his services. These personal relationships will help to shape his behaviour in responding to the issue and the persons involved. Because personal relationships are an essential ingredient of the Thai social system, including its bureaucracy, it is not surprising that they have substantial impact on the behaviour of Thai bureaucrats. Generally, one may state that almost no policy issue is handled in Thailand without the bureaucrats utilizing their personal relations with counterparts in the Thai bureaucracy. These personal relations may not be direct, but either party can always find someone who has a direct personal relationship with the other party and then induce the desired bureaucratic behaviour through that personal relationship. It is accepted among Thais that personal relationships can help smooth away the difficulties inherent in their responsibilities. A Deputy Secretary General of ALRO responded to a question on personal relationships and budget allocation at the ministerial level in the following way. Yes, there is (personal relationship) involved. And I look at it as an ordinary case because if we do not use it (personal relationship) and allow the committee members to consider (our agenda) without a prior briefing of key members or the chairman, they may not consider it properly. Therefore, a prior briefing (through our personal relationship) is important. Then, the committee will support us in the meeting. 60

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This implies that "rational" principles alone may not be enough to produce a successful bureaucratic outcome. Personal relationships among the concerned parties must be used to assure the desired outcome. An example at the policy implementation level also confirms the significance of personal relationships. A leader of the Agricultural Land Reform Program at Sraburi Province described the roles of personal relationships in his work as follows: Coincidentally, I am lucky to have a boss who has excellent personal relationships. He knows many concerned bureaucratic agencies, e.g., he knows almost every agency at the provincial level as well as at the central level, such as the Smitra Foundation, which gives financial assistance to our new program at Lumpayaka. As a result of his personal relationships and close relationship with the Science and Technology Research Institute in Bangkok, this office has many qualified academicians and researchers to help us not only in the area of dairy products but also in the area of agricultural farming. They would give and demonstrate modern technology to us .... They fully support and help us mainly because of our boss' personal relationships. 61

Using personal relationships in Thai bureaucracy is easily and readily accepted. This is true partly because of the system of informal bonding. In other words, the informal Thai value system helps facilitate the imposition of personal relationships in Thai bureaucracy. On the other hand, because Thai bureaucrats under some circumstances follow modern administrative principles and set aside their personal relationships, we can conclude that modern administrative principles (the bureaucratic codes) are also an accepted value system of the Thai bureaucracy. In this respect, the value orientation of Thai bureaucracy is a reflection of the value orientation of Thai society. Thai bureaucrats sometimes exercise their personal relationships and at other times use modern administrative principles in performing their duties because they receive a "dualism of value orientations" from their society. Because Thai bureaucratic behaviour is shaped by the level of risk of the policy issue and the personal relationships between the bureaucrats and their counterparts, Thai bureaucratic behaviour may be seen as a function of both the risk of the policy issue and personal relationships. We may put it in equation form as follows: Thai Bureaucratic Behaviour = F (Risk, Personal Relationships) As indicated, Thai bureaucratic behaviour can be classified into two categories: (1) reliance on the bureaucratic codes, and (2) using personal relations. One question that arises is whether there are any variables that shape Thai bureaucratic behaviour. If so, what are they? Data indicate that in a few exceptional cases, bureaucrats are willing to impose their personal ideas, beliefs, principles or knowledge regarding the policy issue handled. But this imposition of so-called personal knowledge tends to stop short when the bureaucrats run into a high-risk situation. They then behave in

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accordance with the conceptual framework outlined above. In other words, personal knowledge has a very limited role in shaping Thai bureaucratic behaviour. For this reason, personal knowledge has not been incorporated in this study's conceptual model. The study recognizes that personal knowledge has some effect on the bureaucratic behaviour of some exceptional officials, but this is not significant to its analysis of the Thai bureaucracy. From the above discussion, it can be seen that personal relations, for the Thais, has a special meaning which is not simply a relationship between persons. On the contrary, personal relations indicate an obligation or moral relations between individuals to assist and/or protect one another even though such assistance or protection may be against some principles. This implies that personal relations is more than a relationship between individuals who have common interests. Therefore, personal relations in the Thai context functions like a social norm which governs behaviour according to a set of values. Since personal relations are deeply rooted into the Thai social fabric, it prevents a perfect socialization of the modern administrative values (the bureaucratic code) in Thai bureaucracy. Consequently, the bureaucratic code cannot solely govern bureaucratic behaviour. Personal relations partially shape bureaucratic behaviour.

Some Observations about Development Policy and Thai Bureaucratic Behaviour A picture of dualism in value orientation and its impact on Thai bureaucratic behaviour has been given above. This suggests that there are two sets of value systems co-existing in Thai society, namely, modem and traditional values. Because development practices often involve modern at the expense of traditional values, it may be argued that a basic precondition for development in Thailand is to impose and inculcate modern (alien) values among the Thai people. Unless traditional values are replaced with modern values, it will be impossible to achieve development in Thai society at a satisfactory rate. Attempts have been made in various forms to impose modern values, including the bureaucratic codes, on Thai society, including the Thai bureaucracy. But evidence has shown that the imposition of modern values has failed to displace traditional values, such as personal relations. On the contrary, some extreme traditionalists hold that the preservation of traditional values is essential to the future of Thai society. For these people, development has a negative image. Thus, while one group is trying to impose modern values, another group is trying to secure traditional values. Each group tends to approach development through a one-value system. This implies that we must choose either modern or traditional values in the development process. But we have learned empirically that such an approach is ineffectuaL

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A possible alternative approach to development in a society with two value systems is to utilize systematically the coexisting value systems. This would require us to understand how and when one or the other value system would prevail in bureaucratic behaviour. With this knowledge, we could structure development policies according to those conditions or constraints, or, at least, minimize the gains of a particular policy under a particular circumstance. When a traditional value (for example, personal relations) is mentioned, we tend to see it as the source for abuses of power, that is, when bureaucrats and their friends disregard the objective enforcement of law. This view of personal relations in the Thai bureaucracy is quite accurate. But we cannot eliminate the factor of personal relations from Thai society, including its bureaucracy. Our approach should not be to accept reliance on personal relations uncritically but, rather, to use it properly. Personal relations, if handled properly, can be useful in Thai bureaucratic management. If Thai bureaucrats used their personal relationships to achieve bureaucratic objectives rather than personal gain, personal relations would be a very good tool for enhancing Thai bureaucratic efficiency and achieving good results. This paper does not intend to suggest how personal relations should be used to increase the effectiveness of the Thai bureaucracy but does want to mention this as a possibly useful approach.

Participation in Policy-Making and Implementation Many social welfare and economic policies in Thailand emphasize the idea of "participation" as a means of increasing the efficiency and effectiveness of the modern bureaucracy. Ann Richardson gives good reasons for this administrative approach: Calls for greater participation in the social policy area have focused principally on the recipients, or consumers, of statutory services. It is argued that they must bear the consequences of policy decisions and therefore, should be able to play some part in their formulation. 62

Richardson indicates that people have a basic right to participate in the making of policies that affect them. But she also implies that such participation will be effective only when decision-makers take people's opinions into account in their decision-making. It is evident that "participation'' in the Thai social system has not had substantive impact on decision-making. 63 Rather, policy decisions have been made and so-called "participation" is used to help justify the actions of the policy-makers. Geraint Parry described this kind of participation as "unreal participation". 64 An aspect of "unreal participation'' is an absence of power on the part of the participants to influence the decision-makers. In order to have effective, or real, participation, participants must have the power to pressure the decision-makers.

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An important question, therefore, is whether the Thais have the power to pressure their policy-makers so that policies will be responsive to their needs or problems. In order to answer this question, we must consider the traditional social bondage of the Thais, namely, the superior-subordinate relationship. 65 Akin points out that the "superior", the bureaucrat in particular, symbolizes power from which the "subordinate", the people in general, must seek assistance and protection. Th put it differently, the Thai people do not have their own power, especially insofar as public affairs is concerned. Public affairs belong mainly to the "superior" (the elite). 66 Given this social context, it is relatively difficult to foresee any "real" participation by Thais in their policy-making process. The concept of participation set forth by Richardson does not seem to work in the Thai context. Furthermore, when participation is practised, informal clientship and personal relations tend to prevail. 67 The role of personal relations in the Thai participation process confirms once again that we cannot ignore its place in Thai development policy. Insofar as personal relations are concerned, we have no choice but to work with it. Participation, as defined by Richardson, may not be an appropriate ingredient of development in Thai society. If we want to impose participation on Thai development policies, we would have to have the necessary preconditions, especially organizing the power of the people. The question then is how to organize the people's power in the Thai social context where the people see power as belonging to the bureaucrats. Th answer this question, we must understand the nature of Thai group formation and especially how personal relations are involved in that process. 68 It seems clear that development in Thailand must be appropriate to the context of Thai society in order to achieve its objectives effectively. The basic argument of this paper is not anti-development. On the contrary, it raises the possibility of an alternative approach to Thai development, particularly insofar as the bureaucracy is concerned. The bureaucracy is one of the most powerful institutions engaged in Thailand's development. By understanding the factors that determine the behaviour of Thai bureaucracy, we can address Thai development and the bureaucratic constraints affecting bureaucracy more effectively.

NOTES Malcolm Smith, A Physician at the Court of Siam (London: Country Life Press, 1947), pp. 85-86; cited in William]. Siffin, The Thai Bureaucracy: Institutional Change and Development (Honolulu: East-West Center Press, 1966), p.5. 2. David K. Wyatt, "Education and the Modernization of Thai Society", in Change and Persistence in Thai Society, edited by G. William Skinner and Thomas Kirch (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975). 3. lliid., p. 134. 4. Ibid., p. 132. 1.

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5. Kanok Wongtrangan, Politics in Thai Democratic Regime (in Thai) (Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, 1984), p. 68. 6. Ibid., p. 72. 7. Fred W. Riggs, Thailand: The Modernization of a Bureaucratic Polity (Honolulu: East-West Center Press, 1967), p. 312. 8. Ibid., p. 319. 9. Ibid., pp. 319-20. 10. Ibid., p. 349. 11. From an interview with Dr Kasem Sirisampan in September 1983. 12. Wongtrangan, op. cit., p. 57. 13. Ibid., p. 191. 14. For example, Article No. 157 of the 1978 constitution gives this power to the executive. 15. For example, Article No. 125 of the 1978 constitution indicates this power of the Prime Minister. 16. Riggs, op. cit., p. 396. 17. Akin Rabibhadana, Thai Society in the Early Bangkok Period: B.E. 2325-2416 (in Thai) (Bangkok: Social Sciences and Humanities Textbook Foundation, 1975), chapters 5 and 6. 18. Akin Rabibhadana, "Clientship and Class Structure in the Early Bangkok Period'; in Change and Persistence in Thai Society, edited by G. William Skinner and Thomas Kirsh (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975), p. 108. 19. Ibid., p. 111. 20. Ibid., p. 109. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 119. 23. H.G. Quaritch Wales, Ancient Siamese Government and Administration (London: Quaritch, 1934). 24. Rabibhadana, "Clientship and Class Structure ... ", p. 114. 25. Mongkut, Prachum prakat ratchakan thi si [Collected proclamations of the fourth region], vol. 2 and 3; cited in ibid., p. 116. 26. Rabibhadana, "Clientship and Class Structure ... ", p. 122. 27. W.C. Reeve, Public Administration in Siam (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1951), p. 58. 28. Ibid. 29. Barendj. Terwiel, "Formal structures and informal rules: An historical perspective on hierarchy, bondage and the patron-client relationship", in Strategies and Structures in Thai society, edited by Han ten Brumanelhuis and jeremy H. Kemp (Amsterdam: The Anthropological-Sociological Center, University of Amsterdam, 1984), p. 27. 30. Ibid., p. 23. 31. Ibid., pp. 32-33. 32. From an interview with M.R. Kukrit Pramoj, a well-known Thai scholar and politician in January 1985. 33. Thrwiel, op. cit., p. 34. 34. Akin Rabibhadana, Rise and Fall of a Bangkok Slum, Paper No. 6 (Bangkok: Thai Khadi Research Institute, 1980), p. 22.

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35. Ibid., p. 30. 36. Many interviews with bureaucrats involved in land reform policy, tax policy, and rice policy at various ranks, have confirmed that if the nature of the issue they are handling has a high risk, they would stick to the bureaucratic codes concerning that issue in performing their duties. 37. The interviews also confirm that bureaucrats are more likely to use personal relations in handling their duties when the issue has a low risk. 38. After the student uprising in October 1973, the new civilian government of Sanya Dhammasakdi came under much political pressure to adopt a land reform policy and eventually passed the Land Reform Act of 1975. 39. Ammar Siamwalla and Kanok Wongtrangan, "Institutional Basis of Thai Rice Price Policies" (mimeographed, January 1984). 40. The Land Reform Act of 1975, Articles 8 and 19, indicate power relationships between the National Agricultural Land Reform Executive Committee and the Agricultural Land Reform Office regarding Thai land reform administration. 41. From interviews with bureaucrats of the Department of Revenue at the policymaking and implementation levels, between July and August 1984. 42. According to the data in this study, there are many interest groups participating in rice policies: for example, the Thai Rice Millers Association, the Rice Exporters Association, and the Agricultural Federation of Cooperatives. On the other hand, no definitive interest group participates in land reform policy. However, some evidence indicates that participation in land reform policy comes from individual landlords but in an unorganized fashion which is different from the interest groups in the rice policy. 43. From interviews with some high ranking officials of the Ministry of Commerce in October 1983. 44. Seejermsakdi Pinthong's study on the roles of the marketing organization for farmers in rice price support programmes, entitled "Benefits and Costs Distribution of Rice Market Intervention Program of the Marketing Organization for Farmers in 1982/83". 45. From an interview with a Deputy Secretary General of the Land Reform Office in june 1985. 46. Ibid. 4 7. Visakorn Srathongkarn, "Problems and Obstacles of Land Reform in Thailand" (in Thai) (M.A. Thesis in Political Science, Department of Government, Faculty of Political Science, Chulalongkorn University, 1980), p. 104. 48. I have worked in many government committees and working groups which were composed of representatives from various bureaucratic agencies. I have learned that it is quite typical for these committees to push their responsibilities to other agencies by citing many administrative principles and laws or regulations. 49. From an interview with an official of the Revenue Department in February 1985. 50. Ibid. 51. From an interview with a high ranking official of the National Economic and Social Development Board in February 1985. 52. Siamwalla and Wongtrangan, op. cit 53. From personal observation as a member of a Thsk Force on rice price policy which was appointed by the Prime Minister in 1983.

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54. From an interview with Mathi Krongkaew in March 1985. 55. From personal observation of the implementation of rice procurement programmes through the Marketing Organization for Farmers and Public Warehouse Organization, in 1983. 56. From an interview with a Deputy Secretary General of the Agricultural Land Reform Office in june 1985. 57. Ibid. 58. From personal observation on rice price policy in 1983. 59. From an interview with a high ranking official of the Revenue Department in March 1985. 60. From an interview with a Deputy Secretary General of the Agricultural Land Reform Office in March 1985. 61. From an interview with a leader of the Agricultural Land Reform Program at Sraburi Province in April 1985. 62. Ann Richardson, Participation (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983). 63. Wongtrangan, op. cit., chapters 3 and 4. 64. Geraint Parry, "The idea of political participation'', in Participation in Politics, edited by Geraint Parry (Manchester: Manchester University, 1972). 65. Akin Rabibhadana writes in various places on the superior-subordinate relationship. See, for example, Rise and Fall of a Bangkok Slum, Paper No. 6 (Bangkok: Thai Khadi Research Institute, 1980); and Thai Society in the Early Bangkok Period: B.E. 2325-2416 (Bangkok: Social Sciences and Humanities Thxtbook Foundation, 1975). 66. Wongtrangan, op. cit., chapter 3. 67. Ibid., chapter 6. 68. I have discussed Thai group formation, particularly the role of personal relations in the process. See Kanok Wongtrangan, "Some thoughts on Thai politics'; in Aspects of Analysis of Thai Politics (in Thai), edited by Kanok Wongtrangan (Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, forthcoming).

4

Distributive Justice in the Philippines: Ideology, Policy and Surveillance - - - - - - - - - M A H A R MANGAHAS---------

Distributive justice and the Dynamics of Development Of the two broad categories of economic well-being - equity and efficiency - the former is much more important. The first consideration is Philippine history, in which the dominant component has been political history. Both the colonial and post-colonial eras have been replete with violence, and consequent political changes, which have been largely attributed to economic injustices. Over the centuries, the Filipino people have taken bold political steps based on their perceptions of such injustices. In particular, it cannot be denied that the present Muslim rebellion and the communist threat are connected to economic inequities. In short, distributive justice, unlike economic growth, is crucial to the security of the state. In any case, the Philippine economy has already had quite a good postwar growth record (at least, prior to the most recent balance of payments and subsequent debt crises). Real per capita income more than doubled during 1950-80; yet, as recent dramatic events have again demonstrated, the economic foundation for political stability obviously got no stronger. In short, the efficacy of mere growth without redistribution as a path towards meaningful national well-being has petered out. At the same time, it seems that all political groups take it for granted that the government must play a very prominent role, if not assume complete responsibility, for achieving national development. Regardless of which interest group or ideology may happen to hold the political upperhand at any given time, all contending parties appear to maintain that the remedies to distributive problems should properly come about through public programmes and through institutional changes initiated by the government sector. In this context, there is no way for the social sciences to be completely neutral. In the field of economics in particular, where the issues of efficient 80

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allocation of resources and of productivity have long dominated policy discussion, statistical activities, development planning and research in general, to continue with past tradition is in effect to support the status quo in the area of distributive justice. Yet, people do not hold their political struggles in abeyance while awaiting scientific assessment of social problems. Thus, relatively sharp political and ideological changes in some Asian countries have had more impact on the distribution of material well-being than the gradualist or trickle-down programmes undertaken in countries where traditional power structures have not been threatened. The question still remains whether so-called technocratic activities are inherently impotent if unaccompanied by political change. It seems accepted that solutions can be found for such economic problems as inflation, balance of payments crises, employment and fiscal deficits - all of which require not only centralized economic action but also a fair degree of social co-operation - which are both technically sound and non-threatening to the viability of the very government which is to carry them out. Reaching such solutions requires a clear technical understanding of and adequate data on these issues, and a broad social acceptance of the analysis done and conclusions reached by the government on them, leading to various interest groups' acquiescence to and co-operation with the pertinent public programmes. Where distributive justice is concerned, however, the technocratic approach is severely limited both by the shortage of pertinent data and by the lack of awareness of the public of what data do exist. A wide variety of programmes have been implemented in the expectation that they would improve equity, but their impact remains highly ambiguous because surveillance over equity is almost nil. There is no system which monitors equity with the same regularity, the same geographical detail, and in particular the same professional concern as the national income and product accounts. Societies and their governments have learned how (and how not) to promote economic growth simply because the system tells them, year after year, what the GNP and its components are. But there is no comparable system in the area of equity which uncovers policy errors and indicates potential institutional break-throughs. If the knowledge gap is to be remedied, then the reasons for it have to be understood. In the first place, the subject matter of distributive justice calls for more explicit statements of moral values than does the matter of economic efficiency. Often, economists tend to excuse themselves from paying attention to equity on the ground that it is improper for them to simply make use of their own personal moral values. This excuse is invalid, not because individual values are substitutable for social ones, but because it is entirely feasible to discern what society's values are. History, as it has been handed down to contemporary society, is one important source for

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making such observations. Direct research on such values, based, for instance, on representative sample surveys, is another source. Whatever the sources, there can be an objective basis for the articulation of social values, which should lead, in turn, towards value-conscious and hence more socially relevant economics. Secondly, it should be realized that the system of recording and measuring socio-economic phenomena is itself a part of the policy environment. It rarely happens that data-gathering precedes and thus becomes a prior basis for well-informed policy-making. More likely, new policies and measures are undertaken simultaneously, and, often enough, the new measures or new accounting follow some time after the policies have been initiated. Thus, proponents of new policy directions have an interest in maintaining the existing state of ambiguity in socio-economic conditions. This helps to explain such things as the tolerance of infrequent and largely inconsistent survey data on family income, the feeble reactions to the discontinuance of an established data series on urban wages, or the long reluctance (only ended this year, under the Aquino government) to adopt an official poverty line with which to target poverty reduction. Perhaps it is fortunate that the people are too practical to leave important matters entirely in the hands of social science dabblers. They can actually redistribute without data, as in China; but so can abundant data be collected without much redistribution, as in India. Good socio-economic analysis of a good data base does not, of itself, create the social transformations required to attain an equitable society. But, shared with society, it may help to make the problems better understood, and allow the solutions to be discovered and applied in a less disruptive and more humane process than otherwise.

Ideology, Policy and Surveillance Regarding Economic Inequity: A Re-reading of History Pre-Spanish Times This is a favourite starting point in our histories: an age when the islands of the Philippines were not occupied by foreign powers, and thus the popular source of the "most authentic" Filipino institutions; an age which most present-day Filipinos probably think of as socially tranquil within any one of the early communities, despite the frequent enmities among them. The early Filipino communities were small, having at most a few thousand families. Each contained substantial social inequalities of power and of wealth, with distinct social classes from the highest type of nobles to the lowest type of slaves. But the mere existence of such inequalities apparently did not imply inherent social instability within a community. According to Frank Lynch's position that most present-day communities are basically the

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same as they were four centuries ago, neither would such class distinctions, of themselves, foster instability today: With their basic needs and surpluses so mutually attuned, each giving and each receiving in turn what they can most afford and least provide, small wonder that the wealthy and the poor, the patrons and the clients of the Philippines, have lived in symbiotic union through the centuries. . .. One side offers an assurance of subsistence, help in times of crisis, protection from danger, mediating influence with the powers that be, and occasional good times. The price for all this is labor on the farms or elsewhere and a multitude of varied services, rendered with proper deference and loyalty to the patron-partner. For centuries, untold multitudes of Filipinos have found these terms of exchange both acceptable and desirable. And until something comes along which is provenly better, this attitude will persist. 1

This position implies that, among Filipinos, there could be a social exchange between "big people" and "little people" (Lynch's terms) which, if not unambiguously fair, is neither patently unjust nor susceptible to violent upheaval. Economic inequality, under this view, is not prima facie evidence of social inequity. The acquisition of economic privilege by force of arms is obviously unjust, yet quite traditional. In the many autonomous communities of the islands of the pre-Spanish era, long before the Filipinos became a nation, the most important qualification for chieftainship was aptitude for leadership in battle. Thus, the chiefs right of ownership or disposition over community lands was simply a matter of occupational merit. When war was necessary, the common people could expect to be called to war by their chief, for fighting was not the specialized occupation of a few. Obviously, it was not socially improper, in the view of any aggressive community, to try to impose its power on another. It is said that, for some communities, piracy and slave raiding were the primary occupations, and that trade was only an extension of these occupations. 2 The people of a militarily weak community could expect to be driven away from their preferred lands, which would typically be the fertile coastal areas, to the poorer, undeveloped interior lands. This is the root of the fact that today's poorest Filipinos are the mountain-dwelling cultural minorities.

The Spanish Period The small communities of most of the islands could not cope with the force of sixteenth-century Spanish arms. (The larger and politically more organized Mora communities held out until the middle of the nineteenth century, when the gunboat gave Spain somewhat more of a military advantage.) It must have been difficult for them to unite, for they probably were

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as alien to each other as the Spaniards were to them as a result of language differences and past traditions of conflict. It was very common for the Spaniards to enlist soldiers from one tribe to help in subjugating another. The Spaniards set to work "pacifying" the communities, but the pacificadares (pacificators) were really conquistadores (conquerors), and as such exacted tribute of all forms, including goods, services (forced labour) and money. The historians report of punishment by torture of those who did not pay the tribute, and the burning of villages of those who ran away to the mountains. The local overlords of this early Spanish period protection racket were the encomenderos (agents). Their cruelties were apparently contrary to proper behaviour even according to the rules of the colonial power, since, complaining that the subsidy from Mexico was too small, the Spaniards in the islands "felt free to rob the Indios and impose on them in other ways". 3 Such actions could not have been too unusual or unexpected to the early island communities, for they had probably done similar things to each other in earlier times. That we resent the historical experience now is because we identify those early communities as the precursor of the Filipino nation, and the conquerors as non-Filipino. According to the historians, the harshness of the tribute and, in particular, of forced labour - in forests and mines, and in armies and navies that separated the men from their families - provoked many rebellions. The rebellions were put down by force, often with the help of soldiers from different communities of Indios, an indication that the latter were far from being a nation. Thus, the Moros of the south grew to regard the Christianized Idios of the north, who fought them under Spanish commanders, as their permanent enemies. The local Chinese, who had to render forced labour, also revolted from time to time, and appeared so threatening to the ruling power that they suffered six massacres between 1603 and 1819. The Spaniards even formed some new towns through the forced resettlement of rural people, as a means of controlling rebels. The rebellions of the people under colonial regimes are the de facto indicators of a morally obnoxious inequality between the powerful and the weak. Obviously, we use here, not the rulers' perspective, but the people's perspective of morality. Economic inequities can then be defined as those components of economic inequalities which are objectionable to society. Such components often have to do more with the processes of generating unequal outcomes than with the unequal outcomes themselves. Social anger at these inequities is repressible to some extent, 4 but Filipino tradition indicates that it is ultimately vented violently when the pressure is too great. During the Spanish period, government controls over economic markets were the rule rather than the exception, and the free exporting and importing of anything was an unusual privilege deserving of historical record. These controls were other means, perhaps more civilized ones, of exacting economic surplus for the colonial power. Thus, every Spanish resident

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had some loading space, varied according to his rank, on the galleon to Acapulco, and the right to this space could be sold just like sugar quotas or dollar allocations in later days; it was an effective way of combining taxation through monopoly privilege with redistribution to the local Spanish people. There were also internal controls and monopolies, the most famous of which was the tobacco monopoly, originally intended as a money-making device to reduce the colonial government's dependence on the subsidy from Mexico. To protect such controls, there had to be internal restrictions on travel and trading by the Indios. However, the pressures from such civilized exploitation were vented to some extent by the actions of smugglers and black-marketers (or free-marketers), depending on one's point of view. 5 It appears that such governmental authority over economic affairs was very often abused, in the sense that even the declared rules of the colonial authority were themselves violated. It was traditional for alcaldes (mayors) to purchase their offices, and to recover their investment by making money out of their exclusive trading rights. The order in 1844 that alcaldes should not engage in trade indicates that such acts were formally improper, and explains why they would be difficult to enforce without police power. What the powerful practised for over three centuries could not have been unnoticed by the local elite, whose own turn at the helm would come in time. Such numerous economic manipulations, some perhaps formally legal, others more obviously corrupt, also led to inequalities which our present society frowns upon; the histories dwell upon them for the sake of the moral lesson. But these anomalies seem to have been lesser issues insofar as social violence is concerned; Filipinos have always had, it seems, higher thresholds of tolerance for such manipulations than for other types of abuses. In the Spanish period, despite growth in the population and the urban settlements, and despite changes in the product mix, in response to new export trade opportunities, the common standard of living did not improve. Although reference to slaves went into disuse, quasi-slavery in the form of debt bondage persisted in many areas. The constant reference to subsistence living suggests an economic stagnation that lasted for centuries. After all, there were few sources of productivity being developed in Europe at the time, and probably fewer yet of these introduced by Spain in the islands. Education in the Spanish language was so thinly spread that Spanish was easily uprooted within the two generations of American rule. Thus, the economic content in the accounts of the historians has to do more with the issue of economic distribution, than with the issue of economic efficiency or growth. (Compare these to the descriptions in typical economic histories, which focus so much on growth in production and trade, as though the ongoing social conflicts were unrelated to economic processes.) The distribution of wealth clearly grew out of the distribution

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of power, and not vice versa. There is a long historical tradition behind this more contemporary observation: We believe that malakas [strong] and mahina [weak] is a better classification than the 'rich' and the 'poor' in reference to the double standard in our society, because ... the law-abiding ... are the ones who are looked down upon as mahina because they follow the law. . .. It is not actually wealth, as much as political influence or social power, that perverts justice, although we readily concede that wealth is a major weapon. 6 In the Spanish period, the authority of the Catholic Church was joined to the power of the colonial government. By agreement with the Vatican, the Spanish kings had the right to manage the religious institutions, and they made their governors-general in the Philippines both their religious and civil representatives. Thus, the military and the ecclesiastical powers acquired their respective fiefs; they both committed abuses of power, and consequently both became the targets of various rebellions. Land usurpation, of which the friars were not the least innocent,? was one of the economic causes of the rebellions; it was also a lesson to the unscrupulous that it was a most effective way of amassing wealth. Both the civil and the religious powers used the military to enforce their will. Both powers used Indios from the traditional nobility as go-betweens, in the local government (gobernadorcillos) as well as in agrarian administration (inquilinos, who leased lands from the friars and then sub-leased them to the actual tillers), thus widening vertically the socio-economic gap within the Indios community. (The Filipino clergy, however, was kept out of the important positions in the religious power structure.) Over time, a mestizo group emerged to occupy a separate sociallayer8 of its own, both racially and economically linked to the ruling class. During the long period of dormant technology, natural resources, especially agricultural land, were the most important form of economic wealth. Part of the land was directly granted or else cheaply sold by the colonial power to its favourites, such as the encomenderos or powerful lessees. Much of the land was indirectly surrendered to the local elite or principalia through the legal system, with the principalia registering excessive land claims under the Spanish land titling decrees of 1880 and 1894, and taking advantage of the peasants' naive faith in traditional land rights. 9 The pattern of legalized land-grabbing, started earlier on the friar estates, and which continued throughout the Homesteading Law under the American regime until the natural-resources exploitation concessions of the presentday, had been set.

The Philippine Revolution As the nineteenth century was ending, so was Spanish colonial power. Within Spain itself, the liberal, anti-clerical movement helped by providing

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a hospitable environment for the illustrados' (Filipino intelligentsia) propaganda movement. In the colony, the colonized people were now better united, more tightly organized, and militarily more capable than before. Now they preferred to call themselves Filipino, as a means of solidifying their unity and diverting attention from the social divisions among them (although every so often some leaders would lapse into referring to their people as Thgalogs). The Philippine revolution which broke out in 1896, led by persons of both proletarian and landed backgrounds, clearly had the support of large sections of the Filipino masses. The involvement of the masses in the revolution cannot be explained as having been compelled by military force or seduced by deceptive propaganda. The revolution had no force without the people's participation; and the propagandists could not have been effective if their messages had not come from within the people's own experience. The "explanation" - in the social scientist's sense - for the people's participation in the revolution must lie in the meanings which the people themselves saw in it. Although it is convenient to examine the statements of the lettered elite who tried to serve as the people's spokesmen, we are reminded that the masses have their own categories of meaning. For the historian Ileto, the pasyon (the Christian passion), is most significant because it provided the (in this case, Christian) Filipinos with a pattern of universal history, with "ideal forms of behavior and social relationships, and a way to attain these through suffering, death and rebirth"; it guided their conception of kalayaan to include not only the English concept of "freedom'' but also enlightenment, prosperity and brotherhood. 10 It should not be surprising, therefore, that after centuries of Spanish rule, there would be some elements of Christian equity and morals in the people's sense of justice, or that the Filipino clergy was an active supporter of the revolutionary movement. In time, the elite faction of the revolution became dominant, and, after a truce with the Spaniards in 1897, resumed the battle in 1898 and was militarily successful against Spain. Unfortunately, the Filipino forces failed to take possession of Manila itself, on account of the American intervention. Despite its too brief existence, the revolutionary government's achievements on the economic side were significant. It seized the friar lands within the occupied territories as one of the first actions taken under the U.S. occupation. Its ideological leaders, such as Mabini and jacinto, articulated a rhetoric of social justice which has influenced Filipino aspirations to this day. This articulation of social objectives - that a society which is not only independent but in which the people are sovereign; which respects the freedom and equal dignity of all; which protects workers and tenants; opposes oppression, exploitation and

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- is important not because it is particularly original or because it has a greater logic in the Filipino case than in any other case, but because contemporary Filipinos consider the dedication of their revolutionary forebears as the logic for recognizing it as their own. At the same time, however, the revolutionary government took some steps which effectively limited political participation to those with high economic status. 12 Thus, apart from the impending replacement of Spaniards in authority by the Filipinos, it is not clear that a radical revolution in social structure was in the offing. The short-lived government did not have the opportunity to demonstrate how it was to achieve its ideals of social justice with a minimum of structural change.

The American Period Unfortunately, the revolution, mainly in the North and Central Philippines, succumbed in due time to the military strength of the United States, its erstwhile ally. (The United States had neutralized the Moro forces in the South through a non-aggressio n pact. Earlier, the movement for Philippine self-government had lost, by a very narrow margin, to the imperialist lobby within the U.S. executive and legislative branches in the crucial period of 1898-99.) At the end of their war, the United States and Spain agreed that existing property rights in the Philippines would be respected; this made it possible for the pot of agrarian unrest to keep simmering.B The most notable act of economic redressal taken by the American colonial government was its move, immediately after the Philippine-Am erican war, to purchase the major part, some 159,000 hectares, of the friar lands. (Since many friar estates had already been seized by the Philippine revolutionary forces in the areas they had occupied, for the U.S. colonial government to restore the friars' property rights would have been most unpopular and could even have rekindled the war.) The United States agreed, for political considerations, to a purchase price which was considered in excess of the market value of the land. Thus, the friar orders may well have remained as wealthy, in financial terms, as before. Nevertheless, the power of the friars, and consequently the extent of inequity, was much reduced. This initial instance of land reform in Philippine history was clearly intended to mollify the revolutionary leaders, whose prime demands had included restitution of the friar lands "to the people': That is to say, in accordance with pre-Spanish tradition, they had intended to divide up the lands among the fighters, in proportion to their respective contributions to the revolution. Most of those who eventually acquired the lands were not tillers themselves but inquilinos, some revolutionary leaders, and American

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business (especially sugar) interests. By 1910, when there were an estimated 40,000 tenants on the estates, 45 per cent of the lands had been acquired by only 82 buyers and 492 lessees. The new landlords were lay Filipinos. 14 The American regime is often described as having been comparatively more benevolent. Educational and other social investments were far greater than in the Spanish period. It was politic to shunt off Filipino feelings of belligerence by a relatively liberal colonial policy. One could get a civil service job by learning English. For the independent-minded there now was Protestantism as an alternative to Catholicism; there was a new, secular state university (established in 1908) as an alternative to what used to be the (Dominican) university; and there was a relatively free press. Such gestures probably were facilitated by the strong anti-imperialist sentiments in the United States, which made a political issue out of the occupation of the Philippines. Hence, the compromise on a temporary period of "tutelage" prior to eventual political independence. Much of the economic literature on the American period focuses on the direction of external trade, which, as a result of American protectionist motives, was obviously shifted from being Europe-oriented to being U.S.oriented. Such a move may have been, fortuitously, a "liberalization'', from the viewpoint of Philippine commerce, because the American economy was more dynamic; certainly, Philippine exports gained much from the world trade situation during World War I. But the quarrels over access to the American market, or over access of Americans to the Philippine market, could not have had much consequence for the state of economic inequality; and if not, then much less consequence for the state of economic inequity. The income streams affected by the conditions of international trade were mainly those of the few people who were owners or quasi-owners of land and other natural resources. Except for two important changes, namely, the new standards of social services, and the opportunity for migration to a relatively more dynamic economy in search of higher wages, the link to the United States, rather than to Spain, could well have been a matter of indifference to the working class. The American colonial administration was clearly popular with the indigenous elite, who were the main beneficiaries of the very early policy of Filipinization of local governments and of the bureaucracy; it has been aptly labelled as a period of "compadre colonialism': The great expansion in the civil service, with entry by examination, led to the replacement of Spanish bureaucrats by Filipinos and to the beginnings of a new middle class, with salary levels four to five times that of unskilled urban workers. 15 Quite a few became pensionados, or recipients of grants for study in the United States. But not all of these were meritorious students; many were simply members of influential Filipino families, including members of the traditional Moro nobility. Furthermore, many local Filipino officials' understanding

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of public service seems to have been in keeping with the morality of the Spanish regime; Governor Thft remarked in 1908 that The greatest difficulty we have had to contend with in vesting Filipinos with official power in municipalities is to instill in them the idea that an offfice is not solely for private emolument. 16

The urban work-force began to expand substantially, with a steadily growing proportion of white-collar workers. Despite some setbacks during periods of rapid inflation (1911-12, 1918-19, 1924, 1929, 1935-36, 1938), there was a broadly upward trend in real wages, with those of unskilled workers being more than 50 per cent greater in 1938 than in 1910. While certainly related both to the growth in demand for factory workers and to a relatively liberal wage policy in the civil service, these wage increases also occurred in the environment of a youthful labour movement which was both economically and politically (pro-independence) motivated. "After all, the laborers were Filipinos and the capitalists were foreigners': 17 Factory workers' wages, although rising over time, were nevertheless very low by absolute standards. The Union of Cigar Workers which went on a great strike in 1934 stated that 85 per cent of the workers earned from 40 to 60 centavos per day, while a family of five needed, by the union's estimate, from 0.95 to 1.18 pesos per day in expense money. The Fact-Finding Board created by the state to investigate the causes of the strike cited a Red Cross estimate that a worker needed to earn one peso per day to keep a family of five from serious health difficulties. 18 In the meantime, in the more heavily settled rural areas, such as Central Luzon, the land frontier was near exhaustion, and in the process the economic bargains between landlord and tenant, which had become traditional through the generations, began to break down. Many peasant protests over sharply increased land rentals and interest rates on landlord-sourced credit were repressed by the agrarian elite, with the assistance of government forces (not only during the U.S. but also the japanese occupation). 19 But this strengthened, rather than weakened, rural organizations and before long the protest graduated into revolts. Under a new political theme of "social justice", some legislation for rental reductions was passed, but was ineffective because of numerous loopholes. The American regime accelerated the process of pushing back the land frontier. However, many landlords and only a few of the landless were able to get through the bureaucratic obstacles to getting a land title to a homestead. Land which was not formally private property was considered part of the public domain. "Modernization" of the land registration system became, as in the Spanish period, a new weapon against the traditional land rights of small peasants. 2o The Americans opened up mines in what was deemed public land, that is, any land under U.S. colonial government administration. The American

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privilege to exploit Philippine natural resources continued into the period of the Republic under the so-called parity amendment, long a sore point in Philippine-U.S. relations. 21 The mountain tribes moved even deeper inland. And among those too stubborn to submit, such as the Moros, the age-old work of "pacification" went on, as in the Spanish period, with the assistance of other (Christian) Filipinos. The opening of Mindanao lands for settlement, which was exploited much more by the Christians (particularly by public officials and army officers) than by the Moros, is to this day one of the major grievances behind the armed struggle of the Filipino Muslims. 22

The japanese Occupation The American colonial period was briefly interrupted by the Japanese occupation (1942-45), as the Spanish period also had been by a British invasion (1762-64). The war period did little to change past patterns of economic inequality. There was no shortage of collaborators among the economic elite, as had also been the case soon after the arrival of the Spaniards and the Americans. Private property rights were kept intact under the Japanese administration. Agrarian landlords, many of whom moved to the cities where they felt safer, were still legally entitled to their rents. But they found difficulties in collecting the full amounts from districts where the agrarian movement was strong, such as the Spanish friars found it hopeless to expect rents from the estates occupied by the Filipino revolution. The passing of the regime was less kind to the Japanese landed interests than it was to the Spanish in 1898 or would be to the Americans in 1946. In the South, the Japanese lost their agricultural estates, which had been acquired even before the start of the war, when these were occupied by the Filipinos during the liberation.

The Republic Many of the economic strains and conflicts of the earlier eras made their way, as might have been expected, into the period after formal political independence was achieved in 1946. The agrarian conflict continued, with the peasant side bolstered, though by no means monopolized, by the communists. 23 The Moro conflicts graduated into an openly secessionist movement. The world being much smaller than formerly, all interest groups became internationalists whenever possible and convenient to their side. As they had earlier assimilated sympathetic elements from the ideologies of Europe and North America, the Filipinos now began to draw from the lessons of the Soviet Union, China, the Arab world and, more recently, Central and South America.

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With the advent of "modern" economic statistics, and with specialization in the social sciences, economic analysis in the early post-war decades tended to be so narrow as to encourage economic history as a compartment separate from political or social history. The economic subject matter, in keeping with the Marshallian and Keynesian tradition, came to be more or less limited to issues of growth and efficiency. This was a departure from the historically more vital issues of equity and distributive justice. By the early 1950s it became possible to monitor the aggregate economy on an annual basis. The economy grew rapidly during the first few decades of the Republic. But in the early 1980s it slowed down very sharply, GNP growth fell to zero in 1983 and to minus 5 per cent in 1984; by 1985, per capita income had fallen to the level of one decade earlier. Real wages did not grow in step with the scale of the economy. One data series, with base 1965 = 100, has the real wage for unskilled workers in Manila growing from 90 in 1951 to a peak of 115 in 1955, and then steadily dropping to a low of 90 in 1973; another series, with base 1972 = 100, has the same wage falling steadily from 112 in 1970 to 60 in 1980, at which point the series was discontinued by tne (Marcos) government altogether. 24 Cross-sectional surveys of income and expenditures capable of monitoring distributional conditions were infrequent (typically quinquennial), and little attention was paid to the quality of the data. Although there had been such surveys in 1956, 1961, 1965 and 1971, it did not occur to government research institutions until 197 4 that these could be used to calculate the incidence of poverty, using one or another threshold or poverty line. This brought in the aspect of equity as fair treatment towards the poor by society as a whole, which is different from the issue of fair treatment of one identified social group towards another identified social group. The research showed that the incidence of poverty definitely grew between the survey years 1961, 1965 and 1971; thereafter, the incidence appears to have remained high, but the direction of the trend was unclear. 25 Whereas academic researchers were inquiring into undeserved inequality and poverty, the real challenge for social investigators was (and still is) inquiring into undeserved wealth. For the Filipino elite, the latest source of such wealth was government, which had newly fallen into their hands. "What are we in power for?" was the classic remark made in the 1950s by a Filipino politician (whose name need not be remembered). In 1970, Senator Benigno Aquino, Jr., already highly touted as presidential material, noted: The first set was the surplus-property millionaires under Roxas. Then you had the immigration-quota millionaires under Quirino and Magsaysay; the reparations millionaires under Garcia; and Macapagal's governmentfinanced millionaires: the Thdas, the Delgados who put up the Hilton.

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Under Marcos we have the money-manipulators, the quick artists who dabble in stocks and make money on such manipulations as the devaluation of the peso. 26

The "New Society" The governmental system turned markedly authoritarian in 1972, when Ferdinand Marcos, then in his seventh (and penultimate, according to the constitution) year as President, declared martial law, claiming that the security of the state was gravely threatened. He began to exercise legislative powers, and continued to do so, even after the formal lifting of the martial law in 1981, by virtue of a constitutional amendment. Marcos announced the formation of a New Society, necessitated by, in his words, "rebellion of the poor". One of his noted ideologues, O.D. Corpuz, rationalized that it was socially proper that liberty within the context of the Bill of Rights should give precedence to economic liberty: [T]he maximum of liberty that is realizable by man in securing himself against government is only a small, though important, part of human liberty. Man's life transcends his relations with government, and the liberty he is entitled to in the other areas of human life is a larger and equally important, component of liberty. . .. The New Society exposes these concepts - liberty without the grace of human equality, freedom without the discipline of answerability, private rights without public duties - as self-defeating delusions. They are delusive because they do not reflect the reality of human and social needs. They are self-defeating because they unerringly create the social forces that will ultimately reject them. Political liberty and freedom that create the rights which promote affluence for the few, and sustain deprivation for the many, will necessarily dissolve the bonds between the rich and the poor, destroy the cohesive ties which make the different classes into a community. 27

The Marcos regime's socio-economic development plans echoed the rhetoric. But they never got around to actually setting equity-oriented targets, and, by implication, were not really serious about formulating policies and programmes potent enough to achieve them. 28 It is interesting to contrast the above statement by Corpuz with the following definition of social justice offered by (then political oppositionist, and the late Chairman of the Presidential Commission on Human Rights) jose W. Diokno: Social justice, for us Filipinos, means a coherent, intelligible system of law, made known to us, enacted by a legitimate government freely chosen by us, and enforced fairly and equitably by a courageous, honest, impartial, and competent police force, legal profession and judiciary, that first, respects our rights and our freedoms both as individuals

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and as a people; second, seeks to repair the injustices that society has inflicted on the poor by eliminating poverty as rapidly as our resources and our ingenuity permit; third, develops a self-directed and self-sustaining economy that distributes its benefits to meet, at first, the basic material needs of all, then to provide an improving standard of living for all, but particularly for the lower income groups, with time enough and space to allow them to take part in and to enjoy our culture; fourth, changes our institutions and structures, our ways of doing things and relating to each other, so that whatever inequalities remain are not caused by those institutions or structures, unless inequality is needed temporarily to favor the least favored and its cost is borne by the most favored; and fifth, adopts means and processes that are capable of attaining these objectives. 29

This is a definition "from above", just as the various Marcos statements on the "Filipino ideology" also were opinions "from above". Obviously, the definition was constructed not only for intellectual purposes but also, if not more so, for indirectly criticizing the Marcos administration. Nevertheless, the Diokno view, Rawlsian traces and all, is no less genuine a Filipino view than the Marcos view, even in Marcos's time. However difficult a problem they may pose to the social scientist, conflicting individual values within a society are merely a fact of life. The social values of the Filipino people do not comprise a single set but a whole collection of possibly overlapping, possibly competing sets. If this collection is termed values "from below", it is only to remind us that many more of the people are below than are above. The complexity of the whole value-set may appear forbidding to the analyst, but since society does find ways to resolve, from one period to the next, such value conflicts, so should the social scientist trust that usable and practical simplifications of social values can be formulated. An analysis of the fate of economic inequality under the martial law regime cannot overlook the land reform programme of 1972, formerly referred to as the "cornerstone" of the New Society. The programme was introduced, no doubt, to obtain the support of the militant agrarian sector for the Marcos coup in 1972. In historical perspective, it may be seen as an extension of the trend started by the transfer of the friar lands to the inquilinos; this time around, it would be the actual farm operators who would be the beneficiaries. (And, judging from the criticisms of the 1972 programme, the next time the "landless': that is, the non-farm-holding agricultural workers, would also be in line for participation.)30 The reforms introduced by the 1972 programme, called Operation Land Transfer, were moderate by international standards. Because of restrictions in coverage associated with the type of crop, the form of tenure, and a seven-hectare retention privilege, only 1.4 million hectares out of the 7.1 million hectares in agricultural land, or 1 million farm operators out of the

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2.5 million, are covered by the land reform. Furthermore, only 400,000 operators will have the opportunity to own their lands, while the other 600,000 operators will merely become permanent lease-holders. There is no programme designed to benefit the 1.1 million landless farm workers, except for a land resettlement programme of token size. The compensation for the land-owners affected, while not quite up to the market rate, is probably not far below it, on account of slippages in programme implementation. 31 The Marcos administration weathered a number of economic shocks, clearly unrelated to considerations of equity, without being threatened by overly violent reactions. just before martial law was declared, Central Luzon experienced the worst flood in memory; in 1982 and 1983, on the other hand, drought was so severe that the rainfall in many areas was only 10 per cent of the normal level. Like the rest of the world, the country experienced severe inflation in 197 4 (35 per cent) and in 1979 (18 per cent) as a result of the two oil shocks, although the economy did not recover as well after the second shock as it did after the first. In the meantime, a dubious pattern had started which included some public investments of questionable productivity, an increase in direct government involvement in business enterprises, and a propensity to rely on "impact" projects. State-sponsored, yet private, marketing monopolies in the sugar and coconut sectors effectively imposed quasi-taxation on product trading. 32 As in the Spanish and American periods, public lands were made available for favoured private interests in agri-business, including foreign interests (using leasing arrangements to avoid the constitutional prohibition on foreign acquisition of land). 33 A number of businesses operated by so-called cronies of the administration eventually (and expectedly) fell into distress, then were rescued by the government and became, in effect, public corporations; a substantial part of the government's investment accounts in the 1980s were such placements in distressed companies, which by then were of doubtful value. The situation was well known both to Filipinos and to foreign observers; the country's foreign creditors could not have been unaware of it. But only in the post-Marcos period has it been openly stated that the real rationale for such moves was the immoral, secret creation of unprecedented wealth for the political rulers and the prolongation of their power. The New Society was a classic extension of the long historical tradition of the use of military power for self-legitimized aggrandizement. The social immorality was so obvious that the power-wielders could not legalize all their actions. The ill-gotten wealth had to be very carefully hidden abroad in many countries, where it is now the object of massive litigation initiated by the (Aquino government's) Presidential Commission on Good Government. In the countryside, the natural-resource grabbing has had to be stopped by cronies' private armies. "Salvaging" (summary executions), kidnapping, torture and other human rights violations became commonplace; and following long

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tradition, the rebellious movements, used in 1972 as the excuse for declaring martial law in the first place, naturally grew stronger rather than weaker. In the early 1980s, the Philippine economy entered its worst economic crisis since the birth of the Republic in 1946. A chronic balance of payments deficit, dating from the early 1970s, was increasingly met by foreign borrowing, much of it either contracted directly or guaranteed by the government, ostensibly in order to minimize the depreciation of the foreign exchange value of the peso. But much of the borrowing was not used responsibly, and some was even surreptitiously rechannelled into investments abroad! Thus, the debt crisis had already been long in the making when inward financial flows were curtailed upon the assassination of Benigno Aquino, Jr., in August 1983. 34 The peso dropped to half the U.S. dollar value, and the consequent inflationary shock, which reached 50 per cent in 1984, was unprecedented since the japanese occupation. The incidence of poverty, according to an independent estimate, accelerated from 55 per cent in March-May 1983 to 74 per cent by june 1985, and only abated somewhat to 66 per cent by May 1986, after the February revolution. 35 In a national survey in April 1984, half of the voting-age population felt that their quality of life had deteriorated in the past twelve months; 38 per cent of them felt it to be possible that the Filipino people "would eventually lose faith in peaceful means of promoting democracy': while only 22 per cent felt it to be impossible; 23 per cent of the respondents who were part of the labour force were unemployed at the time they were surveyed. 36 It is not surprising that the consensus among Filipino economists, as surveyed in 1984, was that the Marcos government was mainly responsible for the economic crisis. 37

The Revolution of February 1986: A New Beginning? The Philippines has just emerged dramatically from what used to be called "constitutional authoritarianism" and what the new and highly popular38 regime of President Corazon Aquino refers to simply as a dictatorship. The new regime's platform stresses moral leadership, government accountability, and minimum state intervention in the economy. Two newly-created agencies, the Presidential Commissions on Human Rights and on Good Government, are instruments as much for economic justice as they are for democratic renewal. The Cabinet has adopted "in principle" an "Agenda for PeoplePowered Development" which puts more credible stress on the attainment of distributive justice than did the previous regime. For the first time, the economic development plan adopts an official poverty line and sets a poverty incidence reduction target (for 1987 -92). 39 History has shown that land reform moves have tended to come about very soon after a major political change. Here, the new government has taken a few initiatives thus far. Agricultural lands and other properties of

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the Marcos cronies (who have fled the country) have been sequestered by the Presidential Commission on Good Government. These lands are being mentioned as prime targets for official redistribution to tenants and farm workers; in a number of cases, however, such lands have already been seized by their occupants, with the encouragement of the New People's Army. The Ministry of Natural Resources has likewise recovered some large public forest, pasture and fish-pond concessions from the cronies. It has made an offer, so far declined, of a 100,000-hectare forest concession formerly owned by a crony, to the leader of the Cordillera People's Liberation Army, a recent breakaway group of the underground communist movement. In the province of Negros, hard hit by the collapse of the "world'; that is, the non-protected, sugar price, some 9,000 hectares of sugar land, foreclosed by the state-owned Philippine National Bank, are now being sold on easy terms to the worker-occupants. At the same time, a few hundred sugar planters are venturing into voluntary sharing with their workers of some 10 per cent of their lands, some altruistically, others frankly in the hope of staving off a social revolution. 40 This is encouraged by both the provincial and the national governments; but President Aquino herself, who comes from a wealthy sugar-landed Central Luzon family, has not joined this voluntary movement so far. A Constitutional Commission has completed (October 1986) a voluminous draft of a constitution which devotes much more space, indeed a separate article, to social justice than did the earlier constitutions of 1935 (for the Commonwealth during the American occupation) and 1973 (under Marcos's martial law). In particular, the draft charter widens the scope of land reform to all crops and designates both farm tenants and regular (but not seasonal or occasional) farm workers as beneficiaries. However, the draft constitution's provisions are not self-executory, and still require implementing legislation in the forthcoming Congress, which land reform advocates fear may, as in earlier generations, overly represent landed interests. The draft provisions on land reform also include important potential loopholes, such as the payment of "just", that is, market-value (according to Philippine jurisprudence) compensation to landowners and "reasonable retention'' of some land by landowners, with which leading farmers' organizations, still deciding whether to campaign for constitutional ratification or rejection in the january 1987 plebiscite, are most dissatisfied. The argument of "justice for all", that is, not only for the underprivileged but also, and thus in effect more so, for the privileged, has continued to find supporters in 1986 as it did in 1935 and 1973.41 As in earlier years, the colonial times included, the government continues to face a populace with a large proportion who are economically distressed, and several significant and dangerous segments in the armed rebellion. The future prospects for both the economy and for the state of public order will be affected by the public's judgment whether and to what extent the economic woes are

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due merely to mismanagement by well-intentioned persons or to bullying and oppression by villainous parties. In short, it will be the inequities, as defined by the people's values and as measured by their perceptions, that matter. To what extent is the Filipino establishment which replaced the colonial governments truly accountable to the still aggrieved unfortunates of the nation; to what extent is it now Manila, rather than Madrid or Washington, which should defend itself against the charge of colonizing the nation? Whenever it can, the establishment has tried to accuse Chinese middlemen, multinational corporations (a euphemism for foreign capitalists), the international economic order, and most recently the International Monetary Fund (IMF) of being the real villains in the economic scene. Such villainy may indeed exist, but surely it can only be part of the story of economic inequity.

Distributive justice and a Value-Conscious Economics The issue of distributive justice cannot be tackled without reference, explicitly or implicitly, to some set of moral values. 'fraditional economics, however, is too hesitant to be specific about values. It has the tendency to skip altogether the subjects of equity and distribution and to limit analysis to the subjects of efficiency and growth. It is tempting to suppose that the wish to be value-free is responsible for the neglect of equity. But it seems more realistic to put it the other way around: because equity is, for various reasons, an uncomfortable if not perilous subject to deal with, particularly if it refers to contemporaneous society rather than to generations long gone, it has become convenient for some economists to excuse themselves from the subject by alleging that their craft is limited to value-free situations. They hope that few will notice that such a posture implies that economics is not concerned with people. Systems of values, of course, still vary enormously from society to society, even as the borrowings of moral principles across societies are clearly recognizable. Within the society itself, there is a great plurality of views, sometimes expressed as a range between the extreme right and the extreme left. In the Philippines, perhaps the most conservative values are those implicit in the official social reports and development plans. Those found in the numerous publications of former President Marcos were always liberalsounding, but were never of compelling influence on the development plans. In particular, there never was an official plan, prior to the new draft just prepared under the Aquino government, for the eradication of poverty. Closer to the centre would be the Christian businessmen's positions with respect to the social responsibility of business. Further to the left would be the theology of liberation. And on the extreme left would be Philippine Society and Revolution, with its complete Maoist schema on the various warring social classes. 42 Obviously, these are not the entire gamut; indeed,

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such a brief list could be criticized as consisting only of those which have been set on paper by certain opinion leaders. But what are the moral views of the people themselves? Do they learn their values from their leaders; or do they simply choose as their leaders those persons who hold the values with which they can most closely identify; or both?43 The people's values are expressed in many ways, including their literature and art. This paper has taken some space to consider the way in which the people's history is recounted. For our purposes, it is less crucial whether the events narrated are very accurate (which should concern professional historians) compared to whether the sense of values which we assimilate from the focus on issues of distributive justice in history is a fair approximation of most Filipinos' sense of values. Ideally, there should be statistically representative sources of data dealing with the people's values. There is survey evidence that many of the socio-demographic variables (age, sex, civil status, family size, urbanization, education, occupation) available for researchers seeking explanatory variables for economic inequality are all regarded by most of the general public as socially acceptable reasons for the inequality. Chance itself is well recognized as an important factor determining one's socio-economic condition; a survey shows that the good luck of others is not socially resented. Yet another survey has psychological measures of Filipino prejudices against the Chinese and the Filipino-Muslims. 44 Of course, the people express their collective voice in many ways apart from accommodating survey interviewers. Indeed, the opinion survey is a rather civilized means of discerning the people's views. The people do take part in mass actions, for instance; what they mean to say through such acitons has to be interpreted by "social listeners", and such. listening is a fine political art. However, one should remain aware of the difficulties of using such interpretations as representative indications of the people's views. Too often, the phrase "mass movements" is used as an easy euphemism for the group for whom the social interpreter happens to feel sympathy. The reading of history in this paper suggests that a value-conscious economics of distributive justice would contain many new variables. Practical indicators would have to be designed for the regular surveillance of these variables. Then empirical models could be constructed to see how such variables help in explaining the past and in predicting and planning for the future. Thntatively, some of these variables might be: 1. Classifications of actual and potential antipathetic groups. Groups should be classified such that members within any group have some real sense of identification with each other or some sense of common wellbeing, and feel that vis-a-vis other groups, it is a matter of to exploit or be exploited. Income deciles are poor substitutes for power-groups. Alienation, in one form or another, should be empirically defined. Muslims and other

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cultural and racial minorities should be identified in as many sets of socioeconomic data as possible. It may be useful to identify foreigners with certain economic roles as a separate group. The fact that there is so little empirical surveillance over these groupings, unlike the surveillance over male vs. female, young vs. old, urban vs. rural, or schooled vs. unschooled is itself a clue that the former is more socially relevant; statistical establishments rarely object to providing the public with innocuous data. 2. Indicators of violence. Violent events have always been the most prominent indicators of social unrest. Presuming that such events have economic antecedents, and that they can be avoided by economic reforms, they should become part of the data for analysis by economists interested in social equity. For instance, ways should be developed to categorize incidents of violence into those more likely and those less likely to be related to distributive injustice. Some incidents may have been initiated by economically oppressive groups; others may be the retaliations of the economically oppressed. Some leads in this area may be found in social indicators research in the areas of public safety and political stability. 3. Control over natural resources, public as well as private. Natural resources, in the economic jargon, are the most widely recognizable sources of permanent income streams. Exploitative groups have always sought them out. Data on size, distribution of control, and rate of return on natural resources are much more critical than data on reproducible capital (factories, and so forth) or human capital. Yet, despite four agricultural censuses conducted since 1946, the hacienda (estate) has remained statistically invisible; there is willingness to count the poor farm operators and workers but not the hacienda and plantation owners. Statistics on land-access concentration, land prices and rents, and land use and idleness are all non-existent, even though they would be most useful for designing land reform programmes. This is the heart of the matter: to be able to design is to be able to advocate. 4. Manner of acquisition of wealth. Value-conscious economics would identify wealth stemming from colonial legacies. It would be interested in wealth acquired through illegal means, through corrupt practices, through artificial monopoly power, or through the diversion of the control of community land and other natural resources to a few favoured private hands. (History has shown that it is the state which has been the prime dispenser of land, rather than the workings of private economic markets. The legality of the dispensation has been less important to the people than the justice of it; the people's recognition of injustice is more compelling to them than the courts' definition of it.) The use of armed power to acquire and to protect such wealth, which is prima facie evidence of its immoral acquisition, would have to be regularly recorded. In general, wealth would have to be "tagged" according to the moral legitimacy of acquisition. 5. Progress indicators for the well-being of the rich and the poor. Statistical indicators are inadequate. There is empirical data to show that the

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poor do not begrudge richness per se, but are resentful if the rich do not share the burden of hard times. 45 The simple indicators of economic gainers and losers (those who indicate that their level of living improved or worsened over, say, the past year) found in the social indicators of several countries, among them the Philippines, are highly underanalysed by economists. Cross-tabulations of gainers and losers by socio-economic class and by other attributes would answer the question everyone asks: who loses and who gains? Whatever the various sets of moral values are that the people hold, these views are not immutable. People not only are entitled to change their minds, they do; it is the job of social scientists to keep up with the people, their subject matter. The manner - regardless of whether it may be peaceful and civilized, and history has often shown that it is not - by which a historical sequence of social compromise is attained is the subject matter of politics. But economics is also concerned with it because the distribution of economic well-being and ill-being among certain pertinent social groups, including alien groups, influences political changes (including all types of institutional changes, and not limited to changes in political regimes) and is acted upon by them as well. Thus, the disinclination of some contemporary economists to be concerned with the issue of distributive justice is also interpretable as a desire to stay out of politics. In effect, it is a reconciliation with the political status quo. But economics within the context of one given set of institutional rules is much too limiting; the rules themselves are within a moving, dynamic social system, under the influence of both economic and non-economic factors. 46 Th be content with inherited rules is at odds with history, which clearly indicates that it is the popular will that the pattern of political development should progress, however slowly or unevenly, in the general direction of both greater democracy and greater equity.

NOTES 1. Lynch (1979), pp. 44 and 48. 2. Valdepenas and Bautista (1977), p. 16. This work, rather than standards such as Agoncillo and Guerrero (1980) or Constantino (1975), is more frequently cited here because the authors are economists. 3. Ibid., p. 27. If the Philippine encomienda system had been similar to that in Latin America, then the cruelty could have had an economic logic. Alfred B. Thomas, in Latin America, A History (New York: Macmillan Co.), p. 101, states (as cited in Thllock 1983, p. 13): After the Spanish conquest of much of the new world, a system called the encomienda was established under which the Spaniards, in essence, owned Indians but for a term of years rather than permanently. This meant that the Spaniards, who frequently got their encomiendas by some kind of competitive bidding, were motivated to get as much work out of

102

4.

5. 6.

7.

8.

9. 10.

ll. 12.

13.

Mahar Mangahas their workers as possible and had no strong motive to keep them alive or in good health after their period of ownership terminated. Violent rebellion was not the response of everyone, according to Valdepenas and Bautista (1977), p. 30: In the face of all this insecurity, however, large numbers of them (the natives) eventually gave in to indolence, passivity and to an increasing sense of anomie. Since such free marketers usually found a sympathetic populace, one historian has referred to them as merely "social bandits" (de jesus 1980, p. 202). Alfredo Roces in his newspaper column "Light and Shadow", Manila Times, 25 january 1968, p. 4, as quoted in Richard L. Stone, The Politics of Public and Private Property in Greater Manila (Northern Illinois University, Center for Southeast Asian Studies, May 1973), p. llO. For a scholar's account, see Roth (1982). However, Rizal's story of Cabesang Thies in El Filibusterismo is more likely the people's evidence of such church abuses. The History of the Church in the Philippines (1521-1898), by Pablo Fernandez (1979), is an interesting defence of Church ownership of agricultural lands as having been acquired legally. Fr. Fernandez, a Spaniard and a Dominican, observes (p. 168): The acquisition of these lands was by Composition, that is, the government sold public lands at a low price to the citizens who promised to exploit them, in order by this system to help promote agricultural progress and the peopling of wide unsettled lands. It was through this that the Campania General de Thbacos acquired extensive land in Cagayan and Thrlac, and many Spaniards their haciendas in Negros. The historians identify this group so conscientiously that there is a report, as late as 1934, of sugar-mill owners being 39 per cent Filipinos, 28 per cent Americans, 8 per cent Spaniards, and 25 per cent mixed Spanish-Filipino or American-Filipino (Valdepenas and Bautista 1977, p. 126); one wonders where the Chinese mestizos are in these categories. See McLennan (1982), pp. 70-72. See Ileto (1979), p. 316. As source material for history from below, Ileto recommends the use of such items as poems, songs, autobiographies, confessions, prayers and folk sayings. It is not too early to emphasize and urge the greater use of representative public opinion polls to prepare the social data base for the next generation's "historians from below". As paraphrased by Diokno (1983). Milagros Guerrero (1982) observes that Gen. Aguinaldo turned to the wealthy and educated Filipinos to serve in his government. Due to economic eligibility requirements, few people participated in the provincial and municipal elections held in june to December 1898. Many of the town presidents chosen had been municipal captains under the Spanish regime. McLennan (1982) reports that most Spanish hacenderos sold their holdings to principalia during the early years of the American regime because they were faced with reorganizing estates that had been temporarily seized by the revolutionary government and were uncertain as to their prospects under the new administration.

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14. The friar lands settlement is discussed in Endriga (1970), who observes that Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo obtained a lease on 1,050 hectares of an Imus estate on which he had not been an occupant, for a rental of 20 cents per hectare per annum, or lower than what others had paid on the same estate. Fernandez (1979, p. 352) reports that it was the Dominicans who haggled the longest over the land price, and that Thft gave in because he wanted to finish the matter. Owen (1971) feels that the inequality of wealth and power in the Philippines was neither created nor reduced during the American regime, and that in this respect the American period was similar to both the late Spanish period and the early years of the Republic. 15. Doeppers (1984), p. 76, Fig. 12. 16. Cullinane (1971), p. 24. 17. Scott (1983, p. 189), writing of the Union Obrera Democratica, the first Filipino labour union, founded in 1902, says that, regardless of wage increases, [T]he union's nationalism would have come into conflict with a colonial regime imposed by force: after all, the laborers were Filipinos and the capitalists were foreigners. Doeppers (1984, p. 132), describing the great cigar strike of 1934, remarks, As everyone concerned knew already, the factory owners were almost all foreigners: Spaniards, Americans or Chinese. 18. Wage data are from Doeppers (1984), p. 93, Fig. 14; as well as p. 130 and p. 173, note 73. 19. What Kerkvliet (1972) calls "traditional ties" could be restated, in economic jargon, as the relative prices of land and labour. When land - and implicitly, forests and streams as well - used to be plentiful, there was more fishing and more gathering of wood and forest products as part of labour's bargain. Food rations and interest-free loans were another part of the traditional, albeit unwritten, bargain. Population growth was a natural pressure for the relative price of land to increase, slowly but surely, over time. Added to this was the great surge in demand for agricultural exports on account of World War I. 20. See Kerkvliet (1979), pp. 35-36. May (1984), writing on the Thft period, reports (pp. 133, 142) that The Commission estimated that out of approximate ly 73 million acres of land in the Philippines, only 5 million were in private hands. The rest, owned by the government, included more than 16 million acres of wltivable land. Thft and his fellow commissione rs wanted to allow investors to acquire large tracts of the public domain .... Men like Thft and Forbes, who could not understand the dangers of big business at home, also could not understand the dangers of big agriculture in the Philippines. 21. The U.S. military bases now in the Philippines represent a partial continuation of the colonial relationship, colonial in the sense that the acquiescenc e of the Philippine Government is less than completely voluntary. Ironically, one of the excuses for the U.S. imperialist interest in the Philippines in 1898, namely, global competition with foreign powers - England and Germany, at the time (Griswold 1938) - is now the all-compelling reason for the maintenance of the bases.

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22. See Thn (1977). The reforms recommended by Muslim moderates such as Cesar Majul and Mamintal Thmano include, among others (Gowing 1979, pp. 221-23): a moratorium on new settlements in Mindanao; allotment of traditional Muslim areas to landless Muslims as first priority; phasing out of all timber, mining and pasture concessions held by non-Muslims in Muslim areas, and/or sale or transfer of these to Muslims or Muslim-controlled corporations; and employment of a minimum relative quota of Muslims in private industries in Mindanao. 23. In the early post-war period, it was the Partido Komunista ng Pilipinas or PKP, founded 1930, which waged the armed struggle against the government through its Hukbong Mapagpalaya ng Bayan. A rift in the movement in the 1960s resulted in a separate group, the (Maoist) Communist Party of the Philippines, whose military group is the New People's Army which is highly active today. The present policy of the PKP, which is pro-Soviet, excludes armed rebellion. 24. See Tidalgo (1985) for a comprehensive study on employment. The two wage series are both from the Central Bank; the earlier series is cited in Sta. Romana (1976). In a comparison of 27 developing countries, arranged in order of the excess in growth of the real wage over growth in GDP per capita, the Philippines is second last: during 1956-72 the real wage declined at an annual average rate of 1.4 per cent, whereas GDP per capita grew at an annual average rate of 1.6 per cent (Mangahas 1982, pp. 130-31). 25. The seminal work on poverty incidence estimation is Abrera (1976); for discussion of the technical problems in assessing more recent trends, including a critique of the work of the World Bank Poverty Mission, see Mangahas and Barros (1980) and Mangahas (1982, 1985). 26. Quoted in de Manila (1970); and also cited in Ocampo (1971). 27. See Corpuz (1983), pp. 29, 43. This tract first appeared in 1973; it was subsequently revised by the author for use in the Career Executive Service Development Program, an obligatory training programme for all government executives above a certain rank. 28. See Mangahas (1976a) and (1982). 29. Diokno (1983), p. 12. 30. See Ledesma (1983). The new draft constitution of 1986 designates farm tenants and regular farm workers as deserving beneficiaries of land reform; seasonal and occasional farm workers are excluded. 31. See Mangahas (1985), which observes that, to date, (a) 39 per cent of those under the coverage of Operation Land 'fransfer have already benefited, since they have become either full owners or amortizing owners of the land, (b) 44 per cent may or may not have benefited as yet, since they are still leaseholders, (c) 14 per cent who are still share tenants have not yet benefited, and (d) 3 per cent have discontinued farming. The data are from Ministry of Agrarian Reform, The Operation Land 11u.nsfer Program of the Philippines: Process and Impact (Manila, 1983). Estimates of the potential losses to landowners if the compensation formula was strictly adhered to are in the special paper on "Agrarian Reform" in ILO (197 4). 32. See the criticisms in David (1983) and de Dios (1984).

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33. See the criticisms in Thdem (1980) and Third World Studies Program (1983). There are also some reports, yet to be confirmed, that natural resource concessions were given by the Marcos regime to some key Muslim rebel returnees; again, this is reminiscent of the pattern of disposition of part of the friar lands. 34. The economic circumstances leading up to the debt crisis are analysed in Remolona, Mangahas and Pante (1985). 35. The estimation is by a self-rating approach, discussed in Mangahas, 1986; it corresponds to poverty measurement "from below", that is, using the people's own norms, in contrast to the traditional measurement "from above", where an armchair-compu ted poverty line is applied to a survey-based distribution of income. Its important advantage is amenability to frequent monitoring. 36. See Bishops-Businessmen's Conference for Human Development (1985). This opinion survey of the Bishops-Businessmen's Conference (BBC), a non-partisan civic group, has an error margin of plus or minus 3 per cent. 37. The Philippine Economic Society (1984) conducted a full mail survey of its local membership and obtained an adequate response rate of 21 per cent. A large majority of the members felt that the origins of the crisis are more domestic than international, more the result of domestic political factors than domestic economic factors, and more the result of factors within the government sector than within the private sector. They considered appropriate government responses to current criticisms of "crony capitalism", loss of confidence in official economic statistics, and government encroachment on the private sector to be very important for the attainment of economic recovery. They rated government management as Poor or Very Poor in all the problem areas itemized in the survey, namely, the external debt, unemployment, the foreign exchange rate system, consumer price control, and foreign trade financing. Their most disliked projects were the "impact" projects, particularly the Kilusang Kabuhayan at Kaunlaran or KKK "livelihood" project. See also de Dios (1984), the so-called "white paper" by University of the Philippines economists. 38. At present, the only published, nationally representative survey of public opinion for the Philippines is that done by Social Weather Stations and Ateneo de Manila University (1986). The initial report, covering the survey period 2 May to 8 June 1986, shows 63 per cent of the (voting-age) respondents reporting that they voted for Aquino in the February 1986 election, versus only 26 per cent who reported that they voted for Marcos. Sixty-five per cent felt that Marcos should not be brought back to the Philippines. President Aquino's performance rating, expressed as a satisfied-dissatisfied ratio, was 60:7, compared to Marcos's rating of 44:25 in June 1985. Her most popular moves have been confiscation of Marcos's hidden wealth (64 per cent approval) and freezing of Marcos-crony properties (55 per cent approval); she ·has strong plurality approval on her actions to abolish the (Marcos) legislature and to replace the Marcos election commissioners, provincial governors and municipal/city mayors, and Supreme Court justices; but the people are divided on her move to release detained leaders of the Communist Party. 39. See Philippine Institute for Development Studies (1986), for the agenda for economic recovery, which was the basis for the Cabinet paper (Republic of the Philippines 1986).

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40. The various forms of voluntary land sharing schemes which have been tried in Negros are documented in Lopez-Gonzaga (1986). 41. See Ocampo (1971) for a discussion of the social justice debates in the 1973 and 1935 constitutiona l deliberations . 42. For a critique of Philippine social reports, see Mangahas (September 1983). Ferdinand Marcos's writings on the subject of equity are discussed in Mangahas (March 1983). For the Christian businessmen 's position, which cites moral principles from Papal encyclicals, from the Bible, and from ancient Greek and Roman thinkers, see Aquino (1981). Balchand and Gorospe (1984) is a compilation of readings on the Theology of Liberation used in the jesuit Ateneo de Manila University. 43. Nemenzo in Marxism in the Philippines says (pp. 8, 18): I believe that the PKP was indeed the vanguard of the Huk rebellion, but argue that the PKP itself, from the provincial committees to the cells in the villages and military units, was dominated by the millenarian-populist rather than the Marxist-Leninist world view. . .. Millenarianism is really the primitive articulation of built-in grievances. . .. it is not usually knowledge that pushes you into waging a class struggle. It is your grievance. 44. See Mangahas (1977) and Filipinas Foundation (1975). 45. See Mangahas (1977). 46. According to Nemenzo (1984a, p. 81): Civilian bureaucrats in the Philippines ... put forward the fashionable argument that communist insurgency is primarily a socio-economic rather than a military problem. This is true in the sense that no amount of passionate agitation would induce people to revolt unless they already feel materially deprived. However, material deprivation alone is inadequate as a reason to risk one's life. People must also believe in their own power to break the system.

REFERENCES Abrera, Ma. Alcestis S. "Philippine Poverty Thresholds". In Measuring Philippine Development, edited by Mahar Mangahas. Makati: Developmen t Academy of the Philippines, 1976. Agoncillo, Teodoro, and Milagros Guerrero. History of the Filipino People. Quezon City: R.P. Garcia, 1980. Aquino, Rosemary, ed. Perspectives on the Social Responsibility of Business. Manila: Bishops-Businessmen's Conference for Human Development, 1981. Balchand, A., and V. Gorospe, eds. Theology of Liberation, A Compilation of Readings. Quezon City: Loyola House of Studies, 1984. Bishops-Businessmen's Conference for Human Development. The BBC Sociopolitical Opinion Surveys of 1984 and 1985. Pandacan, Manila: BBCHD, 1985. Constantino, Renato. The Past Revisited. Manila: The Author, 38 Panay Ave. Quezon City, 1975. Corpuz, Onofre D. "Liberty and Government in the New Society - An Intellectual Perspective'; DAP File Series 1983, No. 1. Pasig: Developmen t Academy of the Philippines, 1983.

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Cullinane, Michael. "Implementing the 'New Order': The Structure and Supervision of Local Government during the Thft Era". In Compadre Colonialism, edited by Norman G. Owen, et al., pp. 9-34. Ann Arbor, Michigan: University of Michigan, 1971; reprint edition, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House. David, Cristina C. "Economic Policies and Philippine Agriculture". In Philippine Institute for Development Studies Working Paper 83-02. Makati: PIDs, 1983. Diokno, jose W. "A Filipino Concept of justice': Solidarity 3 (1983): 5-12. de Dios, Emmanuel S., ed. An Analysis of the Philippine Economic Crisis: A Workshop Report. Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1984. Doeppers, Daniel F. Manila, 1900-1941: Social Change in a Late Colonial Metropolis. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1984. Endriga,jose N. 'The Friar Lands Settlement: Promise and Performance''. Philippine journal of Public Administration 14, no. 4 (October 1970): 397-413. Filipinas Foundation Inc. Philippine Majority-Minority Relations and Ethnic Attitudes. Makati: Filipinas Foundation Inc., 1975. Fernandez, Pablo O.P History of the Church in the Philippines (1521-1898). Manila: National Bookstore, 1979. Gowing, Peter G. Muslim Filipinos - Heritage and Horizon. Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1979. Griswold, A. Whitney. The Far Eastern Policy of the United States. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1938. Guerrero, Amado. Philippine Society and Revolution. Manila: Pulang Thla Publications, 1971. Guerrero, Milagros C. 'The Colorum Uprisings, 1924-1931': Asian Studies 5 (April 1967). ___ . 'The Provincial and Municipal Elites of Luzon During the Revolution, 18981902". In Philippine Social History: Global Trade and Local Transformations, edited by A. McCoy and E. de jesus, pp. 155-90. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1982. Ileto, Reynaldo Clemena. Pasyon and Revolution: Popular Movements in the Philippines, 1840-1919. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1979. International Labour Office (ILO). Sharing in Development: A Program of Employment, Equity and Growth for the Philippines. Geneva: ILO, 1974. de jesus, Ed C. The 1bbacco Monopoly in the Philippines. Quezon City: Aten eo de Manila University Press, 1980. jose, Vivencio. "Workers' Response to Early American Rule, 1900-1935". Philippine Social Sciences and Humanities Review (January-December 1981). Kerkvliet, Benedict J. The Huk Rebellion: A Study of Peasant Revolt in the Philippines. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977; reprint edition, Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1979. Ledesma, Antonio J. "Seven Years of Land Tenure Programs': In The Agrarian Reform Program: A Decade After P.D. 2 and 27. Los Banos: Agrarian Reform Institute, University of the Philippines, 1983. Lopez-Gonzaga, Violeta B. Voluntary Land-Sharing and Transfer Schemes in Negros: an Exploratory Study. Bacolod: Social Research Center, La Salle College, 31 March 1986. Lynch, Frank. "Continuities in Social Class': Paper read at the Conference of the International Association of Historians of Asia, Manila, 25-30 November 1960.

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Lynch, Frank. "Big and Little People: Social Class in the Rural Philippines". In Society, Culture and the Filipino (Institute of Philippine Culture, Ateneo de Manila University, 1979). McCoy, Alfred W., and Ed C. de jesus. Philippine Social History: Global'Irade and Local'Iransformations. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1982. McLennan, Marshall S. "Changing Human Ecology on the Central Luzon Plain: Nueva Ecija, 1705-1939". In Philippine Social History: Global'Irade and Local 1Tansformations, edited by A. McCoy and E. de jesus, pp. 57-90. Quezon: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1982. de Manila, Quijano. "The Ruling Money". Philippines Free Press, 29 August 1970. Mangahas, Mahar. "Equity Objectives for Development Planning': Philippine Economic journal 15, no. 3 (1976a): 439-52. ___, ed. Measuring Philippine Development: Report of the Social Indicators Project. Makati: Development Academy of the Philippines, 1976b. ___. "Measuring Poverty and Equity Through Perception Variables': Philippine Economic journal 16, no. 4 (1977): 358-83. ___ . "What Happened to the Poor on the Way to the Next Development Plan?". Philippine Economic journal (1982): 126-46. ___ . ''The Filipino Conception of Equity: Notes on the Writings of President Marcos". Development Academy of the Philippines, March 1983. ___ . "Reflections on Economics and Peace': In Approaches to Peace: Philippine Perspectives. Manila: Professors World Peace Academy of the Philippines, 1983. ___ . "Retrospective on Philippine Social Indicators and Social Reports". Development Academy of the Philippines, September 1983; forthcoming in Philippine Studies. ___ . "Rural Poverty and Operation Land 'ftansfer". In Stmtegies for Alleviating Poverty in Ruml Asia, edited by Rizwanul Islam. Dhaka and Bangkok: Bangladesh Institute for Development Studies and ILO Asian Employment Program, 1985. ___ . "Dimensions of Poverty': Social »eather Stations Occasional Paper. Quezon City: Social Weather Stations, July 1986. Mangahas, Mahar, and Bruno Barros. ''The Distribution of Income and Wealth: A Survey of Philippine Research''. In Survey of Philippine Development Research I. Philippine Institute of Development Studies, 1980. Mangahas, Mahar, Virginia A. Miralao, and Romana de los Reyes. Tenants, Lessees, Owners: »eljQre Implications of Tenure Change. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1976. May, Glen Anthony. Social Engineering in the Philippines: the Aims, Execution and Impact of American Colonial Policy, 1900-1913. Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1984. Nemenzo, Francisco. "The Millenarian-Populist Aspects of Filipino Marxism': In Marxism in the Philippines, edited by Third World Studies Center. Quezon City: Third World Studies Center, University of the Philippines, 1984a. ___ . "Rectification Process in the Philippine Communist Movement". In Armed Communist Movements in Southeast Asia, edited by Lim joo:Jock and Vani S. Hampshire: Gower Publishing Company, 1984b. Ocampo, Romeo B. "Social Justice: An Essay on Philippine Social Ideology". Philippine journal of Public Administmtion Ouly-October 1971): 272-97.

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Owen, Norman G., et a!. Compadre Colonialism. Michigan Papers on South and Southeast Asia, No. 3. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1971; reprint edition, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House. _ _ . "Philippine Economic Development and American Policy: A Reappraisal". In Compadre Colonialism, pp. 49-64. Michigan papers on South and Southeast Asia, No. 3. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1971; reprint edition, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House. Philippine Economic Society. "Report on a Survey of Opinions of the Membership of the Philippine Economic Society on the Current Economic Crisis". Paper presented at a Forum of the Philippine Social Science Council, 21 july 1984. Philippine Institute for Development Studies. Economic Recovery and Long-run Growth: Agenda for Reforms. Vol. 1: Main Report. Makati: PIDS, 1 May 1986. Remolona, Eli, Mahar Mangahas, and Filologo Pante. "Foreign Debt, Balance of Payments and the Economic Crisis of the Philippines in 1983-84". UNDP/UNCIAD Project INT/84/021, New York City, 16 July 1985. Republic of the Philippines. "Policy Agenda for People-Powered Development': Paper for presentation to the Cabinet, Manila, 4 june 1986. Roces, Alfredo. "Light and Shadow". Manila Times, 25 january 1968, p. 4. Roth, Dennis Morrow. "Church Lands in the Agrarian History of the Thgalog Region': In Philippine Social History: Global Irade and Local Iransformations, edited by A. McCoy and E. de jesus, pp. 131-53. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1982. Scott, William Henry. "The Union Obrera Democratica, First Filipino Labor Union". Philippine Social Sciences and Humanities Review 4 7, no. 1-4 Oanuary-December 1983): 131-92. Silliman, G. Sidney. "The Cebuano Filipino's Concept of justice''. Solidarity (1983): 21-28. Sta. Romana, Leonardo, III. "Indicators of Economic Well-Being". In Measuring Philippine Development, edited by Mahar Mangahas. Makati: Development Academy of the Philippines, 1976. Social Weather Stations and Ateneo de Manila University. Public Opinion Report, june 1986. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University, 1986. Sturtevant, David. Popular Uprisings in the Philippines. Ithaca: Cornell University, 1976. Thdem, Eduardo C. "Philippine Rural Development: Corporate Farming or Land Reform?" Philippine Sociological Review 29, no. 1-4 (1980): 31-34. Thn, Samuel K. The Filipino Muslim Armed Struggle, 1900-1972. Makati: Filipinas Foundation, Inc., 1977. Tidalgo, Rosa Linda P. "Philippine Country Paper". In Labor Market, Structural Adjustment and ASEAN-Australian Economic Relations. May 1985. Third World Studies Program. Political Economy of Philippine Commodities. Quezon City: University of the Philippines, 1983. Tullock, Gordon. Economics of Income Redistribution. Boston/The Hague/London: Kluwer-Nijhoff Publishing, 1983. Valdepenas, Vicente B.,jr., and Gemiliano Bautista. The Emergence of the Philippine Economy. Manila: Papyrus Press, 1977.

5 The Emergence of the Bureaucratic Capitalist State in Indonesia* ----------ARIEF BUDIMAN----------

The Coming of Strong States in the Third World Within Marxist theory, the phenomenon of a relatively independent authoritarian state actively engaged in capitalist development has been something unexpected. The classic Marxist analysis of the state held that the state was only the manager who looked after the interests of the bourgeoisie. The bourgeoisie or the private capitalist was always the key factor examined in these attempts to explain social processes in a capitalist social formation. How the bourgeoisie appropriates the surplus value and by what means were regarded as crucial variables. The state is only, more or less, the dependent variable of this social process. This view has given birth to a debate among Marxist social scientists. Skocpol, in her critical comments, has pointed out "the enduring sociological proclivity to absorb the state into the society" in Marxist theory of the state (1979, p. 28). However, there has been an evolution of this classic Marxist theory. Marx himself started this evolution. In his concept of the Bonapartist state, he talked about a relatively autonomous state which acted against the immediate interests of the existing bourgeoisie. The state then emerged above the existing social classes. This is explained in terms of the strong demands of labour against the still weak bourgeoisie. Confronting labour's demands might have meant destroying the whole capitalist system. To save the system, the state was "forced" to act autonomously against the bourgeoisie. The Bonapartist state was, therefore, a relatively autonomous state vis-d-vis the capitalist class, which came forward to assure the long-term survival of the system. It was not a passive tool of the bourgeoisie. The autonomous state has received little attention in neo-Marxist dependency theories, especially the early ones. The most important factor, according to these theories, is the bourgeoisie, in both the core and peripheral countries. Direct foreign investment, foreign aid and unequal exchange 110

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in international trade have been focused on by the dependency theorists in their attempts to understand the development of underdevelopment in the periphery. The state was seen always to act on the bourgeoisie's behalf. (See Baran 1968; and Frank 1967). The later versions of the dependency theories, or neo-Marxist theories, of the Third World, in general, have given a more important role to the state. O'Donnell (1978), in explaining the Argentinian experience after Peron, introduced the concept of the bureaucratic authoritarian state. According to him, this state emerged as the result of economic crisis. During the phase of import-substitution industrialization, the state worked together with the local bourgeoisie in an attempt to increase the buying power of the masses through an income distribution policy. Development was internally oriented. International capital, although needed, was not the dominant factor. At one point, this easy phase of import-substitution industrialization reached its limit. The internal market was saturated. To guarantee economic expansion, products had to be exported. Dependence on imports of capital goods had to be overcome by constructing capital goods industries. Export-oriented development with backward linkage industrialization had to be initiated. Huge amounts of capital and high technology were needed to support this process. Thus, the state had to turn to foreign assistance. In order to attract foreign aid, a certain degree of political stability was needed. This was the time when the state confronted the local bourgeoisie and the masses to exclude them from influencing the political processes that would instead favour foreign investment. As O'Donnell puts it, in its initial stages, the bureaucratic authoritarian state "which excludes the popular sector, punishes economically many of its allies, is always deaf to the national bourgeoisie, and strongly expands to 'reorder' sovereignty - is highly autonomous with respect to the society" (1978, p. 19). Peter Evans (1979, p. ll), with his concept of the triple alliance (the alliance of the state, local bourgeoisie and international capital), writes in the same vein, namely that "the existence of an active state is one of the keys to the movement from a situation of classic dependence to one of dependent development within which industrialization can move forward" (Evans 1985, p. 13). Earlier, Evans (1979, p. ll) mentioned: If classic dependence was associated with weak states, dependent development is associated with strengthening of strong states in the semi-periphery. The consolidation of state power may even be considered a prerequisite of dependent development.

By dependent development, Evans basically means the phase when a traditionally dependent country (an exporter of raw materials and importer of industrial goods) moves to industrial development. This is more or less similar to ODonnell's export-oriented industrialization after the phase of import substitution industrialization comes to an end.

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O'Donnell and Evans, as well as many others, have brought back the importance of the state in analysing political-economic processes in Third World countries. However, even in this new neo-Marxist theory, the state looks somewhat pale in comparison with the empirical realities of some of the Asian newly industrializing countries (NICs), especially South Korea, Thiwan, and Singapore. The role of the state in these countries has been very dominant. Not only does the state control political life to make it possible for private capital to accumulate, but it also intervenes in the economy continuously, and is directly involved in the process of capital accumulation itself. As Evans (1985, p. 21) puts it: "a well organized bureaucratic authoritarian state with an explicit project of fostering capital accumulation preceded the development of the NICs and shaped its character': This led Evans (1985, p. 13, 14) to the following conclusion: In Brazil and Mexico, the state is the critical actor in the triple alliance, but most analysts would agree that the interests of private capital predominate. While East Asian NICs clearly cater to the interests of capital, most analysts of the East Asian triple alliance argue that the state plays a dominant rather than a complementary role.

In the context of the Asian NICs at present, we are witnessing the emergence of a strong, relatively autonomous authoritarian state that does not play only a complementary role, but a substantial one. 1 This strong, authoritarian state has emerged also in some Third World countries, such as Indonesia (under President Soeharto), Philippines (under President Marcos), Chile (under President Pinochet) and Pakistan (under President Zia Ul Haq). When we look closely at this phenomenon, we can broadly differentiate between two types of states. The first is a state in which efficient capital accumulation, either led by the state or private bourgeoisie, has taken place after a strong, authoritarian state was established. South Korea, Thiwan, and Singapore belong to this category which can be called the developmentalist capitalist state. The second type is the bureaucratic capitalist state. After a strong state emerges, efficient capital accumulation does not follow. Instead, the state bureaucrats start to enrich themselves, using their bureaucratic power as their "means of production''. They prevent the emergence of a strong bourgeoisie outside the state. The present study, taking Indonesia as a case, focuses on the bureaucratic capitalist state. It is argued that the origin of a strong state in Indonesia is different from the state in Latin America, as explained by the bureaucratic authoritarian state, or triple alliance models. The weakness, or even the absence of a strong national bourgeoisie, is the main difference. An attempt will also be made to explain why, in the case of Indonesia, the state has failed to develop into a developmentalist capitalist state.

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The Emergence of A Strong State in Indonesia A strong, relatively autonomous authoritarian state has emerged in presentday Indonesia. Starting from 1966, the so-called New Order state, dominated by the military, has become more and more powerful. This state controls political life as well as the economy. No other organizations or institutions outside the state, both in the political and economic sectors, can challenge the state at present. Let us look at how this strong state evolved in the course of history.

The Colonial Period: The Absence of an Indigenous Bourgeoisie Class The colonizer, as Alavi (1972, p. 61) has pointed out, has to create "a state apparatus through which it can exercise dominion over all the indigenous social classes in the colony". The colonial state then ruled over the existing social classes; it was not the tool of any class. Its power base was located in the mother country. "It might be said that the 'superstructure' in the colony is therefore 'overdeveloped' in relation to the 'structure' in the colony;' said Alavi. When independence came, this state structure was inherited by the national political leaders, who then ruled the country. The powerful bureaucratic-military apparatus and mechanisms of government which enabled the colonial state through its routine operations to subordinate the native social classes was left intact (Alavi 1972, p. 61). In the case of Indonesia, more or less the same thing is taking place. Present-day Indonesia has retained not only the state structure but also the socio-economic structure. One of the most important features of the socio-economic structure is the absence of a strong bourgeoisie. Let us look more closely at the social structure in colonial Indonesia. Dutch colonialism was based on primary export products. Land and labour were mobilized locally as "in kind" taxes by the colonial state. It was not until 1870 that plantation land was made available for long-term lease by the private sector. Socio-economic dualism existed between the primary product export sector (the plantation economy) and the traditional agrarian economy. The first sector was controlled mainly by Europeans and was lucrative; the second was in the hands of the indigenous people, and was essentially stagnant, because this sector consisted of small plots of land that produced mainly for consumption. The colonial economy did not produce indigenous land-owners. The plantations were owned by the Dutch, while the indigenous people became either peasants - the majority of them were in this category - or civil servants - the educated class - which formed a small minority. Indigenous

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Indonesian entrepreneurs were destroyed by the Dutch colonialists who favoured the Chinese (albeit through a system of strict control) to become businessmen (Kemasang 1985). Internal trade was in the hands of Asian minorities of non-Indonesian origin, mainly Chinese; while international trade was controlled by the Dutch and small numbers of other Europeans. By 1930, income disparities among the Europeans (mainly Dutch), Asian minorities (mainly Chinese), and indigenous Indonesians were reported as follows: ... with average income per employed Indonesian taken as one, the average income of employed Asian minorities was five and that of European was 4 7. These disparities had widened by 1939 (to Indonesians, one: Asian minorities, eight: and Europeans, 61) (Paauw 1981, p. 147). Thus, there were three levels of socio-ethnic classes. At the top, there were the Dutch and other Europeans who controlled external trade and the plantation economy. At the second level, there were the Chinese who controlled internal trade. The high-ranking indigenous civil servants, mostly coming from the class of aristocrats, belonged to this second group. At the bottom, there were the majority of the Indonesian people, most of whom were peasants, both landed and landless. From the above description, it is clear that the Dutch colonial system failed to produce an indigenous bourgeoisie. Among the indigenous people, there was an insignificant number of land-owners and urban businessmen. Land was in the hands of the Dutch, and the Chinese who were not allowed to own land became traders. As Thomas and Panglaykim put it: The relatively small but vital commercialized and industrial sector was dominated by foreigners, especially the Dutch. Their main spheres of interests were plantation agriculture (including rubber, tea, palm-oil and sugar), and the import trade. The Chinese were in a favored position in the wholesale and retail trade, their interests closely intertwined with the Dutch, who, in colonial times, had seen fit to grant them a privileged position in the economy at the expense of the vigorous Javanese traders of the seventeenth century (1973, p. 39). Why did the colonial system fail to produce an indigenous bourgeoisie class actively involved in business? This seems to have been the result of an active colonial policy to prevent the emergence of such a class. Working together with the local aristocrats, who thought the emergence of a strong indigenous bourgeoisie would weaken their power, the Dutch launched a military attack against the northern Javanese regents who were involved in trade with foreign merchants. The Javanese aristocrats succeeded also in developing an anti-business ideology. Until the present, the most desired profession among the majority of the Javanese is to become civil servants (Onghokham 1984 ).

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The State after Independence: From Democracy to Authoritarian Rule A. THE LIBERAL DEMOCRACY PERIOD (1950-59)

The proclamation of Indonesian independence was made in 1945, although the country did not gain its full independence until 1949, after a five-year war of liberation against the Dutch. The leaders of the freedom fighters were the Western-educated elite, as well as the Japanese-trained military. A combination of international diplomacy and military struggles succeeded in bringing about Indonesian independence. However, although the country obtained its political independence, the economy was still under the control of private Dutch enterprises. In its last negotiations with the Dutch in 1949, Indonesia had to agree that private Dutch companies would not be nationalized. "Indonesia was obliged to leave the whole Dutch economic empire intact unless prepared to pay compensation, which she was clearly in no position to do" (Castles 1965, p. 15). Thus, the structure of the economy remained unchanged after independence; the Dutch and other foreigners controlled big plantations and international trade, the Chinese Indonesians controlled the internal trade, and the majority of the indigenous Indonesians were peasants. The only difference was that it was not the Dutch that controlled the state, it was the Indonesian new political elite. The Indonesian elite found themselves in control of the state bureaucracy but they did not have an economic base. Something had to be done about it. They needed to create an indigenous bourgeoisie class. This gave birth to what was later called the Benteng Policy. Through this policy, the state granted licences to would-be indigenous businessmen to import certain lucrative commodities from specified countries. The Chinese were excluded. The result was impressive: in june 1953, the number of national importers rose dramatically from 800 to about 3,500. However, when one takes a closer look at this phenomenon, one finds that "it was the Chinese entrepreneurs and some Indians who grew stronger in most cases, and not the Indonesians. It was common knowledge that Indonesians usually sell their import licence to foreign firms, and that in most cases they did such business with Chinese traders" (Thomas and Panglaykim 1973, p. 48). Of course, this does not mean that there were no Indonesian entrepreneurs who succeeded. Some of them, because of this state policy, did become real businessmen (See Robinson 1986, pp. 329-42). An important change took place when the state itself began to move into business. It started to set up its own enterprises, among which were banks, trading companies, airlines, and manufacturing industries. However, these new enterprises could hardly compete with the well-established foreign companies that still operated in Indonesia. The weak private indigenous bourgeoisie closely related to the state

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elite seemed to be quite happy with this situation. They had their own businesses going (although they had to depend on the Chinese and Dutch entrepreneurs), and they had substantial influence over the state through the existing political parties. It was through state intervention that most of these indigenous businessmen had become what they were. Hence, it was unlikely that they would oppose the ongoing policies. Thus, the liberal democracy period can be considered to be the period of the oligarchy. The political and business elites worked together in controlling the state and in implementing various state policies which mostly served their corporate interests without really affecting the lives of the majority of the common people. The political elite consisted of indigenous people, and the business elite was dominated by foreigners (especially the Dutch) and the Sino-Indonesians. Competition and internal fights did exist among these elites and these were manifested in the rise and fall of government Cabinets during this period. Almost every year, Indonesia had a new Cabinet. The most serious internal dispute among factions of the bourgeoisie took place in 1957 when some outer provinces rebelled against the dominance of the Javanese bourgeoisie. After independence, most of the Indonesian entrepreneurs were concentrated in Java. They were the entrepreneurs who formed the oligarchy controlling the state and they monopolized the economic pie. The non:Javanese bourgeoisie who lived in Sumatra and Sulawesi reacted and, supported by the local military, rebelled against the central state. The rebellion was put down. However, this phase of liberal democracy whereby the indigenous bourgeoisie succeeded in sharing control of the state, was also coming to an end. B. THE GUIDED DEMOCRACY PERIOD (1959-65)

The phase of liberal democracy, it was noted, was primarily supported by the bourgeoisie, including national and foreign elements. The other segments of the society including the people at the bottom, that is, the peasants and urban workers, were initially indifferent to and ignorant of the situation. However, because little was done to improve the lives of the lower classes and with the steadily mounting rate of inflation, the masses soon felt that their lives had worsened. Their concern was especially voiced by the Communist Party of Indonesia (CPI) which became stronger during this period. In Java, the party succeeded in winning the most seats in the municipal elections, at the expense of the government party, the Indonesian Nationalist Party. The military was also not happy with developments at this time. They had fought for Indonesian independence, and soon felt that they were being put aside and manipulated by the civilian politicians who seemed to care for their own interests only. An attempt by the military to launch a coup took place in October 1952, but Soekarno, the most popular leader of the Indonesian independence struggle, overcame it.

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However, Soekarno too was not satisfied with the situation. After independence, with the 1950 Constitution, he was only a constitutional President without real power whereas, with the 1945 Constitution, political power had been centred in the hands of the President. He wanted to destroy the neo-colonial structure of the economy too but without enough political power, he was not able to do so. In particular, the oligarchy who benefited from this neo-colonial structure was for a long time opposed to any change. However, the regional rebellions and growing pressure from the Moslems to establish a state based on Islamic principles, gave Soekarno the opportunity to declare that liberal democrac y could not work. In 1959 he proclaime d that the country should re-adopt the 1945 Constitution. Backed by the military and the CPI, and drawing upon his popularity as the national leader, he devised a new political system which he called "Guided Democracy': He dissolved the old parliamen t (the power base of the oligarchy) and created a new one based on appointed members. Most people seemed to support this change because they did not lose anything. The bourgeois ie which had previously been in power now found that they did not have any significant support from the society. Under the Guided Democrac y system, Soekarno, as President , had full control over the state. However, his power was constrain ed by two social forces: the military and the CPl. Even before Soekarno recovered his power, the nationaliz ation of foreign enterprise s had started. In 195 7, Dutch enterprises were seized and nationalized. After Soekarno came to power in 1959, the nationalization of foreign enterprise s, namely British and American, was intensified. It was the military that managed these nationaliz ed enterprise s. The CPI, on the other hand, was busy organizin g the masses, based on the principle of class conflict. However, the party faced oppositio n from the propertied classes, both in the rural and urban areas, and also from a large segment of the people who were Moslems. 1b the Islamic parties, communis m was unaccepta ble because they perceived it to be anti-religious. In their efforts to organize the masses, the CPI often came into conflict with the military. When the CPI intensifie d their campaign to implemen t the Land Reform Law in 1964, they became involved in violent confronta tions with the Moslem land-owners and the military. Although his political leaning was more towards the left, Soekarno had to balance these two opposing forces. He was realistic in not being seen to favour the left, for he would have had to face the wrath of the military and the Moslem forces. The bourgeois ie did not have many opportuni ties to assert themselve s during this period. The economy was run by the state enterprise s and some private enterprise s that were provided with state support. At that time too, doing business in Indonesia was extremely difficult. At odds with the Western powers, Indonesia had become more isolated from the world capitalist system. Indonesia quit the Internatio nal Monetary Fund and withdrew from the United Nations in january 1965.

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To sum up, the Guided Democracy phase (1959-65) was a period in Indonesian history when the conflict between the military and the CPI intensified, but was held from breaking out into the open by the charismatic leadership of Soekarno. One segment of the populace was being radicalized by the CPI, while the other segment was being consolidated by the Moslem parties, the military and the marginalized bourgeoisie. The showdown between the military and the communists took place in October 1965. An estimated 500,000 to 1,000,000 alleged CPI members were killed in the aftermath (Brackman 1969; Thrnquist 1984, p. 55; and Amnesty International 1977, p. 15). After some complicated political manoeuvres, the military under the leadership of General Soeharto captured state power in 1967. Soeharto became acting-President and then President in 1968.

The Military and Power in the New Order State Stabilizing the Economy

The state under General Soeharto is usually called the New Order State. The immediate problem faced by the State was how to overcome the economic crisis. Inflation was running wild, as Thble 1 shows.

Thble 1 Consumer Price Index for Jakarta 1958 = 100 (general index)

1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 SouRCE:

384 1,037 2,275 5,234 38,347 267,267 DBTNI, Doing Business in the New Indonesia (New York: Business International, 1968), p. 107.

The state simply did not have any money for development. The budget deficit grew regularly (Thble 2). The new leader, General Soeharto, soon looked to the Western countries for help. Led by the United States and japan, a number of Western countries formed a consortium known as IGGI (InterGovernmental Groups on Indonesia), and this group has given financial help to Indonesia since 1969. The results have been impressive. Inflation was brought under control and the Indonesian economy has stabilized since then.

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Thble 2 Indonesian Budget and Provisional Realization (In current million rupiah)

Year 1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966*

Expenditure

Revenue

Deficit

60,544 88,522 122,078 329,800 681,330 2,526,320 29,433

53,648 62,218 74,020 162,130 283,386 960,766 13,142

-6,896 -26,304 -48,058 -167,670 -397,944 -1,565,554 -16,291

• Millions of new rupiah. Rp.1 (new) = Rp. 1,000 (old). SouRCE: Statistical Pocketbook of Indonesia, 1964-1967 (Central Bureau of Statistics, 1968), p. 325; quoted from Thomas and Panglaykim 1973, p. 129).

In addition, the New Order State has obtained a sizeable economic push from growing oil revenues, beginning from 1972. In 1971-72, oil income amounted to Rp.112.5 billion or 26.2 per cent of total national export value. In 1982-83, the figure shot up to Rp. 8,170.4 billion or 65.8 per cent of export value.

Restructuring the Political System

After stabilizing the economy, the New Order State had to restructure the political system. The emergence of the new system was supported by a coalition of anti-communist forces, consisting primarily of the military, the Moslems and the bourgeoisie who had been pushed aside by Soeharto. The military subsequently emerged as the leader of the coalition. However, the Moslems and the bourgeoisie were also agitating to obtain their share of power. The bourgeoisie tried to push the military to bring back liberal democracy. The Moslems demanded that the state should be based on Islamic principles, and that the banned influential Moslem party, MASYUMI, be rehabilitated. All these demands were rejected by the New Order State. The New Order State under the military had a different agenda. Rather than sharing power, the military wanted complete control. For this purpose, it needed a political base. Thus, GOLKAR, or the Functional Group, a small political group that had been created by the military to oppose the leftist unions during Soekarno's administration, was chosen to be the political vehicle of the New Order State. The first step taken to strengthen the hitherto weak GOLKAR was to declare that all the State's employees had to

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become members of GOLKAR. The existing political parties, supported by the Moslems and the secular bourgeoisie, were shocked at this unexpected manoeuvre. They protested but to no avail. Within a short time, GOLKAR developed a nation-wide apparatus right down to the village level, since all the heads of the village were GOLKAR members. These village heads, together with the military, coerced the villagers to vote for GOLKAR in the 1971 parliamentary elections. The result was that it won 62.8 per cent of the votes, 2 a victory beyond its own expectations considering that it was a newcomer in the political arena. In the meantime, the New Order State kept up its pressure to weaken the other political parties, while at the same time strengthening GOLKAR. Many military generals became the top leaders of GOLKAR. The President was (and still is) the honorary chairman of GOLKAR. At the other end, the political parties were forced to merge into two parties only; the first one was to channel Moslem votes, and the other, to channel the non-Moslem votes outside GOLKAR. All candidates for the parliamentary elections had to be approved by the state security. GOLKAR, as can be expected, had no problem in getting clearance for its candidates, but it was not so for the other two parties. The New Order State also continually intervened in the internal affairs of the other two parties. Those who were critical of the system were unlikely to become the parties' leaders, although they might have support from below. Meetings or conventions held by the parties also had to receive permission from the state security office, which was managed by the military. During the Liberal Democracy Period funds for political parties had not come from their members' dues, but from state facilities channelled to them when their members held high positions in the state bureaucracy. Under the Soeharto administration, since all public employees had to join GOLKAR, funding support for the parties dried up. Moreover, after the 1971 elections, political positions such as Cabinet membership were no longer the monopoly of the political parties. Cabinet members had to come either from GOLKAR or the military.

The State and the Chinese Entrepreneurs As described earlier, after the nationalization of foreign enterprises, the state economic sector became swollen. The New Order State basically controlled the biggest portion of economic activities. The private sector participated only in the periphery, acting as subcontractors of the state projects. It was the Chinese Indonesians who dominated this sector. They had controlled internal trade since the colonial period, and now they were entering the industrial sector. Thble 3 shows the proportion of public and private investment between 1967 and 1980.

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Thble 3 Share of Public and Private Investment in Indonesia, 1967-80 (In per cent) State Investment Non-Indigenous Private Investment Indigenous Private Investment Others

58.75 29.95 11.20 3.10

100.00 SOURCE:

Research Report on Foreign and Domestic Investment, 1967-80 (Thmpo, 14 March 1981, p. 71).

Foreign investors preferred to choose Chinese counterparts if they wanted able and experienced national partners. A japanese embassy official admitted in 197 4 that in 70 per cent of the 138 joint ventures, the Indonesian partners of the japanese investors were local Chinese (Palmer 1978, p. 167). It is important to discuss the political position of the Chinese. Since the colonial period, because of their superior economic position, the Chinese have always been subject to anti-Chinese feelings among the indigenous people (see Kemasang 1985). These feelings have become intensified because few Chinese are Moslems. Many Chinese had also been close to the Dutch during the colonial period. Thus, anti-Chinese riots have occurred from time to time, and it will occur again in the future, although most Chinese have now adopted Indonesian names and some of them have even become Moslems. Since they are in a difficult position, the Chinese are always in need of state protection. Thus, the Chinese bourgeoisie have had no choice but to support GOLKAR. It would be unrealistic for them to support the other two political parties, especially because their businesses depend very much on the state providing them with permits, a share of state projects, market monopoly, and so forth. The New Order State seems to have taken advantage of the Chinese vulnerability. Rather than develop a strong aggressive indigenous business class, the New Order State has turned to support the Chinese. This is because a strong and independent indigenous class may become a political competitor to the present group. For example, funds could be channelled to the other political parties, if an independent indigenous business class existed. The Chinese could never become a political competitor since the New Order State could simply release the pent-up anti-Chinese feelings that are always present.

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The New Indigenous Business Class The New Order State would have had to face the problem of legitimation, had it only cultivated the Chinese as a business class. Indigenous businessmen too had to be assisted and developed in the private sector. This was done in two ways. Firstly, the New Order State helped to elevate the indigenous people in small and medium-sized businesses by giving them state financial credit which was denied to the Chinese. Secondly, in the large-scale businesses, the New Order State has helped its most trusted indigenous supporters, namely, the relatives of the high-ranking state bureaucrats, to become the national bourgeoisie. It was recently reported that the most important indigenous businessmen are the relatives of the top officials of the New Order State (Asian Wall Street]ournal, 24, 25, 26 November 1986). This new group, namely, the client bourgeoisie, are private businessmen who own their businesses but are dependent on state bureaucrat patronage. Many of them established their companies after they had obtained business orders from the state. Th compensate for their lack of business expertise, they work together with bona fide businessmen, mainly the Chinese. Thus, the Benteng Policy experience has been repeated. As with the earlier experience, some of these client bourgeoisie have managed to become real businessmen, but many failed to do so. Within the indigenous business class, there are also businessmen who are relatively independent, albeit still dependent on state projects. They cannot be included in the group of client bourgeoisie because basically they are real businessmen who can stand on their own feet. Many of them started their business activities during the period of the Benteng Policy in the 1950s. However, they exist in small numbers only and their scale of business is relatively small compared to those run by the client bourgeoisie. Within this structure, the present Indonesian bourgeoisie is very much controlled by the New Order State. The biggest group, the Chinese, has no access to politics and is always in need of state protection. The client bourgeoisie are part of the state bureaucrats' family businesses. 3 The relatively independent bourgeoisie are small in number, and to a certain extent, dependent on state patronage also. As a result, the existing bourgeoisie are too weak to challenge the New Order State. Thus, the New Order State has emerged as a strong state and controls both the economy and polity.

The Emergence of a Bureaucratic Capitalist State A strong state has emerged in Indonesia since 1966. The state controls the political parties and other mass organizations, and practically monopolizes economic activities. At this point, it may be interesting to compare the Indonesian experience of the state and economic development with South Korea's. Both Indonesia and South Korea have integrated their economies

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into the world capitalist system. Indonesia obtained its independen ce in December 1949, after more than four years of national liberation war; South Korea emerged as a nation from the Korean War in 1953. In 1961, the South Korean military took over the state; in Indonesia this happened in 1966. In spite of these similarities, South Korea's economic developmen t has been far ahead of Indonesia's. According to the World Bank (World Development Report, 1983) the gross national product (GNP) per capita of South Korea in 1981 was US$1,700, while Indonesia had a per capita of only US$530 for the same year. Indonesia and South Korea have succeeded in establishing strong and authoritaria n states, dominated by the military. The South Korean state, as in Indonesia, has substantial control over the polity. The South Korean bourgeoisie were similarly "created" from above, through state facilities. However, unlike the Indonesian bourgeoisie , the Korean bourgeoisie have become strong and more independen t from the state, to the extent of exporting to the world market. One can explain the above differences in several ways. South Korea is a culturally homogeneo us society, with a Confucian religious background , while Indonesia is a heterogene ous society with Islam as the main religion. South Korea succeeded in implementi ng land reform after World War II and also after the Korean War (1950-53). This success has strengthene d the internal market for industrial goods. Indonesia, on the other hand, failed to implement the land reform programme . The Communist Party of Indonesia, which was the party that fought hard for the implementa tion of this programme was destroyed in 1965, following the abortive coup of the same year. Thus, the internal market for industrial products is small, in spite of the large populace. South Korea, after the Korean War, had to compete with North Korea. The competition does not stop at the level of that taking place between two brother countries, but it has also been transformed into a competition between two world systems: capitalism versus socialism. Thus, the two big powers, the United States of America and Russia are also involved. The two Koreas have become the arena of the cold war between these superpowers. In the beginning, as in Indonesia, the South Korean state gave economic facilities to the favoured entrepreneu rs. The state bureaucrats were also involved in various forms of corruption. However, the need to prove that its system worked better than that of its northern brother, coupled with the pressure from the United States to make South Korea a showcase state, stopped this negative trend at an early stage. The state genuinely encouraged the private entrepreneu rs to expand their business, and corrupt state officials were curbed from time to time. In order to guarantee political stability, the democratic political process was halted. As a result, capitalism, led by a strong authoritaria n state, grew and prospered. A developmen talist capitalist state has flourished since.

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In Indonesia, the process has turned out differently. As described earlier, after a strong state was established, the state bureaucrats started to take advantage of their strong political position. The fact that the bourgeoisie was divided into the Chinese entrepreneurs and the client indigenous businessmen worked to the advantage of these bureaucrats. They worked together with the Chinese in business activities. The pattern of this co-operation was that the state bureaucrats gave the Chinese entrepreneurs political protection, market monopoly and other special facilities, while they shared in the profits. Usually, this co-operation between the Chinese and the state was mediated by the client bourgeoisie comprising mostly the close relatives of the bureaucrats (see Asian Wall Street]ournal, 24, 25, 26 November 1986). In this manner, the bureaucratic capitalist state was established. As a result, efficient capitalism has failed to flourish in Indonesia. Success in business depends much more on the ability of the businessmen to develop personal relationships with the top state bureaucrats than on entrepreneurial ability. Corruption - that is, the use of state bureaucratic power to enrich the bureaucrats - has become widely practised. According to one source, about 30 per cent of the GNP has regularly disappeared into private pockets (Palmer 1978, p. 64). The Indonesian President himself has launched a campaign against corruption by issuing a decree requiring the registration of the private wealth of all state officials. This has failed because, according to one scholar, "the varied hyperbole of the Indonesian press indicated only too clearly that the Palace stood too close to the fire for effective action to be taken'' (Palmer 1978, p. 165). It can be argued that the misuse of power to enrich the state bureaucrats has existed since the colonial period. However, as Palmer again points out, widespread as corruption was during Soekarno's time, it could not match the grand lacerny that has occurred since 1966 with the massive inflow of aid and foreign investment (1978, p. 164). At the same time, the oil boom in the 1970s, which has generated windfall profits for the state has provided new opportunities for abuse. In the bureaucratic capitalist state, as can be seen in the Indonesian case, the state is not the tool of the bourgeoisie, but the "bourgeoisie'' enters the state, becomes the state bureaucrats, and does business from inside the state. Thus, the means of production is not money capital, but the bureaucratic power of the state. In the Marxist theory of the Bonapartist state, this state emerges when capitalism as a whole is in crisis. Labour is strong and the bourgeoisie is weak. The state has to save the system by taking over the political power and by acting autonomously. Marx described this situation clearly. However, he did not go further to explain the direction this Bonapartist state would take. Would it rehabilitate the bourgeoisie, strengthening it again so that capitalism would be put back on its "normal" course whereby private capital flourishes? Or, would the state, having tasted the honey of absolute power,

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prolong the crisis in order to maintain its power? When the second course is taken, the result would be the birth of a developmentalist capitalist state, or a bureaucratic capitalist state. In both cases, either the developmentalist or the bureaucratic capitalist state, the state makes the "crisis" permanent, because only with this crisis can the state legitimize its absolute power. Ironically, in both Indonesia and South Korea, it is the danger of communism that is used to create a sense of crisis. Thus, while the South Korean state has become the developmentalist capitalist state, Indonesia has taken the course of the bureaucratic capitalist state.

The Aftermath What happens after the bureaucratic capitalist state has been established in Indonesia? The state has succeeded in providing political stability. No significant political challenge has occurred since 1966. Political parties and other mass organizations, labour unions and the press are well under control. In the economic sector, despite growth rates which can be considered to be high when compared to other developing countries, the gap between the rich and the poor has become worse over the years (Thble 4 ).

Thble 4 Income Distribution in Indonesia

Year

Gini Coefficient of Income Distribution

Percentage of Income Received by the Lowest 40%

1961 1964 1971 1976 1980

0.30 0.22 0.30 0.34 0.46

25.3 25.5 26.8 12.7 10.4

SOURCE:

Hasibuan 1984, p. 18.

While in 1961 the percentage of income received by the bottom 40 per cent of the population was 25.3 per cent of the national income, in 1980 it went down to 10.4 per cent. 4 However, it is also true that the national income has become much bigger. Thus, people who live under the poverty line are reported to have decreased, from 40.0 per cent of the population in 1976 to 26.8 per cent in 1981 (Biro Pusat Statistik 1984, p. 48).

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What is the structure of the economy under the New Order State, its achievements and shortcomings? Firstly, it must be borne in mind that the economy depends very much on two engines of growth: foreign aid and oil income. Indonesia has become the seventh biggest debtor country in the Third World, with a total debt of US$25.4 billion at the end of 1982 (including short-term debt). Compared to the Latin American countries, the Indonesian debt service ratio was still respectable, at 28 per cent in 1983 (compared to 154 per cent in Argentina, or 49 per cent in South Korea). In the ASEAN region, however, both Malaysia and Thailand had smaller debt service ratios, namely, 15 per cent and 19 per cent respectively (Nasution 1985, p. 51). The huge absolute debt is worrying, especially when it is clear that the unfavourable debt service ratio depends substantially on oil income. 5 With the present crisis in international oil prices, the Indonesian economy has been affected seriously. As the state income decreases, many big state projects have had to be rescheduled, or even abandoned. The state had to reschedule approximately 125 big projects in 1983 to save US$4.6 billion (Kompas, 2 December 1983). The private sector has also been affected by the rescheduling of state projects since many private businesses depend on sub-contracts from these projects. Many businesses have also had to curtail their activities, due to the weakening purchasing power of the middle class, consisting mainly of state bureaucrats, businessmen and the professionals. For instance, the car industries had a total production of 174,782 vehicles in 1980, but in 1983 production went down to 155,180 vehicles (Wibisono 1984). Textile industries have been affected too. The chairperson of the Textile Industrialist Association stated that the internal market had shrunk and had been saturated since 1982 (Kompas, 25 November 1982). With the slowdown in business, many workers have been laid off and labour disputes have also become more frequent and the New Order State is alleged to have attempted to deal with this problem by launching extrajudicial killing operations in 1983 and 1984 6 (van der Kroef 1985). Political stability has also been somewhat affected. On 12 September 1984, riots broke out in Thnjung Priok, jakarta's harbour area which is usually crowded with unemployed people looking for jobs. The so-called Mosleminstigated rioters were confronted by military repression and many of the rioters were killed. This riot was followed by incidents of bomb explosions and arson in jakarta which spread to other cities as well. The New Order State seems to have succeeded in overcoming these disturbances. However, the underlying cause, the worsening economic situation, is yet to be solved. From the above description, it is clear that the "success" of the Indonesian economy in the 1970s was not due to the increase in capability and productivity of the capitalist system. The "success" depended much more on the oil boom. When oil prices declined at the beginning of the 1980s, the growth of the national income was drastically affected (Thble 5).

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Table 5 GDP Growth Rate in Indonesia 1966-71 1971-76 1976-81 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 SoURCE:

8.6% 8.0% 8.1% 2.24% 4.19% 6.13% 1.87% 1.62%

1966-81: World Bank Report, No. 5066-IND (1984), p. 203; 1982-83: World Bank Report, No. 6201-IND (1986), p. 124; 1985-86: Kompas, 14 january 1987.

At present, the bureaucratic capitalist state of Indonesia is under pressure from the World Bank to abolish the practice of monopolies in the economy. The President of the Bank, in his recent visit to Indonesia, stated publicly that the Bank wished that Indonesia would continue its action against business monopolies (Kompas, 25 March 1987). South Korea has adopted an efficient capitalist system under external pressure_ Will Indonesia follow a similar course? This is still uncertain_ What is certain is that the top state officials whose interests are embedded in monopolies will not give up their privileges easily. Development in Indonesia managed by a bureaucratic capitalist state is, thus, more a political problem than an economic one.

NOTES * This study originated from research on industrialization in Indonesia funded by the Rockefeller Foundation. In the course of carrying out the research, I was struck by the autonomous role of the state, a phenomenon which differs from the main assumptions of Marxist theories of the state. This study focuses on the origin and characteristics of a variety of this strong state, as it has manifested itself in Indonesia. A more general article on the state and industrialization will be published by the Institute of Social Sciences, Seoul National University, Seoul, Republic of Korea. 1. A recent and important study is Bringing the State Back In, edited by Peter Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer and Theda Skocpol (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985)- The autonomous role of the state is discussed in great detail by the contributors of the book. 2. With nine appointed members from Irian jaya, GOLKAR obtained 236 of the 360 elected seats. There were also 100 government appointees in addition to

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3. 4.

5.

6.

the 360 seats, 7 5 from the armed forces. Thus "the GOLKAR-military dominance of the legislature was overwhelming" (McDonald 1980, p. 108). A recent series of articles published in the Asian Wall Street journal (24, 25, 26 November 1986), described in detail the operations of this client bourgeoisie. There have been many criticisms of the above table, especially with regard to the reliability of the input data, and it should therefore be read with some caution. However, this is the only available data on income distribution for the period concerned. The latest estimate of the debt service ratio by the Ministers of Finance placed it at between 30 and 40 per cent (Kompas, 10 October 1986). This was due to the fall in oil prices. No one knows how many criminals have been executed by the military; one estimate is tens of thousands. The dead bodies were thrown in the streets so that people could see them.

REFERENCES Alavi, Hamza. "The State in Post-Colonial Societies: Pakistan and Bangladesh". New Left Review, July-August 1972. Amnesty International. Indonesia. London: Amnesty International Publication, 1977. Baran, Paul. The Political Economy of Growth. New York: Monthly Review Press, 1968. Biro Pusat Statistik. Indikator Pemerataan Pendapatan. ]umlah dan Persentase Penduduk Miskin di Indonesia [Income Distribution Indicator. Numbers and Percentage of Poor People in Indonesia]. Jakarta: Biro Pusat Statistik, 1984. Brackman, Arnold. The Communist Collapse in Indonesia. New York: Norton, 1969. Castles, Lance. "Socialism and Private Business: The Latest Phase". Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies, no. 1 (1965). DBTNI. Doing Business in The New Indonesia. New York: Business International, 1968. Evans, Peter. Dependent Development. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979. ___ . "Class, State and Dependence in East Asia: Lesson for Latin Americanists': Paper presented at the conference organized by the Institute of Social Sciences, Seoul National University, Seoul, 6-8 June 1985. Evans, Peter, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds. Bringing the State Back In. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Frank, Andre Gunder. Capitalism and Underdevelopment in Latin America. New York: Monthly Review, 1967. Hasibuan, Nuriman. "Pembagian Tingkat Penghasilan Thnaga Kerja Pada IndustriIndustri Oligopolistik di Indonesia". Ph.D. dissertation, Universitas Gadjah Mada, 1984. Kemasang, A.R.T. "How Dutch Colonialism Foreclosed a Domestic Bourgeoisie in Java: The 1740 Chinese Massacres Reappraised': Review 9, no. 1 (Summer 1985). Lee, Eddy, ed. Export-led Industrialization and Development. Geneva: ILO Publication, 1981. McDonald, Hamish. Suharto's Indonesia. Honolulu: The University Press of Hawaii, 1980.

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Nasution, Anwar. "Masalah Ekonomi Internasional Dunia Ketiga 1984 dan Prospek 1985': Prisma, no. 1 (1985)0'Donnell, Guillermo A. "Reflection on the Pattern of Change in the BureaucraticAuthoritarian State". Latin American Research Review (Winter 1978)0nghokham. "Sentimen Antipedagang". Kompas, 5 March 1984. Paauw, Douglas S. "Frustrated Labour-Intensive Development: The Case of Indonesia''. In Export-led Industrialization and Development, edited by Eddy Lee. Geneva: ILO Publications, 1981. Palmer, Ingrid. The Indonesian Economy Since 1965. London: Frank Cass and Company Ltd, 1978. Robinson, Richard. Indonesia: The Rise of Capital. Canberra: Asian Studies Association of Australia, 1986. Skocpol, Theda. States and Social Revolutions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Thomas, K.D., and]. Panglaykim. Indonesia: The Effect of Past Policies and President Suharto's Plans for the Future. Australia: Committee for Economic Development of Australia, November 1973. Tornquist, Oil e. Dilemmas of Third World Communism. The Destruction of the PKI in Indonesia. London: Zed Books Ltd, 1984. Vander Kroef,justus. '"Petrus' Patterns of Prophylactic Murder in Indonesia': Asian Survey, july 1985. Wibisono, Christianto. "Strategi Industri Otomotif Kita". Kompas, 20 March 1984. World Bank. Indonesia: Policies and Prospects for Economic Growth and nunsformation. Report No. 6201-IND, 1984. World Bank. Indonesia: Adjusting to Lower Oil Revenues. Report No. 6201-IND, 1986.

6 Outlines of a Non-Linear Emplotment of Philippine History - - - - - - - - - REYNALDO C. ILETO - - - - - - - - -

Most sensitive thinkers today regard the concept of "development" not as universl but as historically conditioned, arising from social, economic, and ideological trends in eighteenth-century Europe. The idea of progress - the belief that the growth of knowledge, capabilities and material production make human existence better - placed science at the summit of knowledge. It gave birth to high imperialism, as the West identified progress with civilization and set out to dominate the rest of the world. Thday, the idea of progress and the developmental ideology it engendered are under attack. People are generally aware of how scientific knowledge and technique can bring disaster, how increased material production does not necessarily lead to a better life. The reality of poverty, exploitation of workers, domination of certain groups by others, and destruction of the environment, flies in the face of rational planning by technocrats. 1 As the awareness of what "development" really means grows, it becomes nevertheless difficult to identify and negate the features of this outlook that have been internalized for decades and continue to shape one's thinking. In the Philippines, the developmental outlook is deeply implicated in power relationships within the society as well as between the Philippines and the outside world. It shapes behaviour and thought without being fully articulated itself. The concept of development is still understood as a universal "given" - the "given", for example, of any text emanating from the national government and its technocrats. Surprisingly enough, even the critics of government and the technocratic elite, whether of the right or left in the political spectrum, while pointing out distortions and misapplications, fail to escape the very discourse of development. It is as if to become an educated Filipino one had to internalize this central organizing concept of the age in which one lives. 130

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From the moment the typical Filipino student begins to learn about himself, his society, history and culture in books, the mass-media and the classroom, he becomes immersed in ideas of development, emergence, linear time, scientific reason, humane pragmatism, governmental ordering, and nation-building. He becomes so immersed in them that he takes them to be part of the natural ordering of things. Little does he know that such categories are historical, that they were devised at a certain time by men bound by their unique interests and environments. The operations by which some events are highlighted while others suppressed, the establishment of chains of cause and effect, the temporal ordering of phenomena in a certain way, such as from primitive to advanced, religious to secular revolts - all these are obscured in textbooks and teaching methods. The student is made to learn the facts as they are strung out in some linear fashion, not the relationship of histories to power groups, the silences of the past, or the history of the linear scheme itself. 2 This paper will, first of all, look into the common structural features that underlay linear Philippine histories of different political persuasions. These texts have dominated the educational scene for at least a decade, and have become part and parcel of the intellectual baggage of the present generation of politicians, radical activists, and technocrats. By interrogating these texts one may begin to understand why it is so difficult for the men and women at the top to escape the "linear developmental" mode of comprehending national problems and prospects. But it is not enough to discern the structure or discourse of Philippine history. The second part of this paper will look into the late nineteenth-century context of its irruption, particularly the still unexplored rise of medical power. Finally, the question of what to do with the data that is marginalized in the dominant histories will be discussed. It is suggested that an alternative historical project might consist of retrieving such data and allowing it to challenge the dominant constructs, fomenting what Foucault calls "the insurrection of subjugated knowledges" which were "present but disguised within the body of functionalist and systematizing theory". 3

Linear History The late Teodoro Agoncillo, the Philippines' most influential history textbook writer, is famous for his construction of a history that begins after 1872, the year of the executions of three reformist priests, or the year that a "national consciousness" was born. 4 Agoncillo justified this view on the grounds that one cannot hear an authentic Filipino voice prior to 1872 in the masses of Spanish colonial records that have survived. At most there are isolated, regional and tribal assertions against the colonial order, but hardly one that articulates a common experience and destiny of the Filipino people.

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Agoncillo blames this on Spanish colonialism. According to him, before the conquest in the sixteenth century the people had a sense of belonging to the Malay world; they were literate, prosperous and united under their respective chiefs. Spanish rule encouraged the docility of the masses, the corruption of leaders, their collaboration with the foreigners, and, above all, a loss of authentic customs and beliefs. Only with nineteenth-century economic development and the consequent rise of a native intelligentsia called ilustrado, would things be set straight again. Agoncillds textbooks are considered exemplary in the nationalist tradition, but an examination of all modern history textbooks will reveal that they contain the following categories and chronological sequence: A Golden Age (pre-Hispanic society), the Fall (that is, the conquest by Spain in the sixteenth century), the Dark Age (seventeenth and eighteenth centuries), Economic and Social Development (nineteenth century), the Rise of Nationalist Consciousness (post-1872), the Birth of the Nation (1898), and either Suppressed Nationalism or Democratic Tutelage (post-1901, the American regime). The year 1872, or sometimes 1896 -when the Katipunan revolt against Spain occurred - is the lynchpin of several binary oppositions: forward/ backward, reason/superstition, enlightenment/enslavement, modern/traditional, religion/progress, and so forth. Th put it another way, some time in the late nineteenth century there seemed to be a breakthrough out of darkness and subjection, towards independence, progress and the Filipino nation-state. Th understand how deeply rooted this conception of history is in the Philippines we must go back to the late nineteenth century. The ilustrados were the offspring par excellence of the Spanish ordering of society. The effect of the colonial intervention was to gather together the scattered barangays (villages) into more compact, Hispanized pueblocentres, where the native and mestizo gentry called principalia, educated by the Spanish friars in the convents, began to assimilate the basic elements of a progressivist outlook, such as the judaeo-Christian concept of man working out the Divine Plan over time, or the notion of man's perfectability. Even the common masses, through local versions of the Old and New Testament came to be familiar with the notion of "history" as a series of events with a beginning (the Creation) and an end (the final Judgment). After the fall from an original state of perfection in the Garden of Eden, history consists of man's strivings for salvation which ultimately is to be found in the afterlife, in the City of God. 5 The well-known opening of the countryside to capitalist penetration from the 1820s onwards, but particularly after 1850, was accompanied by the crystallization of new knowledge which was readily accepted by the generations of upper- and middle-class Filipinos who went to Spanishlanguage schools. Up to the eighteenth century, man's perfectability was deemed impossible on earth. The Spanish clergy was determined to keep

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this perception intact in the colony. By the mid-nineteenth century the educated, ilustrado, segment of the principalia, resentful of the archaic dominance of the Church over practically all aspects of indio life, was prepared to assimilate nineteenth-century ideas of secular progress. Ironically, their exposure to Christian catechism and Church history, predisposed them to linear, progressive ideas of history. The ilustrados, despite their attacks on what they saw as Spanish-controlled religiosity that kept the ordinary people in subjection, nevertheless retained the Christian constructs of "Fall" and "Recovery" in writing anti-colonial history. The first native students of Philippine history - jose Rizal, Gregorio Sanciangco, lsabelo de los Reyes, Ramon Paterno and 'frinidad Pardo de Thvera - saw their generation as the first to be guided by reason rather than superstition. As a way of liberating themselves from their colonial consciousness, they studied the ancient alphabets, literature, religion, and other aspects of pre-Hispanic society, and posited a time in the past when the Philippine archipelago was a flourishing civilization that, however, succumbed to the proferred benefits of alliance with the Spanish conquistadores. History, hence, begins with a "fall". As heirs of the Humanist tradition, the ilustrados further posited a break in their time between the "dark age" of Spanish colonialism when religion and ignorance ruled men's minds, and a new age of enlightenment when the glory of an ancient past would be fused with the progress of nationhood. The future hope was no longer bliss in heaven but a prosperous nation state that would take its place in the international community. 6 With ilustrado writing, then, Philippine history became intelligible, progressive, linear and, to some extent, "purposive". The people, or its intelligentsia vanguard, could help push history to its goal by education/reform, or revolution. Subsequent histories, both of the liberal and radical varieties, have reproduced this nineteenth-century emplotment. In fact, this has formed the backbone of the dominant state ideology and intelligentsia-led opposition to it since the triumph of the First Republic in 1898. In F. E. Marcos's multi-volume series, Thdhana: The History of the Filipino People, a quarter of the volumes is devoted to the pre-Hispanic "roots of Filipino heritage': In this view of the past, the seed of the future Filipino nation is to be found in the idealized pre-Spanish barangay - a community bound together by kinship ties and loyalty to the paternal leader - whose evolution was interrupted by the Spaniards. Another quarter of Thdhana, nearly completed, discusses the Spanish regime, "during which the Filipinos struggled first to assimilate and participate in the Hispanization process, gradually and consciously moving towards the idea of a national community in the reform or propaganda movement': The "counter-society" that emerged in 1872 would find fulfilment in the birth of the nation-state in 1898. From 1898 to 1946, when political independence is granted by the United States, the story - to be told in another quarter of the series -

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consists of realizing this dream, this destiny, in the face of American, japanese, rightist, leftist and other threats to it. 7 Marcos's history departs from Agoncillo's in taking a more positive view of the "Conquista" (that is, the "fall") and the "dark age''. It accommodates the research of Phelan and others that have shown that while the native perception of reality was strained by the impositions of colonialism, there was no break or disruption arising from the conversion and relocation of the lowland populace. Phelan demonstrates that Spanish missionaries could not have succeeded without building on pre-existing notions of curative waters, amulets, anito worship, family alliances, and the like. The process of Hispanizing the native elite was as much through the latter's initiative as it was Spain's. 8 Marcos develops this notion of indio creativity and assertion into that of the "counter-society" - the substratum of indigenous civilization - taking the form of a primitive yearning for liberty that simmered beneath the surface of Spanish rule. The "counter-society" in Marcos's history, in the process of revealing itself, of making liberty manifest, gradually transforms itself into a state. Here is the culmination of ilustrado efforts to construct a chain of events leading to the modern nation-state. "Marcos", in fact, is also the name of a large group of contemporary scholars who have used the idiom of modern scholarship to essentially fulfil the dreams of their forebears. They see the origins of the state in the pre-Spanish barangay, which was gradually transformed during the colonial period into the much larger pueblo, dominated at the centre by the municipal hall and church/convent complex. Thus, from this pueblo centre emerged the principalia and ilustrado classes which wrote and subscribed to a history organized from the centre's perspective. Th put it another way, if history was continuous and progressive, the pueblo and its fulfilment, the state, would be the very site of progress. Thus, there is a disproportioned celebration, in both history books and national festivities, of the founding of the first Philippine republic in 1898, despite the latter's suppression of religio-political movements that preceded it and plagued its shortlived experience. The sacred character of the state is evidenced in Marcos's self-consciously Hegelian argument that the state was the "self realization of the Absolute", and that the form of constitutional authoritarianism his regime practised - in which through him as "world historical" leader, the guiding hand of history/progress operated - was the only way that the ilustrado dream could be realized. 9 The most effective critics thus far of the "statist" construction of history have been those who go by the much-misunderstoo d name, "Marxist". Two examples will be mentioned here: Renata Constantino, author of a best-selling textbook, The Philippines: A Past Revisited, and the National Democratic Front (NDF), whose version of Philippine history is derived from A. Guerrero's Philippine Society and Revolution. 10 Constantino pointed out, in reply to Agoncillo's dismissal of the "dark age" of Spanish rule, that

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Spanish colonial policy, and even Spanish history and society, from the beginning "had profound effects on the evolving Filipino society and cannot therefore be ignored". His criticism of Agoncillo's "great men" approach was also an attack on Marcos's history at the height of martial rule: "All powerful leaders, and especially tyrants, exerted efforts to insure that the history of their time would be written in their image:· In the final analysis, however, "it is the people who make or unmake heroes': The NDF has likewise rejected the "great heroes" approach; leaders or rebels are thrown up by the particular social and economic formations in which they lived. In fact, one of the preoccupations of the NDF (as well as other, competing, Marxist groups) has been to locate states in the Philippine past so that development and its concomitant struggles can be more scientifically plotted. 11 ''There must be no segmentation of the different stages of our history", argues Constantino. Despite the "evolution and disappearance of forms of social life and institutions", there is a continuity in the people's material and subjective growth. Constantino calls revolts and other assertions during colonial rule "the schools of the masses': "From blind responses to foreign oppression, mass actions against the Spaniards and later against the Americans underwent various transformations until they finally became a conscious struggle for national liberation''. Note that the end point of popular struggles is not state formation but "national liberation'' or, as Constantino says elsewhere, "the birth of a nation". Note, too, that revolts are shown to be increasingly self-conscious and secular, evolving in states as the economy develops. Variations on the theme are found elsewhere. For example, Constantino-inspired church activists picture religious unrest as developing in stages, from Hermano Pule's primitive Cofradia movement of 1840-41 to the highest stage in Fr. Gregorio Aglipay's schism from the Roman Catholic Church during the revolution. The former is pictured as a blind groping, with the leader, Hermano Pule, still encumbered by "dark age" superstition; hence his failure. 12 The problem is that, their sincerity notwithstanding, Constantino and the NDF have failed to extricate themselves from the discourse of the liberal nationalists they condemn. Like Agoncillo and Marcos, they present an image of a pre-Hispanic feudal order bastardized by colonialism and a native culture contaminated by Christianity. What these texts have in common with their liberal rivals is that they proceed from the same construct of fall-darkness-recovery (or triumph), where there is a necessary development from a point in the past to the present and everything in between is either taken up in the march forward, or simply suppressed. Older ideas of progress can be gleaned in these texts' insistence on consciousness of the "laws of motion': and on "correct" organizational responses to historical opportunities for revolutionary change. While Constantino and the NDF look upon the masses as the real "makers of history", the masses are not allowed to speak. They exist only to be

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represented by articulate leaders who are said to have a deeper understanding than "ordinary people" of the causes of oppression, and who began to emerge in the second half of the nineteenth century. Here we see another intersection of nationalist establishment writing and nationalist/ Marxist oppositionist writing. It is a very subtle kind of elitism, because it draws upon the Filipino "common sense'' view that colonialization made the masses passive, that Spanish colonialism preached such virtues as "resignation, passivity and respect for authority': An example cited by both Marcos and the NDF is the Spanish use of such texts as the Pasyon indigenous versions of the New Testament story - to make the masses submissive. 13 Naturally, if such writers ignore the creative appropriation of Spanish-Chris tian texts by the masses, then it follows that the coming of the intelligentsia is sorely needed. It is not surprising that such ostensibly diverse texts share a common historical emplotment. The reason most educated Filipinos find the lineardevelopmental mode a natural one for ordering such phenomena as revolts and the consolidation of state power in the name of nationalism is because this framework puts them at the forefront of the development process. Whether as apologists or activists, they are able to recognize themselves in a comfortable way in the past, and they are assured of a primary role in the fulfilment of the end towards which history moves.

Physicians and the State Rizal always comes to mind as the foremost nationalist writer and interpreter of history in the late nineteenth century. It is often forgotten that he was trained as a medical practitioner, and that much of his scholarly investigations had to do with the natural sciences. But having situated his historical writing in the episteme of the period, it is no longer possible to separate Rizal, the writer, from Rizal, the physician. Nineteenth-century linear history and science shared the same basic assumptions: chains of cause and effect, perfectibility of man on earth, triumph over untruth and superstition, and so forth. It can likewise be argued that the ilustrado construction of Philippine history and the medico-scientific outlook of such practitioners as Rizal, Paterno and Pardo de Thvera - who also wrote histories - are part of the same discourse. After 1872, parents, with good reason (that is, the execution of the three reformist priests), were reluctant to send their sons to seminaries. The medical profession succeeded the priesthood as the most popular career goal for bright and well-to-do youth. Medicine and its auxiliary discipline, pharmacy, were regarded as having long since broken away from fantasy and superstition. It formed the vanguard of science during the nineteenth century. The rise of medicine as a distinct discipline depended upon the view that knowledge could be steadily accumulated and perfected. Filipinos, reading their history through this medico-scientific matrix, quite naturally

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were attracted to the pattern or construct described at the beginning of this paper: fall-dark ages-enlightenment and progress. Our alternative reading of the nineteenth-century rise of the medical profession - a sign of progress - is based on the actual intersection of medicine, politics, and society during the cholera epidemics that swept the colony from 1820 to 1902. The 1820 epidemic was particularly frightening since Asiatic cholera had not been experienced previously. Colonial (that is, European) doctors were quite helpless about preventive and curative procedures. The 1820 experience was particularly remembered for the antiforeign riots that originated in the native district surrounding Manila, which resulted in the deaths of many foreigners. Afflicted natives of the lower class abandoned the pueblos, and turned in droves to what the Frenchman Gironiere, himself a physician, called "native sorcerers". The almost total disruption of public order at the height of the epidemic was as equally feared by the colonial establishment as the disease itself. 14 The experience of the 1820 epidemic as a time of chaos was constantly at the back of the minds of colonial health officials during subsequent visitations. Medical and sanitary practices that were devised in succeeding decades had the additional, if not essential, function of preventing a repetition of chaos. 15 Soon after 1820, Spanish health officials were in touch with physicians from British India, and much of the developments in cholera cures elsewhere were adopted. From hindsight it is easy to smile at the naivete of the cures and such "mistaken'' conceptions as the dreaded miasma. But documents of the sanitary and health commissions reveal a reverence towards the advances in knowledge and techniques in the nineteenth century. Battling a killer disease such as cholera with the weapons of science gave the juntas sanitarias, or sanitary commissions, a rising prestige among the nascent Filipino middle class, a prestige previously enjoyed only by the Church. The fairly extensive documentation on the 1882 and 1889 epidemics reveal a situation far different from that of 1820. 16 Sanitary commissions were quickly mobilized in each town at the first sign of an outbreak. Initially, parish priests, either Spaniards or Filipino, served as presidents of these commissions but, increasingly, gobernadorcillos (justices of peace) were allowed to assume this function. Individuals who showed a lack of enthusiasm and competence were immediately sacked. By and large, local officials, municipal policemen, top members of the principalia, and the Guardia Civil, worked remarkably well as a team to enforce state regulations. These consisted principally of the daily monitoring and inspection of houses and public facilities, daily accounting of infected persons and cholera deaths, strict quarantines, the banning of "dangerous" food items (such as the foul smelling shrimp paste, or bagoong), and even the policing of outlying villages and hamlets which could be the source of pollution or infection.

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A schedule of fines and detentions for infractions of sanitary rules was strictly observed. The reorganization of society and surveillance over ritual practices and individual consciences that accompanied conversion to Christianity in the seventeenth century was repeated in the nineteenth century by the colonial state which made its presence felt through the system of door-to-door inspections, the monitoring of casualties, and the bans on visiting the sick and the dead. Furthermore, there appears to be a continuity between the surveillance and the curtailment of population movements practised during epidemics, and similar techniques of "bandit suppression" that were perfected at about the same period. The cholera attacked both rich and poor. But the local sanitary commissions were well aware of the threat of contamination offered by unhygienic clusters of peasant dwellings and movements of people. The principalia's energetic response to anti-cholera programmes was at one level a measure of its desire to survive as a class. Its attitude towards "banditry" was not different. For example, the Spanish infantry's campaign to eradicate banditry in southern Luzon in 1881 was tantamount to a massive quarantine operation that isolated the "hard working and peaceful" inhabitants of town centres from rough and unsettled elements in the peripheries that posed a threat to the centres. In both operations, that is, epidemic and bandit suppression, Spanish commanders, parish priests and the principalia were allies. The saga of progress in health and sanitation is also that of the involvement of the principalia in the deployment of state power under the aegis of disease control. After the middle of the nineteenth century, the nascent ilustrado segment of the principalia began to assert itself in the name of scientific medicine. During the 1882 cholera visitation which rivalled in intensity that of 1820 (34,000 died in Manila alone), the frequent appeal to Manila of provincial governors, parish priests, and municipal officials was, "Send a medico titular at once!" A medico titular was a bona fide graduate of a medical course, a physician, variously called "Medicd' or "Licenciadd'. In the mid-1860s the University of Santo Tomas had opened its medical faculty to Filipinos (natives and mestizos), and so by the late 1870s the native physician was becoming a powerful figure in the pueblos which had one. 17 Due to the scarcity of medicos in 1882 they had to be rotated. The majority of towns, and even some provinces, had to do without one, relying (officially, that is) on the vacunadorcillo, the vaccinator who had been around since the beginning of the century, and the mediquillo, a name designating anyone with a smattering of formal training who could prescribe medicines, apply poultices, set broken bones, and the like. There was no strict line separating mediquillo from curandero, the Spanish name for a herbalist or a healer aided by spiritual powers. One glaring feature of the rise of "medico power" was the full support it had from the colonial state. The words and deeds of the medicos were

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thus framed by the aura, the power, of "Ciencia", and "Medicina Racional", which in turn were harnessed by the state for its consolidation. With support from the centre, medicos easily displaced the vacunadorcillo whom they regarded as backward and ineffective practitioners of malas artes. The post of Vacunador General was taken over by a medico titular in 1889. In some cases, though, power struggles between the two erupted, usually as a result of medicos clumsily attempting to subordinate long-established vaccinators in the towns. The medico did not really know much more about cholera control than the vaccinator who had the experience of past epidemics to his credit, but an arena of conflict was created by the distinction that had arisen between "licensed" and "unlicensed" medical practitioners, with the vaccinator slipping into the latter category. 18 The medicos inevitably encountered the power of the parish priests, particularly the Spanish friars. The latter, armed with handbooks that encapsulated the missionary experience with tropical disease, had in the past assumed the role of doctors in the pueblo centres, though, as far as they were concerned, being in a proper moral condition was still the best weapon against disease. It was still common for parish priests to head the local sanitary commissions in 1882. With the appearance of the medico, clerical dominance in health matters began to decline. The medicos' struggle against the priests was an uphill one, however. Since medicos, apart from being few in number, were generally helpless against the 1882 visitation, priests still ruled the scene as deaths multiplied. The rise of scientific medicine in the context of the epidemics of the 1880s also signalled the delegitimation of the activities of the mediquillo/ curandero. The municipal police and Guardia Civil tried to prevent access to curers. The epidemics were also a time of war on illegitimate doctors. Th quote an 1889 proposal for reforms in the vaccination service, "hopefully these changes, without added cost to taxpayers, will diminish the numbers of curanderos and mediquillos, and will advance the public's education in the methods of rational medicine .... "19 Mediquillos, formerly indispensable in the pueblo centres, were steadily pushed back to the peripheries, their activities increasingly coming to coincide with those of "illicit associations". There was, needless to say, resistance even in the pueblo centres to disease control measures. Documents of the sanitary commissions complain of stubborn, secretive, apathetic, filthy, undisciplined town-dwellers, generally of the poorer class. They are accused of egoista indiferencia and pasiva resistencia. Worst of all, as far as the commissions were concerned, was the "irrational" preference of many for the mediquillo and curandero, resulting in discernible population movements to the fringes of pueblos or to nearby hills where these curers continued to practise their art virtually unimpeded. The 1882 cholera epidemic began to subside, not so much as a result of action by the local juntas sanitarias, but in the aftermath of powerful storms that washed out the sources of infection. The onset of natural immunity

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amongst the populace was also a factor. The Filipino medicos titulares emerged nevertheless as powerful figures in the community. 20 It quite naturally fell upon them to speak on behalf of the Filipino people during the propaganda, or reform movement, from 1882 to about 1895. The medicos in the towns, together with the schoolteacher, or maestro, secretly disseminated the views that their compatriots were publicly advocating in Europe: Filipinos should be recognized as equal to any Spanish citizen; the people's education and livelihood should be properly attended to by the state. 21 The friar quite easily became the figure of backwardness, the "other" of the rising medico titular. When separation from Spain became a reality at the turn of the century, physicians and pharmacists were actively involved in setting up the shortlived Republic under Aguinaldo's leadership.

Medical Progress/Warfare The irony of the story narrated above is that when the United States began to take over the reins of the state at the beginning of this century (1901 and after), the progress of the earlier decades was simply consigned to another "dark age''. In other words, the whole process described above was repeated, with a slightly different constellation of characters. The great cholera epidemic of 1902-3, like the ones treated earlier, gives us a privileged glimpse of the relationships between medical knowledge and practices, and the consolidation of power by the state. Former Secretary of the Interior, Dean Worcester, in his History of Asiatic Cholera in the Philippines (1909), reviewed the earlier epidemics, particularly that of 1882, and blamed the feeble and incompetent Spanish health authorities for the massive "runaway" deaths incurred. In contrast, the most recent epidemic of 1902-4 with which he was involved, was relatively quickly controlled. Worcester naturally viewed it as a triumph of modern medicine and public health measures under the aegis of the U.S. government. In fact much, if not all, of the literature on the subject treats the American handling of the 1902-3 epidemic as a triumph of rationality and science over Filipino superstition and obstinacy. The disease is seen as a biological, physical (in short, objective) fact requiring direct, scientifically-proven solutions. 22 What is concealed in this saga of triumph of Western medicine? When the disease appeared in Manila in March 1902 and spread to the rest of Luzon in subsequent months, it provoked a massive medical, quarantine and sanitation effort on the part of the newly installed colonial government. To this there were various kinds of resistance on the part of the populace. The burning of infected houses, burial in mass graves and attempted cremations, application of unfamiliar treatments and solutions, to name a few, were met with flight, concealment and a general "sullenness" of people in some areas. The segregation of infected persons in cholera hospitals was particularly resisted. Quarantine measures were broken whenever possible.

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Curanderos were secretly attracting villagers to their mountain redoubts. In the end, the objective presence of a killer disease was justification enough for colonial policies to be pushed through by force, if necessary. American cavalrymen and soldiers were recruited by Worcester to serve as crack officers of his sanitation brigades. Here, we have the image of the conquering soldier quickly transformed to that of the crusading sanitation inspector. 23 In southwestern Luzon, cholera appeared at the tail-end of years of guerrilla resistance to U.S. occupation. In a final attempt to break the resistance, the U.S. army under Gen.]. Franklin Bell implemented populationreconcentration and search-and-destroy strategies in late 1901 up to the middle of the following year when the cholera began to threaten the region. The rapid spread of the disease was, in fact, greatly facilitated by the movement of U.S. troops, as well as the crowding of villagers in the pueblo centres, now called "protected zones': War, disease, and hunger were inextricably linked together in the experience of the southern Thgalogs, yet in accounts such as Worcester's one finds nothing but the saga of cholera suppression, with its concomitant disciplining of the native and the sanitizing of his habitat. 24 With the final surrender of most guerrilla officers in May 1902, the discourse of "germ-warfare" quickly replaced "pacification" discourse. Military surgeons supplanted the strategists and combat troops. As one veteran surgeon wrote, "the sanitary work of combating this disease among an ignorant and suspicious people, impoverished by war, locusts and rinderpest and embittered by conquest was an extremely difficult task, calling for much patience, tact and firmness, the brunt of which fell on the Army:' 25 In effect, the epidemic was the scene of another war, a "combat zone" of disputes over power and definitions of illness and treatment, involving American military surgeons, Filipino medico titulares (veterans of '82 and '89), parish priests, the principalia, stricken townspeople, and alternative curers in the fringes of the towns. Why was there a conflict between Filipino/Spanish medicos and their American counterparts, if both were the standard-bearers of progress? Worcester, at the onset of the epidemic, met with the Filipino and Spanish medicos who promised without exception to aid the Board of Health. However, with few exceptions "they not only failed to give assistance, but in many instances, by neglecting to report cholera cases, by falsely reporting them, and by decrying the sanitary measures deemed necessary by the authorities, added materially to the crushing burdens which rested upon the Board of Health~ 26 The Board had to threaten Filipino physicians, heads of families, and other responsible persons with prosecution for concealment of cases. At one level, the medicos' passive resistance may be explained by their threatened loss of influence over the masses occasioned by the advent of U.S. rule. Filipino medicos, in particular, were chafing under the overbearing

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manners of their American superiors. The only way they could be made to co-operate was when they were given some measure of control themselves. In Manila this carne when Filipinos were made heads of auxiliary boards of health. That medicos simply desired what later would be called the "Filipinization'' of government - in this case control over health programmes involving their countrymen - is only part of the story. Their conflict with American health authorities appears to have run deeper. The fact that their exemplar, jose Rizal, had been an associate of the German physician and scientist, Rudolf Virchouw, has some implications here. In an investigation of an epidemic in Upper Silesia in 184 7, Virchouw traced its origins to heavy rains which had ruined the year's crops, resulting in famine. The winter following had been extremely severe, forcing the poor people to huddle together in their homes, cold and hungry. It was then that a typhus epidemic broke out and spread rapidly among the poorer class, eventually attacking the wealthy classes as well. Virchouw's experience led him in 1848 to found a new journal, Medizinische Reform, in which he professed that poverty bred disease, and that physicians must support reforms that sought to reconstruct society in a manner favourable to man's health. Epidemics, he said, "resemble great warnings from which a statesman in the grand style can read that a disturbance has taken place in the development of his people". In the control of crowd diseases, social and even political action was necessary. 27 If it is assumed that, in general, Filipino medicos titulares were sympathetic to Virchouw's ideas, here is one explanation of their antipathy towards American anti-cholera efforts. American physicians by 1902 almost universally subscribed to the germ theory, or more generally the doctrine of "specific etiology" of disease. Pasteur's writings on the subject appeared at about the same time as Darwin's theory of evolution. At a time when relationships between living beings were being set in a context of a struggle for survival, where one was either friend or foe, the germ theory gave rise to a kind of aggressive warfare against disease-causing microbes, which had to be eliminated from the stricken individual and from the community. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, the notion of disease as, in the final analysis, a lack of harmony between man and his environment, was giving way in the West to the search for the specific germ and the specific weapon against it. In Germany, Emile von Behring regarded Virchouw's ideas as an antiquated expression of the vague nineteenth-century Naturphilosophie - a characteristic, incidentally, of some of Dr Rizal's writings. 28 Accounts of the 1902 cholera epidemic show the contrast between Filipino and American views of disease control. U.S. military surgeons tried out all sorts of germ-killing preparations. These treatments, experimental in nature, were based on the assumption that some drug ought to be able to attack and destroy the cholera vibrio within the patient. In a report from the Santa Mesa cholera hospital it was admitted that "the definite lines

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of treatment advocated from time to time have never proved of material service in true cholera:· Whether or not it was due to the medicine used, the American doctors' method of treatment brought nothing but aversion among cholera patients. Significantly, though, when "a few simple medicines" were distributed to the auxiliary boards of health under Filipino direction, the effect on popular attitudes was decidedly positive. These medicines did not cure many cases of cholera, but did so diarrhoea, "thus removing a predisposing cause and gratifying the people, as the poorer class firmly believe under these circumstances that they have been cured of true cholera': 29 Filipino patients encountered American physicians only in hospitals, and we have noted the horror with which confinement was viewed. Filipino medicos, in the cities at least, generally visited their patients in their homes. They treated families with which they presumably had had long-standing relationships. They applied what Americans termed with derision, "mixed treatment", which meant the inclusion of some features of what used to be the official treatment throughout most of the nineteenth century. The relatively backward and unscientific Filipino medicos - as the American surgeons viewed them - thus turned out to be more effective vis-a-vis the populace. 30 It was somewhat like 1882, when victims were more attracted to the mediquillos and curanderos than to the new, Manila-trained medicos! In 1902, the medicos were applying old treatments and keeping patients in a familiar and reassuring environment, where their "morale" as well as body would have been attended to. Families were determined to keep it that way even if their doctors had to conceal cases from the government. For the alternative was the hospital, and the frightful treatment (whatever it consisted of) rendered by alien physicians. The fear of detention only began to subside when hospital reforms were enacted which placed Filipino medicos in contact with native patients. All this interaction between Filipino and American physicians took place in Manila and a few other larger towns and cities. In the vast majority of cholera-stricken towns, the principalia-run boards of health and the parish priests were the local agents of disease control, and they invariably collided with the American military surgeons and other agents of Worcester. The contrast between their enthusiastic implementation of sanitary measures under Spain, and their lethargy under U.S. supervision, is striking. But the explanation for this is obvious: the revolution was not yet over for most of them; memories of the guerrilla war were not easily cast aside; their traditional dominance over the pueblo centres was threatened by a new, still unfamiliar, colonial ruler. Only the strict surveillance of U.S. Army surgeons from the local garrisons, and the brute fact of accelerating cholera deathrates, brought the principalia around to acquiescing to the colonial solutions. After a long "military" phase, the colonizing process began to shape the people's daily lives and thinking in the inescapable context of surviving the cholera.

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Whatever Worcester may have claimed, germ-warfare methods, including the use of powerful drugs, strict quarantine, and attempted cremation of the dead, all failed for various reasons. In the end, as in 1882, it was the combination of heavy rains and the growing immunity of the populace that caused the epidemic to subside. As a result of this event, however, modern medicine and sanitation are said to have been implanted in the Philippines - a fact that not even nationalist histories can deny. What needs to be pointed out in an alternative history is that fine, humanitarian objectives mask other dimensions of colonial health and welfare measures: the "disciplining" of the masses, the supervision and regulation of more and more aspects of life, and the suppression or elimination of what the state perceived as forms of resistance, disorder, and irrationality. The participation of natives in colonial health and sanitation matters implicates them in the process. Not surprisingly, for in the twentieth century, as control of the reins of the state passed on to Filipinos, the latter's attitude towards forms of indiscipline, disorder, irrationality and deviancy was no different from that of their colonial predecessors.

Beyond the Pueblo Centre The plague as a form, at once real and imaginary, of disorder had as its medical and political correlative discipline. Behind the disciplinary mechanisms can be read the haunting memory of contagions, of the plague, of rebellions, crimes, vagabondage, desertions, people who appear and disappear, live and die in disorder. 31

Once again, Foucault's suggestions have a ring of familiarity in the Philippine context. Disease control in 1882 and 1902 are repetitions of other events in which the taming of disorder figures prominently. Historical writings, in giving emphasis to the integration of pueblo centres and central administration, and the leading actors of both (principales, bureaucrats), have relegated to the margins the events taking place beyond the control of such centres. Much of recent Philippine social history deals with the expansion of the frontiers, the rise of cash crop agriculture and urban entrepots, the links of the Philippine economy to the world capitalist system, and the activities of the increasingly entrepreneurial principalia!Chinese mestizo class. 32 After all, these are what the colonial archives tell us most about. But, to cite WH. Scott, there are "cracks in the parchment curtain~ through which we can fleetingly glimpse the unique ways in which Filipinos reacted to Spanish rule. Unfortunately, says Scott, "these insights do not generally appear in the official histories': 33 Even "non-official" histories can be at a loss as to how to situate such insights. For example, Cruickshank's recent history of Samar offers us fascinating glimpses of the "other side" of

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the pueblo centre where vagabonds are a "plague'', alternative priests beckon the populace, and a pilgrimage site constitutes a powerful focus of popular aspirations. But, in the end, Cruickshank warns us that all this may give us "a distorted image of the major themes of Samar's history", a history that was largely enacted on the coasts (with settled populations) and that reflects the long impact of Catholicism and economic/commercial development. 34 Research into the records of the Guardia Civil and provincial courts enable us to reread the nineteenth century saga of development quite differently. The pueblo, we argue, can be read as an ambiguous centre of Philippine life, coming into play when "proper" Catholicism, bureaucratic centralization, the rise of the export economy, technical advancements, and the activities of the elite, are the foci of investigation. The consolidation of the Spanish colonial state which was inherited by the principalia at the turn of the nineteenth century, "happened" or was accomplished through countless encounters with the phenomenon it named "banditry': and with many small but authentic communities - "illicit associations" to the establishment - led by non-principalia, non-pueblo dwellers, who towards the end of that century were forming their own image of community and nation. We suggest that, instead of aberrations or "problems", they can be read as the suppressed "other·: the condition for the possibility, of the pueblo centres. One of the suppressed figures of Philippine history is the tulisan (bandit, highwayman). In Thgalog literature, he signifies contempt for the law and for settled pueblo life. He is often a victim of false accusations by the parish priest or some member of the principalia, and thus resort to flight. EJ. Hobsbawm has inspired a whole generation of historians to view the "ideal type" of bandit, based on peasant perceptions, as the embodiment or expression of peasant hopes for liberty and justice. Banditry is regarded as a rural and pre-political phenomenon; the bandit is a substitute for the peasantry's failure to lift itself from its condition. 35 There is, indeed, a lot of evidence that Robin Hoods existed in the Philippines. What concerns us here is the bandit as the emblem of disorder, of the fundamental discontinuity of any pueblo-based history. The bandit or tulisan had, in fact, already been there since the Conquista, as the name given by the establishment to the shadowy rival of the proSpanish datu, or gobernadorcillo, for control over territory and followers. In a recent dissertation, Medina argues that banditry was "a revolt against the policy of the reduccion". "Reduccion" at one level is almost synonymous with "conquistd': the religious and civil aspects of friar missionary activities. Its second, later, meaning is "the process of resettling or consolidating a community': According to Medina, Filipinos who did not recognize Spanish authority and laws, thus refusing to become part of the reduccion, fled to the hills and were called ladrones monteses ("mountain thieves"), tulisanes, or taga-labas (literally, "outsiders", that is, outside the established reduccion).

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Medina's conclusion, in deference to linear history, is that banditry was an inchoate form of peasant unrest during the Spanish period, a phenomenon that developed through the nineteenth century into a full-blown peasant movement. His data, however, suggests that banditry was always "already there", a perpetual threat to settled, pueblo existence. 36 The bandit was ubiquitous, yet he remained a hidden and slippery figure. In contrast to the inhabitants of the pueblo centre, particularly the principales, the bandit often lacked a proper Christian name and lineage, or was known by an alias signifying a certain character or physical trait. He was illiterate, yet held in awe by the common folk for his bravery and invulnerability. He robbed and killed the rich, particularly Chinese merchants and native landlords, including the occasional Spanish priest. Unlike pueblo people, he usually had no fixed abode, was a "wanderer" by definition, and when a base was staked out, this was in distant and isolated barrios or in forests and mountain caves. 37 It is almost impossible to trace the origins of bandit chiefs and their followers. After the middle of the nineteenth century, their presence was intensified as the economy developed and the principalia prospered, prompting the organization of the Spanish-commanded elite constabulary force, the Guardia Civil, in the 1860s. In the 1870s and early 1880s, a special regiment of the Spanish army under Captain (later, Lt. Col.) Faustino Villa Abrille tried to flush them out of their hideouts in Luzon and the Visayas. But, despite massive arrests and the capture of a few key bandit chiefs, the terrain and the lack of central control outside the pueblos prevented this "hydra-headed monster" - as Sturtevant calls it - from being stamped out completely. 38 The proliferation of archival records dating from the 1870s to the 1890s is a measure of the central government's attempts to eliminate this plague called banditry. The police network was periodically reorganized, the keeping of dossiers systematized, and the judicial system streamlined. The character of pueblo life itself was shaped by the preoccupation with banditry. Settlements were relocated into more compact units, and ways to control population movements between them were put into practice. Scott points out that a member of the Guardia Civil was allowed "to enter houses situated in populated areas at any hour of the day or night if he believes it useful for the service': The police regulations of the day "amounted to virtual martial law, with no civil rights to redress for military abuses". For bandits whatever they really were - were feared. Spanish leaders and local principalia alike imagined an army of them poised to attack not only towns but also at one point Manila itself. In the sugar districts of Negros, such groups proliferated, creating the need for extensive police surveillance and military operations. The abaca plantations of Bikol, the districts of Cagayan planted with tobacco, and just about every region where economic development took place, all witnessed the same phenomenon. 39

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One obvious explanation for brigandage is that it is a mark of the onslaught of capitalism upon village society, creating a deprived class that then turned to pillage. While not denying this, it can be pointed out that the terrain of the nineteenth-century brigands had almost always been the site of "disorder", "assertion'' or "resistance" in earlier periods, and revolutionary guerrilla warfare at the turn of the century. Instead of seeing banditry as a unique nineteenth-century response to new socio-economic forces, it can just as readily be seen as another, perhaps more visible, embodiment of that shadowy "other side" of the developing pueblo and its principalia. The intensity of banditry in the nineteenth century may perhaps be explained by the fact that the Spanish colonial state was determined to become self-supporting and financially independent from Spain and Mexico. Looking to its neighbour, the Netherlands East Indies, for inspiration, it tried to implement a new ethic of efficiency and profit. Spaniards, Englishmen, Americans, Frenchmen, Chinese and mestizos were invited to finance the labour-intensive clearing of virgin lands. Sturtevant, following Hobsbawm, sees the coalitions of bandit groups that emerged after 1850 as another sign of the attempt of the Little Tradition "to turn back or resist unwelcome changes". Certainly, the colonial state undertook to subjugate what it regarded as pockets of resistance to central authority, represented by the spread of capitalist agriculture. By depicting "banditry" as a form of resistance to change, Sturtevant, like Medina and most others who have looked into this phenomenon, incorporated it into another form of linear history through the implication that "change" was inevitable and historically determined, and that more effective forms of resistance to its negative consequences would appear later. On

J~e .~on!rary, !ores/ale wha! we Said Barli8!, b!l!ldi/tfWflt lkt! kitlt!IJH ~(ttl

Side of the deve~oping ~ueblo centre. The bandit was one of the signs of fundamental d1sorder m the colonial polity, of the gap between pueblo centre and periphery. In combatting the bandit, the colonial state and its local principalia allies were extending the state's authority and legal appar~tus beyond _the pueblo centre, literally attempting to put the countryside m order. Crmckshank describes how the new system of head tax, or cedula, the proliferation of bureaus and regulations, and the increase in number of provincial and pueblo police, functioned to tie the Samarefio people to the administrative centres, and isolate vagabonds and bandits. Local leaders, especially the gobernadorcillos, saw in bandit suppression a chance to gain distinctions and rewards, and a longer term of office, within the colonial bureaucracy. The town-dwellers' consciousness of the difference between them and "outsiders" was heightened. The principalia's self-conception as leader or spokesman of the townspeople was made possible not only through its co-operation with or opposition to the colonial power, but through its difference from the bandit chiefs.

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However banditry is treated in Philippine histories, whether as Robin Hood-ism or a precursor of peasant rebellion, its status remains tied to the "dark age" of such histories. There is silence about the wars against bandits that served so much to shape a pueblo-based Filipino identity. Instead, it is against the backdrop of friar abuses and the influx of liberal ideas that the principalia and the masses are seen to emerge during the 1896 revolution against Spain. But ironies abound in the narrative of the revolution: bandit and Katipunan chiefs collaborated to terrorize the suburbs of Manila. There was considerable confusion in the eyes of townspeople and Spanish authorities alike as to the identity of the rebels: were they revolutionaries or plain bandits? The mountain redoubts of bandits in the MontalbanSan Mateo area, east of Manila, became refuges of the secret society. The semi-educated leader. Bonifacio was accused by Cavite principalia of being nothing more than a bandit chief; he himself admitted that if defeated he would turn to banditry. 40 The Philippine-American war is what really thrusts the issue of banditry into contemporary historical consciousness. During the guerrilla resistance to the U.S. takeover from 1901, the new colonial government controlled the pueblo or town centres, establishing loyal municipal governments wherever possible. Guerrilla chiefs, who largely originated from the principalia, now occupied the site of their arch-enemies and rivals: the bandit chiefs. American propaganda concentrated on identifying guerrilla resistance with banditry. Accounts of the war, initially written by Americans, pursued this line. There was a frantic attempt by chiefs such as Aguinaldo and Malvar to procure the proper uniforms so as to distinguish soldiers from bandits. The exigencies of war brought the residents of the town centres to the very margin that normally distinguished them from the "other side': 41 Thus, to generations of Filipinos educated in American schools, the Philippine-American war was a brief episode in history, since the greater part of it had become conflated with the familiar theme of town centres establishing order in the countryside. A major part of official town histories unabashedly subscribe to this framework; the line between anti-American resistance and banditry is never clearly drawn. 42 Not surprisingly, one of the most heated debates in Philippine history in recent decades concerns precisely the status of guerrillas who continued to fight the Americans and their new Filipino allies after 1902: was the most famous among them, General Macario Sakay, a bandit or a patriot? It is a sensitive issue because the term "bandit" connotes a disregard for life, property and settled existence, and Sakay's group did fit the bill. A paramount concern even during the height of the revolution was security for the lives and property of residents of the pueblo centre. To that segment of the principalia that became attracted to nationalist models and inherited the colonial state, brigands had at least to be domesticated - for example, turned into romantic rebels or patriots - if not avoided in discussions of national unity.

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Illicit Associations, Disjointed Histories The theme of brigandage or banditry as the "other side" of events in the pueblo centre is repeated in the phenomenon of curers, kings, gods and goddesses, who promised peasants release from the ravages of cholera and other diseases, a life of abundance, and freedom from taxes and the police. Curiously enough, these figures, more or less evenly distributed around the archipelago, multiplied in the 1880s, during and after the great cholera epidemic of 1892, at precisely the time when, one would think, the state, gentry, and practitioners of scientific medicine had things under control. They again made their presence felt, as "anti-revolutionaries", during the short-lived Republican period in 1898-99; and again, this time as "fanatics", during the years following the official end of resistance to the United States. Research into the bundles of documents labelled Sediciones y Rebeliones (Seditious Movements and Rebellions) and Expedientes Gubemativos (government files of cases and investigations) covering roughly the years 1880 to 1897 when the ilustrados were making their statements, has revealed a startling picture of "fanatical" religious movements all over the archipelago. Some of them are named - for example, Pulajan, Dios Dios, Babaylar, Colorum, Santa Iglesia, 'fres Cristos. Others are identified in the records by place names, such as the "Dapdap affair" in Samar, or the names of their leaders, such as the "Gabinista" in Pampanga and "Buhawi" in Negros. 43 It is a startling scene because conventional Philippine history, in valorizing the saga of the i!ustrado-led propaganda or reform movement, has ignored this parallel set of events. Where they are given ample treatment, as in the works of Constantino and Sturtevant, they are subjected to a classificatory scheme that includes categories like primitive, proto-nationalist, nativist, fanatical, religious, millenarian, and irrational. The understanding is that primitive becomes modern, religious becomes secular, fanatical becomes pragmatic and rational, and so forth. The vantage point is rationality and progress, rather than the inner logic of these movements, their plain and simple difference from familiar, "modern", ones. Spanish officialdom called these movements or communities "illicit associations" (asociaciones ilicitas), discovering them around such sites as a mountain regarded as sacred, an efficacious statue of a saint (for example, St. Francis or the Virgin Mary), or a curer residing in an outlying village. Some leaders identified themselves as Christs, Virgin Marys, and other figures of the Bible. They claimed to have the power to deliver men from the smallpox, cholera and lesser ailments through a combination of herbal cures (some of them were the very mediquillos displaced by the medicos titulares) and spiritual powers recognized by their followers. These gods and kings attracted mainly illiterate peasants, particularly those who lived in villages beyond the influence of the pueblo centre and

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Catholic church. Among those who joined were sugar-cane workers impoverished by the price crash of the 1880s, debtors, displaced farmers, tax or labour evaders. Many were survivors of cholera and smallpox epidemics who had journeyed to pilgrimage sites in fulfilment of their vows. Others were plain vagabonds and seekers of magical power. Some associations were dominated or led by women, whose access to magical powers was no less potent than the men's. The brethren came together informally, perhaps to pray, to listen to the leader's homilies, to partake of a meal, and to be cured. An illicit association could be a more structured affair: a church, a cofradia, or an association (samahan) of brethren. These became natural sites of resistance to control by pueblo centres and the state. Members generally refused to pay the poll or head tax and thus were called indocumentado in short, they refused to be "processed" by the state. Furthermore, the larger associations transcended not only pueblo but also provincial boundaries those lines drawn by the administration to bolster their control of populations. This was the situation in the 1880s; in later decades, these movements, or others that arose in their place, would widen their field of attraction. In the late 1880s, the time - in linear history, that is - of the Propaganda Movement, there seems to have been an expectation of a new era, in which all inhabitants of the archipelago would be unified under one or more native kings; in which the poor and dispossessed, in particular, would enjoy an era of knowledge (light), prosperity, and physical well-being. The City of God would become a reality on earth. But first, the brethren had to experience hardship and sacrifice in nurturing the growth of their associations. In depressed areas such as Negros and central Luzon, the brethren armed themselves and raided the houses of the rich. To the Guardia Civil and the victimized principalia, nothing distinguished them from brigands. They were, above all, signs of irrationality and disorder surrounding and threatening the pueblo centres. In this paper there is no attempt to enter the world of these "illicit associations", for this would require a detailed elaboration of the complex of Spanish-Catholic and Malay cultural elements that shaped their perception of reality. We can, however, reflect on their function in the construction and challenging of developmental history. It is a mistake to regard these movements as simply reactions to accelerated social and economic changes. They appeared in the 1880s - that is, in the archival records - because the Spanish police and concerned principalia "discovered" them in the process of putting order in the countryside. The language of investigative reports shows a concern that the hold of the centre would be contaminated, subverted, if these associations were allowed to exist and spread. While some movements saw the participation of principalia elements - mainly headmen of villages loosely tied to the pueblo centre - the majority precipitated antagonisms between the god-kings and principales, or landlords, in the

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pueblo centres. To the ilustrados, joining illicit associations was not the proper mode of challenging the colonial order. Thus, both native elite and colonial state felt it had to conquer and re-form this phenomenon. What is the function of this type of event in an alternative history that allows it to enter into play with more "traditional" elements? Since it is now evident that the ilustrado construction of reality is indeed a construction along the lines of enlightenment and progress, and not the "true'', "correct", or "proper" view, in effect it has the same status as the world of the 'Ires Cristos and Dios-Dios. The difference is that the ilustrado construction has been upheld by current standards of objectivity and truth while the 'Ires Cristos and Dios-Dios were marks, precisely, of what had to be excised from history. Illicit associations, as their name implies, have been cast outside the mainstream of Philippine history, and for understandable reasons. They were marginal, archaic, and undecideable in their orientation to progress and change. Yet, despite attempts to ignore or marginalize this "dark side'' of Philippine history, it appears in the gaps of this history. For an example of ironic reversals there is no need to go farther than the career of the very archetype of ilustrado-ness, Jose Rizal. 44 Here is the principal and ilustrado, the physician and historian, whose popular biography was conflated with that of Christ's life and various Thgalog mythical figures. In 1888 this Filipino reformist, based in Madrid, was expected to return as the Messiah by people "in the mountains': When he returned he was hailed as a magical curer. The Spanish courts decided that because Rizal was regarded by the "ignorant classes" as a god-man and redeemer he must be publicly executed. Just the same, his mode of death was a scattering of signs that the Passion and Death of Christ (a popular epic) was being re-enacted. Rizal the Filipino Christ, rather than Rizal the physician and historian, was the rallying point of thousands who joined the Katipunan rebellion in 1897. After his death, he became the source of healing and other powers to peasant leaders way into the twentieth century. The word "Katipunan" means ''Association". The revolutionary organization's full Thgalog name means "Highest and Most Venerable Association of the Sons and Daughters of the Land". It was, in fact, an illicit association, not too different in some respects from the others mentioned. Historical writing, however, has turned it into an emblem of development. The uprising against Spain that it instigated in 1896 is regarded as a turning point in the struggle for national independence, a stage higher than the ineffectual reform movement of earlier decades. The sanitized version of this period of history portrays a working man, Andres Bonifacio, fusing the ideas of Rizal and the French revolutionists and calling for armed struggle against the evil colonizer. The Philippine Army and Communist Party find common inspiration in this historical episode. Yet, "Katipunan'' also means those illicit associations in the peripheries

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of the pueblo centres who, as a measure of their basic ambiguity, switched signs and re-emerged as revolutionary fighters. The Colorum, now the Katipunan of San Cristobal, with their saints and magical ropes attacked the Spanish garrison at Thyabas. The Gabinistas resurrected as the Santa Iglesia of Felipe Salvador. The followers of Buhawi became a Katipunan under Papa (Pope) Isio. In the name of the Katipunan revolution these groups threatened, not just the Spanish establishments, but also the principalia of the pueblo centres. Many members of the principalia regarded the "original'' Katipunan itself not just as a bandit gang, as already mentioned, but also as a fanatical, illicit association. In Cavite province, the heartland of the revolution, principalia elements accused the Katipunan's supremo, Bonifacio, of entertaining ambitions to kingship, and ridiculed him for, among other things, making the unlettered folk think that the mythical Thgalog King Bernardo Carpio would soon escape from his mountain prison to aid the Katipunan forces. In the revolutionary era, it was anathema for the supreme leader to hold such "dark age" views. Bonifacio had to go; indeed, he was executed by his former comrades. A replacement, this time from the principalia, was needed to rid the movement of its unsavoury characteristics. Thus, the emergence of a new leader, Aguinaldo, who put the Katipunan in "proper order" as a liberal nationalist movement seeking to form a republican state that would be recognized by all civilized nations. 45 Philippine histories conveniently ignore the "dark age" aspects of Bonifacio's career. His death is attributed to a variety of causes: personal or factional rivalry, class antagonism, his hot temper, his stubborn commitment to the secret society mode of struggle, and so forth. His death has left a troublesome gap in the otherwise smooth transition to the next stage of the nationalist struggle. The first Philippine republic of 1898-1901 is universally regarded as the crowning achievement of nationalist efforts from the 1880s onwards. Advanced state institutions were created: a Cabinet, a Congress, a bureaucracy, a legal system inherited from Spain, an army, a school system, and so forth. Only in recent historical writing, however, has the chaos and disorder of this period come to light. Newly-installed officials all over the nation complained to President Aguinaldo of centres of power beyond their control, frequent bandit attacks and fanatical movements - all of which Aguinaldo labelled as "anti-revolutionary': 46 Are these simply to be regarded as technical problems faced by a fledgling nation-state? The fact is, most of these "bandit" groups and "fanatical" associations had participated in the liberation of pueblo centres from Spanish control in 1898. But their support for the national revolution - insofar as this was orchestrated by the pueblo centres - was inconsistent. The controversies involving these groups cannot be discussed here individually. However, the roots of their differences with the first Philippine republic will be outlined below.

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From scattered poems, songs and interrogation records it is possible to glimpse the mentality that brought disorder to the Republic. With the defeat of Spain, a new era or condition of independence was expected to set in. "Independence" or "liberty" was imagined as a kind of paradise on earth where those, at least, who participated in the unfolding of victory would enjoy prosperity and comfort. There was an expectation of authentic, even Christ-like, leaders manning the government: individuals with courage and evidence of inner powers who also showed compassion and willingness to undergo sacrifices, even to die, for the sake of the whole. 47 "Government" was a term with negative connotations, implying the management of people by some superior force, based on superior/subordinate relationships that characterized colonial society. If there had to be "government", it was expected to be based on a covenant between the chosen leader and his followers. An awit (song, metrical romance) about the life of "Mother Country", dating from 1900, starts with the Parable of the Lost Sheep. 49 The repeated image of the enclosed space into which the sheep are to be led is an emblem of salvation, unity and identity. This fenced-in space is substituted later in the poem with images of kingdom, nation, and motherland. In this awit as well as other statements collected, the nation and its administrative apparatus are to be built upon closely-knit, village-based, associations; it is to be a voluntary "coming together" of many small clusters of people rather than the forging of a whole. There are to be no taxes, no surveillance, no police, and no forced labour. "History" might take on a different complexion as well in the new order that was imagined. As an example, in the abovementioned awit there is mention of a Rajah Matanda (Old Man), who is the ancestor of the Thgalog people. In ilustrado history, Rajah Matanda is one of those who signify the pre-conquest civilization. In the awit, however, Rajah Matanda is prefigured by Noah, described as "old beloved father". Furthermore, his immediate ancestor is no less than jesus Christ himself. Unlike ilustrado history, the awit refuses to recognize a pre-Christian past. There is no anxiety about some lost purity of race. "Katoliko" and "Kristiano" are appropriated and made emblems of Filipino identity in the "Holy War" then being waged against the American invaders. Not all groups and individuals subscribed to the same set of ideals. Challenges to the Republic were not necessarily on the side of the good and the moral. And there were Republican officials who had similar ideals in mind but simply could not put them into action. This is not necessarily outlining better alternatives to the goals of the first Republic and its presentday successor. The point of this is to show that the Republic cannot be abstracted as a stage in the development of political institutions, national consciousness and the struggle for freedom. Despite the good intentions of most of its leaders, the Republic failed to break out of the structures that preceded it. Differences characterized it from the start. It then reproduced

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the same instruments of domination and control as its Spanish predecessor. In short, it became caught up in the age-old problem of establishing order in what seemed, to its representatives in the pueblo centres and provincial capitals, to be a sea of anarchy. This rereading of the past can be extended indefinitely. The saga of nationalism and progress as it continued into the American colonial period, the japanese occupation, and the New Society can be confronted with suppressed data similar to those presented above. It is even possible to speculate on the kind of history that will emerge from the present regime that toppled the Marcos dictatorship through, among other factors, the popular energies released by a Rizalesque martyrdom, and whose leader is hailed as a modern 'joan of Arc". Enough has been said, however, to enable us to return to the original issue addressed in this paper. A reflection on "development" has to take into account those things which have stood in opposition to it, those irreducible differences which in the final analysis may be the only way out of the present development bind. In examining historiography, criminality, epidemics, and popular movements, one has only begun to reflect upon those crucial moments when the state, or the historian, or whoever occupies the site of the dominant centres, performs a cutting operation: remembering/furthering that which it deems meaningful for its concept of development, and forgetting/suppressing the dissonant, disorderly, irrational, archaic, and subversive. For historians, in particular, such an operation enables the data of the past to be strung together into a trajectory of emergence, growth, complexity, and increasing rationality, and enables great moments and individuals to be celebrated. Such an operation, however, also leaves behind a surplus of data that can be retrieved and restored into play in an alternative history, in which an event, to cite Foucault's reading of Nietzsche, is not a decision, a treaty, a reign, or a battle, but the reversal of a relationship of forces, the usurpation of power, the appropriation of a vocabulary turned against those who had once used it, a feeble domination that poisons itself as it grows lax, the entry of a masked "other". 49

This history should throw into focus a whole range of phenomena which have been discredited or denied a history. It should have a conception of historical beginnings as lowly, complex and contingent. It should give equal status to interruptions, repetitions and reversals, uncovering the subjugations, confrontations, power struggles and resistances that linear history tends to conceal. It should reveal history for what it has been: a weapon in the struggle for and against domination of all shades. As has been shown here, the subversion of linear history also strikes at the "developmentalism'' that presently dominates the core of the state/centre's ideology.

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NillES Acknowledgements are due to Thrry Commins, Ranajit Guha, Albert Hirschman, Norman Owen, Craig Reynolds, William H. Scott, my Southeast Asian and African colleagues in the "Reflections on Development" project, and the project advisers, for either commenting on an earlier draft or providing me with new insights through our conversations. My thanks, also, to Benedict Anderson, Andrew Gonzales, F.S.C., and Anthony Reid for helping me get started. My apologies to all of the above for the shortcomings of this final product. 1. Rather than plowing through the morass of development literature, I have allowed myself to be guided by the following: Alain Birou, Paul-Marc Henry and John Schlegel, Thward a Redefinition of Development, Essays and discussions on the nature of development in an international perspective (Paris: Development Center, OECD/Pergamon Press, 1977); George Aseniero, ''A reflection on developmentalism: from development to transformation", in Development as Social 'Iransformation: Reflections on the Global Problematique (London: Hodder and Stoughton/UN University, 1985), pp. 48-85; and P.W. Preston, Theories of Development (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1982). 2. On this subject, see also R. Ileto, "Bonifacio, the text, and the social scientist", Philippine Sociological Review 32 (1984): 19-29. 3. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-77 (New York: Pantheon, 1980), pp. 80-81. 4. This idea was first broached by Agoncillo in "A re-interpretation of our history under Spain", Sunday Times Magazine, 24 August 1958. See also, "On the rewriting of Philippine history", Historical Bulletin 17 (Philippine Historical Association, 1973): 178-87. The scheme was applied in his textbook, initially co-authored with Oscar Alfonso, History of the Filipino People (University of the Philippines, 1960). The textbook's fifth and current edition, co-authored with Milagros Guerrero, appeared in 1977. 5. R. Ileto, Pasyon and Revolution: Popular Movements in the Philippines, 18401910 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila, 1979), pp. 18, 38. 6. R. Ileto, "Rizal and the underside of Philippine history", in Moral Order and Change: Essays in Southeast Asian Thought, edited by D. Wyatt and A. Woodside (New Haven: Yale Southeast Asia Studies 24, 1982), pp. 276-78. For an introduction to ilustrado historical writing, see John Schumacher SJ., ''The Propagandists' reconstruction of the Philippine past", in Perceptions of the Past in Southeast Asia, edited by A. Reid and D. Marr (Singapore: Heinemann, 1979), pp. 264-80. 7. In 1976 or early 1977, Marcos published Outline: Thdhana, The History of the Filipino People, which sketched the overall design of his new history project. 8. John Phelan, The Hispanization of the Philippines: Spanish Aims and Filipino Responses, 1565-1700 (Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1967). 9. Marcos spoke of his role in history and state construction in "A sense of national history" (Keynote address, annual seminar on history, Philippine Historical Association, 29 November 1976), published in Historical Bulletin 26 (1982):

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10.

11.

12.

13. 14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

Reynaldo C. Ileto 1-15. For an exposition of 1/:J.dhands Hegelian underpinnings, see Jaime Veneracion's review in Kasaysayan I (Dept. of History, University of the Philippines, November 1977), pp. 213-16. The immensely popular A Past Revisited was first published in 1975, as the first of a trilogy, of which two volumes have so far appeared. We quote liberally from chapter 1, "Towards a people's history". Our source for NDF history is their mimeographed "Handbook for the Middle Forces" (undated); chapter 3 is titled "The historical view of Philippine society". The work of Amado Guerrero (pseudonym) was originally published in 1970 by the "Revolutionary School of Mao Tsetung Thought". Its first chapter is titled "Review of Philippine history". For representative examples, see the essays in Feudalism and Capitalism in the Philippines (Quezon City: Foundation for Nationalist Studies, 1982). See also, Ricardo Ferrer, "On the mode of production in the Philippines: some oldfashioned questions"; and Julieta de Lima-Sison, 'jose Maria Sison on the mode of production'' - both in the New Philippine Review I (1984): 1-3. Examples abound in the magazine Kalinangan (Institute of Religion and Culture, Bicutan, Metro Manila). Organizations aligned with the NDF apply the basic historical construct in text written for the respective "sectors" they represent. For example, the Ecumenical Institute for Labor Education and Research has published an illustrated history, Manggagawa, Noon at Ngayon Labor [The Worker, Past and Present] (Manila, 1982). The Joint Committee for Moro Concerns has its own illustrated history, Ang Moro [The Moro] (Marawi, 1985). F. Marcos, An Ideology for Filipinos (1983), pp. 90-91; NDF Handbook, p. 73. P. de la Gironiere, Adventures of a Frenchman in the Philippines (orig. pub. in French in 1853), 9th ed. (Manila: Burke-Miailhe, 1972), pp. 3, 9-10; Ma. Luisa Camagay, "Manila - a city in the throes of epidemics", Historical Bulletin 26 (1982): 105-8. The changes in government and medical attitudes to disease control after the 1820 epidemic are outlined in fragments of a long treatise by Fernando Gonzales Casas, with the endorsement of the Junta Municipal de Sanidad, dated 15January 1822 (Philippine National Archives [hereafter cited as PNA], Colera 74). Our main sources of information on the 1882 and 1889 epidemics are the bundles in the PNA with the following markings: Colera 1, Colera 4, Colera B-S 86, Colera 101, Colera 121, Colera 6 (B-S 93), and Colera 7 (B-S 90). There are also fragments of information on epidemics in 1843 and 1863. Scattered throughout these bundles are government orders, daily reports of sanitary commissions, and complaints of medicos, vaccinators and parish priests. For the history of medical education, we have relied on Jose P. Bantug, Bosquejo historico de la medicina Hispano-Filipina [Unfinished historical sketch of SpanishFilipino medicine], (Madrid, 1952). Part 2 is a history of medical and charitable institutions, and public sanitation projects. For a representative text that illustrates these processes, see Director Gral. de Administracion Civil, Inspeccion Gral. de Beneficia y Sanidad, "Expediente sobre reorganizacion del servicio de vacuna del Archiepelago e instalacion de un Ynstituto de vacunacion" (Manila, 6 May 1889). This document is accompanied by an assessment by the Faculty of Medicine, Real Colegio de San Jose, Mss.,

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19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25. 26. 27.

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in PNA, Colera 7. An example of a dispute between a medico titular and a vacunador is that between Medico Titular Don Mariano Felizardo and Vacunador General Don Nemesio Valbuena, Catbalogan, Samar, 1889, mss. in PNA, Colera 7. de Beneficia y. Sanidad, op. cit. There were comparable situations in other parts of the globe. See, for example, Nancy Frieden, "The Russian cholera epidemic, 1892-93, and medical professionalization",]ournal of Social History 10, no. 4 (1977): 538-39; and Matthew Ramsey, "Medical power and popular medicine: Illegal healers in nineteenth-century France", ibid., pp. 560-87. We owe much of the analysis of medical power in this paper to the suggestions of Michel Foucault in Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. by Richard Howard (New York: Random House, 1965), and The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception, trans. by A.M. Sheridan Smith (New York: Vintage, 1973). The local concerns and scientific outlook of medicos in the provinces can be gleaned from their memorias or reports to the central government, in the bundle Memorias Medicas: Varias Provincias, PNA. The PNA bundles labelled Medicos Titulares are a still-untapped source of information. A well-known example is Dr. Pio Valenzuela of Polo, Bulacan, who became an adviser to Andres Bonifacio and physician of the Katipunan secret society. See the investigations of Medico Don Felipe Zemora in Sediciones y Rebeliones (hereafter cited as SR), vol. 35, and Medico Rianzares of Nagcarlan, SR, vol. 17, PNA. Worcester's ideas on the epidemic and public health matters are also in his The Philippines Past and Present, 2 vols. (New York, 1914), chapter 16. For a thorough examination of early American attitudes towards medical progress in the Philippines, see R. Sullivan, "Exemplar of Americanism: the Philippine career of Dean C. Worcester" (Ph.D. dissertation, james Cook University of North Queensland, 1986). Chapter 4 is on the 1902 cholera. This account of the Philippine experience of the 1902 visitation is based largely on the following: reports of commanding officers and surgeons of U.S. Army garrisons in the southern Thgalog provinces, in Record Group 395, United States National Archives (hereafter cited as USNA ); Report of the Philippine Commission for 1902; and the circulars and reports collected in the Bureau of Insular Affairs, File 4981, USNA. The precise linkages of war, disease and famine are examined in R. Ileto, "Cholera and colonialism in southwest Luzon, 1902" (Paper presented at a conference on "Death, Disease and Drugs in the Southeast Asian Past", Australian National University, Canberra, 1983); publication forthcoming. George de Shon, M.D. "Medical highlights of the Philippine-American war", Bulletin of the American Historical Collection 12 (1984): 69. "Report of the Secretary of the Interior", Report of the Philippine Commission (1903), part 1, p. 271. Rene Dubos, Mirage of Health; Utopias, Progress and Biological Change (New York: Harper, 1959), p. 146; see also, C.E. Rosenberg, "Cholera in nineteenthcentury Europe: a tool for social and economic analysis': Comparative Studies in Society and History 8 (1966): 453.

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28. Dubos, op. cit., pp. 151-52. Paul de Kruif, The Microbe Hunters (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1926), captures very well the drama and excitement surrounding the quest, mainly by colonial or military surgeons, for the "magic bullet" against microbes. 29. Report of Dr. F Bourns, Commissioner of Public Health, August 1902; appendix to "Report of the Secretary of the Interior': 30. Sometime after 1895, the ideas of Pasteur, Koch, Klebs and other "microbe hunters" were introduced to medical students in the Philippines via the work of E. Barcones, Estudio para un Nosologia Filipina [Towards a Scientific Classification of Philippine Diseases] (Madrid, 1895), but the chaotic half-decade beginning with the revolution of August 1896 must have crippled medical education in Manila. Barcones, incidentally, was a naval surgeon who served in the Philippines. 31. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. by A. Sheridan (New York: Vintage, 1979), p. 198. 32. Representative examples of this genre can be found in Alfred McCoy and Ed de jesus, eds., Philippine Social History: Global'llude and Local1ransformations (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila, 1982). 33. Scott, Cracks in the Parchment Curtain (Quezon City: New Day, 1982), p. 1. 34. Bruce Cruickshank, Samar: 1768-1898 (Manila: Historical Conservation Society, 1985), p. 197. 35. Primitive Rebels; Studies in Archaic Forms of Social Movement in the 19th and 20th Centuries (New York, 1959), chapter 2. Much of this evolutionism is overcome in Hobsbawm's later work, Bandits (New York, 1969, revised 1981); see chapter 7, "Bandits and Revolution·: 36. Isagani Medina, "Cavite before the revolution, 1571-1896" (Ph.D. dissertation, University of the Philippines, 1985), pp. 120-210. 37. The generalized picture of banditry in this essay is based on a reading of operations reports and other official transmissions preserved in the Guardia Civil (hereafter cited as GC) bundles, PNA. The best sources are the catalogued bundles marked GC1864-98, GC1870-77, and GC1889-91, and the uncatalogued bundles numbered GC2 7 and GC5 7. Other sources of information used are the Deportados, Expedientes Gubernativos and Varias Provincias series of bundles which contain files of individuals captured and sentenced mainly in the wake of Villa Abrille's campaigns. 38. David Sturtevant, Popular Uprisings in the Philippines, 1840-1940 (Ithaca: Cornell, 1976), p. 119. 39. Scott, op. cit., pp. 25-26. One such threat to Manila is investigated in "Expediente gubernativo . . . en averiguacion de una cuadrilla de ladrones que merodean por esta capital y sus arrabales" [Official investigation of a bandit gang marauding this capital and its outskirts],Jan. 1882, in EG1879-1889, PNA. Apart from the works of Medina and Sturtevant cited above, banditry is given chapter-length treatment in Angel Cuesta O.A.R., History of Negros (Manila: Historical Conservation Society, 1980), pp. 427 -35; and Ed de jesus, The Tobacco Monopoly in the Philippines, 1766-1880 (Manila: National Archives, 1971), pp. 57-70.

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40. Ileto, Pasyon, pp. 228-29. The best juxtapositions of Katipunan and tulisan are found in Spanish reports from the August 1896 to March 1897 period, in the Sediciones y Rebeliones bundles, PNA. Cuesta (p. 436 ff.) shows how support for the Katipunan in Negros came solely from groups tagged as bandits. 41. These are conclusions based largely on research on the Philippine Insurgent Records lodged in the Philippine National Library, and Record Groups 395 and 94, Military Records Division, USNA. See Renaldo C. Ileto, "Chiefs, guns, and men: the jefes insurrectos of Tiaong" (Paper presented at a conference on "Elites in the Philippines", Australian National University, 1983); publication forthcoming. 42. These accounts are mainly in the Historical Data Papers series, in the Filipiniana Division, Philippine National Library. 43. The 'fres Cristos, in the Libmanan area of Kabikolan, dates from an earlier period, 1865; SR vol. 28 (1864-68), PNA. The "Gabinista" in central Luzon and the "Dios Dios" that appeared all over the Visayan islands, are the most extensively documented in the PNA. But there must have been countless tiny reuniones ilicitas such as the 4-5 women "fanatics" under one Severino Morales, discovered in the outskirts of Manila in 1887; EG1886-89, PNA. For recently published studies: on the Dapdap affair and other "Dios Dios" phenomena see Cruickshank, op. cit., chapters 7 -8; on Buhawi, see Cuesta, op. cit., pp. 433-35; on the Babaylan and others in the western Visayas, see Alfred McCoy, "Baylan: animist religion and Philippine peasant ideology", in Wyatt and Woodside, eds., pp. 373-82; on the Gabinista and Colorum, see Ileto, Pasyon. 44. For a fuller account, see Ileto, "Rizal", pp. 307-21. 45. See Ileto, Pasyon, pp. 135-44. 46. See ibid., pp. 146ff.; and Milagros Guerrero, "Luzon at war: contradictions in Philippine society" (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 1977), chapter 4. 47. See Ileto, Pasyon, chapters 3-4. 48. Awit na Pinagdaanang Buhay ng Islas Filipinas [Awit of the life experience of the Philippine Islands], by "Dimatigtig': 15 july 1900 (Ms. in Philippine Insurgent Records, box 1-19, Philippine National Library). 49. "Nietzsche, genealogy, history·: in Language, Counter-memory, Practice; Selected Essays and Interviews by Michel Foucault, edited by D. Bouchard (Ithaca: Cornell, 1977), p. 154.

7 Non-Government Organizations and Human Development The ASEAN Experience - - - - - - - - - - L I M TECK G H E E - - - - - - - - - -

OVERVIEW OF NGOS IN ASEAN COUNTRIES Introduction One of the most striking developments in the recent history of countries in the Association of Southeast Asian Nations ( ASEAN) region has been the emergence of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) as articulate and organized critics of the prevailing political, economic and social systems in their respective countries. Initially attracting only a small membership from the literate and middle-class segment of society, these organizations have rapidly proliferated 1 in the past decade and attracted a larger and more diversified membership. More importantly, they have been able to insert themselves in the forefront of public articulation on many crucial questions, including those related to the broader issues of democratic rights and freedom traditionally articulated by political parties and a host of newer issues related to the development goals and strategies of their societies. The growth and increasing importance of what might be characterized as interest groups or issue-oriented organizations might appear surprising as it comes at a time when there has been a hardening of the centralizing and authoritarian political tendencies in the region. The period after World War II initially saw a wave of decolonization followed by the unshackling of social restrictions but this was quickly followed by increased pressures towards concentration of power, attempts towards single political parties and encroachment on oppositional politics. In many countries, moves by the parties in power to enforce a "national solidarity", largely through institutions and organizations at local and national levels which they control, have been supplemented by a weakening of the legislature and judicial process. At the same time the number of military and authoritarian regimes has 160

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risen. The position of political democracy in one of the ASEAN countries described below can be taken as a fair reflection of the regional pattern. The increasingly dominant position of the executive branch of government is one of the 2 general characteristics of the decline of freedom .... The other is the curtailment or even elimination of the rights of participation in the democratic process for a whole variety of social groups. This does not mean that political freedom does not exist anymore. It does in a severely limited form. The most dangerous consequence of the decline of freedom in any society is the emergence of authoritarianism. The overwhelming dominance of the executive and the emasculation of public participation can lead to this just as it can produce an "administrative state'' where none of the fundamental issues in nation-building are discussed or dealt with. 2

NGOs in the ASEAN Region Given the unconducive environment, pertinent questions to be asked are how and why have NGOs spread. Also, what and who do they represent? What has been the impact of NGOs on the socio-economic processes in their countries and the region? To what extent do NGOs facilitate growth towards more participatory forms of planning and administration or presage the emergence of more pluralistic tendencies? What are the social forces that promote or limit NGOs? These are some of the major questions that will be addressed in this paper. NGOs have long been an integral part of the Western European and North American democratic tradition in which they are regarded as characteristic of urban industrial societies where interests are differentiated, stratified and assume a wide range. Among these interest groups were consumer organizations, trade unions and women groups which had their origins in the nineteenth century co-operative, labour and suffragette movements. Their development in the West, although within a different historical and cultural context, offers some explanations for the growth of NGOs in other parts of the world. 3 On the other hand, there has been a paucity of serious writing on NGOs in ASEAN in part because social scientists have regarded political parties, the bureaucracy and the military as the main political and social forces, and concentrated on their study. In fact, the serious writing on NGOs in this part of the world is confined to a small number of mainly journalistic articles that describe the activities of particular organizations, usually in relation to an item of news that happens to be in the immediate public eye, whether this is concerning the environment, human rights, consumerism or life-style. 4 Not only is the existing knowledge on NGOs limited by a lack of method and documentation but the analytical tools applied have also been deficient. In the West, NGOs differ from conventional political parties in that they do not participate directly in the political process by presenting candidates for elections. 5 In addition, they usually represent

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a narrower range of interests than political parties which tend to have programmes in every major sphere of life. Finally, they have been characterized as being rooted in middle-class ideology and interests, although this depiction is perhaps more correct in relation to NGOs today than in the past since, historically, the most dynamic NGOs in the West, such as the early suffragette and workers' movements, have offered radical (as opposed to the existing) viewpoints on crucial issues. In the ASEAN region, NGOs cover a wide range of small and large social, religious, economic, cultural and political groupings and associations. In this paper, the focus is on those which, for want of a better term, is referred to as developmental NGOs. By this is meant that, although the organizations might focus on single issues, for example, consumer problems or environmental degradation, unlike the traditional single issue organizations such as trade unions or youth associations, they see their work as explicitly situated in the context of a wider concern for progressive social development and change in the society. Developmental NGOs might also take up the cause of certain aggrieved groups or classes in society such as slumdwellers or farmers, but their main concern really is with all the various groups and classes found in the society and with wider social processes. The ASEAN NGOs share some of the characteristics of their Western counterparts but they have to contend with forces that operate at a different level and on a different scale. One of the most prominent activities that they engage in is the monitoring of the state. In many Third World nations, governments exert a pervasive control over many sectors of life. As one paper in law describes it: A bewildering variety of state and parastatal institutions (Ministries, boards, public corporations, regulatory bodies, co-operatives, courts and others) exercise a variety of powers (planning, rule making, licensing and adjudication, provision of goods or services) affecting land, credit, technologies and services, wages and prices. Different kinds of law (national legislation, administrative regulations, and often, settled, but uncodified practices) create these institutions and large realms of administrative power within them. 6

The situation is no different in the ASEAN countries where the past decade has seen an unprecedented expansion in the bureaucracies and their rise to prominence as one of the main, if not the major instrument of development. During this century, the number of government employees in Indonesia rose from 50,000 to more than a million; in Thailand from 80,000 to a quarter million. In Malaysia today, government employees number about 15 in every 100 employed. In these countries bureaucrats are in control of the burgeoning sectors of education, health, communications and defence and have even extended their control into the economic realm. 7 At issue is not only the quality of the services offered but the more important

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question of whether bureaucratization contributes to further dependency, domination and discrimination. Indeed, as pointed out by one critic, "the very assumption that governments should rely on bureaucracies (rather than community structures) as a means of distribution or redistribution of resources frequently needs critical examination and seldom gets it. 8 Among the severest critics of bureaucracy have been the NGOs but to what extent they can actually persuade the power holders to decentralize authority to community structures (including NGOs) or establish public control systems that ensure adequate social accountability is an open question that depends as much on the wisdom of the present power holders as on the skill of the NGOs to walk the tightrope between permissible and "subversive" or "anti-national" dissent.

Dimensions of the Development Problematique It is not just the modernizing bureaucracy that is being called into ques-

tion: NGOs have also been critical about the content of the modernization or development process. Leaving aside the question of the role that NGOs might play in political development, these bodies have much to contribute in the field of socio-economic development. Clearly, the scope of the development problematique in the ASEAN region makes it a sine qua non for all sections of society to be mobilized and lend their skills and abilities if there is going to be a significant and lasting improvement in the conditions of life in the countries concerned. The past several decades since independence have already seen the failure (massive in some countries) of many government-dominated programmes to provide the masses with the basic minimum needs to lift them out of the poverty, hunger and squalor of their everyday life. The Brandt report in 1981 estimated that more than eight hundred million people in the world lived in "absolute poverty" and a considerable proportion, perhaps as much as three-quarters, are found in the Asia-Pacific region. Although it may be conceded that some progress has been made in most countries, when one compares nation-wide social and economic indicators with those twenty years ago, for example, the number of doctors, schools or the infant mortality rate, the nationally aggregated statistics almost certainly conceal considerable internal differences and it would be difficult to dispute the charge that, for the bottom 50 per cent of the population in the majority of countries in the Asia-Pacific region, the conditions of life have not improved much. While the development outlook in the less well-endowed Asia-Pacific countries looks very grim, it is only slightly less so in the ASEAN countries which not so long ago were touted as Asia's second economic and social miracle after Japan and other East Asian countries. Enjoying exceptional growth rates, the region seemed to have found the magical developmental recipe that would not only enable them to break away from the Third World

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countries in general but also, in the minds of some future-oriented planners, to actually overtake Japan and the West in the future. Thday, the rhetoric about ASEAN's and the Pacific Rim's boom has sobered considerably. Growth rates have dropped drastically and the economies have begun to limp noticeably. In most of the countries, the inequalities between the rich and poor, and the social trauma caused by rapid (and some would argue, superficial) development have worsened, and in the Philippines, the unprecedented unrest must be seen as having its roots in the dominant (laissez-faire) developmentalist strategy's failure to generate authentic and sustaining change. The gap between the ASEAN and the industrialized countries in some basic social and economic indicators continues to be yawningly large. For example, Indonesia's gross national product (GNP) in 1986 was estimated at about twenty-five times less than the average industrialized market economy's (IME) while the infant mortality rate in most of the region was between three and five times higher than in the IME countries. Only 22 per cent of the population in Thailand had access to safe water in 1985 compared with 100 per cent in the IME countries.

What NGOs Contribute To Social Development Th begin with, it should be emphasized that the problems of development in the Asia-Pacific region are not new. To a certain extent, they are the outcome of processes that are complex and have their roots in the major historical developments in the economic and socio-political structure in the world in the last two hundred years at least. It is impossible therefore to talk about development (and by this we mean economic and socio-cultural well-being), underdevelopment, or overdevelopment without taking into account modern imperialism. Imperialism produced enormous profits for the imperial powers through economic exploitation of the colonies' natural resources and labour. More than profits from the colonies, it enabled Western Europeans to settle in large parts of the New World, kill off or subjugate the indigenous people and through racially discriminatory immigration laws, prevent the movement of population from over-crowded lands to less crowded ones, the last still being practised today. The significant difference in the standard of living between European and non-European peoples in the world is not merely an outcome of the superior material technology or social organization of the Europeans; it is partly a result of the physical division of the world's lands in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, a division enforced by the West through the use of superior military technology, and perpetuated today. There is, however, one important difference in the crisis of development in the Third World today compared with about thirty or forty years ago, and this is that, whereas in the past it was the colonial systems and a

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small group of foreign interests that were primarily responsible for the lack of development, today the blame cannot be put on foreign exploiters or imperialist powers as unequivocally as previously. More than most other participatory groups, NGOs seem to be cognizant of the need to focus on the internal forces and interests that stand in the way of the struggle for economic and social well-being. Besides playing what is often a risky watchdog role, especially for the poor and unrepresented, through the monitoring and criticism of corrupt politicians, exploitative businessmen and unscrupulous or inefficient bureaucrats, NGOs are often in the forefront of demystifying the conventional wisdom of development that might be promoted by vested interests. In its mildest form, this manifests itself in specific protests against cases of destruction of essential natural resources, impoverishment of groups of people, and so forth, that are seen as weaknesses of government which can be corrected either through greater bureaucratic caution or better planning. At a higher and more critical level, these grievances are linked to a more fundamental rejection of the conventional development strategy which is regarded as not only inappropriate, but anchored to an unacceptable social and economic structure. The fiercest exponents of this line of criticism maintain that it is the social and economic substructure that must be changed before a transformation of the super-structure comes about. In place of existing development strategies, NGOs have emphasized alternative approaches that offer different values and means. Among them are access to essential resources for the poor, self-reliance within communities, ecological management geared to protecting medium and long-run access to resources, redistribution of resources where they have been denied, accountability of public or private power-holders, and so forth. Stress also is laid on the ethical norms of development and the need to incorporate elements of freedom, justice, identity and a sense of meaning and proportion in material development. The most visible impact of NGOs has occurred where they have campaigned on specific problems, for example, squatter eviction (Thndo in the Philippines); environmental pollution or abuse (National Park and Pap an in Malaysia); and birth control education (Thailand). Here NGOs with their expertise often act as catalysts or in a mediating role by constantly publicizing the issue, organizing people to raise their voices, applying a strategy of pressure politics (mass campaign action, rallies, demonstrations, where permissible) and by soliciting support from other segments of society and often, the international community. This articulation of popular interests helps to encourage participation by those who cannot develop influence by themselves. In addition, many conservative and even liberal NGOs in the region have important parts of their programmes devoted to providing services to various depressed communities. Here, their strength is in their innovative

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approach, usually stressing self-reliance and community organization, but their effectiveness is often severely hampered by their lack of resources. To offset the disadvantages of the lack of resources, many NGOs have carefully nurtured relations with the mass media so as to bring about a degree of neutrality, if not support, for their work. Solid research and data collection also enable them to present a powerful case in the issues taken up, while unconventional and creative tactics, including the location of the human dimension in development problems, help prevent public apathy or boredom. An increasingly useful weapon in the armoury of the NGOs is to pressurize the existing legal system to bring about desirable change. In the past, the legal system was seen as the preserve of the rich and powerful. NGOs have helped the ordinary people to see possibilities of change through legislation (both public and criminal law) that specifically address social problems - for example, laws and regulations that concern pollution, safety and health of workers, allocation of land or water resources, and other issues. Unlike the first two approaches in which the role and impact of NGOs is mainly educational, here they have moved into more action-oriented positions by taking up cases on behalf of aggrieved groups, canvassing the government and the judiciary on the need for consumer or environmental laws, and identifying inadequacies in the legal system. This approach has considerably enhanced the impact and effectiveness of NGOs in important areas of life.

Review of NGOs in ASEAN Malaysia More than in the other ASEAN countries, NGOs in Malaysia are urban based because of the domination of the rural areas by political parties. It also reflects to some extent the higher stage of economic (though not necessarily social) development and the large size of the Malaysian middle class. The leadership of NGOs here, as elsewhere in the region, is firmly in the hands of intellectuals and university graduates mainly because of their higher levels of formal educational training and easier access to resources, contacts, and the media. The support for NGOs in Malaysia, especially from the middle and professional classes, is often more tacit than active. Even where active support is forthcoming, it tends to be on an issue-specific basis and to dissipate after some time. Although there is as yet little evidence of comprehensive and sustained mass support, there are encouraging signs of a slowly growing consciousness on issues such as consumerism, environmentalism, corruption, and so forth, and an increasing disillusionment with party and communal politics that presently dominates Malaysian political (and social) life. This is mainly due to the untiring efforts of a small number of pioneering NGOs. Among them is the Consumers Association of Penang

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(CAP) which has campa igned agains t eyebrow pencils laden with lead, mosquito coils contain ing DDT, conden sed milk loaded with sugar, and ginger cherry and other local junk food whose colour s are derive d from Red Dye 2 (banne d in many parts of the world as carcino genic) . It has also called into questio n the plight of poor fisherm en, displac ed by mecha nized trawler boats that deplet e fish stocks throug h dredgi ng shallow waters with small- mesh nets, and farmer s who suffer from exploitation by middle men. Becau se consum ers rarely see the plight of small produc ers in their concern with the high price of goods in the market-place, the educat ive work of the Association in linking consum er proble ms to the condit ions of production becom es very important. Promin ent in the annual semina rs on consum er proble ms that the Association has organi zed since 1978,9 and which have becom e an import ant listening post for the country's academ ics, bureau crats and profes sional class, is the theme of an unacce ptable structural imbala nce in the country's develo pment proces s, dividing centre from periphery, city from country, and moder n from traditional. While CAP questio ns the conventional develo pment approa ches by focusing on the plight of squatte rs, poor housewives, fisherm en and other impov erished commu nities that have suffere d from badly planne d projec ts or the excess es of the market , Aliran, a multi-racial, non-pa rtisan reform movement, has sought to encour age reflection and debate on the nation's future by putting forward for discus sion what the movement sees as common values and princip les and by articul ating public issues and grievan ces. Aliran's stand on issues - a catalog ue of which includ e ethnic relatio ns, commu nal politics, corrup tion, constit utiona l and administrative structu re, educat ion, culture, langua ge, workers, trade unions and labour laws is, in many ways, a holistic critique of the prevailing system found in the country, and in its own words repres ents a search for "a genuin e understandi ng of develo pment based on fundam ental spiritu al values upheld by all in the community". 10 More recent has been the establi shmen t of enviro nment organizations , such as the Environment Protection Society of Malaysia (EPSM) and Sahabat Alam Malaysia (Friend s of the Earth, Malaysia, or SAM). Until ten years ago, the subjec t of ecological balanc e was conspi cuous in its absenc e from the universities, public places and media, and develo pment strateg ies were ecologically ignora nt or blind. This followed the pattern in the West where, with the except ion of social anthro pology where the man-e nviron ment relatio n and its ramifications have been more difficult to ignore, the other social scienc es have dealt mainly with industrial civilization. Today, however, localized ecological disaste rs and a growing fear of further nation al environmental deterio ration have given organi zations such as EPSM and SAM a more import ant voice, and their advocacy of ecodev elopme nt, 11 that is, a style of develo pment that, in each ecoreg ion, calls for specific solutio ns to the particu lar proble m of the region in the light of cultural as well as

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ecological data and long-term as well as immediate needs, cannot be so easily brushed away. 12

Thailand In Thailand the active participation of NGOs in social development can be considered to have begun a decade ago, when the country was in a brief period of relative freedom of political activity and parliamentary role. However, this was followed by a spell of repressive conditions, and more lately by a certain amount of liberalization which has enabled a large number of NGOs established earlier to work more actively and to appear more often in the public eye. Thday, it is estimated that there are more than 200 NGOs in the country, each generally run by a handful of unpaid volunteers and with only a small number with paid and full-time staff. The early NGOs tended to be dominated by church, elite or government groups, which were more concerned with proselytization, status-acquisition or business ends. The more recent NGOs have been the result of the increased social awareness among Thai intellectuals (including university lecturers, doctors, lawyers, religious leaders, trade unionists) who are seeking an outlet for their ideas on social change. Although some of the Thai NGOs are concerned with social development (in the broad sense of the term), a large number are oriented towards service provision compared with their counterparts in Malaysia or the Philippines. These Thai NGOs carry out a large number of development projects of a utilitarian nature (primarily health, drug co-operatives, child-care centres, rice banks, vocational training, and so forth). Unlike similar government-run projects, NGO projects are seen as "providing the necessary conditions for the development of social consciousness among the communities involved to a level in which they come to understand their situation and learn how to work together for more collective control over their lives': While the objectives of consciousness-rais ing might have been attained, it has been admitted that these operations, which have been sustained with much difficulty on account of the meagre human and financial resources of the NGO supporters, cover only a minute fraction of rural and urban needs and they have yet to achieve any great impact or success in terms of concrete development results. It is difficult to gauge the degree of public support for Thai NGOs but generally, it has been assumed as limited although selective NGOs have done well, such as those working on child labour or family planning. The problems that Thai NGOs face include internal and external ones. Internally, many of them are plagued by organizational defects stemming from a lack of professional and experienced workers. As one Thai activist within the movement puts it: most NGOs are organised and administered in a rather unsystematic and amateurish way, not conducive to the development of their workers

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and the organizations themselves. Information and experiences gained in the work often go unrecorded. Scientific methods are lacking in follow-up and evaluation of work, and in collection and analysis of data. Administrative structures and division of duties are often clumsy and inefficient.

An important outcome of the defects has been the slow accumulation of development knowledge and experience suitable for Thailand, and the reliance on imported theories and knowledge. The political climate in Thailand has also tended to fluctuate considerably in terms of the openness of the system and the official support provided to NGOs. There is probably a higher degree of security-consciousness among local authorities (for example, compared with Malaysia or the Philippines) in their reaction to NGO work, especially since the weakening of more radical social forces, such as the students, has focused concern on the "adverse" impact of NGOs. Notwithstanding these problems which are inevitable to young social movements operating in a circumscribed political context, Thai NGOs have done well and are generally acknowledged to have contributed to more innovative approaches to development. Especially impressive have been the efforts of a number of NGOs in promoting health-care reform. Being small groups each with limited resources and programmes, they have realized the importance of co-ordination and joint campaigns. During the past few years, representatives of the various groups have met from time to time to exchange ideas, information and experience. They have also held joint campaigns to educate the public about drug abuse. One successful campaign held in January 1983 was the movement to abolish the utilization of APC (Aspirin, Phenacetin and Cafeine) combine drugs whose use was popularized among workers for many years. The campaign led to much public support and resulted in the authorities asking the drug manufacturers to stop producing APC combine drugs within one year. There is, at the same time, an ongoing campaign against Yachud, which is the local term for a combined set of tablets composed of different drug items, with 3-9 tablets placed in one bag. There are several sets of Yachud easily available in the market, with the most common being used for colds, back-aches, malaria, allergies, stomach pains, and so on. It has been alleged by some NGOs that more than 75 per cent of people who buy drugs from shops receive readypackaged Yachud, and since every set is composed of antibiotics, steroids and analgesics, this leads to dangerous side-effects and the over-consumption of drugs. In February 1983, a co-ordinating group of the health reform groups in Thailand was established and today there are sixteen members. The activities include running an information centre, production of a newsletter, organization of conferences and health projects and, generally, in the words of the organizers "to campaign and educate the people to solve their health

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problems on the principle of self-reliance". Whether such co-ordinating and networking among NGOs will increase their impact remains to be seen.

Philippines Of all the ASEAN NGOs, the Filipino ones are the most numerous, radical and most innovative in terms of tactics and strategies - there are NGOs in almost every sphere of life, leading to a great complexity in the social and political process. They have also been most able to reach down to the grass roots and in a number of issues have been able to solicit and obtain active support from the lower classes. Much of this success is due to painstaking grass-root organization work by full-time organizers, and a people-oriented approach to problem solving, although some Filipino activists will disclaim that NGOs have done enough mass work. It is also in the Philippines that the ferment of alternative development strategies and alternative systems is most pronounced. How much of this is due to the more radical Filipino popular political culture or whether this is a reaction to the perceived excesses of authority is not clear. Obviously, too, the faltering economy which has badly affected both Filipino lower and middle classes, and especially aroused the ire of the latter group, has been an important factor in explaining the radicalization of NGOs here. Finally, the Church with a segment of its clergy preaching the theology of liberation, has influenced the moral and ethical basis of many NGOs but the links between the two are very complex. It can be said that the Church acts as both a constraining factor and one that has broadened the horizons and assisted the work of NGOs. The evidence of the larger impact and longer reach of Filipino NGOs over the last twenty years has been impressive. The urban-based middle-class (limited group) ferment of the 1960s has given way to a more broad-based ferment. Although Filipino NGOs have been fairly successful in developing a counter consciousness to the dominant establishment, and (to a lesser extent) in organizing and mobilizing aggrieved communities to assert their rights, much is still to be desired in the area of formulating, presenting and realizing practicable alternatives. The failure in presenting clear alternatives can be attributed to the over-riding emphasis on problem analysis dealing with specific issues at the local, national and even international levels. Very little is done to link specific concrete issues with one another in order to have a more comprehensive and macro view of socio-political and economic processes.

Indonesia In Indonesia, NGOs, since 1965, have managed to survive and consolidate under difficult circumstances of military government, absence of strong oppositional political parties, and other constraints. This, in itself, is a considerable measure of success. Although their influence on the government

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has been marginal and at the pleasure of government leaders, over the past few years, the government (or at least certain sections) has begun listening to various NGOs because it is obvious that they reflect an important aspect of public views. Among the most active and articulate NGOs are the Legal Aid Institute and various religious organizations whose impact on the government is proportional to the amount of public support they command. The Lembaga Bantuan Hakum, in particular, has been able, over a period of fifteen years, to arouse some public consciousness of legal, economic and human rights which the government finds difficult to ignore. Pesantren is not only an Islamic school but also an active vehicle for conscientization, with branches all over Java. Elsewhere in the country, the small ideological changes in the past few years have marginally favoured other NGOs and made them more legitimate while the growth of the highly educated middle class has supplied them with some resources. But strong and continuing opposition from the more conservative elements of society has caused deep concern, as also a proposed law that seeks to limit and control NGOs even more. 13 Besides the active NGOs, there are many that lack independent positions and see their role as supplementing and supporting national development programmes, for example, family planning, health, nutrition, and so forth. These NGOs are guided by the government and formal leaders so that their activities are in accordance with the government's programmes and it is often not possible to make a distinction between their activities and those of the government.

CASE STUDY OF NGO-GENERATED ''ALTERNATIVE DEVELOPMENT"

The Local Context One way of evaluating the contribution of NGOs to development is by focusing on various grass-root projects undertaken or facilitated by NGOs. The examination of the dynamics of such projects as well as an attempt at assessment of the wider socio-political effects will also enable us to understand better the different forces and groups that are involved in development and the various perspectives that they bring to bear on each particular situation and in the longer run. 14 The method is used here to report on a project in Malaysia in which the writer was privileged to be an observer (and participant, to a lesser extent). The local context of the project and the parties involved need some explanation. Kualajuru is one of many long-established villages of peasant fishermen situated close to one of the largest Free 'frade Zones (FTZ) in the world, on the mainland opposite Penang. In the late 1960s, before the establishment of the Prai Free 'frade Zone and the many light and heavy

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industries that are located in it, the village had what could be considered a satisfying if not exactly idyllic life. In the words of the people ". . . our kampung was a beautiful place. The river was rich with sea life. With hard work we could catch a plentiful supply of many varieties of fish, prawns, carp, siput and sotong. Life was not easy, but we had enough to live by enough food, clothing, education for the children, and the good clean river to provide jobs for all our men and women". Within the space of several years, with deadly speed, the village economy, almost entirely dependent on the river and the surrounding sea, almost totally collapsed mainly because of the indiscriminate discharge of pollutants from the factories sited in the FTZ, which destroyed the surrounding sea-life. In 1975, however, the villagers of Kuala juru, helped by community organizers from a non-government organization began to fight back. The subsequent struggle of thejuru people to regain control over the resources and environment, and therefore some measure of determination over their own lives in the face of seemingly irresistable outside forces, is a story common to many Third World communities. These communities - victims in the conflict over natural resources - generally belong to the weaker economic and social strata of the population. Besides fishermen, they include tribal minorities and small farmers whose lands and resources are often pillaged or confiscated by the state and/or private companies. They also include slum dwellers evicted from their huts, and self-employed craftsmen or artisans whose traditional undertakings and cultural integrity are rapidly destroyed by the advance of modern mass-production factories owned by foreign and local elites. For many of these people, their everyday life depends on access to forests, fish, water and land. Often their conflicts with the outside forces have a life and death connotation. 1hbes and cultural minorities who are displaced from their traditional lands, for example, often fail to adjust in whatever "settled areas" they are herded into because the natural resources that their culture and life-style demand - a product of hundreds of years of history - are simply not available. juru's case, which has spanned a period of more than a decade, has had up to now a more successful and happier ending than most cases, but apart from that unusual result, it has significance in several ways. Firstly, it is important in the context of Malaysia, one of the most prominent of the newly industrializing countries (NICs) with a development strategy of accelerated industrialization based on the exploitation and trade of nonrenewable resources. Most of the present scholarly literature on the East Asian and ASEAN NICs has been focused at the level of either theoretical or economic interpretation. At the theoretical level, the debate revolved around whether the NICs confirm or refute the dependencia or world system theories of development and underdevelopment. At the economic level, it has been related to more detailed analysis of the minutiae of economic development - whether export-led growth has generated foreign exchange

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to improve the balance of payments, whether it has been able to reduce unemployment, whether it has advanced technical development - and to raising broader questions of the replicability or otherwise of the NIC strategy and its ultimate wisdom. Both levels of interpretation tend to ignore what happens at the level of certain strata of ordinary people in this particular developmental process. Juru, hopefully, provides some clues. Secondly, juru is significant in the political context of Malaysia which has a centralizing government that has increasingly sought to curtail the rights of ordinary people to greater participation in the socio-economic and political process. Among the most conspicuous deterrents to the exercise by people of their basic human rights are the Internal Security Act which enables the government to introduce emergency measures, hold secret trials and permit detention without trial; a Societies Act that provides the government with sweeping powers over organized groups; and a battery of administrative and penal laws that restrict the freedom of peaceful assembly, dissemination of information and other basic freedoms and rights. 15 How ]uru has been able to mobilize the people in the face of psychological and legal coercion by the proponents of the prevailing development strategy and the different means and values by which the community has chosen to pursue its own development, is instructive of the difficulties which poor people encounter in attempting to avoid their marginalization in state systems that are growing increasingly unresponsive. Finally, juru's struggle, in some of its critical phases, was a collaborative effort involving both the village and outside actors. Although it shows the balance that is often required between different social forces if desirable change and transformation is to be attained, ultimately the integrity of the participatory development process demands that it is the villagers themselves who determine their goals. When the villagers participate to establish their objectives it is frequently with quite different results than can be anticipated. This element of "unpredictability" in any participatory development endeavour might lead to tension between the various social groups involved but it is, in fact, the creative aspect of participatory development.

The Beginning of the Struggle The decline of fishing in the Juru river, initially on a gradual basis as a result of a new bridge built to facilitate north-south vehicular communication, and then dramatically after the establishment of the FTZ, was not strongly resisted by the villagers until almost too late when marginalization of the people through forced out-migration for alternative employment had already begun to take place. What brings about or prevents collective mobilization? Do dominated groups have to wait for outside assistance to bring home the message of unacceptable economic or social injustice before they begin mobilizing?

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What is the point at which individual villagers previously pursuing their own interests begin to coalesce as a coherent group articulating unified demands? These are some questions that students of popular participation face when they are confronted by seeming apathy and fatalism on the part of dominated groups even when their members are under what would appear to be extraordinary pressure. With juru, what might immediately strike the outside observer was the relative passivity with which the villagers reacted to the slow disintegration of the only world that most of them knew. The year 1976 was the fourth since the establishment of the FTZ, and season by season, the villagers suffered increasing deprivation and despair. By that time, it was common knowledge in the local markets that whatever few prawns or fish the juru fisherman brought to sell had a distinctly "oily" smell and taste due to the contamination of the waters. juru had earned a dirty reputation, yet the fishermen endured in stoic silence. In one sense, the passive submission with which the villagers awaited their fate was not surprising. At that time there was little general consciousness among the public of the relationship of natural resource conservation to survival and sustainable development. The villagers were aware that their river was dying because of changes to it, but in the minds of many, the river's impending death was more an act of nature or God which they could not prevent. A few of the more conscious villagers were vaguely aware that the river was dying due to man-made activity and that it was directly linked to the FTZ, but on the few occasions that they had tentatively ventured their suspicions to the local officers administering the locality, these views had been brusquely brushed aside or greeted with derision. The unsympathetic response of the bureaucrats has to be seen in the context of the government's preoccupation with a strategy of industrial development (culminating in the establishment of FTZs throughout the country) in which the local district officers played an important role by helping to process factory applications and set up the physical infrastructure of land, water, electricity, telephone service, and roads that attracted the owners of capital. It can also be understood as part of the heavy-handed, top-down, "we, the officers know best!" approach which characterizes much of the local-level development efforts even to this day. Consorting more with foreign industrialists and the national and local politicians that walked closely behind them to reap a share of the spoils, the bureaucrats charged with managing the locality obviously had little time for poor fishermen and their "wild" ideas about how their river was "dying", and the hardship and suffering it wrought on their families. The failure of the bureaucracy to mediate between the rights and needs of the people at the bottom and intrusive capital from outside could have been avoided. In 1975, although there was no assessment of the impact on the environment yet built into large-scale projects, an Environment Quality

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Act had been passed which provided broad powers for the protection and enhancement of the quality of the aquatic environment. These powers included controlling the effluent discharge into the environment either through the licensing of industrial premises or through the specifying of acceptable conditions of discharge. It was true that the administrative infrastructure for the enforcement of the Act had yet to be established (it was only in 1975 that the country obtained an environmental protection agency - a weak Division of Environment established under one of the weakest ministries in Malaysia, the Ministry of Science, Technology and Environment). On the other hand, there were many established laws on the proper use of river resources that could generally have been addressed to the problem had the local bureaucracy and politicians been concerned about economic and social justice. Some organizers of the Consumers Association of Penang 16 accidentally stumbled onto this situation of ignorance and despair among the villagers. It is telling of the fragmentation of contemporary life in Malaysia that juru's plight had gone virtually unnoticed by the outside for as long as it did, and it was only through the opportune participation of a trade unionist resident in a village close to juru in one of the Association's seminars that the story of juru happened to come out. By then, the village had lost a quarter of its population and the young people especially had begun to drift away, seeing no future in the village. The first task of the organizers was to break down the sense of fatalism that seemed to envelop the village and inculcate instead the feeling that some remedial action was possible. This task was not as simple as it sounds and required many long hours of discussion with the villagers. In these discussions, a critical transfer of technical knowledge took place from outside organizers, who were knowledgeable about the impact of industrial pollution on coastal ecosystems, to ordinary poor people who were ignorant of the problem. What was the level of pollution in Juru river compared with other rivers? Which pollutant was traceable to which outlet? Which was the area of greatest contamination? Which aquatic life was least able to withstand the pollution? These questions and the answers to them were avidly absorbed by the villagers. More important than technical information, the organizers provided the villagers with an account of the possibilities and limitations of the different resources that seemed available. What were the legal rights of the fishermen? Who had the standing to sue the factory owners? How long would the court action be expected to take should it be launched? What were the legal or perceived constraints to group mobilization and action? What were the alternative channels for articulating their grievance? What possible response could they expect from the state? Beyond the mere dissemination and exchange of knowledge which played a role in giving the villagers a means of recognizing their marginalization

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and therefore putting them on a path which enabled them to deal with it was the sense of support and solidarity provided to whatever repressed feelings of disaffection that the villagers might have had. Not only was reality questioned in ~ way that it had not been previously, but in the process, the all-powerful and irreproachable position of the state was questioned and delegitimized. It was put to them that the pollution of the river was not a natural act; it was the villagers who were wronged and it was the duty of the state to protect the legitimate rights of its people. Failing state action, it was pointed out to them that they had a right to stand up and fight to end the injustice perpetrated against them. In pointing out to them that the principles of moral and legal justice were on their side, in explaining the possible channels of remedial action, it must be stressed that the organizers continually cautioned about the uphill struggle the villagers would face were they prepared to mobilize. Comparable cases in which the natural resources of other village communities were despoiled by the activities of outside parties with nothing done to alleviate the suffering of the people were brought forward, as were the considerable constraints and obstacles that were likely to be placed in the path of the villagers should they seek redress against the factories and compensation for their plight. The prospect of their being imprisoned should they embark on action that the state considered detrimental was repeatedly emphasized. Finally, it was made clear to the villagers that they had to carry the main burden of the struggle against the contending forces themselves. The organizers could play a minor role in facilitating their struggle, such as providing information which would assist the villagers in their actions, and communicating to the outside whatever decisions had been made, but the struggle was eventually the village's; they had to make the decisions themselves on how they could pursue it and they had to stand in the front line as well. All these reminders of how difficult their fight for justice would be failed to deter the villagers from embarking on their protest against the state once they had made up their minds. Although it was surprising how the new-found spirit of defiance in the village contrasted with the long-held fatalism and pessimism, the new mood did not come easily or quickly. However, when it came, the organizers were struck by its finality. In retrospect, it seemed as if the village was only awaiting a catalyst to trigger the process of individual and collective self-searching. Somehow, co-existent with the deep fatalism that permeated the village during the chain of events that was slowly strangling its economy was a streak of self-preservation, or self-interest that wanted to be tapped. Previous communication by the villagers with the outside had made them feel that there was no possibility of effectively raising their voice from within; on the contrary, it had merely confirmed what they had always known, but could not

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prevent - their de facto exclusion from the socio-political process. Now there was a contrary view. Unlocking the discontent was the all-important first step. But a lot of hard work still lay ahead. For example, the organizers quickly realized that it required a peculiar chemistry to get a hitherto fragmented group of people to mobilize for community action. Two of the crucial ingredients of the chemistry were participation and leadership. On leadership, it was clearly not possible nor desirable for an outside organization to lead the households that comprised Juru in their struggle. Having their own leaders would not only help the villagers avoid being used as mouthpieces for ideas produced by others but it would also free them from the dependency relation that could quite easily arise if the village was led to believe that an outside group of organizers knew their problems and could determine their future best. Since not all of the people in Juru had the same level of awareness, nor were they all driven by the same anger and resolve to obtain redress, identifying the more conscious members of the village and the potential leaders became a challenging and learning experience for the organizers. For example, they learned that their presence at general village meetings actually hindered the village's internal leadership generating process, since the villagers continually put them on centre stage, in spite of many efforts made to prevent that. Even after the village had selected its own leaders, it had the tendency to ignore those leaders at meetings and to look to the organizers instead for leadership. Large village meetings also tended to be unwieldy and for these reasons were quickly abandoned for smaller meetings, often held outside the village, once the village leadership in the struggle was established. During the initial meetings, one of the main concerns was finding out what the local politics were, which were the most respected members of the community, which villager held what view, and so forth. The organisers had some information on village structure and politics but it was only during the intense and emotional early discussions that they obtained first-hand experience of the complicated leadership structure in the village. Basically, there were two groups capable of leading the village; one already well-established, and the other, a nascent one. The former, which could be characterized as the traditional elite, obtained its legitimacy in part from its long-established dominant status in the village, reinforced by its selection by the state to represent the village in district level committees. This group, fearful of antagonizing authority and perhaps of jeopardizing its own position, often argued in familiar client-like terms of the ability of the system to correct whatever grievances the village had. ''The district officer has told me personally he will look into the matter': "I saw the fisheries man and he has promised to give Juru priority in the development subsidies". "Our M.P. (Member of Parliament) will see the Minister about our problems': This

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leadership, however, was largely discredited by its failure to do anything effective about the village's plight. There was an alternative leadership group that, however, was as yet unformed when the organizers first went to the village. Consisting of three or four villagers that were the most visibly discontented about juru's situation, it had also responded the most enthusiastically in the early round of discussions to the idea of a village-waged struggle to obtain its rights. The key person in the embryonic group was Salleh, an energetic fisherman who had the respect of his fellow villagers but lacked the state-conferred status which could enable him to lead his fellow villagers. Salleh was the quickest to define the village's reality and the most forthright in identifying problems. Most important of all, Salleh had a plan on how the village could determine its own future. All efforts at building up the village leadership after the first meetings went towards reinforcing confidence in Salleh and providing him with the opportunity to lead the village. Much as Salleh was clearly the most outstanding potential leader, the organizers recognized that the village required a broad-based group of leaders to unify and lead it. There was no way in which one or a few men could organize the village and propel it forward - it had to be the work of a larger number. At the same time, it was necessary to avoid any situation of concentration of power or representation of select interests. Hence, the village was advised to establish a committee of ten that would be responsible for organizing the village and making the major decisions. The community organizers spent much time in reminding the villagers before the elections for the committee that they should elect knowledgeable, skilled, and dedicated members. It was made clear that a committee that represented all social and economic groups within the village, including the poor, would be more effective in carrying out the work. Fortunately, the committee that was selected turned out to be a good mix of the traditional leaders and Salleh's group. It had both poor and well-to-do (by juru's standards) members and most importantly, Salleh was elected to become chairman of the committee. The only disappointments were that no women were elected and only one of the elected youth belonged to the youth stratum of village society. However, overall, the organizers could feel satisfied that the great amount of time and care which they had put into organizing the leadership selection process in juru was fully justified, as will be shown later. The other important ingredient of community organization and action was participation. Although the village now had what it referred to as the juru Action Committee (Jawatankuasa Bertindak) it was important to draw the other villagers directly into the struggle. This would help build a sense of solidarity and stimulate the people's involvement and interest. Part of the reason for the villagers' apathy and fatalism in the past was their nonparticipation in whatever went on around them. Now, the committee was

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constantly asked to ensure that as many villagers were involved in the struggle as possible. Among the measures the committee decided on were: - requiring the villagers to collect water samples at regular intervals along juru river; - pasting up newspaper reports on juru in the village coffee-shop or making copies of government replies to their letters for distribution to individual households; - allocating various roles and functions to different villagers and enabling them to rehearse their roles before important meetings with the government or mass media; and requiring the committee to meet once every week and report its decisions to the villagers, as well as hold an open annual general meeting in which elections would be held. Besides eliciting participation, these measures served other purposes. The role playing, for example, enabled the villagers to try to anticipate what government responses to their demands were likely to be and to devise appropriate tactics and strategies. It ensured that no differences of opinions or bickering took place when the government attempted to approach each fisherman separately to compensate them for their losses. In this way, not only was a constant dialogue maintained throughout the village, but it was able to present a formidable, cohesive, and united front to the outside, evoking greater concern and urgency among the administrators that had to deal with it than would have otherwise been the case. The strategy that the ]awatankuasa Bertindak used to pursue its claims against the state was quite simple. Some of the most important features were: 1. rejection of the path of legal litigation because of the fear of other

2. 3.

4. 5.

groups tampering with judicial review and the extended length of time that the process would take; rejection of violent confrontational acts such as sabotage of gates draining the effluents of factories; adoption of "political recourse" tactics: exploiting the "contradictions" of the situation through new lobbying action and harassment of the authorities; refusal to deal with the lower ranks of bureaucracy and taking up the villagers' case at the highest level of state; and rejection of government-initiated solutions and making counter-proposals for a village-initiated and self-managed project.

The battle to obtain official recognition of the damage done to the village economy as a result of ill-managed development was stretched out over a six-month period. Intensive lobbying by the villagers for support by the

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mass media and the general public was accompanied by many meetings with various government departments. Finally, the state dangled a tempting carrot to solve juru's problems. It offered the villagers resettlement in an entirely new village that it proposed to establish not too far from where juru was. All households would each receive a brand new house with a few acres of land and assistance to farm. The new kampung would come fully equipped with a brand new mosque, community centre, road, water supply and electricity. It was a generous offer in which the state sought to resolve the juru problem once and for all by removing the people away from the source of the problem. Much soul-searching took place in the village when the final offer from the state was made. There were many who wanted or were inclined to accept it, including the leader of the traditional elite through whom the offer was channelled. Ultimately however, it was Salleh, the chairman of the Action Committee, who persuaded the villagers to reject the offer, to continue the battle in their ancestral homes, and to try out his idea of a village-operated cockle farm. Salleh won partly because the people did not want to give up fishing, as they would if they accepted the state offer, since the new village was to be based on farming, and partly because the villagers were reluctant to leave their homes now that some hope seemed in sight. It was also because Salleh had a specific vision of how the village could pick itself up, a vision not couched in vague terms but one which was specific and could be easily grasped by the other villagers. This vision was of a collective cockle project. 17 Salleh himself, during the dark years, had experimented with cockle farming on a modest scale in the mud flats surrounding Juru village. He was convinced that with adequate capital and manpower and if the state did not interfere (which it was legally in a position to do since all coastal mud flats fell under government jurisdiction and it was the right of the state to decide on its use), the village could successfully run its own cockle farm.

The juru Co-operative Cockle Farm Tiny cocklet sprat grow naturally at certain parts of the mud flats that are found opposite much of the west coast of Peninsular Malaysia. These sprat have for long been "cultivated" for the urban market by capitalists who operate with licences obtained from the government. Since the culture requires large amounts of manpower and capital, few peasant fishermen have ventured into it, although small quantities are occasionally brought into the market by the few fishermen that stumble onto natural beds of cockles. It was this aquaculture that Salleh was convinced held the key to the economic revival of juru. Quite by chance, heavy natural spratfalls of cockle occurred around the village in late 1976 and provided the village with the opportunity to venture into the cultivation at low cost.

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This opportunity would have escaped juru if Salleh had not been there to help the villagers seize it. Salleh had more than a vision, he had an uncanny feel for the culture - he was able to identify the best areas in which to sow the cockle sprat; from mere clumps of mud from the river and sea-bed, he would select different areas for allocating different sizes and qualities of young cockle; he also knew of the predators that the cockle faced which required to be manually culled and he thought up ingenious tools and methods for collecting the cockle. Besides possessing technical knowledge, Salleh was a natural leader in organizing people to work in the farm. The villagers had been accustomed to fishing which was a largely individual activity with each fisherman rowing his sampan (boat) out to the sea and his catch determined by his individual skill and luck. With cockle farming, the fishermen had to work as a team with different groups rotating the various tasks of cultivation and collection. Salleh engineered this change successfully. The only assistance that Salleh and his committee received from the community organizers in the implementation of the village cockle project was support for their application for a temporary occupation licence from the state government that would permit them unrestricted access to use of the sea and river bed directly adjacent to the village and advice on how the village could establish a co-operative that would own and manage the cockle project. On the latter, it was stressed to Salleh and his men that only a co-operative in which all the villagers had a share had a chance of success, given the size and complexity of the proposed project. It was also clear to the organizers that a co-operative in which each had a stake would provide all villagers with the incentive for uniting against the state or whatever outside group threatened the village. As for the structure of the co-operative, it was felt that there should not be great disparity in the share of ownership permitted to members. Most government-run co-operatives in the country permitted as many shares to members as they were able to purchase. The organizers felt that this system only perpetuated existing inequalities and discriminated against the poor and strongly argued for the Action Committee itself not to vote a substantially larger share for its members compared to the ordinary villager. Finally, the villagers were encouraged to hold fast against any attempt to integrate juru into the larger government-managed co-operative structure of the district. It was felt that only a village-run project in which each villager could see exactly what all the participants were contributing and how much they were receiving, and where they had a role in influencing the way in which the most important decisions were made, would have a chance of succeeding. The co-operative that was eventually established is a powerful testimony to the creativity of ordinary people when they are provided with the opportunity. When the community organizers advised the village on the co-operative structure and principles, they were able to talk only in general terms, since

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none of them had been involved in running a co-operative, and all they had to offer was text-book knowledge. The villagers did not have textbook knowledge, but the co-operative that they created was such an astonishing balance of market efficiency and traditional welfare norms and individual and collective interests that it is worthwhile to examine its features in some detail.

Organization of Work The Action Committee organizes all the available labour (men, women, and grown-up children) to share out the work on an equitable basis. There are basically three work teams, each having a group leader and about 20 working members. Each team works one day out of every three days, with the work task in the team differentiated according to the sex and age of the member.

Organization of Returns The income derived from the sale of mature cockle is shared out through a unique system. Two-thirds of the proceeds are distributed as wages to the villagers involved. The other one-third is placed into a village fund that is used to further other economic and social objectives that the villagers agree upon. In terms of wages, two types of shares are available. The first, the ownership share, is given out to all those involved in setting up the initial cockle farm. The second share, the work share, goes to members engaged in the current work. The majority of the fishermen receive both ownership and work shares while the remainder receive only one. This is because some fishermen who helped start the project have not participated subsequently; these fishermen receive only ownership shares. Others did not contribute at the beginning but joined in later; they receive only work shares. The distribution of shares in the third cockle project in juru (1978) is shown below as an example: '!ype of Share Categories of Fishermen 9 committee members 52 pioneer members 2 teenage members 3 new members 15 part-time members Thtal

Ownership

13.5 52 1.5

7.5 74.5

Work 9

52 2 3

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From the table, it can be seen that members of the Action Committee receive 1.5 ownership shares each. This higher share ownership, to compensate the committee for the extra time and responsibility required of it, is reviewed every year by the entire village during the co-operative's annual general meeting. In 1976, when the first cockle project was initiated, each committee member received only 1.3 shares and the small increase granted thereafter was an indication of how useful the village regarded the services of the committee to be. On the other hand, three fishermen can be seen as being excluded from ownership shares. The fishermen were eligible to qualify for the same share as the other fishermen provided they met three conditions: 1. they contributed a sum of money as capital investment to make up for the work and money they did not contribute to earlier projects; 2. they worked for at least two years on the project; and 3. they had been and still were Juru residents. Once they qualified for full ownership shares they would receive dividends for all subsequent projects, provided they remained on the project, except if they had to leave it owing to old age or sickness. If they left for employment outside the village, their shares would be reduced by half, the idea being to equalize income between full-time fishermen and their part-time counterparts who had another income source.

The Village Fund Th ensure their long-term interests and economic security, thejuru villagers have channelled a portion of their earnings into a Tabung Kampung or village fund. Some of the uses to which receipts from the fund are apportioned are: 1. Investment. Approximately 20 per cent from the proceeds of the cockle sales goes into investment in new cockle and other projects. Every cockle project requires cockle sprats for sowing and these are bought from outside if unavailable from the juru area. Other projects have included a sundry shop, a coffee shop and a pilot taxi service. 2. Education. During the crisis period before the establishment of the cockle farm, many juru children dropped out of school. Partly to make up for this, the villagers now give top priority to their children's education. Eleven per cent of the village fund goes towards an education fund that provides supplementary and remedial education. 3. Welfare. There is also a welfare fund for the old and dependent people in the village whose age or sickness renders them incapable of productive

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work. In 1980, as many as 25 people were on the welfare roll, receiving aid once every 10 days at the same time that the villagers received their share of profits. Besides these uses, the villagers have also divested a part of their income towards maintaining the mosque and as donations to external organizations. In running their co-operative and cockle farm, the villagers faced innumerable difficulties from the state. For example, the State Executive Council refused to act on juru's application for a temporary occupation licence (1DL) to make use of the foreshore area oppositejuru for more than three years, despite the fact that there were no competing uses. Similarly, the village's application to form a co-operative was greeted with long silence from the Registrar of Societies. When the reply eventually came two years later, it was to refuse the application on the grounds that the area already had a regional fishermen's association to which the villagers should properly belong. Both these bureaucratic requirements meant that the villagers were in effect acting outside the law when they established their own co-operative and worked on state land. But despite constant apprehension of closure of the co-operative and eviction from the state land, the villagers did not consider themselves to be breaking the law. It was as if in the process of struggle they had clarified and redefined in their minds what was right and wrong, what was legal and illegal. This legitimation of their actions can be considered to be a manifestation of people's law that can emerge through articulation of injustices and mobilization for collective action. The villagers also faced a continuing, albeit diminished, threat of pollution. The outcry from juru, echoed nationally, had prompted the state government to erect drains leading out of the factories directly to the sea rather than to juru river. This alleviated the pollution problem (in juru at least) considerably. But every once in a while, the factories, perhaps faced with an overload of pollutants, would open both drain gates leading to the river and sea so that the village had to be continually vigilant. 18 By then, however, the village was more than up to the challenge. Learning quickly the ways by which it could exert pressure on the system, the Action Committee in subsequent years has, on its own initiative, called press conferences (in the village coffee-shop!), issued press releases, conducted large numbers of outside groups around the FTZ and village area, and rallied the neighbouring villages all to the cause of environmental protection and conservation. Monitoring of the levels of pollution in juru's waters is now done by a Department of Environment team that is no longer only conscious of the pressure exerted by factory owners and managers but also of that coming from villagers critical of its work, willing to voice their complaints aloud, and seemingly capable of more damaging retaliatory action.

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Evaluation of the Village Co-operative When evaluating the results of the village co-operative, one must be careful to distinguish between how the villagers themselv es saw these and the perspect ives of others coming from the outside. To the villagers the cooperative was an unqualified success. The most importan t achievement was the revival of the village economy and its impact on everyday life. Between 1977 and 1984, six cockle projects were completed. An analysis of one, the second project, showed a producti on of 37,191 bags of cockle worth $546,70 7 over an eight-month period. Each participant's share of the return was about $539 a month, an income about five times more than what most of them obtained during the bleak years and considerably higher than that of most fishing villagers in the country. With economi c prosperi ty has come respect and confiden ce not just to the individual villager but to the village as a whole. Juru is no longer pitied or looked down upon by the neighbo uring villages. When the news of its great success with the first cockle scheme spread rapidly to the outside, Salleh and his committee were showered with invitations from other villagers to help them establish their own schemes . Incredibly, Juru and Salleh, in particular, have been completely unselfish about sharing their knowledge and technology with other villages. By 1980, four sister villages had begun similar village projects or were taking part in governm ent-spon sored ones, and since then Salleh has travelled the length of the west coast to advise villagers on the intricaci es of the culture. It must appear quite strange that the village should support the establishment of cockle projects elsewhe re that would compete with it in its new livelihood in buying or collecting sprat and in selling adult cockle to the market. The only reasons to explain it are moral and political ones: that there was a moral consciou sness among the villagers that having themselves obtained a new lease on life, they were obligated to share it and also the awarene ss that the self-reliant and economi c democra cy tendenci es found in Juru could be easily widened. In other words, it was an attempt by Juru, given the socio-economic and political realities that prevailed, to have a broader impact in the only way that the people were good at and to draw in further support for the village's struggle. Th the community organizers, what was gratifying beyond the joy of watching a village become alive once more and its people become assertive about their rights, and the pleasure of watching other villages attempt to emulate Juru, was also the wider national impact of Juru. Juru became a cause celebre. It dramatiz ed to the public the almost limitless capacity of human beings for destruction, matched by equally great powers for building and creation. juru underlin ed in a way that no number of public addresse s by ecologists could, the need for conserva tion compris ing the ecologically sound managem ent of productive systems and the mainten ance of their

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viability and versatility. It also made the community organizers realize the potential power of the environment lobby and the important, indeed, crucial, role which ordinary people, who are victims of haphazard and destructive development, could play. A long struggle was still ahead for the environment movement. Regulations and laws on the books are not necessarily enforced. The task of cleaning the rivers was only one of the many disasters in the country's agenda - deforestation, soil erosion, despoilation of mangrove swamps, poorly disposed mining waters, destruction of coral reefs, and the failure to preserve the genetic diversity of living resources, among others - that needed to be addressed. But a useful start had been made, especially in challenging the views that conservation was irrelevant, harmful, or even anti-social. Thatjuru has developed a self-reliant and democratic village co-operative centred on cockle farming, which has become its social and economic mainstay in the process, was a bonus that was unexpected to the community organizers. Many community development efforts strive (often in vain) to establish communal or co-operative projects that can mobilize the collective resources of the participants and distribute the results equitably. That Juru was able to accomplish it so easily was not merely a reflection of the "organizability" of cockle farming in a communal or co-operative way, or of its profitability, but was also due to the factors of internal leadership and village cohesion. Paradoxically, it has been the very success of juru that has prompted criticism. Some purist and radical outsiders, initially drawn by the promise of the co-operative model found in juru, have been dismayed by the way in which the villagers have pursued the good life. After the houses have been repaired and other basic needs seen to, the villagers, especially the young, have plunged into a bout of consumer spending. Is this, the critics argue, the final end of the struggle? A village filled with television sets and Honda motorcycles! Has the struggle been errantly reformist in deluding people into believing that solving specific issues would improve the quality of their lives and therefore blinding them into acceptance of a system that has to be confronted more radically if meaningful changes are to come about? The answers to these questions are quite simple. Villagers do want more of the good life. This, in a sense, was always a primary motivational force in the struggle. So long as the good life is defined in contemporary materialistic terms in the country and continues to penetrate the village, the people will continue coming under its influence. As for the larger question of whether the struggle has been basically reformist, the answer is "nd'. To the villagers, the act of standing up against the state or saying "you cannot go on like this" to the Chief Minister was as revolutionary an act as could be expected. And it is not that they are seduced by palliative action or the illusion that the state has a self-correcting mechanism. It is just that poor people realize they cannot eat militancy.

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The Struggle Ahead of juru As juru's co-operative moved from its heady early years to adolescence or middle age, it began to be beset with problems. Investments from the village fund in a sundry and coffee-shop turned sour after some time because of problems of poor management and unwillingness by the villagers themselves to work these concerns owing to the relatively low returns. Two new cars purchased to run as a taxi service for juru and the neighbouring villages remained parked in their shiny newness in an open shack for many months because of the inability to obtain proper permits, and were eventually sold off. More serious problems arose after 1981. Different factions of the traditional and new leadership groups began jockeying for support amidst whispered rumours of the mismanagement of funds and the special relationship of some of the members of the Action Committee with the government officials. The Action Committee failed to hold its meetings regularly and some of the democratic procedures in decision-making were alleged to have collapsed. A widely expected challenge for the leadership of the Action Committee in the village elections failed to take place at the end of the year amidst talk of reconciliation. However, the attempts at patching up village solidarity and leadership were short-lived. In 1982, some members of the Action Committee called a village emergency meeting to protest against the way in which the Committee (and by implication, the co-operative) was run. At that meeting, since the views of the two factions were so opposed, it was decided to dissolve the village co-operative. In 1984, the village decided to restart its co-operative. The recent ups and downs of juru's cooperative are really another story. However, they show that participatory development is a long-term process in more ways than one expects. In summary, what we have seen in juru runs counter to the dominant process of development change that impinges upon the peasantry in Malaysia. This process - as seen in state operated land settlement and fisheries development schemes or state directed co-operatives - has been characterized by centralized control and administration by the bureaucracy with little participation by its beneficiaries. Despite frequent use of the rhetoric of popular participation and the show of a participatory structure in decisionmaking, all major decisions and their overall framework are tightly in the hands of state officials, with state-drafted statutes or regulations defining ownership criteria, share allocation, system for distribution of returns, and organization of production. The question of control is directly related to that of benefits and their distribution. Besides the two major groups of actors (bureaucrats and beneficiaries) there is strong evidence that state controlled or directed projects are pressured by other interest groups such as economic intermediaries or local politicians who are frequently in a stronger position to advance their

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own interests. What results then, apart from the phenomenon of greater state control of the development process, is often not a reduction of economic, social, or political inequalities but, paradoxically, the heightening of the inequalities. Juru's "non-directed" change approach, on the other hand, has permitted greater involvement of the villagers at all levels in the design and implementation of the cockle project. The high degree and quality of participation does not imply that pre-existing inequalities have entirely or forever been struck down. Even with the formation of a widely based village management committee, it has never been a completely democratic system in which all villagers have an equal share of control over economic and social decisionmaking. Over time, there have been indications too that various interest groups in the village have coalesced and attempted to dominate other groups. There is, however, no evidence that the outside groups that tend to be predatory have been able to get a foothold in the village. Moreover, there has been remarkable improvement in the overall economic and social position of all of the villagers, despite what some of them might perceive to be the more extraordinary advancement of a few of the leaders. In a country with a state system that has armed itself with a formidable battery of legal and extra-legal measures and methods to prevent the emergence of independent organizations, the ability of Juru to establish and maintain its co-operative must be even more appreciated.

Conclusion: Assessing the NGOs If some preliminary assessment is to be made of the role of NGOs involved in situations such as that found in Juru and elsewhere then one of the first points that has to be emphasized is that they should not be seen as some part of an international movement with its stimulus coming from outside or its programme direction influenced from abroad. Other clear indications that NGOs are indigenous forces are: 1. all the leadership positions in the most visible NGOs in the region

are occupied by nationals; 2. the most prominent and successful NGOs are quite unique in their philosophy, objectives and modus operandi. They tend to have no precise equivalent in the West; 3. most of the critical NGOs espouse a developmental strategy that is not biased towards any of the contending ideological systems in the world. If planners and governments can grasp the notions above and acknowledge that NGOs, being closer to the ground and therefore sensitive to the problems of the community, have a legitimate role to play in development, then the impact of NGOs in assisting with the resolution of community problems can be greater and the path to grass-root development can be greatly

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smoothened. However, should there be greater insistence on a strategy of directed change, that is, the patterns of centralized control and administration in which the objectives and means of development are determined by government agencies working closely with small groups of elites, with little or no room for expression of the people's interests through alternative organizations, then both socio-economic and political development will be endangered. Finally, it should be emphasized that despite great pressure, NGOs have persisted in working for social reform and change through peaceful means and open approaches that cut across traditional racial, religious and other social and class lines. They have also articulated the important view that if society is to survive, it must take a long-term and more holistic view of issues such as resource utilization, patterns of consumption and production, and life-style, and place equity and justice considerations in the forefront of development. These views differ considerably from the short-term, fragmented view of development indulged in by politicians and other vested interest groups in the society.

NOTES 1. For example, in 1970 there was only one consumer organization in the ASEAN region; today there are six in Malaysia, seven in the Philippines, five in Thailand, and three in Indonesia. 2. Aliran Kesedaran Negara,Aliran Speaks (Penang: Ganesh Printing Works, 1981), pp. 74-75. 3. See, for example, the Worldwatch Institute papers and books, many of which focus on citizen involvement in alternative development strategies, especially Bruce Stoke's "Local Responses to Global Problems: A Key to Meeting Basic Human Needs': 1-furldwatch Paper 17 (Washington, 1981). See also Ralph Nader and Donal Ross, Action for Change: A Student's Guide to Public Interest Organizing (New York: Grossman Publishers, 1973); George Lakey, Strategy for a Living Revolution (San Francisco: Freeman and Company, 1973); and Stuart Langton, Citizen Participation in America (Lexington, Mass., D.C. Heath and Company, 1973). 4. See, for example, "The Fight to Save Malaysia", New Scientist 87, no. 1217 (London, 4 September 1980); "Caveat Consumer", Asian Wall Street journal (Hongkong), 10 April 1980; and Ruth Norris, ed., Pills, Pesticides and Profits (New York: North River Press, Inc., 1982). 5. An exception appears to be the Green Party in West Germany which began its life as a citizen movement in the field of environment but recently made the decision to participate in the political process directly by offering its own candidates for election. This decision spawned a wide-ranging debate among the movement's supporters, many of whom felt that the movement could contribute more to German society by remaining outside the electoral process. 6. james C.N. Paul and Clarence]. Dias, "Law and Legal Resources in the Mobilization of the Rural Poor for Self-Reliant Development" (New York: International Center for Law in Development, july 1980), p. 4.

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7. Hans Dieter Evers, in his useful historical sketch of bureaucratization in three ASEAN countries, makes the argument that the "emergence of new strategic groups, that is, a modern bureaucracy, a modern military, and a modern intelligentsia, might be seen as taking over the functional roles of the dewarajas and sultans, of the priyayi and sakdina lords, of the monks, priest and mullah of pre-colonial Southeast Asia". See his "Bureaucratization and the World Economy in Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia, 1870-1980" (Bielefeld, 1983), p. 26. 8. Paul and Dias, op. cit., p. 5. 9. The seminar papers of the earlier years have since been published. See, for example, Consumer Association of Penang, Development and the Environmental Crisis - A Malaysian Case (Penang: Sun Printers, 1981 ), and Health, Food and Nutrition in Malaysia (Penang: Sun Printers, 1985). 10. Aliran, op. cit., preface. 11. A term made popular by lgnacy Sachs, a European environmentalist. 12. EPSM, SAM and a small number of other environmental and academic groups, for example, have succeeded in pressing the government to enact an Environment Quality Act, stop logging in a proposed National Park, and reverse a decision to construct a huge dam for a hydro-electric project that would have drowned thousands of acres and displaced traditional settlements. These were significant victories. For details of these campaigns, see Sahabat Alam Malaysia, State of Malaysian Environment 1980/81 (Penang: Sun Printers, 1981 ); and State of the Malaysian Environment 1981/82 (Penang: Sun Printers, 1982). 13. This law is similar to legislation in Malaysia which in 1981 aroused much concern when a bill was introduced in Parliament to amend the existing Act and give to the Registrar of Societies, a government appointee, and the Minister of Home Affairs, sweeping powers over the activities of societies and associations. The attempt met with strong opposition from over 100 societies. Describing the proposed changes as a serious curtailment of the freedom of association and expression, the societies argued that development "presupposed the critical and creative participation of people rather than the restriction of civil rights" and they pointed out that "the numerous societies and association . . . had contributed much to the development of healthy and constructive activity in the cultural, educational, religious and socio-economic spheres" (Press Release by co-ordinating committee against the Societies [Amendment] Act 1981, 4 April 1981). The determined resistence put up by the societies and strong public support for their position eventually forced the government to make major concessions in an amended Act passed in 1983. Similar opposition has emerged among a wide range of public opinions in Indonesia to prevent the enactment of the new legislation controlling societies and non-governmental organizations but it is not known yet whether these efforts have been successful in making the government change its mind. 14. This method has been effectively used by Albert B. Hirschman in his recent work, Getting Ahead Collectively: Grassroots Experiments in Latin America (New York: Pergamon Press, 1984). The work provides insights into the experience of grass-root development which can be usefully applied to other Third World (and even First World) situations.

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15. Malaysia's human rights rating which provides some idea of the restrictions on dissent and challenge to the governmen t is assessed at 54 per cent. See Charles Humana, World Human Rights Guide (London: Hutchinson, 1983), pp. 138-39. 16. The Association is one of the most active non-governmental organizatio ns in the region, working in the areas of education and conscientiz ation of people through its focus on the problems of basic needs (housing, food and nutrition, education, and health). Unlike orthodox consumer organizations, CAP's objectives are to raise fundamental questions about the present consumption patterns and developme nt models. The association runs two monthly publications, one in Malay (circulation: 50,000 copies) and the other in English (circulation: 10,000 copies). 17. Cockle (Anadara Granosa) are a species of bivalves that are commercially important, being consumed largely by the lower income groups. 18. In October 1977, a sizeable portion of the cultivated cockle began to die. The village claimed that the deaths were due to factory pollution. The state authorities initially blamed the deaths on the low salinity of the water but later conceded that the high acid content was a contributin g factor to the high mortality rate.

Notes on Contributors

CHANDRA MUZAFFAR was educated at the University of Singapore (B.Sc. and Ph.D.). He is the author of Protector? (Penang: Aliran, 1979); Freedom in Fetters (Penang: Aliran, 1986); and Islamic Resurgence in Malaysia (Petaling jaya: Fajar Bakti, 1987). He is presently the full-time President of Aliran Kesedaran Negaran (National Consciousness Movement). SOMBOON SUKSAMRAN was educated at Chulalongkorn University (B.A., M.A.) and the University of Hull (Ph.D.). He is the author of Political Buddhism in Southeast Asia: The Role of the Sangha in the Modernization of Thailand (London: C. Hurst and Co., 1977); and Buddhism and Politics in Thailand (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1982). He is presently a lecturer in the Faculty of Political Science, Chulalongkorn University. KANOK WONGTRANGAN is presently Assistant Professor in the Faculty of Political Science, Chulalongkorn University. He received his undergraduate education in Thailand and has a Ph.D. from johns Hopkins. He is the author of Politics in Thai Democratic Region (in Thai) (Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, 1984 ); and joint author of "Institutional Basis of Thai Rice Price Policies" (mimeographed, Bangkok, january 1984). MAHAR K. MANGAHAS was educated at the University of the Philippines (A.B. and M.A.) and University of Chicago (Ph.D.). He is the editor of Measuring Philippine Development: Report of the Social Indicators Project (Manila: Development Academy of the Philippines, 1976); and co-author of Jenants, Owners, Lessees: \-fuljare Implications of Tenure Change (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1976). He is presently President, Social Weather Stations, Inc. 192

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ARIEF BUDIMAN was educated at the Universitas Indonesia (M.A.) and Harvard University (Ph.D.). He is the author of Chairil Anwar, Sebuah Pertemuan Oakarta: P:T Gramedia, 1981); and]alan Demokratis ke Sosialisme (Jakarta: Pustaka Sinar Harapan, 1987). Presently, he lectures at Universitas Kristen Satya Wacana, Salatiga, Indonesia. REYNALDO C. ILETO was educated at the Aten eo de Manila University (B.A.) and Cornell University (Ph.D.). He is the author of Pasyon and Revolution: Popular Movements in the Philippines, 1840-1910 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University, 1979). He lectures at the University of the Philippines, and james Cook University (Australia). LIM TECK GHEE is presently Professor in the Institute of Advanced Studies, University of Malaya. He was educated at the University of Malaya (B.A.Hons, M.A.) and Australian National University (Ph.D.). He is the author of Peasants and their Agricultural Economy in Colonial Malaya, 1874-1940 (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1977), and several other books and articles dealing with various aspects of historical and contempora ry developmen t in Southeast Asia.

THE EDITOR

Dr. Lim Teck Ghee is currently Professor at the Institute of Advanced Studies, University of Malaya. He is author of numerous scholarly articles and books on basic development issues.