The Indonesian Way: ASEAN, Europeanization, and Foreign Policy Debates in a New Democracy 9781503604544, 9781503602854

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The Indonesian Way

Studies in Asian Security se ri e s e di tor s Amitav Acharya, Chief Editor American University

David Leheny, Chief Editor Waseda University

Alastair Iain Johnston Harvard University

Randall Schweller The Ohio State University

i nte rnat ional board Rajesh M. Basrur Nanyang Technological University

Brian L. Job University of British Columbia

Barry Buzan London School of Economics

Miles Kahler University of California, San Diego

Victor D. Cha Georgetown University

Peter J. Katzenstein Cornell University

Thomas J. Christensen Princeton University

Khong Yuen Foong University of Oxford

Stephen P. Cohen The Brookings Institution

Byung-Kook Kim Korea University

Chu Yun-han Academia Sinica

Michael Mastanduno Dartmouth College

Rosemary Foot University of Oxford

Mike Mochizuki The George Washington University

Aaron L. Friedberg Princeton University

Katherine H. S. Moon Wellesley College

Sumit Ganguly Indiana University, Bloomington

Qin Yaqing China Foreign Affairs University

Avery Goldstein University of Pennsylvania

Christian Reus-Smit Australian National University

Michael J. Green Georgetown University; Center for Strategic and International Studies

Varun Sahni Jawaharlal Nehru University

Stephan M. Haggard University of California, San Diego G. John Ikenberry Princeton University Takashi Inoguchi Chuo University

Etel Solingen University of California, Irvine Rizal Sukma CSIS, Jakarta Wu Xinbo Fudan University

The Studies in Asian Security book series promotes analysis, understanding, and explanation of the dynamics of domestic, transnational, and international security challenges in Asia. The peer-reviewed publications in the series analyze contemporary security issues and problems to clarify debates in the scholarly community, provide new insights and perspectives, and identify new research and policy directions. Security is defined broadly to include the traditional political and military dimensions as well as nontraditional dimensions that affect the survival and well-being of political communities. Asia, too, is defined broadly to include Northeast, Southeast, South, and Central Asia. Designed to encourage original and rigorous scholarship, books in the Studies in Asian Security series seek to engage scholars, educators, and practitioners. Wide-ranging in scope and method, the series is receptive to all paradigms, programs, and traditions, and to an extensive array of methodologies now employed in the social sciences.

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The Indonesian Way asean, europeanization, and foreign policy debates in a new democracy

Jürgen Rüland

Stanford University Press  •  Stanford, California

Stanford University Press Stanford, California © 2018 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press. Printed in the United States of America on acid-­free, archival-­quality paper Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Rüland, Jürgen, 1953– author. Title: The Indonesian way : ASEAN, Europeanization, and foreign policy debates in a new democracy / Jürgen Rüland. Description: Stanford, California : Stanford University Press, 2018. | Series: Studies in Asian security | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017018878 (print) | LCCN 2017020032 (ebook) | ISBN 9781503604544 | ISBN 9781503602854 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Southeast Asia—Foreign relations—Indonesia. | Indonesia—Foreign relations—Southeast Asia. | ASEAN—Indonesia. | ASEAN. Charter (2007) | Regionalism (International organization) Classification: LCC DS525.9.I5 (ebook) | LCC DS525.9.I5 R85 2018 (print) | DDC 327.598059—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017018878

Contents

Abbreviations Acknowledgments 1 Introduction

ix xiii 1

2 Theory and Methodology

13

3 The “Cognitive Prior” and the European Challenge

32

4 The Indonesian Government and the ASEAN Charter

52

5 Non-­Governmental Organizations and the ASEAN Charter

84

6 The Legislature and the ASEAN Charter

111

7 The Charter and the Academe

131

8 The Press and the ASEAN Charter

151

9 Business and the ASEAN Charter

170

10 Indonesian Visions of Regionalism: From Yudhoyono to Jokowi

184

11 Conclusion

215

Notes References Index

233 261 279

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Abbreviations

ABAC ABRI AC ACFTA ACSC ADHR AEC AEPF AFTA AIA AICHR AIPA AIPMC AIPO ALBA Altsean APA APARC APEC APF APINDO Apmeti

ASEAN Business Advisory Council Republic of Indonesia Armed Forces (Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia) ASEAN Community ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area ASEAN Civil Society Conference ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights ASEAN Economic Community Asia-­Europe People’s Forum ASEAN Free Trade Area ASEAN Investment Area ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Association ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Myanmar Caucus ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Organization Bolivarian Alternative for the People of Our America (Alianza Bolivariana para los Pueblos de Nuestra América) Alternative ASEAN Network on Burma ASEAN People’s Assembly Asia-­Pacific Research Center, University of Stanford Asia-­Pacific Economic Cooperation ASEAN People’s Forum Indonesian Employers Association (Asosiasi Pengusaha Indonesia) Association of Educational and Traditional Toys (Asosiasi Pengrajin Mainan Edukatif dan Tradisional Indonesia)

x

APT ARF ASA ASC ASCC ASEAN ASEAN-­CCI ASEAN-­ISIS ASEAN-­SOM ASEM AsiaDHRRA

abbreviations

ASEAN Plus Three ASEAN Regional Forum Association of SoutheastAsia ASEAN Security Community ASEAN Socio-­Cultural Community Association of Southeast Asian Nations ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry ASEAN Institutes of Strategic and International Studies ASEAN Senior Official Meetings Asia-­Europe Meeting Asian Partnership for the Development of Human Resources in Rural Asia Asmindo Indonesian Furniture Association (Asosiasi Mebel Indonesia) AU African Union BDF Bali Democracy Forum BKPM Investment Coordinating Board (Badan Koordinasi Penanaman Modal) BMBF German Federal Ministry of Education and Research (Bundesministerium für Bildung und Forschung) BRICS Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa CAEC Council for Asia-­Europe Cooperation CIDES Center for Information and Development Studies (Indonesia) CMI Chiang Mai Initiative CPR Committee of Permanent Representatives CSCAP Council for Security Cooperation in the Asia Pacific CSIS Center for Strategic and International Studies ( Jakarta, Indonesia, and Washington, DC) CSO Civil Society Organization D8 Developing 8 DCA Defense Cooperation Agreement DPR People’s Representative Council (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat) EAS East Asian Summit EC European Community ECONIT Advisory Group on Economic Industry and Trade EEC European Economic Community EFTA European Free Trade Association EIDHR European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights EPG Eminent Persons Group EU European Union FCES Economic and Social Consultative Forum (Foro Cultativo Económico y Social) FES Friedrich-­Ebert-­Stiftung FORUM-­A sia Asian Forum for Human Rights and Development

abbreviations

FP-­N KRI FRIAS FTA G20 G77 G8 GATT GBHN GDP Golkar GONGO HIPMI HLP HLTF HRWG IAI ICJ ICMI IGJ IMF Imparsial INFID IODAS IORA IR IRT KADIN Kontras LIPI LPEM-­U I LSI Maphilindo Mercosur MPR NAFTA

xi

Front of the Defenders of the Republic of Indonesia Freiburg Institute of Advanced Studies Free Trade Area Group of 20 Group of 77 Group of 8 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade Broad Guidelines of Government Policy (Garis-­Garis Besar Haluan Negara) Gross Domestic Product Party of Functional Groups (Partai Golongan Karya) Government Organized Non-­Governmental Organization Indonesian Young Entrepreneurs Association (Himpunan Pengusaha Muda Indonesia) High level Panel High Level Task Force Human Rights Working Group Initiative for ASEAN Integration International Court of Justice Indonesian Association of Muslim Intellectuals (Ikatan Cendekiawan Muslim Indonesia) Institute of Global Justice International Monetary Fund The Indonesian Human Rights Monitor International NGO Forum on Indonesian Development Institute of Defense and Security Studies Indian Ocean Rim Association International Relations International Relations Theory Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industries (Kamar dagang dan Industri Indonesia) Commission for the Disappeared and Victims of Violence (Komisi untuk Orang Hilang dan Korban Tindak Kekerasan) Indonesian Institute of Sciences (Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia) Institute for Social and Economic Research of the University of Indonesia (Lembaga Penyelidikan Ekonomi dan Masyarakat) Indonesian Survey Institute (Lembaga Survei Indonesia) Malaysia, Philippines, Indonesia Southern Common Market (Mercado Comun del Sur) People’s Consultative Assembly (Majlis Permusyawaratan Rakyat) North American Free Trade Agreement

xii

NAM NEP NGO NPM NU NUS OAS OIC ORMAS PAN PBB PDI-­P PDS PKB PKS PPP RDII RSIS SAARC SADC SAPA SCO SEACA SME SNI TAC TCP TNC TNI TOR TPP UIN UN UNGA UNHRC UNSC Walhi WTO

abbreviations

Non-­A ligned Movement New Economic Policy Non-­Governmental Organization New Public Management Nahdlatul Ulama National University of Singapore Organization of American States Organization of Islamic Cooperation Mass Organization Law (Organisasi Kemasyarakatan) National Mandate Party (Partai Amanat Nasional) Crescent Star Party (Partai Bulan Bintang) Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan) Prosperous Peace Party (Partai Damai Sejahtera) National Awakening Party (Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa) Prosperous Justice Party (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera) United Development Party (Partai Persatuan Pembangunan) Rational Design of International Institutions Rajaratnam School of International Studies South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation Southern African Development Community Solidarity for Asian People’s Advocacy Shanghai Cooperation Organization Southeast Asian Committee on Advocacy Small and medium enterprise Indonesian National Standard Treaty of Amity and Cooperation Treaty of Commerce for Peoples Transnational Corporation Indonesian National Armed Forces (Tentara Nasional Indonesia) Terms of Reference Transpacific Partnership State Islamic University (Universitas Islam Negeri Syarif Hidayatullah) United Nations United Nations General Assembly United Nations Human Rights Council United Nations Security Council Indonesian Forum for the Environment (Wahana Lingkungan Hidup Indonesia) World Trade Organization

Acknowledgments

This study has been supported and inspired by many institutions, persons, and sources. Foremost, my sincere thanks go to the Department of Political Science and the Department of Southeast Asian Studies of the National University of Singapore (NUS) and the Shorenstein Asia-­Pacific Research Center of the University of Stanford (APARC) for awarding me the 2010 Lee Kong Chian Distinguished Fellowship for Southeast Asia. The scholarship enabled me to work for eight months in the two universities, to develop the original research idea further, conduct fieldwork, collect data, interact with learned colleagues, and present my research in well-­attended in-­house seminars. In July 2011, the NUS organized a workshop on the theme of this book that brought together international experts on Indonesian foreign policy and provided excellent feedback for me. My research also benefited from previous fieldwork that I conducted in Indonesia under a research project titled “Parliaments and Military Reform in Indonesia and Nigeria,” sponsored by the German Peace Foundation, Osnabrück, Germany. This research brought me in contact with numerous legislators in Commission I of the Indonesian national parliament, which is primarily responsible for foreign policy and security affairs. The audiences of presentations in Singapore, Stanford, Yogyakarta, Bamburg, Freiburg, and Tübingen I thank for many useful comments and questions. I also owe great gratitude to the Freiburg Institute of Advanced Studies (FRIAS History) of the University of Freiburg for awarding me a scholarship in 2011 that gave me the opportunity to write large parts of this manuscript

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acknowledgments

free from the usual teaching and administrative obligations in my department. I appreciated the inspiring atmosphere of FRIAS, the opportunity to meet exciting colleagues and to discuss my research findings with them. My sincere thanks go to the two directors of FRIAS History, Ulrich Herbert and Jörn Leonhard, and their staff for creating a unique and extremely stimulating scholarly environment. In 2014 and 2015, the relaunched FRIAS provided me with another fellowship during which I revised the manuscript. The new FRIAS leadership, including Bernd Kortmann, Hermann Grabert, Carsten Dose, and Britta Küst, did everything they could to make my fellowship productive. And not to forget: I am also extremely grateful to my colleagues in the Department of Political Science, the Faculty of Philosophy, and the university leadership for kindly consenting to the reduction of my teaching obligations while being on scholarship leave. The University of Freiburg’s Southeast Asian Studies Program, titled “Grounding Area Studies in Social Practice,” generously funded for more than six years by the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research (BMBF), also provided an inspiring intellectual space for research on this book. The frequent discussions with the members of the research group and the many eminent visiting Southeast Asianists from all parts of the globe were enriching and stimulating. For their persistent support, encouragement, and exchange of ideas I am particularly indebted to Judith Schlehe, Günther Schulze, Mikko Huotari, Stefan Rother, Maria-­Gabriela Manea, and Arndt Michael. Among the visiting scholars, Marcus Mietzner, Hal Hill, Thomas Pepinsky, Pavin Chachavalpongpun, and Mark Beeson were patient listeners and thoughtful debaters whenever I approached them. They all shared with me their immense knowledge on Indonesia and the Southeast Asian region. In the early stages of the project I also benefited from discussions with Anja Jetschke. The fact that we approached diffusion processes from different ontological angles helped me in nuancing my own thoughts on the theme. Many interviewees, resource persons, and colleagues sacrificed their valuable time for discussing with me numerous aspects and issues related to my research project. I greatly appreciate their cooperation. In particular, I would like to mention Poltak Partogi Nainggolan, Andreas Pareira, Edy Prasetyono, Makmur Keliat, Evi Fitriani, Cornelis Luhulima, Andi Widjajanto, Muhadi Sugiono, Alexander Chandra, and Yuyun Wahyuningrum. I do hope that the book and its findings compensate them for the time they spent with me and my persistent questions. At the NUS I received invaluable support from Rodney Sebastian, who guided me with circumspection through the various bureaucracies and pro-

acknowledgments

xv

vided welcome logistical support during my stay in the city state. For fruitful and enlightening discussions I thank Teofilo Daquila, Merle Ricklefs, Reuben Wong, and Bilveer Singh (National University of Singapore); Mely Anthony Caballero, Tan See Seng, Ralf Emmers, Leonard Sebastian, and Barry Desker (Nanyang Technological University, Rajaratnam School of International Studies); Yeo Lay Hwee (European Union Centre); and Rodolfo Severino (Institute of Southeast Asian Studies). My sincere thanks and gratitude also go to two anonymous reviewers who commented on an earlier draft. Their intellectual engagement with the manuscript went far beyond what normally can be expected from reviewers. I benefited from their thoughtful suggestions, and can only hope that the final version of this manuscript meets their expectations. This said, the editors of this publication series and, in particular, Amitav Acharya deserve my gratitude for their prudent guidance in revising the manuscript and exhausting the potentials of the theme as comprehensively as possible. At Stanford three persons have greatly supported me and have made my stay productive: the hosts, APARC director Gi-­Wook Shin; Don Emmerson, the director of APARC’s Southeast Asia program; and Christian von Lübke, a German fellow working at APARC with enormous knowledge on Indonesian politics. They made my stay pleasant and, most significantly, they were attentive dialogue partners for discussing a broad range of themes within and beyond the confines of my research. At Freiburg, I thank Astrid Carrapatoso, Christoph Haas, Arndt Michael, Marcel Baumann, Angela Geck, Lukas-­Maximilian Müller, Ann-­Kathrin Weber, Anna Fünfgeld, Ursula Böhme, and Kim Tran. They shouldered many of the administrative burdens and the routine work at the Chair, especially in times when I was on leave. My gratitude also goes to Cathrin Arenz, the competent, always friendly, and relaxed coordinator of the BMBF-­sponsored Southeast Asian Studies Program, and my research assistants, including Andreas Kattler, Ruben Martens, Theresa Kost, Swantje Schirmer, Christopher Hoegen, Raphael Steinhilber, Felix Idelberger, and Nabiela Faruq (FRIAS) for their most reliable and dedicated support whenever it was needed. For proofreading the text, I am grateful to Alec Crutchley, who diligently and competently as ever did much to polish the prose, and David Horne, who did the final copyediting for Stanford University Press.. Last, but by no means least, I would like to thank my family for more than three decades of unwavering support. They always tolerated my scholarly profession to an utmost extent, even if that was often equivalent to long absences due to fieldwork abroad. This is certainly unusual. Without the understanding

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my wife, Dorothea, and my daughters, Angkana, Marta, Anchalee, and Anna-­ Lena, had for my work, my scholarly life would have been much less exciting and enriching. It is to them that I dedicate this book. While I benefited from all this support and the sympathetic engagement of many persons and institutions, the errors that remained are entirely my own responsibility.

1

Introduction

December 31, 2015, was supposed to be an auspicious date for the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). After ten years of intensive preparation—­drafting blueprints and road maps, designing score cards, and conducting hundreds of expert meetings—­the ten-­member grouping, consisting of Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam, eventually ushered in the ASEAN Community (AC). However, although hailed by many observers as a historic initiative, a landmark agreement, and a milestone in ASEAN’s evolution, the new level of regional integration was greeted with surprisingly little fanfare. True, most national newspapers reported and reflected on this achievement, and the concurrent ASEAN chair, Laos, issued an approving statement, but compared to the signing and ratification of the ASEAN Charter, the quasi-­ constitution paving the way to the AC, the official and public response to the end of a long journey was rather an anticlimax. Indonesia‘s foreign minister, Retno Marsudi, for instance, devoted only half a sentence to the inauguration of the AC in her annual foreign policy statement,1 while the ASEAN Secretariat, which had borne the brunt of the preparatory work, issued only a short note. ASEAN leaders had already issued the “Declaration of the ASEAN Community” at their twenty-­seventh summit in Kuala Lumpur, which, long on preamble and short on substance,2 in terse wording announced the coming into force of the AC. Interestingly, the summit devoted much more space to another declaration, the ASEAN Community Vision 2025, thereby tacitly admitting that the grouping still had a long way to go before reaching

2

introduction

a fully fledged ASEAN community. While the AC was often equated to a European-­type process of regional integration, other commentators referred to the imperfections of the AC. For some, the AC was just the beginning, as one article in Malaysia’s New Straits Times stated, quoting Najib Razak, the country’s prime minister.3 The frequent equation of the AC with the EU and the simultaneous lamentation about a continued rhetoric-­action gap highlight a key puzzle in comparative regionalism research: the question of whether there is an increasing institutional homogenization under way, with the EU as the model to be emulated. Are regional organizations becoming more similar, increasingly resembling the EU, as some scholars believe? Or is the opposite occurring? Is the fact that ASEAN and many other regional organizations obviously do not perform the functions they claim to perform an indicator that they continue to differ from European integration? ASEAN, for instance, despite adopting the institutional terminology of the EU, tirelessly stresses that it has never imitated the latter and that it is pursuing a different path of regional cooperation, one in tune with the history and shared norms of the Southeast Asian region. Answers to this puzzle—­convergence or divergence—­are contested and very much depend on the theoretical premises and positionality of the researcher. It is the overarching question addressed by this book.

Toward Similarity, Convergence, and Homogenization? World Polity Theory, the EU, and Regionalism The inauguration of the AC was another reminder that regional organizations have become building blocks in the current international institutional architecture often referred to as global governance. Since the late 1980s, regional organizations have proliferated worldwide, leaving “no region without regionalism” (Palmer 1991). However, in the more than two decades since then, not only have new regional organizations mushroomed, existing associations have also awoken to new life and undergone a process of revitalization. ASEAN, established as early as 1967, belongs to this second category. With the accession of Vietnam (1995), Myanmar (1997), Laos (1997), and Cambodia (1999), the association increased its membership from six to ten; strengthened its central organ, the Secretariat; and markedly extended its functional scope. At the same time, regionalism in Europe also underwent a phase of profound change. The Maastricht Treaty of 1992 heralded far-­reaching processes of deepening, which culminated in a common currency, new rounds of enlargements, and eventually a constitutional treaty. In the immediate post–­Cold War euphoria the EU reached its highest level of popularity—­at home and

introduction

3

elsewhere in the world (Petchsiri 2007, 48). More than before, the perception became globally entrenched that the EU is the boldest and most sophisticated project of regional integration, a model to be emulated by other regional organizations. Pride in their obvious success markedly spurred the self-­confidence of Europeans, who stepped up their efforts in promoting the EU’s institutional design, integration policies, and values through high-­profile capacity-­building programs and conditionality policies (Börzel and Risse 2004; Jetschke 2013; Telo, Fawcett, and Ponjaert 2015). The ensuing conception of the EU as a very special political actor differing from conventional Great Power attitudes is best captured in Ian Manners’s seminal article characterizing Europe as a “normative power” (2002). Manners portrays the EU as an international actor relying much less on conventional military prowess than on the liberal-­cosmopolitan norms and values it stands for: democracy, respect for human rights, good governance, rule of law, protection of minorities, welfare, peaceful conflict resolution, and disarmament. It is thus hardly conceivable that the EU’s trajectory of regional integration would not be instructive for the more recent formation of regional organizations and the reforms of existing ones. In fact, evolving from the Europeanization literature at the turn of the millennium, numerous studies emerged claiming that many regional organizations to varying degrees imitated the EU institutions (see, inter alia, Bicchi 2006, Jetschke 2009, 2010; Börzel and Risse 2009; Börzel 2011; Alter 2012, Lenz 2012). Reflecting these insights, a research program located at the Free University of Berlin pursued the objective of examining systematically “The Transformative Power of Europe.”4 Many researchers focusing on processes of emulation were influenced by world polity theory. This assumed that organizations primarily respond to their organizational environment, emulating successful models in order to maintain their legitimacy and secure organizational survival (Meyer and Rowan 1977). Although world polity theory acknowledges that imitations often have only ceremonial character and may serve functions very different from the model—­leading to rhetoric-­action gaps, a process also known as “decoupling”—­it nevertheless maintains that due to emulation, organizations in a given organizational field become increasingly similar over time. One striking example Meyer mentions in this respect is the global advancement of the nation state (1987). DiMaggio and Powell also speak of a “startling homogenization of organizational forms and practices” across the globe (2002, 64). Variation is thereby regarded as deviation from the (Western) precursor model, signifying a mismatch and deficient institutional development (Schwinn 2009, 455).

4

introduction

Building on Weber and modernization theory, the starting point of world polity theory is a process of accelerating (bureaucratic) rationalization originating in the West, which is emulated in other parts of the world. Early globalization theory argued similarly. Organizational models developed in the West, the world’s most advanced region in terms of modernization, and spread to other parts of the globe as a result of a massive increase in interdependence, spurred by a digital technological revolution facilitating communication, information, and connectivity (Holzinger, Jörgens, and Knill 2007). Globalization was thus often equated with the universalization of Western ideas, norms, and policies; in short, a process of Westernization. Studies of comparative regionalism—­many of them authored by scholars academically socialized in research on the EU—­initially adopted the convergence perspective. The “Transformative Power of Europe” research program, for instance, assumed that the EU has a marked impact on other European and non-­European regional organizations. The “downloading” of the EU’s institutional design by other regional groupings such as ASEAN was thereby viewed as evidence of a process of increasing structural convergence (Börzel and Risse 2009, 13). A few years later, scholars influenced by the world polity school, informed by empirical evidence, arrived at more nuanced assessments and no longer considered the institutional design of regional organizations to be converging. Börzel, for instance, stated that regional institutions “do not converge towards a particular model,” although she continued to highlight increasing similarities “with regard to the delegation of new policy competence as well as executive and adjudicative authority” (2013, 510). Jetschke and Murray also admit that the “examination of EU institutions has not led to comprehensive and systematic copying of EU institutions” (2012, 174). They attribute the fact that “important differences remain” (Börzel 2013, 510) to selective emulation of models by regional organizations (Jetschke and Murray 2012, 176). However, although scholars inspired by the similarity paradigm backpedaled regarding the profoundness of similarities, most notably Börzel and van Hüllen (2015), many did not explicitly dissociate themselves from world polity theory. Jetschke, for instance, insists that it is “worthwhile exploring why regional organizations do not vary as radically as we might expect them to” (2015, 553). This means that the research focus is still on similarities, with regionalism believed to follow a “global script” (Jupille, Jolliff, and Wojcik 2013) influenced by European regionalism. Similarities are the dependent variable, the explanandum. Very much in line with modernization theory, emphasis is placed on the external dimension, which is seen as causing local norm

introduction

5

recipients to change—­either directly through coercion, capacity building, conditionalities, and a change of the incentive structure; indirectly through emulation and political learning; or through a combination of both modes (Risse 2015). In other words, it upholds the modernization theory perspective of pitting the West against the rest, although Risse rightly remarked that the connectivity between non-­Western regional organizations is a serious lacuna of comparative regionalism research (ibid.), and in a recent extension the “Transformative Power of Europe” project also began examining the EU as an object of diffusion (Börzel and Risse 2013).

Multiple Modernities, Difference, and Varieties of Regionalism While diffusion studies influenced by world polity theory investigate similarity, the focus in this book instead is on tracing and explaining difference. World polity theory overemphasizes structural similarities and underestimates cultural differences (Schmidt 2006, 81). It overrates macro processes and underrates local micro processes. World polity theory is culturally neutral and therefore lacks context sensitivity (Schwinn 2009). The similarities it posits are on such a high level of abstraction that they become insensitive to the ideational and normative differences of regional organizations. Difference is the overarching paradigm of the multiple modernities literature, which fundamentally questions the modernization theory’s credo of a trend toward homogenization and convergence of social phenomena as a result of globalization and the concomitant bureaucratic rationalization. Rejecting the unilinear evolutionism of world polity theory, the concept of multiple modernities maintains that the belief in only one modernity emanating from the West is a myth. Ascribing modernity only to the West is equivalent to elevating it “to the status of a world historical yardstick” (Wittrock 2000, 54; see also Schmidt 2006, 78). Instead, there are several modernities shaped by profound cultural differences and distinct historical experiences. This implies that institutional deviation from the Western script is not regarded as a deficit but rather as a different type, a variation of modernity. Pivotal for the multiple modernities paradigm is the assumption that modernization sets out from contingent cultural and historical constellations. In other words, modernization across the globe proceeds from very different cultural and historical heritages, and path dependence locks in these differences. Culture is not only a dependent variable, but also one that is causally antecedent to processes of modernization (Schwinn 2009, 463). Modern institutions are thus socially and culturally embedded, a fact that explains why even in the West modernity is variable and functions and the performance of organizations vary (460).

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Postcolonial approaches share with the multiple modernities concept the conviction that modernity should not be investigated from the perspective of a European and North American center, but they also criticized it for the rigidity of the self-­contained types of modernity it posits. By contrast, the “entangled modernity” approach (Randeria 1999) maintains that modernities have been the product of mutual influences; the result of transfers, connectivity, and diffusion. More recent studies on modernity take this critique into account and regard types of modernity as variations competing and interacting in an overarching global arena of modernity (Schwinn 2009, 465) or as variations characterized as “family differences” (Schmidt 2006, 82). This means that non-­Western regions adapt and refer to a set of globally diffused ideas and practices, but that “in their core identities these societies remain characterized by the form they acquired during much earlier periods of cultural crystallization” (Wittrock 2000, 55). It is not possible here to delve deeper into the subtleties of the debate about the nature of modernity, but the approaches critical of modernization theory and their epitome in the literature on comparative regionalism—­the world polity model—­have several advantages. Taking culture and historical trajectories seriously, they transcend the conceptualization of modernity as a culturally neutral project. They also display much more concern for the local level and the agency taking place there. All this greatly enhances their context sensitivity without sacrificing the potentials for generalization. In line with these meta-­theoretical thoughts that guide the analytical lens on the difference of regional organizations, I posit that there are “varieties of regionalism” (Duina 2006). Southeast Asian regionalism is one such variety. The crucial question of this book is thus to what extent foreign policy stakeholders in Indonesia, ASEAN’s largest member country by far, have retained this difference under the impact of external normative pressures seeking to Europeanize ASEAN. This entails studying the discourse on regionalism in Indonesia, which has been markedly facilitated by the country’s democratization after the forced resignation of President Suharto in May 1998. The book seeks to answer the questions: To what extent has the European model of regional integration changed the thinking of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders on regionalism in Southeast Asia? To what extent have processes of ideational diffusion taken place, and how have local norm recipients responded to this ideational and normative challenge? Or to put it more succinctly: Is there an “Indonesian way” to regionalism and foreign policymaking, as former foreign minister and vice president Adam Malik once claimed (1980, 278). While EU scholars have greatly enhanced our understanding of how ideas,

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norms, and policies travel, and thus of the mechanisms and processes of diffusion (Börzel and Risse 2012), their research agenda leaves several blind spots, which this books seeks to fill. One of these lacunae is what happens beyond the selective adoption of organizational structure and terminology in terms of ideational and norm (re)construction. Searching for clues as to how much of the EU’s organizational structure has been adopted is tantamount to focusing on epiphenomena of diffusion. While diffusion scholars centering their analysis on the EU and an outward-­in perspective of diffusion are well aware of processes of decoupling and functional divergence, they nevertheless neglect the stakeholders in recipient societies. Although—­inspired by Acharya’s work on “constitutive localization” (2004, 2009)—­studies emerged that proclaim to take the agency of local actors into account (Allison 2015), they did not dig deep enough to trace how precisely and to what extent new external ideas, norms, and policies are related to extant local ones, or what Acharya has termed the “cognitive prior” (2004, 2009). They leave largely unaccounted for what repository of ideas, norms, and knowledge elites in member countries of recipient regional organizations activate under external ideational pressure to reconstruct regionalism in a way that aids their agenda of legitimizing their rule and secures the survival at least of core elements of the established order. Most diffusion studies influenced by world polity scholarship treat recipient regional organizations as “black boxes” (Müller 2016) and therefore are unable to capture the micro processes of ideational and normative (re)construction (Schwinn 2009). It is hardly possible to better understand a regional organization when we do not explore how decoupling occurs and what the underlying ideational and normative configurations supporting it are. In fact, many diffusion studies do not care to examine the “spirit” of institutions, that is, the cultural values standing behind the organizational form (Schwinn, 2009, 465). The focus on legalist, institutionalist, and functionalist perspectives alone fails to generate these insights, a requisite of which is the profound knowledge of the (ideational) history and culture of the recipient societies. Many diffusion studies lack this knowledge. As far as ASEAN is concerned, they content themselves with examining the very general normative substance on which member countries could agree. Börzel and Risse (2010) are therefore principally right when arguing that diffusion studies imply an interdisciplinary approach. Studies on the diffusion of regionalism are thus by no means limited to international relations research: they must break up the compartmentalized structure of subdisciplines in political science. However, this does not only call for an opening of international relations research to comparative government and domestic politics (Poole

8

introduction

2013, 247), but—­even more important—­it also entails bringing back studies on intellectual history and the history of political thought. Unfortunately, the history of political thought plays an only marginal role in the disciplinary canon of non-­Western countries, with the effect that very little is known about where local ideas and norms come from, why and how they have been applied and “(re)produced” by political actors, and why they are more resilient than many Western social scientists deem them to be. Also, in Indonesia only a few studies exist in this field of research (Mintz 1965; Weatherbee 1967; Moertono 2009), and they are not necessarily authored only by political scientists, but also by philosophers (Magnis-­Suseno 1981, 1989) and anthropologists (Koentjaraningrat 1985). Tracing the history of political ideas enables researchers to establish a perspective of ideational longue durée, which is crucial for reconstructing the cognitive prior and the changes it underwent. Without historical depth and examining the trajectory of political ideas, diffusion studies tend to be biased toward assumptions of similarity and convergence under the impact of modernization. The reason is simple: without knowing the ideational substance of the cognitive prior, diffusion studies fail to comprehend the resilience of extant political ideas and the polyvalence of meaning that often accompanies them. Historical institutionalism and constructivist scholarship provide the tools for incorporating such ideational historical depth into diffusion studies, but none of the studies on ASEAN have so far ventured to deeply penetrate the cognitive prior. Allison at least went so far as claiming that a “cultural filter” prevented ASEAN from fully adopting the EU model, but she does not explore in detail the cultural “firewall” (Solingen 2012) that ASEAN member countries built up in order prevent a Europeanization of their regional integration project (Allison 2015). This book deviates from existing norm diffusion studies in yet another way. Most studies seek to reconstruct norm diffusion by focusing on the regional level. However, as regional organizations are collective actors, their repository of regional cooperation norms is the lowest common denominator; in fact, the norms that are agreeable to all member states. Such analysis forecloses a more comprehensive scrutiny of the variation of ideas on regionalism, as the ideational and normative underpinning of regionalism may vary from member to member and also within member countries. This normative substructure is significant, as paradigmatic changes within one or several countries may have major repercussions on the cohesion of a regional organization. They may foster cohesion, but they may also facilitate disintegration. Indonesia is a particularly apt case for such a study. It has strongly contributed to the formation of ASEAN, and as the largest and most popu-

introduction

9

lous country in Southeast Asia it has for most of the association’s existence claimed for itself the role of a regional leader. While this does not mean assuming that the largest member seeks to impose its values on others, it is nevertheless highly likely that Indonesia astutely tries to shape ASEAN’s normative foundation. In that sense the study also establishes links to the burgeoning research on emerging (regional) powers. One of the gaps in this field of research is the relationship between regional hegemony and regionalism or regional governance. “What is the role of regional powers,” Nolte asks, “with regard to the processes of political and economic cooperation/ integration in the corresponding regions?” (2010, 894). Referring to Pedersen’s concept of “cooperative hegemony” (2002), he highlights the fact that “regional institutionalization and integration are instruments of power aggregation (advantages of scale). This is especially important for emerging regional powers, which want to boost their influence in global politics” (Nolte 2010, 895). As constructing regionalism is a contested and negotiated process, not only among ASEAN members but also in the latter’s domestic domain, Indonesia’s metamorphosis from an authoritarian to a democratic polity makes such a study more feasible and insightful than in ASEAN’s authoritarian member states. Even taking into account Wirajuda’s claim that after democratization foreign policymaking remains an executive affair (2014, 29), it is certain that the number of foreign policy stakeholders increased significantly and that there is space for an open foreign policy discourse (Rüland 2009, 2014b). This will provide opportunities for a much deeper and broader account of the ideas floating on Southeast Asian regionalism. The drawback, of course, is that this analysis permits only partial conclusions for the ideational and normative development of ASEAN as a whole, evoking the need for similar studies in other ASEAN member countries. The book also directs attention to another issue overlooked in existing norm diffusion research. Organizational and terminological changes are often implicitly regarded as irreversible, reflecting again the persistent influence of modernization theory and its underlying assumption of a linear development toward modern organization. Whether this is really the case, or how frequently and to what extent reversals might take place, is rarely empirically tested. Such an approach ignores the fact that contingent scope conditions and the contested nature of regionalism, especially in democracies, leave open the extent to which new imported ideas consolidate (Legro 2000). This study questions the assumption of irreversibility of institutional and normative change. Ignoring the possibility of ideational backsliding constitutes another

10

introduction

bias toward similarity and convergence, which—­if longer periods of observation are chosen—­may not take place. Convergence, homogenization, similarity, and Westernization are reflective of an entrenched Western-­centrism in studies of international relations. Critical scholars have thus repeatedly deplored the idea that theory building in the discipline basically rests on Western historical experiences and cultural dispositions, with the result that universalized Western concepts and assumptions are often at variance when applied in non-­Western regions. One way of overcoming this Western hegemony in mainstream international relations research is to bridge discipline and the often maligned “area studies.”5 Such an attempt draws from recent disciplinary theoretical, conceptual, and methodological advancements, but it also applies these in such a way that they do not diminish the context sensitivity that is the hallmark of area studies (Huotari and Rüland 2014). The Western-­centrism of international relations research is even greater in a field of study such as comparative regionalism, in which—­due to the EU’s early formation—­historically Europe had a head start and which ever since has been dominated by Europeanists. Examining the foreign policy culture and the ideational panorama of Indonesia thus helps in better understanding why, how, and to what extent non-­Western thinking on regionalism differs from the EU model. Such a perspective helps to transcend the “epistemological Orientalism” (Bilgin 2008, 14), with its in-­built tendency to explain away difference by references to “teleological Westernization” characteristic for modernization theory-­driven research. It elevates non-­Western stakeholders to subjects of ideational change, and liberates them from their seeming role as “unthinking emulators” (ibid., 13–­14). These objectives can be achieved, if the diffusion process is analyzed from the perspective of the local recipients of external ideas and their agency in responding to these ideational challenges. Placing emphasis on the agency of local norm recipients (though without neglecting structure)—­as vocally demanded by Acharya (2004, 2009)—­has multiple advantages: it is a promising way first to overcome the focus on the agency of external (Western) norm entrepreneurs; second, to avoid the elevation of the EU to a global gold standard; third, to disregard norm diffusion as an essentially outward-­in process; and, fourth, to retain context sensitivity. I strongly believe that profound skepticism of homogenization trends; examination of the agency of local norm recipients and the way they reconstruct regionalism; and analysis of the history of ideas in a longue durée perspective may serve the purpose of writing a narrative of regionalism that is more in tune with the objective of a truly global international relations theory, an objective IR studies energetically should strive for (Acharya 2014a).

introduction

11

Organization of the Book This section briefly outlines the architecture of the book. The next chapter establishes a theoretical framework that strongly draws from Acharya’s theory of constitutive localization (2004, 2009), but also nuances and thereby extends the scope of Acharya’s work. Chapter 2 also lays out the methodology, which is mainly informed by qualitative and “soft” context-­sensitive interpretive analysis. Following this theoretical outline, Chapter 3 seeks to identify what Acharya calls the “cognitive prior” of Indonesian foreign policymaking and the orthodoxy of ideas, norms, and worldviews shared by ASEAN member governments, including Indonesia, prior to the Asian Financial Crisis, known as the “ASEAN Way.” This “cognitive prior” serves as a reference point for the ideational changes identified by the subsequent discourse analysis among Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders with regard to the country’s ASEAN policies. The third part of this chapter addresses the ideational changes driven by the disastrous effects of the Asian Financial Crisis, which seem to suggest a shift in the thinking on regionalism that, more than ever before, was inspired by European regional integration. The final section introduces the ASEAN Charter document adopted in 2007 and examines the similarities with the institutional design of the EU. Thereafter, Chapters 4 to 9 explore in accordance with the theoretical framework the ideas on Southeast Asian regionalism of six major stakeholder groups in Indonesian foreign policymaking—­ government, development NGO activists, legislators, academics, the press, and business representatives. Their thoughts have been made clear in the debate on the ASEAN Charter, which therefore stands at the center of my analysis. In these chapters, I let these stakeholder groups speak for themselves. The chapters thus examine perceptions, attitudes, worldviews, and identities. They therefore constitute much less an event-­oriented analysis of recent Indonesian foreign policies than a discourse analysis. Chapter 10 examines whether there are ideas on regionalism that may have been overlooked in the preceding chapters and to what extent the new, seemingly European, ideas on regional integration have been internalized and consolidated among Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders. The litmus test for consolidation is the retention of the foreign-­inspired liberal-­cosmopolitan ideas associated with regionalism, which many foreign policy stakeholders championed at the height of the ASEAN Charter debate, under the impact of challenges to Indonesian sovereignty in the field of security and the economic

12

introduction

realm. The cases selected for this test were the disputes on maritime borders with Malaysia and the coming into force of the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area (ACFTA). The last section of the chapter asks in what way the Jokowi government, inaugurated in October 2014, deviated from the seeming policy of Europeanizing Indonesia’s regional policies. Finally, Chapter 11 summarizes the results, relates them to previous diffusion research on ASEAN, reassesses previous findings, and reflects on the way in which the study has contributed to a bridging of disciplinary work and area studies and to a global international relations theory that pays more heed to experiences and events in non-­Western regions.

2

Theory and Methodology

The following chapter outlines the analytical framework that guides this book. This framework rests on recent advances in norm diffusion research that have been employed to develop a four-­point matrix of modes of norm diffusion. The chapter also details in which areas the book provides new theoretical insights to diffusion research. It ends with a section discussing the methodological choices and the research techniques I applied, and orients the reader on the empirical material analyzed in this book.

Modes of Norm Diffusion In Chapter 1, I argued that the question of similarity or difference among regional organizations is closely intertwined with a process of ideational or normative diffusion. A closer look at the literature reveals that in diffusion research two epistemological schools compete for explanatory superiority, although as I will show in the following, these approaches are more complementary than often suggested. The first school of thought may be summarized under the heading of rationalist theories, which posit that social interactions rest on a “logic of consequentialism.” They assume actors to be self-­interested utility maximizers searching for an optimal means-­end relationship (March and Olsen 1989). Actor preferences are regarded as pregiven, only prone to change when structural scope conditions—­the distribution of power or economic factors—­substantially alter. The rational choice paradigm is epitomized by the Rational Design of International Institutions (RDII) approach (Koremenos, Lipton, and Snidal

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theory and methodology

2001), which treats international institutions “as rational, negotiated responses to the problems international actors face” (ibid., 768). Depending on the functions to be performed, international institutions are, in other words, the result of conscious and deliberate design by member governments (766), focusing on five key dimensions: (1) membership rules, (2) scope of issues covered, (3) centralization of tasks, (4) rules for controlling the institution, and (5) flexibility of arrangements (763). Another variant of rationalist theories posits that the design of international institutions, in our case regional organizations, is the result of appropriating institutional or normative features of models that have proven successful in performing certain functions. The assumption here is that model recipients have engaged in political learning or lesson drawing. Political learning is thereby conceived as a “rational process involving replacing ignorance with knowledge to enhance functional outcome” (Marsh and Sharman 2009, 282). Yet political learning or lesson drawing should not be mistaken for systematic knowledge generation through academic research. As policymakers seek “to dissipate dissatisfaction,” political learning is for them a search for assurance that the ideas, norms, or policies they pursue “have worked before, or been effective elsewhere” (Rose 1993, 10). Therefore, external models very often are adopted without rigorous academic scrutiny, a practice Weyland has termed “bounded learning” (Weyland 2005). Political learning may also include the adoption of foreign models as a result of competition and/or material incentives such as conditionalities and capacity building (Elkins, Guzman, and Simmons 2006; Börzel and Risse 2012, 6). The second school of thought is strongly influenced by reflexivist theorizing. Although reflexivist theories do not deny that social interaction may be driven by material considerations and rational choice, by focusing on norms, ideas, values, identities, knowledge, and culture they emphasize the cognitive and legitimacy dimensions of social interactions. What is legitimate is what is appropriate; behavior that is routinized and internalized practice. This “logic of appropriateness” (March and Olsen 1989) is constitutive for reflexivist theories. Although such a view may lead to path-­dependent behavior, reflexivist theories are nevertheless open to change and contingency. As institutions and regional organizations are regarded as socially constructed, the result of discursive and intersubjective processes (or endogenous preference building), institutional, ideational, and normative change is accorded greater space than in rationalist theories. Reflexivist theories potentially offer a greater explanatory scope than rationalist theories, as they evade the latter’s Cartesian instrumental logic and rigid exogenous preference-­building. While reflexivist theories

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have to contend with the criticism that they tend to ignore power, they are able to conceptualize power as a multidimensional process. Reflexivist or cognitive approaches are thus able to capture not only compulsory, institutional, and structural power but also productive power. This is the result of persuasive arguments (Barnett and Duvall 2005) and thus a variant of power, which is highly relevant for the study of ideational and normative diffusion. Moreover, by focusing on the appropriateness of norms, reflexivist theories inherently entail a historical dimension, which allows for the tracing of the ideational roots of institutions and the capturing of their cultural peculiarities. They may thus help to overcome what Hurrell criticized as “a dearth of serious historical work on regionalism [outside Europe], particularly regional institutions, the history of regionalist ideas and the ways in which regions have been constructed and imagined” (Hurrell 2007, 134). Overall, reflexivist theories are therefore culturally more adept than rationalist theories and thus offer a greater chance of sidestepping the Western-­centrism trap characteristic of the latter. One variant of reflexivist theory particularly apt for examining diffusion processes and connectivity is sociological institutionalism. Diffusion thereby “connotes the socially mediated spread of some practice within a population” (Strang and Meyer 1993, 487). In other words, diffusion studies explore how and under which conditions ideas, norms, beliefs, worldviews, policies, and knowledge travel from a region of origin to other parts of the world (Finnemore and Sikkink 1998). The current third generation of constructivist (norm) diffusion theories1 transcends the modernization-­theory-­inspired liberal ontology and the teleological bias of the early sociological institutionalism influenced by world polity theory. Acharya’s theory of constitutive localization, for instance, attaches ideational agency not only to external (Western) norm entrepreneurs but also to local norm recipients. It perceives normative change as a process with multiple outcomes. Acharya argues that local norm recipients rarely adopt new external norms completely; in fact, complete normative transformation is the exception rather than the rule. Much more likely is that norm recipients reconstruct external norms in a way that matches the preexisting local repository of norms. They adjust the new norms to the normative orthodoxy through framing, grafting, and pruning (ibid.), thereby modernizing them and endowing the old order with fresh legitimacy. Framing is a communicative strategy giving meaning to events and observed phenomena. In politics, which is about crafting social order, it entails embedding ideas, norms, and images into narratives promoting the envisaged political objectives. Through framing, actors seek to show that their normative

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theory and methodology

agenda is significant, superior to ideational orthodoxies or competing ideas; that it may improve existing conditions; and why it is appropriate (Goffman 1974; Entman 1993; Benford and Snow 2000; Schlipphak 2009; Druckman 2011). Grafting denotes the construction of a nexus between old local and new external ideas (Acharya 2004, 2009). It is a tactic norm entrepreneurs employ to institutionalize a new norm “by associating it with a pre-­existing norm in the same issue area” (Acharya 2004, 243). Finally, in order to match extant local ideas and new external ideas, these must be pruned. Acharya defined pruning as a process of “selecting those elements of the new norm which fit the pre-­existing normative structure and rejecting those which do not” (251). By incorporating norm recipients’ agency into norm diffusion theory, Acharya made a significant contribution enabling researchers to overcome the Western-­centrism in theorizing norm diffusion. As it is the objective of this book to examine the discourse of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders on regionalism under the impact of external ideational challenge, it strongly draws from Acharya’s theory of constitutive localization. However, while Acharya’s theory is persuasive and now in the process of diffusing to diffusion scholarship, diffusion is more complex than Acharya’s theory suggests. There are four areas in which I believe this study can provide added value to diffusion theory. First, it addresses the necessity of expanding the typology of responses of norm recipients to external challenges. As preliminary empirical evidence suggests, relatively few cases fall under the two extremes of the diffusion continuum, that is, “complete rejection” and “complete transformation.” Consequently, if everything except “rejection” or “transformation” is classed as “localization,” then this would become a residual category and lose some of its analytical value. I therefore propose a four-­point scale of responses, distinguishing complete rejection, mimicry, localization, and complete transformation (see Table 2.1).2 In previous studies on ASEAN I have shown that, depending on the context, norm recipients responded quite selectively to normative pressure, exhibiting rejection, mimicry, and localization (Rüland 2014a). Although I did not expect such a variety of responses for Indonesia, I could not rule out that responses among Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders also vary. The four types of responses are dynamic and differ along structure-­agency constellations, whereby structure relates to systemic factors while the actor dimension relates to the extent of ideational change, mode of communication, extent of identity change, and political learning. A structural condition conducive for complete rejection is a low degree of transnational interdependence, which impedes coalitions between external

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cognitive prior

Table 2.1. Modes of Norm Diffusion Structural Dimension

Complete Rejection

Extent of Ideational Change

Mode of Communication

Extent of Identity Change

Degree of Political Learning

Resilience of a regime

No change

No public discourse, or hegemonic discourse

No change

No or only very limited political learning

External pressure

Change of formal structure, no change of norms and causal beliefs

Mimicry

No public discourse, or hegemonic discourse

No change

Limited political learning

Localization

External and internal pressure

Fusion of old and new norms

Public discourse with open contestation

Partial change

Considerable processes of political learning

Complete Transfor-­ mation

External world, crises

Complete change of norms

Communicative action

Complete change

Strong processes of political learning

Source: Adapted from Rüland and Manea 2012 and Rüland 2014a.

and local norm entrepreneurs and isolates local audiences amenable to ideational change from cross-­border discursive and informational flows. In addition, an ideational orthodoxy deeply rooted in a society’s collective memory may trigger rejection, as in this case the existing normative order is widely perceived as appropriate and hence legitimate. It remains intact even at critical junctures and in situations of great insecurity and uncertainty, whereas under normal circumstances external shocks and crises erode the legitimacy of the normative orthodoxy and give credence to new ideas and norms (Legro 2000). Rejection may also be an option if the recipient society can marshal abundant material resources, or if it is not in need of external recognition, reducing the efficacy of conditionalities, which external norm entrepreneurs may employ to spur ideational change. Large countries such as Russia and China are therefore better placed to reject new external norms (Björkdahl, Chaban, Leslie, and Masselot 2015, 250). As the old normative order obviously provides the goods that it is expected to deliver, the incentive for political learning and drawing from best practices elsewhere is low or even nonexistent. In that case,

Degree of Political Learning

Cognitive Prior

Actor Dimensions Mode of Diffusion

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theory and methodology

a society faced with normative challenges may resist external ideational pressures for a long time. Norm diffusion in such cases is very limited or may not occur at all. A large, economically successful regime may even counter external normative challenges by trying to export its own normative order, again a choice chiefly available to large countries such as China. Actor capabilities favoring rejection include the ability of powerful elites to thwart ideational challenges either by physical repression or by persuasion. Physical repression stifles discourse entirely or at best establishes a hegemonic discourse. Persuasion involves credibly arguing that the new paradigms do not produce results superior to those of the extant ideational order. Under both conditions, an identity change in the recipient society is quite unlikely. Most governments relying on force to suppress externally induced normative change are unable to sustain rejection. They provoke unrelenting external denunciation, in the process attract pariah status, and without sufficient material resources and “soft power” (Nye 1990) sooner or later succumb to the combined effects of growing external pressure and mounting domestic opposition. Examples in which all or some of these criteria apply include the rejection of liberal democracy by autocracies during the Cold War period or Myanmar between 1962 and 2010. Mimicry3 is a concept that, following Meyer and Rowan (1977) and DiMaggio and Powell (2002), denotes a response of organizations to their social environment. Organizations seeking legitimacy and struggling for survival imitate the most advanced organization in their field. Structural conditions for facilitating mimicry of external ideas, norms, organizational models, and policies exist, if governments first and foremost seek to satisfy an international audience and muster a modicum of external legitimacy (Rüland and Manea 2012) while constraining or ignoring local advocates of the new external norms. The decision to emulate the design and terminology of an organizational model is thereby exclusively made by an inner ruling circle without public discourse. Yet actors resorting to mimicry content themselves with organizational adjustments that remain declaratory, symbolic, and ceremonial. This results in decoupling in the form of rhetoric-­action gaps and a disconnection between the norms underlying the emulated model and the normative orthodoxy (DiMaggio and Powell 2002). The latter remains almost untouched under the surface of seemingly reformed organizational structures and produces functional inefficiencies. Hence, mimicry does not entail strong pressures for political learning as a motivation for adopting external ideas or the organizational models associated with them. Capacity-­building measures and the

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search for best practices thus tend to be confined to pro forma exercises. At best, policymakers emulate the easy parts of such measures and omit the hard lessons needed to make them effective (Rose 1993, 20). It is not in the interest of norm recipients to facilitate even a partial transformation of their identity, nor to jeopardize the political status quo. Said inefficiencies, though, make the gains in legitimacy fragile and expose the respective regime to more normative challenges. In addition, reversals reinstating the old normative order may occur if the structure of the international system changes or new actors take over government. Examples of mimicry are the responses of many authoritarian governments or hybrid regimes to externally driven human rights or security governance reforms. Localization transcends mere rhetorical appropriation of new organizational structures and external norms by local recipients. If mimicry is largely a preemptive move to forego, or at least ease, diffuse external normative challenges, localization is the result of much greater normative pressures. These pressures manifest themselves in public contestation, which requires at least a modicum of open political space. Structural constellations enabling such discourses are critical junctures, periods of crisis or external shocks with which the normative orthodoxy fails to cope (Legro 2000; Acharya 2004, 2009). “The more intense the shock is,” argues Biermann, “the more it causes cognitive dissonance, discredits prevailing beliefs, gives rise to alternative conceptions of reality and motivates new political behavior” (Biermann 2008, 161). At the agency level, the ensuing discourse may persuade adherents of the normative orthodoxy of the superiority of the new external norms and thereby trigger wholesale normative transformation. However, normally such a scenario only leads to limited concessions by the bearers of the extant local norms in the form of fusing the new norms with the normative orthodoxy. Localization thus constitutes a syncretist strategy for limiting the costs of retaining major elements of the ideational orthodoxy. However, it also entails a partial transformation of identity among the norm recipients and changes societal notions of what is normatively appropriate. Such a partial transformation can be identified if the norm recipients adopt certain elements of the new ideas by translating them into limited, albeit substantive, institutional reforms (Acharya 2009, 25). Localization occurs when the external norm entrepreneurs find vocal allies, that is, “insider proponents,” within the recipient society (Acharya 2009, 15), when there are actors able to mediate between the external and the local worlds (Shawki 2011, 4), and when the ancien régime must upgrade both its international reputation and its domestic legitimacy. Ideational pressures leading to localization must thus be markedly stronger than in the case of mimicry.

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theory and methodology

Localization may be spurred by factors similar to those of mimicry, but unlike the latter it may also be driven by functional needs and thus entail a genuine desire for political learning on the part of norm recipients. Yet even though localization alters the normative orthodoxy, local norm recipients often seek to make them congruent with the “cognitive prior” through framing, grafting, and pruning so that the core, or even a major part, of the old set of norms is retained (Acharya 2009). In this respect, localization is a form of muted resistance through filtering externally propagated ideas, norms, and policies (Großklaus 2015). The cognitive prior denotes “an existing set of ideas, belief systems, and norms, which determine and condition an individual or social group’s receptivity to new norms” (Acharya 2009, 21). How far the synthesis of new external and extant local norms tilts toward the transformation pole on the diffusion continuum and the extent to which it preserves the normative orthodoxy depend on several factors. Large and powerful states with a deeply entrenched “cognitive prior” are more likely to retain core elements of the old normative order. Smaller, less affluent and resourceful states and regional organizations or governments less able to respond effectively to functional needs may decide to adopt a greater part of the new norms and ideas. As it is more favorably disposed toward political learning, localization also entails greater concern for organizational efficiency than mimicry. Hence, it creates less pronounced rhetoric-­action gaps and may thereby protect the regime or regional organization from further destabilizing normative challenges. Nevertheless, as in the case of mimicry, reversals of localization—­to mimicry or rejection—­may occur if the structure of the international system changes or new actors take over government. Examples of localization may be the many hybrid political systems that emerged during the Third Wave of democratization. Last, complete transformation signifies a process of jettisoning the “cognitive prior,” fully adopting a new paradigm, developing a great concern for political learning, and forming a new collective identity (Radaelli 2000, 14). Structural conditions favoring transformation exist when the normative orthodoxy no longer meets the expectations associated with it and when the new norms consolidate or, in other words, become internalized or even habitualized (Legro 2000, 424). Transformative changes usually follow a disastrous crisis, which annihilates all previous certainties, and a complete failure of the normative orthodoxy to respond to dramatically altered functional needs. Under these circumstances, external agents find sufficient domestic support in the crisis-­stricken society. They benefit from the fact that the extant normative order is widely discredited, especially if it is seen to have triggered the

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crisis and if there is waning confidence in its ability to cope with it. Hence, there is a growing sentiment that it must be replaced (ibid.). The new order consolidates if the normative transformation and the concomitant adoption of foreign organizational designs are the outcome of “communicative action” or “arguing,” that is, a two-­sided deliberative process in search of the better argument (Risse 2000, 7). If the new ideas fail to meet expectations, the ideational orthodoxy is likely to regain influence, causing normative gridlock between old and new ideas or a relapse into localization in order to overcome the stalemate. Failure may occur if the new normative order is the result of coercion and imposition, after a lost war for instance, or of conditionalities including the threat of sanctions and material inducements. If under such circumstances the new order proves unable to produce the (public) goods expected of it, resistance against it grows and advocates of the old order and the ancien régime regain discursive ground. In political reality, there are few cases of a complete transformation of normative orders. Possible examples include the adoption of a liberal order by Germany after the defeat of the Nazi regime and, to a lesser extent, the democratization of Japan after the Second World War. As complete rejection and complete transformation constitute highly conditional responses to external normative pressures, we may expect local actor responses to normally lie in the middle ground between these two poles. This means that the most likely responses are either mimicry or localization. In fact, as far as Indonesia is concerned, localization is the most likely response we may expect from foreign policy stakeholders to external normative pressures in the field of regionalism. In Indonesia, the Asian Financial Crisis shattered the credibility of the normative orthodoxy of the ASEAN Way. ASEAN was able neither to contain nor to manage the crisis; it was virtually sidelined, and Indonesia had to succumb to the rescue packages of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) with their humiliating conditionalities. ASEAN subsequently came under heavy criticism, primarily from observers outside the region, though there was also a groundswell of criticism from within the region spearheaded by the media and academics (Sukma 2011, 97). Many of these critics advocated a thorough reform of the ASEAN Way, which they held responsible for ASEAN’s seeming ineffectiveness at meeting the region’s major challenges. While ASEAN rhetorically distanced itself from European integration for many years by claiming to be a model of regionalism in its own right, the post-­Asian-­crisis years saw an increasing rapprochement with concepts characteristic of European-­ style regional integration. The association, critics argued, needed to strengthen

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theory and methodology

regional cohesion by deepening the process of integration. Almost inevitably, in newly democratizing Indonesia the ensuing debate on reforming Southeast Asian regionalism became closely associated with liberal-­cosmopolitan norms propagated by the EU, such as democracy, respect for human rights, good governance, and rule of law. In Indonesia, post-­Suharto democratization provided sufficient space for domestic debates, which, as argued earlier, is a major precondition for localization. However, the new democratic norms faced strong ideational legacies. After all, the Indonesian “Staatsidee” rested on antiliberal, antipluralist organic state theory imported from pre–­Second World War Europe and amalgamated with local variants of organicism derived from Hindu-­Brahmanic conceptualizations of power, rule, and statehood (Anderson 1972; Reeve 1985; Simanjuntak 1989; Bourchier 1999, 2015; Lindsey 2006) (see also Chapter 3). Organicist collectivism thus became the normative foundation of Indonesian nationalism. This powerful “cognitive prior,” I will argue, has not been fully transformed or displaced in post-­Suharto Indonesia. The Asian Financial Crisis may have shattered the expectations associated with it, but the expectations associated with the new democratic orthodoxy were also not completely fulfilled. The transitional years after President Suharto’s departure were filled with political turmoil resulting from intra-­elite power struggles, separatist challenges, and slow economic recovery (Liddle 1999; O’Rourke 2002). Foreign policy disasters such as the circumstances surrounding the East Timor independence referendum; the subsequent secession of the province from Indonesia; and encroachments on territory by neighbors, which, as in the case of the Ligitan and Sipadan islands, were sanctioned by the international Court of Justice, further exacerbated the widespread sentiment of doom. The seeming ineffectiveness of the new ideational orthodoxy thus paved the way for conditions, which provided fertile ground for localization. A second area in which this book provides added value to diffusion theory is by suggesting that Acharya’s theory does not fully exhaust the array of strategies agents may apply in the process of localization. For instance, norm recipients might not graft the new external norms with extant local norms but, in reverse, might frame and graft the extant local norms with the new external norms. Policymakers or nonstate insider proponents apply such a strategy when they seek to introduce new external ideas, norms, and policies that they fear will be unpopular among large parts of the public. To implement at least a modicum of normative change and the related policies, supporters of the new external paradigms resort to a localization strategy that makes the public believe that ideational and policy changes, and hence their material impact on

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living conditions, remain marginal. With such a strategy, they hope to avert political protest and sustained resistance against new policies. As we will see in Chapter 10, Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders also use this strategy. While Acharya’s localization theory stresses the agency of norm recipients, the concept of localization should not obscure processes in which agency is less pronounced on the part of local norm recipients than on the part of external norm entrepreneurs. Where external norm entrepreneurs anticipate that norm recipients may respond with resolute rejection, they may resort to preemptive localization. In such cases, the external norm entrepreneurs do not propagate the new ideas, norms, and policies in their pure alien form but preemptively adjust them by fusing them with what they believe is the cognitive prior of the norm recipient even before they target the latter. As we shall see in Chapter 3, the EU applied such a strategy when propagating democracy in Asia. In addition, pruning is also more complex than the original localization theory suggests. If Acharya argues that pruning denotes a process of “selecting those elements [of the new norm] which fit the pre-­existing normative structure and rejecting those which do not” (2004, 251), it is only a one-­sided process. However, as we shall see later in the empirical chapters, pruning is a dual process, meaning that as well as properties of the newly imported external ideas, components of the cognitive prior must also be cut and deleted from the respective original ideas. Third, preliminary empirical evidence suggests that diffusion is by no means only a unilinear process. Rather, it is multi-­ or even omnidirectional. Often ideas, norms, or policies are not transmitted directly from one region to another: in many cases, they take detours. Organic state theory, for instance, did come to Southeast Asia directly from Europe, but it was also mediated through Japan and Latin America (Rüland 2014a). In the latter case, it cannot be ruled out that the ideas that reached Southeast Asia were already localized along the way. This is also an important reason why convergence and homogenization are quite unlikely as outcomes of diffusion. In the book, I thus devote particular attention to diffusion processes that transcend the linear EU-­Indonesia direction. Moreover, local norm recipients intent on changing the cognitive prior often do not seek orientation from only one model. The front-­running and seemingly best-­performing organization may serve as a major source of inspiration, but often norm recipients pick and choose ideational and normative elements from multiple models. With respect to Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, this means that the EU may be a great source of inspiration, but

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in reforming ASEAN, they look not only to Europe but also to Latin America and Africa. In several of the subsequent chapters, we will encounter cases in which foreign policy stakeholders looked beyond Europe for inspiration such as, for instance, NGOs championing the Latin American concept of “alternative regionalism.” The obvious fact that norm entrepreneurs carefully select from several organizations in their reformist endeavors also adds a rationalist element of learning or bounded learning to their actions. Norm recipients may also seek to export their own models. They may be the target of external norm entrepreneurs but, as shown earlier, they may reject the external ideas and norms or localize them and at the same time try to act as norm entrepreneurs in their own right. ASEAN is a suitable example. While rejecting or localizing European norms of regional integration, the association has been successful in serving as a sovereignty-­retaining model to be emulated by other regional organizations of the Global South. Even in fora such as the Asia-­Europe Meeting (ASEM), where ASEAN directly interacted with the EU, it succeeded in persuading the latter that a workable interregional relationship must include core norms of Southeast Asian regionalism. Fourth, and finally, Acharya’s theory of “constitutive localization” also transcends earlier constructivist theorizing by overcoming the latter’s state-­centric bias. These studies focused, as Landolt argued, primarily on elite socialization. By downplaying domestic material factors and political processes, a major strand of constructivist studies shares with neorealism the problem that states appear as unitary actors (Landolt 2004, 581). Although Acharya himself remained caught in the statist perspective by predominantly studying the role of governmental responses to external normative challenges (Acharya 2004, 2009), his theory allows for the expansion of the scope of actors by also studying the role of local nonstate actors. This adds a bottom-­up and inward-­out dimension to the dominant top-­down and outward-­in perspective in diffusion studies. For Indonesia, such a “bottom-­up” perspective is crucial. Although Wirajuda is correct in his observation that even in the Era Reformasi foreign policymaking is still dominated by governmental actors (Wirajuda 2014, 29), it is also true that democratization markedly widened the scope for nonstate stakeholders to influence foreign policymaking. This is ample justification for this study to probe how far ideas on regional cooperation are defined and imposed not only by the government and state bureaucracy but also by nonstate actors “from below.”

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Methodology This book qualifies as a single case study identifying the ideas and beliefs of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders concerning ASEAN and exploring whether there is an approximation of European and Indonesian ideas on regionalism. Indonesia was selected as a “most likely case” (Gerring 2008), suggesting that due to the country’s democratization, its size, and its regional leadership ambitions, it is the member country most likely to transcend the orthodoxy of regional cooperation norms known as the ASEAN Way and thereby also change its own age-­honored foreign policy doctrines, which are strongly informed by political realism (see Chapter 3). If the subsequent analysis shows that even Indonesia is not adopting the liberal-­cosmopolitan values usually associated with the EU, the likelihood that ASEAN is becoming similar to the EU—­as claimed by various diffusion scholars—­remains remote. While a single case study is context sensitive but not amenable to generalizations, it is here complemented by diachronic and synchronic in-­case comparisons, which place the book’s findings on a more robust foundation. Reconstructing the flow of ideas necessitates diachronic comparison (Huotari and Rüland 2014, 421) as, when assessing the impact of new external ideas on local beliefs, it is crucial to know which ideas, attitudes, and beliefs previously dominated in the recipient population. Without knowledge of this “cognitive prior,” which Chapter 3 explores, it is impossible to analyze ideational change. Indonesian democratization facilitated a pluralization of foreign policy stakeholders. Nevertheless, participatory pressures are also the result of the growing impact that regional decisions made by ASEAN member governments have on the region’s societies. Regional policies progressively shape economic competitiveness, affect land-­use patterns, stimulate or slow down labor migration, spur or alleviate poverty, facilitate or hinder environmental sustainability, and enhance or undermine the physical security of the population. In other words, regional policymaking increasingly and tangibly affects the living conditions of ever-­broader segments of the population. Thus, unsurprisingly, members of the Indonesian legislature, business organizations, non-­governmental development organizations, parts of the academe, and the press increasingly call for more inclusive decision making at the regional level, providing a firm basis for synchronic in-­case comparison (Gerring 2008). Among the six stakeholder groups examined in this book, the government is undoubtedly the most relevant. It is for this reason that I open the scrutiny of stakeholder positions in the discourse on ASEAN regionalism and its significance for Indonesia with government officials (Chapter 4). These include the

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president and his or her staff, the foreign minister, officials of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and representatives of other ministries involved in issues of regional cooperation and foreign affairs. With democratization, non-­governmental organizations (NGOs) proliferated in Indonesia. They have become vocal players in Indonesia’s domestic political arena and often act as advocates for socially marginalized groups or as watchdogs over government policies. Some of these NGOs, including labor unions, have increasingly targeted decision-­making processes in ASEAN and the policies emanating from them, most notably economic policies and issues such as labor migration, environmental sustainability, and human rights. Groups championing these issues have formed national and regional networks. Their resolutions and the statements of their representatives have a marked impact on public opinion regarding ASEAN and Indonesian foreign policymaking. In this study, I concentrate on the views aired by representatives of large Indonesian NGOs such as the Institute of Global Justice, Kontras, Imparsial, Infid, Migrant Care, Walhi, and the Human Rights Working Group. As these groups constitute the most vocal government critics, I decided to place them in Chapter 5, immediately after the chapter on executive actors, in order to bring into sharper relief the differences between these two stakeholder groups. All legislators who participated in the ASEAN Charter debate were members of the Indonesian national legislature, the Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR) (Chapter 6). The DPR has formed a commission, Komisi I, which aside from defense and information screens the government’s foreign policies. The members of Komisi I are thus key actors in shaping the DPR’s views on ASEAN, Southeast Asian regionalism, and Indonesian foreign policy, even though other commissions such as Komisi III, on human rights and legal affairs, and Komisi VI on Trade and Industries, also discuss regional affairs. In the last two decades, there has been an upsurge in the study of international relations in Indonesia (Hadiwinata 2009b). Meanwhile, all major universities have international relations departments, think tanks have mushroomed, and, consequently, the number of scholars interested in Indonesia’s foreign policy has markedly increased in comparison with the Suharto era. University lecturers and think tank scholars have since become an important and vocal group in the foreign policy community. In my analysis in Chapter 7, I include in the category of academics not only university lecturers and think tank researchers, but also PhD candidates. Many doctoral students, even those studying abroad, have been particularly active participants in the debate on ASEAN and Indonesian foreign policy. Frequently, foreign policy stakeholders seek to amplify their views through

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close interaction with the press. Media publications become sounding boards for politicians, government officials, legislators, academics, business representatives, and NGO activists. But very often, through editorials commenting on the government’s foreign policy and the state of affairs in regional integration, the print media in particular become political actors in their own right (Rüland, Lang, and Wiese 2014). While it is not always easy to disentangle whose interests they promote, it is clear that the press influences opinion in the foreign policy community and the wider public. In Chapter 8, I take a close look at editorials and opinion pieces authored by leading Indonesian journalists. Businesspeople are a group strongly affected by regional policies. Deepening regional integration changes the parameters of economic competition, and while some firms regard regional market-­opening policies as an opportunity, others worry about the anticipated adverse repercussions on their competitiveness (Rüland 2016b). Hence, it may be expected that economic interest organizations have strong views on ASEAN and Southeast Asian regionalism. Foremost among these business organizations are the Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industries (KADIN), the Indonesian Employers’ Association (APINDO), and numerous industrial and professional associations. Representatives of these associations form another major stakeholder group, whose views on ASEAN I will explore in Chapter 9. While these stakeholder groups influence Indonesian foreign policy, they are by no means homogenous, a fact that the subsequent empirical chapters reflect. Keen observers of Indonesian politics may also note the absence of other actors such as the armed forces or, in view of the upsurge of political Islam, Muslim representatives. The view of the armed forces on regionalism is—­as far as has been aired in public—­included in the chapter on the government positions and in Chapter 10. Islam has never been a priority in Indonesian external relations (Sukma 2006, 5; Wirajuda 2014, 98), although in the Era Reformasi the government has been careful not to offend the Muslim audience through its foreign policies (Wirajuda 2014, 110). The few Islamic voices on regionalism have thus been subsumed under legislators’ and NGOs’ views. The debate on Indonesia’s foreign policy identity triggered by the ASEAN Charter has crystallized Indonesian views on Southeast Asian regionalism more clearly than any other. The discussion about the merits and flaws of the Charter culminated in the hotly debated question of whether ASEAN should remain the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy. Closely associated with this question is the issue of the extent to which Indonesia’s foreign policy should be bound by common regional concerns or, put differently, how autonomous it should be. The debates surrounding the ASEAN Charter

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thus constitute an important process of soul searching regarding Indonesia’s regional and global identity. It is therefore well justifiable to focus the subsequent analysis on the debates about the ASEAN Charter. While, arguably, democratization of ASEAN as a regional organization is proceeding slowly (Rüland 2014a), it can hardly be denied that consultative processes involving nonstate stakeholders have intensified over the last ten years. ASEAN is thus increasingly approximating a system of multilevel governance in which state actors interact with nonstate protagonists. This qualifies ASEAN as an emerging system of regional governance (Rosenau 1992; Rüland and Jetschke 2008). As such, however imperfect, ASEAN is also increasingly performing the three core functions the literature ascribes to governance (Czempiel 1981; Risse and Lehmkuhl 2006), that is political order functions, welfare functions, and security functions. In the case of regional organizations, political order functions denote the authoritative creation and enforcement of rules emanating from decisions made at the regional level, such as, for instance, those related to the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC) or treaties such as that of ASEAN Transboundary Haze Pollution. Even more important, they also reflect how decisions are made. Is decision making an inclusive and participatory process, or is it exclusive, state-­centered, and elitist (Collins 2008, 2013)? Does it facilitate the emergence of a “participatory regionalism” (Acharya 2003), or does it entrench forms of “regional corporatism” (Rüland 2014a)? Welfare functions refer to the need for governance to create material benefits for the population such as accelerated economic growth, better social protection, or environmental sustainability. Finally, security functions target a region’s external security, for instance curtailing Great Power influence, but they may also relate to transnational issues such as the fight against trans-­border criminality or transnationally operating insurgencies. Conceptualizing ASEAN as an emerging multilevel governance system enables me to devote particular attention to the question of how stakeholders frame the ASEAN Charter’s utility in these three broad policy areas. How stakeholders frame the utility of the Charter and which attitudes about regionalism can be extracted from their statements is primarily uncovered by employing qualitative and interpretive methods. Accordingly, my primary sources are two sets of texts: a first corpus of 245 press articles, which in their majority are opinion pieces authored by representatives of the six stakeholder groups just identified, media interviews with them, reprints or excerpts of important speeches held by them, and editorials. These texts let the stakeholders speak for themselves, providing insights into their thinking and help-

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ing to identify their mind-­sets. The second, and larger, corpus of texts includes hundreds of press reports on ASEAN, Indonesian ASEAN policies, and Indonesian foreign policy. Apart from these sources a plethora of websites, blogs, and published and unpublished reports, as well as the accessible English-­and Indonesian-­language scholarly literature, have been analyzed. This second corpus of texts provides background information, helping to contextualize stakeholder opinions and cross-­check the ideas presented in stakeholders’ opinion pieces. The press analysis included English-­language dailies such as The Jakarta Post and the Jakarta Globe and newspapers published in Bahasa Indonesia such as Kompas, Media Indonesia, Merdeka, Republika, Suara Hidayatullah, Suara Pembaruan, and Jawa Pos; news magazines such as Tempo Interaktif, Gatra, and Kabar Bisnis; and, finally, articles published by the Indonesian government news agency Antara and Internet news portal DetikNews. Newspapers published by the Gramedia group (The Jakarta Post, Kompas) and the Jakarta Globe (owned by the Riady family) predominantly champion a nationalist and laicist cause. The same holds true for Media Indonesia and Merdeka, newspapers of the Tempo group, and Suara Pembaruan, a paper close to Protestant Christians. Republika stands for a moderate political Islam, Suara Hidayatullah for a more militant variant of Islam. During fieldwork I had full access to the archives of The Jakarta Post and Kompas at the head offices of the two newspapers in Jakarta, enabling me to download all relevant articles on the ASEAN Charter that appeared between January 2006 and December 2009. In the case of the other newspapers, access to press articles was less complete, as I had to rely on their online archives, which in most cases displayed only a limited number of articles. Yet, despite full access to The Jakarta Post and Kompas archives, the distribution of the texts authored by representatives of the six stakeholders groups is uneven, to some extent reflecting the intensity of their involvement in the debate. Not unexpectedly, the most prolific contributors were members of the academe, followed by the government, media representatives, development NGOs, the business sector, and legislators. However, the small number of texts authored by legislators could be easily compensated for through the analysis of the second corpus of press reports mentioned above, which abundantly quoted legislators and other stakeholders. The drawback of these quotations is that they are rather short, are influenced by the questions of the reporters, and may be taken out of context. They must thus be taken with a pinch of salt.Yet the analysis shows that these quotations provide a clearly consistent picture of the ideas of legislators on the ASEAN Charter, Southeast Asian regionalism, and

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Indonesia’s role as a regional actor. Unfortunately, however, business representatives were also underrepresented in this supplementary text corpus. While the three governance functions identified earlier and the pertinent argumentative frames are deduced from the theoretical literature, in a second round of analysis, I chose an inductive approach with the objective of, first, cross-­checking the results of the first round of examination, and second, finding keywords linking the identified interpretations of regionalism with the “cognitive prior.” Through this procedure I sought to identify (1) additional frames used by stakeholder groups for assessing the utility of the Charter and ASEAN as a whole (Gläser and Laudel 2011: 11); (2) the concepts and ideas stakeholders used for creating the ideational nexus between new ideas on regionalism and the “cognitive prior” (grafting); and (3) the process of making old and new ideas and norms congruent through cutting some elements from the new ideas and the ideational orthodoxy (pruning). For this purpose I coded the texts, although without application of computer-­aided programs such as MAXQDA or Atlas-­ti. Important keywords identified in this second interpretive round included “free and active,” “survival,” “undergoing difficult times,” “national interest,” “soft power,” “leadership,” “sovereignty,” the “largest country of Southeast Asia/ASEAN,” and notions of “people’s economy.” In addition to the content analysis, I conducted forty-­nine interviews with representatives of stakeholder groups and observers, mainly during two field visits to Indonesia in March and April 2010 and August 2010. The majority of the interviews lasted between sixty and ninety minutes. As many interviewees requested anonymity, and to prevent the possibility of their identification, I decided to indicate only the date of the interview in the endnotes. Additional visits to Indonesia in September 2012, September 2014, March 2015, and March 2016 were used to update my data and settle open questions. One important cross-­check for the ideas and beliefs on regionalism is how foreign policy stakeholders and the public reacted to incidents jeopardizing Indonesia’s sovereignty. Paradigmatic in this respect are the disputes over sea borders with Malaysia. After a 2002 ruling of the International Court of Justice (ICJ) awarded two contested islands in the Sulawesi Sea, Ligitan and Sipadan, to Malaysia, a more recent dispute concentrated on a nearby maritime region believed to be rich in oil and gas deposits known as the Ambalat Block. The dispute can be considered a litmus test for the seriousness of Indonesian calls for the liberal-­cosmopolitan ideas aired during the Charter debate. It tests whether and to what extent key ASEAN norms such as peaceful conflict resolution have been internalized or whether foreign policy stakeholders in situations of stress resort to populist and chauvinist positions. If the latter is

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the case, it will reproduce sentiments of distrust, which have been lingering among ASEAN countries for a long time, with retarding effects for regional cohesion. Another litmus test for the commitment of Indonesian stakeholders to regional cooperation is their attitude regarding the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area (ACFTA). The agreement follows the same market-­opening policies that the AEC envisaged for 2015. If we find Indonesia shirking the agreed-­upon rules and defecting from the agreement, this does not bode well for its commitment to the process of regional economic integration. The ACFTA thus serves as another benchmark for assessing the willingness of major stakeholders to soften nationalist temptations. Without such a softening it is hardly likely that the AEC will achieve the goals outlined in the ASEAN Charter and the respective blueprints for the implementation of the AEC. In addition, probing stakeholder responses to the ACFTA also compensates for the few statements of business representatives in the ASEAN Charter debate and allows for a glimpse of their attitudes about regional economic integration, one of the key objectives of the ASEAN Charter.

3

The “Cognitive Prior” and the European Challenge

In the methodology section of the previous chapter I argued that ideational flows cannot be mapped without profound knowledge of the “cognitive prior.” I therefore proposed diachronic in-­case comparison, which allows contrasting of the cognitive prior with the ideational changes triggered by external normative challenges. Moreover, in-­case comparison also allows us to identify which of the extant local ideas and norms have been retained and grafted with the new external ideas and norms. To properly understand the Indonesian debate on the ASEAN Charter and ASEAN’s relevance for the archipelago’s external relations, we must revisit the norms and ideas previously guiding Indonesians on regional cooperation and foreign policy.1 This cognitive prior has become part of Indonesians’ collective memory and tells us what is considered appropriate and hence legitimate. A cognitive prior primarily rests on traditional cultural norms and historical notions of statecraft that, as in Indonesia, may be the result of a cascade of previous appropriations of external norms, which over time have become internalized by the population and are hence considered to be local (Reid 1998; Acharya 2009, 22–­23). The more resilient these locally grounded ideas and norms are, the less likely is a wholesale normative transformation and the more likely it is that norm recipients seek to localize external normative challenges by making them compatible with the ideational orthodoxy. This chapter thus seeks to identify the main ideas and norms that characterized Indonesian thinking on foreign policymaking and regionalism before it faced critical evaluation by local stakeholders and external observers in the

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aftermath of the Asian Financial Crisis. The disastrous economic and political consequences of the latter largely discredited this extant ensemble of ideas and confronted it with ideas and norms seemingly derived from European experiences of regional integration. The first two sections are thus devoted to the reconstruction of extant Indonesian worldviews determining the country’s foreign policy choices and the norms of what has become known as the ASEAN Way, a variety of regionalism shared by many Indonesians prior to the Asian Financial Crisis. The third section takes a closer look at the ideational challenges ASEAN encountered after the Asian Financial Crisis and raises the question of whether this amounts to an increasing Europeanization of Indonesian stakeholders’ views on regionalism. The final section recapitulates the major normative and institutional changes brought about by the ASEAN Charter as the preliminary endpoint of the reform debate in and on ASEAN.

Independent and Active: Extant Indonesian Foreign Policy Doctrines Ideationally, Indonesian foreign policy rests on political realism. That most Indonesian politicians believe that power shapes international relations (Weinstein 1976, 63; Novotny 2010, 299) is hardly surprising in view of the turbulences of Indonesia’s history. The volatility of the archipelago’s precolonial empires, colonialism (Weinstein 1976, 356; Tan 2007, 149), the Japanese conquest during the Pacific War (1942–­1945), the revolutionary struggle for independence (1945–­1949), the Cold War, and the inequities of a neocolonial capitalist economic world order have left their imprint on Indonesian worldviews.This is combined with a profound sense of fragility due to the country’s archipelagic geography and multiethnic structure. Sentiments of vulnerability and victimization (Weinstein 1976, 30) prevail, for some authors “bordering on paranoia” (Sebastian, Chen, and Priamarizki 2014, 70) and resulting in great sensitivity to global and regional power shifts. Diplomacy is thereby seen in gloomy terms as a process in which “the tongue has no bone” (Malik 1980, 270). Great Powers are the main embodiments of this hostile external world. As Tan argues, Indonesians regard international relations as “dominated by the large, developed nations that design institutions and act exclusively in their own self-­interest” while framing their policies and actions in universal, cosmopolitan rhetoric (Tan 2007, 148). Rich (Western) nations act in a “crass, self-­serving and hypocritical” way (149). Part of this deep distrust of Western countries is the widespread belief that they seek hegemony, purposefully im-

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poverish developing countries, and pursue a hostile policy against the Muslim world. Tan’s analysis is corroborated by Juwono Sudarsono, an international relations scholar at the University of Indonesia and former defense minister, who is certain that “the strong tend to view developing nations and poor states [and therefore Indonesia] as pawns or stakes” (Sudarsono 1998, 132). Survival under such adverse conditions requires that Indonesia’s sovereignty must be protected at all costs (Tan 2007, 168). This objective is best achieved by building up national resilience (ketahanan nasional). This is a security doctrine first developed by the Indonesian military in the late 1960s (Anwar 2000, 82). Rehearsing the skeptical worldview of Indonesian policymakers, for Suharto it was clear that if developing countries do not help themselves, “nobody else will be willing to help us” (Malik 1980, 273). National resilience thus represents a holistic approach to security including military, economic, political, and social aspects, quite similar to the better-­known concept of “comprehensive security” (ibid., 82). The National Resilience Institute (Lemhannas), a military think tank, defined “national resilience” as the dynamic condition of a nation, integrally encompassing all aspects of national life. It contains perseverance and tenacity which enable the development of national strength to cope with all challenges, threats, obstacles and disturbances coming from outside as well as from within the country, directly or indirectly endangering the national identity, integrity, survival and the struggle for national objectives. (Anwar 2000, 84)

This essentially realist worldview tallies well with traditional perceptions of the external world. Javanese versions of the Kautilya’s Arthasastra, an ancient Indian guidebook for rulers that reached the Indonesian archipelago together with other Hindu-­Brahmanic political ideas during the first millennium AD, portrayed the external world as an arrangement of concentric circles (mandalas). In this concept of geometric politics, the ruler’s court constitutes the world’s center, the neighboring kingdoms surrounding him are his natural enemies, and the neighbors of his neighbors are presumed to be his allies (Zimmer 1976). As kingdoms are inherently unstable at their peripheries, the mandala system entails an inbuilt need to expand the kingdom’s territory. The result is persistent warfare with its unpredictable fortunes. In such an insecure world, in which domestic pretenders to power as well as neighboring kings constitute permanent threats, the ruler is permitted to do anything that keeps him in power. Politics, driven by power, is thus an amoral process—­all the more so as the Javanese believe that the amount of power is finite and that a ruler must possess all of it in order to secure his legitimacy (Anderson 1972), which also includes the obligation of the rulers to ensure prosperity in their perimeter of influence (Nguitragool 2012).

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The strong legacy of these ideas must be attributed to the fact that the Indianized precolonial empires of Sri Vijaya (seventh to thirteenth centuries) and Majapahit (thirteenth to sixteenth centuries) represent Indonesia’s glorious past. Former presidents Sukarno and Suharto drew strong inspiration from Sri Vijaya and, in particular, Majapahit.2 But it is not only for prewar nationalists and the 1945 generation that Indonesia is a continuation of these two empires; many politicians of the current generation also hold this view (Suryadinata 1996, 6). Reminiscences of Majapahit are kept alive by much of the country’s symbolism. The soldier’s oath “prajurit,” the nation’s motto “Bhinneka Tunggal Ika” (Unity in Diversity), the navy’s maxim “Jalesveva Jamayah” (in the sea we triumph), and the Foreign Ministry’s logo, “Caraka Bhuwana” (ambassadors to the world), are all derived from the Sanskrit of the Majapahit era (Sebastian 2006).3 Fierce nationalists have always been especially strongly attracted to Majapahit and built their dreams of an Indonesia Raya (Greater Indonesia) on the empire’s greatest territorial extent. Mohammed Yamin, a nationalist leader, for instance, argued that an independent Indonesia should extend to the former territory of Majapahit, which included not only the Dutch East Indies, but also Peninsular Malaysia, Borneo, Timor, and Papua (Suryadinata 1996, 6). Political ideas based on power were popularized in ancient Indian epics such as the Mahabharata and the Ramayama, which were brought to Java and Bali by Indian merchants.They weathered the advance of Islam in the country in the fourteenth century and are well-­known to many Indonesians up to the present day. They are still part of the school curriculum, and their episodes reappear in virtually all art genres, including the popular wayang shadow games. Very generally, they suggest that even the good and virtuous is incessantly menaced by evil, villains, and demons. Warfare, violence, intrigue, uncertainty, and insecurity are thus inexorable facts of life. Javanese notions of Indonesia (or to be more precise, Java) as the center of the world are another precolonial legacy. The kings of Java bore titles such as the Nail of the Universe (Paku Alam), Holder of the Universe (Mangkubumi), and Controller of the Universe (Hamengkubuwono), reflecting a deeply entrenched ethnocentrism (Markham 1995). It is hardly surprising that this ethnocentrism signifies exceptionalism on which Indonesian nationalists place their belief that the country is destined for regional and global leadership.4 Indonesian foreign policy elites socialized in the cognitive legacies of these great empires (Prasetyono 2005) unwittingly reproduce the political ideas of this past, which modern conceptualizations of political realism further revalidate. An excellent example for interpreting Indonesia’s current foreign policy through the prism of the Majapahit period is an article authored by Indone-

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sian diplomat Siswo Pramono in The Jakarta Post.5 Even threat perceptions are here traced back to the Majapahit era. Contemporary Indonesian foreign policy and security doctrines have also retained the geopolitical outlook of Majapahit’s rulers. Today, the armed forces still rely on the Arthasastra’s geopolitical prism for their analysis of the country’s strategic environment.6 The foreign policy doctrine of concentric circles, which military strategists had developed in the Suharto era, has its roots in their knowledge of modern geopolitical thinkers ranging from MacKinder to Ratzel and Haushofer (Sunardi 2004; Anggoro 2005) and their familiarity with the political ideas of the Majapahit era: Indonesian domestic politics was the inner circle, the second circle Indonesia’s Southeast Asian neighbors and Australia, and the third circle the remainder of the globe (Widjajanto 2008). In view of the great significance the mandala system attaches to the immediately bordering region for state security, it is hardly surprising that Indonesia has made ASEAN the cornerstone of its foreign policy (Anwar 1994, 7).7 ASEAN is an organization that not only endows Indonesia with an aura of respectability and credibility, but also creates a peaceful international environment conducive to socioeconomic development. Besides this, it is an institutional device to keep Great Powers, with their potential infringements on Indonesian sovereignty, out of the region. Former Indonesian foreign minister Adam Malik had already stated this objective at ASEAN’s inaugural meeting in Bangkok, maintaining that “Indonesia always wants to see Southeast Asia develop into a region which can stand on its own feet, strong enough to defend itself against any negative influence from outside the region.”8 Finally, the archipelagic principle (wawasan nusantara), the doctrine on which Indonesia bases her territorial claims, is also geopolitical. First proclaimed in December 1957, it was a move by the Indonesian government at a time when the republic’s internal and external security was at stake and fears of externally incited secessionism prevailed among the country’s policymakers (Sebastian, Supriyanto, and Arsana 2015). The concept nusantara dates back to the Majapahit era, designating Java’s neighboring regions, which Gadjah Mada, a military leader and prime minister of the Majapahit Empire, eventually conquered and unified (Suryadinata 1996, 12). Under wawasan nusantara “all waters, surrounding, between and connecting the islands constituting the Indonesian state, regardless of their extension or breadth, are integral part of the territory of the Indonesian state and, therefore, parts of the internal or national waters which are under the exclusive sovereignty of the Indonesian state” (Leifer 1983, 48). Fearing intervention by external powers at times of domestic instability, the Indonesian government has made wawasan nusantara

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part of the country’s security perimeter. Extending territorial waters from three to twelve miles, it was an attempt to deny hostile naval forces access to the maritime chokepoints of the archipelago (ibid., 143). In 1973 wawasan nusantara eventually became a military doctrine, reflecting the widespread notion that the country’s vulnerability is rooted in its archipelagic character (Shekhar 2014, 176). It has since stood for Indonesian beliefs that land (darat) and sea (laut) are one entity, as reflected in the term tanah-­air (land and water), which means homeland (Suryadinata 1996, 13). Collectivist state theory is another strand of thinking from which Indonesia’s realist foreign policy outlook draws (McVey 1967, 137; MacIntyre 1994, 2). Modern organicism was imported to Indonesia by Indonesian law students returning to the country from the Netherlands in the 1920s who fused modern European concepts with extant local or localized ideas of an organic state (Anderson 1972; Reeve 1985; Simanjuntak 1989; Reid 1998; Bourchier 1999, 2015). Organicist ideas pervaded the Indonesian Constitution of 1945 and, after having been sidelined in the era of parliamentary politics (1950–­ 1957), staged a powerful comeback in President Sukarno’s Guided Democracy and subsequently found their most elaborated embodiment in the corporatist order of Suharto’s Orde Baru regime (1966–­1998) (Reeve 1985; King 1992; MacIntyre 1994). While Sukarno rejected liberal notions of democracy, including separation of power and checks and balances, as alien to Indonesian culture because of their potentially conflictive nature, Suharto also regarded Western democracy as an impediment slowing down socioeconomic development (Wahyudi, n.d.). At the time, many developmental states, especially in Latin America and East Asia, had embarked on state corporatism in an attempt to unite the population for modernization from above, a process that required the mobilization of all available forces in society (Schmitter 1974; Stepan 1976; Malloy 1977). Closely associated with late development is the need to combat the dependencies inherent in an international order dominated by the economically advanced countries. Late modernizers thus often pursue a foreign policy that is strongly guided by the tenets of political realism (Schmitter 1974, 120). Deeply entrenched in organicist state theory is what Indonesians call bapakism. This form of vertical social organization can be traced to the kawula-­ gusti relationship of servant and master, which nationalist leader Ki Hadjar Dewantara cast in familial terms (Moertono 2009, 25). This equates the state to a family system (kekeluargaan), in which the leader is likened to a “father,” the people to the “children.” It is his superior wisdom that qualifies the father as leader (McVey 1967, 137). In the multilevel governance system emerging

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under the impact of globalization, the leadership that organicist state theory regards as central for group cohesion can also be related to an entire region. Thus, unsurprisingly, as the largest state in the region, Indonesia has persistently claimed for itself a leadership, or at least a primus inter pares, role in Southeast Asia. This implies an understanding of international relations in which, typical for realist worldviews, states are placed in an imagined hierarchical order defined by attributes of power. The deeply internalized realist worldview of the Indonesian foreign policy and security elites translates into a fiercely nationalist foreign policy (Anwar 1994, 17). It is thus hardly surprising that, drawing from Morgenthau, until today “national interest” has been the most frequently cited concept in the Indonesian foreign policy discourse. National interest is, as former foreign minister Adam Malik succinctly formulated, “directed towards the achievement of the maximum result, with the minimum of risks involved” (Malik 1980, 267). Featuring most prominently in this respect is “national sovereignty,” which Indonesian governments seek to uphold by a combination of struggle (perjuangan) and diplomacy (diplomasi) (Leifer 1983, 19; Anwar 1994, 25). While this does not mean that Indonesia’s foreign policy is aggressive, it signifies that in case diplomacy fails, Indonesia does not hesitate to fight for its national interest, including—­as an ultima ratio—­resorting to military force. That Indonesia must have strong and well-­equipped armed forces in order to defend national sovereignty is a belief shared by the majority of Indonesians and a reason why even after the demise of the Suharto regime the military has been able to slow down and dilute reforms, thereby retaining at least some of the “reserved domains” it enjoyed under authoritarian rule. In Indonesia, a nationalist foreign policy is one that is “free and active” (bebas dan aktif) (Leifer 1983, 27; Anwar 1994, 36). This has been a constant ever since Vice President Mohammed Hatta’s seminal September 1948 speech in which he sought to detach Indonesia from the superpower rivalry between the United States and the Soviet Union in the incipient Cold War, a policy he famously described as “rowing between two reefs” (Novotny 2010, 299; Lang 2016).9 Far from representing mere neutralism (Malik 1980, 278; Dosch 2007, 33) and pragmatism (Sukma 1995, 308) in the sense of “keeping all options open” (Perwita 2007, 19), its meaning soon expanded and has become synonymous with autonomy and self-­reliance. Neutrality “contains the element of passivity” (Malik 1980, 278), and “passivity,” concludes Weinstein, “connotes acquiescence to circumscribed independence” (Weinstein 1976, 189). For Indonesia, an independent foreign policy is thus a matter of self-­respect (ibid., 30).

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Bebas-­aktif thus also resonates with Indonesia’s identity as a regional leader and respected player in world politics. Indonesians base their country’s leadership claims primarily on history, large territory, and population size. This claim of regional preeminence was most strongly articulated during the Sukarno era. After retreating to a more informal regional leadership role during the first two decades of Suharto’s New Order, the country returned to a more assertive foreign policy in the late 1980s and 1990s (Vatikiotis 1993, 354). However, Indonesian foreign policy elites’ ideas of what leadership entailed remained vague. For them leadership was tantamount to establish a sphere of influence—­being consulted by neighbors, exerting a mediating role in regional disputes, and being an agenda setter (Weinstein 1976, 202). Yet Indonesians only reluctantly received the deference they expected from their neighbors, resulting in a sense of frustrated entitlement that domestically in times of tension fueled strident nationalist rhetoric.

The ASEAN Way: Repository of Southeast Asian Cooperation Norms The Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) was founded in August 1967. It succeeded two earlier attempts at regional cooperation, the Association of Southeast Asia (ASA) and Maphilindo, which had collapsed as a result of the Indonesian confrontation policy (konfrontasi) against Malaysia (Gordon 1966; Solidum 1974; Leifer 1983; Ba 2009). In 1963 Indonesia launched a low-­intensity war against Malaysia over the Malaysian government’s decision to incorporate Singapore and two former British territories on the island of Borneo into the newly formed Federation of Malaysia. As the incorporation had British blessing, Indonesian President Sukarno suspected the Federation of being a colonialist ploy to encircle and weaken Indonesia (Anwar 1994, 25). However, konfrontasi isolated Indonesia internationally, depriving it of urgently needed (Western) development aid and precipitating the country’s deep economic crisis (Solidum 1974; Leifer 1983). The new Indonesian government led by Major General Suharto, which came to power after the aborted September 30, 1965 coup, thus initiated a complete about-­turn of the country’s foreign policy. By giving priority to economic development, his government ended konfrontasi, rejoined the United Nations and other international organizations Sukarno had left, and sought a rapprochement with the West (Murphy 2012, 87). The formation of ASEAN was an attempt of the Suharto government to restore international confidence in Indonesia (Weinstein 1976; Leifer 1983;

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Anwar 1994; Narine 2008; Ba 2009). Accordingly, peaceful intraregional relations became a major objective of the Bangkok Declaration, ASEAN’s founding document. For ASEAN’s founding fathers, peaceful relations were a conditio sine qua non for economic growth and political stability, which in turn would markedly reduce the communist threat in Southeast Asia. Although regional cooperation initially failed to make tangible progress, ASEAN did not disintegrate. After the communist victory in Indochina in the mid-­1970s, cooperation among ASEAN’s member countries gained momentum. Groundbreaking in this respect was the grouping’s first summit, in Bali in 1976 (Dosch 1997), which ended with two major declarations specifying the core norms of regional cooperation in Southeast Asia. The Declaration of ASEAN Concord inaugurated the concept of “regional resilience,” stating, “The stability of each member state and of the ASEAN region is an essential contribution to international peace and security. Each member state resolves to eliminate threats posed by subversion to its stability, thus strengthening national and ASEAN resilience.”10 Regional resilience is a Southeast Asian version of the Third Worldist concept of “collective self-­ reliance.” It is an extension of the Indonesian concept of “national resilience” (ketahanan nasional) and assumes that regional synergy effects will occur if each ASEAN member country strengthens its national resilience. For ASEAN member countries, regional resilience is a key requisite for regional stability and freedom from Great Power interference in the region. But it also strengthens national resilience in a mutually reinforcing relationship (Malik, quoted in Dahm 1996, 93–­94). In other words, national and regional resilience are “bound together in a virtuous circle of cause and effect” (Anwar 2000, 81). Following Wanandi, regional resilience creates a bridge between ASEAN’s focus on sovereignty and the desire of member states to create a sense of Southeast Asian regionalism (quoted in Emmers 2008, 196). Yet regional resilience is not the sum of all national resilience (Anwar 2000: 89). Far from being an automatism, for regional resilience to flourish ASEAN member countries must develop a strong commitment to regional cooperation and cohesion (ibid.). While reference to “regional resilience” was ubiquitous during Suharto’s New Order, the concept may have faded from Indonesian foreign policy rhetoric in the Era Reformasi and, by coincidence, from ASEAN declarations as well, but—­as Emmers shows—­its spirit is still present and clauses on regional stability associated with regional resilience found their way into the ASEAN Charter (Emmers 2009, 163). As a regional code of conduct, the Bali summit’s other major outcome, the Treaty of Amity and Cooperation (TAC), provided the normative underpin-

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nings for the achievement of regional resilience. Invoking the ten principles of the 1955 Asian-­African Conference in Bandung, the 1967 Bangkok Declaration, and the Kuala Lumpur Declaration of 1971, the TAC highlighted Westphalian sovereignty norms, including national sovereignty, mutual respect for independence, equality, territorial integrity, national identity, noninterference in the internal affairs of other states, and the renunciation of threat and the use of force (Acharya 2001; Haacke 2003, 6). The strong emphasis on sovereignty norms, and hence the conscious decision for a strictly intergovernmental form of regional cooperation, has its roots in the member countries’ history. Except for Thailand, all ASEAN countries had been colonized, and even Thailand had lost over half of its territory and, due to extra-­territoriality clauses, much of its internal sovereignty in the age of imperialism (Wyatt 1984). With nation-­building just achieved or still under way, it is thus hardly surprising that ASEAN member countries were unwilling to sacrifice their hard-­won independence on the altar of European-­style supranationalism. Moreover, in the face of still-­lingering distrust resulting from tense and antagonistic relationships before the formation of ASEAN, it is also comprehensible that ASEAN placed great emphasis on territorial integrity, noninterference, and peaceful conflict resolution. Of all these core norms constituting what in the 1990s became known as the ASEAN Way, noninterference has gained almost sacrosanct status.11 In particular, the region’s authoritarian regimes, then including Indonesia, adhered to it in their persistent efforts to insulate themselves from extramural criticism. Secondary norms of the ASEAN Way highlighted informality, consensus, nonbinding decisions, pragmatism, flexibility, close interpersonal relationships, and lean institutionalization as virtues of Southeast Asian regionalism. Most ASEAN cooperation agreements thus do not rely on international treaties but are nonbinding declarations and pledges. Unlike in the EU, documents are usually short, consisting of only a few pages. They mainly outline principles and norms of cooperation, leaving aside precise and binding rules and procedures for implementation. Compliance with decisions is thus largely voluntary, and enforcement mainly relies on peer pressure. Derived from Malay village culture, the ASEAN Way calls for consensual decisions, made through intense deliberation among members (musyawarah dan mufakat). Musyawarah stands for a process of deliberation that is “not as between opponents but as between friends and brothers” (Narine 2002, 31). Quiet diplomacy and compromise thus take precedence over confrontational bargaining. As the latter creates winners and losers, it could easily lead to a loss of face for member countries forced to make concessions in negotiations. To

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maintain social harmony, ASEAN member governments would rather bracket or postpone contentious issues, which they either relegate to the bilateral level or shift to non-­official track-­two dialogues where they are discussed until the contours of a solution transpire. More important than quick and concrete results are unity, harmony, and a comfortable atmosphere among member countries and their representatives. It is therefore no coincidence that Alice Ba has persistently referred to the significance of unity as an ASEAN key norm, especially in the grouping’s beginnings. In her chapter on the ASEAN Way there are frequent references to rhetorical figures such as “greater unity and consensus,” “unity of purpose,” “need for greater unity,” “cohesiveness and unity,” “consensus-­seeking dialogue,” and that “regional unity became an important norm” (Ba 2009, 71–­98). Estrella Solidum thus rightfully concluded that high-­ ranking ASEAN government representatives, depicting ASEAN as “a great family,”12 have quite obviously transferred Indonesia’s (but also other ASEAN members’) organicist and corporatist ideology to ASEAN as a regional organization (Solidum 1974, 63). If cooperation is to succeed under the conditions of informality and great diversity, much depends on personal trust among the dramatis personae. Therefore, a key virtue championed by the ASEAN Way’s ideational orthodoxy is the close personal rapport of government leaders, facilitating a highly personalized method of interaction (Dosch 1994, 9–­10; Peou 2002, 131; Katsumata 2003, 106). As Alice Ba has aptly expressed it, while European regionalism relies on institution-­building, the ASEAN Way favors “relationship-­building” (Ba 2009). For much of the pre-­Reformasi era, Indonesia’s ASEAN policies wholeheartedly subscribed to these norms. Indonesian diplomats have deeply internalized them, and among academics, the press, and legislators they were also not seriously contested. With the end of the Cold War, ASEAN’s sovereignty norms no longer went unchallenged. The new world order propagated by U.S. President George H. W. Bush explicitly championed liberal values with behind-­the-­border effects. Western governments and the EU subsequently began to pursue a policy of conditionalities that linked development aid to progress in democracy, human rights, good governance, and rule of law. Unsurprisingly, Southeast Asia’s mostly authoritarian governments unequivocally rejected the West’s universalist liberal agenda as interference in their internal affairs. Emboldened by their economic success and the firm belief in an impending political and economic gravity shift from the Atlantic to the Asia-­Pacific, they countered the Western normative offensive with “Asian values,” a set of norms putatively shared by most societies in East and Southeast Asia. “Asian values” differed from a liberal

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normative order, as they cherished authority, power, and hierarchy and accorded higher priority to collective socioeconomic rights than to individual political rights (Mahbubani 1993). The Asian values episode marked one of the rare occasions in international relations when—­as outlined in Chapter 2—­external normative challenges were completely rejected. The Asian value discourse reinvigorated the TAC’s Westphalian sovereignty norms. It highlighted an exceptionalism that also clearly set apart Southeast Asian regionalism from the EU model (Acharya 2001; Severino 2006; Kivimäki 2008; Ba 2009). Contrary to the EU’s selective supranationalism and “deep institutionalization,” ASEAN built its identity on intergovernmentalism and “soft institutionalization.” Unlike the EU Commission with its more than twenty-­thousand employees, the ASEAN Secretariat had only coordinative powers and a staff of fewer than two hundred. For ASEAN member governments, bureaucratization and legalization of regional cooperation—­in short a “Brusselsization of ASEAN” (Dosch 2003, 38)—­was anathema as it would have impeded quick, flexible, and pragmatic responses to global and regional problems. All this converged in the argument that the “organizational minimalism” of the ASEAN Way is more efficacious than the European bureaucratic juggernaut (Acharya and Johnston 2007, 11). Asian values and their complement, the ASEAN Way, were thus portrayed as a specific sociocultural approach to problem solving in Southeast Asia (Haas 1997, 330).

Challenging the ASEAN Way: Europeanizing ASEAN? During much of the 1990s, a time when ASEAN’s reputation had gained markedly due to its widely recognized role as a “regional security manager” (Haacke 2006, 130) and the region’s unprecedented economic growth, the majority of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders rejected the suggestion that Europe was a model for regional cooperation in Southeast Asia. Like their counterparts elsewhere in the region, they were convinced that ASEAN’s pragmatic, informal, personalized, and weakly institutionalized type of regionalism, that is, the ASEAN Way, was superior to that of Europe and more in tune with the values deemed to be collectively shared in the region (Dosch 1997, 209; Jetschke 2009, 417). In the eyes of Southeast Asian observers, ASEAN, not the EU, was a regional cooperation scheme sui generis. Moreover, with the projected rise of a “Pacific Century,” Southeast Asians saw the historical momentum as being on their side. By contrast, the EU, with its protracted recession, seemingly ossified bureaucratic structure, and concomitant high governance costs,13 was widely regarded as a sunset organization, representing a region in decline, hardly apt to serve as a model for Southeast Asia’s future.

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In fact, at that time not only did ASEAN reject the EU’s integration model, it also became a model in its own right. This model was undergirded by an alternative normative script, the claim that the region’s shared Asian values constitute different political, economic, and regional orders. And, indeed, the ASEAN Way as the embodiment of Southeast Asian regionalism was emulated by other Southern regional organizations, such as the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC) (Jetly 2003) and the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (Aris 2012), and even actively exported to the forums emerging in the wider Asia-­Pacific, including the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF), ASEAN Plus Three (APT), the Asia-­Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC), and the East Asian Summit (EAS) (Stubbs 2008), and to interregional dialogues such as the Asia-­Europe Meeting (ASEM) (Rüland 2010, 2014c). Yet the anti-­EU rhetoric of Indonesian and Southeast Asian foreign policy stakeholders during the 1990s was not always the dominant discourse. Several scholars have persuasively shown that European ideas of regionalism played a major role in ASEAN’s formative years (Dosch 1997, 207–­208; Jetschke 2009; Wong 2013; Beeson and Stone 2013). ASEAN’s founding fathers had thoroughly studied European schemes of regional cooperation, including the European Economic Community (EEC), the European Free Trade Association (EFTA), and the Nordic Council (Jetschke 2009, 414). One of them, former Thai foreign minister Thanat Khoman, for instance, unequivocally stated in his contribution to the 1992 edition of the “ASEAN Reader” that “for many of us and for me in particular, our model has been and still is, the European Community, not because I was trained there, but because it is the most suitable form for us living in this part of the world—­in spite of our parallel economies which are quite different from the European ones” (Khoman 1992, xix; Dosch 1997, 210). Dosch’s and Jetschke’s arguments are corroborated by other studies examining the formation of ASEAN’s representative institutions. These studies suggest that the establishment of the ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry (ASEAN-­CCI), the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Organization (AIPO), and, to a lesser extent, the ASEAN Institutes of Strategic and International Studies (ASEAN-­ISIS) were influenced in terminology by European regionalism (Rüland 2014a; Rüland and Bechle 2014).Yet, despite seeking orientation from Europe, the glaring rhetoric-­action gap typical of mimicry was omnipresent. ASEAN had established these institutions not in order to foster participatory processes in regional decision making, but mainly to strengthen its international legitimacy. In fact, beyond the participatory rhetoric, it has been shown that these bodies were integrated into a state corporatist model of

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regional governance championing “participation in implementation” (Cohen and Uphoff 1980), which, instead of empowering societal actors, sought to control them (Rüland 2014a). Also, the report of a task force established by the ASEAN-­CCI in the early 1980s with the objective of devising major economic and institutional reforms for the association was inspired by European regionalism. Explicitly referring to the European Economic Community as a model, and obviously as a response to the passing of the Single European Act in 1985, the task force’s “Fourteen Wise Men” proposed a fundamental deepening of ASEAN. In their view, this would be best achieved by the regularization of ASEAN summits (ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry 1987, 72); the formation of a body resembling the EC’s Council of Ministers; the Committee of Permanent Representatives (CPR) (ibid., 75); an ASEAN free trade area; and a supranational ASEAN Secretariat (Akrasanee 2001, 37). This last element would perform catalyst functions for the cooperation process similar to those of the European Commission (ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry 1987, 78). The report also strongly called for the replacement of the consensus rule by a “Six-­minus-­X” rule in many fields of ASEAN cooperation (ibid., 80–­81). It thus supported an identical proposal already made a year earlier, in June 1986, by Singapore’s foreign minister Suppiah Dhanabalan. Calling for more flexibility regarding economic decisions, Dhanabalan had also proposed a “Six-­minus-­X” rule, according to which member countries involved in a particular activity should be allowed to proceed as long as the interests of other members were not harmed.14 Again, the timing was hardly accidental, as the Single European Act had introduced qualified majority decisions on issues related to the creation of the common market, and thereby created a prerequisite for accelerating regional integration.15 After the 1990s were marked by strong aversion to European concepts of regional integration, with the EU model characterized as “Un-­Asian” (Petchsiri 2007, 51), the Asian Financial Crisis of 1997–­1998 triggered change. The crisis had disastrous consequences for the region’s economies. In 1998, the countries worst hit in Southeast Asia, Indonesia and Thailand, saw their economies contract by 13.2 percent and about 10 percent, respectively (Barro 2001, 2). Malaysia’s economy also shrank, by 8.5 percent. If there was anything that matched what the literature on ideational change considers as a trigger for fundamental ideational change (Legro 2000), then it was the Asian Financial Crisis. The economic slump paralyzed ASEAN and discredited Asian values and the ASEAN Way. As ASEAN was unable to manage the crisis, Thailand and Indonesia had to accept the onerous and sovereignty-­infringing rescue

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packages of the IMF. The years following the ASEAN Financial Crisis thus marked ASEAN’s severest crisis since its formation in the 1960s. Old, seemingly settled disputes and animosities resurfaced and newly launched or proposed obscure regional fora such as the Asian Cooperation Dialogue (ACD), the (South)West Pacific Forum, Asia Big Five, P3, and P5 further seemed to dilute ASEAN’s cohesion (Rüland 2000; Ba 2009, 193). With the contagion effects of the crisis, ASEAN governments for the first time realized how interdependent their economies had become. The simultaneous severe haze pollution afflicting major parts of Southeast Asia further underscored the severity of cross-­border problems (Nguitragool 2011a, 2011b). As a result, criticism of the ASEAN Way began to mount, targeting in particular the noninterference norm. It was the Thai foreign minister, Surin Pitsuwan, who eventually proposed to replace “noninterference” through “flexible engagement” at ASEAN’s thirty-­first ministerial meeting, held in July 1998 in Manila. Surin’s proposal was a more diplomatic version of former Malaysian deputy prime minister Anwar Ibrahim’s earlier call for “constructive intervention.” The domestic turmoil preceding Cambodia’s accession to ASEAN in 1999 confirmed the beliefs of Anwar and, apart from the other reasons already named, also Surin (Haacke 2003, 174; Tan 2011, 156) that the volatile security of ASEAN’s new members could jeopardize the region’s stability. A more proactive ASEAN policy was thus urgently needed in order to contain the spillover of turbulences from a member country to its neighbors.16 Support for this position came from ASEAN secretary general Rodolfo Severino, leading scholars of ASEAN-­ISIS, and Philippine foreign minister Domingo L. Siazon, who criticized the noninterference norm as being synonymous with a “policy of benign neglect” (quoted in Haacke 2003, 167). Although Surin’s proposal was rejected, with ASEAN eventually settling on Indonesian foreign minister Ali Alatas’s compromise formula of “enhanced interaction,” the ASEAN Way had come under fire. A few years later, Surin’s predecessor as ASEAN secretary general, Ong Keng Yong, noted that ASEAN’s problem was not lack of vision but difficulty in “ensuring compliance and effective implementation of decisions.”17 Also, academics and the media increasingly criticized ASEAN’s “soft institutionalization” as “fair weather cooperation” (Rüland 2000, 442).They criticized the grouping’s widening rhetoric-­action gap (Jones and Smith 2007; Jetschke and Rüland 2009) and its proclivity for declarations and symbolism. Wong noted an “implementation gap” with regard to economic projects (Wong 2003), and Jones and Smith commented that “the ASEAN economic community approach to regional integration looks long on rhetoric and short on implementation”

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(Jones and Smith 2007, 175; see also Jetschke 2009, 411). Singapore’s foreign minister S. Jayakumar expressed his worries more subtly, warning that We may not like the perception of ASEAN as ineffective and a sunset organization. We may question whether they are justified. But they are political facts. Perceptions can define political reality. If we continue to be perceived as ineffective, we can be marginalized as our dialogue partners and international investors relegate us to the sidelines.18

Put differently, it had increasingly dawned on domestic as well as foreign observers that the association’s consensual decision-­making process based on unanimity facilitated what the theoretical literature regards as “suboptimal policy outcomes creating the joint decision-­making trap” (Da Conceicao-­ Heldt 2006, 147; see also Scharpf 1985). Even many ASEAN sympathizers thus believed that for ASEAN to preserve its relevance it had to reinvent itself (Tay, Estanislao, and Soesastro 2001; Sukma 2009, 135). Starting with ASEAN Vision 2020, formulated in 1997, and the Hanoi Plan of Action (1998–­2004), the grouping subsequently initiated a plethora of reform measures. Part of the efforts to revitalize ASEAN cooperation was the formation of the ASEAN Plus Three (APT) grouping, the Initiative for ASEAN Integration (IAI), the inauguration of the ASEAN Investment Area (AIA), and the early completion of the ASEAN Free Trade Area (AFTA) in 2002. Other important reforms included the Chiang Mai Initiative (CMI), a swap scheme designed to aid Asian countries facing liquidity problems, and the Bali Concord II, setting out the objective of establishing the ASEAN Community, first by 2020,19 later accelerated to 2015.20 In the concomitant reform debate, academics, journalists, NGO activists, and eventually even government officials increasingly turned to the EU as a model and for lessons. The EU—­through the Commission and, in particular, the European Parliament (Rüland and Carrapatoso 2015)—­was a norm entrepreneur too, promoting its model of regional integration, although compared to the immediate post–­Cold War period it had toned down the liberal-­cosmopolitan components of its normative package. Confronted with the Asian values claim of ASEAN governments in the 1990s, the Commission conceded—­in what I called in Chapter 2 a process of preemptive localization—­that “democracy can take many forms” (Wang 2010, 11). Yet it offered and financed large-­scale capacity-­building programs such as APRIS I and II and, more recently, ARISE, which permitted an “implicit projection of norms” (Maier-­Knapp 2014, 227). Soon after ASEAN economies began to recover, Filipino journalist Alejandro Reyes, writing for Asiaweek magazine, called for “deeper integration,

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closer cohesion and greater openness.”21 Led by Indonesia at the Bali Summit of 2003, ASEAN responded to such calls and agreed to broaden ASEAN’s normative foundation. What half a decade earlier seemed impossible, that is, the adoption of norms usually associated with the EU such as democracy, human rights, good governance, rule of law, and the outlawing of military coups as a mode of changing government, found its way into the Bali Concord II and the Vientiane Action Plan (2004–­2010).22 This was also reflected in the terminology of the Bali reforms, as illustrated by the envisaged ASEAN Community and the single market. Pushing their fellow members to accelerate and deepen economic integration, Singapore and Thailand proposed a “Two plus X” procedure in a seeming imitation of the European two-­speed approach to regional cooperation. Under the proposal, which went beyond the earlier “Ten-­minus-­X” formula, two countries agreeing on an idea to strengthen cooperation in a certain field may be allowed to go ahead, but they must remain open to other members who might not yet be prepared to join but intend to sign up at a later stage.23 Also resembling EU structure, the ASEAN Community is supposed to be an institutional edifice resting on three pillars (a security-­political community, an economic community, and a sociocultural community). A concomitant to the appropriation of EU institutional terminology was the emergence of concepts such as “community” and “integration,” concepts that previously ASEAN government had sought to avoid in an attempt to distinguish Southeast Asian regionalism from the EU model.24 Unsurprisingly, with the Bali Concord II, the EU staged a remarkable comeback as a reference organization for Southeast Asian regionalism. In Southeast Asia newspapers eagerly printed articles that broadly discussed what lessons ASEAN could learn from the EU.25 Even the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Assembly (AIPA)—­a regional parliamentary body so far known for its lack of parliamentary competences (Rüland 2013a)—­was likened by high-­ranking ASEAN officials to the European Parliament (Chalermpalanupap 2009, 103). They also deplored that the ASEAN Charter did not recognize “ASEAN citizenship” comparable to European citizenship (ibid., 127). Emulation of the EU was particularly evident in the field of economic integration, in which the envisaged ASEAN Economic Community (AEC) was frequently likened to a “European-­style common market.”26 Quite obviously, the rediscovery of the EU as an inspiring model of regional integration constituted an act of political learning (Jetschke and Murray 2012). ASEAN governments realized that their own model of regional integration was unable to manage serious crises and were thus looking for examples which, at least at that time, seemed better equipped to handle exis-

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tential threats. However, with European studies still in a state of infancy in the region, the renewed interest in European regionalism was less inspired by full-­ blown systematic academic studies than by visits of various ASEAN delegations to Brussels, thus constituting a typical case of “bounded learning.”

The ASEAN Charter At the eleventh ASEAN summit, held in Kuala Lumpur in 2005, ASEAN leaders agreed to write the ASEAN Charter, a document often equated with a constitution.27 The decision took into account that not only the EU was in the process of finalizing a constitutional treaty, but other regional organizations such as the African Union (AU) or the Organization of American States (OAS), too, were founded on a charter (Severino 2006, 381).28 With the Charter, ASEAN leaders intended to deepen regional integration and to transform ASEAN into a rule-­based organization. In the course of their deliberations, the ten-­member Eminent Persons Group (EPG), mandated by ASEAN leaders to produce a bold and visionary charter blueprint, visited Brussels. While EPG members explicitly denied that they emulated EU institutions,29 they admitted that they sought inspiration from European experiences.30 It is thus hardly surprising that the report they submitted to ASEAN leaders was a major departure from the ASEAN Way, comparable only to the 1987 report of the Group of Fourteen (Emmerson 2008, 26, 39; Pente 2014, 222). As illustrated by the establishment of the ASEAN Council and the Committee of Permanent Representatives, the strengthening of the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Association (AIPA), the democratization of regional governance by transforming the grouping into a people-­centered organization, the creation of a regional human rights mechanism, and the provision to ASEAN of a legal personality, it seemed that the EU organizational structure guided the EPG Report’s authors much more than they were ready to admit.31 The report also addressed the grouping’s glaring rhetoric-­action gap, a consequence of its nonbinding and consensual decision making and its poor implementation record.32 Consensus-­oriented policies may have served ASEAN well in its formative years, bringing together an ensemble of highly diverse countries, but in implying lengthy negotiations they have a drawback: “No decision is made before a consensus has been reached” (Dosch 1994, 9). The reforms the EPG eventually proposed included an effective dispute settlement mechanism, compliance monitoring, and sanctions in case members failed to comply with ASEAN norms. A memorandum of ASEAN-­ISIS submitted to the EPG in April 2006 went one step further and called for the creation of the ASEAN Court of Justice (Wanandi 2006, 87).33 Former Philippine president

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Fidel V. Ramos, a member of the EPG, even argued that in order to retain its relevance, ASEAN must in the long run envision the formation of a “Political Union.”34 The EPG and other reformist voices were supported by foreign scholars who also argued along these lines, demanding a “thickening” of the association (Ravenhill 2008, 475; see also Jetschke 2009, 421). Even though the ASEAN Charter as adopted by ASEAN governments at their thirteenth summit in Singapore in November 2007 was greeted as a “first step toward turning the regional body into something resembling the European Union,”35 it was an anticlimax to the developments discussed earlier. There were terminological similarities to the EU, but the institutions’ normative underpinnings did not seem to match EU norms. Certainly, ASEAN confirmed the new norms introduced with the Bali Concord II. Democracy, human rights, rule of law, good governance, and constitutional government are now enshrined in ASEAN’s most significant document, but at the same time the Charter maintained the key norms of the ASEAN Way. National sovereignty and noninterference in the domestic affairs of other members still figured prominently as ASEAN norms, thereby retaining ASEAN’s strictly intergovernmentalist organizational structure. Only after acrimonious negotiation did governments eventually agree to create a regional human rights mechanism. The Charter gave ASEAN a legal personality and strengthened the ASEAN Secretariat as an agency monitoring the implementation of ASEAN decisions.36 Yet these measures to strengthen ASEAN’s implementation capacity remained a halfway house, as did the new dispute settlement mechanism, which did not transcend tedious intergovernmental procedures based on unanimity. Majority voting and sanctions against noncomplying members, as called for by the EPG, did not find their way into the Charter. As agreed in Bali, the Charter confirmed ASEAN’s three-­pillared community structure and a new organizational structure grouped around it including the CPR, consisting of the ASEAN ambassadors accredited to ASEAN. To facilitate regional identity-­building and popular support, the Charter also promised to transform ASEAN into a people-­oriented organization. The disappointment with the Charter in many quarters, especially non-­ governmental organizations and the academe in the region’s older member countries, as well as partly the press and legislators but in particular among observers from outside the region, kept the reform discourse going after the adoption of the ASEAN Charter. And, like before, European integration remained the major frame of reference for this debate, the Euro crisis notwithstanding. As noted by Thai scholar Apirat Petchsiri, “The voices of influential Asians are often heard advocating Asian regional integration in a form that

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would be similar to that of the European Union. . . . ASEAN leaders seem to be convinced, now and more than before, that the EU model of integration is among the best of its kind” (Petchsiri 2007, 48). His assessment is corroborated by a survey conducted by the Washington-­based Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), which found that “a weighted average of 81 percent of strategic elites in Asia expressed support for the concept of building an ‘East Asia Community’ following the example of multilateral cooperation established by Europe.”37 While Apirat still remained skeptical about ASEAN’s seeming emulation of the EU, the former editor of the leading Thai daily The Nation, Kavi Chongkittavorn, went further, recommending that Asean should learn from the experience of [the] European Union because of its more people-­oriented programmes. The mindset of EU bureaucrats accepts civil society contributions as their own because they are realistic and reflect overall public interest. Therefore, taken together, the EU policy’s formulations and implementations are more effective. It explains why, in comparison with Asean, the Europeans in general are more attached to EU.38

Although others were more circumspect in their comparisons with the EU, all this raises the questions, Is ASEAN moving toward a regionalism concept that is closely informed by the EU, and are Indonesian stakeholders supportive of such a development? The following six chapters will address these questions from the perspective of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders.

4

The Indonesian Government and the ASEAN Charter

The following chapters explore the positions of six foreign policy stakeholder groups on the ASEAN Charter. They reveal what representatives of influential social groups in Indonesia think about Southeast Asian regionalism and the extent to which they have adopted European ideas on regional integration. With a view to the research question of this book, this enables us to gauge more confidently whether there are indeed strong ideational currents that—­if palatable to fellow governments—­would make ASEAN increasingly resemble the EU. I begin my analysis with the Indonesian government, which is the most significant actor in this discourse as it was the only one directly involved in the Charter negotiations. The government is also the key actor responsible for Charter implementation. And, finally, it is the initiator or conduit for reviews, revisions, and improvements of the Charter. Before analyzing the government’s Charter policies, I will briefly highlight the changes in the institutional framework for foreign policymaking in newly democratized Indonesia. This prelude to the chapter is followed by an investigation of how and to what extent the Indonesian government localized European ideas of regional integration. Chapters 4–­9 will therefore be organized around the main mechanisms of the localization process, that is, framing, grafting, and pruning.

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Foreign Policymaking in the Era Reformasi: A Multistakeholder Process Textbook wisdom usually describes foreign policymaking as an executive domain. Given the great sensitivity of foreign policy issues, governments fear that international negotiations may be disrupted by the premature disclosure of information. Populist public responses may jeopardize national interest and thwart pragmatic deals and compromises. International negotiations are therefore often shrouded in secrecy, the results presented as fait accompli. Authoritarian regimes in particular tend to resort to such nontransparent methods of foreign policymaking. The Indonesian New Order regime under President Suharto (1966–­1998) was no exception in this regard. Decisions were usually made behind closed doors (Anwar 1994, 193). The main actors in foreign policymaking were the president; the military; the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and, depending on the issue, occasionally other government agencies and a few trusted think tank scholars, mainly from the Jakarta-­based Center of Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) as junior partners (Anwar 1994, 192; Murphy 2012, 87). While foreign policy decisions increasingly became a presidential prerogative (Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 61; Wirajuda 2014, 71), the military, especially in security matters, eclipsed the influence of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In cases in which opinions diverged, the military’s positions usually prevailed (Smith 2000b, 504; Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 61). Under the military’s dual function (dwifungsi) doctrine, which accorded to the armed forces security as well as civilian functions, the president appointed senior military officers to important ambassadorial posts instead of career diplomats (Dosch 2007, 38; Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 61). Military personnel were placed in virtually all Indonesian missions abroad and, in effect, controlled the diplomatic staff (Suryadinata 1996, 66; Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 59). After the resignation of President Suharto in May 1998, democratic reforms quickly ended the military’s dominant influence on foreign policymaking (Murphy 2012, 87). Crucial in this respect were security sector reforms, which abolished the practice of kekaryaan—­the secondment of military personnel to the civilian bureaucracy—­and marked the withdrawal of the armed forces from politics (Honna 2003; Sebastian 2006; Mietzner 2009, 2011; Rüland and Manea 2013; Croissant, Kühn, Lorenz, and Chambers 2014; Heiduk 2011, 2014). Since then, the number of military officers in ambassadorial posts has declined rapidly to no more than two or three out of 116 positions (Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 79).

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Equally crucial for the reform of the diplomatic service was Law No. 37/1999. By defining foreign relations as “all activities encompassing regional and international aspects conducted by the Government at central and regional level, or institutions, state agencies, business organizations, political organizations, community organizations, non-­governmental organizations or Indonesian citizens,” the law created space for additional stakeholders to participate in foreign policymaking. One year later, the national legislature (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, DPR) passed Law No. 24/2000, on international agreements, which called for extensive consultations and coordination between the executive, the legislature, and other relevant agencies in the negotiation of international agreements (Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 64–­65). Two presidential decrees, No. 119/2001, “The New Structure of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” (Nabbs-­Keller 2013: 66) and No. 108/2003, “The Organization of Indonesia’s Diplomatic Missions,” (ibid., 68) inaugurated a comprehensive restructuring of Indonesia’s diplomatic service, including the promotion to ministerial positions of a generation of capable young diplomats known as “Hassan’s boys” because of their closeness to then foreign minister Hassan Wirajuda.1 In a process branded by Wirajuda as “self-­improvement,” the decrees enabled the reformers to upgrade the professionalism of the diplomatic service (Dosch 2007, 38). This included “right-­sizing” (increasing diplomatic staff and decreasing administrative staff, and restructuring work units), establishing a meritocratic promotion system, making improvements in transparency and accountability, smoothing the flow of information, strengthening the autonomy of the head of missions, creating the Directorate General for Information and Public Diplomacy, and making the services of the ministry more accessible to Indonesian citizens (Nabbs-­Keller 2013, 67; Wirajuda 2014, 79).2 On the basis of his concept of “total diplomacy” Wirajuda also created informal structures such as weekly “breakfast meetings” to involve a wider circle of stakeholders in foreign policymaking, including non-­governmental organizations, the media, think tank scholars, and legislators.3 The reforms sought to manifest Indonesia’s growing political pluralism (Cullen 2002) or “the democratic transformation within,” as Wirajuda’s successor, Marty Natalegawa, later put it. Opening foreign policymaking to a greater number of stakeholders is a way of generating fresh ideas and opportunities and creating a stronger sense of ownership.4 Foreign policy should be brought “closer to the people and thus reduce its elitist nature,” asserted diplomat Siswo Pramono,5 thereby echoing an earlier statement of President Yudhoyono.6 It was the prevailing belief in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs

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that, after all, “support from domestic stakeholders will strengthen the role and leadership of Indonesia in ASEAN.”7

Framing In Chapter 2 framing was introduced as an argumentative process of making policies palpable to other key actors and the wider public, thereby generating legitimacy for government actions. Framing is thus also a key strategy of political actors in the localization of new external ideas (Acharya 2004, 2009). As regional integration is perceived here as a governance process, I expected actors involved in the debate on ASEAN reforms to frame their arguments in line with the functions attributed by the theoretical literature to governance: political order, welfare, and security functions. The Democracy Frame Statements by key government representatives suggest that political order functions clearly dominated the frames used by the Indonesian government in the ASEAN Charter debate. Unsurprisingly, in the context of the democratization and pluralization of the foreign policy process outlined earlier, references to democracy and human rights abounded, an observation that held not only for the government but—­as we shall see later—­for most other Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, too. We may thus speak of a democracy frame applied by Indonesian stakeholders in the ASEAN Charter debate. A characteristic of the democracy frame is frequent reference to European regional integration, which served as a benchmark for ASEAN policies. Indonesian officials often made these comparisons during the Charter-­writing process in an attempt to persuade fellow members of the more progressive institutional arrangements favored by Indonesia. In official ASEAN circles, the Indonesian government spearheaded efforts to incorporate democracy in the grouping’s repository of cooperation norms, the ASEAN Way. For Jakarta, reforming ASEAN was tantamount to democratizing ASEAN, both at the national and regional levels. The opportunity to propagate a more democratic ASEAN region presented itself with Indonesia’s turn as ASEAN chair in 2003. At the time, increasingly concerned with the rapid rise of China and Southeast Asia’s seeming loss of economic competitiveness, Singapore and Thailand had launched the proposal of the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC). At the core of the AEC proposal was the creation of a single market and production base by 2020. However, for the Indonesian government a mere deepening of economic integration did not go

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far enough.8 Convinced that ASEAN would only become a more effective regional organization if the grouping also strengthened its cohesion in other fields of cooperation, Jakarta proposed the establishment of the ASEAN Security Community (ASC). One of its key objectives was the democratization of decision making in the association and a fundamental reform of the ASEAN Way.9 However, attempts to democratize ASEAN met with resistance from Indonesia’s ASEAN partners.10 The promotion of democracy and human rights; a commitment to free and fair elections; the free flow of information; the building of open, tolerant, and transparent societies; and the formation of a regional peacekeeping force were ideas that authoritarian member countries such as Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, and Myanmar did not find palatable for an official ASEAN document.11 They viewed the proposals as a thinly veiled Indonesian agenda to restore the regional leadership it had lost in the turbulences caused by the Asian Financial Crisis and the resignation of President Suharto. An unnamed Southeast Asian official, cited by the Far Eastern Economic Review, voiced worries that “if you give in to Indonesia on this, it will change something fundamental that made ASEAN work—­the willingness of the largest member not to assert itself or insist on always getting its way.”12 In the light of mounting criticism, ASEAN senior officials forced Indonesia to revise its proposals, originally formulated by Rizal Sukma, a scholar working at the CSIS (Sukma 2003). Nevertheless, despite the dilution of the Indonesian proposals (Sukma 2008, 268), the ASC concept eventually adopted at the Bali summit markedly extended the norms of the ASEAN Way. As ASEAN had so far painstakingly avoided any reference to the member countries’ systems of government, with the Vientiane Action Programme (2004–­ 2010) the group for the first time in its history acknowledged democracy, respect for human rights, good governance, and rule of law as regional norms; supposedly liberal-­cosmopolitan norms that also guided European integration. With this normative innovation, ASEAN’s cherished noninterference norm came under even greater scrutiny than in the years before. Indisputably, it was Indonesian diplomacy that had strongly contributed to this process. Through public statements Indonesian government officials further heightened pressure on their ASEAN partners for a major institutional overhaul of Southeast Asia’s regionalism. Yayan G. H. Mulyana, one of President Megawati’s foreign policy advisors, recommended that the ASEAN Way should not be viewed as a “narrow-­minded and exclusive venture.”13 He continued to stress the urgent need to overcome ASEAN’s elitist nature and open regional governance to broader segments of the public.14 ASEAN, he argued,

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should be more than the business of government, at one point even calling for the “empowering [of] ASEAN nationals so that they can actively participate in the process and to facilitate their participation.”15 A few days earlier, another high-­ranking Indonesian diplomat decried the fact that six out of ten ASEAN member countries harbored objections against a regional human rights mechanism. Yet, he insisted, “ASEAN should have an institution that ensures the protection of all ASEAN citizens with a sufficient mandate from each government to do so.”16 Such statements backed up Indonesian initiatives to enshrine the new norms in a fundamental quasi-­constitutional text, an ASEAN charter. In an attempt to expedite discussions, Indonesia submitted a full-­draft version of an ASEAN charter to the ASEAN Senior Officials Meetings (ASEAN-­SOM) as early as 2004 (Djani 2009, 139). Not unexpectedly, other member states responded reluctantly to this initiative (Djani 2009, 139). Yet, with Indonesia’s unrelenting lobbying, ASEAN leaders eventually decided at the 2005 Kuala Lumpur Summit to draft a charter with the objective of casting regional cooperation into a set of formalized rules. In early 2007, the Eminent Persons Group (EPG), mandated at the summit with drafting a charter blueprint, came out with a report attaching great importance to the liberal-­cosmopolitan norms included in the Vientiane Action Programme. In Indonesia, the EPG Report became the benchmark for assessing the ASEAN Charter. However, obviously jolted by the seemingly widespread opposition the EPG Report met from other ASEAN governments, the Indonesian government became increasingly concerned that the charter-­drafting body set up at the January 2007 Cebu Summit, the High Level Task Force (HLTF), would retrench most of the reforms proposed by the EPG. The Indonesian government thus sought to reassure stakeholders at home of its unwavering commitment to reforming ASEAN along liberal-­cosmopolitan values by predicting, “The substance of the Charter will not be far from the recommendation of the Eminent Persons Group.”17 “Indonesia,” then Foreign Ministry director general for ASEAN Affairs and member of the HLTF Dian Triansyah Djani stated, “will always be at the forefront of efforts to ensure these principles are enshrined in the Charter.”18 Also, Indonesia’s EPG representative, former foreign minister Ali Alatas, highlighted his and Indonesia’s expectations that the Charter would promote ASEAN’s new norms, such as democracy, good governance, human rights, and humanitarian laws. Although the ASEAN Charter eventually confirmed the liberal-­ cosmopolitan values of the Bali Concord II, it retreated from many of the EPG’s progressive proposals, including the latter’s call for a more people-­oriented re-

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gionalism, which was mentioned only briefly in the Charter text (see also Alatas 2007). Nevertheless, Indonesia’s government pledged to continue working toward a more democratic ASEAN, and respective overtures intensified when the country became ASEAN chair in 2011. Immediately after it took over the chairmanship, Foreign Minister Natalegawa resolutely declared that “ASEAN must become a people-­centered organization.”19 President Yudhoyono also wanted to see the public more involved in ASEAN events, reaffirming “that Indonesia is prepared to work together with the youth, students, business communities and civil society organizations in all stages, from preparation to implementation.”20 To achieve this objective, Natalegawa proposed the creation of “community forums” for each pillar.21 And the Indonesian director of the ASEAN Foundation, veteran diplomat Makarim Wibosono, explained—­somewhat idealizing the EU—­that in the EU policymaking is a “bottom-­up process” driven by the wishes of the people, and “not initiated by the government before it involved the community,”22 thereby critically alluding to the practices in ASEAN. However, at the end of Indonesia’s stint as ASEAN chair, its initiatives had fizzled out inconclusively, even though other ASEAN governments had publicly welcomed Indonesian proposals.23 The vocal Indonesian support of seemingly liberal-­cosmopolitan norms immediately prior to, during, and after the Charter negotiations coincided with a general foreign policy change, which can be traced to the assumption of office of President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. Under Yudhoyono and his foreign minister, Hassan Wirajuda, democracy became a buzzword in foreign policy initiatives. Paradigmatic in this respect were Wirajuda’s speeches before the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA), where he celebrated Indonesia’s achievements in the process of democratic transition, such as the conduct of free, fair, and peaceful elections and unconditional respect for human rights, deriving from them for Indonesia the role conception of an advocate of democracy.24 Democracy became part and parcel of the government’s agenda of pursuing a normative foreign policy, making Indonesia a “strategic ambassador for democracy in the region,” as diplomat Pribadi Sutiono formulated.25 Although the Indonesian government added that it did not intend to impose its own values on others,26 it regarded the democratic transformation of Southeast Asia as essential for the sustainability of Indonesian democracy, arguing that “democracy on the national level can only be sustained if it finds a regional milieu that is conducive. Democratic capacity building should [thus] not be confined to domestic institutions only.”27 With this in mind Wirajuda demanded that “democratic values should be continually promoted to non-­democratic members of ASEAN.”28

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The Bali Democracy Forum (BDF) became the flagship for facilitating the government’s democracy discourse. Founded in December 2008, it has since convened on an annual basis. Through the BDF the Indonesian government seeks to demonstrate that its policy of championing democracy and human rights norms is more than cheap talk. It therefore portrays the BDF as a concrete measure through which to advance democracy in a region that Indonesian government representatives claim is behind other regions.29 At the forum, high-­ranking governmental representatives from Asia and other parts of the globe, both democratic and authoritarian, meet to discuss issues related to democracy and democratization, with the Indonesian government believing that the sharing of “best practices”30 could persuade authoritarian regimes elsewhere to initiate political change. Yet, apart from these outward-­oriented objectives, the BDF also has a domestic function, reassuring the public that Indonesia takes its obligation to work toward an amendment of the Charter seriously. In light of the great emphasis the Indonesian government placed on the democracy frame in propagating the ASEAN Charter’s reform agenda, it is hardly surprising that officials responded with thinly veiled anger when during the ratification debate critics claimed that the final Charter document betrayed Indonesian ambitions for a more democratic ASEAN. For example, Ngurah Swajaya, a high-­ranking Indonesian diplomat, took CSIS scholar Jusuf Wanandi to task for his harsh Charter critique, maintaining that the Charter’s principles and norms were consistent with the values of Indonesia. This was particularly the case with the Charter’s new norms of human rights, good governance, democracy, and constitutional government. In particular, he rated as major progress the fact that due to Indonesian pressure the Charter included a commitment to the establishment of a regional human rights mechanism.31 Indeed, without Indonesia’s insistence and determination in the Charter negotiations, the human rights provisions in the Charter would have been meaningless. When the issue was discussed by foreign ministers at their meeting in July 2007 in Singapore, the older member countries proposed that ASEAN “shall establish” a regional human rights mechanism, while the new members would only concede that ASEAN “may establish” such a body.32 Myanmar was reported to have rejected the inclusion of a human rights commission despite a clause that would have allowed unwilling members such as itself, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia to join the commission only when they felt ready. After intense negotiation the deadlock was eventually broken when the foreign ministers agreed that there would be a human rights body, but

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with details on the latter to be decided later.33 Indonesia and the Philippines, both of which strongly lobbied for a human rights body, were eventually able to get consent from their reluctant partners by sacrificing a Charter provision allowing for majority voting (Dosch 2008, 537; Collins 2013, 72). After the Charter went into force in November 2008, ASEAN governments appointed a high level panel (HLP) that was mandated with negotiating the envisaged human rights body’s functions and competences. However, starting in July 2008, the meetings of the HLP, mainly composed of government officials, dragged on inconclusively for nearly a year. Unlike most other ASEAN governments, Indonesia wanted a regional human rights mechanism with a strong mandate in order to protect ASEAN’s credibility on the international stage. As Foreign Ministry spokesman Teuku Faizasyah explained, “We want the future rights body to be more than just an institute that educates on human rights.”34 While Indonesian officials soon realized that it would be too early to push for a rights mechanism that would also provide for the imposition of sanctions on countries that violate the rights of their citizens, they nevertheless strongly pleaded for a rights body with the power to monitor and investigate rights abuses in the region.35 Therefore, Hassan Wirajuda argued, ASEAN member states should soften the association’s noninterference norm: “Gross violations of human rights are not a domestic problem.”36 Thus, according to Wirajuda, “there should be a new definition of the principle of noninterference.”37 The benchmark against which to measure the ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights (AICHR), eventually launched at the fifteenth ASEAN summit, in Hua Hin (Thailand) in October 2009, should be the international standards set by the United Nations and regional organizations that have already established their own human rights bodies and in some cases even human rights courts.38 When, at their meeting in July 2009, the foreign ministers discussed the terms of reference negotiated by the HLP, Indonesia was the only member country unwilling to endorse the document. It did not help that even President Yudhoyono, in a mantra-­like style, sought to persuade ASEAN partners that “we in ASEAN can no longer afford to be allergic to democracy and human rights.”39 In the end, Indonesia grudgingly decided to go along with the majority. The compromise was the concession by the other ASEAN members to subject the terms of reference and the human rights body to a review after five years.40 As with a similar provision for the Charter,41 the review clause gave the Indonesian government the opportunity to save face, while at the same time portraying itself as a good ASEAN citizen abiding

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by the wishes of the majority.42 Similar to the government’s responses to the Charter, which many diplomats inside and outside Indonesia euphemistically described as a “living document” (Koh, Manalo, and Woon 2009b, xxi; Razak 2009, 25) open to further development, the Foreign Ministry’s director general for ASEAN, Djauhari Oratmangun, could thus argue, We see this as an evolution. It is impossible for us to get 100 percent consensus; this is the best we can get in the current situation. In the next five years, we will achieve what we are fighting for. Yes, we are upset and unsatisfied, but for ASEAN to agree on creating a human rights body was unthinkable before. If we want to see the glass half-­ full, this is indeed a significant improvement.43

Indonesia was also instrumental in inserting into the AICHR’s terms of reference the provision that it must not only “promote” but also “protect” human rights.44 However, a majority of ASEAN members made sure that the body was toothless in this regard. Foreign Minister Wirajuda thus once more reminded all ASEAN members that the terms of reference did not meet international standards. The minimum that he would expect from the review after five years was a broadened mandate of the rights body, particularly including human rights protection.45 In another statement, he noted critically that the powers of the envisaged regional human rights mechanism did not even meet the national standards of member states such as Indonesia and the Philippines, which allow for investigations, calling of witnesses, establishing fact-­finding missions, reporting, and submitting recommendations.46 During its ASEAN chairmanship in 2011, Indonesia resumed its lobbying for a strong ASEAN human rights body.47 Moreover, Indonesia was at the forefront of paving the way for a substantive ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR), which also would strengthen the AICHR’s mandate. However, the “significant progress in the work of the ASEAN human rights body” that Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa predicted in January 2011 remained elusive.48 The ADHR, eventually adopted by ASEAN governments in November 2012, still subscribed to the relativistic human rights concept that ASEAN governments championed at the height of the Asian values debate in the mid-­1990s. The Welfare Frame As predicted in the theoretical section, Indonesian government officials also used the welfare and security frames to persuade other ASEAN governments and the domestic audience that ASEAN reforms were essential. However, in contrast to other stakeholders, they used these frames more sporadically than the democracy frame. The welfare frame was used most frequently during the

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charter-­drafting process and the ratification debate in response to doubts aired by legislators, NGO representatives, and the press that Indonesia would benefit from ASEAN. Foreign Minister Wirajuda, for instance, aired statements calling for a “caring and sharing” community,49 and reminded the public that Indonesia had benefited from ASEAN through “the blessings of peace and tranquility.”50 Noteworthy in this respect is an article by Dian Triansyah Djani, Indonesia’s HLTF member drafting the Charter, who at length described how ASEAN had benefited Indonesia in economic terms: in the fields of trade, tourism, regulations for labor migrants, and mutual recognition agreements for professionals.51 Also the ASEAN Economic Community was named by government officials as a welfare-­enhancing factor of ASEAN (see also Chapter 10). Other government representatives, including Foreign Minister Natalegawa, also repeatedly affirmed in rather sweeping terms that ASEAN “must bring benefits to the people.”52 Such statements were also a reassurance of the public in the face of apparent delays in the implementation of the AEC, on which Charter adherents placed much hope for an acceleration of sustained economic growth. Referring to the dominant democracy frame, leading government officials stressed that democracy is not an end in itself. “An ASEAN Community that serves as the vanguard for the promotion of democratic values, human rights and tolerance at the global level,” must deliver benefits. Such a “democratic dividend,” argued Foreign Minister Natalegawa, must promote development, advance economic prosperity, and “equip countries in addressing political and security challenges.”53 “Through democracy,” concluded President Yudhoyono, “development is made inclusive and equitable. Through development, democracy is made stable and durable.”54 Democracy and development are thus closely intertwined. They are two sides of the same coin. Such a view is diametrically opposed to the beliefs of a former Singaporean prime minister, the late Lee Kuan Yew, who in the past and with utter disregard for ASEAN’s noninterference norm had repeatedly criticized the Philippines—­for a long time the only democracy in the region—­stating that its sluggish economic development was a result of its unwieldy democratic political system.55 More specifically, jumping on an issue frequently raised by legislators and NGOs, Natalegawa and other government officials promised that “Indonesia will also endeavor to make significant progress on the issue of protection of migrant workers in the region.”56

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The Security Frame Government officials occasionally also used the security frame as a rationalization of why ASEAN must be reformed. In particular, Indonesia’s representative in the EPG, former foreign minister Ali Alatas, used this frame. Alatas, in his time as foreign minister an ardent defender of the ASEAN Way (Rüland 2000), had turned into an adherent of institutional change by the time he entered the EPG. Underlying his change of mind was less a major turnaround in his normative beliefs than the realization that ASEAN needed to be transformed into a more effective organization. Given the intensifying globalization pressures and “the rise of new forces, such as China and India,”57 ASEAN had to transcend the proverbial lowest common denominator. To become more effective, the Charter also needed to include mechanisms for monitoring the compliance of members with the document’s provisions, replace consensual decision making with a voting system, strengthen the ASEAN Secretariat,58 and support the grouping’s transformation to a people-­oriented and democratic organization by establishing a “regular channel of communication at all levels of ASEAN.”59 Other government representatives had similar thoughts.60 For them Indonesia and ASEAN could only cope with the ensuing geopolitical and geo-­ economic changes under certain conditions: first, Indonesia, but also ASEAN, needed to become more globally involved, and second, as a consequence, they needed to markedly strengthen their competitiveness in the world economy and their bargaining power in international forums. This, however, could only be achieved if ASEAN closed ranks and became a more cohesive organization than in the past. Therefore, from this perspective a stronger and more united ASEAN was the key rationale for thorough institutional reforms and the main incentive for supporting the Charter process. Thus, unsurprisingly, the arguments in favor of reform were more instrumental than those advocated by the democracy frame.

Grafting As outlined in Chapter 2, grafting is a major mechanism in the localization process. Grafting is the active and conscious construction of a nexus between the new external ideas and the extant local ideas (Acharya 2004, 2009). It makes new and old ideas compatible. This section explores how far and to what extent Indonesian government representatives fused EU-­inspired norms of regional integration with the cognitive prior of Indonesian political culture and the orthodoxy of the ASEAN Way. I start with grafting exercises con-

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necting new external European ideas on regionalism with Indonesian foreign policy traditions. Democracy and Soft Power To a considerable extent, the Indonesian government’s democracy frame fits Shils’s view that in developing countries “foreign policy is primarily a policy of ‘public relations,’ designed not, as in advanced countries, to sustain the security of the state or enhance its power among other states, but to improve the reputation of the nation, to make others heed its voice, to make them pay attention to it and to respect it” (Shils quoted in Weinstein 1976, 21). Being a regional democracy and human rights promoter indeed endows Indonesia with “soft power.” Soft power signifies the ability of actors to coopt others by attraction rather than using compulsory, structural, or institutional power (Barnett and Duvall 2005) to persuade them to particular courses of action (Nye 1990). It comes close to the concept of “productive power” or “power to” in contrast to “power over,” denoting the power to influence the behavior and interests of others through discursive means (Barnett and Duvall 2005). Getting sympathy, recognition, and respect from others as a result of a country’s attractive political order or the value system it champions also stabilizes governments domestically. In a thoughtful article tracing the ideational roots of Indonesia’s foreign policy through history, Nguitragool has shown that even in precolonial Javanese kingdoms, the creation of soft power was a tool for rulers to strengthen their grip on power and to conduct external relations (Nguitragool 2012, 731, 739). Current Indonesian foreign policymakers dovetail this tradition, realizing—­as the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have aptly demonstrated—­that military power is no longer a reliable tool for shaping political outcomes in the desired way. This is probably what President Yudhoyono meant when he stated that the twenty-­first century is the “century of soft power.”61 Thus, with soft power definitely a major element of the “cognitive prior” of Indonesian foreign policymaking, the Indonesian government’s explicit attempt to build “soft power” through a foreign policy seemingly based on liberal-­ cosmopolitan norms connects Indonesian notions of regionalism with the country’s older foreign policy norms. During and after the Charter debate, the Indonesian government persistently tried to craft for itself the image of a pioneering advocate of democracy in Southeast Asia. In the view of President Yudhoyono, Indonesia’s soft power primarily lies “in our democratic development.”62 Diplomats and politicians promoted this self-­image with metaphors styling Indonesia as “champion of

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democracy”63 and “strategic ambassador of democracy,”64 and with claims that Indonesia is exemplary in reconciling “democracy, (moderate) Islam and modernity.”65 That creation of soft power through democracy and human rights promotion was a strategic agenda is frankly admitted by government representatives. Diplomat Umar Hadi, for instance, characterized “building and consolidating democracy” as a “strategic agenda,” though for the whole of Asia, not just Indonesia.66 And a policy directive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs promoted democratic norms not as an end in itself but rather as a means through which to accomplish certain policy objectives. It called on the government “to create a more positive image of Indonesia through advancement of democracy and human rights, and protection of culture heritage.”67 The directive’s advice to participate “in international forums for advancement of human rights and preservation of environment” anticipates the same effect.68 Foreign policy stakeholders thus tried to extract reputational mileage out of celebrating the country’s democratic transformation.69 Democracy was highlighted as a formidable achievement given the fact that little more than a decade ago Indonesia was a key advocate of what under the heading of “Asian values” had been devised as an essentially antiliberal rejection of Western liberal-­cosmopolitan norms.70 Democratic change at home and advocacy of democracy and human rights in relations with other countries were thus perceived as moves to restore Indonesia’s dignity overseas, which had suffered badly in the years of authoritarian darkness, economic collapse caused by the Asian Financial Crisis, and political turmoil in the early Reformasi years (Bandoro 2006, 306). In a state address delivered to the national parliament, President Yudhoyono thus noted with satisfaction that Indonesia had shed its former negative image. No longer was the country associated with decline, instability and conflict. Now, the world looked at Indonesia as an example, both as the world’s third largest democracy and as a bridge between Islam and the West.71 Since the Charter debate, the reference to Indonesia as the third largest democracy after India and the United States has become one of the most frequently used rhetorical figures of government officials and other foreign policy stakeholders. Playing in the same league as these established democracies bestows prestige upon Indonesia.72 The message is that Indonesia’s democratic credentials make the country attractive to others which, hence, may emulate its political transformation, an objective of the Bali Democracy Forum (BDF). The BDF seeks to craft for Indonesia the positive image of a nation that pioneers the inevitable and unstoppable rise of democracy in the region.73 In-

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donesia’s objective of looking much better in the eyes of other countries and thus giving the country a stronger voice and more attention in international forums74 might be better achieved if the “democracy dividend” is reaped, as Foreign Minister Natalegawa argued.75 That this strategy works is revealed by international reactions: the Australian government, for instance, approvingly commented, “An initiative such as the Bali Democracy Forum is a very important event. It shows Indonesia can lead a global dialogue in democracy.”76 Indonesia’s domestic political order and its value base have therefore become part and parcel of the country’s foreign policy, including that in regard to ASEAN.77 Fusing Democracy and Organicism While at first glance the Indonesian government seems to promote a liberal democracy and human rights agenda, on closer scrutiny it becomes evident that it operates with a democracy concept that is ambiguous enough to make it compatible with the country’s and the region’s deeply entrenched older organicist and corporatist traditions of state-­society relations outlined in Chapter 3. Typical of such ambiguities are speeches by President Yudhoyono at the Bali Democracy Forum in which, on the one hand, he formulated that democracy and development is a process of empowerment. Empowerment for every layer of society. Especially for those who are vulnerable, impoverished, marginalized and backwards,78

whereas on the other hand, one year earlier he had vaguely spoken of democracy in Asian societies that has produced many records of the practice of pluralism, consultation, tolerance, consensus-­building, mutual accommodation, egalitarianism, protection of minority rights throughout Asia. . . . Our democracy is providing a home for these civilizational influences to blend harmoniously.79

Such characterizations of democracy appeal to liberals but at the same time leave ample space to accommodate illiberal conceptualizations of political order, making democracy promotion palatable to Indonesians with a conservative normative outlook and also to less-­democratic governments in Southeast Asia. Yudhoyono’s democracy concept thus also permits references to organicist and collectivist musyawarah and mufakat traditions. In the Indonesian context, “consultation” and “consensual decision making” entail notions of democracy that differ from liberal concepts of democracy. They leave much room for elites to make decisions as they see fit after having formally consulted the people. Leaders’ superior discursive and material power and the ha-

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bitual deference toward them enable them to shape in accordance with their preferences what after deliberation is presented as consensus. The musyawarah-­ mufakat tradition is thus another variant of top-­down decision making. References to Pancasila and “Eastern” conceptualizations of democracy reinvigorate my claim that government officials consciously syncretize foreign liberal and extant local notions of democracy.80 The government’s conceptual engineering strategy thus illustrates that it is well aware of the fact that illiberal thinking is still deeply embedded in Indonesian political culture, but that it also tallies well with the ASEAN Way, making the BDF meeting palatable for Southeast Asia’s nondemocratic regimes. In the ASEAN context musyawarah and mufakat stand for consensual decision making, in which no one imposes decisions on others. This kind of interpretation refers to the equality norm, another norm central to the ASEAN Way. But—­recalling what has been said earlier about the power asymmetries which musyawarah-­mufakat is hardly able to mask—­it also enables Indonesia as the largest and most populous country of the region to claim a regional leadership role. Older layers of political thought regularly surface in the widespread use of organicist and corporatist language. Indonesian officials’ calls for a more democratic and people-­oriented ASEAN may be more assertive than those from other ASEAN countries, but, very much like foreign policymakers there (Rüland 2014a), these officials make contributions to the Charter debate,81 as well as comments on ASEAN’s past performance and future expectations, that are replete with corporatist rhetorical figures and metaphors. This entails frequent references to ASEAN as a “family” and the appreciative use of terms such as harmony, unity, consensus, brotherhood, and fraternity.82 Despite Indonesians’ high regard for democracy in opinion polls (Murphy, 2012, 94; Croissant 2015),83 illiberal thought can also be widely traced in Indonesia’s domestic politics (Ziv 2001).84 In the everyday political discourse, it transpires in the form of popular aversion to party pluralism, legislatures, and liberal ideology. In particular, nationalist political parties such as PDI-­P, Gerindra, and Golkar often use organicist and corporatist metaphors. Other examples of rhetoric appealing to organicist political ideas include President Megawati’s “rainbow cabinet” (Slater 2004) and President Yudhoyono’s “national unity cabinets.” As in the conceptualization of domestic democracy, government representatives were also not in tune with liberal concepts of regional governance. Although most of them rhetorically endorsed the Charter’s objective of transforming the grouping into a more “people-­oriented” organization, they rarely explicitly supported the empowerment of those directly affected by ASEAN

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decisions. Empowerment would entail what Cohen and Uphoff have called “participation in decision-­making,” that is, a proactive role and direct involvement in decision making (Cohen and Uphoff 1980). By contrast, many government officials subscribe to a concept of regional democracy that tallies well with corporatist ideas of state-­society relations that ASEAN member governments have transferred from their domestic order to ASEAN as a regional organization (Rüland 2014a). Typical of this “regional corporatism” is the licensing and tight control of non-­governmental organizations by ASEAN bodies, ASEAN’s attempt to organize civil society organizations (CSOs) under the roof of unifying peak organizations, and the limitation of CSOs to consultative functions and extended arms of the government in which nonstate stakeholders chiefly perform transmission belt functions (ibid.). At no point in the Charter debate and its aftermath did the Indonesian government—­apart from general calls for a people-­oriented ASEAN—­ advocate transcending the grouping’s regional corporatism. It did not decisively lobby for a liberalization of the strictly corporatist practice of registering CSOs, nor did it oppose the repeated attempts of fellow ASEAN governments and the ASEAN Secretariat to bring CSOs under one peak organization. The belief that CSOs can only be accredited with the association if they explicitly support its objectives is not only deeply entrenched among other ASEAN governments, it also is firmly held by Indonesian government officials. When they speak of a “people-­oriented” ASEAN, rather than promoting active participation of stakeholders in decision making they often refer to processes of awareness-­raising, the creation of ownership, identity-­building, and people-­to-­ people contacts.85 Even the media are expected to contribute to this process. Rather than considering the media to be a forum for debating regionalism, Communications and Information Minister Tifatul Sembiring urged them “to inform the public about what ASEAN does, as well as what is achieved in ASEAN meetings.”86 For the Indonesian government, a “people-­centered” ASEAN is one in which the people are aware of the concrete benefits regional cooperation provides to them. Government officials therefore had no objections when even the EPG, while calling for a markedly extended participatory role of non-­ governmental agents in ASEAN decision making, balanced this plea with traditional notions of state-­guided participatory processes. The EPG also noted that “there is a need to rally the people of ASEAN—­not just government officials or diplomats—­to support ASEAN’s objectives.” CSOs should be “encouraged to participate in ASEAN activities . . . to promote greater regional

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identity and consciousness.” What the EPG has in mind in this regard includes rather depoliticizing activities such as “ASEAN Day celebration, activities in culture, sports, arts, heritage, museum exchanges, exhibition. . . .” (Collins 2008, 324).87 “Participation in benefits” (Cohen and Uphoff 1980) is what the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had in mind with its campaign to socialize the ASEAN Charter after, not before, it had been negotiated.88 In an interview with The Jakarta Post, Indonesia’s then director general for ASEAN, Djauhari Oratmangun, explained, First, we want to bring ASEAN to the national level so Indonesians can directly feel the benefit of being part of the association. Along with that, we also want to promote events that are people-­centered as mandated by President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. There will be events hosted by the Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Kadin), events by NGOs on women’s and children’s issues and supported by friends from civil society movements. All this will increase public awareness.89

This statement is remarkable in at least two respects. First, it corroborates my claim that the government regards non-­governmental groups primarily as transmission belts for its policies. Its self-­imposed task of “bringing ASEAN to the national level” stands for a top-­down, paternalistic attitude quite obviously influenced by Indonesia’s organicist state traditions (kekeluargaan). It coincides with a concept of participation that primarily regards participation as an act in which the people support the government in implementing its policies, or what Cohen and Uphoff have labeled “participation in implementation” (Cohen and Uphoff 1980). The people are, in this concept of participation, relegated to nonconfrontational junior partners of the government.90 And, second, the stakeholders explicitly named in the quote confirm that Indonesian officials prefer to cooperate with mainstream CSOs that are not in fundamental disagreement with government policies. To avoid misunderstandings: there is nothing wrong with awareness-­ building. After all, opinion polls suggest that people’s awareness of ASEAN in Indonesia indeed leaves much to be desired. One survey, conducted in 2010 in six Indonesian cities, revealed that only 42 percent of respondents had ever heard of or read about the ASEAN Community and only 44 percent of the ASEAN Charter (Benny and Abdullah 2011, 51).91 However, what is problematic with Indonesian officials’ top-­down perception of people-­centeredness is that despite increased interaction between the government and CSOs, the state does not provide much space for active popular participation in shaping its ASEAN policies. Even though the Indonesian government organized more meetings with nonstate stakeholders during the negotiation of the ASEAN

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Charter than did any other ASEAN government, information was often provided late and to a limited circle of persons. Interaction with nonstate stakeholders is mainly of a consultative nature: listening to what some selected CSOs and stakeholders have to say on an issue. But where government positions have already been formed, input from these stakeholders has little impact on actual policies.92 This largely consultative type of stakeholder involvement is also typical of corporatist state-­society arrangements. While allowing for a modicum of formal participation, they enable the government to control the policymaking process. Aptly reflecting these attitudes is the somewhat unguarded comment of a high-­ranking diplomat who expressed skepticism about whether the public was ready for more democracy in foreign policymaking. The conclusion one may draw from his contrasting of a public that often responds emotionally to foreign policy issues and a government that he sees as acting “rationally” is that he still firmly believes in government superiority and his earlier statements on popular empowerment may have merely been a tactical adjustment to new political ideas.93 Closely associated with these transmission belt functions are initiatives to enlist CSOs in the execution of state policies. The notion that CSOs are in the first place service providers in areas where the government is absent or only weakly present is widespread in Southeast Asia. CSOs are thereby confined to auxiliary functions for the state. This line of thinking is expressed in almost paradigmatic manner by Indonesian diplomat Yayan G. H. Mulyana. In a contribution to The Jakarta Post, Mulyana wrote, It requires governments to embark on a rigorous and far-­reaching social engineering of the concept of ASEANness in the public, so it becomes internalized. This ASEANization could be facilitated by the development of civil society groups that have a particular interest in ASEAN or in the Association’s issues of concern. When governments lack resources or are less explicit in their commitment, those groups could fill the void resulting from such a situation. With their outreach access, these groups could transmit information concerning ASEAN and all its aspects to the public at grass-­roots level. They could also help the public understand better what benefits they can have from Indonesia’s membership in ASEAN. Other important things these civil groups could contribute is to serve as vehicle for the public to respond to and take part in the process. They should not necessarily become pressure or interest groups, but rather genuinely issue-­oriented groups.94

The fact that he is not alone in such state corporatism-­informed thoughts is exemplified by a seminar which the Muslim organization Nahdlatul Ulama and the Center of Global Terrorism Cooperation jointly organized on the role of CSOs in fighting terrorism in 2009. According to the director gen-

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eral of ASEAN at the Foreign Ministry, Djauhari Oratmangun, Indonesia actively involves CSOs to combat terrorism: “Because terrorist threats exist, CSOs should work hard to communicate about terrorism with locals in remote areas that the government could not reach.” These positions also neatly coincide with a joint communiqué of ASEAN defense establishments, which advises member governments to explore opportunities for “practical cooperation with CSOs on nontraditional security issues at regional level” and outlines guidelines for implementing this cooperation.95 Democracy Promotion and Leadership For Indonesian policymakers, democracy and human rights promotion is—­as we have seen—­less an end in itself than part of a carefully calibrated strategy to enhance Indonesia’s international prestige and, as a corollary, its regional political stature. In fact, democracy and human rights promotion tally well with the country’s leadership claims, which can be traced back to the early independence period. Indonesia’s normative foreign policy agenda is thus made congruent with another major element of the country’s “cognitive prior” and a perennial key objective of Indonesia’s foreign policy orthodoxy. 96 Ever since independence, Indonesia has demanded for itself an elevated role in world politics. In his seminal study of the first two decades of postindependence Indonesian foreign policy, Benjamin Weinstein quoted members of the country’s foreign policy elite, who argued that “Indonesia could be considered fully independent, only when it had ‘resumed’ an international position befitting a nation of its size, population, and other assets” (Weinstein 1976, 189). “Resumed” means, as a former Indonesian foreign minister stated, the country reconnecting with its glorious past, “all the way back to Sriwijaya” (ibid.). Leadership is thus an essential part of the country’s identity. In the 1950s and early 1960s, Indonesia derived leadership claims from its self-­styled role as a nation at the forefront of the anticolonial struggle. Its self-­image of a young nation speaking on behalf of the formerly colonized countries of Asia and Africa and fighting for a more just world order was best epitomized by its hosting the Asian-­African Conference in Bandung in 1955 (Ricklefs 1993; Acharya 2009), the cradle of the Non-­Aligned Movement (NAM). After repairing the damages of Sukarno’s aggressive revisionism, from the 1980s onward Indonesia under Suharto sought a high-­profile role in NAM and, commensurate with its Islamic identity, the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC). This search for international status and recognition climaxed with the assumption of the NAM presidency for a three-­year period in 1992.

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In Southeast Asia, Indonesia articulated its leadership claims in a more guarded form. After President Sukarno’s confrontational policies against neighbors, Indonesia sought to restore forfeited confidence and trust. Yet, despite practicing an informal leadership style, everybody in the region was fully aware that Indonesia unequivocally expected to be seen as the grouping’s primus inter pares (Leifer 1974, 421; 1983, 147; Smith 2000a, 21). It responds with irritation if someone disregards this self-­styled leadership status. Barry Desker, former Singaporean diplomat and dean of the prestigious Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), thus acknowledges that “Indonesia is entitled to deference in the region and influence internationally.”97 Indonesia’s thinly veiled leadership ambitions reflected a sentiment of entitlement that rests on the country’s history, its large territory and population size, and also the argument that Indonesia is home to the world’s largest Muslim population (Murphy 2012, 87). This rationale pervades foreign policy statements throughout much of Indonesia’s history up to today. Moreover, regional leadership is also the requisite for a greater global role, an obligation enshrined in the preamble of the country’s constitution.98 As grounding leadership claims primarily on physical attributes may arouse fears among neighbors, democratization presented the country with the opportunity to associate leadership ambitions with lofty normative objectives. That democracy and human rights are norms which enjoy universal appreciation, and the fact that from 2006 to 2013 Freedom House rated Indonesia as the only full-­fledged democracy in the entire Southeast Asian region, boosted the credibility of Indonesian leadership claims, placing the country on an unassailable normative high ground. Typical of the accolades Indonesia received worldwide for its democratic achievements, Francisco Lara Jr., a Philippine journalist working for The Philippine Daily Inquirer, celebrated the country as the “democratic heavyweight of Southeast Asia.”99 With the government’s soft power strategy obviously paying dividends, democracy endows Indonesia with an aura of exceptionalism and purpose, properties that Great Powers often invoke to justify their leadership claims (Prys 2010). Promoting these noble ideas elevates Indonesia to a regional role model, with the expectation that others emulate it or at least draw inspiration from it. Indonesia, wrote U.S. scholar Paige Johnson Tan, “again has a model to sell (democracy), a model that should guarantee it leadership” (Tan 2007, 177). Not only is leadership a deeply entrenched Indonesian foreign policy objective, it also is a culturally esteemed concept in the country and elsewhere in Southeast Asia, as its abundant use in public speeches, policy statements, media reports, and scholarly articles indicates. Moreover, references to leaders

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are often couched in the language of familism. Depicting a leader as a “father” elevates him to the pivotal role that Southeast Asia’s societies with their organicist and corporatist legacies accord to leadership (Reeve 1985; Bourchier 1999, 2015). Through connecting the democracy frame with leadership, Indonesian foreign policymakers were also able to construct a link between the new value-­ based foreign policy and the country’s oldest and perhaps most significant foreign policy doctrine, that is, a free and active foreign policy (bebas-­aktif). Pursuing an active and independent foreign policy is an integral attribute of leadership. As discussed in Chapter 3, bebas-­aktif denotes political presence in international arenas, involvement in regional and global issues, freedom from Great Power influence, and, hence, preservation of autonomy in foreign policymaking. In recent years, Indonesia has increasingly tried to showcase the enhanced actorness usually associated with leadership (see Chapter 10). Academics, legislators, the press, and, in particular, NGOs have persistently called for Indonesian leadership in order to entrench democracy and human rights as prominent ASEAN norms. Obviously responding to the implied critique of claims that Indonesia is not assertive enough in the promotion of these novel cosmopolitan norms, senior diplomat Djauhari Oratmangun maintained that Indonesia’s contribution to the installation of the ASEAN Charter’s envisaged human rights mechanism was precisely such a case of successful regional leadership.100 Another activity that has been markedly stepped up in consonance with the leadership aspirations of newly democratized Indonesia and the bebas-­aktif doctrine is mediation (Vatikiotis 1993, 365), an Indonesian foreign policy role conception that had already been practiced in the past. Yet democratization strengthened the legitimacy of such endeavors in the eyes of the Indonesian government. Recent examples for which mediation was offered include the conflict between the military junta in Myanmar and opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi; the issue of Rohingyas refugees, a Muslim minority suppressed by the Burmese state; and the Thai-­Cambodian border conflict.101 No longer content with mere regional leadership, and also frustrated with ASEAN’s sluggish reforms, Indonesian foreign policymakers have also demanded a global political role.102 This has led to a global extension of the Indonesian government’s mediator activities, which mainly concentrated on conflicts in the Middle East. Indonesia is thus, as Foreign Minister Natalegawa saw it, carving out for itself the niche of a trusted “go-­to country” in international politics, a country capable of acting as an honest broker when dealing with delicate issues.103

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While Indonesia’s global engagement cannot be elaborated here in detail, it is evident that in the view of Indonesian policymakers, global leadership ambitions based on the bebas-­aktif doctrine and a strong, united ASEAN reformed along the lines of Indonesia’s democratic and human rights agenda inextricably link Indonesian interests with the regional association. An ASEAN thus endowed with soft power is better able to successfully play the role Indonesia envisioned for the association under its chairmanship in 2011: the creation of an “ASEAN Community in a Global Community of Nations”;104 in other words, an ASEAN that becomes more active in the management of global issues. Indonesia thereby acts, as Marty Natalegawa put it, in a way “similar to that of a conductor, while ASEAN was an orchestra producing beautiful music.”105 This is, broadly speaking, the attempt to transfer its bebas-­ aktif doctrine to ASEAN. But, vice-­versa, Indonesian foreign policymakers have long believed that a cohesive ASEAN following Indonesian leadership would also markedly increase Jakarta’s international bargaining power (Anwar 1994, 214; 1997, 26). However, to pour water in the wine, it should not be overlooked here that Indonesia—­despite its size, large population, and democratic transition—­lacks other attributes of regional and, in particular, global leadership. Claiming for itself the role of a benign regional hegemon entails the expectation that the country is able to provide public goods to its followers (Prys 2010). Yet, although Indonesia is back on an economic growth trail, it is by no means in a position to compete with the material resources of China, Japan, or the United States. Its economy is far from the most robust and advanced in the region. While its population is fifty times larger than that of Singapore, its GDP is only three times larger. That Indonesian leadership claims have encountered opposition in the region is another story and cannot be further discussed here. ASEAN’s authoritarian new members especially share great reservations about Indonesia’s normative foreign policy, which they regard as intrusive and in contradiction to ASEAN’s revered noninterference norm.106 In private conversations, observers reported that Singaporean diplomats have criticized Indonesia for behaving like a western country.107 The great extent to which Indonesian democracy and human rights policies were diluted in the ASEAN Charter, the AICHR, and the ASEAN Human Rights Declaration is testimony to this resistance. Marty Natalegawa thus warned, not without reason, that “[it] is useless if we are in front, but no one follows us.”108

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Welfare, Security, and the “Cognitive Prior” While the democracy frame was clearly dominant in the Charter debate, the welfare frame and the security frame served as additional argumentative patterns to make the novel ideas of the ASEAN Charter acceptable to conservative stakeholders and the wider public. Their main function is to anchor the liberal-­cosmopolitan ideas of the Charter in established notions of political and social order; in other words, the country’s cognitive prior. As we have seen in Chapter 3, in precolonial times the prosperity and happiness of subjects bestowed political legitimacy on rulers. Where poverty, hunger, and exploitation prevailed, the right to rule was forfeited (Nguitragool 2012, 732). Ancient literary texts thus associate ideal leadership and the image of a righteous ruler with economic well-­being and, closely intertwined with this stability, tranquility, and peace. Prosperity and economic well-­being, on the one hand, and stability and peace, on the other, are thus two sides of the same coin. As shown by Suharto’s New Order regime, these ideas have not lost their resonance in Indonesia. Suharto strongly based the legitimacy of his autocratic rule on economic success as measured in GDP growth rates, foreign investment, job creation, and a noteworthy decline in the poverty rate. The latter indeed decreased from about 60 percent in 1970 to about 15 percent in the mid-­1990s.109 When Suharto’s development agenda eventually collapsed in the wake of the Asian Financial Crisis, his leadership became untenable and he had to resign. Given the significance of welfare as an indigenous legitimation resource, it is somewhat surprising that the Indonesian government did not use development and economic growth more strategically to justify its designs for ASEAN reform. As mentioned before, the welfare frame was employed quite defensively, in response to critics and to drum up support for the ratification of the Charter by the legislature. Security-­related arguments played a greater role than welfare in government attempts to localize seemingly European norms in the Charter debate. Ali Alatas’s use of the security frame was typical in this respect. As a rationale for reforming ASEAN, security concerns strongly appeal to Indonesian foreign policy elites’ long-­held perceptions of the international arena as essentially hostile and Indonesia—­conditioned by centuries of colonial subjugation—­as a “traumatized country.”110 As an economically, technologically, and militarily less-­advanced country, Indonesia is exposed to undesirable external influences. Here we rediscover the aversion of the Indonesian foreign policy and security community to Great Power influence that has dominated

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Indonesian worldviews ever since independence. With it goes a proclivity for geopolitical thinking and realist worldviews, which can also be traced back as far as the country’s founding fathers (Weinstein 1976). The penchant for Realist notions of international politics is epitomized in “soft” balancing strategies and Foreign Minister Natalegawa’s concept of a “dynamic equilibrium,” which underscores the fact that the country must respond flexibly to changing geopolitical circumstances.111 Implicit in this thinking is the expectation that the ASEAN Charter enhances this capacity. In consonance with their focus on geopolitics, Indonesian analysts traditionally see their country as threatened from the North. Such visions are perpetually reproduced. Diplomat Siswo Pramono recalled invasions of Java by forces of the Mongolian emperor Kublai Khan during the Majapahit era in the thirteenth century (Weinstein 1976, 120) and the Japanese annexation of large parts of Indonesia during World War II as examples of “the vulnerability of our Northern periphery.”112 More recently, attention has shifted to China’s rise as a global power. The alleged Chinese role in the aborted coup of September 30, 1965 (Suryadinata 1996, 12), the severance of diplomatic relations with China between 1967 and 1990, and lately Beijing’s increasingly assertive posture in the South China Sea are testimony to the complex and difficult relationship with China, a Great Power located to the North. These long-­held beliefs have in no way disappeared from the minds of foreign policy elites and public discourse, despite the strategic partnership into which Indonesia and China entered in 2005113 and the Indonesian government’s pronouncements that it is not a claimant in the South China Sea.114 True, President Yudhoyono’s description of Indonesia as a country with “a million friends, zero enemies” seems to belie a Chinese peril and suggests a more optimistic worldview compared to those of his predecessors.115 But even this new image, strongly colored by the government’s democracy and human rights promotion agenda, is by no means free from the survivalist rhetoric described in Chapter 3 as a significant “cognitive prior.” The president himself repeatedly stressed that Indonesia was and still is a country exposed to many challenges in an “ever-­changing geopolitical situation,”116 which on other occasions he characterized as “turbulent seas.”117 This is a thinly veiled reference to former vice president Mohammad Hatta’s metaphor of a country “rowing between two reefs”—­the United States and the Soviet Union—­which created for Indonesia the necessity of pursuing the bebas-­aktif foreign policy.118 Even government representatives looking at ASEAN more through the prism of the democracy frame, such as Foreign Minister Natalegawa, sporadically slip back into survivalist rhetoric. His metaphor of the current international

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order as one of a “cold peace” in which residuals of the Cold War persist epitomizes such an ambiguous worldview.119 Indonesia’s traumatic experiences in international politics find their equivalents in a low level of trust, even toward ASEAN neighbors. A survey jointly conducted by the German Friedrich-­Ebert Foundation and the Singaporean Rajaratnam School of International Studies found high levels of distrust among ASEAN members. Only 37.5 percent of the respondents said that they could trust all ASEAN countries, while 36.1 percent were “unsure” and 26.4 percent answered that they do not trust their neighbors. When elites were asked separately, the percentage of those distrusting their neighbors was even higher, reaching over 58 percent for the whole region. Indonesia, along with Myanmar and Singapore, was among the countries that had the lowest trust in their neighbors.120 Given the notions of vulnerability and the low level of trust toward the country’s immediate neighbors, stability is thus another keyword in the security frame, which tallies well with Indonesia’s seemingly endangered existence in a hostile international environment.Yet President Yudhoyono at least qualified these notions of vulnerability by highlighting that Indonesia had so far mastered all external shocks and domestic turbulences, even those triggered by the Asian Financial Crisis. Such references to Indonesia’s buoyancy inevitably invite associations with the concept of national resilience (ketahanan nasional), a security doctrine developed by the military in the New Order period. Democracy, Noninterference, and the ASEAN Way In the previous sections I have shown how Indonesian government officials localized external ideas on regionalism inspired by European norms with the cognitive prior of Indonesian political culture and foreign policy traditions. In this section I argue that the government also tried to use the orthodoxies of the ASEAN Way to make the new, seemingly European norms championed in the Charter debate compatible with the cognitive prior of Southeast Asian regionalism. Constructing links between Indonesian democracy promotion and the noninterference norm is an ingenious strategy for taking on board skeptics who fear that liberal-­cosmopolitan norms make Indonesia and other ASEAN members vulnerable to Western normative infringements. Yet, as the following paragraphs show, the application of this strategy remained inconsistent and contradictory. On first sight, Indonesia’s promotion of democracy and human rights seems to indicate a break with the ASEAN Way and its previously unchallenged noninterference norm. This is implied in former foreign minister Wi-

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rajuda’s statement that “it has been commonly accepted by the international community that non-­interference principles can no longer be used to cover gross violations of human rights.”121 Such statements inevitably provoked questions about the future status of ASEAN’s previously sacrosanct national sovereignty norms for Jakarta’s relations with its regional partners.122 In the view of many Indonesian government officials, the twin-­pillared justification for Indonesian leadership—­physical attributes and the new-­found normative credentials as the region’s “cheerleader of democracy”123—­legitimize the country’s exertion of pressure on fellow ASEAN members not complying with the more progressive norms laid down in the Charter such as democracy, respect for human rights, and rule of law. While by implication such an interventionist policy may erode the sovereignty of fellow ASEAN members, it would boost the one of Indonesia, as its democratic achievements prevent it from becoming a target of interferences by others. Myanmar, until 2011 an international pariah due to its notorious military dictatorship, was thus one of the most obvious targets for Indonesian reprimands.124 The Burmese junta was thereby seen as an embarrassment to ASEAN, a liability that inevitably also reflected negatively on the image of the region’s leading power. But armed domestic conflicts such as the Muslim insurgency in Southern Thailand and the Thai-­Cambodian border skirmishes over contested territory near the Preah Vihear temple also have a damaging effect on ASEAN’s reputation because they are at variance with the grouping’s cherished norm to settle disputes peacefully. In both cases Indonesia has therefore offered to act as an intermediary, a role that conflict parties perceive as intrusion. Further examination, however, suggests that in reality Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders apply double standards when debating noninterference. While interference appears legitimate where Indonesia treads normative high ground, it is rejected where the country itself is the target of external pressure due to the imperfections of the Indonesian democracy. Cases in point are the separatist conflicts in East Timor, Aceh, and Papua. In 2004 the Indonesian government, Islamic parties,125 and various Indonesian Muslim organizations condemned a massacre by Thai security forces of Thai Muslims in Southern Thailand.126 But at the same time, citing the noninterference norm, the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesman Yuri Thamrin made clear that Indonesia rejected foreign interference into its problems in Aceh.127 As we shall see later, such double standards were even more prevalent in debates in the Indonesian legislature.

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Similarly, on the environmental front, Indonesia responded angrily to Singaporean moves to internationalize the haze pollution problem by bringing it up in the UN General Assembly. Indonesian president Yudhoyono and Indonesian officials saw this as an unfriendly move exposing Indonesia’s weaknesses to the whole world.128 For its neighbors, Indonesia is the main polluter, an accusation stubbornly refuted by many Indonesian policymakers. These examples show that in practice the Indonesian government still stuck to the noninterference norm. This was the case when Indonesia itself became the target of external criticism, but it must also be attributed to the Indonesian government’s firm intention not to rock the ASEAN boat. Even if Indonesian officials—­like other stakeholders—­found the final Charter text disappointing, they nevertheless signaled willingness to compromise. One such compromise was the formula that the Charter must be seen as a process open to amendments that, over time, would bring the document closer to Indonesia’s normative aspirations. Government officials involved in the Charter negotiations knew that Indonesian intransigence would undermine ASEAN’s cohesion even further and would impede rather than facilitate the deepening of regional integration. Ali Alatas thus did not argue in favor of wholesale abandonment of the norms enshrined in the ASEAN Way. He portrayed the new norms of the ASEAN Charter not as a departure from the ASEAN Way but rather as complementing it and developing it further. This was also the key message in Hassan Wirajuda’s statement that “the non-­interference style is dynamic in nature rather than static.”129 In an earlier press interview, Alatas had stated, “The old principles that we have agreed on, like non-­interference and others, are still there. But we added new ones to show that ASEAN is adapting itself to the new challenges. We included democracy, good government, human rights and humanitarian laws.”130 While the Indonesian government sought to graft democracy and human rights with nonintervention, the Charter text itself failed to fuse new and old norms. The two sets of norms thus stood precariously unconnected side by side.131 This problem contributed to the inconsistent behavior of the Indonesian government when old and new norms collided. While in some cases—­as stated earlier—­the Indonesian government interfered, in others it remained mute. For instance, during the Thai ASEAN chairmanship, two leader and civil society interfaces collapsed due to the refusal of some member countries to meet NGO representatives from their countries that they had not nominated for the event. Maintaining ASEAN solidarity, Indonesia offered only mild criticism of the unilateral decisions of fellow governments, whitewashing the incident as caused by miscommunication between the summit hosts

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and fellow ASEAN governments.132 Noteworthy was also the banning of a meeting of the Burmese government in exile133 in Jakarta by the Indonesian police in August 2009. The Indonesian government defended the ban, which, according to Foreign Ministry spokesman Teuku Faizasyah, “was due to Indonesia’s recognition of only one Myanmar government.”134 It considered its hands tied and thus could not allow any political activities by members of the Burmese government in exile. Indonesia also eventually grudgingly complied with the ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR), which, the way it was formulated, largely excluded external interference. When the ADHR was finally adopted by ASEAN member countries at the grouping’s November 2012 summit in Phnom Penh, it was obvious that ASEAN’s more conservative members had prevailed. As with the case of the AICHR (Tan 2011, 167), provisions of the ADHR lagged behind those of other international and regional declarations. Critics decried limitations on citizens’ rights arising from the concept of context-­based rights, limited mandates, legal ambiguities, the reforms’ nonbinding nature, and the lack of stakeholder participation in the reform process. Much of the criticism focused on Articles 7 and 8 of the ADHR. While Article 7 states that “the realization of human rights must be considered in the regional and national context bearing in mind different political, economic, legal, social, cultural, historical and religious backgrounds,” Article 8 justifies limitations of human rights and fundamental freedoms in the cases of “national security, public order, public health, public safety, public morality, as well as the general welfare of the peoples in a democratic society.” Critics thus feared that these context-­based stipulations would become vehicles for the region’s autocracies to arbitrarily restrict rights (Rüland 2013b). The previous sections have thus amply shown that Indonesia’s new democracy and human-­r ights-­based foreign policy is constructed in a way that breaks neither with the country’s foreign policy orthodoxy nor with key pillars of the ASEAN Way. It skillfully weaves new ideas into extant beliefs of foreign policymaking and Southeast Asian regionalism. It succeeds by endowing key concepts such as democracy and, to a lesser extent, human rights with a polyvalent meaning, thereby making them compatible with many ideological strands. Grafting thus pleases Western democracies and many in the NGO camp with their plebiscitary grassroots-­oriented notions of social democracy, and it also appeals to conservative adherents of organicist and corporatist state-­society relations. In practical politics, however, as this section has shown, this bridging of new and old values can be inconsistent and contradictory.

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Pruning Localization finally implies that extant local ideas and new external ideas must be pruned. In the Indonesian case, we observe that government officials indeed pruned both the foreign ideas associated with European integration and the established orthodoxy of the ASEAN Way. As pointed out in Chapter 2, perceiving pruning as a dual process slightly modifies Acharya’s original theory, which posits that only the external ideas are pruned by insider proponents (Acharya 2009, 18). First, and most significantly, government representatives pruned from the European model the supranational dimension. From its inception in the early 1950s and affirmed by the Treaty of Rome (1957), European integration sought to transcend national sovereignty in select policy areas. The most obvious case was trade policy under the authority of a supranational body, the European Commission. Ernst Haas has defined political integration driven by such (selective) supranationalism as “the process whereby actors shift their loyalties, expectations, and political activities toward a new center, whose institutions possess or demand jurisdiction over pre-­existing national states” (Haas 1958, 10). Since then an increasing number of policy fields have been integrated, with the most consequential, but also most contested, of them being monetary politics. Yet discarding the intergovernmentalist mode of cooperation has never been a serious element in the ASEAN reform agenda. However, the rejection of supranationalism does not mean that government officials did not favor a greater centralization of ASEAN policymaking that—­if practiced successfully—­could have opened avenues toward mild forms of supranationalism in the more distant future. Ali Alatas, the late Indonesian EPG delegate, believed that the voluntary transfer of some sovereign function to a regional organization should not be seen as a zero-­sum game and interpreted as a reduction of sovereignty. In this context, it is pertinent to study the way the European Union has addressed the question of national sovereignty, i.e. by utilizing the concept of a “pooling of sovereignty.” There is also the need, and this is one of the recommendations of the EPG, for ASEAN to re-­calibrate its traditional approach of non-­interference in domestic matters and to do so on questions where the common interest dictates joint action and closer cooperation. (Alatas 2007, 6)

In Alatas’s view, “one of the key lessons that should be drawn from EU integration is that members are willing to lend their sovereignty to the bigger grouping.”135 Foreign Minister Wirajuda also supported institutional reforms along these lines. Interestingly, Indonesian preferences for a greater centralization of ASEAN cooperation are not new and can be traced as far back as the

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late 1970s and 1980s. Dewi Fortuna Anwar, in her seminal study on Indonesia’s ASEAN policy, noted that the Indonesian government at the time “favored the development of a stronger and more centralized ASEAN structure in order to make the association more effective” (Anwar 1994, 60). Jakarta thereby attributed a key role to the ASEAN Secretariat, which should “be at the vanguard of ASEAN cooperation,” a position also supported by Alatas many years later.136 However, today, with the Charter in force, centralization has in no way made inroads into ASEAN’s repository of cooperation norms. We may therefore conclude that despite borrowing institutional terminology and designs from European regional integration, a major institutional feature of the latter, selective supranationalism, has been pruned by the Indonesian government. Also pruned from the European model were institutional arrangements, which would have facilitated greater democratization and empowerment of social groups directly affected by acts of regional governance. Even though the EU itself is often criticized as having a democracy deficit, ASEAN nevertheless adopted from the EU and, to a lesser extent, from other regional organizations, the idea of involving interest groups and CSOs in the policymaking process. However, the concept of “people-­orientedness” pruned from the EU’s liberal democracy concept the active involvement of non-­governmental stakeholders in decision making. ASEAN governments, in this not decisively hindered by the Indonesian government, reduced the democracy concept to a skeletal frame, or “participation in implementation” (Cohen and Uphoff 1980). In other words, any dimension of a “participatory regionalism from below” (Rother 2015) was pruned from the liberal democracy concept. Even under pressure from the more democratic member countries and civil society, ASEAN did not establish a body resembling the EU’s Economic and Social Committee or Mercosur’s Economic and Social Consultative Forum (Foro Cultativo Económico y Social, FCES), where civil society representatives meet regularly, deliberate, and submit policy proposals to the EU Commission or—­in the case of Mercosur—­pertinent regional executive bodies (Dri 2008). Nor did it, as pointed out earlier, find a place for labor in the interaction with civil society, which in the EU and Mercosur are prominently represented in the consultative bodies mentioned above. It has also avoided liberalizing the registration of CSOs and their access to decision-­making processes, as is the case in the EU. The 2012 revision of the guidelines for the registration of CSOs have in no substantive way shed their state corporatist ideational roots. ASEAN’s regional corporatism thus differs markedly from the liberal-­pluralist state-­society relations in the EU (Streeck and Schmitter

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1991; Mazey and Richardson 2001) and, at least on paper, Mercosur (Rüland and Bechle 2014). In fact, as studies have persuasively shown, the leader-­CSO interfaces and the meetings between leaders and representatives of AIPA at ASEAN Summits are hardly more than institutional facades (Collins 2008; Rüland 2014a; Nesadurai 2012; Gerard 2013). The Indonesian government, even if not pruning these participatory mechanisms by itself, nevertheless acquiesced to their pruning by fellow ASEAN governments. Finally, in the economic realm government representatives pruned from the European integration model the objective of a currency union. In this, Indonesian officials were vindicated by the fiasco of the Euro crisis. Also pruned were major elements of the single-­market concept, such as the liberty of free movement of labor, which, although restricted in the AEC to skilled labor, caused apprehension over job losses in Indonesia. In the opposite direction, the ASEAN Way was also pruned. At the center of attention in this respect was the noninterference norm. Yet the extent to which the government was ready to prune noninterference was limited. There were occasional calls for an overhaul of this norm closely related to national sovereignty by Foreign Minister Wirajuda. President Yudhoyono also spoke at one point of a “new sovereignty” in which “countries can intervene in the affairs of other countries on certain grounds like human rights.”137 But in the end, out of concern for the sentiments of fellow ASEAN members, the Indonesian government consented that the Charter should not eliminate the ASEAN Way’s core norms, to which noninterference certainly belonged. Moreover, as we have seen, the Indonesian debate was not free from contradictions. While under certain circumstances government officials were ready to see the sovereignty of ASEAN partners curtailed through a relaxation of the noninterference norm, they were not willing to allow the same to happen to their own country. The reconstruction of the noninterference norm thus had its limits where it would seriously jeopardize Indonesia’s putative national interest.

5

Non-­Governmental Organizations and the ASEAN Charter

This chapter explores what Indonesian NGO representatives think about regionalism. Non-­governmental groups have been the most active and vocal participants in the Charter debate and its aftermath. They have propagated the most far-­reaching revisions of the ASEAN Way and they also became the most vociferous critics of ASEAN governments, whom they held responsible for diluting the progressive EPG Charter blueprint. The chapter first gives a short background about the significance of NGOs as political actors in the Era Reformasi before in a subsequent step I explore how and to what extent NGOs localized external ideas on regionalism. I thereby build on the theoretical framework developed in Chapter 2: I examine how NGOs framed new external ideas on the ASEAN Charter and ASEAN reforms, how they grafted them with extant local ideas on Indonesian foreign policymaking and Southeast Asian regionalism, and which components they pruned from the new and old ideas.

The Blossoming of NGOs in the Era Reformasi In Indonesia modern development NGOs began surfacing in the early 1970s. They acted as extended arms of the Suharto regime in the implementation of the government’s development programs. The regime tolerated NGOs as long as they confined themselves to being state-­directed, nonpolitical agents of community service delivery (Ufen 2002, 375; Antlöv, Brinkerhoff, and Rapp

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2010, 421). Yet it squeezed them into the tight corset of state corporatist arrangements (MacIntyre 1994), curtailing their activities in multiple ways, and placed them under tight government supervision. Organized as foundations (yayasan), NGOs were denied the right to operate as membership-­based associations, subjecting them to the depoliticization strategy the regime had pursued since the early 1970s. The policy of control climaxed with Law No. 8/1985, also known as the mass organization law (ORMAS), forcing all NGOs under the government’s unitary Pancasila ideology. ORMAS allowed the government to liquidate NGOs without following due process if it felt that their ideological orientation was straying from Pancasila or if they received foreign funding without government permission (Eldridge 1989, 5; Nyman 2009, 255; Ibrahim 2011). Moreover, the state could direct and “educate” them, influence leadership selection, or press them to form “umbrella organizations” (Frings 1991, 126), thereby strongly curtailing their organizational autonomy and also compromising their programmatic independence. NGOs not complying with this corporatist regulatory framework quickly found themselves branded “communist” and “shapeless organizations,” facing state harassment and repression (Ibrahim 2011). Although legal constraints were not relaxed, the 1990s ushered in a new phase of NGO development in Indonesia. President Suharto, in search of new allies in a power struggle with military factions and under external democratization pressure, initiated a policy of “opening” (keterbukaan), which created new space for NGOs (Schwarz 1994). In the process, advocacy groups burgeoned, promoting democracy and human rights and exposing abuses of state authorities. By calling for “popular sovereignty” and “people’s empowerment” (Billah 1996), these groups laid the foundations for Indonesia’s transition to democracy in the late 1990s (Ufen 2002, 386; Hadiwinata 2009a, 281). After President Suharto’s resignation in May 1998, NGOs proliferated once more. The less repressive political climate enabled the formation of many emancipatory organizations, but also the rise of “uncivil society” (Thompson 2008; Hadiwinata 2009a). Especially at the local level, facilitated by new regional autonomy laws, NGO growth was a novel development (Antlöv, Brinkerhoff, and Rapp 2010, 420). Over time, the NGO scene increasingly diversified, covering a broad range of issues including democratization, human rights, good governance, legal reform and legal aid, workers’ and labor migrants’ rights, women’s and children’s rights, poverty alleviation, environmental sustainability, and interreligious dialogue, as well as the promotion of peace and tolerance, and engagement in conflict resolution (Ibrahim 2011, 53). Their activities included awareness raising, civic education, lobbying for

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public goods, mobilization, fostering of participatory processes, and watchdog and advocacy functions (Hadiwinata 2009a, 277; Antlöv, Brinkerhoff, and Rapp 2010, 419). Many of these new NGOs, but also those already in existence, sought to establish a counter-­hegemonic narrative in the Indonesian political discourse, which entailed critical notions of globalization and the putative neoliberal regional integration agenda promoted by Southeast Asian governments. In the Era Reformasi NGOs in increasing numbers registered as “associations” (perkumpulan) and no longer as foundations, allowing them to become membership-­based organizations. Yet, despite democratization, the government preserved much of its corporatist control over NGOs. At least from a legal point of view they remain tightly controlled. For instance, NGOs receiving foreign funding must still register with the Ministry of Home Affairs (Ibrahim 2011, 54). State-­society interaction and a new law on mass organizations suggest that mutual distrust lingers. Genuine dialogue has its limits (ibid., 54), and relations between the state and NGOs are not free from tensions (ibid., 60). Government officials continue to display a strong sense of entitlement and paternalism, regarding it as their right to define public policy as they see fit (Antlöv, Brinkerhoff, and Rapp 2010, 420). This entails the expectation that NGOs and other civil society organizations (CSOs) should avoid confrontational strategies and pay due respect to authorities. Thus, government rhetoric notwithstanding, the bargaining position of NGOs vis-­à-­vis the state remains weak (Ibrahim 2011, 62). Lack of efficacy is also a result of the fragmented, highly diversified, and somewhat conflictive nature of the NGO scene. Most NGOs are small: 61 percent have a staff of fewer than ten and 86 percent fewer than twenty (Ibrahim 2011, 57). It is thus mainly the larger NGOs such as Walhi, Infid, Human Rights Working Group (HRWG), Kontras, Imparsial, Migrant Care, and Solidaritas Perempuan that wield the greatest influence on the political process, with high visibility, media presence, and activism. These NGOs also became vocal participants in the debate on the ASEAN Charter. NGO interest in ASEAN was a result of the Asian Financial Crisis. Prior to the crisis, Indonesian—­and most Southeast Asian—­NGOs did not devote much attention to issues of regional cooperation (Caballero-­Anthony 2006, 226; Collins 2013, 66; Gerard 2013, 3). Their scope of activities was largely national. If international issues came onto their agenda, their focus was global (Chandra 2006a, 76; Gerard 2013, 4; Collins 2013, 65). What aroused their interest was the repercussions of the global economy on their home countries. Foremost among their concerns were the socioeconomic and distributional

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issues affecting developing countries in general and having an impact on the living conditions of the less affluent segments of their societies. Thus, unsurprisingly, their international engagement concentrated on organizations such as the World Trade Organization (WTO) (Kwa 2003), the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank, the G8 forum, and, to a lesser extent, on interregional dialogues such as the Asia-­Europe Meeting (ASEM) and the Asia-­Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC). The Asian Financial Crisis dramatically highlighted the new risks posed by an accelerating process of globalization. Like civil society elsewhere in Southeast Asia, Indonesian NGOs became increasingly aware of the growing interdependence associated with globalization. They realized that the countries of the region were no longer able to insulate themselves from developments in their neighborhood. The contagion effects of the crisis, environmental issues like the recurring haze pollution (Cotton 1999; Nguitragool 2011a, 2011b), intensifying labor migration (Rother 2009; Kessler and Rother 2016; Rother 2017), refugee movements, political extremism, and pandemics all created new challenges with trans-­boundary dimensions. With ASEAN virtually paralyzed as a crisis manager (Wesley 1999; Rüland 2000) and their clientele, the poor, suffering most under the crisis, Indonesian NGOs joined their Southeast Asian counterparts in the search for regional solutions to regional problems. Two factors spurred the interest of Indonesian NGO activists in regional governance. One was the emergence, in response to the increasing number of cross-­border issues in the region, of regionally operating NGOs in the 1990s. Frontrunners here were the Asian Forum for Human Rights and Development (FORUM-­Asia), Focus on the Global South, Third World Network, the Asian Migrant Center, AsiaDHRRA, and Altsean (Acharya 2003; Caballero-­ Anthony 2006), which later became the main drivers of what Keck and Sikkink have called “transnational advocacy networks” (Keck and Sikkink 1998). While these regional NGOs were still strongly rooted in the country where they had their headquarters, they nevertheless recruited their personnel from the entire region, including Indonesia. The second factor was the inauguration of the ASEAN People’s Assembly (APA) in Batam, Indonesia, in late November 2000. APA was a pet project of the ASEAN Institutes of Strategic and International Studies (ASEAN-­ISIS), which, as conveners of the meeting, pursued the objective of fostering region-­ wide people-­to-­people contacts and balancing ASEAN’s state-­centric nature by giving a greater voice to people’s representatives. APA subsequently became a catalyst for the regional cooperation of NGOs (Hernandez 2002; Caballero-­ Anthony 2005; Gerard 2013, 6). As NGOs began to emancipate themselves

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from the tutelage of ASEAN-­ISIS over time, they formed their own regional networks. From 2005 onward, these networks began organizing biannual meetings in parallel to ASEAN summits and thereby sought to engage the officials of ASEAN member governments and of the ASEAN Secretariat. While the Working Group for the ASEAN Human Rights Mechanism, founded as early as 1995 (Tan 2011, 177), spearheaded these networking activities, the networks formed ten years later such as the Solidarity for Asian People’s Advocacy (SAPA)1 and the ASEAN People’s Forum (APF)/Asian Civil Society Conference (ACSC) were outgrowths of the APA (Caballero-­Anthony 2006, 2008; Collins 2008, 2013; Gerard 2013, 2014). Leading Indonesian NGOs were represented in them and some—­for instance the Institute of Global Justice (IGJ), Kontras, Imparsial, Infid, HRWG, and Migrant Care—­were highly visible and active members. Particularly articulate Indonesian activists such as Yuyun Wahyuningrum, Rafendi Djamin, and Alexander Chandra occupied key positions in SAPA and the ASEAN People’s Forum prior to and during the Charter-­writing process.

Framing More than any other stakeholder group, NGO representatives bemoaned ASEAN’s democratic deficit, which gave rise to what they regarded a highly nontransparent, elitist, and state-­centric regional governance process. Unsurprisingly, they therefore highlighted democracy-­related arguments when discussing reforms of Southeast Asian regionalism. Yet the absence of participatory channels is not a problem confined to ASEAN; such frequently aired discontent reflects the fact that with advancing globalization an increasing number of policy decisions shifted to arcane intergovernmental expert circles, which are largely detached from popular accountability (Scholte 2011; Levi, Finizio, and Vallinoto 2014). Virtually all international forums and regional organizations struggle with democratic legitimacy gaps, although some, such as the UN, climate change summits, and a growing number of regional organizations including the EU, have started addressing the problem by creating consultative channels for civil society. ASEAN is a latecomer to this process and one of the regional organizations with the least elaborate participatory mechanisms (Collins 2008; Rüland 2014a). The Democracy Frame Indonesian NGOs displayed a much broader understanding of participation than Southeast Asian governments and the ASEAN Secretariat. Dissatisfied

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with the largely state-­corporatist approach of the Indonesian government and ASEAN officialdom to regional interest representation (Rüland 2014a), they searched for ways to empower the people to become genuinely involved in regional decision making. For them participation should not be restricted to noncommittal consultation, awareness raising, and transmission belt functions, but should also include “advocacy and monitoring activities, making recommendations to ASEAN leaders for building people-­oriented ASEAN.” In other words, “core policies that affect the well-­being and livelihood of the people across the region should, therefore, be determined by and for the people through democratic means” (Chandra 2009, 10). In their quest to make ASEAN more inclusive,2 NGOs thus propagated a regional democracy concept that was informed by the all-­affected principle, meaning that all those whose legitimate, reasonably foreseeable, and important interests are affected by a regional decision have participatory rights (Goodin 2007; Owen 2012). Part of this concept is the firm belief that regional governance is only democratic if it is also accountable,3 including the idea that regional decisions and their implementation must be subjected to popular oversight. It thus hardly comes as a surprise that, unlike all other stakeholders, NGOs rarely refer to the concept of “national interest” when reflecting on Indonesia’s position in ASEAN; their keywords are “the people” or “people’s interest.”4 It is not national sovereignty that counts, but “building people’s sovereignty,” as indicated in the title of a Walhi-­drafted declaration on Southeast Asian regionalism.5 Most Indonesian NGOs framed their calls for democratic reforms of ASEAN as a critique of existing circumstances, although at the beginning of the Charter-­writing process there was optimism that the Charter might broaden the association’s participatory channels. Indonesian NGO representatives commended the Eminent Persons Group (EPG), mandated by leaders to produce a Charter blueprint, for meeting with representatives of the regional civil society network SAPA in 2006. Much of the critique Indonesian NGOs aimed at ASEAN found its way into the catalogue of demands that SAPA presented to the EPG in three written statements: one on the ASEAN Political and Security Community, a second on the ASEAN Economic Community, and a third on the ASEAN Socio-­Cultural Community (ASCC), followed by a letter reiterating civil society’s key demands.6 Indonesian NGO representatives thus shared a SAPA statement, which saw the envisaged Charter as a step toward deepening regional integration “through the formalization of agreements, the regional recognition of rights and the regionalization of standards and mechanisms.”7 Contributing to the initial upbeat sentiment among NGOs was the fact that the EPG not only listened to them but adopted many

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of their demands, such as the democratization of regional governance, the establishment of a regional human rights mechanism, and the weakening, if not abolition, of the noninterference norm. However, hopes for more transparent and inclusive regional governance faded with the appointment of the High Level Task Force (HLTF), entrusted by ASEAN leaders with drafting the Charter. The HLTF displayed a much more reserved attitude in regard to NGO positions. Unlike the EPG, the HLTF was a body composed exclusively of incumbent public officials subject to instructions from their governments. Nevertheless, SAPA had an exchange of views with Rosario Manalo, the chairwoman of the HLTF (Koh 2009, 50). However, in a meeting with sixty NGO representatives in Manila in March 2007, Manalo quickly dispelled NGO hopes for a participatory Charter-­drafting process. She cautioned that while “we want to get bold and visionary plans [for the Charter], they must be practical,” adding that there was no guarantee that NGO views and recommendations would be taken up because ASEAN leaders could change everything (Dang 2008, 23).8 A final attempt to influence the Charter negotiations shortly before ASEAN governments signed the document also failed. Affirmed in their concern that the ultimate Charter text would be a much diluted version of the EPG proposals, the ACSC sent a last-­ditch resolution to ASEAN leaders in early November 2007, which once more listed NGO demands for a truly people-­oriented Charter, but to no avail.9 For Indonesian and other Southeast Asian civil society activists it was thus hardly surprising that ASEAN governments also did not respond to NGO calls to subject the draft Charter to a region-­wide referendum (Dang 2008, 22). Overall, therefore, the hasty and secretive manner in which the Charter was drafted, and the lack of genuine popular participation in the drafting process, marked, in the view of Indonesian NGO representatives, a “significant drawback for the people of Southeast Asia.”10 Nevertheless, despite being excluded from the Charter negotiations, and the tight-­lipped attitude of the Indonesian government, which in solidarity with fellow ASEAN governments maintained the confidentiality of the negotiations, leading NGO voices such as Usman Hamid (Kontras),11 Yuyun Wahyuningrum (FORUM-­Asia),12 and Alexander Chandra (Institute for Global Justice)13 exhibited a nuanced attitude in regard to the final document. In principle they welcomed it, even in its diluted form. As the Charter did contain (feeble) provisions for greater people-­orientedness, they were determined to use them as leverage in their struggle for the democratic transformation of ASEAN.14 The sheer existence of the Charter, they believed, strengthened the legitimacy of their demands, allowing them to argue that all they wanted was

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the dutiful implementation of what is provided for in the document. With the Charter in effect, they reasoned, ASEAN member governments were no longer in a position to discredit civil society demands as unrealistic or even illegitimate.15 But these cautiously affirmative views did not enter regional network statements in which Indonesian NGOs were well represented. Here, disenchantment prevailed. A SAPA account, issued immediately after the Charter’s official publication, was unequivocal in this respect, stating, The Charter is a disappointment. It is a document that falls short of what is needed to establish a “people-­centered” and “people-­empowered” ASEAN.16

Contrary to Usman Hamid’s and others’ assessments cited earlier, the SAPA comment, which meticulously screened the Charter article by article, conveyed the message that the Charter did not usher in pathbreaking changes in regional governance. For SAPA, the Charter succeeds in codifying past ASEAN agreements, and consolidating the legal framework that would define the Association. However, it fails to put people at the center, much less empower them. The Charter is all about how Governments will interact with each other, but not about how they also should interact with the people. There are no clear spaces created or procedures established to institutionalize the role of citizens and civil society organizations in regional community-­building. . . .17

SAPA in particular took issue with the noncommittal language of the document. While, for instance, the Charter encourages people’s participation, nowhere does it explicitly state how this will be actualized. The Charter does not create consultative and advisory mechanisms comprised of non-­state actors and civil society groups, with adequate representation from all sectors. Neither does it create a mechanism for regularly engaging citizens within the region.18

Unfortunately, for many Indonesian NGO activists, the years after the Charter debate largely confirmed these critical views. The nontransparent process of Charter-­writing repeated itself several times: in 2009, when ASEAN governments assigned a high level panel to negotiate the terms of reference for the association’s human rights body, the ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights (AICHR);19 in the years before 2012, when the ASEAN Committee of Permanent Representatives (CPR) worked out new guidelines for accrediting civil society organizations; and in 2012, when first AICHR and then the ASEAN Secretariat drafted the ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR) (Renshaw 2014: 219). Nevertheless, despite their critique of the Charter and its implementation, Indonesian NGO representatives retained a surprisingly positive attitude

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about the Charter. For instance, activists welcomed minor improvements in the approach of governments and the ASEAN Secretariat toward civil society, citing with approval the increased frequency of interactions (Collins 2008, 319; Chandra 2009, 14; Igarashi 2011). More moderate NGO leaders especially noted that during its ASEAN chairmanship in 2011 the Indonesian government increasingly sought to interact with civil society, in the process even hiring Yuyun Wahyuningrum, a respected activist, as consultant and liaison person to the NGO community.20 But at the same time they cautioned that these interactions have not significantly improved the quality of the dialogue (Chandra 2009, 15). Even years after the Charter came into force, ASEAN officials and government representatives are still reluctant to interact with NGO representatives. Citing tight working schedules, they often participated only in the opening or closing ceremonies of civil society events. They contributed a keynote speech or an opening address, but thereafter usually left the meetings (Chandra 2009, 8). For NGOs, the low-­quality nature of interactions with governments also came to the fore in the leader and civil society interfaces during ASEAN summits. Such a meeting took place for the first time at ASEAN’s eleventh summit, in Kuala Lumpur. Parallel to the summit, the Malaysian government had organized the first ASEAN Civil Society Conference (ACSC).Yet the extent to which this meeting was motivated by genuine interest in promoting a more participatory regional governance is questionable. It is much more likely that the meeting was chiefly intended to address the home audience of Prime Minister Abdullah Badawi, who at the time faced sharp criticism from his predecessor Mahathir Muhamad over his handling of government affairs (Gerard 2013, 8). Organizing a regional NGO event could thus have been a move to mobilize the support of those groups in Malaysian society sympathetic to Badawi’s more reformist and conciliatory style of government (Collins 2013, 68; Gerard 2013, 8). This reading of the event corroborates the suggestion that attending NGOs were carefully selected. The interface between NGO activists and ASEAN leaders lasted no longer than fifteen minutes and only allowed NGO representatives to read out a statement without subsequent debate (Caballero-­Anthony 2008, 72). Although the governments of the Philippines (2007), Thailand (2009), Indonesia (2011), Cambodia (2012), Myanmar (2014), and Malaysia (2015) organized interfaces between NGO representatives and leaders, most of these were hardly more than political symbolism (Gerard 2013, 9). Acrimony overshadowed the leader-­CSO interfaces in Cha-­am (April 2009) and Hua Hin (October 2009). In Cha-­am the Cambodian and Myan-

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mar governments refused to meet the NGO representatives of their countries, in Hua Hin they were joined by Singapore, Laos, and the Philippines. The leaders of these countries took issue with the fact that NGOs had chosen their own representatives, thereby allegedly ignoring an earlier agreement that the governments would select the NGO representatives they would meet. In Hua Hin the NGO representatives from Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia thus withdrew from the interface, which they felt had been compromised to the point of futility.21 Indonesian NGO representatives attending the ACSC meeting subsequently supported a strongly worded protest note from Thai and regional NGOs to ASEAN leaders in which they criticized the government practice of selecting NGO representatives for the interface.22 No meeting between NGO representatives and ASEAN leaders took place during Singapore’s (2007), Vietnam’s (2010), Brunei’s (2013), and Laos’s (2016) ASEAN chairmanships,23 suggesting that the interface did not become summit routine. This impression is further corroborated by the actions of the Cambodian chair (2012), which made the interface conditional on the prerogative that the governments nominate their country’s NGO representatives. NGOs resented this practice, regarding it as part of a divide-­and-­rule strategy with the objective of isolating the more independent and critical civil society groups. Tensions in the NGO community had already become apparent in October 2009, when government-­organized NGOs (GONGOs) from the new ASEAN member states refused to support a protest note against the rejection of their representatives by the leaders (Gerard 2013, 11).24 Many NGOs that had so far supported the leader-­CSO interfaces have since been pondering whether it is not better to boycott these events altogether, which they increasingly suspect to be mere public relations stunts by governments to pretend that they are seriously working for a more inclusive ASEAN as prescribed by the Charter.25 This is a somewhat more subtle strategy than the one pursued a few years earlier by the Singaporean government, whose announcement that it would vet critical NGO activists had caused the relocation of the first APA meeting to the Indonesian island of Bintan and the sixth APA meeting to Manila.26 ASEAN, Alexander Chandra thus summed up, “has shown willingness to accommodate inputs from and work with civil society groups only insofar as the latter are capable of working according to the grouping’s terms and conditions” (Chandra 2009, 15). In light of these experiences and given the continued criticism of Indonesian NGOs on ASEAN’s strongly curtailed people-­orientation, it is somewhat surprising that Indonesian NGOs and their counterparts in other Southeast Asian countries failed to submit specific proposals about the institutional re-

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quirements for more popular participation in regional decision making during the Charter-­writing process. Those that were made were vague. One was to institutionalize the ACSC as a participatory channel,27 another was the formation of an ASEAN civil society advisory council, a proposal floated by Yuyun Wahyuningrum. But while stating that women and youth should be part of such civil society representations, she did not elaborate in further detail how the body should operate.28 Somewhat more detailed was a proposal made three years later. In 2012 SAPA, the Southeast Asian Committee on Advocacy (SEACA), and the Southeast Asia Women’s Caucus on ASEAN hosted “Writeshop on Civil Society Participation Mechanisms in ASEAN” with the objective of soliciting ideas and subsequently drafting a civil society position paper on people’s participation. Drafters of the paper eventually proposed the formation of a civil society liaison unit to be located at the ASEAN Secretariat in Jakarta, reporting directly to the Secretary General and having direct links to national secretariats. The unit would serve as the initial contact point for interested civil society organizations and was intended to facilitate access to ASEAN bodies.29 These proposals made no direct references to the EU, but there was evidence that Indonesian NGO representatives knew quite well how the EU organized participatory processes. For instance, a study commissioned by AsiaDHRAA, a major regional development NGO, on participatory channels of regional organizations across the globe devoted a chapter to the EU (Dano 2008, 31–­33). Although not without criticisms, the study rated the EU’s participatory channels favorably. Also, Alexander Chandra (and Christopher Dent) at one point characterized the EU as “the most sophisticated regionalist entity.”30 Moreover, through the Asia-­Europe People’s Forum (AEPF), convening in parallel to the biannual summits of ASEM leaders, Indonesian and other Southeast Asian NGO representatives entertained close relations to their European counterparts and thus were aware of the latter’s quest for a more participatory regionalism. European connotations, as well as inspirations from other regional and international organizations, led SAPA to step up activities pressuring ASEAN governments to revise the guidelines regulating the accreditation of civil society organizations with ASEAN.31 Article 1 of the Charter, inter alia, promised “to promote a people-­oriented ASEAN in which all sectors of society are encouraged to participate in, and benefit from, the process of ASEAN integration and community building.” SAPA, supported by its Indonesian members, thus launched a proposal to establish an ASEAN registry of civil society organizations. The registry would function as a database of groups signifying

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interest in participating in regional governance. According to the position paper, the database should contain information related to the groups’ areas of expertise or interests. The registry “shall be open to everyone who expresses interest in engaging ASEAN.”32 Through the registry, CSOs would be included in ASEAN communication lists, access to ASEAN events or meetings would be facilitated, and eligibility to collaborate on projects would be simplified. The respective section of the position paper concluded, “The registry system shall be open, easy, simple, and accessible with a view to replacing the ASEAN CSO accreditation system.” This mechanism, the drafters of the position paper insisted, “should never be used as a gate-­keeping mechanism for participation.”33 This is a thinly veiled reference to the extremely restrictive state-­corporatist regime of regional interest representation that ASEAN had established since the 1980s, confining NGO registration to some fifty-­ two—­in most cases irrelevant—­organizations.34 However, despite this intervention, the revisions eventually agreed to in November 2012 by the body mandated with the issue, the CPR, were largely cosmetic. The new guidelines are still highly restrictive and can hardly be regarded as an improvement of the previously existing rules.35 Moreover, like many other institutional revisions, they were negotiated without any consultation of the region’s civil society.36 Disappointment over the shortcomings of the Charter intensified the search for alternative forms of regionalism. Already, prior to the Charter-­ writing process, Chandra had formulated the idea of a “positive (regional) project,” which he defined as one that “supports openness, transparency and democracy.”37 Philippine NGOs in particular propagated a regionalism that clearly dissociates itself from the European model of regional integration. This “alternative regionalism” took inspiration from Latin American initiatives such as the Bolivarian Alternative for the People of Our America (ALBA—­ Alianza Bolivariana para los Pueblos de Nuestra América) and the Treaty of Commerce for Peoples (TCP) (Dano 2008). This is a good example of the theoretical argument laid out in Chapter 2, claiming that ideational diffusion is omnidirectional. Local reformist forces pick and choose ideas from a variety of sources, import them, and fuse them with other external and extant local ideas. As a review of Indonesian-­language political science journals suggests, these Latin American ideas are also discussed in NGO and scholarly circles. Yet Indonesian NGO activists seem to be more reluctant to adopt these ideas than their Philippine counterparts. Chandra, for instance, although sympathizing with the idea of an alternative regionalism, displayed reservations about what he regarded as the “socialist overtones” of the Latin American models (Chan-

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dra 2009, 3). While conceding that “the creation of ALBA was accompanied by noble ideals,” he considered it “difficult to implement in an increasingly interdependent world.” “The full integration of the Southeast Asian economies with the global economy,” Chandra continued, “would also make it difficult for the ASEAN to pursue such a form of alternative regionalism” (ibid.). For many Indonesian NGO activists, the democracy deficit was closely intertwined with the absence of a regional human rights mechanism. For them an effective human rights regime is an indispensable precondition for democratization. In SAPA’s view “human rights are overarching and should form the basic principle of ASEAN from which all other principles flow.”38 Without a regional human rights mechanism the democratic quality of Southeast Asian polities will inevitably continue to be substandard. Southeast Asian NGOs had struggled for such a mechanism since the mid-­1990s. Inspired by the 1993 Bangkok Declaration on Human Rights and the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Organization’s (AIPO’s) Kuala Lumpur Declaration of the same year, Southeast Asian human rights activists formed the Working Group for an ASEAN Human Rights Mechanism in 1995. Five years later, in 2000, the Working Group submitted to ASEAN a draft version of a regional human rights body, which, however, was not further pursued by the association (Caballero-­ Anthony 2005, 247). Indonesian NGO representatives such as Haris Azhar (Kontras), Al Araf (Imparsial), Wahyu Susilo (Infid and Migrant Care), Alexander C. Chandra (Institute of Global Justice), and Rafendi Djamin (Human Rights Working Group) regarded ASEAN’s foot-­dragging on a regional human rights mechanism as a reaffirmation of the grouping’s firmly established repository of cooperation norms, the ASEAN Way, and its strong emphasis on national sovereignty. After all, it is especially ASEAN’s much cherished noninterference norm which allowed the ruling military junta in Myanmar and other autocratic regimes in the region to violate human rights with impunity.39 ASEAN’s “constructive engagement” policy in regard to Myanmar was thus a persistent theme of Indonesian NGOs, which can be traced back to the mid-­ 1990s. Kontras and Imparsial, for instance, vociferously criticized the continued detention of Burmese opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi and the government crackdown on protesters in the so-­called Saffron Revolution of September 2007. Nor was the Indonesian government spared from NGO criticism over what activists saw as its rather accommodating policy regarding the junta in Yangon.40 Human rights activists especially had difficulty comprehending why the Indonesian government prioritized ASEAN solidarity in a January 2007 UN Security Council vote on a resolution against Myanmar

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that could have imposed sanctions on the junta. Rather than using its position as a nonpermanent Security Council member to step up pressure on the junta, the Indonesian government decided to abstain in the vote.41 When the final Charter document contained provisions on the establishment of a regional human rights mechanism, Indonesian activists in principle welcomed them and hoped that they would gradually erode ASEAN’s controversial noninterference norm. Usman Hamid (Kontras), for instance, argued that regardless of their weaknesses, the charter and the human rights body are a step forward. It shows ASEAN is moving away from a stance of non-­interference, long considered an obstacle in our efforts to support freedom, human rights and democracy in Burma.42

SAPA, while joining governments in hailing the inclusion of human rights in the Charter’s preamble and in the statement of principles as a “landmark decision,” nevertheless deplored the obvious lack of detail concerning the establishment of the envisaged regional human rights body, its roles, responsibilities, and the time frame for its creation. Moreover, Indonesian NGOs, in unison with SAPA, also aired concerns that the Charter left space for relativist interpretations of human rights and fundamental freedoms if the latter were to be promoted and protected “with due regard to the rights and responsibilities of the member states of ASEAN.”43 The ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR), passed in 2012, indeed contained provisions contextualizing human rights, confirming NGO suspicions (see also Chapter 4). NGO critics regarded these articles as government leverages to arbitrarily restrict rights. Unsurprisingly, delegates of the ASEAN Civil Society Conference held in Phnom Penh in November 2012, including many Indonesian NGO representatives, therefore refused to endorse the Declaration.44 The Welfare Frame For Indonesian NGOs, the welfare frame was no less important than the democracy frame. In their majority, they strongly criticized the economic path mapped by the ASEAN Charter with its ultimate goal of the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC) as an ill-­conceived neoliberal economic agenda. Core to the AEC, broached at ASEAN’s 2003 Bali Summit, was a substantial deepening of regional economic integration through the creation of a common market and production base. Preceding and in parallel to this process of regional economic liberalization was the conclusion of numerous free trade agreements, including the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area (ACFTA); comprehensive economic partnerships with Japan, India, Australia, and New Zealand;

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and a flurry of bilateral and minilateral free trade agreements that individual ASEAN member countries struck with third countries, many of them located outside the region (Dent 2006). In the opinion of NGO activists, the ASEAN Free Trade Area (AFTA) and all other free trade agreements entered into by Southeast Asian countries accelerate a process of globalization that many of them view with great suspicion. Chandra, articulating these reservations, believed that free trade agreements were little more than hidden agendas to protect “the privileges and the wealth of multinational corporations and to advance the interests of powerful governments.”45 By contrast, small-­and medium-­sized businesses have been severely neglected by AFTA and other trade liberalization measures. To what extent these economic actors, not to speak of the wider public, have felt the benefits of trade liberalization policies is thus more than questionable.46 In fact, in the view of many NGO activists, unbridled economic liberalization destroys jobs and spurs environmental degradation, resource depletion, and land grabbing, thereby seriously jeopardizing living conditions, especially of the urban poor, small farmers, fisher folk, indigenous peoples, and marginalized ethnic minorities.47 For Indonesian NGO activists, the ASEAN Charter affirmed what Chandra dismissed as “aggressive economic liberalization,” with its detrimental effects on marginalized sectors of society (Chandra 2009, 13).Yet this was hardly surprising, as even the EPG, which on other counts had carefully listened to civil society, largely ignored NGO representations on economic policies in the EPG Report, a fact activists criticized (Dang 2008, 23). Hence, neither the HLTF nor ASEAN leaders as the ultimate decision makers felt compelled to make adjustments to the economic course outlined in the blueprint for the AEC. In the NGO view, the Charter thus failed to acknowledge “the centrality of redistribution and economic solidarity to the goals of poverty eradication, social justice and lasting peace” (Chandra 2009, 13). Therefore, in solidarity with their counterparts in other ASEAN member countries, Indonesian NGOs vigorously lobbied for the explicit inclusion of provisions in the Charter ensuring greater social justice, labor rights, and pro-­ poor policies. Economic integration should, in other words, entail a strong element of social protection facilitating redistributive justice, poverty eradication, and growth with equity. Part of such socially protective policies should be Charter provisions that “affirm the rights of Member States to implement national/regional measures that regulate/manage trade of sensitive products (e.g. food) and ensure food security.”48 NGO activists often highlighted as one of the dire social consequences of ASEAN’s neoliberal economic policies the deplorable fate of migrant work-

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ers. Wahyu Susilo of Migrant Care, commenting on the expulsion of an estimated 750,000 undocumented Indonesian migrant workers from Malaysia in August 2002, strongly criticized ASEAN’s failure to establish a regional protection regime for labor migrants.49 For Indonesia, as a major sending country, fair treatment of its migrant workers is not only a human rights issue but, due to their substantial remittances, also a significant economic factor. Already by 2004, remittances of Indonesian migrant workers had reached nearly US$2 billion and further surged to US$8.55 billion by 2014.50 Yet, as Wahyu and other migrant labor activists tirelessly complained, the Indonesian government, for fear of violating ASEAN’s noninterference norm, was reluctant to place the multiple abuses of labor migrants on the agenda of ASEAN forums.51 But disunity also prevailed in the civil society camp between native and migrant workers’ concerns. Moves to draft an ASEAN social charter thus failed (Chavez 2006). Philippine NGOs have combined their objection to the neoliberal, capitalist development strategy with demands for the establishment of a fourth pillar under the roof of the envisaged ASEAN Community. By calling for an environmental pillar, the ASEAN Charter should not only promote social justice and equity but also set clear signs for the achievement of sustainable production and consumption (Chandra 2006b; Dang 2008, 21).52 Yuyun Wahyuningrum, one of the most vocal Indonesian NGO proponents for a more democratic regional governance system, supported this idea,53 while others, such as Chandra, although agreeing on a normative basis, did not believe that the ASEAN Community architecture could be rebuilt (Chandra 2006a, 81). Moreover, on closer inspection it becomes clear that this proposal lacks a concrete agenda. Only a few of the regional NGO networks’ statements on sustainable development, for instance, explicitly and in a detailed way addressed the region’s haze pollution problems. Indonesian NGOs like Walhi that do so tend to tackle the issue from a nationalist and not a regional perspective.54 Not surprisingly, the environmental pillar did not materialize. The Security Frame The security frame played a less prominent role in the Charter discourse of Indonesian NGO representatives in comparison with most other stakeholders except the business community. EU norms also played only a minor role in the security frame. The issues to which NGOs referred in the security frame were familiar themes in many other global and regional forums and did not have a specific European notion even though the NGOs employed them as a rationale for regional cooperation.

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Military aspects and the geopolitical dimension—­so important for government officials and think tank academics—­appeared only in passing in NGO statements on the state and future of Southeast Asian regionalism. If civil society activists referred to the security frame, they usually reflected on nonconventional security threats.55 Foremost among these themes were irregular migration, environmental degradation, food security, transnational crimes, and others.56 They reflect the great diversity of Southeast Asian NGOs, their broad array of themes, and the fact that many NGOs are one-­issue organizations. Moreover, even in this case nonconventional security issues were seen less in terms of security and more often as a welfare theme.57 This is the case when the capitalist global and regional order is seen as a threat, with the prospect of maintaining colonial bondages and impeding self-­reliant economic development. In a similar vein, when discussing irregular migration or environmental degradation, NGOs primarily had in mind material losses, especially for the less advantaged segments of society. NGOs thus not only created a link between democracy and welfare, but also highlighted the welfare-­security nexus. However, their conclusion that due to the increasingly pressing nature of nonconventional security problems—­seen often as a pathology of neoliberal globalization—­the ASEAN Charter should introduce the concept of human security58 was not agreeable to governments. The latter feared that the concept would open a Pandora’s Box and severely damage ASEAN’s noninterference norm.

Grafting The following sections show how Indonesian NGOs grafted external ideas on reforming Southeast Asian regionalism with extant local ideas. The multiplicity of combinations of alien and local ideas is thereby reflective of the great diversity of NGOs. The purpose of these ideational (re)constructions was clear: to counter the government’s localization strategy and to increase the discursive power of their own reformist ideas. Such grafting processes linked the democracy concept with extant Indonesian ideas on public welfare and illiberal thought, the welfare concept with previous socialist and organicist traditions, and the security concept with the vulnerability discourse. Democracy and Welfare In their contributions to the Charter debate, Indonesian NGO activists referred to EU norms of regional integration less than the government did. True, as mentioned in the previous paragraph, democracy and respect for

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human rights—­norms which are absolutely central for the EU—­are also highly significant for Indonesian NGOs. But at least in the case of the democracy concept, overlaps were only at a general level. Indonesian NGOs were much more concerned with social democracy than with liberal democracy. Certainly, social democracy also has strong ideational roots in European political thinking, but it is not a key norm explicitly propagated by the EU. For Indonesian NGOs, democracy should have a clear purpose, and this purpose is to empower the less advantaged segments of Southeast Asian societies to upgrade their living conditions. As already pointed out in the preceding chapters, public welfare, prosperity, and the happiness of subjects had already been pivotal legitimacy grounds for rulers in precolonial kingdoms located in the Indonesian archipelago. NGO activists thus stressed that participation, especially of the poor, was the key to compensating the socially detrimental repercussions of ASEAN’s market-­opening policies. ASEAN and its activities remain, Chandra deplored, “quite distant for most Southeast Asian people” who have “never been consulted during the decision-­making processes of the ASEAN Community.” 59 In particular, he bemoans, Governments in the region tend to listen only to the concerns made by certain sections of their society, particularly economic actors. What is worse, there is a tendency for regional governments to only consult with the larger economic players. As a result, most economic integration initiatives have been reflections of the needs and interests of large economic actors, such as transnational corporations (TNCs). This is also one of the reasons why many of ASEAN’s well-­defined initiatives for deeper integration in the region are becoming increasingly irrelevant for the people of Southeast Asia.”60

Chandra criticized that at the regional level ASEAN governments primarily interacted with the ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry (ASEAN-­ CCI) and, after its inauguration in 2003, the ASEAN Business Advisory Council (ABAC), when they consulted nonstate actors at all.61 This may have given outward-­looking business groups a modicum of influence on ASEAN’s economic decisions. But the other side of the coin is that given ASEAN-­CCI’s and ABAC’s proximity to governments, the latter could easily instrumentalize these private-­sector regional peak organizations as transmission belts for organizing the consent and support of the business sector for the association’s economic policies (Chng 1992, 58; Anwar 1994, 248; Bowles 1997, 221;Yoshimatsu 2007, 238; Rüland 2014a, 255; 2016). At the national level, negotiations seem to be slightly more inclusive. Chandra named the negotiations of the Indonesia-­Japan Economic Partnership Agreement as an example of the consultation of NGOs (Chandra 2005b, 10).

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Yet this did not seem to be routine practice. Elsewhere he complained about the selective nature of such participatory processes, lamenting that the Indonesian government invited only progovernment or promarket groups such as the Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industries (KADIN), the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), and the Institute for Social and Economic Research of the University of Indonesia (LPEM-­UI).62 Lack of transparency, exemplified by the slow and incomplete dissemination of the results of meetings to the general public, exacerbated these problems,63 hence the demand that, especially in free trade negotiations with their potentially far-­reaching consequences for the domestic economy, NGOs and labor unions should be consulted as much as business organizations. The Charter should therefore recognize the different types of labor movements64 and enshrine international core labor standards such as freedom of association, the right to organize and bargain collectively, elimination of forced or compulsory labor, abolition of child labor, and elimination of all forms of discrimination in the workplace.65 Another, albeit aborted, example of fusing democracy and welfare was the plan of Southeast Asian NGOs to draft an ASEAN “People’s Charter,” designed to correct the omissions and biases of the ASEAN Charter.66 NGOs first proposed the idea at the ACSC meeting in December 2006 in Manila. It gained traction after NGO activists realized that the final ASEAN Charter text would fail to address many of their participatory and social aspirations. The third ACSC conference, held in 2007 in Singapore, thus decided to go ahead with the drafting of the “People’s Charter” and have it completed for the fourteenth ASEAN summit in December 2008, when after ratification the Charter would be officially inaugurated by ASEAN leaders (Dano 2008, 27).67 Yet, reflective of their diversity and similar to the case of the social charter, Southeast Asian NGOs could not agree on the “People’s Charter.” It never saw the light of day.68 NGOs also grafted human rights concepts with the notion of welfare. That the EU has been one of the sources of inspiration is unquestionable: NGO activists such as Rafendi Djamin (Indonesian Human Rights Working Group),69 Usman Hamid, and Papang Hidayat (Kontras)70 repeatedly highlighted the advanced state of development of the EU’s human rights regime, tacitly suggesting that ASEAN should draw from it. Of Western and, in particular, European origin is the idea of the universalism and inseparability of human rights, which is shared by many Indonesian NGOs. Already in 1996, rejecting the contextualization of human rights by the adherents of the Asian values discourse, former Elsam chairman Abdul Hakim Garuda Nusantara had stressed that human rights are a “universal concept.”71

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But unlike the EU, most Indonesian NGOs combine individual political and civic rights with strong collective rights. They highlight economic and social rights, such as labor rights, rights of (labor) migrants, and rights of marginalized communities for securing an adequate livelihood. This is unsurprising in light of the weakness of labor unions, which are excluded from ASEAN’s state-­corporatist system of interest representation. The welfare-­ based human rights concept of NGOs thereby links liberal-­cosmopolitan conceptualizations of human rights as they are espoused by the EU, as well as African and Latin American regional organizations and international organizations such as the UN, with ancient Indonesian notions of social justice and Third Worldist, dependencia-­based concepts of development. Although contested and not shared by all Indonesian NGO representatives, the Latin American concept of “alternative regionalism” also strongly emphasizes the link between participatory regionalism and people’s welfare. It clearly dissociates itself from participation in the EU, which—­although viewed favorably compared to other regional organizations—­is nevertheless rated as insufficient. Moreover, despite increasing socioeconomic disparities, the adverse social repercussions of the Euro crisis, and the adjustment policies imposed by the EU on its debt-­r idden member countries, there is a much higher standard of living in Europe. Also, for this reason, the European example does not qualify as a conducive model for regional integration (Dano 2008, 61). As the conditions in Latin America are more similar to the situation in Southeast Asia, the ideas subsumed under the concept of an alternative regionalism, with their strong redistributive script, are more attractive as a source of ideational inspiration for Indonesian NGOs than the EU. NGO representatives also sometimes combine their advocacy for democracy, human rights, and welfare with leadership claims. Occasionally Indonesia, as the most democratic country, has been called upon to adopt leadership in encouraging political change in Myanmar and the installation of a regional human rights mechanism with teeth.72 But in recognition of Indonesia’s own domestic imperfections, NGO activists are less vocal in supporting the grafting of the democracy-­welfare complex and leadership than are the government, the academe, and the media. Democracy and Illiberal Thought It is unsurprising that NGO activists champion democracy concepts with a strong social dimension. More unexpected, however, is that some of them are also strongly attracted to Indonesian versions of organicism. Salamuddin Daeng of the Institute of Global Justice, for instance, plainly rejects the

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concept of representative liberal democracy, favoring a Sukarnoist concept of decision making. For him, ASEAN’s and the ASEAN Charter’s economic agenda is closely associated with a political system in which musyawarah mufakat has been replaced with (majoritarian) voting, “a way of reaching consensus no matter what is right or wrong, good or bad, positive or negative. The strong will emerge as the winners and the weak, irrespective of whether they are right, will lose.”73 Without delving deeper into this matter, Daeng’s way of thinking seems to represent another process of localization, to be analyzed in greater detail in the subsequent section: the amalgamation of the left-­leaning, dependencia-­based concepts of social democracy championed by regional and global NGO networks with older local socialist notions of society such as Sukarno’s “Marhaenism” (Mintz 1965, 189). Another variant of—­perhaps less conscious—­grafting democracy with illiberal thought can be found among moderate NGO activists interested in dialogue with the government, who proposed to replace the term people-­ orientation with people-­centeredness. With this term they sought to underscore their demands for a more tangible participatory, and at the same time socially just, development without alienating the government. However, while—­as shown in the previous chapter—­such a terminological grafting may be palatable for the Indonesian government, which occasionally used the term interchangeably with people-­oriented, it does little to overcome ASEAN’s democratic deficit. Although from an NGO perspective the concept of “people-­centered” development may entail notions of the more assertive term empowerment, it is derived from the essentially conservative efficiency-­driven and, hence, largely technocratic New Public Management (NPM) discourse of mainstream international donor organizations (Korten 1984). The “people-­centeredness” of donors and governments operating under NPM precepts usually ends where popular participation begins to have a tangible impact on governmental development policies. More assertive proposals for “participation in decision-­ making” coming from outside the government and donor organizations are often dismissed as technically unfeasible. It is thus questionable whether, as some NGO activists believe, people-­oriented and people-­centered have “different meanings” and that “they can be interpreted in different ways.”74 Welfare and Anticapitalist Traditions While welfare is a value deeply entrenched in the country’s cognitive prior, and thus readily employed by NGOs to localize democracy and human rights demands, in the Charter discourse NGOs strengthened the welfare frame further with references to the socialist and anticapitalist strands of Indonesian

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political thinking. Socialist ideas became influential among intellectuals in the 1920s with the rise of a communist party. In the two decades after independence, the Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI) became one of the strongest political forces in the country. In the only free elections prior to the Era Reformasi in 1955, the PKI garnered 16.4 percent of the vote, becoming the fourth strongest political party. Although the moderate and more reformist version of Sutan Sjahrir’s socialism did poorly in the 1955 polls, with the Socialist Party of Indonesia (PSI) receiving only 2.0 percent of the vote, it has remained influential among intellectuals up to the present day. President Sukarno’s nationalism also had strongly anticapitalist overtones. It specifically targeted the orang kecil, the little man in the streets. For Sukarno capitalism was an outgrowth of colonialism, the main evil causing new states to fail to become truly independent. This conglomerate of anticapitalist notions crystallized in Chapter 33 of the Constitution of 1945, which combined them with organicist ideas such as calling on Indonesians to organize the economy “as a common endeavor based on the principles of the family system.” References to collectivist norms such as “togetherness” and “unity” further corroborate the article’s organicist ideational roots. Anticapitalist ideas figured prominently in the “People’s Declaration of Building Sovereign Regionalism”75 drafted by Walhi and thirty-­eight other Indonesian NGOs on the occasion of the ASEAN Bali Summit in 2011. Breathing the spirit of imperialism theory, its main thrust is that Southeast Asia and Indonesia are in the grip of “a true new form of colonization” orchestrated by Western governments, international financial institutions, and corporate interests. ASEAN is therefore “continuously used as a tool to implement the global capitalism agenda.” The “enactment of free trade agreements (FTAs) and investment, followed by pro market policies in the region” is rated as “a total disaster.”76 Sukarnoist, Marhaenist, and organicist ideas can be found in Salamuddin Daeng’s proposal for transforming Indonesia into a gotong royong (mutual help) economy.77 Daeng demanded a return to the 1945 Pancasila spirit and a reorganization of the country’s economy in which the practice of mutual cooperation has been replaced by free competition. This entails the state replacing the private sector as the major actor in the country’s economy. In line with such ideas Daeng urged the government to scrap Law No. 25/2007 on investment which, by explicitly acknowledging the WTO’s most-­favored-­nation norm, provides for the same treatment of foreign nationals and foreign capital as for domestic capital. He ends by equating Indonesia’s (and ASEAN’s) al-

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legedly neoliberal development policies with a colonial setting, not different from suppression by European imperialism.78 For the sake of completeness, it should be mentioned here that a few months earlier Daeng had campaigned for an abrogation of the Charter. Daeng’s Institute of Global Justice was leading a coalition of nine ASEAN-­critical NGOs (Alliance for Global Justice),79 which in May 2011 filed a judicial review of Law No. 38/2008 on the ratification of the ASEAN Charter with the Constitutional Court. The complainants argued that the Charter’s provisions on an ASEAN single market disregarded the economic nationalism promoted by the Indonesian Constitution. The Constitutional Court deliberated on the complaint, but quickly dismissed the complainants’ arguments.80 Finally, of more recent origin but in line with these anticapitalist ideational trends, were calls for a “people’s economy” (ekonomi kerakyatan). Launched during the Habibie presidency, former minister of cooperatives and NGO activist Adi Sasono strongly propagated the concept, which enjoyed popularity during the immediate post–­Asian Financial Crisis years (Sasono 1999). Some other NGO representatives also highlighted the concept of a people’s economy during the ASEAN Charter debate. Dawan Rahardjo of Infid, for instance, was one prominent NGO figure who called for a people’s economy (ekonomi kerakyatan).81 Core objectives of this strategy centering on the common people at the grassroots level were poverty eradication, employment creation, and income generation through rural development and rural industrialization. Advocates proposed that civil society and NGOs rather than the bureaucracy should facilitate the implementation of this policy, which, by attaching a strategic role to people’s cooperatives and village granaries, also entailed strong collectivist connotations. The people’s economy constituted something of a “third way,” seeking to avoid on the one hand the “corporate domination of the capitalist monopolies” but, on the other, also the establishment of a socialist economic system in which the state dominates the economy and society. It was an equitable, community-­based, and highly decentralized nationalist development strategy, which was also propagated in a populist version by nationalist political parties such as the PDI-­P and Gerindra in the 2009 election campaign. Last, the welfare frame is also compatible with anticapitalist tendencies in Islam. Islamic teaching obliges devout Muslims to pay a tax for the poor, the zakat. Social services such as education and health care play a great role in Indonesia’s large socio-­religious organizations, the Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama (NU). Both have established dense networks of religious schools (pesantren, madrasahs), universities, and hospitals. Charities provide assistance to

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the destitute. The same is true for the growing number of Islamic foundations, many of which have outreach programs catering not only to the religious but also to the material needs of their constituents. Given the upsurge of political Islam in Indonesia during the last two decades, the concern for welfare and social justice makes NGOs’ views of the ASEAN Charter also perfectly palatable for a (moderate) Islamic audience. Security and Vulnerability NGO proposals centering on ASEAN reforms used the security frame much less frequently than all other stakeholders except the business sector. In particular, military threats and geopolitical concerns played only a subordinate role for NGOs in the ASEAN reform debate. As stated earlier, it was a field almost entirely left to the government, think tank academics, and the press. Nevertheless, Indonesian NGO activists did make use of the security frame as an established theme in the Indonesian foreign policy discourse, although largely restricting themselves to nonconventional security threats such as environmental issues, irregular migration, and economic and financial crises. Economic nonconventional security issues were linked to the vulnerability and victimization themes permeating the Indonesian foreign policy discourse since the country’s independence. How traumatic vulnerability and victimization by Great Powers have been in the minds of Indonesian foreign policy elites has been amply discussed in Chapter 3. The “People’s Declaration of Building Sovereign Regionalism” mentioned earlier, for instance, neatly fits this discourse. The Walhi paper depicted ASEAN countries, and in particular Indonesia, as subjugated by global capital. The Indonesian economy is in this view relegated to a colonial-­type supplier of primary goods and cheap labor in exchange for imported manufactured products. This type of development only benefits large-­scale corporations and foreign economic interests, while the poorer segments of society suffer. Free trade agreements especially open the Indonesian economy to influences that the position paper likens to imperialism.82 According to Walhi and other Indonesian NGOs, the country’s economic vulnerability was clearly exposed after the ACFTA came into force in 2010. They thus also view with great suspicion the AEC, which they likewise expect to flood the Indonesian market with cheap, substandard foreign goods, with the effect of mass layoffs and the bankruptcy of many Indonesian micro-­, small-­, and medium-­scale enterprises.

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Pruning While Indonesian government officials were more concerned with grafting the new external and extant local ideas on foreign policymaking and the ASEAN Way, Indonesia’s NGO community concentrated to a greater extent on pruning. This confirms the findings of the previous sections, which suggest that NGOs propagate a more reformist regionalism than the government. Rather than Indonesia’s established foreign policy doctrines, pruning focused more on the ASEAN Way: the deeply entrenched noninterference norm, the contextualization and relativity of human rights, the consensus rule, and the parliamentarization of Southeast Asian regionalism. For Indonesian NGO representatives, the protection of human rights has been severely hampered by the Charter’s retention of the noninterference norm, as highlighted by Imparsial program coordinator Al Araf.83 Many of them regarded noninterference as the ultimate embodiment of the ASEAN Way, an anachronism that should be abolished as soon as possible. Other influential NGO representatives such as Rafendi Djamin, Alexander Chandra,84 and Kontras coordinator Haris Azhar joined Al Araf in criticizing the ASEAN Way.85 In Azhar’s view, ASEAN is always very reluctant to interfere in members’ sovereignty. ASEAN never questioned the genocide in Cambodia in the 1970s; the Indonesian military’s long occupation of East Timor; the violation of the right to liberty in Malaysia and Singapore; and martial law in the Philippines and other areas in Indonesia and Thailand in the past. The regional grouping is also powerless against Myanmar’s brutal regime. The poor responses from ASEAN were caused by the political practices among the member states that run throughout the organization: the ASEAN way. The ASEAN way is cooperation that is loose and informal, relying on political persuasion rather than legal enforcement and basing itself on consultation and consensus.86

Without pruning the noninterference norm, many Indonesian NGO activists believed, it would be impossible to take a firm stance against the ruling military junta in Myanmar, a policy that Indonesian human rights NGO activists such as Usman Hamid expected from their government.87 Highlighting the anachronistic nature of noninterference, SAPA—­speaking for many Indonesian NGOs—­went on to urge ASEAN governments that exceptions [from the noninterference norm] must be made for clearly defined regional standards for state behavior, particularly on human rights and environment, serious breaches of which may carry ASEAN-­imposed sanctions.88

For Indonesian civil society representatives it was evident that the democracy and human rights reforms they advocated would inevitably lead to an erosion

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and eventually disappearance of the nonintervention norm: if the Charter’s democracy norm and human rights protection were taken seriously, ASEAN member countries would no longer be able to insulate their domestic affairs from external influences and avoid the ensuing behind-­the-­border effects. Indonesian NGOs were also adamant in pruning ASEAN’s ongoing contextualization of human rights—­the claim that human rights are shaped by the historical, cultural, and economic peculiarities of a given country. They argue that a human rights concept such as underlies the ASEAN Charter and—­ more pronounced—­the ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR) is a remnant of the Asian value thesis of the 1990s. It is out of step with the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights and many other international and regional human rights declarations. By 2009, not one of the ASEAN member countries had signed, not to speak of ratified, all sixteen most important international human rights conventions (Rüland and Nguitragool 2011, 241). ASEAN is thus behind other regional organizations such as the African Union, ECOWAS, or Mercosur. The increased cooperation of Indonesian and—­in general—­Southeast Asian NGOs with their African counterparts on human rights issues is another confirmation of my theoretical claim that norm diffusion is not unilinear but rather omnidirectional, through many channels. In the belief of Indonesian NGOs, pruning the noninterference norm and the contextualization of human rights is thus a requisite for bringing human rights protection in Southeast Asia to the same level as in other world regions. Yet the noninterference issue is more complex, and NGOs displayed a much more ambiguous attitude in regard to reductions of sovereignty. While in their overwhelming majority they were convinced that sovereignty had to be curtailed where democracy and human rights issues were concerned, this did not extend to the economic domain. Here, NGOs in their majority believed that regional integration must not lead to new dependencies and that the domestic economy must be protected against the encroachment of globally operating foreign corporations. A neoliberal development agenda as promoted by ASEAN will, in the eyes of NGO activists, gravely jeopardize the well-­being of large sections of the Indonesian economy. Ironically, therefore, and in contrast to the democracy and human rights discourse promoted by NGOs, in the economic domain they were retainers of the ASEAN Way. Indonesian NGOs also zeroed in on the ASEAN Way’s consensus rule in decision making. Consensus is a prescription for the lowest common denominator, enabling the most conservative member countries of the association to block progress in democratizing regional governance and improving ASEAN’s human rights regime. Consequently, a SAPA statement bemoans that

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Finally, while strongly propagating the democratization of ASEAN, Indonesian NGO representatives display reservations about the transplantation of liberal representative democracy to the regional level. It is therefore unsurprising that Indonesian NGOs did little to facilitate the parliamentarization of ASEAN. On a global scale, the AIPO (renamed AIPA in 2007) is one of the weakest regional parliamentary bodies, a conference-­type regional body, if Kraft-­Kasack’s typology is taken as a benchmark (Kraft-­Kasack 2008). One of the few voices arguing for a greater role of the AIPO in regional governance90 was Alexander Chandra. However, very much in line with what has been pointed out, he later retracted this demand in the face of the rather strained relationship between legislators and NGOs competing for recognition as representatives of the people.91 The estrangement between NGOs and legislators reflects the declining institutional trust of the public in Indonesia’s legislative bodies, which are regularly stigmatized in the media as overly corrupt, as ineffective due to their putatively low level of legislative output, and as showcasing examples of how elites capture the state.92

6

The Legislature and the ASEAN Charter

This chapter turns to a stakeholder in Indonesian foreign policymaking that—­ like civil society organizations—­became a significant actor only after the demise of President Suharto’s authoritarian New Order regime. In this chapter, I examine how and to what extent Indonesian legislators have appropriated European ideas on regionalism in the Charter debate and the years thereafter. I start with a brief review of the changes the legislature underwent in the Reformasi period, including its strengthened capacities in the process of foreign policymaking. Thereafter, I return to the theoretical framework outlined in Chapter 2 and examine if and how legislators framed, grafted, and pruned foreign ideas on regionalism.

The Legislature in Post–­New Order Indonesia: A Newly Empowered Institution For a long time, the Indonesian legislature (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, DPR) had the reputation of a rubber stamp (Sherlock 2003). This was hardly surprising given the fact that, with the exception of the 1950–­1957 period of parliamentary democracy, it operated in an autocratic environment. The Constitution of 1945, reinstated in 1959 to replace the more democratic Constitution of 1950, was strongly biased in favor of the executive. The DPR shared legislative powers with the president, while the constitution did not accord to it oversight, elective, appointive, or budgetary powers. Rather than providing for the division of power, a fundamental tenet of liberal democracy, the 1945 constitution concentrated power in the person of the president. Prior to

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1998, the legislature thus mainly served as a democratic facade endowing the regime with a semblance of legitimacy. Therefore, unsurprisingly, the DPR’s role in foreign policymaking was insignificant (Suryadinata 1996, 44). It provided a modicum of feedback, but chiefly it was expected to support government policies (Wanandi quoted in Suryadinata 1996, 44). However, more recent research suggests that from the 1990s onward, the DPR’s political assertiveness increased (Rüland, Jürgenmeyer, Nelson, and Ziegenhain 2005, 46; Ziegenhain 2008; Schneier 2009, 297). Although still dominated by President Suharto’s Golkar Party, the legislature began to scrutinize government draft bills more carefully than previously. It substantially revised executive bills and in one case even sent a bill back to the government for modification (Heryanto 1997, 243). Legislators also began to use their interpellation rights more frequently (Ufen 2002, 291) and, against the backdrop of a highly corrupt judiciary, the DPR even became the recipient of grievances, petitions, and complaints of citizens against government abuses, thereby adopting de facto ombudsman functions (Rüland, Jürgenmeyer, Nelson, and Ziegenhain 2005, 46). This was a marked departure from established practice in the preceding legislative period of 1987–­1992, when bills sailed through the House unaltered (Imawan 1995, 79). The widening political space under President Suharto’s cautious liberalization policy in the early 1990s, also known as “opening” (keterbukaan) (Schwarz 1994), further enabled the legislature to emancipate itself from executive hegemony. Suharto’s gradual liberalization was a response to a power struggle between him and military factions, which also spilled over to the legislature. At the time, the House Speaker, Wahono, was a retired general who was close to factions in the officer corps critical of Suharto’s rule. These officers felt alienated by Suharto’s indiscriminate and increasingly frequent interventions into the military promotion process, which resulted in officers known for their absolute loyalty to the president receiving high command positions (Honna 2003). Finally, in May 1998 the DPR played an elevated role in the closing days of the New Order. In an unprecedented move, the DPR leadership defected from the regime and urged the president to resign. Legislators wrote an open letter to Suharto, which was signed by DPR chairman Harmoko, demanding “that for the sake of the nation’s unity and cohesion, the president should wisely and sagaciously resign” (General Secretariat 1998, 65). Pressure on Suharto further increased when thousands of student protesters occupied the parliament building in the days preceding his resignation (Rüland, Jürgenmeyer, Nelson, and Ziegenhain 2005, 48; Ziegenhain 2008).

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After regime change, the political stature of the legislature further increased. In the quasi-­parliamentary system evolving between 1998 and 2004 (Smith 2001, 86), the legislature exerted unprecedented control over the government. The impeachment of President Abdurrahman Wahid in July 2001 was testimony to the growing political clout of the legislature. Legislators practiced their oversight function more assertively than ever before, although they often also compromised it for the sake of shady political deals struck in the post-­1998 power struggles among political elites. Yet as ex-­officio members of the People’s Consultative Assembly (Majlis Permusyawaratan Rakyat, MPR), nominally the country’s supreme political decision-­making body until 2004, lawmakers played a key role in the four constitutional amendments negotiated between 1999 and 2002 (Ufen 2002). The amended constitution markedly strengthened parliamentary powers, explicitly vesting the DPR with legislative, oversight, and budgetary functions (Fealy 2001, 104; Smith 2003, 102). As a result of these fundamental political changes, the DPR has also become a more significant actor in foreign policymaking.1 It holds the quite unusual combination of powers to endorse the appointments not only of Indonesia’s ambassadors to other countries2 but also of foreign envoys to be posted in Indonesia. That the DPR considers these powers to be more than a mere formality is illustrated by the fact that it rejected two designated Burmese ambassadors.3 The legislature’s newfound assertiveness is also shown by its refusal to ratify two major treaties: the Defense Cooperation Agreement (DCA) with Singapore4 and—­until 2014—­the ASEAN Agreement on Transboundary Haze Pollution. In both cases, it considered Indonesian sovereignty to be jeopardized and national interest at stake. The late Djoko Susilo, a former legislator of the National Mandate Party (PAN), attributed this new parliamentary assertiveness in foreign affairs to academic-­and civil-­society-­supported newcomers in the DPR who “sought to reverse the inward-­looking nature of the crisis-­r idden Indonesian elite.”5 “Suddenly,” he commented elsewhere, “many members of parliament and politicians inside and outside of the parliament have interest in foreign policy. They used to be notoriously ignorant of international affairs. Very few have regular access to foreign publications such as Time, Newsweek or The Economist, let alone such important journals such as Foreign Affairs or Foreign Policy.”6 Interestingly, though, foreign policy debates rarely take place in plenary sessions. It is a peculiarity of the Indonesian legislature that the Rules of Procedure endow parliamentary commissions with an exceptionally strong position, with the result that most of the decision making takes place at commission level (Sherlock 2010, 166). While this does not rule out that the party

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leadership exerts informal influence on these decisions, the commissions remain the “engines of parliament’s work” (Sherlock 2003, 19) and “centers of decision-­making” (Sherlock 2010, 166). The place where foreign policy issues and regional integration are scrutinized and deliberated is Commission I (Komisi I) on Defense, Foreign Affairs and Information, although occasionally other commissions debate regional issues as well. One of these is Commission VI on Trade and Industries, which scrutinizes free trade agreements and foreign economic policy. During the 2004–­2009 legislative term, which coincided with the Charter debate, Commission I was one of the most active and vocal commissions in the Indonesian parliament. It had a membership of forty-­nine, proportionally representing the party factions in the DPR. Twenty staffers worked for the commission, which had an annual budget of US$100,000. During the session period, the commission met three times per week. The meetings were open to the public, except for hearings on the intelligence budget (Born 2006, 60). The commission was well connected with think tanks, universities, civil society organizations, and the media. However, the substantial specialist knowledge commission members acquired during their five-­year term was not sustainable beyond the term. With reelection rates of only about 30 percent, commission membership underwent marked change. As a result, except for five members, the entire membership of Commission I was replaced after the 2009 parliamentary polls, with adverse consequences for the professionalism, expertise, and activity of the commission (Rüland and Manea 2013).7

Framing Despite the increased foreign policymaking powers of the legislature, much of its contribution to the Charter debate was limited to House discussions on the ratification of the document between February and October 2008. Legislators were not involved in the Charter-­writing process, and after ratification they seemed to have lost interest in regional affairs.8 A review of commission meetings since ratification in October 2008 shows that ASEAN rarely figured on Commission I’s agenda. This is corroborated by documentation from the outgoing members of Commission I, in which only two legislators mentioned regional affairs and the ASEAN Charter debate as a major issue during their term (2004–­2009) (Santosa, Hersutanto, Dhandy, and Ardiyanti 2009) . A publication documenting the work and thoughts of Commission I members of the 2009–­2014 term did not mention ASEAN at all (Rosdi and Hersutanto 2014). In subsequent sections, I will therefore focus on the ratification debate

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and examine in greater detail the extent to which European ideas on regionalism were discussed and how they were framed. The Democracy Frame Like NGO representatives, legislators also attributed great significance to the democracy frame when reflecting on ASEAN reforms, with statements that were also primarily of a critical nature. While at a very general level legislators were thus seemingly in favor of European integration norms9—­norms that hitherto had not played any role in ASEAN cooperation—­they much less frequently explicitly referred to the European model than did, for instance, academics, the press, and government officials, giving rise to the assumption that they strongly intended to retain major components of the extant local political culture. To understand why many Indonesian legislators were grossly dissatisfied with the democratic substance of ASEAN as a regional organization, one first has to go a step back to the procedures of the Charter-­drafting process. In fact, there was hardly any parliamentary input to the Charter negotiations, and information on the drafting process was limited. Although at a regional level meetings took place between the EPG and the Charter-­drafting HLTF with members of the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Assembly (AIPA), and Indonesian legislators had meetings with Ali Alatas, their country’s EPG delegate,10 the impact of these consultations was negligible. While the EPG in its final report at least attributed an increased consultative role to AIPA as part of a more people-­oriented ASEAN,11 the Charter-­drafting HLTF had virtually nothing to say about the regional parliamentary body, except naming it in Annex 2 as an entity associated with ASEAN.12 Moreover, the meeting between the HLTF and AIPA representatives on May 17, 2007, in Penang went ahead without Indonesian participation. With three Malaysian and two Singaporean parliamentarians,13 and the AIPA secretary general, the AIPA delegation hardly represented the diverse expectations of the region’s legislators with regard to the ASEAN Charter. While at first sight it seemed a progressive move when the AIPA demanded that “the ASEAN Charter in its preamble should also mention democracy and the empowerment of the ASEAN people,”14 it was a call short on specifics. It did not entail a commitment to the democratization of ASEAN as a regional organization as, for instance, demanded by the speaker of the Indonesian DPR, Agung Laksono.15 This coincides with AIPA resolutions and speeches by AIPA legislators, which are replete with references to a state-­corporatist concept of popular participation regarding legislatures and intermediary groups primarily

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as transmission belts for government policies. Legislatures, interest groups, and civil society organizations are in this view merely vehicles for familiarizing—­ “socializing” in Indonesian government jargon—­the people with ASEAN policies (Rüland and Bechle 2014). Other proposals that, inspired by the EPG Report, were floated in Indonesia’s domestic debate, namely the establishment of a regional human rights mechanism, a departure from the “constructive engagement” policy regarding Myanmar, the imposition of sanctions against noncompliant members, and the installation of a dispute settlement mechanism with independent adjudicating powers either were not aired by the AIPA delegation or were diluted with the addition that they should be implemented “in the spirit of ASEAN solidarity and friendship.”16 The message behind this diplomatic rhetoric was clear: the AIPA was not prepared to transcend ASEAN’s established “soft law” culture.17 The remaining suggestions very much echoed Singaporean and Malaysian interests in deepening economic integration. Apart from the very general plea for a “more coherent collaboration and coordination” between the AIPA and ASEAN, they included calls for the “harmonization of laws and legislation among member countries” to smooth economic integration, and the creation of a “stable, prosperous, highly competitive and integrated region with effective facilitation for trade and investment in which there would be progressive reduction of all barriers to economic integration and the realization of a single market.”18 Given the long-­standing reservation of Indonesia’s legislature about market-­opening policies, it is more than doubtful that Indonesian delegation members would have framed the need for ASEAN reforms in such a way. While information and consultation of parliamentarians in the Charter-­ writing process were minimal at the regional level, in Indonesia this was better than in other ASEAN member countries, albeit not satisfactory for all legislators. Indonesian lawmakers, for instance, repeatedly complained that the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs had not informed them before signing the Charter,19 with PKS legislator Al Muzzamil going as far as equating the signing of the Charter without involving the DPR to a breach of the constitution.20 Even worse, after signing the Charter, it took the Ministry of Foreign Affairs months before it eventually sent the document to the legislature, a fact criticized by Golkar legislator Haryanto Y. Tohari.21 However, it should not be overlooked at this point that sources in the ministry—­and legislators themselves22—­countered these charges by contending that there were informal breakfast consultations with selected Commission I members.23 One of the identifiable formal meetings was a round table

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on the Charter organized by the ASEAN Political and Security Directorate of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on April 4, 2006, immediately preceding the EPG consultations with nonstate stakeholders. Participants included members of Commission I and (academic) experts. The meeting concluded with calls for a just and people-­centered ASEAN.24 Another round table took place in June 2007, in which legislator Marzuki Darusman participated. For the Ministry of Foreign Affairs these events provided the opportunity to assure the public that the government was doing its utmost to include the progressive elements of the EPG Report in the Charter without, however, disclosing detailed information on the negotiation process within the HLTF.25 Yet even if faction leaders and a few leading members of Commission I had been informed about the Charter in one way or another, the ministry’s practice was at variance with the public image of openness it seeks to project. Such informal consultations neither make foreign policy decisions more transparent nor dispel the notion that foreign policymaking is in the first place an executive affair.26 Statements from Pejambon (the street in Jakarta in which the foreign ministry is located) that “negotiations are the government’s domain,” that “many members of the House do not understand the complexity of ASEAN,” and that, hence, the House should refrain from “involving itself too far” in the technical matters of foreign policy (Susilo 2010, 66), testify that even after democratization the Indonesian government did not wholly shed the elitist and state-­centric approach to regional governance of Suharto’s autocratic predecessor regime. The advice to the House that the ratification of the ASEAN Charter should not be politicized, and calls by President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono that the legislature should act responsibly,27 were thinly veiled attempts to keep foreign policymaking insulated from close public scrutiny (Susilo 2010, 66). The way the ratification process was orchestrated in the legislature further corroborated the continuing top-­down pattern of foreign policymaking in Indonesia. Because many legislators responded critically to the Charter after it was publicized, the government delayed its submission of the draft ratification bill to the House of Representatives. Members of Commission I had openly blamed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for “not having negotiated tough and worked hard enough for the ASEAN Charter” (Susilo 2010, 66). The Charter, as Golkar’s Tohari noted, is “flawed in procedure and in substance.” It does not provide “clear direction or stages for ASEAN” and it is difficult for the public to understand “where the group wanted to go.”28 Like him, an increasing number of legislators across the entire party spectrum expressed reservations about ratifying the charter,29 making their consent conditional on govern-

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ment guarantees for changes to the Charter, especially with a view to decision making, the association’s participatory shortcomings, ASEAN’s policies on Myanmar, the establishment of a regional human rights body, ASEAN’s limited financial resources, and sanctions for noncompliance.30 Initially planned to be sent to the DPR in April or May 2008, with ratification expected in July,31 the draft bill was eventually submitted in July 2008. After intense behind-­the-­scenes interaction between the government and the faction leaders in the House, the DPR set up a special committee (Panitia Khusus) instead of leaving the decision entirely to Commission I.32 The rationale behind this decision was that a special committee is composed of legislators from several commissions,33 which would neutralize the critical views of the Charter held by many members of Commission I. Moreover, Marzuki Darusman, who considered the installation of a regional human rights mechanism a “breakthrough”34 and therefore was a staunch supporter of Charter ratification, was named to chair the special committee. With the government, including President Yudhoyono,35 heightening pressure on the faction leaders to bring their members in Commission I on course for ratification, meeting twice with the committee, and Marzuki speeding up the deliberations, Commission I eventually followed the recommendations of the special committee and opted for ratification on October 8, 2008.36 A plenary session formally confirmed Commission I’s decision on October 22, 2008,37 making Indonesia the last member country of ASEAN to ratify the Charter.38 Although the Charter was ratified in the end, the ratification bill was not passed unconditionally. An addendum was approved committing the Indonesian government to work toward Charter revision, making it more compatible with the EPG Report. The addendum stipulated that the “Charter has to reflect the ideals of ASEAN, specifically with regard to improvement and protection of human rights through an effective human rights body, the institution of sanctions, including freezing of membership in cases of serious non-­compliance and obstruction of the charter by members and greater public involvement in ASEAN activities.”39 Thereby expressing that the ASEAN Charter is a “living document,” legislators used the same face-­saving rationale for their consent to the ratification bill that the Indonesian government had used when defending its consent to the diluted Charter text. DPR deliberations started with two hearings on the Charter in February 2008, to which academic experts and government representatives including Foreign Minister Hassan Wirajuda were invited.40 One recurring theme in these deliberations was the elitist nature of decision making in ASEAN.41 Golkar’s Haryanto Y. Tohari, for instance, observed that the Charter “does not

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clearly explain ASEAN’s relationship with its peoples.”42 In Haryanto’s view the allocation of the benefits Indonesia could expect from the Charter was also elitist because it neglected migrants and other less-­well-­to-­do groups.43 The underlying logic of this argument is similar to that of many NGO activists: grassroots people would benefit more from ASEAN if they were better represented in regional governance. Yet few legislators openly campaigned for the empowerment of non-­ governmental groups in regional governance. No lawmaker is on record as having demanded during the ratification process the “democratization” of ASEAN decision-­making procedures. Although parliamentarians and civil society representatives interacted much more frequently than in the New Order period, attitudes of many lawmakers about civil society organizations were still marked by reservation, as NGOs often compete with them for legitimacy as representatives of the people. Many civil society activists harbor critical attitudes about legislatures and parliamentarians, whom they regard as corrupt and part of the country’s political elite. Corresponding to that of the government and NGO representatives, much of the legislators’ Charter critique targeted the human rights mechanism. While Commission I chairman Theo Sambuaga, for whom the Charter was otherwise a “historical achievement” representing “tremendous progress for ASEAN,”44 only aired concerns about the timing of the envisaged human rights mechanism,45 other legislators raised more fundamental objections, doubting that the Charter would strengthen the human rights regime in the region. Referring to the fact that there was no implementation mechanism, they described the envisaged human rights body as “toothless,” lacking “clear guidelines of actions,” and “a timeline when it should be formed.”46 Lawmakers went as far as charging Indonesian negotiators with “surrendering” to Laos, Myanmar, and Vietnam, countries with debatable human rights records, and thereby failing to take “the Bali Concord II and the EPG Report seriously” (Susilo 2010, 66). Such comments echoed more general misgivings of legislators that the Charter “was mostly guided by ASEAN’s new members,”47 thus denying Indonesia, ASEAN’s biggest member, its regional leadership role. Djoko Susilo (PAN) and Sutradara Gintings (PDI-­P) thus concluded that “Indonesia should not rely heavily on ASEAN, but should put more energy into bilateral relations with the new major powers.”48 These views echoed to a considerable extent Rizal Sukma and Jusuf Wanandi’s concern that ASEAN curtails Indonesia’s autonomy in foreign policymaking and thus circumscribes the country’s long-­standing “free and active” (bebas-­aktif) doctrine. That these views, preempting Sukma’s influential newspaper opinion piece on a post-­

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ASEAN policy for Indonesia,49 reverberated in the DPR is no accident, given the presence of the CSIS leadership in the Charter hearings mentioned earlier. However, the most strident criticism of the human rights mechanism came from members of the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Myanmar Caucus (AIPMC). The Caucus is a network of Southeast Asian legislators formed in 2004 with the objective of advocating human rights and democratic reform in Myanmar/Burma (Jones 2009). Djoko Susilo, then leader of the Indonesian AIPMC chapter, for instance, noted that the Charter did not address the question of how the Burmese military junta could be persuaded to democratize the country and to improve its dismal human rights record.50 Despite the Charter, Susilo complained, Myanmar’s opposition icon Aung San Suu Kyi remained under house arrest and political prisoners were held in custody without trial.51 Even Marzuki Darusman, who was also a member of AIPMC but, unlike Djoko, in favor of Charter ratification, expressed concern that the Charter limited the future human rights body to promotion of education about human rights instead of empowering it to provide effective protection.52 Closely linked to human rights is the issue of compliance with the norms and provisions of the Charter and ASEAN policies. Noncompliance of member states with ASEAN resolutions and agreements is one of the most frequently aired criticisms of Southeast Asian regionalism. In the view of Marzuki Darusman, it is impossible to establish an effective regional human rights regime without compliance which, he believed, should be enforced through sanctions.53 The fact that the Charter does not provide for sanctions was seen as working to the advantage of those who are not interested in a robust regional human rights regime. The Charter, some lawmakers concluded, therefore is “basically powerless” given the “absence of sanctions for violations.”54 While Marzuki was more concerned with the fact that the ASEAN human rights body would be weak, fellow Golkar lawmaker Haryanto Y. Tohari had doubts that the human rights mechanism could be established at all. His skepticism was nurtured by the fact that the Charter did not transform ASEAN’s consensual decision making into a system of majority voting.55 Consensual decision making, he feared, could create a deadlock in negotiations about the functions and powers of the envisaged human rights body and thus stall progress in the region’s human rights record. In sum, the uncertain prospect for an effective human rights mechanism in particular and, to a lesser extent, the elitism of ASEAN governance retained by the Charter, were major reasons why numerous legislators felt that the Charter drafters had betrayed the grand vision laid out in the EPG Report.

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After ratification, the legislature’s interest in the ASEAN Charter declined markedly. The DPR in fact did little to keep up pressure on the government to revise the document, as might have been expected given that it had forced the addendum into the ratification law committing the government to work toward Charter amendments. As a result, the debate on the implementation of the Charter was taken over by NGOs and, to a lesser extent, the academe and the media. The legislature contributed little to key themes in the post-­ratification stage, such as the terms of reference for the ASEAN Intergovernmental Human Rights Commission (AICHR) and, subsequently, the contentious debate on the ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR). However, the reduced attention of the House to regional integration did not mean that it completely lost its voice on ASEAN affairs. A few legislators, among them the late Djoko Susilo, continued to express concern especially for human rights issues. For instance, Susilo commented that without “rights protection and freedom of expression” ASEAN could hardly “become a people-­oriented community.”56 Also noteworthy was the AIPMC’s continued advocacy for the democratization and improvement of the human rights record of the Burmese military junta. The latter frequently criticized the junta’s slow progress in implementing its roadmap to democracy, denounced the general elections conducted in November 2010 as “undemocratic,” and reminded the Burmese generals of their responsibilities incurred with the ratification of the ASEAN Charter. Eva K. Sundari, a PDI-­P legislator from House Commission III, and member and, in 2011 and 2012, president of the AIPMC, called upon the Indonesian government and members of ASEAN not to acknowledge Myanmar’s elections.57 Legislators belonging to the caucus were even more indignant over a decision by the Indonesian government to ban a meeting of the Burmese government in exile in Jakarta in July 2009. At the Jakarta meeting, Burmese opposition politicians and representatives of ethnic groups living in exile had planned to launch a proposal for national reconciliation. According to Sundari, the Indonesian police claimed that “the government in exile was an illegal group that might pose a threat to Indonesian-­Myanmar diplomatic ties.”58 Marzuki Darusman denounced the ban as “a big Indonesian failure at the international stage, considering Jakarta had always thrown its weight behind democracy in Myanmar at regional and multilateral forums.”59 Continuing human rights violations in Myanmar such as the failure to protect the harassed Rohingyas, a Muslim minority living in the western parts of Rakhine state, have also been a persistent theme of the AIPMC,60 as has the repeated deportation and ill-­treatment of Rohingya refugees in Thailand.61 Sundari was also

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one of the few voices in the legislature continuing to criticize ASEAN’s democracy deficit and unabated elitism.62 The Welfare Frame As the meeting of AIPA representatives with the HLTF indicated, economic integration figured prominently in the minds of legislators when they sought to justify reforms in Southeast Asian regionalism. The AIPA’s demands thus foreshadowed Indonesian legislators’ frequent use of the welfare frame as a significant argumentative tool, though from a different perspective. After the Charter had been drafted and disappointment about the document’s dilution of the EPG blueprint also spread among legislators, critique of the Charter was often couched in welfare and prosperity rhetoric. In this, legislators’ conceptions of Southeast Asian regionalism were much closer to those of NGOs’ than those of the government, for which the welfare frame had a less crucial meaning. Again, the concern for more welfare is also mirrored in the documents of European integration, but arguing for economic growth and more prosperity is so general that it does not automatically make the legislators imitators of the European Union. Legislators deplored that the Charter did not promise Indonesia material benefits.63 At issue here was the question of who gets what in ASEAN. These arguments were often formulated in sweeping populist language. They conveyed to the public the message that Indonesia was “on the receiving end in ASEAN matters,”64 that regional integration as outlined by the Charter disregarded the socially weaker groups of the population, and that the Charter did not specify concrete arrangements on how the people would benefit from the Charter.65 For instance, during a parliamentary hearing in February 2008, Commission I members aired fears that Indonesia’s lack of preparedness for market-­ opening as envisaged under the ASEAN Economic Community would transform the country into a market for the products of other ASEAN members rather than its being a producer, articulating concerns that became widespread immediately before the AEC went into effect in 2015.66 Golkar’s Marzuki Darusman regretted that the Charter did not rearrange burden sharing in ASEAN. For him, the wealthy member countries, in particular Singapore and Malaysia, should make greater contributions to the socioeconomic development of the region. Another topic legislators raised was Indonesian labor migration. With up to two million Indonesians working in neighboring Malaysia alone, many of them unregistered and hence in a state of precarious legality exposing them to

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widespread abuse, labor migration was a theme ranking high in the public discourse (Rüland 2009, 383). Haryanto Y. Tohari (Golkar), for instance, lamented the absence of Charter provisions on migrant workers,67 while Al Muzammil Yusuf of the Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) wanted to know what the Charter contributed to the settlement of the periodically resurgent disputes with Malaysia over Indonesian migrant labor. Abdillah Toha (PAN) also addressed the concerns of the common people by asking whether ASEAN “has done anything for our people particularly economically at the grassroots level.”68 Al Muzammil Yusuf asked how the Charter could help to prevent the “theft of Indonesia’s natural wealth” by neighbors and how it would facilitate the extradition of fugitives who fled to Singapore in order to evade prosecution for corruption in Indonesia.69 For fellow legislator Markus Silano of the Democrat Party, the Charter “could not help Indonesia solve its illegal logging and poaching problems that have caused billions of dollars in state losses in recent years and in which neighboring countries have been implicated.”70 Finally, Andreas Pareira (PDI-­P) urged the government to clarify what tangible economic gains the country could get from ratifying the charter.71 The Security Frame By contrast, and again more resembling the framing pattern applied by civil society stakeholders than that by the government, the security frame played only a marginal role for legislators. In fact, it was even less significant than for NGOs, which had devoted at least some attention to nonconventional security threats and the human security concept. One of the few exceptions that I could identify was an utterance of the vice chairman of Commission I, Yusron Ihza Mahendra, when defending his support for Charter ratification given the rather skeptical mood predominant among the other members of Commission I. Yusron expressed concern that the main beneficiary of nonratification would be China, enabling it to further penetrate the Southeast Asian region (Mahendra 2009, 310). Marzuki Darusman, the head of the special committee deliberating the ratification bill and—­like Yusron—­a determined proponent of Charter ratification, argued similarly. Increased ASEAN cohesion as embodied in the Charter would reduce aid dependency on China and exposure to Western conditionalities.72 Marzuki, appealing to Indonesians’ deep-­seated concerns about the hostile designs of Great Powers and the discourses of vulnerability and victimization surrounding these fears, thus instrumentalized the increasing suspicions many Indonesians harbor for China as a result of the latter’s rapid rise. As outlined

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in Chapter 3, fears of the “threat from the north,” of which China is a substantial part, have pervaded Indonesians’ collective memory for centuries. But Marzuki did not forget to also refer to Western powers, thereby reproducing Indonesians’ likewise deeply entrenched anticolonial sentiments. Yet the significance legislators attached on the one hand to the democracy and welfare frames and the marginal role they attributed to the security frame on the other supports an additional conclusion: that the sophistication of legislators in foreign affairs is less developed than Djoko Susilo had assumed in the statement quoted earlier. It rather suggests that even the members of the DPR’s Commission I are still inward-­looking and parochial in their geopolitical outlook. This conclusion is affirmed by a number of facts: that Indonesian legislators did not vocally press for an upgrading of the powers of the AIPA; that in the Commission’s deliberations regional and foreign policy issues figured far lower than domestic security affairs; and that foreign policy did not play a significant role in recent parliamentary elections, even though with the envisaged completion of the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC) at the end of 2015 regional developments were already under way which most likely will have far-­reaching effects on the domestic economy.73

Grafting As mentioned earlier, Indonesian legislators referred less frequently than did government officials to the European model of regional integration. Thus it is no accident that even though grafting new ideas on regionalism that were not previously part of the ASEAN repository of cooperation norms with extant local ideas was common among legislators, it was—­as in the case of civil society—­less common than among government officials. Grafting by legislators concentrated on fusing these new ideas with extant doctrines of Indonesian foreign policymaking and the ASEAN Way, making the democracy norm compatible with Indonesian leadership ambitions, organic state theory, welfare, and prosperity as significant age-­honored legitimizing grounds, and the ASEAN norm of nonintervention. Democracy and Leadership As outlined in Chapter 3, leadership has traditionally been a significant norm in Southeast Asia, pervading political culture in virtually every country of the region. This is no different in the Indonesian parliament, where many legislators regard Indonesia as a natural regional leader, demanding deference from its smaller neighbors.

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Yet Indonesian legislators accentuated the grafting of new ideas on regional government with extant notions of leadership differently from the government. The latter based Indonesia’s leadership ambitions much less on the country’s physical attributes, its territorial and population size. Instead, government officials placed Indonesian leadership claims primarily on normative grounds. President Yudhoyono and former foreign minister Wirajuda especially sought to base Indonesia’s regional leadership mainly on its status as a fully fledged democracy and the “soft power” a democratic political system generated. Democracy thus became a major plank in Indonesia’s foreign policy agenda, as demonstrated in many foreign policy speeches by Indonesian leaders in the UN General Assembly, regional forums, and domestically (Weatherbee 2013; Acharya 2014c; Rüland 2014b; Poole 2015). Although legislators too referred to the fact that Indonesia had become the frontrunner of democratization in Southeast Asia, they did so in a much more assertive and sometimes even chauvinistic way, thereby reproducing leadership claims based on physical attributes. Not only nationalist parties such as PDI-­P but also even representatives of pro-­Islamic parties such as PAN engaged in such utterances. Paradigmatic in this respect was an episode during ASEAN’s forty-­first ministerial meeting, held in July 2008 in Singapore. When in his opening speech Singaporean prime minister Lee Hsien Loong, frustrated with the prospect of a protracted ratification debate in the region’s democracies, took to task member states that had not yet ratified the Charter, he received vitriolic responses from Indonesian legislators. Although he did not name Indonesia, and at the time the Philippines and Thailand had also not yet ratified the Charter, legislators considered Lee’s admonitions to be an insult to Indonesia and a display of contempt for the country’s democratic practices, in which the legislature also has a significant role in foreign policymaking.74 Referring to the fact that Indonesia is “the biggest ASEAN country,” PAN legislator Abdillah Toha wondered whether the thinly veiled Singaporean critique meant that “a country with three or four million people could dictate to a country with 200 million people. . . . Parliaments in Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines,” he added, were “real” parliaments, “not like the ones in Singapore and Myanmar which follow whatever their governments wish without reservation.”75 For legislators in favor of ratification, not only did the ASEAN Charter reflect important post-­Suharto values of Indonesia such as democracy and human rights, albeit in a severely watered-­down form, it also constituted a vehicle for Indonesia to increase its international stature by strengthening its regional leadership. The deputy chair of Commission I,Yusron Ihza Mahendra

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(PBB), for instance, argued that the Charter would make Indonesia “skipper” (nakhoda) of ASEAN, enabling it to steer economic and political developments in the region.76 Marzuki Darusman, the special committee chair, also sought to woo reluctant legislators to ratify the Charter through arguments implying Indonesian leadership and by appealing to nationalist sentiments. While pacifying Charter critics by admitting that the Charter was not a perfect document, he nevertheless stressed the opportunities the Charter offered, in particular mentioning the envisaged regional human rights body and ASEAN’s transformation into a legal and rule-­based organization. This entails, as argued earlier, the tacit expectation that as a normative leader in the region, Indonesia might increase its influence over other ASEAN member countries. His views thereby differed considerably from those of Charter critics like the late Djoko Susilo (PAN) or Andreas Pareira, for whom “ASEAN is nothing without Indonesia.”77 Democracy and Organic State Theory As the strong use of the democracy frame suggests, legislators, especially those with an academic or civil society background, also critically noted the Charter’s lack of participatory provisions. 78 However, many lawmakers stood for a narrower concept of democracy than that of the majority of NGOs. As we have seen, few legislators called for an adequate representation of civil society in regional governance. Unlike NGOs they did not explicitly call for the latter’s “empowerment.” This implies that they are in favor of a consultative role for civil society, but do not necessarily support its direct involvement in decision making. Nonetheless, in the view of many Indonesian legislators, the Charter perpetuates ASEAN’s elitism and state-­centrism. It is therefore puzzling that Indonesian lawmakers did not energetically raise their voices for the establishment of a fully fledged regional parliament, suggesting that in their majority they still think more nationally than regionally. Part of the explanation is that among both government officials and Indonesian legislators the remnants of organicism and corporatism are still prevalent. A good example is an AIPO document drafted in the Indonesian parliament on the organization’s thirtieth anniversary (ASEAN Inter-­ Parliamentary Organization 2007). The publication speaks of “Eastern” versions of democracy and human rights, a thinly veiled circumscription of normative positions held by many ASEAN governments during the heyday of the Asian values debate in the first half of the 1990s. While the authors of the document might have used this wording in order to accommodate the legislatures in the autocratic regimes of the region and

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despite Indonesians’ high preference for democracy in opinion polls,79 illiberal thought can still be widely traced in Indonesia’s domestic politics (Ziv 2001). In the everyday political discourse, it transpires in the form of popular aversion to party pluralism, legislatures, and liberal ideology. In particular, nationalist political parties such PDI-­P, Gerindra, and Golkar often use organicist and corporatist metaphors. Sweeping antiliberal attitudes like those expressed in one of The Jakarta Post’s reader forums may not be typical, but are more than isolated individual opinion. Responding to Rizal Sukma’s article arguing in favor of a post-­ASEAN foreign policy and Sukma’s remarks on democracy, a reader denounced democracy as “just another word for the tyranny of the majority.”80 This was a thinly veiled reference to Sukarno’s disdain for liberal democracy, which he derided as a “50 percent plus one” system of government (Ricklefs 1993, 251). Democracy, Welfare, and Prosperity Legislators also linked democracy to the ancient understanding that in order to be legitimate, the government must enhance the welfare and prosperity of the people. Couching ASEAN reforms in the welfare frame is hardly surprising given legislators’ precarious position in Indonesia’s eminently competitive political system. To be reelected, they must provide tangible benefits to their constituency. As the majority of Indonesians are not wealthy, the mass of voters considers benefits as tangible if they improve the livelihood of the poorer segments of society. ASEAN reforms must thus benefit labor migrants, on which Indonesia, with six million, is the second largest sending country after the Philippines. Environmental issues, especially when the damages can be blamed on foreign companies, such as in the case of the recurring haze problem, are other themes resonating with large segments of the Indonesian public. But haze and resource depletion are issues that also appeal to urban middle-­ class Indonesians, as the haze, which Indonesian legislators blame on Malaysian logging firms and oil plantations operating in Sumatra and Kalimantan,81 particularly impairs the quality of life of a great number of Indonesians. Arguments implicitly criticizing Indonesia’s wealthier neighbors Singapore and Malaysia for not supporting a more just burden sharing within ASEAN, by shouldering a greater part of the regional organization’s budget, are also well received by a public that, rightly or wrongly, blames these two fellow ASEAN members for many unresolved Indonesian problems. To achieve mass appeal in a topic such as regional integration about which Indonesians are not well informed and—­as the themes of electoral contests show—­are also not greatly interested,82 legislators often feel compelled to resort to highly populist lan-

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guage. This also occurred in the Charter debate, in which legislators tried to persuade the public that they were taking a pro-­poor stance, thus not leaving the field entirely to the NGOs. Other less frequent strategies of grafting could be traced, but due to their infrequent occurrence in the Charter debate will not be discussed here in greater detail. As the security frame played a rather marginal role among legislators, the new external norms were also infrequently matched with older, persistently aired security concerns. Yet in the few instances of legislators referring to independence from Great Powers, especially China, these utterances fit well the vulnerability and victimization discourse in Indonesian foreign policy. They are tacit references to the persistence of major Indonesian foreign policy doctrines such as national and regional resilience, and one of ASEAN’s long-­standing concerns, namely freedom of the region from Great Power interference.

Pruning Pruning components of new external and extant local ideas of foreign policymaking and Southeast Asian regionalism was also practiced by Indonesian lawmakers, albeit to a lesser extent than by government officials and NGO activists. In their pruning exercises, Indonesian legislators mainly concentrated on the ASEAN norm of nonintervention. Yet closer scrutiny shows that this was an ambivalent and contradictory process. Pruning ASEAN’s nonintervention norm was mainly propagated by legislators belonging to the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Myanmar Caucus (AIPMC). These legislators held ASEAN’s policy of “constructive engagement” accountable for the continuing flagrant human rights violations of the Burmese military junta and the sluggish progress of the roadmap for democracy to which the junta had committed itself in 2003. Constructive engagement was a policy that avoided creating pressure on the junta in Yangon to accelerate political reform, placing greater hopes in a process of socialization through membership in ASEAN, which its proponents believed would help the junta to shed its international pariah image. For Indonesian AIPMC members the Indonesian government did far too little to facilitate change in Myanmar.83 However, AIPMC-­affiliated legislators were only a minority among the members of DPR’s Commission I. How contradictory handling of the nonintervention norm was, and how divided legislators were on this issue, is aptly demonstrated by the fact that the very same legislators who were in favor of

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democratizing ASEAN and of a stronger regional human rights regime, and who were in some cases even members of the AIPMC, vocally rejected any external critique when domestic Indonesian problems came onto the agenda at international forums. Cases in point for such double standards were the conflicts in East Timor, Aceh, and Papua. For instance, Sutradara Gintings (PDI-­P), the leading voice among a group of legislators opposing what they regarded as the “internationalization” of the Aceh peace process, warned that the peace initiatives should not pave the way for foreign NGOs to become involved in Indonesia’s internal affairs (Hadiwinata and Schuck 2005, 108). Sutradara, Djoko Susilo,84 and other lawmakers were particularly worried about the Aceh Monitoring Mission, consisting of peace monitors from the European Union and ASEAN. The mission, they feared, was “too powerful” and “internationalized” a domestic conflict.85 In 2006 Susilo also vociferously took the Australian government to task for extending visas to alleged Papuan separatists, a decision he castigated as an act of interference in Indonesia’s domestic affairs and for which he called on the Indonesian government to retaliate.86 Another example is Singaporean prime minister Lee Hsien Loong’s haranguing of fellow members to ratify the Charter early. The retributions mentioned earlier—­such as those of PAN-­legislator Abdillah Toha—­are testimony to a sovereignty concept that even precedes the ASEAN Way. While the sovereignty concept of the ASEAN Way rests on equality, Toha’s and other Indonesian legislators’ remarks stand for a plainly hierarchical relationship between ASEAN member countries, which outside Indonesia give the country’s regional policies a less than benign and even hegemonic flavor. It indicates that relations with neighbors can go awry if Indonesia is not accorded the deference politicians affiliated with nationalist parties such as PDI-­P think it is entitled to. Pruned from the European model of regional integration was the supranational concept of regional integration. There is virtually no statement from legislators that goes as far as those of some government officials and—­as we see later—­academics, who considered as desirable at least a modest centralization of regional governance by strengthening the Secretariat, introducing majority decisions, and sanctioning noncompliance with established ASEAN norms. However, this is hardly surprising in light of legislators’ attitudes regarding the nonintervention norm. In conclusion, their pruning strategies were contradictory and not fully reflected. Promoting democracy and human rights inevitably requires a relaxation, if not full abandonment, of the nonin-

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tervention norm. In cases in which legislators still stick to organicist ideas, it is quite likely that the new norms ASEAN champions, that is democracy, respect for human rights, good government, and rule of law, are only superficially appropriated and—­as we shall see in Chapter 10—­in case of conflict are overarched by traditional notions of sovereignty.

7

The Charter and the Academe

Following the argument pattern of the three previous chapters and in correlation with the theoretical framework outlined in Chapter 2, the following chapter examines how and to what extent Indonesian scholars localized external ideas on foreign policymaking and regionalism. In the first section, I briefly recount the changes in the academe enabling the latter’s vocal participation in the Charter debate. In the following sections, I explore the frames academics used to interpret the ASEAN Charter, before I discuss how they grafted them with extant local political ideas and which components they pruned from new foreign and extant local ideas on foreign policymaking and regionalism. These sections will illustrate that Indonesian scholars also attributed great significance to the democracy frame, although—­in particular among think tank scholars—­the democracy frame was overarched by security concerns. The welfare frame was largely absent among academics, an observation that may be attributed to the fact that they—­unlike the government, legislators, and NGO representatives—­did not have to cater to a popular constituency, which would have compelled them to evaluate the material utility of the Charter.

The Rise of the Academe as a Foreign Policy Stakeholder in Post-­Suharto Indonesia The collapse of President Suharto’s New Order regime in May 1998 and the subsequent process of democratization have enabled scholars to discuss issues of Southeast Asian regionalism and Indonesian foreign policy much more

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openly and controversially than in the decades before. Like most other societal groups, the Suharto regime had coopted major parts of the academe. Published scholarly opinion thus primarily served the function of providing legitimacy to the regime’s foreign policy agenda. As a result, analyses rarely transcended the official discourse. The latter was guided by documents such as the “Broad Guidelines of Government Policy” (Garis-­Garis Besar Haluan Negara, GBHN), statements by the president himself, those by leading representatives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and, in particular, those by the security doctrines of the Republic of Indonesia Armed Forces (Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia, ABRI). At the time, ASEAN’s position as the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy remained largely uncontested, although it did occasionally give rise to cautious doubts over the extent to which ASEAN’s elevated role contradicted Indonesia’s age-­honored bebas-­aktif doctrine. In other words, scholars raising this question believed that too much concern for ASEAN had the effect of undermining Indonesia’s national sovereignty and foreign policy autonomy. During the Suharto era analyses of Southeast Asian regionalism and Indonesian foreign policy mainly came from think tanks, especially the renowned Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) in Jakarta and, to a lesser extent, the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI). The CSIS was formed in 1971 by army generals Ali Murtopo, Sudjono Humardani, and Benny Murdani (Hadiwinata 2009a, 70). Its erstwhile proximity to the armed forces also ensured that its policy recommendations were adopted by the government. Jusuf Wanandi, one of the CSIS founders, said of the center’s early years that it would “only take one night for the think tank’s proposal to be executed by the New Order cabinets.”1 Scholars such as Jusuf Wanandi, the late Hadi Soesastro, Soedjati Djiwandono, Mari Elka Pangestu, Djisman Simanjuntak, or, more recently, Rizal Sukma enjoyed great international reputation and were the academic opinion leaders on issues of Southeast Asian regionalism and Indonesian foreign (economic) policy. In the 1990s they were joined by Dewi Fortuna Anwar, a LIPI scholar also affiliated with the Center for Information and Development Studies (CIDES) and later the Habibie Center. At the time, by contrast, international relations as a scholarly discipline was still in its formative stages in Indonesian universities. In the late 1980s, only twelve international relations departments existed throughout Indonesia (Hadiwinata 2009a, 57). Thus, unsurprisingly, university scholars played a subordinate role in the Indonesian foreign policy discourse, with Juwono Sudarsono of Universitas Indonesia and Mochtar Masoed of Universitas Gadjah Mada being among the few exceptions.

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The CSIS’s publications thus were the trendsetters and enjoyed a near monopoly. For a long time, The Indonesian Quarterly was the only English-­ language academic journal in the country analyzing international politics and Indonesian foreign policy. With its library and newspaper clipping archive, the CSIS also had by far the best research infrastructure at a time when university libraries were hopelessly underequipped, incompetently staffed, and organized in a user-­unfriendly way. The CSIS also benefited from the fact that it was closely associated with the Gramedia media empire, the publisher of two of the country’s leading newspapers, namely the English-­language The Jakarta Post and the Bahasa Indonesia daily Kompas. In 1984 the CSIS became a founding member of the ASEAN Institutes of Strategic and International Studies (ASEAN-­ISIS), which four years later was accredited as an “entity associated with ASEAN.” The CSIS subsequently became one of the most active, vocal, and visible members of ASEAN-­ISIS. CSIS scholars were also well-­integrated into transregional think tank networks such as the Council for Security Cooperation in the Asia Pacific (CSCAP), the Council for Asia-­ Europe Cooperation (CAEC), and the many think tank networks supported by donor countries such as the United States, Canada, Australia, Japan, and Germany. As a member of ASEAN-­ISIS, the CSIS also wielded considerable influence over ASEAN decision-­making bodies. ASEAN-­ISIS had regular access to the ASEAN senior officials meetings and occasionally also to foreign ministers and even ASEAN leaders.2 However, the CSIS has also faced much of the criticism directed against ASEAN-­ISIS, then and now. Critics regard think tanks as rather conservative agents, too close and even beholden to their governments, on which they depend for funding (Stone 2000; Kraft 2000; Morrison 2006; Collins 2013, 63). While this began to change toward the end of the Suharto era, when the CSIS increasingly ceased to toe the government line and as a consequence faced harassment from the regime, in the years before it was an advocate and defender of the ASEAN orthodoxy as embodied in the ASEAN Way. This positioning went hand in hand with a rather critical attitude about the EU and the type of regionalism it represents. Central to scholars’ claim that ASEAN constituted an Asian model of regionalism was the noninterference norm. Jusuf Wanandi, for instance, in contrast to his post-­Suharto beliefs, was then a staunch defender of Myanmar’s military junta against Western human rights criticism. Noting that Western countries targeted Myanmar for its human rights violations but failed to take action in the case of bigger countries such as China, he accused the West of “hypocrisy,” “double-­standards,” and postcolonial “arrogance.”3 Hand in hand with this EU-­critical posture was a

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profound aversion to comparisons between the EU and ASEAN and the concomitant European tendency to teach Southeast Asians lessons about regional integration. Owing to the very different trajectories of regional integration in Europe and Southeast Asia, to compare ASEAN with the EU was, in the view of Indonesian scholars, to compare apples with oranges. However, doing some justice to Western scholarship on ASEAN, Jörn Dosch and Anja Jetschke have aptly demonstrated that even in the pre–­Asian Financial Crisis era, the then familiar EU bashing may have been more rhetoric than genuine substance. ASEAN has, after all, throughout its existence never ceased to consider the EC/EU a reference organization and has appropriated European institutional terminology (Dosch 1997, 207–­214; Jetschke 2009). Since the Suharto years, the Indonesian academic landscape has changed markedly. In the meantime, international relations have become a highly popular academic discipline, with international relations departments and study programs mushrooming. According to Hadiwinata, by 2007 forty-­one international relations departments existed in the country (2009a, 57). Many graduates of these programs subsequently pursued further studies abroad. As a result, the number of international relations experts proliferated. Meanwhile, the CSIS and the LIPI, while still very influential, have lost their monopoly on studying and commenting on Southeast Asian regionalism and the country’s foreign policy.4 University scholars and even PhD students became major contributors to the opinion sections of local newspapers. Moreover, economists and international law scholars have also since devoted more attention to ASEAN. Interestingly, though, the increasing scholarly attention devoted to ASEAN is not reflected at an institutional level. Up to the present day, international relations departments have been more inclined to study European politics, issues of globalization, and Southeast Asia’s geopolitical trajectories. Tellingly, Gadjah Mada University was the first Indonesian university to open an ASEAN studies center, in late 2012. The fact that until recently there was no established university unit studying ASEAN stands in stark contrast to the Indonesian government’s long-­standing practice of elevating ASEAN as a cornerstone of its foreign policy. Yet the growing institutional plurality in the international relations discipline has given rise to lively participation of Indonesian scholars in the debate on the ASEAN Charter and the conceptualization of Southeast Asian regionalism. Unlike legislators, academics were involved in this debate from the very beginning and even after the Charter was ratified by the DPR they remained a most active stakeholder group in discussing Indonesia’s regional policies. For

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many of them the Asian Financial Crisis of 1997–­1998 marked a watershed in their thinking on Southeast Asian regionalism. Encouraged by the democratization process at home, CSIS scholars began to join the chorus of external observers who labeled practices related to the Asian values discourse such as hierarchy, personalism, and rule-­aversion as triggers of the crisis and the association’s normative foundation, the ASEAN Way, as obsolete. CSIS scholars subsequently became the vanguard of those who sought to enshrine external norms such as democracy, human rights,5 good governance, and rule of law in ASEAN documents. Largely on Indonesian insistence, and on the basis of a study authored by Rizal Sukma, these norms found their way into the Vientiane Action Plan (2004–­2010) (Sukma 2003; Collins 2013, 62). With them went the solidifying belief of scholars that ASEAN would only be able to manage growing interdependence, the challenges of globalization, and global power shifts if it became a more institutionalized, rule-­based, and cohesive regional organization.

Framing Subsequent sections examine which meaning Indonesian academics—­both university and think tank intellectuals—­attached to the ASEAN Charter at the height of the drafting process and in the years thereafter. It shows that second only to NGOs academics strongly stressed the democracy frame, but when their expectations were disappointed by the eventual outcome of the HLTF negotiations, think tank scholars in particular reverted to foreign policy norms that were part and parcel of the country’s cognitive prior. This response corroborates Judith Goldstein and Robert O. Keohane, who a decade earlier had already posited that in times of insecurity and uncertainty, political actors tend to resort to established wisdoms and beliefs (Goldstein and Keohane 1993). With the reforms spurring ASEAN’s efficiency in limbo, precisely such a situation of insecurity and uncertainty had emerged in the eyes of these intellectuals. The Democracy Frame Unlike Indonesian legislators, academics had more access to the Charter-­ writing process, although this interaction was limited to the CSIS as member of ASEAN-­ISIS. The latter was consulted by the EPG in Ubud, Bali, in April 2006.6 The CSIS also played a significant role in formulating a memorandum on the Charter, which ASEAN-­ISIS submitted to the EPG and later to the High Level Task Force (HLTF) (Morada 2007; Collins 2013, 69). In this mem-

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orandum, the hand of CSIS scholars is quite visible, as there is a striking coincidence with arguments already made by Rizal Sukma in the CSIS-­drafted blueprint for the ASEAN Security Community (ASC) prior to the Bali Concord II and which he and Jusuf Wanandi persistently reiterated in the ratification and post-­ratification debates. However, much to the chagrin of Indonesian scholars, the interaction with ASEAN came to a virtual standstill when the HLTF took over writing the Charter. The HLTF consulted neither ASEAN-­ISIS nor any other group of academics. Indonesian scholars thus observed with growing consternation the negotiations of the HLTF, trying to gather clues from the fragments of information that were revealed to the public. At a roundtable discussion on the ASEAN Charter in June 2007, Rizal Sukma aired concerns that the HLTF, pressured by countries such as Myanmar and, as he believed, Singapore, would back down on the inclusion of human rights and democracy norms.7 Thailand also seemed to renege on these norms. The ruling military junta that had toppled the democratically elected government of Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra in September 2006 was critical of the EPG Charter blueprint, as it delegitimized transfers of power by unconstitutional means such as military coups.8 Given these gloomy prospects, Indonesian scholars expected that the ASEAN Charter would be a much diluted version of the EPG’s blueprint. Despite this unanimity in assessing the circumstances of Charter-­writing and the disappointing final results, they differed in their conclusions. Most CSIS scholars recommended that Indonesia not ratify the document.9 Paradigmatic in this respect was a newspaper article authored by Sukma in which he argued that to be responsible “Indonesia should not ratify the Charter.”10 Others, such as Dewi Anwar Fortuna (LIPI) (Anwar 2010a) and University of Indonesia scholars Makmur Keliat, Edy Prasetyono, and Hikmahanto Juwana, feared that nonratification would do even greater harm to Indonesia’s regional interests than accepting a flawed Charter.11 Contributions by Indonesian scholars to the Charter debate were thus strongly flavored by disappointment over the HLTF’s hermetic style of negotiation and the final document, which severely diluted the previous well-­ received EPG blueprint. In their view, both facts were closely related: it was the secretive style of negotiation that enabled restorative and conservative forces in ASEAN to thwart bolder and more progressive reforms. This analysis led to the conclusion, implicit in many contributions but also explicitly stated by the more outspoken commentators, that regional governance must be opened for stakeholder participation. In some cases, when arguing for a more democratic regional governance process, open references were made to

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the EU. For instance, one Kompas report announcing a Universitas Indonesia seminar on the ASEAN Charter quoted the organizers as saying that the EU is “undeniably the most advanced model of regional integration.”12 Jusuf Wanandi, previously not known as an admirer of European regionalism, also seemed to look to Europe when urging the creation of a stronger regional legislative body. This assembly would provide advice, feedback, and oversight,13 thus transforming the current conference type of regional parliament, the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Assembly (AIPA), into an assembly type.14 During and after Charter-­writing, Indonesian scholars vented their frustration with the Charter primarily on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. It was difficult for many academic observers to understand how, on the one hand, the Indonesian government tirelessly styled itself as an advocate of democracy and inclusive decision making in regional governance, while on the other hand, it quietly complied with the nontransparent negotiation format on which the majority of ASEAN member governments insisted. Makmur Keliat, a University of Indonesia scholar, for instance, deplored that the way the HLTF negotiated the Charter prevented observers from following and assessing the results of the deliberations.15 Without any insight past the closed doors of the HLTF, he argued, it would be impossible to get a better understanding of the dynamics of the negotiations. It is thus difficult to comprehend what caused the dilution of the EPG’s Charter blueprint and what role the Indonesian government played in this process. If this was not clarified, it would be difficult to overcome the perception gaps about the final Charter document between government negotiators on the one side and parliamentarians and political analysts on the other.16 However, the most articulate academic criticism of the Charter-­writing process and the concomitant lack of stakeholder participation once again came from Rizal Sukma. In an article published in The Indonesian Quarterly, Sukma wrote, Since then [the publication of the EPG Report] the drafting of the ASEAN Charter was lost in the mysterious world of the bureaucrats. Very few outside the government circles had the privy to even glance, let alone follow the process. Secrecy prevailed during the process of deliberation within the HLTF. The public increasingly lost its rights to know what was going on behind the closed doors of the bureaucracy’s privileged world. The ASEAN Charter suddenly became a process of closed door dealings among the bureaucrats, taking orders only from their respective political masters. As secrecy became the overriding principle in the actual drafting of the Charter, public consultation became a lip service. In Indonesia, for example, stake holders were invited to provide inputs without even seeing the draft document, let alone knowing the nature of discussion within the HLTF. (Sukma 2008, 267)

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Sukma found it absolutely unbearable that the public only got an idea of the Charter text after a Thai Internet news portal and the Philippine Centre for Investigative Journalism posted leaked copies of the final draft of the Charter on their websites in early November 2007 (Sukma 2008, 268). The information drive initiated by the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs after signing the document in early 2008 did little to compensate for the nontransparent nature of the writing of the Charter. It was, in reality, more an effort to mobilize public support for Charter ratification than to give stakeholders a greater voice in the ratification process. Sukma subsequently dismissed this exercise as one that merely “treated the people as passive recipients of a decision already made by the bureaucrats.”17 Explicitly dissociating themselves from the Asian values rhetoric, of which Indonesia had been a key advocate only one decade before,18 many academic observers were skeptical that the Charter would transform ASEAN into a more people-­centered organization. In the view of Sukma “many provisions in the Charter register a spirit of ASEAN as a leader-­driven organization.”19 “The place of the people,” he stated, “is nowhere to be found in the Charter. . . . There is no provision in the Charter that establishes a mechanism by which the people could participate in the ASEAN process.”20 ASEAN remains, as Makmur Keliat criticized more than two years earlier, a “playground for diplomats,” “disconnected from their own people.”21 In the same vein was Jusuf Wanandi’s remark that the Charter has no article or explanation on how to involve or deal with the people and people’s organizations, although it aspires to become people-­centered. It seems that governments never have the real intention to involve the people in deciding on ASEAN’s development. ASEAN is supposedly for the people and not by the people but by governments. . . .22

Anak Agung Perwita (Universitas Parahyangan, Bandung) concurred, stating that ASEAN would remain “an organization that focuses on Southeast Asia’s political elites rather than on community relations between its member states.”23 ASEAN’s continued adherence to key norms of the ASEAN Way with the centrality of the noninterference principle24 was in the scholars’ view epitomized in the association’s acquiescence to the Burmese military junta’s repressive policies. The grouping’s “constructive engagement” toward Myanmar was, as Sukma repeatedly pointed out during and after the Charter negotiations, proverbial for ASEAN’s hollow rhetoric and lack of political will to strengthen democracy and human rights norms.25 “Inclusion of human rights and democratic principles in the charter is non-­negotiable. Indonesia must

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fight for it because we will have no basis for protecting people’s rights if the principles are not included in the charter,” Sukma told The Jakarta Post.26 Indonesian scholars also aired severe doubts as to whether the envisaged human rights body would be established at all and if it were, whether it would have teeth. How little trust scholars had in ASEAN evolving into a people-­oriented, human-­rights-­based organization even after the signing of the Charter is once more best illustrated by scholars’ comments on ASEAN’s Myanmar policies. Rizal Sukma, for instance, in his trademark straightforward way regretted, While ASEAN officials are busy celebrating the ratification of the charter by all its members, and stepping up the campaign promoting the document, people are being rounded up, sent to the junta’s own version of gulags in remote areas, and the nationwide oppression continues unabated.27

His colleague Jusuf Wanandi fired similar broadsides against ASEAN governments for their inability to agree on a regional human rights mechanism. For Wanandi, [t]he human rights body, which is the embodiment of a people-­centered ASEAN, could not be finalized, because several member governments do not want a body that could scrutinize their abuses and apply sanctions. Without such power it will not have any meaning for the ASEAN peoples as represented by their civil societies. And it also will have no credibility to the international community.28

Sukma also noted with dismay the tedious and acrimonious drafting process of the terms of reference for the ASEAN Human Rights Body.29 When, finally, at their Hua Hin Summit of 2009 ASEAN leaders inaugurated the ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights (AICHR), the body’s weak competences did not augur well for an effective regional human rights regime.30 Lina Alexandra (CSIS) thus aired great skepticism about whether the AICHR would be able to “stop the continuing human rights violations conducted by the military junta in Myanmar or ensure better human rights protection for Indonesian migrant workers and Hmong refugees from Laos.”31 Others such as Natalia Rialucky Tambupulon (Universitas Indonesia) regarded the working procedures of the AICHR as too cumbersome, requiring “too many compromises” for effective improvement of the region’s still ambiguous human rights record.32 The Welfare Frame Given the highly contested nature of Indonesia’s macro-­economic policies, it is quite surprising that scholars—­unlike NGO activists, as we have seen—­did not pay more attention to the economic consequences of the ASEAN Char-

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ter. One of the few exceptions, Aleksius Jemadu, in an article for The Jakarta Post primarily focused on Indonesia’s role in the newly formed G20, briefly touched on the tensions emerging from the ASEAN Charter’s provisions for the liberalization of trade and governmental policies to protect the Indonesian market in case it became flooded with imports. In another opinion piece, also primarily discussing Indonesia’s role in the G20 and the effects of the global financial crisis on the Southeast Asian region, Jemadu dismissively spoke of the “predatory nature of the liberal market economy,”33 a position shared by many NGO activists. Yet, apart from recommending that there should be a greater balance in Indonesian diplomacy between political and security issues on the one hand, and economic issues on the other, he did not offer applicable remedies for this obvious predicament.34 Taking a slightly different, but also largely critical perspective, a University of Indonesia international relations scholar, Bambang Hartadi Nugroho, reflected on the consequences of an ASEAN common market, as outlined in the Charter, for the welfare of Indonesia’s labor migrants. His conclusion: as one of the largest sources of labor migrants, Indonesia in its ASEAN policies should give priority to issues of labor migration.35 LIPI scholar Dewi Fortuna Anwar defended the market-­friendly provisions of the Charter, which she said would help curtail the economic protectionism of ASEAN member countries. Countries in the region are broadly inclined to protect their markets through nontariff trade barriers as long as these do not openly violate WTO rules.Yet a protectionist spiral would create a lose-­lose situation and jeopardize the process of regional economic integration. Dewi therefore strongly argued in favor of policies and measures that would enhance the quality of local products, develop domestic markets, and thus reduce overdependence on exports. However, she cautioned that market-­ opening policies and regional economic integration were only one dimension of the envisaged three-­pillared ASEAN Community: “A market is not a community. When you go shopping in a market, you do not build a community with sellers there. Markets don’t create that kind of community.”36 Finally, economists also discussed the socioeconomic consequences of the ASEAN Charter. However, they too entered this debate late, long after the Charter was ratified and when the impact of the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area and the ASEAN Economic Community began to transpire, suggesting that the Indonesian economy was not as well prepared for market-­opening as previously argued by economic liberals in the government and the academe.37 Rizal Ramli, then working at economic think tank ECONIT, rather generally deplored that “[t]he free market is not the solution to everything” and

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Gajah Mada economist Hendri Saparini questioned the unrestricted export of raw materials, which he feared would hamper the development of local industry.38 Finally, University of Indonesia economics professor Sri Edi Swasono warned that the market “has marginalized sovereignty of the people.”39 The Security Frame While Indonesian scholars strongly stressed the need for ASEAN to become more democratic—­both at the regional and national levels—­some of them framed ASEAN reforms by applying a security lens. Think tank scholars close to the CSIS, with Jusuf Wanandi and Rizal Sukma at the forefront, especially articulated such views. For them the globalization-­driven change in the international environment and, in particular, the rapid rise of China and India necessitated thorough reforms of Southeast Asian regionalism. The key message their analyses conveyed was that the ASEAN Way as the extant repository of regional cooperation norms had become obsolete under these conditions. The ASEAN Way resulted not only in a serious democracy deficit but, worse, a serious efficiency deficit. Referring to figures from the ASEAN Secretariat, for Jusuf Wanandi and other scholars it was alarming that only 30 percent of ASEAN decisions were implemented between 1967 and 2007.40 If ASEAN did not improve its effectiveness, if it failed to become more than a loose diplomatic institution and a “limited economic entity,”41 this would also have serious repercussions for the region’s security. Its role as a manager of order in the region would become uncertain, with the result that the notion of an “ASEAN-­centered regional order in East Asia will soon lose its attractiveness, especially in the eyes of major powers.”42 ASEAN, added Wanandi, would no longer be able to take the lead in institution-­building in the East Asia region.43 Only a united and effective ASEAN would be able to “manage the relationship among the major powers in the region.”44 In the absence of an effective ASEAN-­driven regional security agenda, others will take the lead. In this respect, the Japanese and Australian overtures in 2009 to rearrange international institutions in the Asia-­Pacific region (Thayer 2009) were clearly a writing on the wall for Indonesian security experts. For Indonesian think tank scholars, increasing efficiency required the overhaul of the ASEAN apparatus in a whole range of areas. More democracy and people-­orientedness was one of them. If not properly implemented, the ASEAN Security Community (ASC), one of the grouping’s three pillars on which the envisaged ASEAN Community was supposed to rest, “would have no foundation because human rights and democracy have been declared core values of the community.”45 CSIS scholars were already able to include these

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concerns in the CSIS-­drafted blueprint for the ASC prior to the 2003 Bali Concord II and the ASEAN-­ISIS memorandum submitted to the EPG in 2006. The thrust of this memorandum was a deepening of regional cooperation through legalization, with the objective of transforming ASEAN into a much more rule-­based organization. Although rarely openly admitted by Indonesian scholars, observers took this significant break with the ASEAN Way as an indication that a diffusion of European norms of regional integration had taken place among this important stakeholder group. After all, it is the EU that unlike any other regional organization rests on legalization, contractualization, and even constitutionalization and also promotes these norms in its interregional dialogue relations, such as the Asia-­Europe Meeting (ASEM) and ASEAN-­EU cooperation. While think tank scholars regarded the consolidation of democracy, respect for human rights, rule of law, and fundamental freedoms—­also in coincidence with the European model of regional integration—­to be important components for increasing ASEAN efficiency, the ASEAN-­ISIS memorandum highlighted additional reform proposals: for instance, an institutionalized dispute settlement mechanism, sanctions for noncompliance with ASEAN agreements and norms, a majority voting system, and the relaxation of the noninterference norm. These demands persistently reappeared in subsequent CSIS contributions to the Charter debate. The same holds true for calls for the strengthening of the ASEAN Secretariat and upgrading of its funding. For Wanandi, the practice under which members’ contributions were “defined by the least able member”46 was untenable, as it rendered ASEAN incapable of attending to its increasing scope of functions. After all, each ASEAN member contributed only US$1 million (later US$1.5 million) to the Secretariat (Nguitragool and Rüland 2015, 85). The establishment of a court of justice and the creation of an ASEAN peace and reconciliation council were other demands aired by CSIS scholars, first stated in the 2006 ASEAN-­ISIS memorandum.47 The memo’s proposal—­which the Indonesian government was eventually able to insert in the Charter text—­namely, to review the Charter after five years, reflected the CSIS scholars’ distrust of the political will of other ASEAN member countries to produce a bold and truly progressive Charter. These proposals, Jusuf Wanandi summed up, were “minimum requirements for the ASEAN Charter to be acceptable to the Indonesian public.”48 In the view of many Indonesian scholars, the fact that the Charter document ratified by ASEAN member countries dropped most of these reform proposals called into question the seriousness of the association’s new rule-­ based approach. It prevents the grouping from developing greater cohesion

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and closer cooperation, thus perpetuating ASEAN’s proverbial ineffectiveness and its “limited utility when it comes to the need to respond to real issues in the region.”49 According to Sukma, “ASEAN’s biggest problem can be found in its hesitation to move toward greater institutionalization, toward a more legalized way of doing things and resolving problems. . . .”50 “We have been repeatedly warned,” he wrote, “that the problem with ASEAN is in the implementation. It is hard to believe why this time it would be different simply because an ASEAN document is now called a charter.”51 If ASEAN wanted to overcome the policy of the “lowest common denominator,” as defined by Laos or Myanmar,52 “deep integration,” according to Wanandi, would be the answer.53 Self-­critically noting that Indonesia had also contributed, through nonratification of ASEAN treaties, to the association’s sluggish implementation record,54 Sukma called for an ASEAN “Responsibility to Implement”55 and urged the Indonesian government to place more emphasis on the importance of “delivery” rather than “declaration.”56 Think tank scholars also linked the delivery issue to the weak institutionalization of the ASEAN Secretariat. Cornelis Luhulima of the LIPI, a noted scholar trained in Germany, in a thinly veiled reference to the EU argued that “the ASEAN Secretariat has outlived itself ” and “should be translated institutionally into a commission, an ASEAN Commission.”57 The seeming upgrading of the Secretariat’s status through the ASEAN Charter was little more than a “diplomatic maneuver for the world beyond ASEAN.”58 It did not possess the capacities to carry out more sophisticated monitoring work such as initiating and designing compulsory scorecards to achieve the various targets set by the ASEAN Community Blueprints. Designing and necessitating a political and security scorecard is hampered by classical sovereignty and non-­interference principles, which are reinforced in the ASEAN Charter, even though ASEAN’s new principles of human rights, democracy, good governance and the rule of law essentially challenge those Westphalian principles.59

Dispute settlement and sanctions for noncompliance with ASEAN norms and agreements were other topics scholars often critically addressed in the post-­ratification phase of the Charter. Evi Fitriani, former head of Universitas Indonesia’s international relations department, for instance, deplored the fact that ASEAN member countries had so far bypassed existing ASEAN mechanisms for dispute settlement such as the ASEAN High Council, and rather tended to resort to international mediation bodies such as the International Court of Justice. As a result, an ASEAN culture of conflict settlement could not emerge.60 In light of diverse economic resources and interests, the lack of effective mediation also jeopardized the implementation of the ASEAN

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Economic Community.61 For CSIS scholar Lina Alexandra, while reiterating many of the arguments already laid down in the EPG Report,62 the Charter’s provisions on dispute settlement hardly deserved their name. Elevating dispute settlement to the leaders’ level and ASEAN summits did little to institutionalize the process. Therefore, ASEAN dispute settlement was, quipped Alexandra, less an “arbitration” process than an “arbitrary” process.63 However, without a functioning dispute settlement mechanism, it would make no sense to retain ASEAN as the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy, argued Andi Lolo, a lecturer from the Hasanuddin University in Makassar.64 Moreover, noncompliance, summarized Sukma, would still go unpunished after the signing of the Charter.65 ASEAN, he reiterated, “must introduce a sanctions mechanism in implementing the ASEAN agenda.”66 The ASEAN Way, most scholars thus concluded, still guided much of ASEAN’s operations even after the Charter came into force.67 However, for the sake of completeness it must be noted there were also a few voices in the academe for which the Charter reforms went too far. Some scholars and think tanks with links to the military believed that Indonesia’s and Southeast Asia’s security would be best protected if ASEAN retained orthodox values of a top-­down perspective of leadership. A case in point is Conny Rahakundini, wife of a former high-­ranking army general, lecturer at Universitas Indonesia, and chairperson of security think tank IODAS, who at a conference organized under the aegis of the ASEM in Brussels deplored that after the departure of strong leaders from ASEAN such as Suharto, Lee Kuan Yew, and Mahathir Muhammad, ASEAN seemed to have lost its capacity and capability to manage the challenges of the region’s dynamic changes in political and security affairs.68 This remark is, in fact, an implicit negation of a more participatory and less state-­centric regionalism. However, such opinions constituted a small minority among Indonesian international relations scholars.

Grafting While norms championed by the European Union figured highly in the scholars’ discourse on the Charter, and though many terminological parallels exist, they too made foreign ideas compatible with extant local ideas on foreign policymaking and regionalism. The link between new external liberal-­ cosmopolitan norms and extant local norms is security. Many think tank scholars did not promote democracy, respect for human rights, good governance, and rule of law as norms in their own rights but as major components in a reform strategy that would cater to Indonesia’s and fellow ASEAN mem-

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bers’ security in a rapidly changing global and regional environment. Liberal-­ cosmopolitan norms traveled here on the coattails of security concerns. Democracy and Security Indonesian scholars did not to the same extent as government officials, legislators, and NGO representatives link democracy as a major pillar of the country’s foreign policy to traditional elements of the country’s political culture. They less often attached organicist meanings to democracy, even though such views do exist and despite the state-­corporatist ideology evident in the way ASEAN-­ISIS organized the meetings of the now defunct ASEAN People’s Assembly (APA) (Rüland 2014a, 252–­253). Nevertheless, for scholars more than for government officials and legislators, making ASEAN more democratic means empowering nonstate stakeholder groups and making regional and foreign policymaking more transparent and accountable than in the past. As illustrated earlier, scholars such as Rizal Sukma explicitly stressed that people’s participation in regional affairs must be more than government socialization drives, which in the first place pursue the objective of making the population aware and supportive of its regional policies. Universitas Indonesia lecturer Bambang Hartadi Nugroho concurred, noting that merely “arranging events in which the ASEAN public will be involved is insufficient”69 as a strategy to increase popular participation in regional governance. Although there are few explicit statements by Indonesian scholars in the Charter debate about what kind of democracy they prefer in ASEAN and for regional governance, the clues they give on participation, transparency, and inclusiveness are closer to liberal ideas of democracy than the participatory rhetoric of many government officials and legislators. This is further corroborated by the human rights concept propagated by scholars, which is devoid of the contextualizing elements of the Asian values debate and the ASEAN Human Rights Declaration.70 Given the frequent interaction between Indonesian scholars and their European counterparts in multiple scholarly fora, the likelihood that some ideational diffusion has taken place between Europe and Southeast Asia should not be dismissed. While propagating more liberal-­cosmopolitan concepts than other foreign policy stakeholders, Indonesian academics also make democratic reforms compatible with Indonesia’s cognitive prior. Indonesian scholars often do so by linking them to extant local norms in the domain of security. In Chapter 3, I outlined the great significance security has had in Indonesian foreign policymaking in the past. Indonesian policymakers’ assessments of their environment were colored by a history of adverse experiences with Great Powers,

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ranging from the colonial period to the Second World War and the Cold War era. These have resulted in a preponderant sentiment of vulnerability and victimization among Indonesians. To cope with these external threats effectively is thus a major task facing Indonesia’s security policy. Sukma’s remark at the very outset of the Charter debate that “Indonesia will continue to be a big country (in geographical sense), a weak country (a big but weak state) and a country which will be continually harassed by other countries”71 is prototypical for these sentiments. To avoid the dependencies that come with membership in alliances and security pacts, throughout their history as an independent nation Indonesians have always placed great emphasis on self-­reliance in security affairs. The national resilience (ketahanan nasional) doctrine (see Chapter 3) is an embodiment of such thought. We have seen in Chapter 4 that such perceptions are particularly widespread in government circles.Yet they can also be identified among Indonesian international relations scholars. Many of them have been socialized in homegrown or imported versions of political realism, although this is gradually changing (Nguitragool 2013, 10). Think tank scholars in particular—­although they are by no means alone—­regard international relations in geopolitical terms and as zero-­sum games. Like Indonesian diplomats, they respond almost seismically to imagined or real power shifts in the international arena and, like diplomats, they tend to think in categories of “soft balancing” and “concerts of power.”72 When from late 2007 onward it became obvious for many scholars that the Charter had failed to shape a more efficient ASEAN, Indonesian scholars, especially those affiliated with CSIS, made a major argumentative turn. They increasingly deemphasized their earlier liberal-­cosmopolitan arguments, which, at the time of Charter-­writing they associated with a more efficient ASEAN. Instead, by depicting Indonesian solidarity with ASEAN as a sacrifice,73 they began to address the opportunity costs arising from a policy that made ASEAN the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign relations. For Wanandi and Sukma, “ASEAN after the Charter will not be too different from ASEAN before the Charter”74 and there would be no “new ASEAN,”75 as repeatedly stated by Indonesian diplomats.76 If ASEAN cannot change, the consequence must be a major revision of Indonesia’s foreign policy, one that would bring back the age-­honored bebas-­aktif and ketahanan nasional doctrines, albeit in modernized form.77 Reconnecting with similar comments already made by CSIS scholars during the ratification debate,78 Sukma’s call for a “post-­ASEAN foreign policy”79 articulated this position most succinctly. Indonesia should leave the “golden cage” of ASEAN and

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break away from long-­cherished solidarity with the grouping. For Indonesia, “ASEAN should constitute only one of the available platforms through which we can attain and fulfill our national interests.”80 Without the centralizing reforms he had championed earlier, Wanandi believed the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy should be its “national interest.”81 If, through its inability to become more efficient, ASEAN impairs Indonesia’s ambitions for a more competitive international stature, it must be in Indonesia’s national interest to restore its ability to pursue an independent foreign policy. Sukma argued that “Indonesia must not neglect ASEAN, but our national interests oblige us to start thinking beyond it.”82 Independence means daring to disagree with ASEAN member states,83 to have the courage to be different.84 To continue treating “ASEAN as the cornerstone of our foreign policy, is tantamount to wasting Indonesia’s potential.”85 “For that,” Sukma concluded, “we need new and fresh thinking about our appropriate place in the wider Asia Pacific.”86 In several opinion pieces Sukma and Wanandi stepped up their earlier overtures for an “omni-­directional” or plurilateral foreign policy. Sukma mentioned as consequential moves in such a direction the launching of the Bali Democracy Forum (BDF); Indonesian membership in the G20 and other pivotal international regimes such as those concerned with climate change, food, and energy security;87 and strategic partnerships with global and regional powers,88 including the EU as a significant regional organization.89 These calls for readjusting the priorities in Indonesia’s foreign policy dovetailed with Wanandi’s earlier calls for a stronger Indonesian role in the fledgling forums of the Asia-­Pacific as well as taking the lead in establishing a concert of powers in Asia, a G8 consisting of the major powers of the region including the United States.90 In a global context, Wanandi recommended that Indonesia strengthen its role in the G20 and the United Nations.91 Sukma echoed Wanandi’s calls for a greater global role for Indonesia, justifying it with the argument that “as the only ASEAN country that is a member of the G20, Indonesia is obliged to expand its foreign-­policy horizon.”92 These thoughts resonated strongly in the academic community and were shared by many Indonesian international relations scholars.93 Aleksius Jemadu of Universitas Pelita Harapan in Jakarta, for instance, ran articles similar to those of Sukma and Wanandi in The Jakarta Globe. Jemadu recommended rethinking “the idea that Indonesia should give such high priority to the centrality of ASEAN in the construction of our foreign policy,” musing that fellow ASEAN members were “relying on the naïveté of our foreign policymakers for their own strategic interests.”94 But while Sukma and Wanandi at least at

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the time of the Charter-­writing regarded “deep integration” of ASEAN as a viable response to the challenges facing the region and in principle preferable over other policy options,95 Jemadu seemed to suggest that it would be wrong “to assume that ASEAN’s increasing integration will automatically benefit Indonesia.”96 Precisely such a nexus was the main justification of Indonesian foreign policymakers for elevating ASEAN to the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy.97 Jemadu thus doubted “that the focus on ASEAN in the nation’s foreign policy is truly in our national interest.”98 Liberal-­Cosmopolitan Values and Leadership Indonesian scholars also implicitly or explicitly connected liberal-­cosmopolitan values and the other reforms they championed during the ASEAN Charter debate with the leadership ambitions the country had cherished since independence. Evi Fitriani, for instance, explicitly linked Indonesia’s entitlement to leadership to the preamble of the 1945 Constitution.99 Scholars with a decidedly nationalist leaning in particular strongly believed that Indonesia’s democratization had strengthened the legitimacy of Indonesian regional leadership claims. They thus widely concurred with government officials and—­as we shall see later—­journalists who shared the view that Indonesia’s population size, its vast territory, and its democratic frontrunner role in the region constitute a strong entitlement for leadership. More than government officials—­who usually had to take into account the effect of their statements on neighboring countries—­ academics could openly and assertively pursue such leadership claims. Especially for think tank scholars, the referent points were China and India and the other BRICS states. Scholars compared the growing international clout of these countries with Indonesia, as they believed that Indonesia—­due to its physical and normative attributes—­is entitled to play in the same league. They noted—­rightly or wrongly—­that these countries also play a leadership role in their respective regions and seemingly have a major political influence on the regional organizations to which they belong: China in the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and the ASEAN Plus Three (APT) forum, India in the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC), Brazil in Mercosur and UNASUR, and South Africa in the Southern African Development Community (SADC). Yet they are also aware that Indonesia has to catch up with these newly emerging powers in terms of economic, technological, and military capacities. They know that Indonesia is currently unable to act at the same level as these countries. Therefore, it is crucial that ASEAN act more coherently. And to become more coherent, it is imperative that ASEAN become more effective. For these scholars a “new ASEAN,” in which reforms

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would largely follow Indonesian designs, would transform ASEAN into a vehicle strengthening Indonesia’s and ASEAN’s global role and voice. However, as ASEAN member countries did little to defer to Indonesian leadership ambitions and Indonesian designs for ASEAN reform were severely watered down by the Charter, many Indonesian scholars believed that Indonesia should pursue its leadership aspirations independent of ASEAN through a range of alternative strategic partnerships within and outside the Asia-­Pacific region.

Pruning As in the previous chapter, I concentrate my examination of scholars’ pruning activities on those acts in which elements of the new external ideas were pruned and those in which pruning targeted the extant local ideas on foreign policymaking and regionalism. Like the other actors studied thus far, Indonesian scholars also engaged in pruning both sets of ideas. As far as the extant local ideas on regionalism are concerned, academics’ pruning exercises primarily concentrated on the noninterference norm of the ASEAN Way. From the Bali Concord II onward,100 and in particular during the initial phases of the Charter debate, noninterference was portrayed by numerous scholars as an anachronism that must be removed. Noninterference was identified as one of the greatest obstacles for promoting democracy on an ASEAN-­wide scale and establishing a credible human rights regime. Were the democracy norm and human rights protection taken seriously, ASEAN member countries would no longer be able to insulate their domestic affairs from intrusive external inspection. This was—­as we have seen—­repeatedly illustrated by critical references to the political situation in Myanmar. Without a relaxation or even complete abolition of the noninterference norm, ASEAN was, in the view of many scholars, deprived of any leverage through which to force the then ruling military junta in Myanmar to initiate democratic reforms. Without them Myanmar would retain its pariah status, a big embarrassment for ASEAN that negatively reflected on the grouping’s prestige.101 While government officials and NGO activists also pleaded for the centralization of ASEAN, some scholars affiliated with the CSIS made even more far-­reaching proposals for pruning key elements of the ASEAN Way. Among these elements with a centralizing effect on ASEAN were the overhaul of the dispute settlement system, majority voting, sanctions for noncompliance with ASEAN agreements and norms, and the Court of Justice. All these reforms would have had tangible sovereignty-­reducing effects. These proposals indicate how far leading voices in the Indonesian academe had distanced themselves from the established ASEAN Way at the time when

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Charter-­writing began. Rarely before was any Indonesian scholar heard to suggest that an “element of supranationality” should be brought into ASEAN and that “members had to give up some of their sovereignty,” as demanded by Jusuf Wanandi at a discussion organized by the Foreign Ministry preceding the April 2006 meetings of the EPG and ASEAN foreign ministers in Bali,102 although at the same time he warned that “supranationalism in ASEAN is always going to cause problems and challenges.”103 But while CSIS scholars were spearheading this change of mind, it was not limited to them. P.L.E. Priatna, a Monash University graduate, argued similarly, stating that the ASEAN Way, which is based on informal agreements and consensus, was simply not capable of addressing the challenges ahead, although he too was skeptical that ASEAN would move toward supranationalism.104 However, as it became obvious that no other ASEAN government was in favor of greater centralization of ASEAN or even of supranational tendencies, pruning shifted to elements of the new external norms and the underlying EU model of regional integration. As a consequence, calls for a relaxation of the nonintervention norm in the Indonesian academe subsided. Pruning now concentrated on supranationalism as a European trademark of regional integration, and Indonesian scholars—­especially those affiliated with the CSIS—­ returned to the sovereignty track. In fact, from the point at which it became clear that the ASEAN Charter would be ratified by Indonesia, they became a restorative force in foreign policymaking and thoughts about regionalism, highlighting age-­honored security and foreign policy doctrines such as bebas-­ aktif and ketahanan nasional and propagating an Indonesian foreign policy that markedly downsized ASEAN.105 To be more specific, also pruned at this stage were the functional underpinnings of European thinking on regional cooperation.Wanandi, for instance, argued that—­unlike in Europe—­regional cooperation is not driven by cross-­ border problems. For him it is the nation state—­not regional institutions—­that are pivotal in solving regional and global problems ranging from international terrorism and pandemics to energy security and the environment.106 Another example is the thinking about the parliamentarization of ASEAN. Although Indonesian scholars also strongly pleaded—­as we have seen—­for a democratization of regional governance, reduction of sovereignty would not extend to the parliamentary body some of the scholars had in mind. Wanandi, who explicitly called for a representative parliamentary body able to express people’s concerns on regional policies, was prepared to vest supervisory functions in such a body, but no legislative functions such as those provided in the more advanced regional parliamentary bodies of the EU or Mercosur.107

8

The Press and the ASEAN Charter

In this chapter, I once more revisit the theoretical framework laid out in Chapter 2. I first recount the democratization of the Indonesian press following the collapse of the Suharto regime as a precondition for the latter’s role in the ASEAN Charter debate. In a subsequent step, I examine how the press framed new incoming ideas on regionalism and the need to reform ASEAN. Thereafter I scrutinize to what extent these ideas and concepts have been fused with extant Indonesian ideas on foreign policymaking and regional governance. Finally, I explore whether and how the press—­like all other stakeholders studied so far—­also engaged in pruning new and old components of concepts of foreign policymaking and regionalism.

Era Reformasi: Emancipation of the Press Freedom of the press has been one of the major achievements of post-­Suharto democratization. It was Suharto’s successor, President Bacharuddin Habibie, who, though suspected of being a holdover of the ancien regime, initiated profound democratic reforms that freed the media from tight government control. Soon after coming into power, Habibie allowed the formation of new political parties, released political prisoners, and granted freedom of assembly and speech in an obvious attempt to counter massive opposition to his presidency and build up a support base of his own. In subsequent months, Habibie went even further, launching an ambitious decentralization program,

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announcing parliamentary elections, and presiding over internal reforms of the armed forces (Mietzner 1999; Crouch 2010). In a climate of subsiding state repression, a vibrant press emerged. At the national level English-­language and Bahasa Indonesia dailies competed for readers. Leading English-­language dailies are The Jakarta Post and, since 2010, the Jakarta Globe, whereas Kompas, Koran Tempo, Suara Pembaruan, Media Indonesia, Republika, and Merdeka figure prominently among the Bahasa Indonesia press. All of them have online editions, and the Bahasa press in some cases also has English-­language editions. Newspapers at the regional and local levels appear exclusively in Bahasa Indonesia. Weekly news magazines such as Tempo Interaktif and Gatra also appear in Bahasa Indonesia, as do several Internet news portals and news agencies, including detik.com and Antara. Of them, Tempo Interaktif and Antara also have English editions (Rüland, Lang, and Wiese 2014; Lang 2016). Habibie’s democratization markedly widened the political space for the press and other mass media. No longer subjected to self-­censure, depoliticization, and governmental interference, the more liberal political atmosphere encouraged journalists to report more critically about the government. While this is also true for foreign policy issues, the investigative reporting that became the hallmark of some newspapers and news magazines remained largely confined to the domain of domestic politics (Steele 2011, 93). The sources of reporting also diversified. While during the New Order government officials primarily served as sources in news stories (Steele 2011, 92), this changed after democratization, as journalists also interviewed and cited with increasing frequency think tank experts, university lecturers, legislators, and NGO activists. Opinion sections of newspapers expanded and became more sophisticated, amplifying the plurality of opinions and transforming newspapers into forums for debating policy issues. Yet government officials still had good, though no longer privileged, access to the press; newspapers such as The Jakarta Post and Kompas continued to give them ample space and opportunity to explain, promote, or defend their policies. However, instead of pressuring the editors to endorse and disseminate official views, the government had now to enter these forums and directly rebut the critique aired in editorials, opinion pieces, and readers’ contributions. Although, as media experts have critically noted, some of the reporting may have still been episodic without sufficient concern for the broader context (ibid., 90), comments and background explanation improved in quality and provided better and more detailed information than during the New Order period. With democratization the press and other mass media have also become

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significant stakeholders in foreign policymaking. All major national newspapers and news magazines report regularly on Indonesia’s foreign relations and ASEAN. Editors and journalists indirectly shape these discourses by acting as gatekeepers to their opinion sections, the selection of topics, and headlining. More direct means of influencing public opinion are editorials and commentaries, which chiefly appear in national newspapers. Nevertheless, much in line with the government doctrine that ASEAN is the cornerstone of Indonesian foreign policy, national newspapers and news magazines display a generally favorable and supportive attitude regarding regional cooperation. Editorials suggest that journalists are very well aware of ASEAN’s merits. Highlighted in this regard is ASEAN’s contribution to peaceful interstate relations in a region with a history of conflict, distrust, and rivalry.1 With its role as a successful regional security manager, ASEAN has also created a favorable environment for the economic growth and prosperity the region has enjoyed in recent decades.2 Yet this does not make journalists refrain from expressing dissatisfaction and impatience with ASEAN’s incremental pace of deepening regional integration and strengthening internal cohesion.3 Such criticism also pervaded comments on the ASEAN Charter, in the debate of which the press was involved from the very beginning.

Framing The following analysis shows that—­very similar to the stakeholders analyzed in the preceding chapters—­the press also attaches the greatest emphasis to the democracy frame in justifying ASEAN reforms. The underlying message is very similar: reforms must transform ASEAN into a more inclusive and democratic grouping, both at the domestic and regional levels. The security frame also plays a certain role, whereas the welfare frame is largely neglected. Journalists made probably the strongest and most frequent references to European integration when discussing reforms of Southeast Asian regionalism. A Jakarta Post article, for instance, justified the urgent need for a more transparent and people-­oriented ASEAN by drawing a (debatable) comparison with the EU in which democratization came first and economic integration followed later.4 Also, when it comes to the objective of the ASEAN Charter to create a more “rule-­based” regional organization, the press seems to be inspired by the European model. Typical in this respect is an article expressing hopes that with ASEAN “another kind of European Union will grow in this region.” The article associated with the EU a “rules-­based community,” a state of development ASEAN should also strive for.5 In a similar vein, the Charter

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was often associated with a “constitution,” a terminology clearly reminiscent of the EU Constitutional Treaty. References to Europe abounded when the press discussed the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC). Reporting on the AEC almost habitually likened the scheme to an “EU-­type” single market. In other words, these reports established a positive association between the AEC and European integration. A Kompas article even went so far as to espouse “belajar dari EU” (learning from the EU), highlighting the economic benefits brought by the EU to its membership.6 One year later, Bhimanto Suwastoyo of The Jakarta Globe noted with approval that ASEAN was now on the way to emulating the EU. He wrote, Now, Asean is moving into the realm of true regionalism, aiming to establish a single market economy by 2015 and eventually an EU-­style regional community. With a market of more than 550 million people, Asean is aiming for an integrated market allowing the free flow of goods and services, investment, skilled labor and capital.7

The Democracy Frame It is in line with this penchant for European regional integration that press comments vocally called for a democratization of ASEAN at both the domestic and the regional levels. Calls for the democratization of national polities emerged from 2003 onward, when Indonesia sought to regain the regional leadership role that it had lost as a result of the domestic political and economic turmoil in the aftermath of the Asian Financial Crisis. A Jakarta Post editorial mirrored this line of thinking, which links leadership ambitions to a democratic mission, stressing that “we have constitutional obligations to convince our neighbors that adopting democracy is not an option but mandatory” (quoted in Sukma 2012, 83). But with the country’s transition from an authoritarian regime to a democracy and its economic recovery during the Megawati presidency, ASEAN’s rhetoric-­action gap became a recurring theme in press editorials and commentaries. While Indonesia succeeded in including democracy, human rights, good governance, and rule of law as new ASEAN norms in the Vientiane Action Programme (2004–­2010), the press became increasingly frustrated with the watering down of many of Indonesia’s more ambitious reform designs and the insistence of fellow ASEAN members on retaining the core norms of the ASEAN Way. Parallel to the normative turn in Indonesia’s regional policy agenda, the country’s press also became increasingly assertive in propagating a foreign policy in which democracy promotion and human rights protection were major themes. Such articles echoed government statements and celebrated Indone-

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sia’s political transition. They noted with pride that Indonesia had risen to become the world’s third largest democracy, next only to India and the United States.8 Against this background, commentaries in the press often deplored the low level of democracy in Southeast Asia, noting that, as a result, Indonesia is surrounded by authoritarian governments.9 Occasionally turning to drastic language, news articles have not shied away from labeling some member governments “despotic”10 and ASEAN a “caucus of dictators.”11 Without the democratization of Indonesia’s neighbors, commentators believe, progress in regional integration is illusory. ASEAN, argued one commentary in The Jakarta Post, “will not stand the test of time if it does not acknowledge the values of freedom and democracy burgeoning across the region.”12 The proposed solution to this dilemma is that Indonesia play the role of a “champion” of democracy in Southeast Asia.13 Although the September 2006 and 2014 military coups in Thailand were greeted with disapproval,14 propagation of democracy as a virtuous ASEAN norm primarily crystallized in critical comments on the military regime in Myanmar and the Indonesian government’s seemingly soft position regarding it. At the time of the Charter debate, the military rulers in Myanmar had in no way indicated that they would seriously think of implementing the roadmap toward democracy that they had announced in 2003. Quite to the contrary, in September 2007 they violently cracked down on the “Saffron Revolution,” antigovernment protests led by Buddhist monks. When Indonesian journalists discussed the future of Southeast Asian regionalism, they often referred to the fact that Myanmar still figured as one of the worst performers in democracy ratings and international human rights assessments.15 In their view Myanmar had become a liability for other ASEAN members and, implicitly, Indonesia in particular.16 Indonesian newspapers therefore noted with dismay that the ASEAN Charter did not provide leverages to change the behavior of the junta. Playing the moral card, The Jakarta Post asked, “Who is guiltier: Myanmar’s generals, or those who continue to back them?”17 This shaming strategy especially took to task the region’s democratic governments. One article thus demanded that Indonesia and the Philippines spearhead moves to suspend Myanmar’s ASEAN membership until the generals in Naypyidaw return power into the hands of the sovereign, the people.18 Press editorials and commentaries also criticized what they regarded as the ambiguous policy of the Indonesian government. While the pressure occasionally exerted on the junta in Myanmar was applauded,19 more frequently newspapers found the Indonesian government to be out of tune with its own

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cherished democratic norms. A case in point was Indonesia’s decision not to support a United Nations Security Council (UNSC) resolution against Myanmar. Indonesia abstained in the vote on the grounds that Myanmar did not pose a threat to security and that the newly formed UN Human Rights Council (UNHRC), not the UNSC, would be a more appropriate forum in which to raise such issues.20 Press comments on this decision were scathing. Indonesia, by taking the “soft option” of staying technically neutral, argued Meidyatama Suryodiningrat in The Jakarta Post, effectively “undermined an initiative which would have placed further diplomatic pressure on a regime that suppresses the most basic rights of its people.”21 For him the decision was proof that pragmatism and competition remain the overarching considerations of Jakarta’s diplomatic activism. Furthermore, it is evidence that Indonesian diplomats have not embraced the evolving values of its own, and international, civil society toward concepts of human security—­which has human rights at its core—­beyond the realms of state-­centric sovereignty.22

This makes understandable why so many are skeptical of ASEAN, which for over a decade has tended to condone, rather than censure, a regime that blatantly denies its people the right to elect their own political leaders.23

Media skepticism continued to prevail even after the junta had embarked on a serious reform agenda in 2010, which culminated in the November 2010 elections. Suspicions of Myanmar ran so deep that press articles took for granted that the election would be a “travesty of democracy and a tragedy for the people of Myanmar”24 even before the elections were held. Again, The Jakarta Post demanded that Indonesia as incoming ASEAN chair take the lead in exposing the fraudulent character of these elections25 and exert pressure on Burma.26 Yet the paper made a complete about-­turn when the new reformist course of the Burmese generals stabilized and opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi was freed after more than fifteen years of house arrest. ASEAN and the Indonesian government, previously scolded as custodians of the ASEAN Way, were suddenly credited with triggering the change in Myanmar. The Jakarta Post commended “Indonesia’s efforts to influence Myanmar’s authorities through persuasion,”27 while the Jakarta Globe wrote that “ASEAN was able to steer Burma toward greater openness.”28 But the press did not put under the spotlight only the lack of democracy in the grouping’s member countries and the inconsistencies of the Indonesian government in addressing the region’s democracy deficit. Together with members of the academe, legislators, and NGO activists it also tackled the

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elitist, exclusive, and state-­centric nature of ASEAN. Like these other stakeholders, the press also closely observed the work of the bodies mandated with devising and writing the Charter. It shared with the other stakeholder groups the general approval and recognition of the EPG blueprint for an ASEAN Charter.29 Yet it did not escape the attention of a Kompas commentator that not even the EPG, with its proclivity for the views of civil society, wanted to integrate people’s organizations (such as the ASEAN People’s Assembly or a still-­to-­be-­formed “People’s Consultative Assembly”) into ASEAN’s official structure.30 Crediting the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs with being the “most internally reformist and policy progressive department,” a true “ambassador of change,”31 the press regarded the ministry as the agent which had the duty “to ensure that the original spirit of the draft charter is retained as intended by the EPG.”32 Yet these glowing accolades for the foreign ministry’s internal reforms were soon moderated, and commentators realized that the ministry’s transparency ended where interactions with fellow ASEAN members began. Thus, unsurprisingly, the press also joined the chorus of critics who vocally complained about the secretive and nontransparent way in which the Charter was drafted. It worried journalists that the drafting process was placed in the hands of the HLTF, which, like most ASEAN critics, they viewed as a group of politically beholden bureaucrats. They suspected the charter drafters of removing from the EPG’s blueprint “all progressive paragraphs hastening ASEAN’s enlightenment,”33 thereby “subverting the spirit and substance [of the draft] to suit the political ends of member states.”34 For the press the secrecy of the Charter-­drafting was symptomatic of ASEAN’s lack of participatory channels and the inability of civil society to influence decision making. For The Jakarta Post’s deputy editor-­in-­chief, Meidyatama Suryodiningrat, ASEAN is thus “an association which quietly acquiesces to the notion that people are subjects rather than citizens.”35 People are remote from regional governance and regional decision making, with one Kompas commentator likening ASEAN to an “ivory tower.”36 The envisaged ASEAN Charter would thus become “another new benchmark by which the promotion and protection of people’s rights will be judged.”37 When the Charter text eventually became public, disappointment prevailed. Commentators were quick to admit “that the charter could have been so much more than it is.”38 The “original lofty goals of turning the region into one vibrant community with shared values and shared principles are virtually lost,” lamented The Jakarta Post,39 concluding that the charter was “a betrayal of a grand vision set by ASEAN’s own eminent persons who have laid down

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the values and principles in their bold and visionary report for an ASEAN community.”40 Singled out as a major shortcoming of the Charter was the fact that it is “toothless in dealing with less democratic states.”41 The Charter has a “democratic deficit,” stated Jakarta Post reporter M. Taufiqurrahman,42 and Tempo Interaktif wondered why the words democracy and human rights were still a threat in the region.43 As a consequence, as according to one Jakarta Post editorial published at the height of the ratification debate, To ratify [the ASEAN Charter] would be to sell out on the values and principles Indonesia stands for, including democracy, freedom and human rights—­values and principles that are universal and acknowledged by the Asean eminent persons group.44

However, in some articles published by the same newspapers, guarded optimism came to the fore. For these commentators, the fact that the words democracy and human rights are included in the Charter obviously marked an important step in the direction of the democratization of Southeast Asia.45 They shared the rhetoric of government officials and some academics who pinned their hopes on what they regarded as Southeast Asian regionalism’s evolutionary nature, in which issues of democratization, accountability, and human rights are rising on ASEAN’s agenda.46 But doubts remained: Are Indonesia and the Philippines, the most vocal advocates of a strong human rights regime, “bold enough to pursue the establishment of a human rights commission within the grouping so that any doubts regarding ASEAN’s commitment to protecting human rights can be erased?”47 After enactment of the Charter, press displeasure continued to center on the Charter’s thus far unfulfilled promise of greater people-­orientation. One editorial conceded changes in ASEAN’s approach to grassroots involvement, but quickly qualified its assessment by stating that ASEAN was still far from being people-­oriented.48 Commentators mused that ASEAN was indifferent to civil society, taking a blind eye to it and sometimes even “loathing the prospect of openly engaging with the civil society.”49 They expressed apprehension over the rejection of civil society’s nominated representatives at the leader and civil society interfaces at the two ASEAN summits hosted by Thailand in 2009 and the harassment of NGO activists by the Cambodian government in 2012. “These actions,” wrote Meidyatama Suryodiningrat, were “openly belying the people-­centered ASEAN concept stated at Bali Concord II and contradict the essence of the ASEAN Charter to promote a people-­ oriented ASEAN in which all sectors of society are encouraged to participate in and benefit from . . . Indonesia’s President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and Philippine President Gloria Macapagal-­Arroyo should not have hidden behind the skirts of Myanmar and Cambodia under the pretext of solidarity or

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consensus.” 50 “Facing the people,” the article claimed, is “ASEAN’s strategic deficit.”51 In the same article the author laid out suspicions that ASEAN officialdom regarded “uninhibited civil society as a threat rather than a partner of government.”52 The societal and functional irrelevance of most of the civil society organizations accredited by ASEAN showed how ASEAN “perceives its subjects: With ridicule and condescension.”53 Yet, “the business of government is too important to be left to government alone.”54 Discussing greater people-­orientation, The Jakarta Post and Kompas repeatedly referred to the ASEAN People’s Assembly (APA), an ASEAN-­ISIS brainchild. This is unsurprising, as both newspapers are close to the CSIS, one of the APA’s major propagators. Gatherings such as the APA were, in the view of The Jakarta Post, “a prime example of how [ASEAN] can, if it wishes to, evolve to become more sensitive to the voices of the often unheard.”55 In another article the newspaper urged the Indonesian government to support the APA as a forum gathering civil society representatives politically and financially.56 However, it flatly rejected alternative ideas that the APA should become an accredited organization with the ASEAN Secretariat, which would enable it to institutionalize its leader-­CSO interface. “That would be a disastrous exercise!” exclaimed Meidyatama Suryodiningrat. “Civil society would become ‘colonialized’ by its own governments.”57 Yet this promotion of the APA by parts of the press stood in stark contrast to the views aired by many NGOs, which, due to the proximity of ASEAN-­ISIS to governments, regarded the APA more as a gatekeeper to official channels than an open forum for civil society (Stone 2000; Kraft 2000; Morrison 2006; Morada 2007; Collins 2008, 2013; Gerard 2013, 2014; Rüland 2014a). Another main focus of press criticism was the Charter’s half-­hearted provisions on a regional human rights regime. An opinion piece in The Jakarta Post had the following to say in this regard: We do share the concerns of various parties, like human rights organizations, parliament members in the region and other civil society organizations, because the charter has been much watered down from its original draft, especially on the protection of human rights and the freedom from fear and oppression. It is very true that the charter is still far from being an ideal constitution because it still rigidly sticks to the non-­ interference principle.58

The Indonesian press thus closely observed the negotiations on the terms of reference (TOR) of the regional human rights mechanism envisaged in the Charter. They applauded the fact that the high level panel (HLP) mandated by ASEAN leaders to formulate the TOR was eventually able to agree on a working arrangement for the ASEAN Intergovernmental Commis-

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sion on Human Rights (AICHR). At the same time, however, editorials and commentaries joined the academe and the NGO community in articulating dissatisfaction with the TOR’s compromise character. Some articles, corroborating the omnidirectional nature of norm diffusion highlighted in Chapter 2, noted that by international standards and in comparison to other regions such as the Americas and Africa, the powers the TOR vested in the AICHR fell short.59 Other regional organizations have, for instance, established regional human rights courts. That ASEAN failed to do so testified to the fact that not much attention is given to human rights protection, thereby “effectively sustaining the impunity of the state in its relationship with ASEAN citizens.”60 The TOR, complained Meidyatama Suryodiningrat, “have been so watered down from their original intent that they become an aesthetic fig leaf to cover inaction.”61 His colleague Lilian Budianto concurred, citing NGO and media criticism that the AICHR “is a watchdog that neither bites nor barks.”62 While the results of the HLP deliberations were greeted with disappointment, journalists also acknowledged that the TOR that were finally agreed on were the best that could be attained.63 Despite their skepticism for the AICHR, they nevertheless appreciated the efforts of the Indonesian government to negotiate more progressive terms. But what at first sight might have appeared as face saving for the Indonesian government exposed in reality how little fellow ASEAN members were inclined to follow Indonesia’s self-­styled regional leadership based on normative superiority. The press also supported NGO demands to select commissioners without government intervention,64 a demand with which in the end only the Indonesian and Thai governments complied. While all this suggests that Indonesia did not prevail with its visions of an effective human rights body, press reports—­echoing the government—­ drew some consolation from the fact that, after all, the TOR contain a clause which allows for them to be reviewed after five years.65 This was, in fact, the only substantial concession Indonesia’s ASEAN partners were prepared to make. Nevertheless, the review would open up opportunities for a revision of the TOR. One opinion piece in The Jakarta Post likened the option to revise the TOR to the incremental amendment of the Indonesian constitution in the post-­Suharto era.66 The Welfare Frame Press reports also employed the welfare frame when discussing ASEAN reforms, although thereby mainly referring to the economic agenda promoted by the ASEAN Charter. It is, however, extremely difficult to establish a clear

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trend as to whether the press supported or objected to market-­opening policies. The issue was as much contested as among other stakeholder groups. It is testimony to that ambiguity that Indonesian newspapers readily give protectionist forces a forum for their arguments, although their own editorials and commentaries seemed to favor a proliberal economic policy. A Jakarta Post editorial published at the height of the ACFTA controversy criticized the protectionist tendencies—­epitomized in nontariff trade barriers—­in some ASEAN countries, including Indonesia, in the wake of the deepening global economic crisis. The ASEAN single market, the editorial reasoned, optimally serves Indonesia’s interests as it provides the best chance to attract more foreign investors.67 Also The Jakarta Globe in one of its editorials strongly pleaded for accelerated economic integration, thereby taking into account the European lessons. The article took a clear progrowth, probusiness stance.68 Other articles were more ambiguous: for example, a Jakarta Post editorial supported ASEAN integration but aired strong reservations against wider free trade schemes such as the emerging Transpacific Partnership (TPP), in the negotiations of which Indonesia did not participate—­unlike ASEAN partners Singapore, Brunei Darussalam, Malaysia, and Vietnam. Placing ASEAN over the TPP thus also indicated that the paper supported the centrality of ASEAN in Indonesia’s foreign policy and in the wider East Asian region and hence continued to regard ASEAN as a cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy.69 The Security Frame As among academic stakeholders, references to the rapid rise of China and India and shifting power relations—­politically as well as economically—­are frequent in press discourses. As far as such arguments made in The Jakarta Post and Kompas, they strongly reflect the views of Jusuf Wanandi, one of the owners of The Jakarta Post. Press commentaries, for instance, reason about Indonesia’s position in Asia in relation to the rise of the two giant powers. “In the middle,” proposes Meidyatama Suryadiningrat, but at the same time cautioning that “this is not a simple case of parking a car between a container truck and a bulldozer.”70 He left open, however, which is the container truck and which the bulldozer. More concretely, the security frame discusses ASEAN reforms in relation to Myanmar. This entails the question as to how far a more progressive reform of ASEAN norms would affect the region’s power equation and—­as a corollary—­China’s and India’s influence in Southeast Asia. It is remarkable in this respect that journalists such as Meidyatama Suryadiningrat on the one hand criticize ASEAN’s cautious Myanmar policy with strong words, while

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on the other they seem to suggest that this is a prudent policy. Ostracizing the military junta due to its human rights violations, Meidyatama feared, would transform Myanmar into a Chinese client state which, in turn, would heighten Indian fears about growing Chinese influence in its Indian Ocean defense perimeter. This could create a scenario in which Myanmar would become “the frontline of regional power rivalry between China and India.” A balanced attitude and restraint were therefore required in the region’s human rights policies for the sake of stability.71 Bhimanto Suwastoyo of the Jakarta Globe complemented such thoughts by highlighting the economic challenge these two powers pose for ASEAN in general and Indonesia in particular. ASEAN must, he concluded, find “ways to enhance competitiveness, raise exports and improve the investment climate.”72 Related to this discourse, however less stringent than in the case of think tank academics, is the issue of ASEAN efficiency. Press articles also mused that ASEAN is only able to cope successfully with the region’s changing security constellations if it becomes a more effective regional body. Like NGOs and many academics, journalists thus also displayed increasing impatience not only with the ASEAN Way’s noninterference norm but also with other core norms of the grouping such as consensual decision making. ASEAN may forge agreements with good intent, but these may be “perverted by legal axiom and manipulated for political compromise,” regretted The Jakarta Post.73 Like government officials and academics, press commentaries also took to task ASEAN’s dismal implementation record, which they regarded as a consequence of the grouping’s established culture of compromise. The ASEAN Charter, despite misgivings due to ASEAN’s previous record of reformist incrementalism, was thus greeted in one article as “a real chance to boost the implementation percentage”74 and in another as an effort of ASEAN “to clean itself.”75 Yet after the results of the Charter negotiations became public, disappointment prevailed in the majority of press commentaries. As a result, the Charter gradually lost its centrality in press contributions on Southeast Asian regionalism. Certainly, comments on ASEAN abounded in the years after the launching of the Charter in December 2008. But many of them henceforth concentrated on ASEAN anniversaries, the recurrent biannual summits, and the annual foreign ministers meeting. They were guided by the issues of the day. Expectations that these events would produce substantial progress in terms of the grouping’s efficiency were limited; they were rather seen as legitimating exercises of the host government, as much directed to the home audience as to the international community. “ASEAN,” accused a Jakarta Post editorial, “is entrenched in the habit of habits: meetings, summits, declarations

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and statements.”76 ASEAN meetings are symbolic exercises, “procedural diplomacy”;77 the association was seen as incapable of opening up and adjusting to new and changing conditions. Confirming this general trend of statements was a Jakarta Post editorial preceding ASEAN’s sixteenth summit, which took place under the umbrella theme “From Vision to Action” in Hanoi in April 2010. The article aptly summarized ASEAN’s many ambiguities: If ASEAN were a house, then the foundations laid over the past four decades are upright and solid. However, the construction of a house for ASEAN citizens to dwell in has been less virtuous. The walls built have been to divide and sometimes repress the inhabitants of the house rather than fortify its noble intentions. The rooms created are decorated by idle chatter and symbolism, state engineered rhetoric instead of elements of colloquial value. The house built, hence, is not a home.78

Yet the issue as to how the ASEAN house could be made more habitable did not completely disappear as a topic in the press. A case in point is ASEAN’s lack of a workable dispute settlement mechanism. The mechanism the Charter provided was built on consensus and thus hardly able to resolve serious conflicts. If this is true, the question inevitably arises as to the extent to which it is possible to properly implement the Charter. And indeed, as Indonesian newspaper articles argued, the Thai-­Cambodian border conflict at the Preah Vihear temple precisely raised this point.The border clashes between Thai and Cambodian troops indeed constituted a clear case of noncompliance with the ASEAN norm of settling disputes peacefully. Even worse in the view of Indonesian newspaper commentaries was the fact that Cambodia took the conflict to the UN Security Council. That neither Thais nor Cambodians were prepared to submit the case to the Charter’s dispute mechanism suggested that they had little confidence in the institutions devised by the Charter. Their behavior disregarded and humiliated ASEAN and belittled the association’s capability of mediating a peaceful solution.79 Press commentaries also critically noted that the Charter did little to promote other key prerequisites for greater effectiveness. In a Jakarta Globe article, the writer identified as such prerequisites transparency, accountability, policy predictability, and consistency. Without them and without greater institutionalization, he concluded, the Charter would not be able to close the association’s capability-­expectations gap.80 If genuine reforms were not forthcoming, the impatience of major Indonesian stakeholders with ASEAN’s symbolism and its ritualistic and formalistic procedures would further grow.81 Pushing this point even further, Meidyatama Suryodiningrat, The Jakarta Post’s deputy chief editor, argued that “redefining ASEAN will be a necessity, to lift from obsoleteness a regional grouping that may become irrelevant as major East

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Asian economies find direct avenues of cooperation without liaison from Southeast Asia.”82 Contrary to civil society, and more like the academe, the press devoted little emphasis to nonconventional security threats and the human security concept related to them, although scattered evidence suggests that human security is not totally out of the view of journalists. As far as they refer to human security, they are painfully aware that ASEAN is only reluctantly subscribing to it. ASEAN, as one article concludes, is still ages away from the human security concept that NGOs and some journalists propagate.83

Grafting Grafting new ideas on Indonesian foreign policymaking and Southeast Asian regionalism with extant local ideas is a practice that can also be observed in the press. Press commentaries and journalists propagating a substantive normative change in these policy fields usually combine their call for the adoption of seemingly EU-­type liberal and cosmopolitan ideas with established ideas relating to soft power, leadership, the country’s long-­standing bebas-­aktif policy, and the ASEAN Way. Closer examination of the democracy concept inherent in press articles suggests that they are more influenced by the liberal-­cosmopolitan ideas also championed by the EU than by the government. This is corroborated by the fact that newspaper editorials highlight the democratic peace hypothesis: for Meidyatama Suryadiningrat, for instance, a key lesson of history is that it “has shown us that open conflicts most rarely occur when neighboring states adhere to open democratic political systems.”84 This resembles the view propagated by scholars and shares with NGO activists the belief that societal interests must be empowered to have a greater say in ASEAN’s decision making. Yet press comments about democracy remain more general than those of academics. While empowerment of civil society and the underlying notion of “participation in decision-­making” were widespread, in comparison with academics virtually nothing is said about accountability and supervision of the member governments’ regional policies. Democracy and Organicism Press references to empowerment do not mean that links to Indonesia’s organicist cognitive prior are absent, although they may be more indirect and ambiguous than government conceptualizations of democracy. Strengthening the ASEAN People’s Assembly (APA) as a channel for more effective interac-

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tion between societal interests and the government is a case in point. I have shown elsewhere that the APA, despite occasional references to liberal and cosmopolitan conceptions of democracy, was also strongly influenced by a state corporatist mode of regional decision making. ASEAN-­ISIS conceptualized the APA as a unifying peak organization of civil society interests and as a gatekeeper for societal access to ASEAN bodies (Rüland 2014a, 252–­253). But in fairness to journalists, it must also be noted that they counterbalanced the nexus they unwittingly created to the APA’s inherent organicism by unequivocally rejecting the idea of the APA becoming an entity accredited to the ASEAN Secretariat as a corporatist apex organization.85 Democracy and Soft Power President Yudhoyono’s policy of generating Indonesian soft power resonated positively among journalists. Soft power is, as we have seen in Chapter 3, an age-­honored tool of Indonesian rulers through which to create a favorable context for their external relations. Some journalists, in particular The Jakarta Post’s deputy editor-­in-­chief, Meidyatama Suryadiningrat, enthusiastically supported the president’s belief that Indonesia’s precursor role in advocating democratic governance in Southeast Asia enhances the country’s international influence. In commentaries and editorials, he used euphoric metaphors that even eclipsed those of government representatives. For Suryadiningrat soft power “can be as potent as having ‘the bomb,’”86 and being the “cheerleader of democracy”87 and “Asia’s newest bastion of democracy”88 would grow Indonesia’s international stature accordingly. Democracy and Leadership Soft power based on democracy and respect for human rights also links new values of foreign policymaking and regionalism with Indonesian foreign policy elites’ long-­standing leadership aspirations—­not only in Southeast Asia, but also on a global scale. This sentiment of entitlement has been persistently highlighted by virtually all stakeholders except civil society as a major component in the conception of Indonesia’s foreign policy role since independence. As a democracy propagator in the region, Indonesia increasingly placed its leadership claims on normative grounds during the Yudhoyono presidency. Some of the press comments shared the government’s expectation that democracy promotion seems to make its aspirations as a newly emerging power much more credible than the previous reference to mere physical properties such as territorial size and large population. Projecting Indonesia’s international influence, is—­as Meidyatama Suryodiningat maintained—­in Indonesia’s

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“own enlightened self-­interest.”89 This implies that democracy promotion is by no means an end in itself. Instead, it is closely connected with Indonesian foreign policymakers’ great concern for geopolitical issues and the global and regional distribution of power. We may thus conclude once more that liberal and cosmopolitan ideas expressed by the democracy frame are neatly fused with the country’s foreign policy orthodoxy and the largely realist cognitive prior described in Chapter 3. Journalists and newspapers applying the democracy frame also frequently champion another role conception closely aligned with leadership aspirations. This link does not necessarily appear in articles highlighting the democracy frame, but it is employed by the very same authors. Since Suharto’s New Order regime, Indonesia has undertaken great efforts to project itself as a good global citizen. Among other factors such as development orientation and bridging the mental and political gap between North and South, this image rests on peace building and mediation. Such missions have been—­as Chapter 4 showed—­repeatedly proffered and organized by Indonesia in various parts of the world including Southeast Asia. The media support this government policy because it undergirds the country’s self-­styled leadership role. “As the largest country in Southeast Asia,” concluded The Jakarta Post, “Indonesia has some clout and influence in the region”90 for mediating between conflict parties. However, although there definitely were successful Indonesian mediation missions, overall their outcomes have by no means been spectacular. Unfortunately, the press failed to explain to their readers why occasionally these were more rhetorical than substantive efforts. Cases in point are Indonesian mediation efforts in the Middle East, which were stepped up during the Yudhoyono presidency.91 Yet critical reporting about the relationship between democracy, leadership, and mediation is largely absent in the country’s media. Democracy, Security, and Survivalism Journalists using the democracy frame often seek to strengthen their arguments by linking them with the survivalist rhetoric many Indonesian governments have employed in the past when justifying their foreign policy course. In the ASEAN Charter debate, the need for progressive reforms was also in some cases coupled with these rhetorical figures highlighting the vulnerability of Indonesia’s existence. Once more, the frequently cited Meidyatama Suryadiningrat is prototypical in this respect. Approvingly quoting Achmad Subardjo, Indonesia’s first foreign minister, with the words that his primary mission “was to ensure the survival of the newborn republic,” Meidyatama continued,

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Sixty-­three years later, that mission has not changed: To ensure the survival of a ‘new’ republic—­a democratic republic—­in the midst of a regional sea of illiberal states. Indonesia needs like-­minded nations if its nascent democracy is to flourish, whereas it is presently surrounded by prospering capitalist authoritarian regimes.” 92

The Return of the Cognitive Prior? When it was clear that the ASEAN Charter did not fulfill the expectations the EPG Report generated, some newspapers, though not negating the democracy frame, began to shift the thrust of their arguments from the promotion of liberal-­cosmopolitan norms to a revitalization of the cognitive prior inspired by the bebas-­aktif orthodoxy of Rizal Sukma’s “post-­ASEAN” policy vision. Disappointed by the limited echo Indonesian reform proposals engendered among fellow ASEAN governments and the concomitant growing awareness that Indonesia’s regional leadership lacks compliance, these press articles also increasingly questioned ASEAN’s elevated position as the cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy and at the same time stepped up demands that Indonesia’s foreign policy autonomy be strengthened. Although editorials can be found which concluded that “ASEAN remains, and should be in the foreseeable future, a cornerstone of Indonesian foreign policy,”93 highlighting the association’s achievements such as avoidance of interstate conflicts, regional stability, and harmony in the name of economic prosperity,94 others—­appearing in the same newspaper—­were less sanguine about ASEAN’s future relevance for Indonesia. The Jakarta Post journalist Endy Bayuni, albeit reluctantly recommending ratification of the ASEAN Charter,95 foreshadowed Rizal Sukma’s plea for a post-­ASEAN foreign policy96 as early as 2007. Repeating his critique in almost the same wording half a year later, a Jakarta Post editorial blamed ASEAN for “increasingly becoming a straitjacket for Indonesia in pursuing its foreign policy objectives [so] that we should rethink its usefulness in view of recent developments in the region.”97 Sukma’s image of ASEAN as a “cage”98 also reappeared in the headline of one editorial.99 Another opinion piece depicted ASEAN deteriorating into a liability for a value-­based Indonesian foreign policy.100 In fact, with the process of Charter implementation turning out to be a tedious and highly compromise-­ prone process, voices pleading for a correction of the Indonesian foreign policy course toward the country’s established norms gained momentum.101 My argument that the press also grafts external norms on foreign policymaking and regionalism with extant local ideas is further corroborated by the observation that some authors who normally pleaded for ASEAN reform nevertheless cautiously supported elements of the ASEAN Way. At the height

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of the Charter debate, The Jakarta Post, for instance, in statesman-­like fashion was more concerned with ASEAN solidarity than a deficient Charter. By not ratifying it, the newspaper concluded, Indonesia would become an obstacle to ASEAN integration. “The government needs to do its best to ensure that Indonesia will not pose a stumbling block to the implementation of the ASEAN Charter,” stated one of the Post’s opinion pieces.102 The same commentary also reminded the legislators of the country’s obligation to display exemplary behavior as the grouping’s largest member.103 In the commentator’s view, the DPR’s lengthy deliberations and the vocal opposition of some legislators to ratification were an embarrassment for Indonesia.104 Such comments are remarkable for their state-­centric posture—­very much in line with the traditional ASEAN Way—­as they urged the government to bring into line a seemingly recalcitrant legislature with what the writers regarded as national interest. They displayed disregard for the division of powers and stood in stark contrast to the newspaper’s frequent admonition of ASEAN member governments and the ASEAN Secretariat to promote a more participatory process of regional governance.

Pruning As stated at the beginning of this chapter, press commentators were the stakeholder group that most frequently referred to the European model of integration when discussing ASEAN reforms. Yet unlike with academic observers, there were few clues that would indicate that this also meant pleading for an adoption of the EU’s selective supranationalism or at least some centralization of regional governance. References to an “ASEAN Court of Justice,” an “ASEAN Parliament,” or an “ASEAN Commission” could be found in the academic discourse on the ASEAN Charter, but not in press commentaries. While academics, frustrated by the Charter’s lack of reformist appeal, in the end also threw overboard any consideration of a greater centralization of ASEAN and returned to a more orthodox foreign policy conception highlighting national interest, press commentators tacitly seemed to prune supranationalism from their reform agenda from the very beginning of the debate. In the light of the Euro crisis, the prospect of a currency union was likewise categorically ruled out.105 Press commentators and editorials not only pruned the new external, EU-­ inspired ideas on regionalism, they also strongly proposed the elimination of orthodoxies of the ASEAN Way.106 For instance, major Indonesian newspapers shared the declining trust of other stakeholders—­in particular the academe and NGOs—­in the ASEAN Way’s crucial noninterference norm.107 In light of

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increasing global and regional interdependence, a commentary in The Jakarta Post argued that “positive interference” is needed much more than noninterference.108 Such “constructive engagement,” the writer was sure, would by no means be detrimental for the intensity of cooperation between member countries.109 While skepticism for the ASEAN Way’s normative orthodoxy was aired long before the Charter was eventually made public, journalists expressed anger that in the end the document retained what they viewed as the “outdated” core norms of the ASEAN Way.110 For them, the fact that the Charter did not fundamentally modify the noninterference norm111 and consensus-­ based decision making112 meant that the Charter did not live up to the reformist expectations the EPG Report had nurtured. In the eyes of ASEAN-­ critical journalists, the Charter, like many previous ASEAN agreements, is shaped by the lowest common denominator.113 Tacitly referring to an NGO demand, The Jakarta Post thus raised the rhetorical question of whether the Charter would have been passed if, like the EU Constitution in some member countries, it were put to a vote by the peoples of Southeast Asia.114 As a result, for Tempo Interaktif ASEAN has not yet passed the litmus test; it still needs to prove that it is not a paper tiger.115 Summing up, many journalists thus wanted the old norms of the ASEAN Way to be removed in a reformed regional grouping. Press commentaries also shared with academics and civil society activists the belief that contextualized human rights should be pruned from the repository of ASEAN norms. As far as they commented on the issue, most journalists insisted that human rights should be universal and indivisible and not geared to a sociocultural context constructed by ruling elites. The analyzed newspapers thus overwhelmingly pleaded for a pruning of the legacies of the Asian values debate of the mid-­1990s, which nevertheless found their way into ASEAN human rights documents such as the terms of reference of the ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights and the ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights. Still, press commentaries suggest that human rights diffusion was more than merely the localization of the core values of the EU. The reference of articles to the United Nations, Africa,116 and South America117 once more corroborates the theoretical claim I made in Chapter 2, namely, that norm diffusion is an omnidirectional process.

9

Business and the ASEAN Charter

Chapter 9 examines the ideational preferences of a stakeholder group that although potentially strongly affected by the economic consequences of the ASEAN Charter, publicly did not contribute much to the Indonesian Charter debate. While this is surprising given the significance of ASEAN reforms for the competitiveness of Indonesian businesses, the chapter nevertheless allows us to examine the divisions within the business sector toward the ASEAN Charter and analyzes how various business groups framed, grafted, and pruned the external ideas informing the reforms underlying the Charter. Only when small-­and medium-­scale entrepreneurs began reflecting the economic changes the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area foreshadowed for the ASEAN Economic Community, did the concomitant insecurity and uncertainty raise fears that resulted in a stronger retention of established norms and values. I begin with a brief appraisal of the changes the representation of business interests underwent in the Era Reformasi, before turning to the way they localized European ideas of regionalism in the ASEAN Charter debate.

Proliferating Business Organizations in Post–­New Order Indonesia Economic interest groups in Indonesia have a long history. Many of today’s several-­hundred business, industrial, and professional associations already existed in the New Order period (1966–­1998). This quite diversified landscape of economic interest groups was embedded in a state corporatist organiza-

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tional structure in which the Indonesian Chamber of Trade and Industries (Kamar Dagang dan Industri, KADIN) figured as the peak organization (MacIntyre 1994; Hicks 2012; Jürgen Rüland 2016). Established in 1968, KADIN was under tight government control, as signified by the fact that its first chairmen were high-­ranking military officers (Ufen 2002, 172). Later, they were replaced by indigenous (pribumi) entrepreneurs, some of whom strongly called for an affirmative action policy, similar to Malaysia’s New Economic Policy (NEP) after the 1969 riots in Kuala Lumpur, in order to break the economic dominance of Sino-­Indonesian conglomerates (ibid.). Other major economic interest groups included HIPMI, the association of young entrepreneurs, and Hippi, a mouthpiece of pribumi entrepreneurs dominated by a close relative of President Suharto (ibid.). While it is undeniable that, facilitated by the regime’s opening policy (keterbukaan) in the 1990s, there was greater space for interest organizations to influence government policies, MacIntyre’s projection of a gradual change from an exclusionary state corporatism to a more inclusive liberal corporatism had been premature (1991, 246). Even for the final years of the New Order period, for most business, industrial, and professional associations, Ufen’s assessment that intermediary groups were tightly controlled by the regime came closer to reality (2002, 174–­175). Often the regime’s influence on these interest groups even went to the point of intervening in the election of the organizations’ leadership. Although—­at least with regard to KADIN—­these heavy-­handed interventions seemed to have somewhat subsided, before 1998 economic interest groups at no point were advocates for democratic and economic reforms (ibid., 175). This only changed after the collapse of Suharto’s New Order in May 1998. In the Era Reformasi economic interest organizations and business associations proliferated (Hicks 2012, 1), freed themselves from tight state control, and indeed moved toward a more inclusive type of liberal corporatism. Yet in the absence of in-­depth studies of the post–­New Order landscape of economic interest groups, only a few general observations can be made. Many of these organizations are strongly leadership-­dominated with a clear lack of internal democratic structures, vehicles for rent-­seeking activities by board members who instrumentalized business associations to pave the way to government contracts (ibid., 6). They are underfinanced, with the effect that their organizational infrastructure continues to be weak (ibid., 5). This explains why the overwhelming majority of business associations are unable to base their lobbying activities on reliable data and information. Most of them do not have noteworthy research capacities of their own1 and are also incapable of commissioning studies examining the effects of market lib-

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eralization on the respective business sector. Even KADIN, the business peak association with some eighty thousand members,2 is not well equipped to do so, as only a fraction of the businesses affiliated with the organization pay membership fees (Ufen 2002, 172). Especially in the provinces, KADIN’s organization is tenuous and thus unable to guide entrepreneurs properly in their adjustment to economic policy changes (ibid.). Given these circumstances, it is hardly surprising that KADIN and other Indonesian business associations have only a limited impact on government decisions. To strengthen their lobbying functions and to provide expert knowledge to the Indonesian government, Gusmardi Bustami, the former Indonesian chief negotiator in the WTO and thus definitely an experienced insider, urged that the Indonesian “private sector must establish and strengthen its own research institutions.”3 While companies producing for the domestic market and SMEs were thus caught unaware of regional decisions that, like the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC), markedly changed the economic playing field, large corporate players do not have a problem of access to data and academic studies. Usually they have their own in-­house research units and the best corporate lawyers, who provide the company’s leadership with reliable data about the expected consequences of market-­opening. Bank Mandiri, the largest Indonesian bank, for instance, created its own research unit with highly competent economists and competitive salaries.4 If elected to executive positions in business organizations, the CEOs of large enterprises successfully use their frequent interface with political leaders to promote policies helpful to their own firms. They are also well represented in the regional apex business associations, the ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry (ASEAN-­CCI) and, from 2003 onward especially, the ASEAN Business Advisory Council (ABAC), a body handpicked by ASEAN leaders.5 As a result, the corporate interests of outward-­looking Jakarta stock-­market-­listed firms are usually much better protected than those of the 95 percent of Indonesian businesses which qualify as micro-­, small-­, and medium-­scale industries (Jürgen Rüland 2016).

Framing As in previous chapters, the following sections show that Indonesian business representatives localized external ideas on regional integration.Yet the way in which they did so varied substantially. Outward-­looking conglomerates and export-­oriented firms pursued a localization agenda that basically adopted many of the neoliberal economic integration strategies practiced by the EU and, to a certain extent, other regional organizations. Although there are few direct references by business leaders to European economic integration, be-

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cause of frequent exchanges with European counterparts, the presence of a European delegation office in Jakarta, and a EU-­Indonesia Business Dialogue it is obvious that they had a modicum of knowledge on Europe’s economic policies, and the European single market may have served as a source of inspiration for them. The majority of inward-­looking domestic firms, virtually all of them SMEs, and their associational representatives would tacitly agree that the Indonesian economy must adjust to economic globalization and therefore also subscribe to market-­opening, but not now. These firms would strongly plead for a lengthy transitional period to prepare themselves for a more competitive market, and they do so by framing their economic agenda very much in terms of deeply entrenched antiliberal Indonesian economic policy traditions. In contrast to the internationally oriented economic actors, they would like to see the cognitive prior preserved to the greatest possible extent, although they know that this is not possible without at least a cautious rhetorical reference to the externally originated neoliberal policy of regional integration. To examine these diverging localization strategies more closely, I thus go back to Chapter 2, applying the conceptual tools that, according to Acharya, constitute localization processes. As with the other stakeholders, I scrutinize how business representatives frame, graft, and prune external ideas of regional integration. Further examination shows that among business representatives the democracy frame plays only a marginal role, while the security frame is not used at all. Not unexpectedly, much of the discourse on ASEAN reforms is embedded in the welfare frame. The Democracy Frame In contrast to other Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, business representatives rarely used the democracy frame when issuing statements on ASEAN reforms. Quite obviously they were not interested in the normative issues heatedly debated by other stakeholders. References to people-­orientation and participatory regionalism are thus almost entirely missing in the statements of business leaders. Nevertheless, in at least one point business representatives share the notions of other stakeholders. They, too, criticize that policymaking in ASEAN lacks transparency. For them, this lack of transparency and exclusion from information is particularly pronounced in economic decisions. For instance, during the completion of the ASEAN Free Trade Area (AFTA) in the early 2000s, representatives of the economic interest groups and especially their local branches, but also local government officials, persistently complained that the “Indonesian government’s efforts to disseminate information

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to the public have been minimal and only upon request” (Chandra 2004, 165). The AFTA was initiated in 1992 at ASEAN’s fourth summit in Singapore as a response to the deadlocked Uruguay Round of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) and the mushrooming of new regional trade agreements in many parts of the globe. Such complaints also surfaced in the process of establishing the ASEAN-­ China Free Trade Area (ACFTA) and the AEC. During the (belated) debate on the ACFTA after it came into full effect in 2010, former KADIN chairman M. S. Hidayat addressed such communicative shortcomings on ASEAN’s trade policies by demanding that “a cooperative relationship between the government and business sectors” be established and that an “effective communication channel must be maintained to ensure a smooth flow of information between the two sectors to reduce any kinds of uncertainties and misunderstandings.”6 Rachmat Gobel of the Indonesian Electronics Producers Association (Gabel) was more outspoken, deploring that the involvement of industry players in the ACFTA negotiations was minimal. “If the government says it involved industrial players in the process, most of them would ask, which ones?” he told The Jakarta Post.7 After all, repeated government promises to strengthen interaction with the private sector seem to have been little more than lip service.8 However, closer scrutiny of government responses to such criticism suggests that—­as in the case of the AFTA (Chandra 2004, 169)—­there were indeed outreach programs organized by the ASEAN Secretariat and the Indonesian government.9 On the ACFTA, Trade Minister Mari Elka Pangestu, for instance, claimed that “the government had held a discussion with businessmen, associations and academics, and KADIN at every stage of FTA negotiations.”10 But it seems that these information drives withheld important information from the business sector. A case in point is feasibility studies, which the government allegedly kept classified because it feared that the publication of the findings would limit the options of its negotiation teams.11 Moreover, the dissemination of government information was far from equitable. It concentrated on the capital region and approached business sectors selectively and differentially. While supporters of the government’s economic policies were consulted and received information, critics and those who were believed to be skeptical of economic liberalization were ignored.12 As a result, information on the ACFTA and—­at least initially—­the AEC can be likened to a trickle-­down, which did not reach the majority of Indonesian firms in time and in sufficiently detailed manner. Against this background it is somewhat surprising that the business sector

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obviously did not join other stakeholders in their complaints about the lack of transparency surrounding the Charter-­drafting exercise. One explanation, apart from the lack of awareness, is that the small and medium-­scale entrepreneurs tend to think in short time intervals. Their economic existence is often precarious and survival their preoccupation. With the AEC still in the distant future at the time of the Charter debate, thinking about its consequences was not a priority for them.13 Most of these entrepreneurs become concerned with the putative effects of policies only when their implementation is imminent. Chris Kanter, the deputy chairman of the Indonesian Employers Association (APINDO), came to the point when stating in 2013 that “Indonesian business players’ awareness about the ASEAN Economic Community is relatively low. Although implementation is scheduled for 2015, the ASEAN Economic Community is still seen as something vague and occurring far down the line.”14 The fact that the debate on the AEC did not take place when the ASEAN Charter was negotiated but only started and intensified in the two years preceding the scheme’s inauguration at the end of 2015 affirms this observation.15 A second explanation is that—­like legislators and civil society—­the business sector was consulted by the Eminent Persons Group (EPG). In April 2006, the ASEAN-­CCI, a business peak organization formed in 1972 on the initiative of ASEAN foreign ministers as a transmission belt for explaining and socializing ASEAN’s economic decisions in the business world, met with the EPG. Yet, given the dominance of corporate interests in the chamber and, in particular, the Singaporean leadership at the time, it is hardly surprising that the much celebrated EPG Report was largely congruent with big business interests. It should be remembered here that Singapore was together with Thailand one of the initiators of the AEC and thus had a particular interest in market-­friendly regional economic integration. The EPG Report thus firmly supported the AEC and the concomitant neoliberal economic order for Southeast Asia. However, with the appointment of the High Level Task Force (HLTF) by ASEAN leaders in 2007, the influence of business representatives on Charter-­ writing waned. Like other Indonesian nonstate stakeholders they were effectively cut off from information on the Charter negotiations. But unlike civil society and other reform-­minded stakeholders, the HLTF did not disappoint corporate interests, as it did not dilute the EPG’s McKinsey-­based16 economic recommendations, which thus found their way almost unaltered into the Charter document. Business interests also had only a marginal role in the debate about Charter

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ratification. In fact, among all the foreign policy stakeholders examined here, businesspeople showed the least interest in the ASEAN Charter. Few of them commented publicly on it, discussing regional integration only when the economic consequences of the Charter such as the AEC became visible. At the time of the Charter debate, the leading business representatives, obviously satisfied with the economic perspectives of the AEC, supported ratification. For instance, Subronto Laras, an Indonesian member of the ABAC participating in a parliamentary hearing on the ratification of the Charter in February 2008, was generally in favor of the AEC, but nevertheless warned that Indonesia’s economic basics such as its infrastructure were not yet ready for market-­ opening policies.17 The Welfare Frame Most of the comments by business representatives that directly or indirectly referred to the ASEAN Charter did so by employing the welfare frame. In this respect, the business sector resembled civil society, which likewise intensively discussed the material consequences of the ASEAN Charter. But unlike businesspeople, NGOs strongly connected the welfare frame with the democracy frame, implying that a broad-­based distribution of the material gains of deeper regional integration is dependent on a more participatory regional decision making. Only if the weaker segments of society are also represented in regional governance, so their reasoning went, would they benefit from regional integration. By contrast, as we have seen, business community spokespersons, while occasionally complaining about their own limited access to regional policymaking, did not principally question ASEAN’s system of interest representation, nor did they call for a more democratic ASEAN and the empowerment of citizens and stakeholders. Highly divergent projections of the benefits of deepening regional integration led to marked differences in the way the welfare frame was employed by business groups. Large-­scale outward-­looking firms and economic sectors highlighted the gains for Indonesia, which centered on accelerated economic growth rates.18 Yet their consent to the ASEAN Charter, which was strongly conditioned by their positive attitude for the AEC, did not come unqualified. For the optimistic expectations to materialize, they considered it crucial that the government—­as well as Indonesian entrepreneurs—­boost the country’s economic productivity and strengthen competitiveness. After all, Indonesia performed poorly in competitiveness rankings. In the International Competitive Index Indonesia markedly trails neighboring countries: when in 2010 the ACFTA came into full effect, Singapore ranked third and Malaysia

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twenty-­fourth, whereas Indonesia came in as a low fifty-­fourth.19 Thus, while economic liberals believed that economic integration would be welfare-­ generating for Indonesia, they also made clear that the government must do more to improve the country’s business environment, naming infrastructure development, better law enforcement, improved coordination between government agencies, better educational facilities, and caring for a more business-­ friendly legislation.20 But they also realized that the business sector needed to do its homework as well. Investing in product innovation, enhancing production efficiency, and improving management and marketing are among the measures that would enable Indonesian businesses to compete successfully with foreign firms on the domestic market and abroad.21 Otherwise, an adverse trade structure would take root, in which China mainly exports manufactured goods while Indonesia exports primary commodities such as oil and gas, coal, palm oil, and ore to China.22 Indonesia has to be careful that such a colonial-­type exchange structure does not trap the country in deindustrialization and perpetuate it as a natural-­resource-­based economy.23 In the welfare frame, as employed by economic liberals, we also find references similar to those of government officials aspiring for Indonesia to attain developed country status in the not so far future. For instance, John A. Prasetio, a KADIN vice president and CEO of CBA Asia, expressed hope that Indonesia will emerge “as a new rich, industrialized country in the next 10–­20 years.”24 The business community thus championed a blueprint for development that closely follows the growth path of Western industrialized countries. That greater efficiency in governance and doing business is requisite to achieve this objective is recognized by business representatives. But the efficiency discourse is not, as in the case of think tank scholars, tied to regional governance reforms and security concerns. Businesspeople who pleaded for greater efficiency in governance essentially referred to Indonesian domestic politics. They considered improvements in the rule of law to be crucial for making Indonesian firms more competitive and creating a more broad-­based distribution of economic growth.25 Contrary to economic liberals, the majority of Indonesian businesspeople—­ especially those representing SMEs—­argued that market-­opening was being pursued far too early. In their view, Indonesian firms needed more time to become ready for trade liberalization. Many statements were couched in alarmist and populist language, by which they sought to discredit ASEAN’s economic course. Commenting on ASEAN economic cooperation, KADIN chairman Hidayat, for instance, complained that the benefits of regional integration bypassed Indonesian businesses, as ASEAN’s decisions and policies are often

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“irrelevant to the development of the national economy” and “inapplicable in practice.”26 For KADIN executives, free trade had largely disadvantaged Indonesia, as claimed by then Vice President of Trade and Distribution Ketut Suardhana Linggih.27 Also, Aziz Pane, the chairman of the Association of Tyre Producers, argued that the Indonesian government should “protect the industry from unfair competition that may arise from the ASEAN Charter and the Blueprint of the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC).”28 Some interest group representatives even went so far as to call for a thinly veiled “buy Indonesia first” strategy at the height of the debate about the benefits of the ACFTA.29 Such proposals were made by Adirizal Nizar of the Association of Indonesian Automotive Engineers; the chairman of the Association of Furniture Producers (Asmindo), Amber Tjahyono; and Djimanto, an APINDO executive. While Tjahyono suggested that the Indonesian government prioritize Indonesian furniture in its procurement, Djimanto raised the idea of rewarding Indonesian manufacturers who used local products as inputs.30 However, critics of trade liberalization shared with economic liberals the view that it is a government task to promote Indonesia’s economic competitiveness. The difference is that liberals regard market-­opening as an incentive for the government to improve business conditions for Indonesian enterprises, while critics of economic liberalization see the upgrading of economic basics a precondition for market-­opening. Playing the nationalist card entailed taking to task the government for the many shortcomings of the Indonesian economy, which in their view impaired Indonesia’s economic competitiveness and contributed to the disadvantages Indonesian firms faced vis-­à-­vis their competitors from China and other ASEAN member countries. Foremost among the issues they raised was Indonesia’s substandard infrastructure. Shortage of roads, port facilities, and energy supply were the key problems named most frequently in this respect.31 Other obstacles included the high interest rates for credit of up to 16 percent,32 the lack of fiscal incentives, bureaucratic red tape, and the numerous illegal levies they faced,33 all contributing to the high costs of doing business in Indonesia.34 Business leaders particularly took issue with the Indonesian decentralization policy, which they perceived less as an opening of democratic space and more as burdening Indonesian firms with a plethora of new local taxes and fees.35 However, many of these forecasts were based on spurious and often wildly fluctuating data. In the case of the ACFTA, long before any reliable empirical data on the actual repercussions of the agreement on the Indonesian economy existed, representatives of business associations used their standard rhetoric and predicted the swamping of the Indonesian market with cheap Chinese

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products36 (“trash,” as APINDO chairman Sofyan Wanandi dramatically expressed it),37 burgeoning trade deficits, bankruptcies, and mass layoffs.38 Anticipated job losses in the labor-­intensive leather and garment factories as well as in agribusiness industries were as high as 2.5 million (Lim and Kauppert 2010). The textile industry expected to be hit especially badly, with up to 70 percent of garments including even batik products on Indonesian markets already coming from China.39 A survey of questionable reliability conducted by the HIPMI claimed that no less than 70 percent of products from small-­and medium-­sized industries sold in Indonesia in the first half of 2010 were imported from China; if true, this was indeed a staggering increase from only 15 percent in 2004.40 Rhetoric similar to that directed against the ACFTA could be observed whenever trade liberalization policies were on ASEAN’s agenda. Prior to the Charter debate, KADIN’s and other business associations’ reservations against trade liberalization mainly targeted the AFTA. Especially in the last two years before the AFTA became fully effective in 2003, KADIN had expressed concerns that large segments of Indonesia’s economy were still ill-­prepared for market-­opening. At the time, KADIN chairman Aburizal Bakrie, in consonance with Commission VI of the House of Representatives, repeatedly demanded that the AFTA implementation should be delayed until at least 2005.41 More than a year later, Soy Pardede, a senior official at KADIN, repeated his association’s concerns, warning that “[f]rankly speaking, we are not yet ready to face competition [in 2003], mainly due to the unfavorable investment climate here.” 42 According to a KADIN survey covering eighty business associations, more than one-­fourth of local products were not ready for the AFTA.43 An executive in the beverage industry feared that many local entrepreneurs were becoming mere traders instead of manufacturers of their own products.44 Many representatives of industrial associations and business executives concurred. Sofyan Wanandi, an influential tycoon and chairman of the APINDO, went even further and recommended postponing the implementation of the AFTA to 2010.45 Otherwise, more than a hundred thousand jobs might be lost in the textile industry alone, as a spokesman for the Association of Indonesian Textile Producers (API) predicted.46 The APINDO joined this nationalist rhetoric by complaining that “the government’s commitment to AFTA was proof that it was more concerned about the country’s global position than the welfare of its people” (Chandra 2004,166).

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Grafting Economic Liberalization and the Prosperity Norm While business representatives framed ASEAN reforms differently depending on whether they spoke for outward-­looking conglomerates or domestic SMEs, they also pursued a different grafting strategy. However, the common denominator was that both camps used economic prosperity and people’s welfare as ideational links, connecting the new external ideas of economic liberalization with extant local ideas of righteous government (Nguitragool 2012). Adherents as well as critics of economic liberalization rooted their views about ASEAN’s future economic course in ancient beliefs that a government (or a ruler) is righteous and just only if it enhances the people’s prosperity. Outward-­looking businesses depicted liberalization as a strategy promoting Indonesia’s economic growth and, hence, national wealth. Accelerated growth, while not necessarily equitable, nevertheless creates “trickle down” effects, which also benefit the poorer segments of society. For economic liberals social justice thus has a different meaning than for NGO activists and economic nationalists. Prosperity gains need not be equal across social groups. If living conditions improve for all at least to some extent, the economic strategy has achieved its purpose. In many cases, such reasoning reflects a firm belief in absolute gains; the belief that economic growth per se creates a win-­win situation for the entire society, although some voices also aired concern about the country’s accelerating income inequality.47 By contrast, economic nationalists and business associations representing domestically operating SMEs viewed liberalization through a much more critical lens, projecting detrimental effects for the overwhelming majority of businesses and benefits for only a small segment of society: foreign business interests, transnational corporations, and a few Indonesian conglomerates affiliated with them. While—­as already mentioned—­not fully discounting liberalization as a necessary future economic strategy, their arguments nevertheless strongly appealed to the antiliberal and anticapitalist economic value system of Indonesian nationalists as already outlined in Chapter 3. In this point, their arguments strongly resembled those outlined in Chapter 5 for civil society groups, depicting capitalism as an outgrowth of colonialism and imperialism. The deep-­seated fear of foreign exploitation is epitomized in Article 33 of the 1945 Constitution, which provides safeguards for national autonomy over the use of the country’s natural resources. Moreover, economic nationalism has been a persistent element in Indonesian economic policy. Economic portfolios in Indonesian cabinets were always composed of representatives of both liber-

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als and economic nationalists. As a result, economic policies were subjected to a permanent tug of war between ideologies, in which liberal economics rarely won the upper hand, in fact, only doing so as a strategy to overcome phases of economic crisis—­after 1966, in the early 1980s when oil prices collapsed, and in the years after the Asian Financial Crisis of 1997–­1998. Hence, the protection of the national economy from too much liberalization—­as propagated by the AEC—­was seen as a strategy to benefit Indonesians of all walks of life; a strategy that is compatible with extant ideas of governance and prosperity. Economic Reform and Vulnerability Highlighting the seemingly detrimental effects of economic liberalization, the populist rhetoric of economic nationalists also frequently intoned the deeply entrenched vulnerability and victimization topoi of the Indonesian foreign policy discourse. One of these voices was Rizal Ramli, a former coordinating minister for the economy and minister of finance, executive of the ECONIT business consultancy, and leader of the Indonesian nationalist movement “Rise of Indonesia” (Bangkit Indonesia),48 who justified economic nationalism with the argument that Indonesia was victimized in international trade.49 What Indonesia in fact needed, according to Rizal, was not free trade, but fair trade.50 As far as this vulnerability and victimization discourse centered on the ACFTA, it portrayed China as a threat to Indonesia. This discourse thus paralleled that encountered in think tank and, to a lesser extent, government circles, which depicted China’s rapid rise in terms of a security threat. What we have already seen in these previous chapters also holds here: such thinking connects very well with worldviews that anticipate threats to Indonesia emanating from the North, a view that can be traced as far back as the Majapahit Empire.Yet it is not a military threat, but an economic threat, as business representatives contend. Liberalization and Leadership Fusing the economic reform agenda with long-­held leadership ambitions is a grafting strategy occasionally also employed by economic liberals. They portray Indonesia as a coming economic powerhouse, on par with the BRICS states and, especially, China and India. The BRICS states are a point of reference, and Helmi Arman of Bank Danamon even proposed modifying the club of emerging powers to “BRIIC,” including Indonesia and excluding South Africa.51 Others, such as Fauzi Ichsan, a senior vice president at Standard Chartered Bank, promoted similar ideas, referring to Western banking houses,

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allegedly demanding that Indonesia be integrated into the BRICS forum or speaking of “Chindonesia,” alluding to a shared leadership between China, India, and Indonesia in Asia.52 Economic Liberalization and Soft Power Closely associated with these thinly veiled leadership claims is the attempt to build soft power by celebrating the country’s economic success. Soft power building in the economic domain dovetails with government efforts in the political sphere, intensively discussed in Chapter 4. While the government has used liberal-­cosmopolitan norms such as democratization and respect for human rights as building blocks for its soft power generation, especially under the Yudhoyono presidency, business representatives employ economic growth rates, even if these—­hovering around 5 percent—­are far from spectacular. But in these contributions economic success, as measured in terms of growth rates, the ability to carry out reforms, and the ability to perform well in an increasingly competitive world, is seen as an achievement that earns Indonesia “the respect of the world.”53

Pruning The reluctant participation of the business sector in the ASEAN Charter debate makes it more difficult to determine with certainty which elements of the new external ideas and the extant local ideas about regionalism and foreign economic policy have been pruned by the business community in its effort to localize EU-­inspired reforms to Southeast Asian regionalism. However, what can be said with certitude is that liberals and economic nationalists both seem to agree that any form of supranationalism must be pruned from the European model of regional integration. There are no speeches by business representatives in which—­similar to government officials and scholars—­ proposals of a supranational structure for ASEAN are made. Yes, economic liberals push for deeper economic integration, but Indonesian business representatives were mute with regard to dispute settlement mechanisms, a court of justice, or the strengthening of the ASEAN Secretariat. For economic nationals, supranational tendencies were complete anathema. For them, the most important objective was to protect Indonesia’s economic policymaking autonomy. There was thus no space for a strengthening of ASEAN at the expense of the Indonesian nation state. Economic nationalists were very much in tune with the sovereignty norms promoted by the ASEAN Way, the orthodoxy of which they did not want to see altered in a substantive way.

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Also pruned from the European model of regional economic integration were any future ambitions to transform ASEAN into a currency union. While such ideas have been occasionally launched by businessmen and economists in the Asian context, they have never been adopted by the Indonesian business community. The global financial crisis, as well as the Euro crisis, although hardly affecting Indonesia, must have corroborated skepticism about this far-­ reaching form of supranationalism. Yet neither the global financial crisis nor the turbulences surrounding the debt management of Greece seem to have led to a dismissal of the EU as a source of inspiration for Southeast Asian regionalism. Business representatives of both camps also did not challenge the ASEAN Way by propagating liberal-­cosmopolitan political values. As indicated earlier, neither democracy nor human rights play a role in business comments on the ASEAN Charter. Conversely, this means that from this perspective, the sovereignty norms of the ASEAN Way will also not come under siege. At no point did business executives or associational leaders urge the Indonesian government to interfere in the internal affairs of neighboring governments, because of a coup or because human rights were violated in a flagrant way. Also, demands for a “participatory regionalism” were at best of an indirect nature. The reason for this may be that business interests, at least big business—­other pronouncements notwithstanding—­had much better access to leaders and other ASEAN decision-­making bodies than, for instance, civil society or labor, both of which were only indirectly represented by NGOs and other regional civil society networks.

10

Indonesian Visions of Regionalism: From Yudhoyono to Jokowi

This chapter is important for answering the overarching question of the book: Do Indonesian visions of regionalism become more similar to or different from European concepts of regional integration as a result of diffusion? While the previous chapters concentrated on how foreign policy stakeholders responded to the challenge of new cooperation norms originating outside Southeast Asia at the height of the ASEAN Charter debate, the sections that follow mainly study the Indonesian discourse on regionalism after Charter ratification. Applying the theoretical framework developed in Chapter 2, they examine how deeply foreign policy actors have internalized the EU-­inspired reformist views they championed during the Charter debate and whether their views on ASEAN have undergone change since the new president, Joko Widodo, took office in October 2014.

From Democracy Frame to Leadership Frame In Chapter 2, I stated in the methodology section that the content analysis of Chapters 4 to 9 primarily follows a deductive logic. I derived from the governance literature three functions of governance, assuming that regional organizations perform them and that they would guide the debate of stakeholders on ASEAN reforms. Indeed, as these chapters revealed, Indonesian stakeholders strongly referred to these three functions of governance. Of them, political order functions—­expressed in the democracy frame—­played an elevated role

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for all stakeholder groups except the business sector. However, these chapters also indicated that foreign policy stakeholders localized the external ideas on regionalism to varying degrees. Grafting them with extant local ideas and pruning them, they modernized, reproduced, revitalized, and relegitimized the cognitive prior. For this chapter, I reiterated the coding of the same text material, but proceeded inductively. I re-­read these texts, searching for frames different from the three derived from the theoretical governance literature. The results will be presented in this section. My analysis suggests that from 2009 onward, Indonesian leadership claims have become increasingly assertive. Although this change was creeping and—­as we have seen in the previous chapters—­ leadership had already played an important role in the process of localizing European ideas of regionalism during the Charter debate, stakeholders began to view regional leadership as an increasingly important ground for Indonesia’s engagement in ASEAN. The more the Charter debate paled in the memory of foreign policy stakeholders, the more leadership replaced democracy as the core norm of Indonesia’s ASEAN policies. It is thus plausible to argue that a shift in ideas has occurred. In addition to the three frames derived from the governance literature in Chapter 2, a new “leadership frame” has emerged, giving rise to what the framing literature calls “frame transformation” (Benford and Snow 2000, 624). Indonesia is entitled to leadership. This is the main message conveyed by the leadership frame; entitled because of its history, its size, its large population, the fact that it is the country with the largest Muslim population (Murphy 2012, 85), its strategic location between East Asia and the Middle East, and its successful democratic transition. Like the security frame, the leadership frame stands for worldviews that are strongly informed by political realism, even though the government seeks to reassure the public and the international audience that the arenas for power games are institutions and that, hence, disputes can and should be settled peacefully. Nevertheless, while the security frame is essentially defensive in orientation, the leadership frame is more assertive: it articulates demands for deference and dignity that asymmetric global power structures have so far denied Indonesia. Disregarding, questioning, or even challenging Indonesian leadership is—­as we will see further on—­regarded as an act of disrespect. Accordingly, the increasing assertiveness the leadership frame entails is also reflected in the language its adherents use. Indonesian foreign policy activities are also described as “fights,”1 a rhetorical figure closely associated with the perjuangan (struggle) paradigm, which—­as

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shown in Chapter 3—­guided Indonesia’s foreign policy in the immediate postindependence years when its existence was still precarious.2 In the process, ASEAN has been downgraded by an increasing number of foreign policy stakeholders to an auxiliary institution for strengthening Indonesian leadership in global forums. While scholars affiliated with the CSIS had already called for a more resolute Indonesian leadership before and during the Charter debate,3 it was Rizal Sukma’s plea for a “post-­ASEAN” foreign policy4 that tipped the scales and brought the leadership theme to increasing prominence. Given the resounding approval Sukma’s article received from Indonesia’s foreign policy community, even the government began to shift its rhetoric, highlighting Indonesian leadership and nurturing a foreign policy that went beyond the regional confines of ASEAN. Membership of the G20 has further spurred this strategic change. Rhetorical shifts and an “ASEAN Plus” policy became particularly evident during Indonesia’s stint as ASEAN chair in 2011. The concept that, according to Indonesian preferences, ASEAN should become a vehicle for facilitating leadership ambitions transcending the region found its expression in the slogan Indonesia chose for its chairmanship: “ASEAN Community in a Global Community of Nations.” In his 2011 annual press statement, Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa thus strongly accentuated Indonesia’s leadership claims.5 He stressed Indonesia’s “intellectual leadership”6 and—­as we have seen in Chapter 4—­on another occasion likened Indonesia to a conductor, harmonizing the divergent political interests of ASEAN member countries.7 Paradigmatic for the leadership frame was an article authored by Natalegawa in the East Asia Forum. Although published nine months after his removal by Jokowi, in almost mantra-­like form Natalegawa recited the leadership theme, driving home to the reader the importance of Indonesian leadership in ASEAN.8 Others, such as former legislator Yusron Ihza Mahendra as seen in Chapter 6, viewed Indonesia as the skipper (nakhoda) of ASEAN,9 and KADIN executive Soy Pardede demanded that Indonesia should “carry the ASEAN flag in the global market competition with other countries,” meaning that Indonesia should lead fellow ASEAN members in international trade negotiations.10 University of Indonesia international law professor Hikmahanto Juwana saw Indonesia “rising” and “on its way to becoming a major regional and global actor.”11 Even civil society organizations increasingly attached a leadership role to Indonesia when it came to human rights issues and change in Myanmar (Sukma 2012, 83). However, most straightforward was a reader’s response to a Jakarta Post editorial titled “The ASEAN Cage.” Asking, “If Indonesia cannot even lead in a regional bloc such as ASEAN, how can Indone-

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sia have any say in a forum dominated by super powers?” he immediately gave the answer: “The only way for Indonesia to be respected in a world forum is to lead the region, represent the region and use the regional countries as allies.”12 Leadership claims can hardly be formulated in a more unequivocal manner. Indonesia thus increasingly adopted an attitude also to be found among other newly emerging powers: a tendency to arrogate to themselves the right to speak for an entire region, such as India for South Asia, Brazil for the Southern Cone, and South Africa for SADC member countries (Rüland and Bechle 2010). Like the security frame, the leadership frame is also greatly concerned with Indonesia’s position in the global power hierarchy. The benchmarks in this respect are the BRICS countries, with which Indonesia tends to compare and equate itself.13 Some observers go even further, attributing to Indonesia future “world power” or at least “Asian superpower” status,14 while more circumspect analysts, aware of Indonesia’s limitations, would only rate it as a “middle power,” on par with countries such as South Korea and Australia.15 The “superpower” attribute is symptomatic of a tendency to exaggerate Indonesia’s status, resources, and achievements. It may be owed to the excitement over Indonesia’s successful transition from a seriously ailing state at the end of the Suharto era to a fledgling democracy and prospering economy, but in the eyes of neighbors a statement such as the following borders on hubris: We believe we have the right ingredients to be considered a super power. It may not be soon, but if we can nurture all the potentials that we embrace, Indonesia can become an Asian superpower, while to add the word “world” before “superpower” to Indonesia’s international stature may still need an extra effort by all Indonesians.16

But the authors are by no means alone in holding such a view. Even President Yudhoyono is not immune to such (mis)perceptions, for example declaring, ahead of the G20 Summit in Seoul (2010), Western countries’ economic domination will not last forever. There will be new poles, new powers that are called emerging nations or emerging economies. . . . Since Indonesia became a permanent member of G20 in 2008, we are already world class. If we can manage things well, then 5 to 10 or 15 years from now, we can really be a world power.17

Diplomatic achievements, of which Indonesia can rightfully be proud, are also at times blown out of proportion in order to showcase leadership qualities. It is unquestionably true that Indonesia has been at the forefront in the struggle against colonialism. But to claim, as diplomat Siswo Pramono does, that “we once decolonized the world through the Afro-­Asian Conference and miti-

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gated the global Cold War through the Non-­Aligned Movement”18 clearly overstates Indonesia’s influence in the global order. More examples could be added. What is interesting, however, is that virtually all stakeholder groups had been using this leadership frame with increasing frequency during Yudhoyono’s second term (2009–­2014). While the democracy frame had already been localized by orthodox local ideas of foreign policymaking and regionalism, the leadership frame was further tipping the balance toward the cognitive prior. No longer is democracy legitimized by extant local ideas including leadership: from 2009 onward leadership was increasingly legitimized by democracy and thus the grafting process has been reversed. The increasing significance of the leadership frame for restoring more orthodox ideas of regionalism and foreign policymaking is closely intertwined with a powerful resurgence of nationalism.19 As Snyder argued, the rise of strong nationalist sentiments is a frequent occurrence in new democracies (Snyder 2000). This nexus between nationalist populism and democratization was not lost on foreign observers. Former Singaporean diplomat and dean of the Rajaratnam School of International Studies Barry Desker (2010), for instance, asked, “Is the growing democracy also unleashing forces that will lead to more strident nationalism?” and answered the question in the affirmative: The picture that emerges is one where democratic governance in the post-­Suharto era has led to increased public pressures on the political leadership. The consequence is a more strident nationalism and a focus on the global stage.

Indonesia’s neonationalist turn is a response to half a decade of humiliation and decline in the aftermath of the Asian Financial Crisis.20 As a consequence of the severity of the crisis, Indonesia had to accept harsh IMF conditionalities, symbolized by the folded-­armed French IMF director Michel Camdessus watching President Suharto as he set his signature to the rescue agreement, which the latter must have perceived as an act of capitulation. Concomitants of the financial crisis such as the East Timor debacle, separatist rebellions, street politics, endemic violence, terrorist attacks, and the billowing haze caused by man-­made forest fires gave further rise to widespread concerns that the country was on the verge of becoming a failing state (Aspinall and Berger 2001). But the nationalist resurgence is also driven by a new sense of pride over Indonesia’s more recent accomplishments: the much celebrated successful democratic transition, the economic recovery, the advances in the fight against terrorism, and the pacification of separatist rebellions. These achievements, in addition to the country’s size, have spurred the Indonesian elite’s self-­confidence and revitalized its leadership claims. In light of these successes,

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Indonesian stakeholders have also found it frustrating that fellow ASEAN members offered only lukewarm responses to Indonesian initiatives for reforming Southeast Asian regionalism. This and the firm belief in the superiority of their ideas had one major effect: to buttress notions of entitlement and spur regional and even global leadership claims. No longer was Indonesia willing to “[punch] below its weight,” as Rizal Sukma expressed it.21

The Nationalist Challenge Closely associated with leadership ambitions are nationalist sentiments. Nationalism has always played a crucial role in Indonesian foreign policy role conceptions that can be traced back as far as to the independence movement. But nationalist sentiments that fellow ASEAN members consider as threatening are not compatible with the reformist ideas many Indonesian foreign policy actors championed during the ASEAN Charter debate. If unrestrained national interest rules cooperation in a community of highly unequal member states, the result will inevitably be asymmetric relationships with clear limitations to a deepened and more cohesive cooperation. The upsurge of nationalism in Indonesia thus gives rise to the question of how deeply the reformist ideas and norms championed by many Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders during the ASEAN Charter debate have taken root. To what extent have they transformed the sovereignty norms characterizing Indonesian foreign policymaking and thinking on ASEAN regionalism as embodied in the ASEAN Way? Have reformist ideas prevailed in situations of crisis in which they have been seriously tested and national sovereignty was at stake? If this is the case, and it can be shown that Charter reformists do not slip back into nationalist populism and chauvinist rhetoric when reformist ideas are challenged by adverse circumstances, we can assume that ideational changes have taken place. To answer these questions, I have selected—­as indicated in Chapter 2—­two incidents in two different issue areas that have greatly agitated the Indonesian public in the last decade. While the dispute with Malaysia over maritime borders concerns territorial sovereignty, the completion of the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area (ACFTA) jeopardizes Indonesia’s economic autonomy. The subsequent sections will explore how Indonesian foreign policy actors responded to these challenges. Contested Borders: The Ambalat Dispute Relations between Indonesia and Malaysia have been characterized by irritations throughout much of the last decade. A persistent issue has been the

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nearly two million Indonesian migrant workers in Malaysia, nearly half of them entering the country undocumented. Ill treatment by Malaysian employers and authorities and periodic deportations of irregular migrant workers, especially in times of economic recession,22 have angered Indonesians and caused diplomatic rows. The alleged Malaysian infringement of Indonesian cultural products including songs, dances, and batik products has been another source of controversy.23 None of these issues, however, have elicited such strong sentiment as the disputes over the maritime borders of the two countries. Indonesians considered it a humiliation that in 2002 the International Court of Justice ruled in favor of Malaysia in the case of two disputed islands in the Sulawesi Sea, Ligitan and Sipadan. More recently the dispute shifted to the nearby Ambalat Block, a sea region of some fifteen thousand square kilometers,24 which is supposedly rich in oil and gas deposits. For the wider public, the problem first surfaced in March 2005 after the Malaysian warship KD Rencong allegedly rammed the Indonesian navy vessel KRI Tedung Naga. While a military encounter was narrowly averted, tensions remained high in the contested waters,25 with new incidents occurring in 2007 and 2009. Another incident causing outrage in Indonesia occurred in the Riau Archipelago in August 2010.26 After an Indonesian patrol boat had detained seven Malaysian fishermen suspected of poaching fish in Indonesian waters, the Malaysian maritime police arrested three Indonesian officers of the Ministry of Fisheries and Marine Affairs on patrol.27 However, although these rows touched upon the least negotiable issue for Indonesians—­sovereignty—­the government responded with more restraint than other stakeholder groups, regarding diplomatic channels as the right way to deescalate tensions. President Yudhoyono, for instance, argued that in the cooperation era, unlike in the confrontation era (a reference to Sukarno’s konfrontasi against Malaysia in the early 1960s), peaceful solutions to territorial disputes should be sought,28 although he earlier had unambiguously stated, “We will not sacrifice our sovereignty, our rights and our territory.”29 Foreign Minister Natalegawa argued similarly, stressing that the problem should not be addressed emotionally: “We have to resolve it diplomatically,” without however “compromising the national interest.”30 Peaceful means of conflict resolution were also highlighted in a foreign policy document of 2009 that called for an improvement of Indonesia’s border diplomacy, not only in the disputes with Malaysia, but also with Singapore, the Philippines,Vietnam, and Timor Leste.31 However, not all government officials minced their words. Hashim Dja-

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lal, for instance, a noted scholar and advisor of and former negotiator for the Indonesian government in issues related to the Law of the Sea, openly questioned the good neighborliness of Malaysia32 while also deploring Indonesia’s weak surveillance capacities. While he explicitly named the badly underequipped Indonesian navy, he could have said the same about the air force. Both services operated with equipment that is hopelessly outdated, often antiquated material from the Cold War period.33 After the 2005 incidents, in line with the government’s preference for diplomatic solutions, Indonesian Foreign Minister Wirajuda held talks with his Malaysian counterpart Syed Hamid Albar.34 However, diplomatic progress remained elusive, and in a press statement Wirajuda and Albar were only able to broadly confirm their respective governments’ commitment to peaceful conflict resolution on the basis of the principles of international law, particularly the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea.35 Yet numerous rounds of lower-­level government negotiations between 2005 and 200936 failed to produce tangible results. On the contrary, as Wirajuda reported, Indonesian authorities registered ninety-­nine intrusions by Malaysian gunboats into Indonesian territory in 2007 and 2008 alone. As a result, and exacerbated by the fact that the Ambalat issue became a theme in the Indonesian presidential elections in 2009, the Indonesian government’s responses became more assertive (Wirajuda 2014, 172). President Yudhoyono, for instance, clarified that “Indonesia believes that Ambalat belongs to Indonesia. . . . And I’m telling you that even for a piece of land or sea, if it is within our sovereignty, we have to keep it. No compromise, no tolerance. This is final!”37 In a concession to the nationalist sentiments of the electorate, and thus unwittingly corroborating Snyder’s arguments, Yudhoyono even referred to the “parabellum” paradigm, which is also popular in other Asian countries’ security communities:38 “If we want peace, we must be ready to fight, if we want peace, prepare for war,” the media quoted Yudhoyono as saying.39 After the 2010 incidents in the Riau archipelago, Foreign Minister Natalegawa accused Malaysia of dragging its feet in the search for a diplomatic solution.40 President Yudhoyono, while proceeding with calls for a diplomatic solution,41 again made it clear that the issue could only be resolved on Indonesia’s terms, stating that “the territorial integrity and sovereignty of Indonesia cannot be compromised on any grounds, a stance in line with the basic principle of the UN Charter and international law. No state may infringe or violate another’s territorial integrity and sovereignty.”42 In a speech on the territorial dispute with Malaysia, keenly awaited by nationalists who hoped the Indonesian government would show resolve, Yudhoyono continued to

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stress the diplomatic channels, but once again emphasized that a solution must recognize Indonesian claims. The fact, however, that this speech was made at the TNI headquarters in Cilangkap subtly conveyed the message that Indonesia would not shy away from military action if Malaysia continued with what the great majority of Indonesians regarded as provocation.43 But Yudhoyono would not be Yudhoyono had he not immediately balanced the bellicose symbolism with more conciliatory rhetoric. In the end, the Indonesian government’s resolve to answer alleged Malaysian infringements on Indonesian sovereignty with force was only ultima ratio, rhetoric intended to placate nationalists. This became clear when Yudhoyono drew attention to the increasing interdependence between Malaysia and Indonesia, which would markedly raise the costs of armed conflict for Indonesia. Such reasoning referred to the more than two million Indonesian migrant laborers in Malaysia, Malaysian investments of US$1.2 billion in Indonesia in the preceding five years, 1.18 million Malaysian tourists visiting Indonesia every year, and bilateral trade of US$11.4 billion in 2009.These are, in effect, much stronger incentives for maintaining good diplomatic relations than those for going to war. 44 More restraint than might have been anticipated came from sources close to the armed forces, which had refrained from public statements on the ASEAN Charter. Given the fact that the military has always been one of the most ardent defenders of the sovereignty norm, its silence was somewhat surprising, as the reforms proposed by the EPG in particular would have eroded Indonesia’s national sovereignty and foreign policymaking autonomy. Yet the reluctance of the armed forces to comment on the Charter publicly highlighted the increasingly demilitarized nature of foreign policymaking and acceptance of the civilian government’s prerogative in political decision making even if, as in the case of the territorial disputes, they had a strong defense and external security dimension. However, the tension with Malaysia over the Ambalat Block was one of the few cases in which the military issued comments that provided a glimpse of its thoughts on regional cooperation. Exercises in the Ambalat area in 200545 and greater military presence in the contested region were consented to by the government (Wirajuda 2014, 173) and could have signaled to the Malaysian authorities that Indonesian patience with its neighbor’s actions was finite. However, after the 2005 incidents, TNI chief General Endriartono Sutarto explicitly endorsed President Yudhoyono’s stance of resolving the issue bilaterally.46 Then, as well as in subsequent incidents, there were no irresponsible public statements from leading military officers that might have fomented the flaring nationalist temper for the military’s own political mileage.

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While the military top brass remained tight-­lipped, Muladi, the governor of the National Resilience Institute (Lemhannas), a military think tank, commented on the situation. Muladi labeled Malaysia’s infringements in the Ambalat region a provocation and violation of the ASEAN Charter.47 Echoing President Yudhoyono, Muladi repeated that even though disputes should be settled diplomatically, a “peace-­loving country is a country that is ready for war, too.”48 But Muladi also highlighted the Indonesian government’s lacking in legal capacities, suggesting that lawyers be trained who could more effectively represent Indonesia in international courts.49 This critique alluded to the International Court of Justice’s 2002 ruling on the disputed Ligitan and Sipadan islands, in which Malaysia prevailed. Most legislators commenting on the Ambalat issue objected to the internationalization of dispute settlement in case bilateral negotiations failed. Referring to Ligitan and Sipadan,Yusron Ihza Mahendra, who led a group of legislators visiting Malaysia after the August 2010 crisis with the objective of deescalating the dispute,50 feared that history would repeat itself and Indonesia might lose the case again if it were submitted to international arbitration.51 Some parliamentarians joined nationalist movements and parts of the media in emotionalizing the dispute. Commission I deputy chairman Gumilang Kartasasmita, for instance, gave an audience to the Coalition for the Sovereignty of Indonesia in parliament,52 and Yuddi Chrisnandi (then Golkar) joined a demonstration in front of the Malaysian embassy in Jakarta.53 Others criticized Malaysia for “underestimating Indonesia,”54 “looking down” on it,55 “insulting” it,56 trampling “Indonesian dignity,”57 and “denigrating Indonesia as a sovereign country.”58 Often also referring to the other lingering disputes between the two countries, they saw Indonesia “humbled as a nation” 59 and its “self-­esteem hurt.”60 Overall, legislators did not seem to have great confidence in the government’s resolve to defend Indonesia’s territorial integrity. They claimed that the Indonesian government responses were “too soft,” “too slow,”61 “sacrificing sovereignty,” and displaying an “attitude of inferiority.”62 Hence the almost mantra-­like advice to “act firmly,” to be “tougher” and “more assertive,” to show “no further tolerance,” to mete out “shock therapy,”63 to outline “firm and clear diplomatic steps that would have a deterrent effect on Malaysia,”64 and to teach Malaysians which country is big and which is small.65 Suggested “firm” measures included, inter alia, the recall of the Indonesian ambassador to Malaysia66 and the upgrading of military strength, especially of Indonesia’s naval forces.67 Tellingly, in a more recent statement, the deputy chairman of Commission I in the 2009–­2014 term, Hayono Isman (Partai Demokrat), prioritized the modernization of TNI’s equipment over diplomacy.68

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Legislators did not mind the fact that most of the retaliatory measures they proposed would have hurt Indonesia more than Malaysia. PKB legislator Effendi Choirie, for instance, demanded that Indonesia withdraw its labor migrants from Malaysia, a move that, he argued, would eventually paralyze Malaysian industry.69 Nowhere, however, did he mention the hardships labor migrants would have had to endure in such a government-­orchestrated exodus. Making labor migrants pawns in such a dispute is mere populism and highly irresponsible, considering the chaos and suffering of migrants in previous mass expulsions ordered by Kuala Lumpur.70 A surprisingly large number of legislators across party factions recommended the use of force as an option should diplomatic means fail to produce solutions acceptable for Indonesia.71 Legislators including former House speaker Agung Laksono (Golkar),72 Chozin Chumaidy (PPP),73 Jeffrey Massie (PDS),74 Yusron Ihza Mahendra (PBB), Soeripto (PKS), Sidharto Danusubroto (PDI-­P), Djoko Susilo (PAN),75 Permadi (formerly PDI-­P, since 2009 Gerindra),76 Yorrys Raweyai (Golkar),77 Mahfudz Siddique (PKS)—­the chairman of Commission I in the legislature’s 2009–­2014 term78—­and even the otherwise much more measured Marzuki Darusman (Golkar)79 were all in favor of giving the TNI a free hand should the need arise to repel Malaysian encroachments on Indonesian territory. “Once in a while, we have to shoot them,” Soeripto caustically summarized the sentiments of these legislators in a parliamentary hearing.80 Ultranationalist legislators such as Permadi went even further. Reviving the shrill rhetoric of the konfrontasi era of the mid-­1960s, Permadi characterized Malaysian behavior as “neo-­colonialism.”81 For him, the inevitable consequence would be to declare war on Malaysia82 and “crush” (ganyang) it. MPR speaker Taufiq Kiemas (PDI-­P) concurred, but unlike Permadi he was more circumspect in recognizing the military realities, which were in favor of Malaysia because of its superior equipment.83 While Permadi demanded immediate military action even if carried out with volunteers, Kiemas cautioned that Indonesia should only do so if it was prepared.84 Permadi and Kiemas thereby joined the chorus of many (un)civil society organizations, which reacted with raised voices to each incident. Such organizations included the Coalition for the Sovereignty of Indonesia, the Front of the Defenders of the Republic of Indonesia (FP-­NKRI),85 the Front Ganyang Malaysia Makassar and Yogyakarta,86 Organisasi Kepemudaan Laskar Merah Putih Kabupaten Brebes,87 and Lingkar Pemuda Tapal Batas Indonesia—­Timor Timur, to name a few of those documented in the media.88 Some of these belligerent groups mobilized their paramilitary arms to stage noisy demonstrations and burn the Malaysian flag,89

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and in the provinces some even started recruiting volunteers for military action against Malaysia.90 Many academics supporting the Indonesian proposals for ASEAN reforms during the Charter debate took a more moderate stance. In an article responding to the close encounter between Malaysian and Indonesian navy vessels in the Ambalat region in March 2005, Makmur Keliat (University of Indonesia) called for restraint and the shelving of the sovereignty issue. “Sovereignty,” argued Keliat, “is a very sensitive issue and most people in the two countries still consider sovereignty to be an indivisible commodity and, therefore, not up for negotiation. If sovereignty continues to be stressed, then it is most likely that the talks and negotiations will go nowhere.”91 The conflict should therefore be resolved within the confines of the norms and rules laid down in the Treaty of Amity and Cooperation (TAC) and the envisaged ASEAN Security Community (ASC). One proposed option to transform “Ambalat from a zone of hostility to a zone of functional cooperation” was the joint exploitation of resources in the disputed area.92 Other scholars, Hariyadi Wirawan (Universitas Indonesia),93 Franz Magnis-­Suseno (Universitas Drikarya),94 and Aleksius Jemadu (Universitas Pelita Harapan),95 likewise called for sobriety. Hariyadi warned that turning to violence would do little to solve the conflict. Indonesia was vulnerable, as any armed conflict would lead to the expulsion of Indonesian migrant workers and would adversely affect Malaysian investment in Indonesia. But even more detrimental would be the damage for its image abroad, as it would stigmatize Indonesia “as a nation which cannot control itself.”96 Others who were also supportive of the Charter reforms were more strident in their views. Keliat’s article in particular drew the ire of more hawkish commentators. Soedjati Djiwandono, a former CSIS scholar, argued in response to Keliat that while the use of force in any form should be avoided “as far as possible,”97 there nevertheless are some situations in which war cannot be avoided. As far as the territorial dispute with Malaysia was concerned, Soedjati did not want his comment to be seen “as a recommendation for the use of violence,” but nor did he want it to represent a “recommendation to avoid the resort to violence at all costs!”98 Violence could only reliably be ruled out if Malaysia abandoned its unilateral claim to sovereignty over Ambalat.99 Soedjati went on to argue that the territorial dispute with Malaysia could serve to cement Indonesian patriotism, although this should not be equated with chauvinism. With this in mind, he contended that “it would be too costly to let the current confrontation over Ambalat escalate by providing support for Malaysia in its daring, reckless and irresponsible adventure.”100

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While much more responsibly discussing the military option, some scholars such as Rizal Sukma still considered war a residual prospect if diplomatic means were exhausted. This at least was the implicit meaning when he said that “until all diplomatic measures have been exhausted, war should never be considered as a solution.”101 Yet this means that, like legislators, many academics do not unconditionally rule out violence. Although in general distancing themselves from violence, the comments of the more hawkish scholars are problematic. In a few cases they differ only in degree from the inflammatory language of nationalist populism used by the legislators quoted above and activists of (un)civil nationalist organizations.102 If Malaysian territorial claims are depicted in strong words as an assault on Indonesian dignity, as arrogant behavior, and as intended to humiliate Indonesia, scholars—­like legislators—­may unwittingly stir more chauvinistic sentiments. Press commentaries on the Ambalat issue also varied. Most of the major dailies reported extensively on the conflict and while avoiding the populist rhetoric of many politicians, the media nevertheless provided a convenient platform for their comments. They thus indirectly contributed to the nationalist fury that gripped parts of the public after incidents. It also did little to deescalate the heated atmosphere when quality magazines detailed the firepower of the two contenders.103 To sum up, if Indonesia’s territorial integrity is under threat, there is a tendency among foreign policy stakeholders to abandon the liberal-­cosmopolitan norms they championed during the Charter debate. Even the age-­honored norms of the ASEAN Way such as peaceful conflict resolution are then at stake. However, there are differences among foreign policy actors. While business and civil society representatives remained mute, ambiguities and inconsistencies such as references to the parabellum paradigm notwithstanding, the government seems to be the actor least determined to abandon intra-­ASEAN solidarity and to backtrack from its long-­standing policy of making ASEAN the cornerstone of its foreign policy. Yet its preference for bilateral negotiations suggests a wariness of deepening regional integration. Commitment to such integration would have been signaled to ASEAN partners and the public had Indonesia opted to employ the regional dispute mechanisms such as the so far untested ASEAN High Council or those stipulated by the ASEAN Charter. Academics and the press were more divided in their responses to the territorial dispute, with tendencies to leave behind reformist ideas advocated during the Charter debate. The most populist voices were those of legislators, many of whom left little doubt that Indonesia should resort to military means if Malaysia did not retreat from its positions. Some of them did not hesitate

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to demonize their neighbors and even went so far as to call for ASEAN to be disbanded altogether (Kassim 2005, 3). The type of shrill rhetoric some stakeholders employed in the conflict perpetuates mutual distrust among ASEAN partners and discredits regional cooperation. Overall, it seems therefore that challenges to Indonesian territorial sovereignty induced many foreign policy stakeholders to graft the new external norms by emphasizing the cognitive prior: they returned to the discourses of vulnerability, victimization, and insecurity, and the old duality of diplomasi and perjuangan, which is characteristic of much of Indonesia’s postindependence existence. Indonesia’s Economy Under Siege? The ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area The ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area was first broached by then Chinese prime minister Rong Zhu in November 2000 and was agreed upon at ASEAN’s eighth summit, in Phnom Penh in November 2002. With 1.9 billion people, the ACFTA is the world’s largest free trade area in terms of population, and with a GDP of US$6.6 trillion, it ranks third in terms of economic performance.104 Implementation commenced with an “early harvest scheme,” which granted ASEAN free access to the Chinese market for 600 mostly agricultural tariff lines. Liberalization of other products started in 2004, with tariff reduction to 0 percent taking full effect for 6,682 tariff lines in twelve manufacturing sectors and five agricultural sectors on January 1, 2010 (Lim and Kauppert 2010). Given China’s powerhouse economy, the expected impact of the ACFTA on the Indonesian economy was thus much more profound than that of the AFTA or the envisaged single market and production base under the auspices of the AEC. As a result, in the months preceding and especially after the ACFTA fully coming into force, the neoliberal concept of economic development underlying ASEAN’s free trade agreements became the object of intense debate. This debate—­like the Ambalat case—­opens up valuable insights into the commitment of Indonesian stakeholders to deepening ASEAN integration as envisaged by the Charter. As the effects of ASEAN’s market-­opening policies began to manifest, Indonesian government attitudes were ambiguous. While officials known for their strong pro-­Charter positions during the ASEAN Charter debate continued to support market-­opening, other officials who had not yet become cabinet members during the Charter debate displayed a more reserved attitude in regard to the ACFTA and the AEC. Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa and Trade Minister Mari Elka Pangestu clearly represented the pro-­ACFTA camp. Their key argument was that ASEAN member countries would only remain competitive in an era of rapid

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economic globalization if they overcame the fragmented nature of their economic space. “If ASEAN is still fragmentary,” argued Natalegawa, “the attraction for investors is also weak.”105 In fact, the idea to launch the ACFTA and the AEC was born precisely out of the sobering realization that after the Asian Financial Crisis foreign investment bypassed Southeast Asia. This is why, Natalegawa believed, “If ASEAN emerged as a single market with more than 500 million inhabitants, it is also a big attraction. If ASEAN does not freshen up, it will miss the train.”106 The ACFTA and the AEC were seen as paving the way toward an economically more dynamic region, delivering the material benefits that Indonesian government representatives hoped a reformed ASEAN would provide to the public. By contrast, Industry Minister H. D. Hidayat, who already in his former capacity as KADIN chairman had criticized ASEAN’s market-­opening policies (see Chapter 9), led the economic nationalists. Hidayat was at the forefront of those who urged the government to renegotiate the ACFTA because of its seemingly adverse impact on several manufacturing sectors. These demands were based on the legal technicality that the ACFTA is not a treaty concluded by ASEAN as a regional entity, but was established in line with ASEAN’s intergovernmental organizational structure by the individual member governments. Health Minister Siti Fadilah was also a strong advocate of protectionist positions, warning that the ASEAN Charter’s single-­market approach could burden Indonesia’s health industry.107 Siti referred to the fact that under the single-­market regulations goods and professionals could freely enter the Indonesian market. She combined this with a call for Indonesians to buy domestic products instead of foreign ones in order to support the national health industry.108 While China and Indonesia’s ASEAN partners quickly ruled out renegotiation, a position to which the Indonesian government had to acquiesce, Trade Minister Pangestu sought to address the anticipated trade imbalances by extracting concessions from the Chinese109 and by urging Indonesian businesses to intensify their efforts to become more competitive.110 However, as the influx of Chinese goods continued unabated, government action increasingly tilted toward the protectionist side. In the process, President Yudhoyono gave in to pressure from business associations and eventually replaced Trade Minister Pangestu in an October 2011 cabinet reshuffle with the more protectionist former head of the Investment Coordinating Board, Gita Wirjawan.111 With implementation of the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area imminent in late 2009, business groups became the most vocal opponents of the proliberal forces in the government. More than in the case of the AFTA and the AEC,

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the ACFTA divided commodity-­based export interests from manufacturing sectors producing for the domestic market. While, as we have seen in Chapter 9, Indonesian exports to China included oil and gas, palm oil, rubber, cocoa beans, and ore, imports from China were mainly manufactured goods.112 Accordingly, the free trade agreement was defended by large firms dominating the primary commodities sector and to some extent also the banking sector; firms benefiting from cheap Chinese imports, such as the Indonesian telecom industry; and Sino-­Indonesian companies with regional business networks extending into China,113 while firms that felt their domestic market shares were jeopardized by Chinese imports vociferously called for protectionist measures and government assistance. However, the latter type of companies dominated the Indonesian economy, exceeding 90 percent of all firms. Representatives of these businesses repeatedly complained about the lack of communication between the government and the business sector preceding the completion of the ACFTA.114 Lack of information at the right time and the low information absorption capacities of the Indonesian private sector are among the reasons why business responses on the ACFTA were rather alarmist, accusing the government of selling Indonesia off to foreign interests.115 Depicting Indonesia as a “victim” of free trade agreements and trade liberalization,116 business spokespersons sought to influence public opinion by questioning the government’s will and ability to defend Indonesia’s national interests.117 That in its interactions with China the Indonesian government was “too soft”118 was only one of the charges aired. Resistance against the ACFTA was mainly orchestrated by KADIN, the employers association APINDO, and executives of the business associations representing sectors that feared their competitiveness would badly suffer from the influx of Chinese imports. These sectors included steel and metal products, petrochemical products, textiles and garments, leather products, footwear, food and beverages, plastics, furniture, and toys.119 When it became clear that a cancellation, renegotiation, or postponement of the ACFTA was impossible, KADIN and Indonesian business leaders called for the imposition of nontariff trade barriers on Chinese imports.120 Similar to the earlier case of the AFTA, they justified this with the argument that all countries in the world engage in nontariff protection, including the United States, Japan, South Korea, and European countries.121 KADIN chairman Bambang Suryo Sulisto argued, “we must try to protect the national interests that cannot be compromised. . . . China is also doing like that.”122 Framing their argument with the alleged substandard quality of Chinese products, they demanded that the government subject Chinese imports to the Indonesian National Standard (SNI) regula-

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tions.123 APINDO chairman Sofyan Wanandi124 and the chairman of the Association of Educational and Traditional Toys (Apmeti), Dhanang Sasongko,125 also urged the government to impose antidumping measures against Chinese products. Even though the Indonesian Anti-­Dumping Committee and the Indonesian Trade Protection Committee are poorly funded and inadequately staffed,126 the government eventually resorted to this measure after trade statistics exhibited an upsurge in Chinese imports.127 In the protest wave against the ACFTA, business associations forged coalitions with labor unions, farmer groups, development NGOs, and legislators.128 In particular, NGOs were a natural ally, as many of them have campaigned for a long time against ASEAN’s neoliberal economic integration agenda. NGOs expressed their solidarity with labor groups rallying in Jakarta in front of the House of Representatives and in Bandung.129 They too expected a flooding of the Indonesian market with cheap Chinese goods (Chandra 2005a, 559), causing unemployment and progressive deindustrialization (Lim and Kauppert 2010). Another concern was natural resource depletion.Walhi executive director Berry Nahdian, for instance, feared that the ACFTA would legalize more coal dredging, logging, and land acquisition activities, with adverse environmental effects (Lim and Kauppert 2010). NGO activists also viewed consumer protection as jeopardized by the ACFTA. Aristo Pangaribuan, a lawyer-­activist, recalled cases of contaminated Chinese food products, most notably the dairy product scandal of 2008, and questioned the product safety of Chinese imports.130 While, as we have seen in Chapter 7, academics were rather silent on the economic consequences of the ASEAN Charter, they contributed in a more lively fashion to the ACFTA debate. Although scholars were as divided on the issue as other stakeholder groups, a majority seemed to nurture a skeptical attitude for accelerated economic liberalization. Akhmad Rizal Shidiq, a U.S.-­based Indonesian PhD student, downplaying the issue of a widening Indonesian trade deficit with China, was in favor of the ACFTA deal, referring to the fact that Indonesia’s overall trade balance was positive. While this argument no longer holds, since Indonesia registered trade deficits for the first time in many years in 2012, he also stressed the positive effects that cheap Chinese imports could have for consumers.131 Echoing an argument made by Trade Minister Pangestu, Anak Agung Perwita (Universitas Parahyangan Bandung) wondered why Indonesian business organizations had not responded earlier to an agreement that had been concluded in 2002. Rather than renegotiating the agreement, as business organizations demanded, he pleaded for upgrading Indonesian competitiveness and the quality and skills of Indonesian entrepreneurs.132

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The more critical academic commentators sided with the business sector and NGOs, and their arguments need not be rehearsed here in detail again. While Rhenald Khasali (Universitas Indonesia) feared that Indonesia might become the “dumpsite of China”133 and Hermansah (State Islamic University, UIN, Jakarta) raised concerns that Chinese goods might not meet the Islamic halal (food purity) criteria,134 others focused on the structural deficits of Indonesia’s economy. Magda Safrina, a U.S.-­based graduate student, for instance, aired fears that China’s greater competitiveness would impair Indonesia’s economic development toward higher value-­added manufactured products, thereby holding Indonesia captive in the middle income trap. 135 In view of a general tendency to regard free trade agreements with skepticism, legislators joined the economic nationalists, supporting business organizations such as KADIN and APINDO in their campaign against the ACFTA.136 In particular, lawmakers from nationalist parties such as the PDI-­P and Gerindra expressed sympathy for protectionist sentiments, as both had openly campaigned in the 2009 presidential elections for a people’s economy (ekonomi kerakyatan).137 The latter not only had strong antiliberal and protectionist leanings,138 but also claimed to safeguard the interests of microbusinesses and less advantaged people. However, the claim that a people’s economy might create an annual GDP growth of 10 percent139 exposed this economic agenda as unbridled populism. In the ACFTA debate, members of House Commission VI on Trade and Industries met labor representatives, listening to their grievances.140 Lawmakers subsequently expressed regret that the government had not prepared itself and Indonesian businesses well enough for the free trade agreement,141 demanded prevention of unfair foreign competition, and called for the monitoring of transnational corporations. Legislators also echoed calls from industrial groups to renegotiate the ACFTA,142 even though then Chairman of Commission VI Hendrawan Supratikno cautioned against such a move.143 This debate resumed in 2013, two years before completion of the AEC, with Commission VI on Trade and Industries urging the government to review its economic integration policies due to the fact that the Indonesian industry was not yet properly prepared for it.144 To sum up: when Indonesia’s economic autonomy was severely challenged, the response of many foreign policy stakeholders was similar to those in the previous case of the country’s imperiled territorial integrity. The business sector, strongly supported by civil society, legislators, many academics, and even members of the Cabinet, resorted to strong nationalist rhetoric that was clearly at variance with the spirit of market-­opening reforms propagated by

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the ASEAN Charter. Thus, under pressure, many economic stakeholders also tended to resort to the sovereignty dimension of the cognitive prior. The debate over the ASEAN Charter and, to a much greater extent, the ACFTA thus suggested that in their great majority Indonesian businesspeople are rather reluctant to support deeper regional economic integration. It is not only trade unions, development NGOs, and legislators that share this view; it is also supported by nationalist movements and the majority of the public. An opinion poll of the Indonesian Survey Institute (Lembaga Survei Indonesia, LSI) of one thousand Indonesians all over the country found that 75.7 percent of the respondents had major concerns about free trade and 78.7 percent feared that Indonesian firms would not be able to compete with Chinese products.145 This, together with the fact that it is primarily the top-­listed firms of the Jakarta Stock Market that advocate deeper regional integration,146 presents the proliberalization policy, pursued by the government despite internal opposition during and immediately after the ASEAN Charter debate, with a legitimacy problem. Free trade opponents exploited the problems encountered by Indonesian economic sectors as a consequence of the ACFTA and the Global Economic Crisis to propagate populist policies that have their roots in Indonesia’s anticolonial ideational past and which through the association of capitalism with colonialism also have a strong antiliberal bias (Ricklefs 1993). While these nationalist forces cannot fully prevent a deepening of regional economic integration—­as epitomized in the AFTA, the ACFTA, and the AEC—­they muster enough veto power to dilute and slow down regional economic integration. This has consequences for Indonesian attitudes about regionalism. The Indonesian government, for instance, promotes regional economic integration much more defensively than democracy and human rights. While in the latter case it grafts external ideas of regional cooperation with the cognitive prior, it maintains the cognitive prior of protectionist and seemingly antiliberal development strategies, and connects them with the external ideas of regional economic integration (Chandra 2011). Such a norm-­building strategy, which reverses the grafting logic as described by localization theory, shows very clearly how reluctant the Indonesian government is to openly pursue liberalizing reforms. It also enabled it to backtrack from its market-­opening policies at a later stage, when large sections of the country’s economy expressed great apprehension with respect to the implementation first of the ACFTA, then of the AEC. If we also take into account the gradual advancement of the leadership frame discussed in the previous section, we may observe a continuous

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distancing of the Indonesian foreign policy community from the external norms discussed during the ASEAN Charter debate and a progressive return to the cognitive prior.

Indonesian Regionalism Under the Jokowi Presidency: Primacy of National Interest? The final section examines what impact the change of government from President Yudhoyono to his successor Joko Widodo has had so far on Indonesian visions and concepts of regionalism. Joko Widodo, popularly known as Jokowi, was elected in July 2014, narrowly defeating his opponent Prabowo Subianto. Given Jokowi’s modest social background as a medium-­scale entrepreneur from Central Java and his political career until then confined to local government positions, his affiliation with the fiercely nationalist PDI-­P, and an election campaign mainly focusing on domestic politics, observers predicted a more inward-­looking Indonesia than under Yudhoyono. One year into Jokowi’s presidency, these apprehensions seemed to materialize. Commentators widely agree that Jokowi pursues a foreign policy strongly informed by ideas already laid out in his electoral vision and mission statement. Pivotal among these ideas was a deep commitment to the concepts of sovereignty (kedaulatan) and autonomy (kemandirian) (Connelly 2015, 7). In the words of Universitas Indonesia scholar Hikmahanto Juwana, elevating national interest to the principal criterion for foreign policy decisions entails a more assertive interpretation of the bebas-­aktif doctrine than under the previous administration.147 As the new foreign minister Retno Marsudi elaborated in her first annual foreign policy statement, defending the national interest and maintaining Indonesia’s sovereignty means the protection of its citizens and intensifying economic diplomacy. Reflecting Jokowi’s penchant for populism, the new administration is thus perceived as implementing a down-­to-­earth, result-­driven “pro-­people” foreign policy that prioritizes the needs of the Indonesian people.148 Jokowi advisor Hikmahanto described this populism as follows: Countries must understand that the new shape of foreign policy is not merely what President Jokowi desires, but it is the aspiration of the people. In a growing democracy, citizens have more say in shaping Indonesia’s relations with other countries compared to the past.149

Contrary to these casual impressions, I argue in subsequent sections that much less has changed than frequently presumed by observers. Change only becomes apparent when the ASEAN Charter debate with its strong normative

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overtones is used as the benchmark. But if the final years of the Yudhoyono presidency are the point of reference, there is much continuity. One may even regard the foreign policy discourses of the late Yudhoyono presidency as incubation for Jokowi’s foreign policy. This continuity can be illustrated in at least six issue areas: (1) ASEAN as a cornerstone of Indonesian foreign policy; (2) the “a million friends, zero enemies” doctrine; (3) the protection of the country’s borders and natural resources; (4) the Global Maritime Axis policy; (5) the creeping remilitarization of foreign policy; and (6) more protectionist trade policies. ASEAN as a Cornerstone of Indonesian Foreign Policy One argument often heard distinguishing Jokowi’s foreign policy from the Yudhoyono era is the downgrading of ASEAN.The chief witness for this view is Rizal Sukma. In December 2014, Sukma told a public forum in Washington, D.C., “We used to say ASEAN is the cornerstone of our foreign policy. Now we change it to a cornerstone of our foreign policy.”150 It was also seen as a sign of an estrangement from ASEAN that shortly after the new administration assumed office Rizal Sukma pointedly announced, “For the past 10 years, Indonesia has been seen as the country that always shies from differences. But it won’t be that way anymore. Even if it has direct tension with other countries, so be it, even in ASEAN.”151 In light of Indonesia’s uncooperative handling of the haze originating from Sumatra and Kalimantan, which severely affected neighboring countries such as Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand, and—­as we shall see in greater detail further on—­its harsh responses to foreign fishing vessels illegally entering its Exclusive Economic Zone, this statement seemed to be of a programmatic nature. Other indications of the downgrading of ASEAN were repeated statements of Indonesian policymakers that the Yudhoyono administration’s focus on multilateral policies will give way to the strengthening of bilateral relationships.152 Jokowi himself criticized major international organizations such as the UN, the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and the Asian Development Bank at the Asian-­African Conference in April 2015 for failing to deliver solutions to global economic problems.153 His new bilateralism transcends the Asia-­Pacific and in particular targets the Indian Ocean region. It is the objective of this “Look West” policy, also known as PACINDO, to strengthen bilateral relations with India and Indian Ocean littorals in the Middle East as part of Indonesia’s maritime reorientation.154 Also contributing to sidelining ASEAN is Sukma’s proposal of creating an Asian fulcrum, an informal gathering involving the region’s Great Powers, China, India, Japan, and

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Indonesia, with the latter as the host, viewing itself as a power broker moderating the rivalries of the other three major Asian powers.155 But does all this constitute a paradigm change in Indonesia’s foreign policies, especially when compared with the final Yudhoyono years? The answer is no. Most of these policies were either already in place or at least the object of public debate in the years between 2010 and 2014. Contributing to this continuity is the fact that Sukma became an influential foreign policy advisor to Jokowi and later the country’s ambassador to the United Kingdom. So it is hardly surprising that Sukma’s 2009 proposal of a “post-­ASEAN” policy became a self-­fulfilling prophesy. As Sukma’s analysis followed the sentiment of many Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, and since many government officials were unhappy with the eventual outcome of the Charter, government policies tacitly adopted the thrust of Sukma’s plea for a foreign policy that transcends ASEAN and becomes more utilitarian. Although at the Hanoi ASEAN summit in 2010 President Yudhoyono emphatically assured other ASEAN members that for “Indonesia, ASEAN has always been—­and will remain—­the cornerstone of our foreign policy. ASEAN is our family. Our home. Our neighborhood. Our future,”156 from 2010 onward Indonesia pursued what could be termed an “ASEAN Plus” policy. This policy shift was gradual, albeit clearly visible. It involved a wider interpretation of the bebas-­aktif doctrine, including a more active policy in the institutions of the Asia-­Pacific, such as the 2011 initiative to extend the East Asian Summit (EAS) by the United States and Russia, activism in the G20 and the United Nations, attempts to establish closer relations with BRICS countries, and stepping up bilateral strategic partnerships. Noting that by 2012 Indonesia had concluded fourteen strategic partnerships, including with all major powers, Shekhar was right in stating that toward the end of the Yudhoyono presidency, “Jakarta’s regional diplomacy [was] no longer merely an ASEAN-­driven, Southeast Asia-­centric” policy (Shekhar 2014, 70). Also, the Jokowi administration’s “Look West” policy is not entirely new and had a precursor in the Yudhoyono government. In May 2013, then Indonesian foreign minister Natalegawa broached the signing of an Indo-­Pacific “Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation.” President Yudhoyono went even further by proposing that the treaty take the form of a legally binding framework, adopting the key norms of ASEAN’s Treaty of Amity and Cooperation (TAC).157 Although more continuities could be shown, a final piece of evidence to be mentioned for the declining commitment of the outgoing Yudhoyono administration was its lack of resolve to develop the Charter further as a “living document.” Although it had only agreed to the Charter text in

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2007 on the condition that it be reviewed after five years, the Yudhoyono government did little in this respect.158 It largely acquiesced with the position of fellow ASEAN members that Charter review was currently not a priority.159 “A Million Friends, Zero Enemies?” Foreign policy under Yudhoyono was often designated by observers as internationalist and resting on liberal-­cosmopolitan values. It thus attracted a reputation of deviating from the cognitive prior of Indonesia’s foreign policy norms, which—­as shown in Chapter 3—­was guided by a more skeptical worldview and political realism. Corroborating this view was Yudhoyono’s doctrine of “a million friends, zero enemies” in which he interpreted bebas-­ aktif as a policy enabling Indonesia to “turn adversary into friend, and friend into partner,” laying its siege mentality and overly defensive attitude to rest (Wirajuda 2014, 103). Assuming office, Jokowi seemed intent on scrapping his predecessor’s “a million friends, zero enemies” policy. Jokowi was quoted as believing that national interests are a central factor in deciding which country should be befriended. “If making friends would not give profit, then I would not do it. Conducting meetings are fine, but not too much.”160 Policy advisor Hikmahanto Juwana confirmed this view, stating that the “a million friends, zero enemies” policy has been reinterpreted by the Jokowi administration. Its new meaning is that “all nations are friends until Indonesia’s sovereignty is degraded and national interests are jeopardized.”161 As an example, he referred to the Jokowi administration’s controversial policy of executing drug convicts. This policy, Hikmahanto insisted, “had to be carried out, even at the risk of losing friends or turning them into enemies.”162 In other words, sovereignty, national interest, and material benefits must be the prime guides of Indonesia’s foreign policy. While opponents of “a million friends, zero enemies” came out vocally after the Jokowi administration took office,163 two points should not be overlooked. First, foreign policy under the Yudhoyono presidency by no means solely rested on liberal-­cosmopolitan norms. It was more ambivalent than the “a million friends, zero enemies” doctrine suggests. Also, the Yudhoyono administration’s foreign policy was firmly rooted in the cognitive prior, as Natalegawa’s concept of “dynamic equilibrium” shows, a rhetorical figure very much related to the fluidity of international relations highlighted in the Arthasastra and its more recent reincarnations of the mandala concept (see Chapter 3). The same holds true for the metaphor equating international relations with a “turbulent sea” and references to the “parabellum” paradigm.

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Second, the “a million friends, zero enemies” doctrine had already been discussed rather critically in public during the Yudhoyono era. Even within the government it was contested. Foreign Minister Wirajuda, for instance, reportedly did not believe in the doctrine and avoided it as guidance for his foreign policy decisions (Wirajuda 2014, 105). In the academe, Ahmad Rizky Mardhatillah Umar of Gadjah Mada University exposed the discrepancy between the fact of Indonesia’s maritime dispute with Malaysia and the “a million friends, zero enemies” doctrine. Ahmad thus regarded this policy as misleading.164 Even more forthright was Guspiabri Sumowigeno, the director of the Indonesian Center for National Policy Studies, who argued that telling the public that Indonesia has no enemies offered a false worldview. Such a narrative sends the wrong signals because it might lower Indonesia’s vigilance. Citing Russian president Putin, who said that the main reason for the country’s post–­Cold War decline was the illusion that it had no enemies, Guspiabri questioned the cosmopolitan roots of Indonesia’s current foreign policy. No country in the world, he maintained, reliably acts on the basis of such norms. In Indonesia’s case the prevalence of altruistic norms entails the toleration of arrogant acts by small neighboring countries such as Singapore and Timor Leste. Guspiabri’s proposed alternative for dealing with border issues was to establish closer relations with major (rising) powers and with their help strengthen Indonesian military capacities.165 Press articles also expressed skepticism for the “a million friends, zero enemies” rhetoric. Antara News, for instance, quoted journalist Farhad as follows: “Being kind to neighbors is noble, but when it concerns national sovereignty, dignity is at stake and firm actions seem to be valued more.”166 Statements such as these confirm my argument that the ASEAN Charter debate has not transformed the worldviews of the Indonesian foreign policy community, and that the values associated with democratizing and institutionalizing international politics have not been internalized by the majority of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders. In that sense, throwing overboard the “a million friends, zero enemies” rhetoric is not really a novelty in Indonesian foreign policy, it is just a return to the cognitive prior. Securing Borders and Natural Resource Policies So far the most spectacular action of the Jokowi government contributing to its image of a foreign policy game changer is what became known as its “sink the vessels” policy.167 Soon after coming to power, Jokowi ordered his minister of Marine Affairs and Fisheries, Susi Pudjastuti, to seize and sink fishing vessels found operating illegally in Indonesian waters (Connelly 2015, 18). Be-

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tween November 2014 and October 2015, Indonesia sank 106 fishing vessels allegedly violating its sovereignty. The majority of the ships came from neighboring countries such as the Philippines, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, and Papua New Guinea. The Indonesian government justified its harsh posture by declaring that up to 5,400 ships enter Indonesian waters illegally every year, causing damages in the order of US$20 billion.168 It vociferously denied that this “shock therapy” would cause a deterioration of relations with its ASEAN neighbors, emphasizing that it is not directed against them and that it merely constitutes a legitimate act of enforcing national laws. While Jokowi’s crackdown on illegal, unreported, and unregulated fishing was popular at home, authorities in the countries concerned were predictably less amused and criticized Jakarta’s double standards. 169 They resented that Indonesia targeted the fishing vessels of the country’s smaller neighbors but sank only one Chinese ship, although it is well known that Chinese fishing boats have frequently entered waters around the Natuna Islands, maritime zones claimed by Indonesia.170 It was less the right of Indonesia to deter illegal fishing that caused outrage than the propriety of the measures.171 In their severity they were seen as undermining trust and solidarity at a time when ASEAN was completing its Community project.172 As illegal fishing was widespread in Southeast Asia and Indonesia not the only victim, concerns spread that Indonesian nationalist populism might cause a tit-­for-­tat exchange in the region. While the “sink the vessels” policy seemed harsh, it constituted only the consequent implementation of thoughts that had been floated long before. In the previous two decades, legislators, diplomats, and scholars repeatedly aired concerns about illegal fishing and resource depletion by neighbors,173 noting, as LIPI scholar Jaleswari Pramodhawardan did, the substantial economic damage produced by porous maritime borders.174 The Charter critics in the legislature and, most vocally, scholar Rizal Sukma in his post-­ASEAN policy article, subsumed this concern under the more general complaint that Indonesian governments did not do enough to secure Indonesia’s rights and material well-­being in ASEAN.175 Toward a Global Maritime Axis Another plank of Jokowi’s foreign policy agenda is the “Global Maritime Axis” doctrine, which he unveiled at the ninth East Asia summit, in Naypyidaw (Myanmar) in November 2014.176 Highlighting the fact that Indonesia is an archipelagic state, the policy has three major dimensions. The first is sovereignty, focusing on securing the country’s maritime borders as exemplified by Jokowi’s “sink the vessels” policy. The second is geopolitical and takes into

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account that Indonesia is located strategically between the Indian Ocean and the Pacific Ocean. The discovery of the Indian Ocean as a field of geopolitical concern must in large part be attributed to Indonesian fears about the implications of intensifying power rivalries in the region. China’s “Maritime Silk Road” initiative has exacerbated these apprehensions, irrespective of the fact that China and Indonesia have repeatedly stated that they regard the two maritime strategies as complementary.177 The encroachment of foreign fishing vessels—­including Chinese—­on Indonesian sovereignty, China’s increasing assertiveness in the South China Sea (Connelly 2015, 19), the growing Chinese presence in the Indian Ocean, and the instabilities in the Middle East make it imperative for Indonesia to improve its naval capacities and to extend its geopolitical perimeter into the Indian Ocean region. Indonesia’s envisaged increased engagement in the Indian Ocean Rim Association (IORA) during its 2015–­2017 presidency is part and parcel of this priority on maritime policies. The third dimension is largely domestic and derived from concerns that Indonesia will not be sufficiently prepared for the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC) due to the country’s poor infrastructure. Unsurprisingly, therefore, the building and renovation of twenty-­four ports and the creation of a “maritime toll way” connecting Indonesia’s far flung provinces is at the core of the “maritime axis” policy.178 However, once again, this shift of strategic priorities is not entirely new. The idea of improving connectivity in the Indonesian archipelago was for the first time launched in the 2003 and 2008 Defense White Papers (Shekhar and Liow 2014).179 Attention to maritime affairs increased further due to the dispute with Malaysia about sea borders, which brought two issues into sharp relief: one was the antiquated equipment of the Indonesian navy, most of which was not ready for combat,180 and the second was Indonesia’s outdated “defense policy, strategy and posture.”181 Although Indonesia is an archipelagic state, it still relied on defense doctrines that attach priority to guerilla warfare and the army.182 The conclusions that some observers drew from these facts—­ strongly opposed by the army, which feared a loss of political influence and budgetary and patronage resources—­were twofold: that Indonesia should revise its defense strategy from “continental defense” to “maritime defense” and, echoing legislators, that the DPR markedly increase the country’s defense budget for modernizing the TNI’s weaponry.183 Creeping Remilitarization of ASEAN and Foreign Policies? The strengthening of the Global Maritime Axis requires a marked increase of Indonesia’s military capacities. The Indonesian navy and air force are notori-

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ously underequipped and unable to control the vast archipelago, let alone to show presence in the adjacent waters of the Indian and Pacific Oceans. This necessitates large investment in defense modernization, including a drastic increase in naval and coast guard vessels,184 frigates, submarines, helicopters, and fighter planes.185 However, so far, at about 0.8 percent of GDP, the Indonesian military budget is one of the lowest in a region where average defense spending is 2.2 percent.186 Jokowi thus announced that he would double the defense budget in 2016—­provided the economy grew by 7 percent—­and increase defense spending to 1.5 percent of GDP by the mid-­2020s.187 In Luhut Panjaitan he appointed a former military general as his chief security advisor and consequently an influential foreign policy actor. It would, however, be wrong to link a stronger military involvement in foreign policymaking and regional policies to Jokowi’s strong nationalist outlook. Certainly, the concern for the nation’s sovereignty tallies well with the military’s self-­styled function as guardian of national sovereignty, but its creeping reemergence as a foreign policy player was already visible under Yudhoyono. Pivotal in this respect were the border disputes with Malaysia, which facilitated an increasing convergence between civilian and military positions in defining Indonesia’s national interests (Rüland and Manea 2013). While legislators, together with civil society organizations, the academe, and parts of the media, had been at the forefront of forces calling for thorough military reform after the collapse of President Suharto’s military-­backed New Order regime, responding to the border incidents, legislators in the DPR’s Commission I increasingly adopted TNI arguments for a greater defense budget and arms modernization.188 The territorial disputes, which amount to an open challenge to Indonesia’s leadership claims, have also redirected the attention of other foreign policy stakeholders to Indonesia’s military capacities. Without military muscle, they argue, a nation with leadership ambitions is hardly credible. For many academic security experts, too, a strong military is an attribute of a great and dignified power.189 CSIS scholar Lie Nathaniel Santoso, for instance, argued that “Indonesia has to consolidate its military capabilities. . . . It should aim to be in the same league as China and India within the next two decades and it should take concrete, strategic measures to achieve that.”190 It may thus be more than mere coincidence that in recent years active military officers,191 but more frequently persons representing organizations close to the military, have publicly commented on foreign policy issues. This includes, inter alia, statements from the Coordinating Ministry for Legal, Political and Security Affairs, a ministry led by former military commanders-­in-­chief

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throughout the Yudhoyono presidency,192 ruling out Papua as a topic on the agenda of ASEAN’s nineteenth summit and the sixth East Asian summit.193 More recently, with a view to the AEC, the ministry raised concerns related to border security, conducted awareness-­raising meetings, and encouraged research on themes linking the AEC to the country’s security.194 It fits the trend that, apart from Lemhannas, scholars from the Indonesian Defense University now also occasionally contribute opinion pieces on foreign policy issues (including ASEAN) to the national press.195 In 2014, during the presidential election campaign, then TNI chief Moeldoko told the Wall Street Journal that Indonesia was “dismayed” that Beijing’s nine-­dash line, demarcating its claims of almost 90 percent of the South China Sea, included “parts of the Natuna Islands” and that his country would respond by strengthening its military forces (Connelly 2015, 20). Moeldoko thereby sharply deviated from the official government position, which denies that Indonesia is a claimant in the South China Sea dispute.196 More Protectionist Trade Policies and the ASEAN Economic Community Finally, observers concerned with Indonesia’s commitment to ASEAN also noted the new government’s attitudes about regional economic integration. They noted that already at his first summit participation in Myanmar’s capital Naypyidaw, Jokowi told his ASEAN colleagues that he entertains great reservations about a single market that would relegate Indonesia to merely a market for goods produced by its neighbors.197 His foreign minister Retno Marsudi confirmed this argumentative thrust, stating, “The challenge is for every country to make the AEC benefit its people.”198 In Sofyan Wanandi, the chairperson of the employers association APINDO, Jokowi has chosen an economic advisor with strong nationalist leanings. Also making waves in the business community was the government’s raising of import tariffs between 10 and 90 percent for many consumer goods ranging from food to cars.199 With these measures the government sought to counter the economic downturn caused by China’s slowing economic growth, the depreciation of the rupiah, sagging investor interest, and sluggish domestic consumer demand. However, the trend toward economic nationalism is also by no means new. Economic nationalism and protectionism, as shown in the previous section, became increasingly rampant with the completion of the ACFTA. Attempts by former trade minister Gita Wirawan, at the time head of the Investment Coordinating Board (BKPM), to define economic nationalism in a way that would not deter foreign investment were met by a barrage of criticism from economic nationalists, accusing him of selling Indonesia out to foreigners

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and multinational companies.200 Even Rizal Sukma, who later argued that Jokowi’s Indonesia will henceforth “underline international agendas that will benefit national economic development,” regretted that it has “become fashionable for politicians of all parties to say that the government’s economic policies serve the interests of foreign capitalists rather than those of the Indonesian people” (Sukma 2011, 89). Indonesia Under Jokowi: A Return to the Cognitive Prior? The previous sections have highlighted several trends in the more recent Indonesian discourse on regionalism. First, the years following the ASEAN Charter debate showed that the normative change during the Charter debate lacked consolidation. Especially in times of tension, when Indonesian sovereignty was at stake, many foreign policy stakeholders tended to return to the cognitive prior. The Ambalat and ACFTA episodes demonstrate that a majority of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders and major segments of the public only subscribe to a liberal-­cosmopolitan regionalism if they expect Indonesia to benefit from it. Second, the lack of consolidation of the new external EU-­inspired norms is also shown in the way foreign policymakers framed the value added for Indonesia by ASEAN. It appears that from 2009 onward a leadership frame gradually replaced the democracy frame. In other words, leadership relegated democracy to a subordinate priority, although at least during the Yudhoyono presidency democracy did not disappear from Indonesia’s foreign policy agenda. However, during the Jokowi presidency the democracy frame was largely abandoned by most foreign policy stakeholders. While Retno Marsudi in her first annual foreign policy statement still referred to Indonesia’s democratic identity,201 the democracy norm was largely absent in subsequent foreign policy statements.202 For instance,Vice President Jusuf Kalla in his address to the United Nations General Assembly in September 2015 did not mention it at all, and it also rarely appeared in President Jokowi’s foreign policy statements. Other actors who frequently employed the democracy frame during the Charter debate, such as the academe, the press, and legislators, have also used it less frequently, leaving civil society organizations as the only stakeholder group that persistently lobbies for a more democratic ASEAN. With references to liberal-­cosmopolitan norms and compromise-­oriented diplomacy decreasing and national benefit and sovereignty on the rise, the Indonesian leadership claim gradually adopted a hegemonic position. The “sink the boats” policy is the epitome of this attitude. It corresponds to unguarded statements by former TNI chief Moeldoko, who described the Indonesian

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military’s role in Southeast Asia as that of a “big brother,”203 a term also used by Indonesia’s neighbors to describe the new government’s regional posture. All this suggests that the perceived need to generate soft power under the Yudhoyono presidency has largely been given up under Jokowi. No longer is it Indonesia’s foreign policy objective to play the role of a “good global citizen” if such a policy is not associated with tangible material gains. Also more than under Yudhoyono, the Jokowi government has highlighted the welfare frame as a rationale for the country’s foreign policy behavior. Economic growth and the well-­being of the ordinary Indonesian citizen is one of the guidelines shaping Indonesia’s foreign policy under Jokowi. The security frame is less obvious, although, as shown, Jokowi’s “Global Maritime Axis” doctrine clearly entails geopolitical and security dimensions. Third, the grafting of the new EU-­inspired norms championed by many stakeholders during the ASEAN Charter debate had already begun to change in Yudhoyono’s second term. While under Yudhoyono grafting increasingly highlighted the cognitive prior, with leadership and national sovereignty the rationales for liberal-­cosmopolitan values, the Jokowi administration has widely sidelined reference to liberal-­cosmopolitan norms and has instead returned to the cognitive prior of Indonesia’s foreign policymaking. By emphasizing national sovereignty, bebas-­aktif, and Indonesian dominance in the region, the government even sidesteps the age-­honored norms of the ASEAN Way. For instance, peaceful conflict management—­a norm highly valued by the TAC—­has likewise not been internalized by many stakeholders who in the event of sovereignty disputes do not shy away from playing with fire and threatening military force. The Global Maritime Axis policy also denotes a return to the cognitive prior: it revitalizes the inward-­looking and unity-­ creating perspective of the wawasan nusantara doctrine of the 1950s (see Chapter 3), and by explicitly referring to the “Jalesveva Jayamah” (“in the ocean we triumph”) myth of former maritime glory, also extends it to an outward-­ looking doctrine, with Jokowi proclaiming that “the oceans, the seas, the straits and the bays are the future of our civilization.”204 Fourth, pruning concentrated much more on the European liberal-­ cosmopolitan norms than on the extant local values related to foreign policymaking and regionalism. Especially, pruning of the noninterference norm was no longer an issue of debate, even if already during the Charter debate pruning of this norm was strongly qualified and, vice versa, supranational notions of regionalism remained anathema for the overwhelming majority of foreign policy stakeholders. One can thus conclude that the return to the cognitive prior by many

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in the Indonesian foreign policy community and less accommodating government policies regarding neighboring countries offer little prospect for deepening the cohesion of ASEAN. While I concede that the reformist ideas championed by Indonesians during the Charter debate in a grouping containing a highly diverse membership may not lead to more substantive regional integration, it is also crystal clear that the current nationalist resurgence and the assertive policies of the Jokowi government will contribute even less to a more integrated region. The current foreign policy discourse in ASEAN will not mitigate the trust deficit that lingers in the region. It suggests that ASEAN reforms have their limits as, particularly in the aftermath of the Charter debate, Indonesian references to a seemingly European mode of regional integration have been localized by the country’s strong sense of nationalism.

11

Conclusion

This book has explored the ideas, views, and beliefs of members of the Indonesian foreign policy community on Southeast Asian regionalism and its relevance for Indonesia’s foreign policy. Mainly based on the debate about the ASEAN Charter, it has identified the local and foreign ideational roots from which foreign policy stakeholders draw, examined how they respond to external normative challenges, and analyzed how they match extant local or previously localized ideas with seemingly superior external ideas and norms. Since the downfall of President Suharto’s New Order regime in May 1998, the number of foreign policy stakeholders has markedly increased. Democratization opened political spaces for new stakeholders, which in the past had—­if at all—­only a marginal role in foreign policymaking. Never in postindependence Indonesia have legislators, NGO activists, academics, and the press had so much discursive space as in the post-­1998 period. New and less elitist stakeholders may take a fresh look at Indonesia’s position in the region and in the process challenge long-­standing foreign policy doctrines and notions of Southeast Asian regionalism by appropriating foreign ideas and rejuvenating extant local ideas. This would make norm construction and ideational contestation a much more complex process than the existing literature suggests. That literature has studied norm diffusion, norm construction, and norm contestation mainly from an outward-­in (ideational flows from the West to non-­Western regions) and a top-­down (government elites as norm entrepreneurs socializing or indoctrinating the masses) perspective. By including nonstate stakeholders, this study sought to complement these conventional

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analytical perspectives with a bottom-­up perspective in the expectation that in a discourse old beliefs on regionalism would be modified and, as the new, possibly externally influenced ideas might be projected into the wider Southeast Asian region, recognizing that a diffusion study should also take into account the inward-­out dimension of ideational flows. To trace this premise, I constructed an analytical framework that, drawing strongly from the work of Amitav Acharya (Acharya 2004, 2009), was informed by the most recent generation of constructivist norm diffusion theory. Unlike former generations of norm diffusion research, Acharya’s approach highlights the agency of norm recipients in the process of norm contestation, thereby bringing into sharp relief local beliefs, value systems, intellectual traditions, and their cultural roots. Through this analytical lens norm recipients in non-­Western regions cease to appear as hapless objects of “norm proselytization” (Acharya 2009, 10). Local knowledge and value systems receive a more comprehensive and thus fairer scrutiny than in modernization theory-­driven approaches to norm diffusion research. Refining existing norm diffusion theory, I located responses to external normative challenges on a four-­point scale, ranging from rejection and mimicry to localization and transformation (Rüland 2014a). These responses entail different degrees of political learning, none or at best little in the case of “rejection,” much in the case of “transformation,” with the two other types of responses somewhere in between. In the Indonesian case, I expected that democratization had indeed created the discursive spaces that are a requisite for localization (ibid.), that is, the fusion of old and new ideas through a process of framing, grafting, and pruning (Acharya 2004, 2009). On the basis of these theoretical premises and a broad array of qualitative methods, the book has advanced the argument that seemingly liberal norms such as democracy, good governance, rule of law, and respect for human rights—­first and foremost vocally propagated by extra-­regional norm entrepreneurs including the EU and members of the international epistemic community—­have been appropriated to varying degrees by the majority of participants in the Indonesian discourse on regionalism. These norms gained increasing currency after the Asian Financial Crisis of 1997–­1998 and discredited the ASEAN Way as the grouping’s established sovereignty-­based repository of cooperation norms. There is much evidence that this initial response constituted an act of political learning as defined in Chapter 2 (Jetschke and Murray 2012). However, much of this learning rested less on careful academic scrutiny than on insights gained through participation in exposure tours to Brussels or frequent contact with European counterparts, and can

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thus more precisely be categorized as “bounded learning.” With the new liberal-­cosmopolitan external norms, all of which are core norms of the EU, European notions of regional integration gained increasing influence on Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders. The public debate on Southeast Asian regionalism gained additional momentum with the decision of the eleventh ASEAN summit, in Kuala Lumpur in 2005, to write the ASEAN Charter and climaxed during the ratification process in 2008. The Charter adopted by ASEAN governments at the grouping’s thirteenth summit in Singapore in November 2007 became a quasi-­ constitutional document specifying an expanded catalogue of purposes, cooperation norms, and decision-­making procedures. Thus, even though after 2009 the Charter itself was no longer at the center of the controversies over Southeast Asian regionalism, the Indonesian foreign policy community still passionately discussed the future of ASEAN, Indonesia’s role in it, and the prospects for realizing the ambitious plan to create an “ASEAN Community” by 2015. In this discourse the ASEAN Charter has remained the main point of reference, with commentators often debating the extent to which the Charter is conducive for the attainment of the objectives it formulated.

Localizing the European Model of Regional Integration The book suggests that most participants in the Charter debate were indeed strongly influenced by European ideas on regional integration. But while many stakeholders readily admitted that they sought inspiration from the European model, which they regarded as the most advanced regional project, few ever argued in favor of a wholesale transformation of ASEAN along the lines of the EU. In other words, most participants in the debate to varying degrees contributed to a localization of these external European ideas. Synchronic comparison between the various Indonesian stakeholder groups suggests that the government was the most active localizer in the Charter debate. This is not an unexpected finding given the fact that governments often seek to mobilize domestic political support and legitimacy through foreign policy. This is certainly the case in Indonesia. To achieve this objective, governments must demonstrate that their foreign policy takes into account the most advanced ideas, norms, and strategies, and at the same time make these mostly imported policy concepts resemble extant local values. But beyond the domestic audience the Indonesian government also has to accommodate ASEAN partners if it wants to avoid the risk of regional disintegration. In the quest for domestic political support the government also tried to influence the normative outlook of nonstate stakeholders, although with am-

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biguous results, at least in the case of legislators, large sections of the business community, and the NGO community. It should be recalled here that many domestic small-­and medium-­scale enterprises and NGOs flatly rejected economic market-­opening schemes that resembled earlier stages of European economic integration (Jürgen Rüland 2016). However, the government’s own localization process is strongly driven by academics, the media, and NGOs, which in their majority pressed for new external, often liberal-­cosmopolitan, ideas. But while the Indonesian government is exposed to localization pressures from below, nonstate actors, to varying degrees, are also localizers in their own right. Legislators and business representatives thereby mainly draw on extant beliefs, while in their majority NGOs, academics, and the press to varying degrees propagate the new external norms and ideas inspired by European integration. However, Indonesia’s increasingly dominant regional leadership claims by which ASEAN policies are framed are widely shared across the stakeholder divide and have brought Indonesian stakeholders closer together. Overall, however, we can conclude that democratization has indeed enriched the Indonesian foreign policy discourse, markedly broadened the stakeholder community, and amplified the audience for foreign policy debates. No longer is it possible to exclude certain positions from the discourse and limit access to debates. And even though the government is still vocally present in these debates, democratization has eroded its discursive power. The localization of foreign policy norms and ideas on regionalism has ceased to be a top-­down process; there is now also a strong bottom-­up dimension with which the government has to cope.

Framing ASEAN Reforms with European Ideas on Regional Integration The study further showed that most stakeholders framed their assessments of the Charter in relation to the three major functions the theoretical literature attaches to (regional) governance. These are political order functions, welfare functions, and security functions. As stakeholder arguments referring to political order functions entailed strong demands for democratizing ASEAN, I decided that these evaluations of the Charter may be most adequately characterized as the “democracy frame.” The latter dominated the thinking of virtually all stakeholder groups, except for the business sector. Most NGO activists, many academics and legislators, the press, and also many government representatives argued that the Charter must serve as a vehicle for promoting democracy and human rights in the region and making ASEAN more “people-­oriented.”

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Many stakeholders also argued that the ASEAN Charter must stimulate reforms that materially benefit Indonesians. In this study statements discussing ASEAN’s welfare orientation have thus been grouped together as the “welfare frame.” In particular, NGO activists, legislators, and businesspeople, but also, to a lesser extent, government representatives, used the welfare frame to assess the utility of the ASEAN Charter. It may, however, be noted that many links exist between the democracy frame and the welfare frame. NGO activists especially argued that greater participation by those affected by ASEAN decisions was an absolute necessity if the region’s less advantaged social groups were to benefit from regional integration. More conservative stakeholders in government circles who viewed ASEAN as an organization for the people and not necessarily by the people regarded an increase of material welfare as a major indicator of the grouping’s people-­orientedness. Less dominant were reflections on how the Charter could improve the security of Indonesia and stability in the Southeast Asian region. Foremost in this respect were concerns about the meteoric rise of China and India and the growing influence of these two newly emerging powers on Southeast Asia. Concerns such as these were mainly aired by think tank scholars, some business representatives, and government officials, who shared a geopolitical and geo-­economic outlook on international relations. I subsumed these contributions to the Charter debate under what I called the “security frame.” Think tank scholars especially created a close link between the security frame and the democracy frame, as they believe that democracy and institutional reforms are crucial requisites for making ASEAN a more cohesive, effective, and legitimate grouping. But links to the welfare frame also exist, as business representatives regarded a concerted ASEAN response to the geo-­economic challenges emanating from the rise of China and India as significant for promoting the region’s prosperity. As the debate went on and contributions to the ASEAN Charter gave way to a more general reflection on ASEAN’s role in Indonesian foreign policy, a new frame became increasingly visible that I called the “leadership frame.” With Indonesia’s crucial contribution to the Bali Concord II of 2003 and its vision of creating the ASEAN Community by 2020 (in 2007 accelerated to 2015), voices were already emerging demanding a revitalization of Indonesia’s regional leadership role, which the country had lost in the maelstrom of the Asian Financial Crisis. In the Charter debate such calls intensified, although initially clearly subsumed under the democracy frame. During the Charter debate the Indonesian government and most other stakeholder groups, except the business sector, styled the country as a normative leader

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in the region. Pivotal in this respect was Indonesia’s democratization, which in the belief of many foreign policy stakeholders elevated the country to a frontrunner of political reform in Southeast Asia. Later, from 2009 onward, the liberal-­cosmopolitan underpinnings of the Indonesian leadership claim gradually subsided to a secondary priority, and a more assertive claim of entitlement came to the fore. These claims were partly driven by frustration over the watered-­down version of the ASEAN Charter and partly by a widening discrepancy between Indonesia’s growing global recognition as a reformist power and the lack of deference it encountered in the Southeast Asian region.

Grafting External Ideas and Extant Local Beliefs A closer look at these frames shows that Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders have grafted them in a way that makes them congruent with established beliefs on Indonesian foreign policy and also, partially, with the orthodoxy of the ASEAN Way. They retain, restore, and modernize extant norms and worldviews and thereby legitimize increasingly assertive Indonesian regional and even global leadership ambitions. A case in point is the use of democracy and human rights as core norms guiding Indonesian foreign policy. What at first sight seems to be an adoption of European liberal norms is on closer scrutiny a well-­calibrated strategy to create soft power and to build leadership ambitions on a normative foundation. No longer do Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders base their leadership claims merely on physical attributes such as size and population. In the Charter debate many of them, in particular the government but also academics, the press, NGOs, and legislators, viewed the fact that Indonesia has evolved into Southeast Asia’s only fully fledged democracy as a major justification for regional leadership. The accolades Indonesia received for this achievement from abroad have given rise to a sense of exceptionalism characteristic of hegemons and would-­be leaders.Though denied by government representatives, it has spurred a missionary attitude that finds its expression in the projection of the country’s domestic order into the wider region. In this respect Indonesia behaves—­to answer Nolte’s question cited in the introduction (Nolte 2010)—­like most other newly emerging powers. Yet the Charter debate did not place Indonesia’s foreign policy on an entirely new normative base. For instance, building soft power is an established strategy of Javanese rulers that can be traced back to precolonial times (Nguitragool 2012). Also, the seemingly liberal-­cosmopolitan values Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders championed tally very well with extant beliefs and worldviews guiding Indonesia’s foreign policy. This is most obvious if we examine government statements, but we also find this congruence with what

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Acharya calls the “cognitive prior” (Acharya 2004, 2009) among all other stakeholder groups to varying degrees. For instance, the vociferous promotion of democracy and human rights does not contradict the sovereignty norm, a key norm of the ASEAN Way, to which Indonesia has unwaveringly subscribed in the past. By elevating democracy and human rights to the top of the country’s foreign policy agenda, ASEAN’s almost sacred norm of noninterference seems to have come under siege. But as Indonesia regards itself as the most democratically advanced country in the region, the weakening of the noninterference norm would only affect other, less democratic ASEAN members. It would legitimate Indonesian intervention as the region’s normative leader and self-­styled intermediary in conflicts, especially if domestic problems in member countries spill over to the wider region or create embarrassment for ASEAN as a regional organization. Such interference would even strengthen Indonesian sovereignty, as it allows the government to decide where and when to intervene, and through its interventions prevent a loss of prestige for itself as well as the grouping as a whole. Further scrutiny also suggests that Indonesia’s promotion of democracy is more instrumental than normative. A careful examination of speeches, interviews, and newspaper articles shows that the democracy concept used by government representatives and to some extent also by legislators, press commentators, and NGOs, is less liberal than their rhetoric presumes. It is closely linked to extant organicist and collectivist ideas of political order as expressed in the deliberation and consensus (musyawarah dan mufakat) norm. This mode of decision making tallies very well with top-­down perspectives of familist paternalism (kekeluargaan and bapakism), which conservative exponents of Indonesia’s nationalist movement have (re)constructed as key elements of traditional Indonesian village culture (Reeve 1985; Bourchier 1999, 2015). Sukarno’s “guided democracy” and Suharto’s military-­supported New Order regime further cultivated these ideas, which became embodied in the country’s previous corporatist political order. Although at first sight the vestiges of corporatism appear to have largely disappeared in the Era Reformasi, the thinking associated with them is deeply ingrained in the collective memory of Indonesians and thus still has an impact on political discourses. It is thus no accident that many stakeholders, excluding NGOs, rarely speak of an empowerment of the population in regional governance. The call for “people-­orientation” is a polyvalent concept that alludes to liberal notions of democracy, but on closer scrutiny is merely defined as increasing the awareness of the people about regional integration through socialization and strengthening regional identity. This notion of “people-­orientedness” does

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not promote “participation in decision-­making,” as a liberal agenda would, but rather connotes what Cohen and Uphoff once termed “participation in implementation” (Cohen and Uphoff 1980). In the belief of many stakeholders, ASEAN’s effectiveness is thus not increased by greater “input legitimacy” (Scharpf 1999) and inclusiveness, but rather by the support of ASEAN policies throughout the population with the objective of strengthening the grouping’s “output legitimacy.” Democracy-­based leadership claims also match with Indonesia’s long-­ standing free and active (bebas dan aktif) doctrine. Getting involved in international issues and acting autonomously are characteristics of leadership. In particular, think tank scholars disappointed with the Charter document increasingly challenged the Indonesian government to adopt a more visible leadership role not only in the region, but also on a global scale. This entailed a downgrading of ASEAN’s long-­standing position as a cornerstone of Indonesia’s foreign policy and greater flexibility in pursing bilateral strategic partnerships with newly emerging powers such as China, India, South Africa, and Brazil. A “post-­ASEAN” policy (Sukma 2009) also called for a strengthening of ties with other East Asian forums and leadership in organizations of the Global South such as the G77, the Non-­Aligned Movement, and the D8. While not expressly supporting such calls, and reassuring ASEAN partners that the grouping remained a key priority for Indonesia, under Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa the government nevertheless began embarking on an “ASEAN plus” policy that was more plurilateral than the foreign policy of previous administrations. The welfare frame also coincides with established ideas of government legitimacy. Creating prosperity, peace, and tranquility had already been a major legitimating ground for precolonial rulers. The Suharto regime, reviving these ideas, also built its legitimacy on economic growth, development, and poverty alleviation. In the Charter debate such reasoning reappeared. The legitimacy of regional integration increases with the benefits ASEAN provides for Indonesians.Yet there was a major divide among stakeholders over how this could be achieved. On the one hand, outward-­looking economic sectors and large conglomerates supported ASEAN’s seemingly neoliberal agenda of regional economic integration as laid down in the blueprint for the ASEAN Economic Community (AEC), counting on stimuli for increasing Indonesian economic competitiveness and trickle-­down effects to the socially weaker segments of society. On the other hand, small-­and medium-­scale producers for the domestic market, NGOs, many academics, and even cabinet members stood against the market-­opening policies as promoted by the AFTA, the AEC, and

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several bilateral free trade agreements ASEAN had entered into, including the ASEAN-­China Free Trade Area, strongly criticizing the perceived social injustice inherent in these schemes. Their views tallied well with the anticapitalist notions of the 1945 Constitution and local versions of socialism as promoted in the independence movement and later on during the Sukarno era. The security frame connects perfectly with long-­standing worldviews strongly inspired by realist thought. These skeptical worldviews can likewise be traced back to precolonial Javanese kingdoms, which were strongly influenced by Hindu-­Brahmanic statecraft. The Indian guidebook for rulers, the Kautilya’s Arthasastra, was well known at Javanese courts in the region, and with it came a power-­sensitive outlook on domestic politics as well as the external world. These worldviews became deeply ingrained in the collective memory of Indonesians. They were also strongly influential in virtually all classical precolonial art genres in which Indonesians are socialized from early childhood. Corroborated by more recent experiences and an acute sense of vulnerability, these skeptical worldviews are still dominant among academics, the press, and government officials. They thus match very well with security doctrines of the Suharto years such as “national resilience” (ketahanan nasional) and bebas-­aktif, which have not been discarded in the Era Reformasi.

Pruning What at first sight appears to be a Europeanization of Indonesian ASEAN policies has thus been thoroughly localized and made congruent with extant local ideas on foreign policy and ASEAN. Part of this process is the pruning of new external ideas on regional integration as well as the more orthodox ideas. Supranationalism has definitely been pruned from the European model of regional integration. Even though some Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders in the academe and among government officials have occasionally called for greater centralization of ASEAN in order to transform it into a more effective regional organization, a supranational design has been anathema throughout the Charter debate and its aftermath. In the economic domain, Indonesian stakeholders pruned from the EU model the idea of a currency union. This is also tantamount to a process of “bounded learning,” as the turbulences of the Euro crisis and the negative repercussions they had on European integration did not escape the attention of the Indonesian foreign policy community. Also pruned—though to a varying extent—were participatory elements of the EU model, the unconditional inclusion of civil society groups, an inclusive interest representation, and parliamentarization, whereas from the orthodoxy of the ASEAN Way the noninterference norm has been pruned to a certain

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extent, albeit not completely thrown out. But many Indonesian stakeholders realized that the pursuance of liberal-­cosmopolitan norms is bound to fail if a modicum of interference into the internal affairs of other member countries is not permitted, especially if developments there cause negative spillover in neighboring countries. This too constitutes a case of political learning, as the contagion effects exacerbating the Asian Financial Crisis had overtly revealed the increased interdependence of the region.

Nuancing Diffusion Theory What new theoretical insights has this study generated? First, the empirical results supported the decision to incorporate rationalist arguments into the otherwise largely constructivist analytical framework. I argued in the theoretical chapter that the response to external challenges may not be conditioned only by concerns of legitimacy, but also by political learning. The study revealed that the localization of European institutional designs was indeed preceded by bounded learning, that is, the insight of the localizers that the prevailing cooperation norms of the ASEAN Way were no longer conducive to handling crises in an increasingly interdependent region. At the same time, Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders were aware of the fact that a wholesale adoption of EU norms would not serve the purposes of ASEAN’s membership. As former colonies, they regarded regionalism as a way to strengthen the nation state. Pooling sovereignty as in the EU was thus no option for them. In their majority, Indonesian stakeholders were also skeptical of the liberalization of ASEAN’s economy, and they realized that even partial appropriation of the EU’s institutional designs would make acceptance of ASEAN by the public even more difficult than it already was. Moreover, government elites, when forced to widen the political space for nonstate actors as in newly democratized Indonesia, seek to retain as much of their decision-­making power as possible and therefore are amenable to moves diluting participatory processes at the national and regional levels. A second insight of theoretical relevance is the discovery of variations in the way stakeholders grafted ASEAN reforms. The study suggests that we may distinguish two types of localization: offensive and defensive localization. We may speak of offensive localization when local norm recipients proactively seek to appropriate major elements of new external ideas but have to make sure that the public accepts them. For this purpose they fuse them with extant local norms, making them congruent with the cognitive prior. During the ASEAN Charter debate many foreign policy stakeholders localized the European model of regional integration in precisely this way. However, even

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though offensive localization facilitates normative change and a new ideational configuration emerges, its effects are ambiguous, as a major motivation of local actors for localization may be to retain as much of the cognitive prior and the old (ideational) order as possible.While this shows that categorizations of localization may be fluid, I speak of defensive localization when actors fear outright resistance to their normative agenda and thus give greater expression to the cognitive prior than to the new external ideas, norms, or policies. For instance, governmental grafting of the Charter’s economic norms deviated from what localization theory would predict. The government as well as representatives of the business community in favor of the market-­opening reforms promoted by the Charter did not graft the new liberal economic visions by making them congruent with the established economic doctrines of economic nationalism, that is, the cognitive prior. Given the sensitive nature of far-­reaching economic policy changes, they instead decided to pursue the opposite strategy: highlighting the continued relevance of the ideas underlying economic nationalism, but cautiously making them congruent with liberal, externally promoted ideas. In an attempt to make critics acquiesce and enlarge political space for economic reforms, this strategy sought to signal to the public that changes in the economic domain will remain incremental. Quite surprisingly, the EU also resorted to defensive localization. Certainly, it is true that the EU has been a promoter of democracy in the Southeast Asian region since the end of the Cold War. However, the experiences prior to the Asian Financial Crisis, the heyday of the Asian values debate, when the EU encountered rejection of its normative package and ASEAN countries responded to the EU’s ideational overtures by devising their own set of values and worldviews, has made the EU more cautious in promoting its core norms. The formula that “democracy can take many forms,” as expressed in the European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR), must be attributed to a learning process stimulated by the unintended effects of its democracy promotion. It is a form of preemptive localization that seeks to make its normative message more palatable to the intended recipients. In this case, it is the external norm entrepreneur that used localization strategies, an option not foreseen in Acharya’s localization theory. A third theoretical insight is that ideational flows are by no means linear. The study showed that NGO activists in particular, but, perhaps somewhat surprisingly, also government representatives reflected Latin American and African experiences as well as those of the EU when searching for best practices. In fact, Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders were quite selective in their choice of importing ideas, norms, and policies. The regional human rights

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mechanism is a good example of the attention government officials, NGO activists, and academics directed to the advances made in this domain in Africa and Latin America. Indonesian NGO representatives participating in African civil society events brought home first-­hand observations of the human rights reforms on that continent. NGO representatives also studied the Bolivarian Alliance for the People of Our America (ALBA),1 which they regarded as a prototype of “alternative regionalism” or “regionalism from below.”2 Yet it must also be noted that the concept of alternative regionalism is not without European roots, as it was strongly propagated by an Amsterdam-­based NGO, the Transnational Institute.3 Nevertheless, this means that, while traveling, ideas and norms may take detours and arrive in Indonesia mediated through the changes they may have undergone en route to their destination. It also means that although not provincialized, the EU by no means had a monopoly on being a model of regionalism. My initial contention, discussed in Chapter 2, that ideational flows are omnidirectional in an increasingly decentered world, has thus been corroborated. A fourth theoretical lesson refers to the fact that ideational and normative transfers may be much less sustainable than implicitly alleged by the mainstream literature on norm diffusion. Crises and external shocks such as the Asian Financial Crisis may trigger ideational change and facilitate the advancement of new external ideas on regionalism, but the extent to which these new ideas consolidate is a different issue (Legro 2000). Chapter 10, examining the response of Indonesia’s foreign policy community to serious challenges to the country’s sovereignty in the security and economic domains, suggests that under stress, many stakeholders tend to reactivate established extant local norms of foreign policymaking. This implies that the newly localized liberal-­cosmopolitan norms are little more than a thin layer cast over traditional local worldviews, very close to what in Chapter 2 was described as mimicry. If severe challenges to the sovereignty norm are interpreted as noncompliance to agreed-­upon rules and norms by neighboring countries, added to frustration over the ineffectiveness of the country’s self-­styled leadership claim, there is a tendency for extant local ideas to gain renewed influence among policymakers. These old ideas have never completely disappeared from the collective memory, and they may be revitalized by the very same persons who previously were ardent advocates of the new external ideas. The more these old ideas resurface and gain momentum in public opinion, the more likely it is that policymakers will resort to them. It is for precisely this reason that the examination of bottom-­up processes of ideational (re)construction is important: they allow us to predict which turns government policies may

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take. In Indonesia, this became very evident after other ASEAN members frustrated Indonesian aspirations for more comprehensive ASEAN reforms. Failure to exert ideational leadership in the grouping revived nationalist sentiments, which ultimately eroded the liberal-­cosmopolitan norms championed during the Charter debate. From this observation, it must be concluded that diffusion processes require observation over a longer time frame; snapshot accounts may lead to misinterpretations.

Similar or Different? Returning to the overarching question guiding this book—­similarity or difference?—­the Indonesian example of constructing regionalism persuasively shows that despite the adoption of EU terminology and selective institutional adaptation to the EU model by ASEAN, Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders’ ideas on regionalism display little similarity with the EU. The coincidence of institutional terminology is weak evidence for claims of an increasing similarity of Indonesian notions of regionalism with those of the EU. Even more different are the underlying norms, which have been localized by deeply entrenched extant local norms. Also contributing to the prevalence of difference is the fact that—­as explained earlier—­Indonesian stakeholders look beyond the EU for lessons and practices. Another predictor of difference is the fact that extant local norms of regionalism and foreign policymaking were not completely eliminated during the ASEAN Charter debate. While in this period the new external norms seemed to prevail, Indonesian stakeholders made them congruent with extant local norms to varying degrees. In the process of localization, local norms may have been relegated to the background of the collective memory, but they were never erased from it and thus could be reproduced and revitalized whenever political expediency called for it. Over a longer period, it thus transpired that the strong orientation of stakeholders toward the EU during the Charter debate was probably an outlier. The intensified appropriation of EU norms we observed prior to and during the ASEAN Charter debate may thus have been the high point of an episode specific to Indonesian foreign policy under the Yudhoyono presidency. Already in Yudhoyono’s second term, we could observe a creeping erosion of the strong liberal-­cosmopolitan rhetoric and a gradual revitalization of ideas and norms that were characteristic of the Indonesian way of foreign policymaking. Tellingly, the Indonesian government exerted no pressure on its ASEAN peers to review the Charter after five years, as Article 50 enabled members and the Indonesian legislature committed the government to the ratification law through an addendum.

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Concepts such as leadership, national autonomy, national interest, the priority of a foreign policy producing tangible material benefits, and a more skeptical worldview celebrated a gradual return by and a more assertive interpretation of the bebas-­aktif doctrine. After the Jokowi administration took office in October 2014, this trend gained momentum. Although the new Indonesian government did not completely drop liberal-­cosmopolitan values and rhetoric from its foreign policy agenda, they were relegated to a back seat. In the Jokowi government’s foreign policy, normative arguments had a markedly lower priority, with national interest and the material aspects of foreign policy decisions taking center stage. This leads to the conclusion that ideational change may occur under the impact of a strong external challenge, but that change is circumscribed by strong path dependencies created by the cognitive prior. The deeper this cognitive prior is entrenched in the collective memory, the greater differences to the external model tend to be. The Indonesian debate about regionalism and foreign policy culture thus corroborates the views of those scholars for whom organizational difference is the ultimate result of diverse cultural origins and different historical and political experiences. There is little evidence for a growing similarity between Indonesian and European regionalism, except that the EU and ASEAN belong to the category of regional organizations. If there is increasing similarity, it may be the other way around: under pressure from unprecedented challenges such as the Euro and refugee crises, there are strong trends toward renationalization in Europe. The Brexit and the stubborn refusal of a number of populist East European governments to participate in a solidarity-­based solution to the refugee crisis are testimony to this trend.

Toward a Global International Relations Theory? At the outset of the study, I joined the chorus of critical IR scholars inside and outside the Global South who deplore the unabated hegemony of Western scholarship in international relations research, with its universalizing tendencies. I joined this growing camp less out of a motivation to create a more even playing field and to contribute to greater scientific justice than from the concern for scholarly truth. It is more than surprising that the disciplinary mainstream in international relations research still glosses over the fact that many of its theoretical and conceptual propositions fail to capture the hybridities and different temporalities that characterize the social and political reality in many non-­Western regions (Tickner 2003, 305; Anchalee Rüland 2016). However, as tempting as it may be, the solution to this dilemma cannot be the development of non-­Western international relations studies, such as eman-

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cipatory Asian, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, or Indonesian international relations studies. Much energy has been devoted in the last decade to such attempts.Yet Chen has rightfully criticized the essentializing tendencies of such endeavors. Inspired by postcolonial thought, they are a “derivative discourse” of Western modernist social science in which the West remains a major reference point (Chen 2011, 1). Even worse, such Asian schools of international relations have their own hegemonic logic. While they try hard to dissociate themselves from the West, they too tend to develop claims of dominance, thereby replacing the “epistemological Orientalism” of the West with an “epistemological Occidentalism” of the East. Moreover, such a development “runs the risk of inviting nativism—­the mirror image of universalism—­which does not involve a critical self-­reflection and questioning of the a priori assumptions, procedures and values embedded in the modernization and development enterprise” (Chen 2011, 16). While this book did not follow this path, it also did not opt for the more fundamental and radical alternative: searching for non-­Western epistemologies (Vasilaki 2012). While critical scholarship claims to have made some headway in this direction,4 a breakthrough is still elusive. For the purpose of this book, I thus found it more advisable to join those scholars who argue that replacing Western IR altogether would be akin to throwing the baby out with the bath water. What is needed instead is a combination, an amalgamation of Western IR and non-­Western IR to create a truly global IR (Acharya 2014a; Anchalee Rüland 2016). To this end, Western international relations research must increase its “awareness of ‘non-­Western’ ways of thinking,” which is tantamount to searching for “intellectual and historical resources outside the West” (Acharya and Buzan 2007). Such an approach would facilitate different theoretical conclusions and make international relations research more applicable and relevant for regions outside the Western core (ibid.). Eclectic theorizing (Katzenstein and Sil 2008), comparative area studies (Basedau and Köllner 2007; Huotari and Rüland 2014), and interreferencing (Chen 2011) could all also provide avenues toward a broadening of the ideational and empirical basis for international relations theorizing. It is on this approach, which Vasilaki called “pluralism,” that I based my own contribution to a multiplication of the ideational roots of regionalism (Vasilaki 2012). To live up to this intention, I made four deliberate decisions: the first was to combine discipline and area studies; the second to emphasize local ideational agency and remain open to a bottom-­up process of constructing ideas on regionalism; the third, to highlight the role of the history of political ideas; and the fourth, to respect diversity and being alert to difference.

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This book combined discipline and area studies in many ways. It set out from the disciplinary concern for the diffusion and transfer of ideas, norms, and policies to non-­Western regions, which has become one of the most significant fields of research in comparative regionalism in the last decade. I applied the advances made by mainstream Europeanist scholarship, especially in identifying the mechanisms in norm diffusion (Radaelli 2000; Börzel and Risse 2009; 2012; Jetschke and Lenz 2011; Risse 2015; Börzel and van Hüllen 2015), but I also used theoretical and empirical insights gained by area studies in tailoring my own approach so that it can capture the whole panoply of responses local actors mobilize in order to respond to external ideational challenges. This included a combination of deductive and inductive methods with the objective of making my research context sensitive. The inductive method served as a reassurance that ideas and behavioral patterns not covered by the mainstream-­guided theoretical framework would not be overlooked. The discovery of a leadership frame in Indonesia’s more recent foreign policy agenda was one of the noteworthy empirical outcomes of this methodological choice. The book also followed the admonitions of Tickner (2003), Acharya (2004, 2009), and others that a global international relations approach must give a voice to those thus far marginalized in international relations. It must transform subaltern actors from mere objects of international relations studies to subjects. As Acharya persuasively argued, first-­and second-­generation diffusion research grossly neglected the agency of local norm recipients, depicting them as passive receivers of norms originating from the West (Acharya 2004, 2009). To turn the spotlight on local ideational agency (ibid.; Johnston 2012) was precisely one of the major objectives of this book. It concentrated on the discourse of Indonesian stakeholders and their ways of responding to external normative pressure. These discourses showed that local actors did not appropriate European ideas and norms of regionalism to become more similar to the EU. By adopting EU institutional terminology but not the design, norms, and “spirit” of the EU, the opposite was the case: they sought inspiration from Europe precisely to retain core components of their cognitive prior. How deeply this cognitive prior has been internalized is shown in cases in which core concerns of foreign policy stakeholders, that is, territorial integrity and autonomy in the economic sphere, have been seriously imperiled from within and outside ASEAN. Stakeholders who during the ASEAN Charter debate vociferously championed seemingly liberal-­cosmopolitan norms also espoused by the EU have in some cases even reverted to pre-­ASEAN Way patterns of thinking characterized by an essentially anarchical world and the country’s long-­enduring victimization and vulnerability. The study, consciously broad-

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ening the range of actors by including nonstate stakeholders, also identified bottom-­up processes shaping the government’s ASEAN policies. Rizal Sukma’s call for a post-­ASEAN policy exemplified such processes. The actor-­focused analysis also showed that the radar screen of local decision makers for ideas, norms, and policies conducive for constructing a regionalism tailored to perceived local needs is much broader than most of the Europeanization literature anticipated. It suggested that strong local responses to external normative overtures leave their imprint on the behavior of external norm entrepreneurs. The case that was highlighted earlier was the preemptive localization of the EU’s liberal-­cosmopolitan values after having been exposed to the Asian values discourse in the 1990s. Another major element in contributing to a more pluralist global international relations studies approach was the decision to engage more deeply than previous studies with the history of political ideas in unveiling the cognitive prior of Indonesia’s foreign policy stakeholders. It thus adopted Acharya and Buzan’s concern for uncovering the “rich (albeit pre-­theoretical) intellectual and historical resources that can serve as the basis for developing a non-­Western IRT (which takes into account the positions, needs, and cultures of Asian countries) and can be exported to other parts of Asia” and beyond (Acharya and Buzan 2007). With a view to India and China, Narlikar and Narlikar (2014) and Johnston (1995), respectively, have masterfully shown how closely current political thinking is related to age-­old political ideas. In a more recent publication, Johnston also showed how Western IR studies in the field of security neglected the historical memory of actors (Johnston 2012, 69). By relying on a perspective of ideational longue durée, this book grounded Indonesian views on regionalism in local history and political culture, thereby highlighting the polyvalence of seemingly liberal-­cosmopolitan concepts of European origin and their local interpretations. While some may regard the tracing of political ideas as far back as the precolonial period to be essentialism, I contend that such an endeavor is justified by the fact that very often Indonesian actors use modernized ancient political concepts such as the geopolitical thinking in concentric circles—­a thinly veiled reference to the mandala concept of the Arthasastra—­to explain contemporary political issues. In a similar vein, they use historical analogies dating back to a glorious precolonial past in the search for guidance in contemporary political challenges. The belief that all threats emanate in the North is one such example. Finally, the concern for local history and the history of political ideas also heightened the sensitivity to difference and the respect for diversity. It paves the way to “pluralistic universalism,” a key characteristic of a global IR in

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which non-­Western history of ideas and agency have a significant place in working against the homogenization tendencies of Western mainstream IR. By applying the conceptual tools of Acharya’s theory of “constitutive localization,” this study could reveal even subtle ideational differences to the role model of European regional integration. It could thus avoid the pitfalls of some of the mainstream diffusion research that prematurely equated terminological identity with substantial institutional similarity. Sensitivity to difference thus could show that despite frequent references to the EU, Indonesian stakeholders are not following a “global script” of regionalism, but instead continue to prefer an “Indonesian Way.”

Notes

chapter 1 1. “Pernyataan Pers Tahunan Menteri Luar Negeri Republik Indonesia Retno L. P. Marsudi,” Tahun 2016, available at http://kemlu.go.id/id/pidato/menlu/Pages/PPTM%20 2016%20Menlu%20RI.pdf (accessed 16 December 2016). 2. New Straits Times, 8 December 2015. 3. New Straits Times, 1 January 2016. 4. For details, see the project’s website, http://www.polsoz.fu-­berlin.de/en/v/transformeurope/index.html (accessed 31 January 2016). 5. Paradigmatic in this respect is Bates 1997. For a review of the more recent discussion, see Acharya 2014b.

chapter 2 1. On the first two generations, see Acharya 2004. 2. The following paragraphs fine grain the analytical model developed in Rüland (2014a). 3. In the literature this is often referred to as “isomorphism.”

chapter 3 1. The following to sections draw from Rüland 2014b. 2. See also Meidyatama Suryodiningrat in The Jakarta Post, 19 May 2008. 3. Ibid. 4. Suryadinata, drawing from Koentjaraningrat; see Suryadinata 1996, 16. 5.The Jakarta Post, 4 March 2010. 6. See, for instance, former Indonesian defense minister Juwono Sudarsono in The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2010. 7. For references to the mandala concept, see Siswo Pramono, The Jakarta Post, 4 March 2010; Rizal Sukma, The Jakarta Post, 5 October 2009; Hadianto Wirajuda, The Jakarta Post, 11 April

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2010; Sigit Nur Pratama, “Perkembang Politik Luar Negeri Indonesia,” 3 March 2012, available at http://politik.kompasiana.com/2012/03/03/perkembangan-­politik-­luar-­negeri-­indonesia, (accessed 27 March 2012); and Dharmawan Ronodipuri, The Jakarta Post, 3 June 2014. 8. See “Foreign Affairs Bulletin,” Volume VII, Number 1, August–­September 1967, Department of Information & Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Bangkok, Thailand, p. 33. 9.The Jakarta Post, 2 April 2011. 10. “Declaration of ASEAN Concord,” Bali, 24 February 1976, http://asean.org/?static_ post=declaration-­of-­asean-­concord-­indonesia-­24-­february-­1976 (accessed 5 February 2017). 11. For a comprehensive treatment of the noninterference norm, see Jones 2012. 12. Solidum is quoting former Malaysian prime minister Tun Abdul Razak and former Thai foreign minister Thanat Khoman. 13. See former ASEAN secretary general Ong Keng Yong in The Straits Times, 11 June 2008. 14. Indonesian Observer, 24 June 1986. 15. Evidence for the assumption that Southeast Asian elites have attentively taken note of the Single European Act is presented in Dosch 1997, 209. 16. Asiaweek, 1 August 1997. 17.The Jakarta Post, 1 December 2007, p.12. 18. Quoted in Ba 2009, 212. 19. See “Declaration of ASEAN Concord II” (Bali Concord II), available at http:// asean.org/?static_post=declaration-­of-­asean-­concord-­ii-­bali-­concord-­ii (accessed 5 February 2017). 20. See “Cebu Declaration on the Acceleration of the Establishment of an ASEAN Community by 2015,” available at http://asean.org/cebu-­declaration-­on-­the-­acceleration-­ of-­the-­establishment-­of-­an-­asean-­community-­by-­2015 (accessed 5 February 2017). 21. Asiaweek, 1 September 2000, quoted in Ba 2009, 212. 22. Kompas, 8 August 2008, p. 6. 23. Far Eastern Economic Review, 23 October 2003, p. 17. 24. A similar statement was made by a high-­ranking diplomat of an ASEAN country at a workshop organized by the Freiburg Southeast Asian Studies program in Berlin on 27 January 2012. 25. See, inter alia, Singaporean ambassador-­at-­large Tommy Koh in The Straits Times, 10 July 1998; European Parliament member Hartmut Nassauer, quoted in The Straits Times, 23 November 2005; Klaus A. Holm in The Straits Times, 20 January 2006; Anthony Rowley in The Business Times Singapore, 7 February 2008; Jorgen Orstrom Möller, quoted in The Straits Times, 11 June 2008; Nation, 18 June 2008; and David Camroux in The Nation, 5 January 2010. 26.The Far Eastern Economic Review, 23 October 2003, p. 16. 27. See, for instance, Kompas, 7 June 2007, and Philippine Daily Inquirer, 29 July 2007. 28. The Jakarta Post, 12 December 2005 and 28 November 2006. 29. Especially Ali Alatas; see Merdeka, 3 December 2006. 30. Tommy Koh; Walter Woon; Andrew Tan; and Chan Sze-­Wei, “The ASEAN Charter,” PacNet 33A, PacNet Newsletter, available at [email protected] (accessed 5 November 2011). 31. Earlier, the EU had also accorded legal personality to the Union in the Constitutional Treaty, agreed by member states in 2004 (Bretherton and Vogler 2006, 14). 32. “Report of the Eminent Persons Group 2006,” p. 4; available at http://www.asean. org/storage/images/archive/19247.pdf (accessed 5 February 2017). 33. Kompas, 9 April 2006; The Jakarta Post, 18 April 2006.

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34. “FVR Urges Ultimate ASEAN Political Union,” available at http://positivenewsmedia.ca/am2/publish/Article_Features_22/FVR_urges_ultimate_ASEAN_political_ union_5009.shtml (accessed 24 August 2010), and Manila Bulletin, 31 July 2006. 35. See Jakarta Globe, 15 December 2008. 36. ASEAN Charter, Articles 3 and 11. 37. See PacNet #12—­“Strategic Views on Asian Regionalism: Survey Results and Analysis,” PacNet Newsletter, 17 February 2009, available at [email protected] (accessed 20 March 2014). 38. The Nation, 28 January 2009.

chapter 4 1. The Jakarta Post, 12 October 2009. 2. The Jakarta Post, 14 November 2001. 3. Author interview, 10 September 2014. 4. Marty Natalegawa in The Jakarta Post, 27 January 2010. 5. The Jakarta Post, 13 June 2010. 6. President Yudhoyono, as quoted by The Jakarta Post, 20 August 2005. 7. “Direction of Indonesian Foreign Policy,” 6 September 2009, available at http://www. deplu.go.id/Pages/Polugri.aspx?IDP=21&l=en (accessed 13 September 2010). 8.The Jakarta Post, 11 December 2008. 9. In 2007, the ASEAN Community Blueprint adopted by ASEAN leaders at the thirteenth Summit in Singapore moved completion of the ASEAN Community including the AEC to 2015; available at http://asean.org/wp-­content/uploads/archive/5187–­10.pdf (accessed 15 March 2013). 10. Far Eastern Economic Review, 10 June 2004, p. 20. 11. Far Eastern Economic Review, 6 May 2004, p. 19. 12. Far Eastern Economic Review, 10 June 2004, p. 20. 13.Yayan G. H. Mulyana in The Jakarta Post, 6 July 2004. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid. 16. The Foreign Ministry’s director of Human Rights, Humanitarian and Socio-­Cultural Affairs, I Gusti Wesaka Pudja, in The Jakarta Post, 28 June 2004. For similar statements, see Marty Natalegawa in The Jakarta Post, 19 June 2004. 17. See The Jakarta Post, 15 June 2007. 18. Ibid. 19. The Jakarta Post, 15 January 2011. 20. ASEAN Updates, 6 January 2011, Press Release, “Indonesia Assumes Chairmanship, Promotes People-­Centred ASEAN, ASEAN Secretariat,” available at http://www. asean.org/news/asean-­secretariat-­news/item/indonesia-­assumes-­chairmanship-­promotes-­ people-­centred-­asean (accessed 8 January 2011). 21. The Jakarta Post, 13 January 2011. 22. Republika, 8 February 2011. 23. The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2011. 24. UNGA, A/59/PV.11, p. 12; UNGA, 61/PV.18, p. 18; UNGA A/64/PV.13, p. 14. 25. The Jakarta Post, 11 December 2008. 26. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 27. Foreign Minister Natalegawa in The Jakarta Post, 7 May 2010 and 5 July 2010.

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28. See The Jakarta Post, 2 February 2009. 29. See, for instance, Umar Hadi, director of public diplomacy in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in The Jakarta Post, 14 November 2008. 30. UNGA, A/65/PV.22, p. 11. 31. Kompas, 8 August 2008, p. 6. 32. “ASEAN Charter Hurdles Cleared Over Human Rights Commission,” available at http://www.siiaonline.org/home?wid=171&func=viewSubmission&sid=1334 (accessed 7 August 2007). 33. Ibid. 34. The Jakarta Post, 11 July 2009. 35. Ibid. 36. The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2009. 37. Ibid. 38. Kompas, 1 August 2009, p. 10. 39. The Jakarta Post, 27 January 2010. 40. The Jakarta Post, 9 August 2009. 41. ASEAN Charter, Article 50. 42. See Foreign Minister Hassan Wirajuda, quoted in The Jakarta Post, 1 August 2009, and Kompas, 1 August 2009. 43. The Jakarta Post, 9 August 2009; similarly, see Marty Natalegawa in The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 44. Kompas, 5 March 2008. 45. Kompas, 1 August 2009, p. 10. 46. Ibid. 47. Jakarta Globe, 7 January 2011. 48. Ibid. 49. Kompas, 8 August 2007. 50. Kompas, 20 August 2006. 51. Tabloid Diplomacy, 23 August 2009. 52. The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2011. 53. The Jakarta Post, 5 July 2010. Similarly, see then-­Foreign Ministry’s director general of ASEAN Cooperation, Djauhari Oratmangun, in The Jakarta Post, 8 November 2011. 54. Opening Speech of President Yudhoyono at the second Bali Democracy Forum, available at http://balidemocracyforum.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=ar ticle&id=167:opening-­speech-­by-­he-­dr-­susilo-­bambang-­yudhoyono-­president-­of-­the-­ republic-­of-­indonesia&catid=42: article&Itemid=123 (accessed 14 August 2010). 55. “Lee Kuan Yew on Filipinos and the Philippines,” 10 January 2011, available at http:// globalbalita.com/2011/01/10/lee-­kuan-­yew-­on-­filipinos-­and-­the-­philippines (accessed 27 April 2014). 56. “Annual Press Statement of the Foreign Minister of the Republic of Indonesia Dr. R. M. Marty M. Natalegawa,” Jakarta, 7 January 2011, available at http://indonesia.go/ speech-­of-­the-­minister-­of-­foreign-­affairsannual-­press-­statement-­of-­the-­foreign-­minister-­ of-­the-­republic-­of-­indonesia-­dr-­r-­m-­marty-­m-­natalegawa (accessed 17 April 2016). See also I Gede Ngurah Swajaya in The Jakarta Post, 14 January 2011. 57. See Alatas’s interview with The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2007. 58. For a similarly view, see then-­trade minister Pangestu in The Jakarta Post, 5 November 2007. 59. Alatas in The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2007.

notes

237

60. See, for instance, former defense minister Juwono Sudarsono in The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2010, and “Annual Press Statement of the Foreign Minister.” 61. The Jakarta Post, 31 December 2009. 62. See the opening statement of President Yudhoyono at the inaugural session of the Bali Democracy Forum, 10 December 2008, available at http://balidemocracyforum.org/ index.php?option= com_content&view=article&id=98:opening-­statement-­by-­he-­dr-­ susilo-­bambang-­yudhoyono-­president-­of-­the-­republic-­of-­indonesia-­at-­the-­inaugural-­ session-­of-­the-­bali-­democracy-­forum &catid=40:article&Itemid=137 (accessed 14 August 2010).. 63. Foreign Minister Natalegawa, quoted in The Jakarta Post, 29 December 2010. 64. Diplomat Pribadi Sutiono in The Jakarta Post, 11 December 2008. 65. See Marty Natalegawa in The Jakarta Post, 26 January 2010, and President Yudhoyono, opening statement at the inaugural session of the Bali Democracy Forum, 10 December 2008. 66. The Jakarta Post, 14 November 2008. 67. “Direction of Indonesian Foreign Policy.” 68. Ibid. 69. See diplomat Hazairin Pohan, “Indonesia’s Role in ASEAN,” available at http://aseanblogger.com/?p=8 (accessed 27 March 2012). 70. Hadianto Wirajuda and Diaz Hendropriyono in The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2009. 71. Kompas, 15 August 2009, p. 10. 72. See Vice President Jusuf Kalla in Tempo Interaktif, 23 August 2008, and diplomat Pribadi Sutiono in The Jakarta Post, 11 December 2008. 73. See “Direction of Indonesian Foreign Policy.” 74. Kompas, 18 December 2006, p. 46. 75. The Jakarta Post, 26 January 2010. 76. The Jakarta Post, 5 January 2011. 77. Foreign Minister Natalegawa, The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 78. See President Yudhoyono’s opening statement at the second Bali Democracy Forum, available at http://balidemocracyforum.org/index.php?option=com_content&view =article&id=167:opening-­speech-­by-­he-­dr-­susilo-­bambang-­yudhoyono-­president-­of-­the-­ republic-­of-­indonesia&catid=42: article&Itemid=123 (accessed 14 August 2010). See also the BDF website, “Democracy and Development; Development of Democracy: Priority Areas for Sharing of Experience and Best Practices,” available at http://bdf.kemlu.go.id/ index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=462%3Abdf-­i-­summary&catid=39%3 Abulletin&lang=en (accessed 16 August 2013). 79. Opening statement of President Yudhoyono at the inaugural session of the Bali Democracy Forum, 10 December 2008. 80. See “Why Do We Need to Have Bali Democracy Forum?” available at http://bdf. kemlu.go.id/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=446&Itemid=374&lang =en,). https://bdf.kemlu.go.id/about/why-­bdf (accessed 16 August 2013). 81. For other ASEAN countries, see Koh, Manalo, and Woon 2009a. 82. For examples, see President Yudhoyono quoted in Kompas, 23 November 2007 and 13 August 2009; former foreign minister Wirajuda, The Jakarta Post, 13 January 2007 and 14 July 2007; HLTF delegate Djani (2009, 140); and former foreign minister and delegate to the EPG Ali Alatas, Kompas, 25 April 2006. 83. According to Murphy, 72 percent in 2010. 84. For examples, see the reader forum, The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009.

238

notes

85. See, for instance, Kompas, 8 August 2007, and The Jakarta Post, 11 August 2010 and 16 January 2011. 86. The Jakarta Post, 8 November 2011. 87. See also “Eminent Persons Group on the ASEAN Charter,” available at http://www. asean.org/asean/asean-­charter/eminent-­persons-­g roup-­epg-­on-­the-­asean-­charter-2­ 006 (accessed 31 October 2013). 88. See The Jakarta Post, 8 October 2010. 89. The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2011. 90. A typical example is a Jakarta Post article in which the author, M. Sauri Hasibuan, demanded that with regard to the ASEAN Economic Community, “The people must be brought into the equation in terms of mobilizing them to support the arrangement.” See The Jakarta Post, 10 November 2003. 91. For ASEAN as a whole, see Thompson and Thianthai 2008. 92. Author interview, 26 March 2010. 93. Diplomat Yayan G. H. Mulyana in The Jakarta Post, 1 November 2010. 94. The Jakarta Post, 6 July 2004. 95. “ASEAN Defense Establishments and Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) Cooperation on Non-­Traditional Security,” Concept Paper, available at http://www.aseansec. org/18471-­f.pd (accessed 6 December 2010). 96. The following paragraphs draw from Rüland 2014b. 97. Barry Desker, “Is Indonesia Outgrowing ASEAN?” in PacNet #46, Wednesday,  8 October 2010. 98. Evi Fitriani in Kompas, 27 October 2009. 99. His article appeared in The Jakarta Post, 17 July 2009. 100. The Jakarta Post, 9 August 2009. 101. The Jakarta Post, 11 February 2011 and 9 May 2011. 102. The Jakarta Post, 31 March 2010, 31 October 2010, and 4 June 2014. 103. The Jakarta Post, 22 December 2008. 104. The Jakarta Post, 6 January 2011 and 31 October 2010. 105. Quoted in The Jakarta Post, 27 October 2010. 106. Author interview, 16 April 2010. 107. Author interview, 18 March 2009. 108. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 109. Information available at http://www.fordham.edu/economics/mcleod/Indonesia_ CaseStudyPart_1.pdf (accessed 20 March 2014). 110. Guspiabri Sumowigeno, “Mempersoalkan Politik Luar Negeri Presiden SBY Mempersoalkan Politik Luar Negeri Presiden SBY,” available at http://17–­08–­1945.blogspot. com/2010/08/koran-­digital-­guspiabri-­sumowigeno.html (accessed 3 March 2011). 111. For abundant examples, see, inter alia, Ben Perkasa Drajat, Kompas, 5 March 2008; Yayan G. H. Mulyana in The Jakarta Post, 6 July 2004; President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono at the Bali Democracy Forum, December 2008, available at http://balidemocracyforum.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=167:opening-­speech-­ by-­he-­dr-­susilo-­bambang-­yudhoyono-­president-­of-­the-­republic-­of-­indonesia&catid=42: article&Itemid=123 (accessed 14 August 2010); and Foreign Minister Marty M. Natalegawa at the Annual Press Statement of the Foreign Minister, 7 January 2011, available at http:// www.deplu.go.id/ Pages/ SpeechTranscriptionDisplay.aspx?Name1=Pidato&Name2=Men teri&IDP=698&l=en (accessed 17 January 2011). 112. Diplomat Siswo Pramono in The Jakarta Post, 4 March 2010.

notes

239

113. Tempo Interaktif, 2 August 2005. 114. The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2011. 115. The Jakarta Post, 7 January 2011. 116. The Jakarta Post, 23 June 2010. 117. The Jakarta Post, 2 January 2007. 118. Bantarto Bandoro in The Jakarta Post, 2 January 2007. 119. Ibid. 120. Friedrich-­Ebert-­Stiftung (FES) and the Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), in Singapore on 31 July–­1 August 2007, available at http://library.fes.de/pdf-­files/ bueros/singapur/04601/2007–­3/chris.pdf (accessed 14 August 2010); and Roberts 2007. 121. The Jakarta Post, 14 July 2007. 122. The following paragraphs draw from Rüland 2014b. 123. The Jakarta Post, 19 August 2008. 124. The Jakarta Post, 10 September 2007. 125.Tempo Interaktif, 29 October 2004. 126. “Indonesia’s Diplomacy at Work,” available at http://www.siiaonline.org/home?wid =171&func=viewSubmission&sid=1356 (accessed 17 August 2007). 127. Tempo Interaktif, 21 December 2004; see also the remarks of former army deputy chief of staff Kiki Synahkrie, who commented on the Aceh mission, “No one’s monitoring them. They can monitor and decide and cannot be vetoed, but who can ensure their independence? Who can ensure that what happened in Timor Leste wouldn’t recur?” The Jakarta Post, 20 August 2005. 128.The Jakarta Post, 13 December 2006. 129.The Jakarta Post, 14 July 2007. 130.The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2007. 131. See also Jones 2008, 737. 132. Media Indonesia, 1 March 2009; Tempo Interaktif, 25 October 2009. 133.The Jakarta Post, 1 August 2009. 134. Ibid., and 14 August 2009. 135. The Jakarta Post, 16 March 2007; similarly, diplomat Yayan G. H. Mulyana in The Jakarta Post, 6 July 2004. 136. The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2007. 137. The Jakarta Post, 20 August 2005.

chapter 5 1. By 2007 more than a hundred civil society organizations had joined SAPA. “SAPA Working Group on ASEAN’s Analysis of the ASEAN Charter,” 18 November 2007, available at http://www.alternative-­regionalisms.org/?p=1681 (accessed 26 April 2010). 2. As stated by the SAPA Working Group on ASEAN, a position widely shared by Indonesian NGO activists. See “SAPA Working Group on ASEAN’s Analysis of the ASEAN Charter.” 3. On accountability, see Budiono Kusumohamidjojo, Indonesian Working Group for Human Security, in The Jakarta Post, 7 July 2006. 4. See “SAPA Submission on the Economic Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group on the ASEAN Charter,” Singapore, 28 June 2006, available at http://www.alternative-­ regionalisms.org/?p=931 (accessed 5 August 2010). 5. Declaration, “Building People’s Sovereignty in South East Asia Region: Refuse and

240

notes

Oppose the Domination of Global Capitalism,” Denpasar, Bali, 16–­18 November 2011, available at [email protected]/ [email protected] (accessed 27 February 2012). 6. SAPA letter to the EPG on the ASEAN Charter reiterating the key points of its submissions, 24 November 2006. 7. The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2006. 8. See also The Nation, 29 March 2007 and 9 April 2007. 9. ACSC3 Singapore Declaration, Third ASEAN+ Civil Society Conference (ACSC-­ III), 2–­4 November 2007, Singapore, Singapore Declaration (Final Version), available at http://asiadhrra.org/wordpress/2007/11/08/acsc3-­singapore-­declaration (accessed 26 July 2010). 10. Chandra and Djamin in The Jakarta Post, 19 November 2007. 11. Usman Hamid in The Jakarta Post, 15 March 2008, p. 7. 12. Author interview, 26 March 2010. 13. Author interview, 26 March 2010. 14. Author interview, 26 March 2010. 15. Author interview, 26 March 2010. 16. See “SAPA Working Group on ASEAN’s Analysis of the ASEAN Charter.” 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. See ASEAN People’s Forum, ASEAN Civil Society Conference, “Untangling the Mess at the 15th ASEAN Summit in Thailand, 31 October 2009, Open Letter of Civil Society to ASEAN Leaders,” available at http://aseanpeoplesforum.net/component/content/ article/48-­statements-­a-­declarations/144-­untangling-­the-­mess-­at-­the-­15th-­asean-­summit-­ in-­thailand-­open-­letter-­of-­civil-­society-­to-­asean-­leaders.html (accessed 5 August 2010); and Tempo Interaktif, 26 October 2009. 20. Email information [email protected], 5 November 2010; and author interview, 26 March 2010. 21. ASEAN People’s Forum, “Untangling the Mess,” 31 October 2009; and Tempo Interaktif, 26 October 2009. 22. Ibid.; and Tempo Interaktif, 25 October 2009. 23. “Interfaces 2005–­2014: Civil Society and ASEAN Heads of State,” available at http:// aseanpeople.org/wp-­content/uploads/2014/05/Various-­ACSC-­APF-­INTERFACES-­ from-­2005-­to-­the-­present-­by-­Consuelo-­Katrina-­A-­Lopa.pdf (accessed 17 April 2016). 24. “Advancing a People’s ASEAN: A Continuing Dialogue: Statement of the 2nd ASEAN People’s Forum (APF)/5th ASEAN Civil Society Conference (ACSC), 22 October 2009,” available at http://aseanpeoplesforum.net/media/apf2009-­news/119-­advancing-­ a-­peoples-­asean-­continuing-­dialogue-­statement-­of-­the2md-­asean-­peoples-­forum-­apf5th-­ asean-­civil-­society-­conference—­acsc.html (accessed 5 August 2010). 25. Bangkok Post, 13 March 2012. 26. The Jakarta Post, 5 December 2000. 27. SAPA Working Group on ASEAN, “Submission on the Socio-­Cultural Pillar and Institutional Mechanisms to the Eminent Persons Group on the ASEAN Charter,” 10 November 2006, Quezon City, Philippines. 28. See Nation, 1 March 2009. 29. “People’s Participation in ASEAN: A Civil Society Perspective, A Position Paper,” 3 July 2012, information obtained from [email protected], 11 July 2012. 30. The Jakarta Post, 21 March 2007. 31. See “Advancing a People’s ASEAN.”

notes

241

32. Information received by [email protected] on behalf of jdimaandal@ seaca.net. 33. Ibid. 34. See “Register of Accredited Civil Society Organizations (CSOs),” available at http:// www.asean.org/wp-­content/uploads/images/2015/May/list_of_Entities_Associated_with_ ASEAN/Accredited%20Civil%20Society%20Organisations%20%20as%20of%2011%20 May%202015.pdf (accessed 18 April 2016). 35. The November 2012 guidelines are available at http://www.asean.org/wp-­content/ uploads/images/pdf/2014_upload/ANNEX%20B%20-­%20Guidelines%20on%20Accreditation%20of%20CSOs%202012.pdf (accessed 25 September 2013). 36. This conclusion can be derived from a SAPA letter directed to the Committee of Permanent Representatives in which SAPA requests “a copy of the ASEAN’s latest revised Guidelines for Civil Society Accreditation, or any working draft thereof, for our information and future action.” From among the fifty-­seven signatories of the letter, sixteen were Indonesian NGOs, available at http://www.focusweb.org/sites/www.focusweb.org/files/SAPA%20Letter%20to%20%CPR%20-­%20June%2015.doc.pdf (accessed 28 February 2012). 37. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 14 December 2004. 38. SAPA Working Group on ASEAN’s Analysis of the ASEAN Charter. 39. Chandra and Djamin in The Jakarta Post, 19 November 2007. 40. Author interview, 26 March 2010. See also The Jakarta Post, 6 October 2007. 41. See “Security Council Fails to Adopt Draft Resolution on Myanmar, Owing to Negative Votes by China, Russian Federation,” available at http://www.un.org/News/ Press/docs/2007/sc8939.doc.htm (accessed 14 March 2014). 42. Usman Hamid in The Jakarta Post, 15 March 2008. 43. See ASEAN Charter, Article 2, Principles. 44. “Joint Statement of the 2nd ASEAN Civil Society Conference/ASEAN People’s Forum (ACSC/APF) 2010,” Phnom Penh, 16 November 2012, p. 1. 45. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 20 December 2004. 46. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 14 December 2004; and, similarly, in The Jakarta Post, 21 October 2005. 47. “Statement of the 2011 ASEAN Civil Society Conference/ASEAN Peoples’ Forum,” available at http://www.aseancivilsociety.net/en/acscapf-­2011/acscapf-­2011-­statement/ item/107-­statement-­of-­the-­2011-­acsc-­/-­apf (accessed 27 March 2012); Kompas, 23 November 2007. 48. “SAPA Submission on the Economic Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group.” 49. The Jakarta Post, 9 October 2003. 50. The Jakarta Post, 20 April 2015. 51. Wahyu Susilo in The Jakarta Post, 9 October 2003; Tempo Interaktif, 1 March 2007; Kompas, 23 November 2007. 52. See “SAPA Submission on the Economic Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group”; SAPA Working Group on ASEAN’s Analysis of the ASEAN Charter. Repeated in “Advancing a People’s ASEAN: Continuing Dialogue: Statement of the Second ASEAN Peoples’ Forum (APF)/5th ASEAN Civil Society Conference (ACSC), Chaam, Thailand, 18–­20 October 2009,” available at http://www.alternative-­regionalismus.org/?p=2435 (accessed 24 February 2010). 53. Tempo Interaktif, 23 October 2009. 54. For Walhi spokesman Rully Syumanda the ASEAN Transboundary Haze Pollution

242

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Agreement entails a “tendency to inflict loss on Indonesia because it fails to cover environmental issues as a whole.” See Antara, 20 March 2007. 55. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 10 May 2006. 56. For a complete list of nonconventional security issues, see Annex I, “SAPA Submission on the Security and Political Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group on the ASEAN Charter,” Ubud, Bali, 17 April 2006, available at http://focusweb.org/node/866 (accessed 27 April 2016). 57. “SAPA Submission on the Economic Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group.” . 58. “SAPA Submission on the Security and Political Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group.” 59. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 14 December 2004. 60. Ibid. 61. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 23 March 2005. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64. “SAPA Submission on the Economic Pillar to the Eminent Persons Group.” 65. Ibid. 66. Author interviews, 18 September 2015 and 3 March 2016. 67. See also “ASEAN Peoples’ Charter Process Launched,” 7 November 2007, available at http://www.seaca.net/viewArticle.php?aID=1020 (accessed 26 July 2010); The Jakarta Post, 19 November 2007; and Bangkok Post, 20 November 2007. 68. Author interview, 21 March 2012 and 9 March 2016. 69. The Jakarta Post, 20 November 2007. 70. The Jakarta Post, 1 December 2009. 71. Tempo Interaktif, 26 July 1996. 72. For examples, see Al Araf of Imparsial, The Jakarta Post, 5 January 2011, and Atnike Nova Sigiro of Forum-­Asia, The Jakarta Globe, 7 January 2011. 73. Salamuddin Daeng, “Gotong Royong Dalam Tekanan Rezim Global,” Institute for Global Justice, 3 June 2010, available at http://www.globaljust.org (accessed 30 November 2010). 74. Author interviews, 26 March 2010; Chandra 2009, 9. 75. “Deklarasi Rakyat Membangun Regionalisme Yang Berdaulat Bongkar dan Lawan Dominasi Kapitalisme Global,” 18 November 2011, ditulis oleh WALHI, available at http:// walhi.or.id/ruang-­media/siaran-­pers/1675-­deklarasi-­rakyat-­membangun-­regionalisme-­ yang-­berdaulat-­bongkar-­dan-­lawan-­dominasi-­kapitalisme-­global.html (accessed 27 February 2012). 76. Ibid. 77. See Daeng, “Gotong Royong Dalam Tekanan Rezim Global.” 78. Ibid. 79. See “ASEAN Charter Ratification Is Being Reviewed,” 6 May 2011, available at http://en.hukumonline.com/pages/lt4dc3bddebafd0/asean-­charter-­ratification-­is-­being-­ reviewed (accessed 5 November 2011). 80. Media Indonesia, 5 May 2011; Berita Sore, 6 March 2013. 81. Tempo Interaktif, 13 July 2009. 82. “Deklarasi Rakyat Membangun Regionalisme Yang Berdaulat Bongkar dan Lawan Dominasi Kapitalisme Global.” 83. Al Araf in The Jakarta Post, 5 January 2011. 84. Djamin and Chandra comments in The Jakarta Post, 19 November 2007.

notes

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85. Haris Azhar in The Jakarta Post, 24 October 2009. 86. Ibid. 87. The Jakarta Post, 15 March 2008, p. 7. 88. See “SAPA Working Group on ASEAN’s Analysis of the ASEAN Charter.” 89. Ibid. 90. Chandra in The Jakarta Post, 10 August 2005 and 10 May 2006. 91. Author interview, 26 March 2010. 92. For examples, see Tjhin and Legowo 2005, 21, and The Jakarta Post, 20 July 2008, 1 July 2009, and 27 August 2012.

chapter 6 1. The following paragraphs draw from Rüland 2009. 2. For evidence that this is more than mere routine and the DPR does indeed reject or delay appointments, see The Jakarta Post, 8 March 2008 and 26 August 2011. 3. See International Herald Tribune, 17 July 2008; see also The Jakarta Post, 8 March 2008. In addition, see Anwar 2010b, 128. 4.The Jakarta Post, 23 November 2007. 5. Susilo quoted in Jones 2009, 399. 6. Susilo quoted in The Jakarta Post, 9 August 2007. 7. Author interview, 5 April 2010. 8. Author interview, 8 March 2016. 9. Author interview, 8 March 2016. 10. Author interview, 8 March 2016. 11. See “Report of the Eminent Persons Group on the ASEAN Charter,” available at http://www.asean.org/storage/images/archive/19247.pdf (accessed 5 February 2017). 12. See ASEAN Charter, available at http://www.asean.org/wp-­ c ontent/ uploads/2012/05/11-­O ctober-­2 015-­T he-­A SEAN-­C harter-­18th-­R eprint-­A mended-­ updated-­on-­05_-­April-­2016-­IJP.pdf (accessed 5 February 2017). 13. Dialogue session between the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Assembly (AIPA) and the High Level Task Force on the Drafting of the ASEAN Charter in Penang, Malaysia, on 17 May 2007, available at http://www.aipo.org/Activities.htm (accessed 4 April 2008). 14. Ibid. 15. AIPA News Bulletin, Fourth Quarterly, July-­September 2007, available at http:// www.aipo.org/AIPA_NB/4thBullThe28AIPA.htm (accessed 4 April 2008). 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Kompas, 10 September 2008, p. 8; The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008 and 18 March 2008; Antara, 9 February 2008. 20. See also “DPR Persoalkan Penandatanganan ASEAN Charter Jakarta,” available at http://berita.ohapa.com/70/89/41/dpr-­persoalkan-­penandatanganan-­asean-­charter.htm (accessed 13 March 2015). 21.The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008, p. 3. 22. Author interview, 8 March 2016. 23. Author interview, 8 March 2016; The Jakarta Post, 18 March 2008; Antara, n.d. “Piagam ASEAN Dinilai Tak Rugikan Indonesia,” available at http://www.antaranews.com/ print/83776/piagam-­asean-­dinilai-­tak-­rugikan-­indonesia (accessed 5 September 2015).

244

notes

24. Kompas, 18 July 2006, p. 6. 25.The Jakarta Post, 15 June 2007. 26. For a legislator’s critique of the executive dominance in Indonesia’s foreign policymaking, see Djoko Susilo, quoted in Jones 2009, 399. 27. Kompas, 23 November 2007, p. 10. 28.The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008. 29.The Jakarta Post, 18 March 2008, p. 2. 30.The Jakarta Post, 6 February 2008; see also Sukma 2010, 65. 31.The Jakarta Post, 18 March 2008, p. 2. 32. Jawa Pos, 1 September 2008. 33. Ibid. 34.The Jakarta Post, 8 January 2007; Kompas, 15 June 2007, p. 8. 35.Tempo, 22 September 2008. 36. Detik News, 8 October 2008. 37. Republika, 22 October 2008. 38. Merdeka, 16 November 2008. 39.The Jakarta Post, 2 December 2008; see also Law No. 38/2008. 40.The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008, p. 3. 41. See, for instance, Golkar lawmaker Haryanto Y. Tohari, The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008, and, even more straightforward, Abdillah Toha, PAN, The Jakarta Post, 10 September 2008. 42. Antara, 9 February 2008. 43.The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008, p. 3. 44.The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 45. Suara Karya, 23 November 2007. 46. The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008 and 6 February 2008. See also Tempo Interaktif, 6 June 2008. 47.The Jakarta Post, 3 January 2008. 48.The Jakarta Post, 29 July 2008. 49. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 50.The Jakarta Post, 5 February 2008. 51. Ibid.; Kompas, 5 February 2008, p. 11. 52. Antara, 1 October 2008. 53. Ibid. 54.The Jakarta Post, 22 January 2008, p. 1. 55.The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008, p. 3. 56.The Nation, 1 March 2009. 57.The Jakarta Post, 15 November 2010. 58.The Jakarta Post, 14 August 2009. 59. Ibid. 60. See, for instance, the home page of the ASEAN Inter-­Parliamentary Myanmar Caucus (AIPMC), available at www.asean.mp.org (accessed 13 December 2013). 61. See AIPMC, http://www.aseanmp.org/?p=2837. 62. Eva Kusuma Sundari, “Where Is the ASEAN Community?” 3 September 2013, available at http://www.aseanmp.org/?p=2931 (accessed 13 December 2013). 63. As stated by Markus Silano of the Partai Demokrat; see The Jakarta Post, 5 February 2008. 64.The Jakarta Post, 3 January 2008, p. 21.

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245

65. Mutammimul Ula (PKS) in Republika, 19 February 2008; and Hariyanto Y. Tohari (Golkar) in The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008. 66. Kompas, 19 February 2008. 67.The Jakarta Post, 18 January 2008, p. 3. 68.The Jakarta Post, 10 September 2008. 69. Kompas, 5 February 2008, p. 11. 70.The Jakarta Post, 5 February 2008. 71.The Jakarta Post, 25 July 2008. 72. Tabloid Diplomacy, 22 August 2009, available at http://tabloiddiplomasi.com/index. php/previous-­isuue/43-­desember-­2008/246-­r i-­mendorong-­prinsip-­demokrasi-­dan-­ham-­ dalam-­piagam-­asean.html (accessed 17 February 2010). 73. Author interview, 7 September 2014. 74.The Jakarta Post, 25 July 2008. 75. Ibid. 76. Detik News, 8 October 2010. 77.The Jakarta Post, 29 July 2008; Antara, 21 November 2007. 78. For example, PAN legislator Djoko Susilo, in Jones 2009, 399. 79. In 2010, 72 percent of Indonesians exhibited positive attitudes regarding democracy. See Murphy 2012, 94. 80.The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 81. The Jakarta Post, 14 March 2008; and Rüland 2009, 383. 82. Author interview, 7 September 2014. 83. More recently, see Tantowi Yahya in The Jakarta Post, 18 June 2015. 84. See The Jakarta Post, 29 June 2005. 85.The Jakarta Post, 20 August 2005. 86. See http://www.abc.net.au/am/content/2006/s1600085.htm (accessed 20 May 2011).

chapter 7 1. The Jakarta Post, 15 September 2011. 2. For respective analyses and documentation, see, inter alia, Kerr 1994; Stone 2000; Kraft 2000; Simon 2002; and Morrison 2006. 3. Wanandi interview with Tempo Interaktif, 26 July 1996. 4. The Jakarta Post, 15 September 2011. 5. See Bantarto Bandoro in Merdeka, 6 December 2006. 6. ASEAN Bulletin, “ASEAN Eminent Persons Canvass Civil Society for Ideas on the ASEAN Charter,” Bali, Indonesia, 17 April 2006, available at http://www.asean.org/18372. htm#Article-­2 (accessed 10 March 2012). 7. The Jakarta Post, 15 June 2007. 8. Ibid. 9. The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008 and 22 July 2008. 10. The Jakarta Post, 22 July 2008. 11. Kompas, 29 February 2008, p. 58, 18 July 2008, 9 September 2008, p. 6; and The Jakarta Post, 8 January 2008. 12. Kompas, 11 February 2009. 13. See Wanandi in The Jakarta Post, 18 April 2006, and Kompas, 9 April 2006. 14. For types of transnational parliamentary assemblies (TPAs), see Kraft-­Kasack 2008.

246

notes

15. See Kompas, 29 February 2008, p. 58. 16. Ibid. 17. The Jakarta Post, 22 July 2008. Critical also was Makmur Keliat (Universitas Indonesia) in Kompas, 29 February 2008. 18. A point made by Hadianto Wirajuda and Diaz Hendropriyono in The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2009. 19. The Jakarta Post, 22 July 2008. 20. Ibid. 21. The Jakarta Post, 14 December 2005. 22. The Jakarta Post, 19 March 2009. 23. The Jakarta Post, 15 July 2008. 24. Aleksius Jemadu in The Jakarta Post, 11 December 2008. 25. See, inter alia, The Jakarta Post, 1 October 2007 and 4 March 2008. 26. The Jakarta Post, 15 June 2007. 27. The Jakarta Post, 24 November 2008. 28. The Jakarta Post, 19 March 2009. 29. Author interview, 18 March 2010. 30. The Jakarta Post, 9 April 2010. 31. Ibid. 32. Jakarta Globe, 18 June 2010. 33. The Jakarta Post, 1 December 2008. 34. The Jakarta Post, 12 January 2009. 35. The Jakarta Post, 6 January 2011. 36. The Jakarta Post, 10 March 2009. 37. See, for instance, Kasali in Kompas, 12 April 2010. 38. The Jakarta Post, 7 July 2007. 39. Media Indonesia, 21 July 2011. 40. The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007; and Kompas, 25 July 2008. For similar concerns, see also Universitas Indonesia scholar Evi Fitriani in Kompas, 27 October 2007. 41. Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008. 42. The Jakarta Post, 22 December 2009. 43. East Asia Forum, “The ASEAN Charter and Remodeling Regional Architecture,” 9 November 2008, available at http://www.eastasiaforum.org/2008/11/09/the-­asean-­ charter-­and-­remodeling-­regional-­architecture (accessed 5 May 2010). 44. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 45. Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 46. The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008. 47. Wanandi raised many of these points almost verbatim in a contribution to The Jakarta Post one day after ASEAN-­ISIS had met the EPG. See The Jakarta Post, 18 April 2006. 48. The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008. Similarly, see Faustinus Andrea (CSIS), Kompas, 21 October 2008. 49. Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 15 May 2008. 50. The Jakarta Post, 21 October 2008. 51. The Jakarta Post, 22 July 2008. 52. The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008. 53. Kompas, 25 July 2008, p. 6. 54. The Jakarta Post, 20 December 2010. 55. Ibid.

notes

247

56. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 57. The Jakarta Post, 27 January 2010; see also Soesastro and Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 5 November 2007 and 20 December 2010; similarly, Makmur Keliat, quoted by The Jakarta Post, 5 January 2011. 58. The Jakarta Post, 27 January 2010. 59. Ibid. 60. Kompas, 27 October 2009. 61. Ibid. 62. The Jakarta Post, 9 April 2010. 63. Ibid. 64. The Jakarta Post, 24 February 2010. 65. The Jakarta Post, 24 November 2008. 66. The Jakarta Post, 8 November 2011. Similarly, see Lina Alexandra in The Jakarta Post, 9 April 2010. 67. See, for instance, Faustinus Andrea in Kompas, 21 October 2008, p. 6, and Natalia Rialucky Tampubolon in Jakarta Globe, 18 June 2010. 68. See European Union, ASEM Public Conference on Europe-­Asia Inter-­regional Relations, Brussels, 12–­13 July, Summary Report, available at http://ec.europa.eu/external_relations/asem/2010conference/docs/2010_brief_report_asem_conference_en.pdf (accessed 9 August 2010). 69. The Jakarta Post, 6 January 2011. 70. For explicit criticisms of the “Asian values” concept, see The Jakarta Post, 31 August 2009 and 22 November 2009. 71. Tempo Interaktif, 28 March 2005. 72. Wanandi in The Jakarta Post, 3 November 2008. 73. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 74. The Jakarta Post, 24 November 2008. 75. Ibid. 76. Suara Pembaruan, 22 December 2009. 77. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 78. The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008 and 1 October 2008; Kompas, 25 July 2008, p. 6; and Merdeka, 28 July 2008. 79. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 80. Ibid. 81. The Jakarta Post, 3 November 2008. 82. The Jakarta Post, 22 December 2008. 83. Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 1 October 2007. 84. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 85. The Jakarta Post, 24 November 2008. 86. Ibid. 87. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 88. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 89. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009 and 20 December 2010. 90. See The Jakarta Post, 3 November 2008. 91. The Jakarta Post, 19 March 2009. 92. The Jakarta Post, 20 December 2010. 93. According to author conversations with international relations specialists from Indonesian universities in April 2010.

248

notes

94. Jakarta Globe, 31 August 2009. 95. See Kompas, 25 July 2008, p. 6, and East Asia Forum, The ASEAN Charter and Remodeling Regional Architecture. 96. Jakarta Globe, 31 August 2009. 97. Ibid. 98. Ibid. 99. Kompas, 27 October 2009. 100. Sukma quoted by The Jakarta Post, 11 December 2003. 101. For critical remarks on Myanmar by Wanandi and Sukma, see, inter alia, The Jakarta Post, 23 July 2004, 13 July 2005, 1 October 2007, 4 March 2008, 15 May 2008, 30 June 2009, and 21 December 2009. 102. The Jakarta Post, 5 April 2006. 103. Kompas, 9 April 2006. 104. Kompas, 18 July 2006 and 7 August 2006. 105. For an example, see Wanandi’s article in The Jakarta Post, 6 May 2008. 106. Ibid. 107. Kompas, 9 April 2006; The Jakarta Post, 18 April 2006.

chapter 8 1. See The Jakarta Post, 7 August 2008. 2. Ibid. 3. For examples, see The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2007 and 31 July 2007, and, less pronounced, Kompas, 25 April 2006, 28 October 2006, 9 December 2006, and 18 December 2006. 4.The Jakarta Post, 6 December 2007. 5.The Jakarta Post, 31 July 2007; similarly, Tempo Interaktif, 30 July 2007. 6. Kompas, 26 October 2008. 7. Jakarta Globe, 7 August 2009. 8. See Kompas, 18 December 2006. 9.The Jakarta Post, 17 July 2008 and 19 August 2008. 10.The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2007, p. 6. 11.The Jakarta Post, 17 July 2008. 12.The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2007. 13.The Jakarta Post, 31 July 2007. 14. See Kompas, 18 December 2006; critically, also The Jakarta Post, 14 June 2007, 31 July 2007, and 24 May 2014. 15. See Kompas, 18 December 2006, and The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 16. See The Jakarta Post, 27 December 2006. 17.The Jakarta Post, 13 August 2009. 18. Ibid. 19. Meidyatama Suryodiningrat in The Jakarta Post, 27 December 2006. 20. China, Russia, and South Africa voted against the resolution; see “Security Council Fails to Adopt Draft Resolution on Myanmar, Owing to Negative Votes by China, Russian Federation,” available at http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2007/sc8939.doc.htm (accessed 27 April 2014), and The Jakarta Post, 15 January 2007. 21.The Jakarta Post, 15 January 2007. 22. Ibid.

notes

249

23. Ibid. 24. The Jakarta Post, 6 November 2010. 25. Ibid. 26.The Jakarta Post, 27 October 2010. 27.The Jakarta Post, 24 October 2011. 28. Jakarta Globe, 17 November 2011. 29. For example, The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2007, p. 6. 30. See Kompas, 25 April 2006, p. 33. See also EPG Report, section “Towards a People-­ Oriented ASEAN,” p. 6, available at http://www.asean.org/archive/19247.pdf (accessed 27 April 2014). 31.The Jakarta Post, 19 May 2008. 32.The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2007, p. 6. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35.The Jakarta Post, 14 June 2007. 36. See Kompas, 9 December 2006. 37.The Jakarta Post, 14 June 2007. 38.The Jakarta Post, 24 October 2008. 39.The Jakarta Post, 25 July 2008. 40. Ibid. 41.The Jakarta Post, 24 October 2008. 42.The Jakarta Post, 6 December 2007. 43.Tempo Interaktif, 26 November 2007. 44. The Jakarta Post, 2 August 2008. 45.Tempo Interaktif, 26 November 2007. 46.The Jakarta Post, 17 July 2008. 47.The Jakarta Post, 8 August 2007. 48.The Jakarta Post, 24 July 2009. 49. Meidyatama Suryodiningrat in The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2009. 50.The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2009. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55.The Jakarta Post, 8 August 2007. 56.The Jakarta Post, 19 August 2008. 57.The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2009. 58.The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 59. See, for instance, Meidyatama Suryadiningrat in The Jakarta Post, 6 August 2009. 60.The Jakarta Post, 24 July 2009. 61.The Jakarta Post, 6 August 2009. 62.The Jakarta Post, 24 February 2010. 63.The Jakarta Post, 24 July 2009. 64. Ibid. 65. Kompas, 1 August 2009; The Jakarta Post, 9 August 2009. 66.The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 67. The Jakarta Post, 3 February 2010.

250

notes

68. Jakarta Globe, 17 November 2011. For a similar editorial, see Jakarta Globe, 24 January 2010. 69. The Jakarta Post, 18 November 2011. 70. The Jakarta Post, 18 December 2005. 71. The Jakarta Post, 6 August 2009. 72. Jakarta Globe, 7 August 2009. 73. See The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2006. 74. The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 75. Kompas, 28 October 2006. 76. The Jakarta Post, 27 February 2009. 77. The Jakarta Post, 10 January 2011 78. The Jakarta Post, 8 April 2010. 79. The Jakarta Post, 22 July 2008. 80. Jakarta Globe, 7 August 2009. 81. Meidyatama Suryodiningrat in The Jakarta Post, 22 December 2008. 82. Ibid. 83. The Jakarta Post, 8 August 2009, p. 2. 84. The Jakarta Post, 9 August 2004. 85. The Jakarta Post, 19 August 2008. For similar earlier statements, see Kompas, 25 April 2006, p. 33, and 9 December 2006, p. 6, and The Jakarta Post, 5 March 2009. 86.The Jakarta Post, 27 December 2006. 87.The Jakarta Post, 19 August 2008. 88.The Jakarta Post, 18 December 2005. 89.The Jakarta Post, 8 August 2009. 90.The Jakarta Post, 11 February 2011. 91. For example, Arab-­Israeli conflict in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq. 92.The Jakarta Post, 19 August 2008. 93.The Jakarta Post, 17 July 2008. 94.The Jakarta Post, 8 August 2008, p. 2. 95. The Jakarta Post, 10 December 2007. 96. For Sukma’s post-­ASEAN policy, see The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 97.The Jakarta Post, 25 July 2008. 98.The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 99.The Jakarta Post, 27 July 2011. 100.The Jakarta Post, 27 February 2009. 101. See Kompas, 9 January 2010, and The Jakarta Post, 27 October 2010; see also readers’ letters to the editor in The Jakarta Post, 27 July 2011. The majority of readers’ comments published by the newspaper regard ASEAN as an increasingly irrelevant organization and urge the Indonesian government to leave the organization. 102.The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2007. 103. Ibid. 104.The Jakarta Post, 24 October 2008. 105. Jakarta Globe, 17 November 2011. 106. See Tempo Interaktif, 26 November 2007, and The Jakarta Post, 25 July 2008. 107. Jakarta Post, 10 October 2003. 108. Ibid. 109. Ibid. 110.The Jakarta Post, 31 July 2007.

notes

251

111. Ibid. 112. Ibid.; Kompas, 25 April 2006, p. 33. 113. The Jakarta Post, 16 January 2007. 114. The Jakarta Post, 24 October 2008. 115.Tempo Interaktif, 26 November 2007. 116. Meidyatama Suryodiningrat in The Jakarta Post, 6 August 2009. 117.The Jakarta Post, 15 March 2008 and 11 December 2008.

chapter 9 1. The Jakarta Post, 21 January 2010, and von Lübke 2012. 2. See Jakarta Globe, 17 June 2010. 3. The Jakarta Post, 24 September 2004. Similarly, see Foreign Minister Hassan Wirajuda in The Jakarta Post, 28 January 2004 and 24 September 2004. 4. Information from author interviews, 13 March 2015; The Jakarta Post, 7 April 2014. On the competitiveness of the larger Indonesian banks, see The Jakarta Post, 15 July 2014. 5. Author interview, 5 March 2010. 6. The Jakarta Post, 21 January 2010. 7. The Jakarta Post, 20 July 2005. 8. KADIN, “Kadin dan Pemerintah Targetkan Kemajuan Signifikan AEC di 2011,” 14 January 2011, available at http://www.kadin-­ indonesia.or.id/berita/kadinpusat/2011/01/293209765416/Kadin-­dan-­Pemerintah-­Targetkan-­Kemajuan-­Signifikan-­ AEC-­di-­2011 (accessed 6 June 2011). 9. Commenting on these accusations, Trade Minister Mari Elka Pangestu responded, “This agreement was signed years ago. And I had told the industry players about this. But somehow, they just realized about the impact later.” Jakarta Globe, 7 January 2010. 10. The Jakarta Post, 18 November 2009. 11. Ibid. 12. Author interview, 12 March 2010. 13. See the article by Andry Asmoro, an executive at PT Bahana securities, in The Jakarta Post, which deplored that Indonesian businesses did not use the long period of preparation of seven to ten years for the ACFTA. The Jakarta Post, 23 December 2009. 14. See “APINDO/ISD and Kadin Indonesia Discuss Services Trade Integration in ASEAN,” available at http://www.gbgindonesia.com/en/main/partners_updates/apindo/ isd_and_kadin_indonesia_discuss_services_trade_integration_in_asean.php (accessed 23 December 2013). See also Antara, 4 June 2013; similarly KADIN executive Main Kayo, Kompas, 27 February 2009. 15. See Kabar Bisnis, 24 May 2013, and Merdeka, 10 June 2013. 16. The Nation, 4 July 2006. 17. Kompas, 19 February 2008. 18. See The Jakarta Post, 11 September 2009 and 29 September 2009. 19. Hindra Liauw, “Publik Khawatir ACFTA Pukul Pasar Indonesia,” 2 August 2010, available at http://www.apindo.or.id/index.php/kliping/318-­publik-­khawatir-­acfta-­pukul-­ pasar-­indonesia (accessed 29 November 2013); similarly, CBAS Asia chairman and KADIN vice president John A. Prasetio in The Jakarta Post, 29 September 2009, and Andry Asmoro of PT Bahana Securities in The Jakarta Post, 23 December 2009. 20. See, for instance, John A. Prasetio in The Jakarta Post, 29 September 2009.

252

notes

21. See, for instance, Nathan Roesmandi, Strategic Asia, in The Jakarta Post, 14 September 2010. 22. See, for instance, Helmi Arman, Bank Danamon Indonesia, in The Jakarta Post, 15 February 2010. 23. Ibid.; for similar concerns, see also APINDO chairman Sofyan Wanandi in an interview with Tempo Interaktif, 5 February 2010. 24. The Jakarta Post, 29 September 2009. 25. Ibid. 26. The Jakarta Post, 22 February 2007. 27. The Jakarta Post, 19 September 2008. 28. Merdeka, 27 March 2008. 29. Tempo Interaktif, 9 January 2010. 30. Tempo Interaktif, 20 July 2010, and KADIN, “Asean-­China Free Trade Area (ACFTA) Dikhawatirkan Rugikan Industri,” 31 July 2009, available at http://www.kadin-­indonesia. or.id/ber ita/kadinpusat/2009/07/306133005314/Asean-­C hina-­F ree-­Trade-­A rea-­ (ACFTA)-­feared-­Industrial-­disadvantaged (accessed 6 June 2011). 31. See, for instance, statements by the chairman of the Indonesian Employers Association, Sofyan Wanandi, as reported by Koran Tempo, 10 January 2010, and an interview Wanandi gave Koran Tempo for the 5 February 2010 issue. Similarly, vice chairman of the East Java chapter of KADIN Nur Cahyudi in Kabar Bisnis, 24 March 2010. 32. The Jakarta Post, 7 January 2010. 33. Tempo Interaktif, 10 January 2010; Jakarta Globe, 1 June 2010; ASEAN Affairs, 1 December 2009. 34. Jakarta Globe, 1 June 2010. 35. Gatra, 24 September 2001. 36. Jakarta Globe, 1 June 2010; Tempo Interaktif, 5 July 2010; Kabar Bisnis, 21 April 2011, 10 May 2011, and 13 May 2011. 37. Koran Tempo, 5 February 2010. 38. The Jakarta Post, 7 January 2010 and 21 January 2010. 39. ASEAN Affairs, 13 November 2009. 40. Jakarta Globe, 9 August 2010. 41. Gatra, 26 February 2001. 42. The Jakarta Post, 16 December 2002; see also a KADIN warning as reported by The Jakarta Post, 2 January 2003. 43. The Jakarta Post, 1 February 2002. 44. The Jakarta Post, 30 December 2002. 45. The Jakarta Post, 27 February 2001. 46. The Jakarta Post, 1 February 2002. 47. See, for instance, Standard Chartered Bank executive Fauzi Ichsan in The Jakarta Post, 11 September 2009, and CBA Asia chairman John A. Prasetio in The Jakarta Post, 29 September 2009. 48. Tempo Interaktif, 16 November 2007. 49. Tempo Interaktif, 1 December 2010. See also Suhendra, “Kadin: FTA Bisa Jadikan RI Korban Perdagangan Bebas,” 12 August 2009, available at http://finance.detik.com/read/ 2009/08/12/133943/1181860/4/kadin-­fta-­bisa-­jadikan-­r i-­korban-­perdagangan-­bebas (accessed 29 November 2013). 50. Tempo Interaktif, 1 December 2010; for a similar opinion, see an interview with KADIN chairman Bambang Suryo Sulisto, 14 November 2010, “SBS Bicara Tentang ACFTA

notes

253

dan Dunia Usaha Daerah,” available at http://www.kadin-­indonesia.or.id/berita/kadinpusat/2010/11/315244345419/SBS-­Bicara-­Tentang-­ACFTA-­dan-­Dunia-­Usaha-­Daerah (accessed 6 June 2011). 51. The Jakarta Post, 15 February 2010. 52. The Jakarta Post, 11 September 2009. 53. Chairman of CBA Asia and KADIN vice president John A. Prasotio in The Jakarta Post, 29 September 2009.

chapter 10 1. See LIPI scholar Ikrar Nusa Bhakti in The Jakarta Post, 15 June 2007, and Bantarto Bandoro in Media Indonesia, 16 December 2008. 2. For presidential advisor Yayan G. H. Mulyana, “today, diplomasi perjuangan is as relevant as ever before.” The Jakarta Post, 22 August 2011. 3. See Jusuf Wanandi in The Jakarta Post, 23 July 2004 and 13 July 2005, and Hadi Soesastro, Tempo Interaktif, 13 December 2004. 4. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 5. See “Annual Press Statement of the Foreign Minister of the Republic of Indonesia Dr. R. M. Marty M. Natalegawa,” Jakarta, 7 January 2011, http://www.deplu.go.id/Pages/ SpeechTranscriptionDisplay.aspx?Name1=Pidato&Name2=Menteri&IDP=698&l=en (accessed 17 January 2011). 6. Ibid. 7. See The Jakarta Post, 27 October 2010. 8. East Asia Forum, 22 June 2015. 9. Detik News, 8 October 2008. 10. Merdeka, 24 May 2013. 11. The Jakarta Post, 25 June 2015. For an earlier statement in this respect, see former Indonesian ambassador to the United States, Dino Patti Djalal 2012, 43. 12.The Jakarta Post, 27 July 2011; almost identically, Aleksius Jemadu in Jakarta Globe, 15 July 2010. 13. The Jakarta Post, 11 September 2009. 14. See Hadianto Wirajuda and Diaz Hendropriyono in The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2009. 15. Fitriani 2015, 75. See also diplomat Santo Darmosumarto in The Jakarta Post, 30 October 2009. 16. Wirajuda and Hendropriyono in The Jakarta Post, 22 November 2009. 17. Dobson (2011, 12–­13), quoting from Jakarta Globe, 13 October 2010. 18. The Jakarta Post, 4 March 2010. 19. The following paragraphs draw from Rüland 2014b. 20. The Jakarta Post, 7 November 2002. 21. The Jakarta Post, 21 December 2009. 22. See The Jakarta Post, 19 November 2002, 11 October 2007, and 8 January 2008, p. 2; Tempo Interaktif, 5 March 2005; and Detik News, 30 August 2010, available at http:// us.suarapembaca.detik.com/read/2010/08/30/175016/1431458/471/perang-­d ingin-­ indonesia-­vs-­malaysia (accessed 2 January 2011). 23. See The Jakarta Post, 11 January 2008, p. 6. 24. Harian Umum Pelita, 22 October 2008. 25. The Jakarta Post, 16 April 2005.

254

notes

26. Jakarta Globe, 27 August 2010. 27. Komisi I desak DPR Malaysia minta maaf, 26 August 2010, available at http://www. dpr.go.id/id/berita/komisi1/2010/agu/26/1930/komisi-­i-­dpr-­desak-­malaysia-­minta-­maaf (accessed 15 September 2012). 28. Tempo Interaktif, 23 August 2010. 29. The Jakarta Post, 16 April 2005. 30. Tempo Interaktif, 1 September 2010. 31. “Direction of Indonesian Foreign Policy,” 6 September 2009, available at http:// www.deplu.go.id/Pages/Polugri.aspx?IDP=21&l=en (accessed 13 September 2010). 32. Tempo Interaktif, 14 March 2005. 33. Ibid. 34. Tempo Interaktif, 14 March 2005. 35. Kompas, 10 March 2005, p. 1. 36. Kompas, 2 June 2009, p. 1. 37. Kompas, 3 June 2009, quoted in Wirajuda 2014, 174. 38. For China, see Johnston 1995, for India, Michael 2013. 39. Tempo Interaktif, 26 February 2009. 40. Jakarta Globe, 27 August 2010. 41. Jakarta Globe, 1 September 2010. 42. Jakarta Globe, 27 August 2010. 43. Detik News, 1 September 2010. 44. Jakarta Globe, 1 September 2010. 45. Tempo Interaktif, 6 January 2006. 46. Tempo Interaktif, 10 December 2005. 47. Kompas, 2 June 2009, p. 1. 48. Tempo Interaktif, 28 May 2009. 49. Kompas, 2 June 2009. 50. See “Ambalat Milik Indonesia, Tidak Perlu Berunding,” 12 June 2009, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/berita/detail/id/454 (accessed 15 September 2012). For Yusron’s account of the mission, see Mahendra 2009, 310. 51. Tempo Interaktif, 6 March 2005; Kompas, 2 June 2009. 52. Tempo Interaktif, 20 August 2010. 53. Detik News, 8 March 2005, available at http://www.detiknews.com/read/2005/03/0 7/143940/311723/10/komisi-­i-­desak-­pemerintah-­panggil-­pulang-­dubes-­r i-­di-­malaysia (accessed 13 March 2009). 54. Jeffrey Massie, as reported by Suara Pembaruan, 3 March 2007. 55. Dradjad Wibowo (PAN) and Permadi (PDI-­P), as reported by The Jakarta Post, 11 October 2007. 56. Lily Wahid (PKB), as reported by Tempo Interaktif, 2 September 2010. 57. Tempo Interaktif, 8 March 2005; Kompas, 2 June 2009, p. 1, and 2 January 2010, p. 10. Similarly, PKB legislator Lily Wahid in Tempo Interaktif, 16 August 2010. 58. Agung Laksono, see Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, Pemerintah Harus Tegas Terhadap Malaysia, 11 June 2009, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/id/berita/pimpinan/0000/00/00/453/ PEMERINTAH-HARUS-TEGAS-TERHADAP-MALAYSIA (accessed 24 November 2010). 59. Ibid. 60. Jakarta Globe, 1 September 2010. 61. Tempo Interaktif, 2 June 2009.

notes

255

62. Tempo Interaktif, 2 September 2010. 63. Effendi Choirie in Tempo Interaktif, 31 August 2010. 64. Andreas Pareira, as reported by Jakarta Globe, 1 September 2010. 65. Tempo Interaktif, 31 August 2010. 66. Detik News, 7 March 2005, available at http://www.detiknews.com/read/2005/03/0 7/143940/311723/10/komisi-­i-­desak-­pemerintah-­panggil-­pulang-­dubes-­r i-­di-­malaysia (accessed 13 March 2009). 67. For examples, see then-­MPR chairman Taufik Kiemas, Tempo Interaktif, 1 September 2010, and House Speaker Agung Laksono, “TNI Diminta Tingkatan Pengamanan di Ambalat,” 23 October 2008, available at http://www.kemhan.go.id/modules.php?name=News& file=print&sid=8516 (accessed 15 December 2010). 68. “Hayono Isman—­Indonesia Siap Pertahankan Ambalat,” 7 May 2012, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/id/berita/komisi1/2012/mei/09/3897/hayono-­isman—­-­indonesia-­ siap-­pertahankan-­ambalat (accessed 14 September 2012). 69. Tempo Interaktif, 31 August 2010. 70. For a critique of ultranationalist positions, see Universitas Indonesia scholar Arbi Sanit in Tempo Interaktif, 31 August 2010. 71. Suara Pembaruan, 3 March 2007 and 5 March 2007. 72. See Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, “Pemerintah harus tegas terhadap Malaysia,” 11 June 2009, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/id/berita/pimpinan/0000/00/00/453/ PEMERINTAH-­HARUS-­TEGAS-­TERHADAP-­MALAYSIA (accessed 24 November 2010). 73. Suara Pembaruan, 3 March 2007. 74. Ibid. 75. Tempo Interaktif, 6 March 2005. 76. Tempo Interaktif, 8 March 2005, available at http://www.tempo.co.id/hg/nasional/2005/03/08/brk 0.20050308–­12, uk.html (accessed 8 December 2010). 77. Tempo Interaktif, 5 March 2005. 78. Tempo Interaktif, 1 September 2010. 79. The Jakarta Post, 29 May 2009. 80. Suara Pembaruan, 5 March 2007. 81. Tempo Interaktif, 8 March 2005. 82. Tempo Interaktif, 31 August 2009; see also The Jakarta Post, 21 March 2005. 83. Tempo Interaktif, 1 September 2010. 84. Ibid. 85. Tempo Interaktif, 14 March 2005. 86. Tempo Interaktif, 5 March 2005 and 14 March 2005. 87. Tempo Interaktif, 31 August 2010. 88. Detik News, 30 August 2010, available at http://us.suarapembaca.detik.com/read/2 010/08/30/175016/1431458/471/perang-­dingin-­indonesia-­vs-­malaysia (accessed 2 January 2011). 89. SeeTempo Interaktif, 2 September 2010. 90. Tempo Interaktif, 8 March 2005 and 14 March 2005. 91. The Jakarta Post, 15 March 2005. 92. Ibid. 93. Detik News, 27 August 2010. 94. Kompas, 4 September 2009, p. 6. 95. Jakarta Globe, 5 September 2010.

256

notes

96. Detik News, 27 August 2010. 97. The Jakarta Post, 23 March 2005. 98. Ibid. 99. Ibid. 100. Ibid. 101. The Jakarta Post, 21 March 2005. 102. See, for instance, an article authored by Hendropriyono, The Jakarta Post, 25 October 2007. 103. Tempo Interaktif, 8 March 2005. 104. See The Jakarta Post, 12 April 2011. 105. Tempo Interaktif, 2 November 2009. 106. Ibid. 107. Jakarta Globe, 24 November 2008. See also The Jakarta Post, 12 January 2009. 108. The Jakarta Post, 26 November 2008. 109. Following negotiations between the Indonesian and Chinese governments in April 2010, China announced that it would “allocate more than US$15 billion [for investment] in the ASEAN region. For Indonesia this will be prioritized on infrastructure and transportation.” Indonesian Coordinating Minister for the Economy Hatta Rajasa was quoted by The Jakarta Post, 6 April 2010, p. 13. 110. Tempo Interaktif, 24 April 2010. 111. The Jakarta Post, 18 October 2011 and 19 October 2011. 112. ASEAN Affairs, 3 April 2010. 113. Author interview, 16 April 2010. 114. See, for instance, The Jakarta Post, 21 January 2010, and KADIN, “Kadin dan Pemerintah Targetkan Kemajuan Signifikan AEC di 2011,” 14 January 2011, available at http:// www.kadin-­i ndonesia.or.id/berita/kadinpusat/2011/01/293209765416/Kadin-­d an-­ Pemerintah-­Targetkan-­Kemajuan-­Signifikan-­AEC-­di-­2011 (accessed 6 June 2011). 115. The Jakarta Post, 7 January 2010. 116. See Suhendra, “Kadin: FTA Bisa Jadikan RI Korban Perdagangan Bebas,” 12 August 2009, available at http://finance.detik.com/read/2009/08/12/133943/1181860/4/kadin-­ fta-­bisa-­jadikan-­r i-­korban-­perdagangan-­bebas (accessed 29 November 2013). 117. For the “national interest” rhetoric, see Suhendra, “Kadin: Tunda FTA Jika Rugikan Kepentingan Nasional,“ 14 August 2009, available at http://finance.detik.com/read/2009/ 08/14/131529/1183145/4/kadin-­tunda-­fta-­jika-­rugikan-­kepentingan-­nasional (accessed 29 November 2013). 118. Tempo Interaktif, 12 April 2010. 119. ASEAN Affairs, 1 December 2009; Kompas, 21 December 2009. 120. The Jakarta Post, 2 January 2010 and 5 March 2010; KADIN deputy chairman Haryadi Sukamdani in The Jakarta Post, 18 October 2011, and Kabar Bisnis, 18 May 2011; and Sofyan Wanandi in Tempo Interaktif, 5 February 2010. 121. See The Jakarta Post, 19 September 2008, and Apindo chairman Sofyan Wanandi in Tempo Interaktif, 5 February 2010. 122. KADIN, “SBS Bicara Tentang ACFTA dan Dunia Usaha Daerah,” 14 November 2010, available at http://www.kadin-­ i ndonesia.or.id/berita/kadinpusat/2010/11/315244345419/SBS-­Bicara-­Tentang-­ACFTA-­dan-­Dunia-­Usaha-­Daerah (accessed 6 June 2011). 123. Ibid.; The Jakarta Post, 26 December 2009; Jakarta Globe, 6 January 2010; ASEAN Affairs, 26 January 2010; Tempo Interaktif, 29 November 2010; KADIN, “Asean-­China Free

notes

257

Trade Area (ACFTA) Feared Disadvantaged Industry,” 31 July 2009, available at http:// www.kadin-­indonesia.or.id/berita/kadinpusat/2009/07/306133005314/Asean-­China-­ Free-­Trade-­Area-­ (ACFTA)-­feared-­Industrial-­disadvantaged (accessed 6 June 2011); and KADIN, “Free Trade Agreement ASEAN—­China Ancam Industri Dalam Negeri?,” 20 November 2009, available at http://www.kadin-­indonesia.or.id/berita/kadinpusat/2009/11/315216985419/Free-­Trade-­Agreement-­ASEAN-­–­-­China-­Ancam-­Industri-­ Dalam-­Negeri? (accessed 6 June 2011). 124. ASEAN Affairs, 26 January 2010. 125. Tempo Interaktif, 29 November 2010. 126. ASEAN Affairs, 26 January 2010. 127. The Jakarta Post, 12 April 2011. 128. Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, “DPR desak pemerintah kaji ulang CAFTA,” 28 January 2010, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/id/berita/pimpinan/2010/jan/28/1236/dpr-­ desak-­pemerintah-­kaji-­ulang-­cafta (accessed 12 December 2013); ASEAN Affairs, “Worker Protest Was Registered in Surabaya and Semarang,” 20 February 2010; and The Jakarta Post, 21 January 2010. 129. See Tempo Interaktif, 28 January 2010, and The Jakarta Post, 7 January 2010. 130. Jakarta Globe, 9 February 2010. 131. The Jakarta Post, 22 April 2010. 132. Tabloid Diplomasi, available at http://tabloiddiplomasi.com/index.php/current-­ issue/73-­suplemen/702-­protes-­terhadap-­fta-­sudah-­terlambat.html (accessed 17 February 2010). 133. Kompas, 12 April 2010, p. 15. 134. Detik News, 29 July 2010. 135. The Jakarta Post, 12 April 2010. 136. Tempo Interaktif, 28 January 2010. 137. Media Indonesia, 15 March 2013 and 27 March 2009; Tempo Interaktif, 24 May 2009 and 29 May 2009; Author interview, 23 March 2010. 138. See PDI-­P statements in a DPR debate on economic policies, The Jakarta Post, 29 May 2009. 139. Tempo Interaktif, 23 May 2009. 140. Tempo Interaktif, 28 January 2010. 141. Tempo Interaktif, 5 April 2010. 142. Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, “DPR desak pemerintah kaji ulang CAFTA.” 143. Tempo Interaktif, 5 April 2010. 144. “DPR Tanya Kesiapan Industri Nasional Menjelang AEC 2015. Masih ada ganjalan dari sisi regulasi. Kesiapan Indonesia dipertanyakan,” 3 April 2013, available at http://www. hukumonline.com/berita/baca/lt515bd531c7c73/dpr-­tanya-­kesiapan-­industri-­nasional-­ menjelang-­aec-­2015 (accessed 7 December 2013). 145. Liauw, “Publik Khawatir ACFTA Pukul Pasar Indonesia.” 146. The Jakarta Post, 15 February 2010. 147. The Jakarta Post, 25 June 2015. 148. The Diplomat, 9 January 2015 and 22 September 2015. 149. The Jakarta Post, 25 June 2015. 150. See, for instance, The Diplomat, 18 December 2014, and Connelly 2015, 13. 151. Jakarta Globe, 30 October 2014. 152. The Diplomat, 18 December 2014. 153. The Diplomat, 7 September 2015.

258

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154. Ibid.; The Diplomat, 18 December 2014. 155. Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 15 July 2015. 156. Quoted from Cornelis Luhulima in The Jakarta Post, 27 December 2010. 157. The Straits Times, 16 October 2014. 158. The exception is an opinion piece by an advisor in the Cabinet Secretariat in The Jakarta Post, 7 March 2013. 159. Author interview, 4 March 2016. 160. The Jakarta Post, 15 June 2015. 161. The Jakarta Post, 25 June 2015. 162. Ibid. 163. See, for instance, scholar Bantarto Bandoro (Indonesian Defense University) in Jakarta Globe, 21 October 2014, and journalist Endi Bayuni in The Straits Times, 14 July 2015. 164. The Jakarta Post, 7 January 2011. 165. Guspiabri Sumowigeno, “Mempersoalkan Politik Luar Negeri Presiden SBY,” 21 August 2010, available at http://17–­08–­1945.blogspot.com/2010/08/koran-­digital-­ guspiabri-­sumowigeno.html (accessed 3 March 2011). 166. Antara News, 23 August 2010, quoted in Wirajuda 2014, 105. 167. The Diplomat, 13 January 2015. 168. The Diplomat, 11 December 2014. 169. On the Vietnamese response, see The Diplomat, 18 August 2015; for critical Malaysian, Thai, and Chinese responses, see The Jakarta Post, 25 January 2015, and Xin Hua, 21 May 2015. 170. The Diplomat, 18 December 2014. 171. The Diplomat, 13 January 2015. 172. Author interview, 4 March 2016. 173. The Jakarta Post, 26 September 2001 and 19 January 2002; see also diplomats Siswo Pramono in The Jakarta Post, 22 December 2003, and Edi Suharto in the same newspaper, 24 March 2008. 174. Media Indonesia, 6 October 2009. 175. The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2009. 176. The Jakarta Post, 13 November 2014 and 21 December 2015; Jakarta Globe, 13 November 2014. 177. See Chinese ambassador to Indonesia Xu Bu in The Jakarta Post, 5 August 2015; Luhulima in The Jakarta Post, 13 December 2014; and Author interview, 4 March 2016. 178. Author interview, 4 March 2016. 179. See also diplomat Siswo Pramono in The Jakarta Post, 22 December 2003. 180. Ibid. 181. Sukma in The Jakarta Post, 21 March 2005. 182. Ibid.; and Tempo Interaktif, 28 March 2005. 183. Apart from Sukma, see Riefqi Muna in The Jakarta Post, 31 October 2002; Prasetyono 2005; Sebastian, Chen, and Priamarizki 2014; M. Alfan Alfian of Universitas Indonesia, in Kompas, 28 April 2005; Jaleswari Pramodhawardan (LIPI) in Media Indonesia, 6 October 2009; and Guspiabri Sumowigeno, “Mempersoalkan Politik Luar Negeri Presiden SBY,” 21 August 2010, available at http://17–­08–­1945.blogspot.com/2010/08/koran-­digital-­ guspiabri-­sumowigeno.html (accessed 3 March 2011). 184. The Diplomat, 29 November 2014. 185. The Diplomat, 30 September 2015. 186. The Diplomat, 10 September 2015.

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187. The Diplomat, 19 May 2015 and 10 September 2015. 188. See, for instance, Theo Sambuaga, as reported in Detik News, 7 March 2005; Yusron Ihza Mahendra, DPR, 14 March 2007, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/artikel/artikel.php?aid=2407 (accessed 4 April 2008); and “Hayono Isman—­Indonesia Siap Pertahankan Ambalat,” 7 May 2012, available at http://www.dpr.go.id/id/berita/komisi1/2012/ mei/09/3897/hayono-­isman—­-­indonesia-­siap-­pertahankan-­ambalat (accessed 14 September 2012). See also Detik News, 26 October 2010. 189. See The Jakarta Post, 16 June 2014. 190. The Jakarta Post, 19 August 2011. 191. See, for instance,Vice Admiral Desi Albert Mamahit, The Jakarta Post, 20 September 2014. 192. Between 2004 and 2009, the ministry was led by Widodo AD, and from 2009 through 2014 by Djoko Suyanto. 193. The Jakarta Post, 16 November 2011. 194. Information obtained by Indonesian international relations scholars, 2 September 2014. 195. For examples, see Yohanes Sulaiman in Jakarta Globe, 26 July 2011, and Bantarto Bandoro in the same newspaper, 6 November 2013. 196. The Jakarta Post, 24 March 2016 197. Evelyn Goh, “Going It Alone,” available at http://www.newmandala.org/going-­it-­ alone (accessed 31 October 2015). 198. The Straits Times, 24 March 2015. 199. The Straits Times, 7 August 2015. 200. The Jakarta Post, 12 November 2010. 201. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Republic of Indonesia, Annual Press Statement 2015, available at http://www.indonesia-­ottawa.org/wp-­content/uploads/2015/01/PPTM-­ 2015-­en.pdf (accessed 16 April 2016). 202. For an exception, see presidential advisor Luhut Panjaitan, The Straits Times, 23 April 2015. 203. The Diplomat, 23 December 2014. 204. See Rimanews, “Jalesveva Jayamahe Hanya Sebatas Jargon Jokowi?” 21 October 2014, available at http://ekonomi.rimanews.com/bisnis/read/20141021/178963/Jalesveva-­ Jayamahe-­Hanya-­Sebatas-­Jargon-­Jokowi (accessed 30 December 2015).

chapter 11 1. Founded by Cuba and Venezuela; the other members are Antigua and Barbuda, Dominica, Ecuador, Grenada, Nicaragua, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent, and the Grenadines. 2. For the concept, see also Igarashi 2011 and Rother and Piper 2015. 3.See the Transnational Institute’s Website, https://www.tni.org/en/page/alternative-­ regionalism-­works (accessed 6 February 2016). 4. See, for instance, Shani 2008;Vasilaki 2012.

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Index

Abdurrahman Wahid, 113 Aceh, 78, 129, 239n127 Acharya, Amitav, 32, 41, 43, 71, 87, 125, 229, 231; on agency of local norm recipients, 10, 19, 216, 230; on the cognitive prior, 7, 11, 20; on constitutive localization, 7, 11, 15–­16, 22–23, 24–25, 173, 225, 232; on framing, 15–16, 22, 55, 216; on grafting, 16, 22, 63, 216; on participatory regionalism, 28; on pruning, 16, 81, 216 Adirizal Nizar, 178 Africa, 24, 103, 225–26; African Union (AU), 49, 109 Afro–Asian Conference, 187–88 Akrasanee, Narongchai, 45 Al Araf, 96, 108 Alatas, Ali, 46, 75, 79, 82; as EPG representative, 57, 63, 81, 115 Albar, Syed Hamid, 191 Alexandra, Lina, 139, 144 Alliance for Global Justice, 106 Allison, Laura, 7, 8 Al Muzzamil,Yusuf, 116, 123 Alter, Karen, 3 Altsean, 87 Ambalat Block, 30, 189–97, 212 “A million friends, zero enemies” doctrine, 204, 206–7 Anderson, Benedict RO’G, 22, 34, 37 Anggoro, Kusnato, 36 anticapitalism, 104–7, 180, 202, 223 Antlöv, Hans, 84, 85

Anwar, Dewi Fortuna, 34, 36, 38, 39, 40, 53, 74, 82, 101, 132, 136, 140 Ardiyanti, Haryini, 114 Aris, Stephen, 44 Arman, Helmi, 181 Arsana, I. Made Andi, 36 ASEAN (Association of Southeast Asian Nations): ASEAN Vision 2020, 47; Bali Concord II, 47, 48, 50, 56, 57, 119, 136, 142, 149, 158, 219; Bangkok Declaration, 40, 41; Business Advisory Council (ABAC), 101, 176; Chambers of Commerce and Industry (ASEAN–CCI), 44, 45, 101, 175; Chiang Mai Initiative (CMI), 47; Committee of Permanent Representatives (CPR), 49, 50, 91, 95; Declaration of ASEAN Concord, 40; democratization of, 28, 55–61, 63, 67–69, 74, 78, 79, 82, 88–97, 100–104, 108–10, 115, 119, 124, 129, 135, 141, 145, 149, 150, 153, 154, 158, 176, 212, 218, 219; vs. EU, 2, 4, 8, 10, 11, 21–22, 23–24, 25, 41, 42, 43–45, 48–49, 50–51, 58, 81–83, 88, 133–34, 169, 225, 228; founding, 39–40; and globalization, 63, 86, 87, 88, 98, 100, 135, 141, 197–98; Hanoi Plan of Action, 47; High Council, 143, 196; Inter–Parliamentary Assembly (AIPA), 48, 49, 83, 115–16, 122, 124, 137; Inter–Parliamentary Organization (AIPO), 44, 110, 126–27; Kuala Lumpur Declaration of 1971, 41; and neoliberalism, 86, 97, 98–99, 100, 106, 109, 175, 197, 200, 222; and regional resilience, 40–41; relations with civil society organizations (CSOs), 68, 69–71, 82, 95; relations with EU, 24, 142,

280

index

147; Secretariat, 2, 3, 43, 45, 50, 63, 68, 82, 88, 91, 92, 94, 129, 142, 143, 159, 165, 168, 174, 182; “Six–minus–X” rule, 45; Treaty of Amity and Cooperation (TAC), 40–41, 43, 195, 205, 213. See also ASEAN Charter; ASEAN–China Free Trade Area (ACFTA); ASEAN Community; ASEAN Economic Community; ASEAN Free Trade Area; ASEAN norms; Bali Democracy Forum ASEAN Business Advisory Council (ABAC), 172 ASEAN Chambers of Commerce and Industry (ASEAN–CCI), 172 ASEAN Charter: adoption of, 1, 11, 49–51, 59, 62, 67–68, 74, 75, 82, 102, 106, 114, 116, 117–18, 121, 142–44, 162, 212, 217; Article 1, 94–95; dispute settlement mechanism in, 50, 163; and Eminent Persons Group (EPG), 49–50, 57–58, 63, 68–69, 81, 84, 89–90, 98, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122, 135, 136, 137, 142, 144, 150, 157–58, 169, 175, 192; and High Level Task Force (HLTF), 90, 98, 115, 117, 122, 135, 136, 137, 157, 175; human rights mechanism in, 50, 59, 73, 97, 118, 119–20, 159–60; regional stability in, 40. See also Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders ASEAN–China Free Trade Area (ACFTA), 12, 97, 140, 176, 181, 189; vs. AEC, 31, 174, 197, 198–99, 202, 209, 211; vs. AFTA, 179, 197, 198–99; attitudes of Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders regarding, 31, 107, 161, 170, 174, 178–79, 197–203, 212, 223 ASEAN Civil Society Conference (ACSC), 92, 93, 94, 97, 102 ASEAN Community (AC), 1–2, 47, 48, 69, 99, 140, 141, 219 ASEAN Economic Community (AEC), 28, 62, 83, 89, 98, 124, 143–44, 170, 172, 175, 176, 178, 181; vs. ACFTA, 31, 174, 197, 198–99, 202, 209, 211; criticisms of, 97, 107, 122, 202, 222–23; vs. EU, 48, 154 ASEAN Free Trade Area (AFTA), 47, 98, 173– 74, 202, 222; vs. ACFTA, 179, 197, 198–99 ASEAN Institutes of Strategic and International Studies (ASEAN–ISIS), 44, 49, 136, 142; and APA, 87–88, 145, 159, 165; and CSIS, 133, 135; on noninterference norm, 46 ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights (AICHR), 74, 80; terms of reference (TOR), 60–61, 91, 121, 139, 159–60, 169 ASEAN Inter–Parliamentary Myanmar Caucus (AIPMC), 120, 121, 128, 129 ASEAN Inter–Parliamentary Organization (AIPO): Kuala Lumpur Declaration, 96

ASEAN Investment Area (AIA), 47 ASEAN norms: as ASEAN Way, 25, 33, 39–43, 50, 55–57, 83, 96, 108–9, 129, 135, 138, 141, 149–50, 154, 162, 168–69, 182, 189, 196, 213, 216, 220, 221, 223–24; consensual decision making, 41–42, 45, 47, 49, 63, 67, 108, 109–10, 120, 150, 162, 169; equality norm, 67, 129; noninterference norm, 41, 46, 50, 56, 60, 62, 74, 77–79, 83, 90, 96, 97, 99, 100, 108–9, 124, 128–30, 133, 138, 142, 143, 149, 150, 159, 162, 168–69, 213, 221, 223–24; peaceful conflict resolution norm, 30, 163, 196, 213; sovereignty norm, 41, 43, 50, 78, 81–82, 83, 96, 129, 143, 182, 183, 189, 216, 221 ASEAN People’s Assembly (APA), 87, 93, 145, 157, 159, 164–65 ASEAN People’s Forum/Asian Civil Society Conference (ACSC), 88, 90 ASEAN Plus Three (APT), 44, 47, 148 ASEAN Political and Security Community, 89 ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF), 44 ASEAN Security Community (ASC), 56, 136, 141–42, 195 ASEAN Socio–Cultural Community (ASCC), 89 AsiaDHRRA, 87, 94 Asia–Europe Meeting (ASEM), 24, 44, 87, 142, 144 Asia–Europe People’s Forum (ARPF), 94 Asian–African Conference (Bandung, 1955), 41, 71 Asian Development Bank, 204 Asian Economic Community (AEC), 28, 48, 55, 181 Asian Financial Crisis of 1997–­98, 105, 198, 224, 226; and ASEAN Way, 11, 21, 45–46, 216; and Indonesia, 22, 33, 45–46, 56, 65, 75, 77, 86, 87, 135, 154, 181, 188, 219 Asian Forum for Human Rights and Development (FORUM–­Asia), 87, 90 Asian Migrant Center, 87 Asian values, 109, 138, 225, 231; and Asian Way, 42–43, 44, 45, 47; and human rights, 61, 102, 126, 135, 145, 169; vs. liberal–cosmopolitan norms, 42–43, 65, 231 Asia–Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC), 44, 87 Asmoro, Andry, 251n9 Aspinall, Edward, 188 Association of Southeast Asia (ASA), 39 Aung San, Suu Kyi, 73, 96, 120, 156 Australia, 66, 97, 129, 141 Azhar, Haris, 96, 108 Ba, Alice D., 39, 40, 42, 43, 46

index Badawi, Abdullah, 92 Bakrie, Aburizal, 179 Bali Democracy Forum (BDF), 59, 65, 66, 67, 147 Bandoro, Bantarto, 65 Bank Mandiri, 172 Barnett, Michael, 15, 64 Barro, Robert J., 45 Basedau, Matthias, 229 Bayuni, Endy, 167 Bechle, Karsten, 44, 83, 116, 187 Beeson, Mark, 44 Benford, Robert D., 16, 185 Benny, Guido, 69 Berger, Mark T., 188 Bicchi, Frederica, 3 Biermann, Rafael, 19 Bilgin, Pinar, 10 Billah, M. M., 85 Björkdahl, Annika, 17 Bolivarian Alliance for the People of Our America (ALBA), 95–96, 226, 259n1 Born, Hans, 114 Börzel, Tanja A., 3, 4, 5, 7, 14, 230 bounded learning, 14, 24, 49, 217, 223, 224 Bourchier, David, 22, 37, 73, 221 Bowles, Paul, 101 Brazil, 148, 187, 222 Bretherton, Charlotte, 234n31 BRICS states, 148, 181–82, 187, 205 Brinkerhoff, Derrick W., 84, 85, 86 Brunei, 1, 93, 161 Budianto, Lilian, 160 Bush, George H. W., 42 Bustami, Gusmardi, 172 Buzan, Barry, 229, 231 Caballero–Anthony, Mely, 86, 87, 88, 92, 96 Cambodia, 1, 2, 46, 56, 59, 92–93, 108, 158–59; relations with Thailand, 73, 78, 163 Camdessus, Michel, 188 Carrapatoso, Astrid, 47 Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), 51, 53, 56, 59, 102, 120, 134, 144, 149, 150, 159, 186, 210; and ASEAN–ISIS, 133, 135; founding, 132–33; and liberal–cosmopolitan norms, 135–36, 139, 141–42, 146 Center of Global Terrorism Cooperation, 70 Chaban, Natalia, 17 Chalermpalanupap, Termsak, 48 Chambers, Paul W., 53 Chandra, Alexander C., 86, 88, 90, 92, 99, 108, 174, 202; on AIPO, 110; on alternative regionalism, 95–96; on ASEAN and NGOs, 93; on ASEAN decision making, 101–2; on

281

democracy, 89; on the EU, 94; on free trade agreements, 98, 179, 200 Chavez, Jenina Joy, 99 Chen, Ching–Chang, 229 Chen, Jonathan, 33 China, 17, 18, 133, 162, 177, 178–79, 181–82, 210, 231; relations with Indonesia, 76, 209, 211, 256n109; rise as global power, 55, 63, 76, 123–24, 128, 141, 148, 161, 222; and South China Sea, 76, 209, 211, 219. See also ASEAN–China Free Trade Area (ACFTA) Chng, Meng Khg, 101 Choirie, Effendi, 194 Chongkittavorn, Kavi, 51 Chrisnandi,Yuddi, 193 Chumaidy, Chozin, 194 cognitive prior, 17, 22, 23, 224–25; Acharya on, 7, 11, 20; ASEAN Way as, 11; in Indonesia, 25, 30, 31, 32–33, 37–38, 64, 66–71, 73, 75–77, 80, 101, 103–4, 135, 145, 164, 166, 167, 173, 180, 181, 185, 188, 197, 202–3, 206, 207, 212, 213–14, 220–23, 225, 226–27, 228, 230, 231 Cohen, John M., 45, 68, 69, 82, 222 Cold War, 18, 76–77, 146, 188 Collins, Alan, 28, 60, 69, 83, 86, 88, 92, 133, 135, 159 Commission I (Komisi I) on Defense, Foreign Affairs and Information, 114, 116–17, 118, 119, 122, 123, 124, 125–26, 128, 210 Commission V, 179 Commission VI (Komisi VI) on Trade and Industries, 114, 201 comprehensive security, 34 Connelly, Aaron L., 203, 207, 211 constructivism, 8, 15, 24, 216, 224 Cotton, James, 87 Council for Asia–Europe Cooperation (CAEC), 133 Council for Security Cooperation in the Asia Pacific (CSCAP), 133 Croissant, Aurel, 53, 67 Crouch, Harold, 152 Cullen, Anne, 54 Czempiel, Ernst–Otto, 28 D8, 222 Da Conceicao–Heldt, Eugénia, 47 Daeng, Salamuddin, 103–4, 105–6 Dang, Thi Thu Huong, 90, 98, 99 Dano, Elenita, 94, 95, 102, 103 Danusubroto, Sidharto, 194 defensive localization, 224, 225 democracy: grafting involving, 64–74, 77–80, 100–104, 124–28, 145–48, 164–67; as liberal–cosmopolitan value, 3, 22, 42, 48, 50,

282

index

56, 57, 59, 79, 85, 130, 135, 143, 144, 154, 216; and soft power, 18, 64–66, 72, 125, 165; Third Wave of democratization, 20. See also Indonesia, democratization in; Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, attitudes regarding democracy Dent, Christopher M., 94, 98 Desker, Barry, 72, 188 Dewantara, Ki Hadjar, 37 Dhanabalan, Suppiah, 45 DiMaggio, Paul J., 3, 18 Djalal, Hashim, 190–91 Djamin, Rafendi, 88, 96, 102, 108 Djani, Dian Triansyah, 57, 62 Djimanto, 178 Djiwandono, Soedjati, 195 Dosch, Jörn, 38, 40, 42, 43, 44, 49, 53, 54, 60, 134 Dri, Clarissa F., 82 Druckman, James N., 16 Duina, Francesco, 6 Duvall, Raymond, 15, 64 East Asian Summit (EAS), 44, 205 East Timor, 78, 108, 129, 188 ECONIT, 140 ECOWAS, 109 Eldrigde, Philip J., 85 Elkins, Zachary, 14 Emmers, Ralf, 40 Emmerson, Donald K., 49 Entman, Robert M., 16 environmental issues, 98, 100, 107, 108; haze pollution, 79, 87, 99, 127, 188, 204; sustainability, 25, 26, 28, 85 Estanislao, Jesus P., 47 European Economic Community (EEC), 44, 45 European Free Trade Association (EFTA), 44 European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR), 225 European Union (EU): vs. ASEAN, 2, 4, 8, 10, 11, 21–22, 23–24, 25, 41, 42, 43–45, 47–49, 50–51, 58, 81–83, 88, 133–34, 169, 225, 228; Commission, 43, 45, 47, 81, 143; currency union, 183, 223; democracy promotion by, 23, 225; Economic and Social Committee, 82; emulation of, 2–3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 21–22, 23–24, 25, 47–49, 50–51, 55, 56, 63–64, 75, 80, 81–82, 83, 94, 99, 100–101, 102–3, 111, 114–15, 122, 124, 134, 137, 142, 143, 145, 150, 153–54, 161, 164, 168, 170, 172–73, 182–83, 184, 212, 213, 216–18, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 230, 231; Maastricht Treaty, 2; Parliament, 47; relations with ASEAN, 24, 142, 147; supranationalism in, 41, 43, 81, 82, 129, 150, 168, 182, 183, 213, 223. See also liberal–cosmopolitan norms

Fadilah, Siti, 198 Faizasyah, Teuku, 60, 80 Fawcett, Louise, 3 Fealy, Greg, 113 Finizio, Giovanni, 88 Finnemore, Martha, 15 Fitriani, Evi, 143, 148 Focus on the Global South, 87 framing: Acharya on, 15–16, 22, 55, 216; democracy frame, 55–61, 63, 75, 88–97, 115–22, 124, 126, 131, 135–39, 154–60, 166–67, 173–76, 184–85, 188, 212, 218, 219; frame transformation, 185; by Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, 30, 55–63, 75–77, 84, 88–100, 104–5, 107, 111, 114–24, 126, 127, 128, 131, 135–44, 151, 153–64, 170, 172–79, 202–3, 212–13, 218–20, 222; leadership frame, 185–89, 202–3, 212–13, 218, 219–20, 230; relationship to cognitive prior, 20; security frame, 55, 61, 63, 75–77, 99–100, 107, 123–24, 128, 131, 141–44, 153, 161–64, 173, 185, 187, 213, 219; welfare frame, 55, 61–62, 75, 97–99, 104–5, 122–23, 124, 127, 131, 139–41, 153, 160–61, 173, 176–79, 213, 219, 222–23 Free University of Berlin: “The Transformative Power of Europe” research program, 3, 4, 5 Friedrich–Ebert Foundation, 77 Frings, Ulrike E., 85 G8 Forum, 87 G20, 140, 147, 186, 187, 205 G77, 222 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT): Uruguay Round, 174 Gerard, Kelly, 83, 86, 87, 88, 92, 93, 159 Gerindra, 67, 106, 127, 201 Gerring, John, 25 Gintings, Sutradara, 119, 129 Gläser, Jochen, 30 globalization, 4, 5, 38, 63, 105, 173; and ASEAN, 63, 86, 87, 88, 98, 100, 135, 141, 197–98 Gobel, Rachmat, 174 Goffman, Erving, 16 Goldstein, Judith, 135 Golkar Party, 67, 112, 116, 117, 118–19, 120, 122, 123, 127, 193 Goodin, Robert E., 89 Gordon, Bernard K., 39 governance functions: political order functions, 28, 30, 55–61, 184–85, 218; security functions, 28, 30, 55, 218; welfare functions, 28, 30, 55, 218 grafting: Acharya on, 16, 22, 63, 216; democracy, noninterference, and the ASEAN Way, 77–80; democracy, security, and survivalism,

index 166–67; democracy, welfare, and prosperity, 127–28; democracy and illiberal thought, 103–4; democracy and leadership, 71–74, 124–26, 165–66; democracy and organicism, 66–71, 126–27, 164–65; democracy and security, 145–48; democracy and soft power, 64–66, 165; democracy and welfare, 100–103; economic liberalization and soft power, 182; economic liberalization and the prosperity norm, 180–81; economic reform and vulnerability, 181; by Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, 30, 63–81, 84, 100–107, 108, 111, 124–28, 131, 144–49, 151, 164–68, 170, 173, 180–82, 185, 197, 202, 213, 220–23, 224–25; liberal–cosmopolitan values and leadership, 148–49; liberalization and leadership, 181–82; relationship to cognitive prior, 20; security and vulnerability, 107; welfare, security and the “cognitive prior”, 75–77; welfare and anticapitalist traditions, 104–7 Großklaus, Matthias, 20 Gumilang Kartasasmita, 193 Guzman, Andrew T., 14 Haacke, Jürgen, 41, 43, 46 Haas, Ernst B., 81 Haas, Michael, 43 Habibie, Bacharuddin, 105, 151–52 Hadi, Umar, 65 Hadiwinata, Bob S., 26, 85, 86, 129, 132, 134 Hamid, Usman, 90, 91, 97, 102, 108 Hariyadi, Wirawan, 195 Harmoko, 112 Hasibuan, M. Sauri, 238n90 Hatta, Mohammed, 38 Haushofer, Karl, 36 haze pollution, 79, 87, 99, 127, 188, 204; ASEAN Agreement on Transboundary Haze Pollution, 113; ASEAN Transboundary Haze Pollution, 28 Heiduk, Felix, 53 Hermansah, 201 Hernandez, Carolina G., 87 Hersutanto, Begi, 114 Heryanto, Ariel, 112 Hicks, Jacqueline, 171 Hidayat, H. D., 198 Hidayat, M. S., 174, 177 HIPMI, 171, 179 Hippi, 171 Hmong refugees, 139 Holzinger, Katharina, 4 Honna, Jun, 53, 112 human rights: ASEAN Charter’s human rights mechanism, 49, 50, 57, 59, 60, 61, 73, 88, 90,

283

96, 97, 103, 116, 118, 119–20, 139, 159–60; ASEAN Declaration on Human Rights (ADHR), 61, 74, 80, 91, 97, 109, 121, 145, 169; ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights (AICHR), 60–61, 74, 80, 91, 121, 139, 159–60, 169; and Asian values, 61, 102, 126, 135, 145, 169; Bangkok Declaration on Human Rights, 96; contextualization of, 97, 102, 108, 109, 145, 169; as liberal–cosmopolitan value, 3, 22, 42, 48, 50, 56, 57, 59, 79, 85, 130, 135, 143, 144, 154, 216; UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 109. See also ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights; Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, attitudes regarding human rights Human Rights Working Group (HRWG), 26, 86, 88, 96, 102 Humardani, Sudjono, 132 Huotari, Mikko, 10, 25, 229 Hurrell, Andrew, 15 Ibrahim, Anwar, 46 Ibrahim, Rustam, 85, 86 Ichsan, Fauzi, 181–82 ideational and normative diffusion, 6–10, 11, 12, 32, 145; agency of local norm recipients, 10, 19, 216, 230; as bottom–up process, 24, 58, 215–16, 218, 226–27, 229, 231; consolidation of new ideas, 226–27; extent of change, 16, 17; external norm entrepreneurs, 17, 19, 23, 24, 47, 215, 225, 231; and identity change, 16, 17, 19, 20; and mode of communication, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22; as multi–/omnidirectional process, 23, 95, 109, 160, 169, 226; and political learning, 16, 17, 18–19, 20, 216–17, 224; rationalist theories, 13–14, 15; reflexivist theories, 14–16; triggers for change, 17, 45. See also responses of norm recipients Igarashi, Seiichi, 92 Imawan, Riswandha, 112 Imparsial, 26, 86, 88, 96 India, 97, 148, 162, 181, 182, 187, 210, 231; relations with Indonesia, 204, 222; rise of, 63, 141, 161, 219, 222 Indonesia: archipelagic principle (wawasan nusantara) in, 36–37, 213; ASEAN as cornerstone of foreign policy, 27, 36, 132, 134, 144, 146, 147–48, 153, 161, 167, 196, 204–6, 222; and Asian Financial Crisis, 22, 33, 45–46, 56, 65, 75, 77, 86, 87, 135, 181, 188, 219; attitudes regarding Great Powers in, 33–34, 36, 40, 72, 75–76, 107, 123–24, 128, 145–46, 204–5; bapakism and kekeluargaan in, 37–38, 221; during Cold War, 33, 38; colonialism in, 33;

284

index confrontation policy (konfrontasi), 39, 190, 194; Constitutional Court, 106; Constitution of 1945, 37, 105, 111–12, 180, 223; Constitution of 1950, 111; Coordinating Ministry for Legal, Political and Security Affairs, 210–11; democratization in, 6, 9, 22, 24, 25, 26, 54, 58, 65–66, 72, 78, 85, 86, 103, 111–14, 117, 125, 131, 134–35, 148, 151–53, 154–55, 185, 188, 215, 216, 218, 220, 221, 224; Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DRP), 26, 54, 111–12, 115, 116, 118–19, 120, 121, 124, 128, 134, 168, 209; Directorate General of Information and Public Diplomacy, 54; East Timor independence referendum, 22; economic conditions, 11–12, 22, 45–46, 65, 74, 75, 86–87, 124, 176– 83, 197–203; Exclusive Economic Zone, 204; free and active foreign policy (bebas–aktif), 38–39, 73–74, 76, 119, 132, 146, 150, 164, 167, 203, 205, 206, 213, 222, 223, 228; geography of, 33, 37; Global Maritime Axis policy, 204, 208–9; Indonesian National Standard (SNI), 199–200; Law No. 8/1985 (ORMAS), 85; Law No. 24/2000, 54; Law No. 25/2007, 106; Law No. 37/1999, 54; Ligitan and Sipadan islands, 22, 30; military, 27, 34, 36, 38, 53, 77, 108, 112, 132, 144, 191, 192–93, 209–11, 212–13; Ministry of Communications and Information, 68; Ministry of Fisheries and Marine Affairs, 190; Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 26, 53, 54–55, 57, 60, 61, 62, 65, 69, 71, 76, 77–78, 78, 80, 81, 116–17, 118, 132, 137, 138, 150, 157, 186, 190, 191, 197, 203, 205, 207, 211, 222; Ministry of Health, 198; Ministry of Home Affairs, 86; Ministry of Industry, 198; Ministry of Marine Affairs and Fisheries, 207; Ministry of Trade, 174, 197, 200; multiethnic structure, 33; nationalism in, 35, 37, 38–39, 105, 125, 127, 129, 148, 178, 179–80, 181, 182, 188–89, 191–92, 193, 194–95, 196, 201–2, 206, 207–8, 210, 211–12, 214, 221, 225; national resilience (ketahanan nasional) doctrine, 34, 77, 146, 150, 223; organicist collectivism in, 22, 37–38, 42, 66–71, 73, 80, 103–4, 105, 126–27, 130, 145, 164, 221; People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR), 113; perjuangan (struggle) paradigm in, 38, 185–86, 197, 253n2; policies on NGOs, 84–86, 92, 93; political realism in, 25, 33–38, 76, 146, 166, 185, 206, 223; population, 8–9, 39, 71, 72, 74, 148, 185; precolonial empires, 33, 35–36, 64, 75, 101, 181, 220, 222, 223, 231; as regional leader, 8–9, 25, 29, 39, 64, 67, 71–75, 78, 103, 119, 124, 125–26, 129, 148–49, 154, 160, 164, 165–66, 181–82, 185–87, 204–5, 210, 213, 218, 219–20, 222, 226–27; relations with

Cambodia, 158–59; relations with China, 76, 209, 211, 256n109; relations with IMF, 21, 45–46, 188, 204; relations with India, 204, 222; relations with Malaysia, 12, 22, 30, 39, 123, 189–97, 204, 207, 209, 210; relations with Myanmar, 80, 96–97, 113, 116, 121, 128, 155–56, 158–59, 161–62, 186; relations with Philippines, 190; relations with Singapore, 79, 113, 204, 207; relations with Thailand, 204; relations with Timor Leste, 190, 207; relations with Vietnam, 190; sovereignty of, 11–12, 30, 34, 36–37, 38, 78, 83, 113, 130, 132, 189, 190, 191, 195, 197, 202, 203, 206, 207–8, 209, 210, 212, 213, 221, 226. See also Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders Indonesia Institute of Sciences (LIPI), 132, 134, 140, 143, 208 Indonesia–Japan Economic Partnership Agreement, 101–2 Indonesian Chamber of Commerce and Industries (KADIN), 27, 102, 171, 172, 174, 177, 178, 198, 199, 201 Indonesian Employers Association (APINDO), 27, 175, 178, 179, 199, 200, 201, 211 Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, 16, 21, 22–23, 28–29; academics and think tank scholars, 11, 26, 29, 47, 73, 103, 107, 115, 121, 129, 131–50, 156–57, 158, 160, 162, 164, 168, 169, 177, 181, 182, 184–85, 186, 195–96, 200– 201, 207, 208, 210, 212, 215, 218, 219, 220, 222–23, 226; attitudes regarding ACFTA, 31, 107, 161, 170, 174, 178–79, 197–203, 212, 223; attitudes regarding democracy, 55–61, 63–75, 76, 77–81, 88–97, 100–104, 108–10, 115–22, 124–30, 131, 135–39, 141, 143, 144–48, 149, 150, 154–60, 164, 165–67, 173–76, 182, 183, 184–85, 202, 207, 212, 216, 218, 219, 220, 221–22, 224; attitudes regarding EU, 6, 23–24, 25, 33, 43–44, 47, 51, 55, 63–64, 75, 77, 80, 81–82, 83, 94, 99, 100–101, 102–3, 111, 114–15, 122, 124, 133–34, 137, 142, 150, 153–54, 161, 164, 168, 170, 172–73, 182–83, 184, 185, 212, 213, 217, 218, 224, 227, 230, 232; attitudes regarding human rights, 26, 54, 55, 58, 59–61, 62, 64, 65–66, 71, 73, 74, 77–78, 79–80, 83, 96–97, 99, 101, 102–3, 104, 108–9, 119–20, 121–22, 125, 126, 129–30, 133, 136, 138–39, 141, 143, 144–45, 149, 154, 156, 158, 159–60, 169, 182, 183, 202, 216, 218, 220, 221, 224, 225–26; attitudes regarding Indonesian leadership, 39, 54–55, 71–74, 78, 103, 119, 124, 124–26, 148–49, 154, 165–66, 181–82, 185–89, 202–3, 212–13, 218, 219–20, 230; attitudes regarding regionalism, 6, 25, 27–28, 29, 31, 32–33, 51, 67–68, 79, 81–82, 84, 87–88,

index 89, 95–96, 99–100, 103, 108, 110, 111, 114–15, 119, 122, 124, 125, 129, 131–32, 133–35, 136– 37, 141, 142, 144, 145, 149, 150, 151, 153–54, 158, 162, 168, 170, 173, 176, 182, 183, 184, 185, 189, 196, 203–14, 215–17, 223, 224, 227; business representatives, 11, 27, 29, 30, 31, 170–83, 195, 196, 198–99, 200–201, 218, 219, 220–21, 222–23, 225; government officials, 11, 25–26, 29, 47, 52, 53–83, 78, 103, 107, 108, 115, 119, 122, 123, 124, 128, 129, 131, 145, 148, 149, 158, 162, 164, 165, 166, 177, 181, 182, 184–85, 186, 190–93, 196, 197–98, 201, 202, 203–14, 217–18, 219–21, 222–23, 224, 225, 226; legislators, 11, 26, 27, 29–30, 62, 73, 78, 111–30, 125, 135, 145, 156–57, 168, 184–85, 193–94, 196–97, 201, 202, 208, 210, 212, 215, 218, 219, 220–21; NGO representatives, 11, 24, 26, 27, 29, 47, 62, 73, 80, 84–110, 115, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 126, 128, 131, 135, 139, 140, 145, 149, 156–57, 159, 160, 162, 164, 168, 169, 175, 176, 180, 183, 184–85, 186, 194–95, 196, 200, 201, 202, 210, 212, 215, 218, 219, 220–21, 222–23, 225, 226; press, 11, 26–27, 29, 47, 62, 73, 103, 107, 115, 121, 148, 151–69, 196, 210, 212, 215, 218, 220–21, 223. See also framing; grafting; pruning Infid, 26, 86, 88, 96, 106 Initiative for ASEAN Integration (IAI), 47 Institute for Social and Economic Research of the University of Indonesia (LPEM–UI), 102 Institute of Global Justice (IGJ), 26, 88, 90, 96, 103, 106 International Court of Justice (ICJ), 22, 30, 143, 190, 193 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 87, 204; conditionalities imposed by, 21, 45–46, 188; relations with Indonesia, 21 international relations research, 7–8, 10, 12 Islam, 27, 29, 34, 65, 72, 78, 106–7, 125, 185, 201 Isman, Hayono, 193 Jaleswari Pramodhawardan, 208 Japan, 21, 23, 76, 97, 141 Jayakumar, S., 47 Jemadu, Aleksius, 140, 147–48, 195 Jetly, Rajshree, 44 Jetschke, Anja, 3, 28, 43, 44, 46, 47, 50, 216, 230; on emulation of EU, 4, 48, 134 Johnston, Alastair Ian, 43, 230, 231 Jokowi, 12, 184, 186, 203–14, 228; defense budget under, 210; Global Maritime Axis policy, 204, 208–9, 213; policy regarding fishing vessels, 207–8, 212; trade policies, 211–12 Jolliff, Brandy, 4

285

Jones, David Martin, 46–47 Jones, Lee, 120 Jörgens, Helge, 4 Jupille, Joseph, 4 Jürgenmeyer, Clemens, 112 Juwana, Hikmahanto, 136, 186, 203, 206 Kalla, Jusuf, 212 Kamarulnizam, Abdullah, 69 Kanter, Chris, 175 Kassim,Yang Razali, 197 Katsumata, Hiro, 42 Katzenstein, Peter, 229 Kauppert, Philipp, 179, 197, 200 Keck, Margaret E., 87 Keliat, Makmur, 136, 137, 138, 195 Keohane, Robert O., 135 Kessler, Christl, 87 Khasali, Rhenald, 201 Khoman, Thanat, 44 King, Dwight Y., 37 Kivimäki, Timo, 43 Knill, Christoph, 4 Koentjaraningrat, 8 Koh, Tommy, 61, 90 Köllner, Patrick, 229 Kontras, 26, 86, 88, 90, 96, 97, 102, 108 Koran Tempo, 152 Koremenos, Barbara, 13–14 Korten, David C., 104 Kraft, Herman Joseph S., 133, 159 Kraft–Kasack, Christiane, 110 Krautilya’s Arthasastra, 34–35, 36, 206, 223, 231 Kühn, David, 53 Kwa, Aileen, 87 Laksono, Agung, 115, 194 Landolt, Laura K., 24 Lang, Jarno, 27, 38, 152 Laos, 1, 2, 56, 59, 93, 119, 143 Lara, Francisco, Jr., 72 Laras, Subronto, 176 Latin America, 23, 95, 225–26; alternative regionalism in, 24, 103 Laudel, Grit, 30 Legro, Jeffrey, 9, 17, 19, 20, 45, 226 Lehmkuhl, Ursula, 28 Leifer, Michael, 36, 38, 39, 72 Lenz, Tobias, 3, 230 Leslie, John, 17 Levi, Lucio, 88 liberal–cosmopolitan norms and values: vs. Asian values, 42–43, 65, 231; good governance, 3, 22, 42, 48, 50, 56, 57, 59, 79, 85, 110, 130, 135, 143, 144, 154, 216; rule of law, 3, 22, 42, 48,

286

index

50, 78, 110, 130, 135, 142, 143, 144, 154, 177, 216. See also democracy; human rights Liddle, William, 22 Ligitan and Sipadan islands, 22, 30, 190, 193 Lim, Ivan, 179, 197, 200 Lindsey, Tim, 22 Linggih, Ketut Suardhana, 178 Lingkar Permuda Tapal Batas Indonesia–­Timor Timur, 194 Liow, Joseph Chinyong, 209 Lipton, Charles, 13–14 Lolo, Andi, 144 Loong, Lee Hsien, 125, 129 Lorenz, Philip, 53 Luhulima, Cornelis, 143 Macapagal–Arroyo, Gloria, 158 MacIntyre, Andrew J., 37, 85, 171 Mackinder, Halford, 36 Magnis–Suseno, Franz, 8 Mahathir, Muhamad, 92, 144 Mahbubani, Kishore, 43 Mahendra,Yusron Ihza, 123, 125–26, 186, 193, 194 Maier–Knapp, Naila, 47 Majapahit, 35–36, 76, 181 Malaysia, 92, 93, 116, 127, 161, 208; and ASEAN Community, 1; during Asian Financial Crisis, 45; economic conditions, 122, 176–77; Indonesian migrant workers in, 98–99, 123, 189–90, 192, 194, 195; New Economic Policy (NEP), 171; relations with Indonesia, 12, 22, 30, 39, 123, 189–97, 204, 207, 209, 210 Malik, Adam, 6, 33, 36, 38, 40 Malloy, James M., 37 Manalo, Rosario G., 61, 90 mandala concept, 34, 36, 207, 231 Manea, Maria–Gabriela, 17, 18, 53, 114, 210 Manners, Ian: on EU as normative power, 3 Maphilindo, 39 March, James G., 13, 14 Markham, Marion, 35 Marsh, David, 14 Marsudi, Retno, 1, 203, 211, 212 Marzuki, Darusman, 117, 118, 120, 121, 122, 123–24, 126, 194 Masoed, Mochtar, 132 Masselot, Annick, 17 Massie, Jeffrey, 194 Mazey, Sonia, 83 McKinsey Global Institute, 175 McVey, Ruth T., 37 media: Antara, 29, 152; Antara News, 207; Asiaweek, 47–48; DetikNews, 29, 152; East Asia Forum, 186; Gatra, 29, 152; Gramedia,

29, 133; Indonesian Quarterly, 133, 137–38; Jakarta Globe, 29, 147, 152, 154, 156, 161, 162, 163; Jakarta Post, 29, 36, 70, 127, 133, 139, 140, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157–58, 159, 160, 161, 162–64, 166, 167, 168, 169, 238n90; Java Post, 29; Kabas Bisnis, 29; Kompas, 29, 133, 137, 152, 154, 157, 159; Media Indonesia, 29, 152; Merdeka, 29, 152; Nation, The, 51; New Straits Times, 2; Philippine Daily Inquirer, 72; Republika, 29, 152; Suara Hidayatullah, 29; Suara Pembaruan, 29; Tempo group, 29; Tempo Interaktif, 29, 152, 158, 169 Megawati Sukarnoputri, 56, 67, 154 Mercosur, 148, 150; vs. ASEAN, 82, 83, 109 methodology, 11, 13, 25–31; diachronic in–case comparison, 25, 31; synchronic in–case comparison, 25 Meyer, John W., 3, 15, 18 Mietzner, Marcus, 53, 152 Migrant Care, 26, 86, 88, 96 migrant workers, 62, 100, 107; from Indonesia, 98–99, 122–23, 127, 139, 140, 189–90, 192, 194, 195; from Philippines, 127 Mintz, Jenne S., 8, 104 modernization theory, 4–5, 6, 9, 10, 15, 216 Moeldoko, 211, 212–13 Moertono, Soemarsaid, 8, 37 Morada, Noel M., 135, 159 Morgenthau, Hans, 38 Morrison, Charles E., 133, 159 Muhammadiyah, 106 Muladi, 193 Müller, Lukas Maximilian, 7 multiple modernities concept, 5–6 Mulyana,Yayan G. H., 56, 70, 253n2 Murdani, Benny, 132 Murphy, Ann Marie, 39, 53, 67, 72, 185 Murray, Philomena, 4, 48, 216 Murtopo, Ali, 132 musyawarah–mufakat tradition, 41, 66, 67, 104, 221 Myanmar, 1, 2, 56, 59, 77, 92–93, 118, 119, 143; elections of November 2010, 156; military regime, 18, 73, 78, 96–97, 103, 108, 120, 121, 125, 128, 133, 136, 138, 139, 149, 155, 161–62; relations with Indonesia, 80, 96–97, 113, 116, 121, 128, 155–56, 158–59, 161–62, 186; Saffron Revolution, 96, 155 Nabbs–Keller, Greta, 53, 54 Nahdian, Berry, 200 Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), 70, 106 Narine, Shaun, 40, 41 Narlikar, Amrita, 231 Narlikar, Aruna, 231 Natalegawa, Marty, 73, 190, 191, 205; on ASEAN,

index 58, 61, 62, 74, 197–98, 222; on democracy, 54, 62, 66, 76–77; on dynamic equilibrium, 76, 206; on Indonesia leadership, 186 National Mandate Party (PAN), 113, 119, 123, 125, 126, 129 National Resilience Institute (Lemhannas), 34 Natuna Islands, 208, 211 Nelson, Michael H., 112 Nesadurai, Helen E. S., 83 New Public Management (NPM), 104 New Zealand, 97 Nguitragool, Paruedee, 34, 46, 87, 109, 142, 146, 179; on precolonial Indonesia, 64, 75, 220 Nolte, Detlef, 9, 220 Non–Aligned Movement (NAM), 71, 188, 222 Nordic Council, 44 Novotny, Daniel, 33, 38 Nugroho, Bambang Hartadi, 140, 145 Nusantara, Abdul Hakim Garuda, 102 Nye, Joseph, 18, 64 Nyman, Mikaela, 85 offensive localization, 224–25 Olsen, Johan, 13, 14 Oratmangun, Djauhari, 61, 69, 71, 73 organic state theory, 23, 126–27 Organization of American States (OAS), 49 Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), 71 O’Rourke, Kevin, 22 Owen, David, 89 Palmer, Norman D., 2 Pancasila, 67, 85, 105 Pane, Aziz, 178 Pangaribuan, Aristo, 200 Pangestu, Mari Elka, 132, 174, 197–98, 251n9 Papang Hidayat, 102 Papua, 78, 129, 211 Papua New Guinea, 208 parabellum paradigm, 191, 206 Pardede, Soy, 179, 186 Pareira, Andreas, 123, 126 Partai Demokrat, 193 Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI), 105 PDI–P, 67, 106, 119, 123, 125, 127, 129, 201, 203 Pedersen, Thomas: on cooperative hegemony, 9 Pente, Imke, 49 Peou, Sorpong, 42 Permadi, 194 Perwita, Anak Agung, 38, 138, 200 Petchsiri, Apirat, 3, 50 Philippines, 60, 92, 93, 108, 125, 155, 158, 190, 208; and ASEAN Community, 1; Centre for Investigative Journalism, 138; economic conditions, 62; migrant workers from, 127; NGOs in, 95, 99

287

Pitsuwan, Surin, 46 Ponjaert, Frederik, 3 Poole, Avery, 7–8, 125 Powell, Walter W., 3, 18 Pramono, Siswo, 36, 54, 76, 187–88 Prasetio, John A., 177 Prasetyono, Edy, 35, 136 Prawono Subianto, 203 preemptive localization, 23, 47, 225, 231 Priamarizki, Adhi, 33 Priatna, P. L. E., 150 Prosperous Justice Party (PKS), 123 protectionism, 140, 161, 198, 199, 201, 202, 204, 211–12 pruning: Acharya on, 16, 23, 81, 216; by Indonesian foreign policy stakeholders, 30, 81–83, 84, 108–10, 111, 128–30, 131, 149–50, 151, 168–69, 170, 173, 182–83, 185, 213, 223–24; relationship to cognitive prior, 20; of supranationalism, 41, 43, 81, 82, 129, 150, 168, 182, 183, 213, 223 Prys, Miriam, 72, 74 Putin,Vladimir, 207 Radaelli, Claudio M., 20, 230 Rahakundini, Conny, 144 Rahardjo, Dawan, 106 Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), 72, 77, 188 Ramli, Rizal, 140, 181 Ramos, Fidel V., 50 Randeria, Shalini, 6 Rapp, Elke, 84, 85, 86 rational choice paradigm, 13–14, 24 Rational Design of International Institutions (RDII) approach, 13–14 Ratzel, Friedrich, 36 Ravenhill, John, 50 Raweyai,Yorrys, 194 Razak, Abdul, 61 Razak, Najib, 2 Reeve, David, 22, 37, 73, 221 Reid, Anthony, 32, 37 Renshaw, Catherine M., 91 responses of norm recipients: complete rejection, 16–18, 20, 21, 216; complete transformation, 16, 17, 20–21, 216; localization, 16, 17, 19–20, 21, 22–23, 32, 216; mimicry, 16, 17, 18–20, 21, 44, 216, 226 Reyes, Alejandro, 47–48 rhetoric–action gaps, 3, 18, 20, 44, 46, 49, 154 Riady family, 29 Richardson, Jeremy, 83 Ricklefs, Merle C., 71, 127, 202 Risse, Thomas, 3, 4, 5, 7, 14, 21, 28, 230

288

index

Rizky, Mardhatillah Umar Ahmad, 207 Rohingyas, 73, 121 Rosdi, Afriadi, 114 Rose, Richard, 14, 19 Rosenau, James N., 28 Rother, Stefan, 82, 87 Rowan, Brian, 3, 18 Rüland, Anchalee, 228, 229 Safrina, Magda, 201 Sambuaga, Theo, 119 Santosa, Teguh, 114 Santoso, Lie Nathaniel, 210 Saparini, Hendri, 141 Sasongko, Dhanang, 200 Sasono, Adi, 105 Scharpf, Fritz W., 47, 222 Schlipphak, Bernd, 16 Schmidt,Volker H., 5, 6 Schmitter, Philippe C., 37, 82 Schneier, Edward V., 112 Scholte, J. A., 88 Schuck, Christoph, 129 Schwarz, Adam, 85, 112 Schwinn, Thomas, 3, 5, 6, 7 Sebastian, Leonard C., 33, 35, 36, 53 Sembiring, Tifatul, 68 Severino, Rudolfo C., 43, 46, 49 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), 44, 148 Sharman, James C., 14 Shawki, Noha, 19 Shekhar,Vibhanshu, 37, 205 Sherlock, Stephen, 111, 113 Shidiq, Akhmad Rizal, 200 Shils, Edward, 64 Shinawatra, Thaksin, 136 Siazon, Domingo L., 46 Siddique, Mahfudz, 194 Sikkink, Kathryn, 15, 87 Sil, Rudra, 229 Silano, Markus, 123 Simanjuntak, Djisman, 132 Simanjuntak, Marsillam, 22, 37 Simmons, Beth A., 14 Singapore, 1, 77, 79, 93, 108, 116, 123, 125, 129, 136, 161; and Asian Economic Community (AEC), 55, 175; economic conditions, 74, 122, 127, 176–77; relations with Indonesia, 79, 113, 204, 207; and “two plus X” procedure, 48 Sjahrir, Sutan, 105 Slater, Dan, 67 Smith, Anthony L., 53, 72, 113 Smith, Michael L. R., 46–47, 53

Snidal, Duncan, 13–14 Snow, David A., 16, 185 Snyder, Jack L., 188, 191 Social Party of Indonesia (PSI), 105 sociological institutionalism, 15–16 Soeripto, 194 Soesastro, Hadi, 47, 132 soft power, 164, 182, 213, 220; and democracy, 18, 64–66, 72, 125, 165 Solidaritas Perempuan, 86 Solidarity for Asian People’s Advocacy (SAPA), 88, 89, 90, 91, 94–95, 97, 108, 109–10, 241n36 Solidum, Estrella D., 39, 42 Solingen, Etel, 8 South Africa, 148, 187, 222 South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC), 44, 148 South China Sea, 76, 209, 211 Southeast Asian Committee on Advocacy (SEACA), 94 Southeast Asia Women’s Caucus on ASEAN, 94 Southern African Development Community (SADC), 148 Sri Vijaya, 35 Steele, Janet, 152 Stepan, Alfred, 37 Stone, Diane, 44, 133, 159 Strang, David, 15 Streeck, Wolfgang, 82 Stubbs, Richard, 44 Suara Pembaruan, 152 Subardjo, Achmad, 166 Sudarsono, Juwono, 34, 132 Sudjastuti, Susi, 207 Suharto: and ASEAN, 39–40, 144; on developing countries, 34; New Order regime, 37, 39, 40, 53, 75, 77, 111–12, 117, 131–32, 133, 152, 166, 171, 210, 215, 221, 222, 223; policies regarding NGOs, 84–85; resignation, 6, 22, 38, 53, 56, 85, 112, 131, 151, 215; vs. Sukarno, 35, 37, 39, 71–72, 221 Sukarno, 105, 127, 223; confrontation policy (konfrontasi), 39, 190, 194; Guided Democracy, 37, 221; vs. Suharto, 35, 37, 39, 71–72, 221 Sukma, Rizal, 21, 27, 38, 47, 127, 132, 135, 137–39, 143, 145, 146–48, 208; on ASC, 56, 136; on democracy, 127, 136; on economic policies, 212; on HTLF, 136, 137; on human rights, 136, 186; on Indonesian foreign policy, 119–20, 147, 167, 186, 189, 196, 204–5, 222, 231; on Myanmar, 139, 186; on noncompliance, 144; on security, 141, 146 Sulisto, Bambang Suryo, 199 Sumowigeno, Guspiabri, 207

index Sunardi, R. M., 16 Sundari, Eva K., 121–22 Supratikno, Hendrawan, 201 Supriyanto, Ristan A., 36 Suryadinata, Leo, 35, 36, 37, 53, 76, 112 Suryodiningrat, Meidyatama, 156, 157, 158–59, 160, 161–62, 163–64, 165–67 Susilo, Djoko, 113, 117, 119, 120, 121, 124, 126, 129, 194 Sutarto, Endriartono, 192 Sutiono, Pribadi, 58 Suwastoyo, Bhimanto, 154, 162 Swajaya, Ngurah, 59 Swasono, Sri Edi, 141 Synahkrie, Kiki, 239n127 Syumanda, Rully, 241n54 Tambupulon, Natalia Rialucky, 139 Tan, Hsien–Li, 46, 80, 88 Tan, Paige J., 33–34, 72 Taufiq Kiemas, 194 Taufiqurrahman, M., 158 Tay, Simon S. C., 47 Telo, Mario, 3 Thailand, 1, 79, 92, 93, 108, 121, 125, 158, 160, 208; and Asian Economic Community (AEC), 55, 175; during Asian Financial Crisis, 45–46; military coups in, 155; Muslim insurgency in, 78; relations with Cambodia, 73, 78, 163; relations with Indonesia, 204; sovereignty of, 41; and “two plus X” procedure, 48 Thamrin,Yuri, 78 Thayer, Carlyle A., 141 Third World Network, 87 Thompson, Mark R., 85 Tickner, Arlene B., 228, 230 Timor Leste, 190, 207 Tjahyono, Amber, 178 Toha, Abdillah, 123, 125, 129 Tohari, Haryanto Y., 116, 117, 118–19, 120, 123 Transnational Institute, 226 Transpacific Partnership (TPP), 161 Treaty of Commerce for Peoples (TCP), 95 Ufen, Andreas, 84, 85, 112, 113, 171 UNASUR, 148 United Nations, 204, 205; Convention on the Law of the Sea, 191; Human Rights Council (UNHCR), 156; Security Council, 96–97, 156, 163; Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 109 Uphoff, Norman T., 45, 68, 69, 82, 222 Vallinoto, Nicola, 88

289

Van Hüllen,Vera, 4, 230 Vasilaki, Rosa, 229 Vatikiotis, Michael R. J., 39, 73 Vientiane Action Plan (2004–­2010), 48, 56, 135, 154 Vietnam, 1, 2, 56, 59, 93, 119, 161, 190, 208 Vogler, John, 234n31 Wahono, 112 Wahyudi, Agus, 37 Wahyuningrum,Yuyun, 88, 90, 92, 94, 99 Wahyu, Susilo, 96, 99 Walhi, 26, 86, 89, 99, 105, 107, 200, 241n54 Wanandi, Jusuf, 49, 59, 112, 132, 136, 138, 142, 146, 147–48, 161; on human rights, 133, 139; on Indonesian foreign policy, 119, 147; on Myanmar, 133; on regionalism, 40, 133, 137, 143, 150; on security, 141 Wanandi, Sofyan, 179, 200, 211 Wang, Pei–Cheng, 47 Weatherbee, Donald E., 8, 125 Weber, Max, 3 Weinstein, Benjamin, 71 Weinstein, Franklin B., 33, 38, 39, 76 Wesley, Michael S., 87 Weyland, Kurt: on bounded learning, 14 Wibosono, Makarim, 58 Widjajanto, Andi, 36 Widodo, Joko. See Jokowi Wiese,York A., 27, 152 Wirajuda, Hassan, 54, 62, 77–78, 81, 118, 191, 207; on democracy, 58, 125; on human rights, 61; on noninterference norm, 60, 79, 83 Wirajuda, Muhammad Hadianto, 9, 24, 27, 53, 191, 192, 206 Wirjawan, Gita, 198, 211 Wittrock, Björn, 5, 6 Wojcik, Stefan, 4 Wong, John, 46 Wong, Reuben, 44 Woon, Walter, 61 World Bank, 87, 204 world polity theory, 3–4, 6, 7, 15 World Trade Organization (WTO), 87, 106, 140 Wyatt, David K., 41 Yamin, Mohammed, 35 Yew, Lee Kuan, 62, 144 Yong, Ong Keng, 46 Yoshimatsu, Hidetaka, 101 Yudhoyono, Susilo Bambang, 65, 67, 76, 77, 79, 117, 118, 158, 187, 188, 193, 198; on ASEAN, 58, 60, 69, 205; on democracy, 58, 60, 62, 66, 125, 182, 212; foreign policy, 54, 58, 64, 125,

290

index

165, 166, 182, 190, 191–92, 204, 205, 210, 227; on human rights, 83, 182; on Indonesian leadership, 187, 212; on Indonesian sovereignty, 190, 191–92; vs. Jokowi, 203–4, 205–6, 210–11, 212–13; on soft power, 64, 125, 165, 182, 213

Zhu, Rong, 197 Ziegenhain, Patrick, 112 Zimmer, Heinrich, 34 Ziv, Daniel, 67, 127

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