Continuity and Change: The Changing Contours of Organized Violence in Post-New Order Indonesia

Abstract

This article examines the changing nature of organized violence in post–New Order Indonesia. The New Order regime, which ended with the overthrow of Suharto in 1998, employed violence as a central strategy for maintaining political control, both through the state apparatus and via state proxies: criminal and paramilitary groups acting in the state's behalf. In effect, violence and criminality were normalized as state practice. The collapse of the New Order and the resulting fragmentation of its patronage networks have prompted a decline in state-sponsored violence, but at the same time the number of non-state groups employing violence and intimidation as a political, social, and economic strategy has increased. This article looks at this phenomenon of the “democratization” and privatization of organized violence in post–New Order Indonesia via detailed case studies of a number of paramilitary and vigilante groups. While operating in a manner similar to organized crime gangs, each group articulates an ideology that legitimizes the use of force via appeals to ethnicity, class, and religious affiliation. Violence is also justified as an act of necessary rectification rather than direct opposition, in a situation where the state is considered to have failed in providing fundamentals such as security, justice, and employment.

Full text

Wilson / Continuity and Change
CONTINUITY AND CHANGE
The Changing Contours of Organized
Violence in Post–New Order Indonesia
Ian Douglas Wilson
ABSTRACT: This article examines the changing nature of organized violence in post–
New Order Indonesia. The New Order regime, which ended with the overthrow of
Suharto in 1998, employed violence as a central strategy for maintaining political
control, both through the state apparatus and via state proxies: criminal and para-
military groups acting in the state’s behalf. In effect, violence and criminality were
normalized as state practice. The collapse of the New Order and the resulting frag-
mentation of its patronage networks have prompted a decline in state-sponsored vi-
olence, but at the same time the number of non-state groups employing violence
and intimidation as a political, social, and economic strategy has increased. This arti-
cle looks at this phenomenon of the “democratization” and privatization of orga-
nized violence in post–New Order Indonesia via detailed case studies of a number of
paramilitary and vigilante groups. While operating in a manner similar to organized
crime gangs, each group articulates an ideology that legitimizes the use of force via
appeals to ethnicity, class, and religious affiliation. Violence is also justified as an act
of necessary rectification rather than direct opposition, in a situation where the
state is considered to have failed in providing fundamentals such as security, justice,
and employment.
Paramilitary, vigilante, and militia groups have a long and colorful history in In-
donesia. Prevalent throughout the colonial period, the Indonesian national
army itself was originally formed from such groups, pointing to the long-stand-
ing historical ambiguity between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” uses of vio-
lence.1During the New Order era (1965–98), as has been well documented, the
state fostered and utilized a number of quasi-official organizations such as
ISSN 1467-2715 print/1472-6033 online / 02 / 000265-33 ©2006 BCAS, Inc. DOI: 10.1080/14672710600671244
Critical Asian Studies
38:2 (2006), 265-297

Pemuda Pancasila, and Pemuda Panca Marga.2Drawing from gangs and the
criminal underworld of preman (thugs),3these groups acted as “assistants” to
the regime, employing the time-proven methods of physical and psychological
intimidation in carrying out what O’Rourke refers to as “regime maintenance”
chores.4Aside from these groups, a symbiotic relationship also existed between
street-level preman and the military and political and social elites, referred to
simply as beking (backing). Preman were allowed to carry out their activities,
e.g., protection rackets and control over a particular localized sector of the
economy, in return for a cut of the profits that would make its way through the
various levels of the state bureaucracy. Violence and criminality were normal-
ized as state practice.
Although incidents of state-sponsored violence have declined since the col-
lapse of the New Order in 1998 and the beginning of the “reform era,” the de-
cline has been accompanied by an upsurge in violence, coercion, and extortion
carried out by paramilitary, criminal, and vigilante groups that are not depend-
ent upon state patronage. The fragmentation of the centralized state and the re-
sulting rivalry between groups seeking economic and political power at the na-
tional level and control over resources at the local level have both been central
factors in this proliferation of violent thuggery. Groups with a variety of agendas
have employed the violent mobilization of supporters as a central political strat-
egy. Decentralization reforms initiated in 1999 have resulted in greater economic
and political autonomy at the provincial and subdistrict levels. These reforms
have also led to an increase in conflicts between groups trading in violence, as
political and civil organizations fight over “turf,” economic resources, and
constituencies that were once the exclusive domain of the New Order.5
This article outlines some of the recent events that I will argue have played a
significant role in the “democratization” of violence in post–New Order Indone-
sia, specifically, the impact of the state-sponsored Pamswakarsa vigilante force
mobilized in 1999 and the subsequent boom in paramilitary “task forces” at-
tached to political parties. The article then examines the structure, actions, and
practices of two of the many vigilante groups that have emerged since 1998. Be-
266 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
1. See Cribb 1991.
2. Ryter 1998.
3. While for the purposes of this article I have translated preman as “thug,” it is
important to note that the term has a diverse range of political and cultural
connotations. Shifting in meaning over time from “free man” to “military out of
uniform” to “hooligan” and “thug,” the term has an etymology that is in itself
revealing, reflecting perhaps the public’s experience of the New Order, and
the thin line that continues to exist between criminality and the state practice.
See Ryter 1998, esp. 48–51.
4. These “maintenance chores” included intimidating and attacking critics of the
government, organizing pro-government rallies, and “procuring” funds via
state-sanctioned criminal activities such as standover rackets. O’Rourke 2002,
11.
5. For more on the impact of decentralization reforms, see the various contribu-
tors in Aspinall and Fealy 2003.

hind the differences in their histories, ideologies, and politics, all the groups
share a common set of practices based upon the use of organized violence. The
first of the groups, the Betawi Brotherhood Forum (Forum Betawi Rempug, or
FBR), which claims to represent working-class members of the indigenous
Betawi ethnic group of Jakarta, combines appeals to ethnicity and class with a
strategy of extortion and coercion. The second, the Defenders of Islam Front
(Front Pembela Islam, or FPI), is one of a number of post-1998 vigilante-style
groups that employ the symbols of militant Islam in their street-level war against
“immorality.” I intend to demonstrate that FBR, FPI, and similar groups have
emerged as a consequence of the fragmentation of state power post-1998.
This case study of Indonesia has broader implications as it makes problem-
atic one of the most basic assumptions regarding the state, namely, that it has an
internal monopoly over the “legitimate” production of violence and security. As
I will show, the increasing privatization of violence that has occurred in post–
New Order Indonesia demonstrates that the state does not possess a monopoly
over violence, either its production or its “legitimate” use.6Far from the consoli-
dation of formal institutions of power, democratization in Indonesia has in-
volved a more fragmented and decentralized intertwining between formal and
informal constellations of power. While formal legitimacy has been conferred
upon the post-1998 Indonesian state through the implementation of electoral
democracy, decentralization reforms, and the reduced role of the military in na-
tional politics, this legitimacy has been simultaneously undermined by the exis-
tence of groups using coercive rather than legal-institutional strategies to pur-
sue their interests, exposing the absence of the rule of law. The state now finds
itself as one of a multiplicity of social and political forces employing and laying
claim to legitimacy in the use of violence and coercion.
Para-militarizing the Public:
Pamswakarsa and Political “Task Forces”
The roots of the growth in paramilitary and vigilante activity in post-1998 Indo-
nesia were established during the New Order era. Through its development of a
corporatist state, the New Order co-opted and politicized “youth” as a form of
political capital. The military concept of “total people’s defense and security”
justified the use of civilian groups and youth organizations, which were often
merely fronts for criminal gangs, as proxies by the state apparatus.7As Lindsay
has argued, the New Order operated in a way analogous to a criminal gang, em-
ploying and normalizing violence and extortion as state practice.8The removal
of Suharto in 1998 meant not the complete collapse of patrimonial networks
Wilson / Continuity and Change 267
6. “Legitimate” as I use it here is not intended to imply public consent or adher-
ence to a moral principle. I use the term in the sense outlined by Charles Tilly
as “the probability that other authorities are likely to confirm the decisions of a
given authority.” See Tilly 1985, 169–91.
7. Lowry 1996, 88.
8. Lindsey 2001.

and authoritarian structures, but rather the loss of their central focal hub, so
that they loosened into decentralized and competing power centers.
An event that highlighted the extent and speed with which the strong nation-
state unraveled after Suharto’s departure was the Pamswakarsa “self-help” civil-
ian guard formed by Gen. Wiranto and Gen. Kivlan Zein in late 1998. In the
lead-up to the special legislative session of the People’s Consultative Assembly
(Majelis Musyawarah Rakyat, or MPR) in November 1998, around thirty thou-
sand civilians were recruited by the army and mobilized around the national
parliament. The ragtag civilian security force was intended to bolster the over-
stretched police force and help counter widespread opposition to the Habibie
presidency.9With its public profile at an all time low, the armed forces felt com-
pelled to resort to using proxies armed with bamboo spears to carry out the
task of defending state interests. The composition of the Pamswakarsa forces
revealed an alliance of largely militant Muslim groups sympathetic to Habibie,
268 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
South Jakarta, 4 September 2005. Members of Betawi Brotherhood Forum (Forum Betawi
Rempug, or FBR) prepare to depart on a motorcade through the streets of Jakarta to cele-
brate the opening of a new security post in Kebayoran, South Jakarta. The motorcade later
launched a successful takeover bid on a market in central Jakarta. FBR insists that the pro-
tection dues it forcibly extracts from local businesses are a legitimate tax levied in behalf of
the indigenous Betawi community. (All photos courtesy of author.)
9. Publicly, Wiranto denied coordinating and funding the vigilante forces, claim-
ing that they were a “spontaneous act of the people.” Pamswakarsa leaders
themselves, however, named Wiranto as the architect of the force. See Tempo
1999.

such as Furkon (Muslim Forum to Uphold the Constitution and Justice) and the
Front Pembela Islam, alongside a hodgepodge of martial arts and youth
groups from Banten, nationalist organizations such as Pemuda Pancasila, and
the unemployed.10 The circulation of rumors that “anti-Islamic” forces would
attempt to derail the parliamentary session and overthrow the Habibie gov-
ernment led other Muslim groups to mobilize their forces around the MPR.11
The presence of the Pamswakarsa provoked an already tense situation result-
ing in violent clashes with student demonstrators and locals that left fatalities
on both sides.12 Public outrage and political pressure soon led to Pamswakarsa’s
disbandment.
As a state political strategy the Pamswakarsa exercise was undeniably a fail-
ure, but its impact is significant in a number of respects.13 First, whilst being the
continuation of a pattern familiar during the New Order, i.e., the military em-
ploying civilian proxies to do its dirty business, the Pamswakarsa was on a scale
not seen before. It was one of the largest mobilizations of civilian forces by the
state since the 1960s, reflecting the state’s recognition that it could no longer
get away with the centralized violent suppression of peaceful dissent. There was
also an unintentional flow-on effect. As Bourchier notes, the government’s deci-
sion in 1998 to form a civilian militia in Jakarta was partly a response to the al-
ready large and well-organized paramilitary wings of Democratic Party of Strug-
gle (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan, or PDI-P) and Nahdatul Ulama.14 A
reverse effect was also evident, however: political parties and religious and civil
organizations began forming and expanding their own paramilitary forces in re-
action to the prevalence of state-sponsored vigilantes. The resulting increase in
the number of civil-backed paramilitary and vigilante groups reflected a new
awareness, “if the state can do it, why can’t we?”
With suspicion and mistrust of the army and police at an all-time high, many
people turned to local preman, paramilitary, and vigilante groups for security. A
new decentralized intersection between criminal and political interests estab-
lished itself. During the New Order, the state had justified the mobilization of ci-
vilian militia and thugs by reference to the constitution, which states that citi-
zens are responsible for the defense of the nation. With the weakening of state
power and the ideology of collectivist nationalism, groups with a variety of po-
litical, economic, and social agendas now made the same appeal — a phenome-
non referred to by some commentators as the “I am Indonesia” syndrome.15 By
appealing to religious affiliation, the Pamswakarsa legitimated a new pole for
Wilson / Continuity and Change 269
10. Tempo 1998.
11. Ibid.
12. Gatra 1998.
13. In 2004 the Pamswakarsa affair came back to haunt Wiranto’s presidential cam-
paign. Kivlan Zein accused Wiranto of still owing him nearly 5 billion rupiah
(Aus$750,000) that Zein claimed to have paid out of his own pocket to fund
the vigilante force. See Jakarta Post 2004.
14. Bourchier 1999, 165.
15. Interview with Munir, Jakarta, 26 June 2003.

political mobilization post–New Order, lifting the taboo on invoking primordial
sentiments.
The economic crisis of 1997 swelled the ranks of the urban poor, forcing
many of them into crime and violence.16 A greater opening for preman and orga-
nized crime began to emerge. In the post–New Order environment, gangsters
have expanded their networks in the big cities, not just operating individually
but forming organizations, often along ethnic or religious lines, that have estab-
lished control over public space such as bus terminals, markets, and food stalls.
With the patronage and protection of the New Order gone, preman were forced
to seek out new patrons, or they simply went “private.” The enforcement part-
nerships that existed between the state and criminal gangs fragmented and have
been replaced by sets of shifting contractual arrangements with political par-
ties, members of the political and economic elite, local officials, business peo-
ple, and other interest groups.
Securing Support: The “Task Forces” of the Political Parties
During the period of political liberalization between the overthrow of Suharto
in 1998 and the general elections in 1999 more than one hundred new political
parties emerged. On the streets of major cities such as Jakarta, Surabaya, and
Bandung, the scramble by the new parties to form paramilitary forces presented
itself as a golden opportunity for the ranks of preman and unemployed youth.
Replete with military-style uniforms and helmets, command structures, and an
aggressive “us against the rest” mentality, the satgas paramilitary wings of the
political parties reflected the reproduction of New Order–style militarism
within the new political culture. Satgas groups in themselves are not a new phe-
nomenon; they were established by Golkar, PPP (Partai Persatuan Pembangu-
nan, or Pancasila Patriot Party), and the PDI in the early 1980s. Yet the “party
arms race” really began in 1999 with the reintroduction of multiparty competi-
tive elections.17 Almost all political parties in Indonesia have some form of active
paramilitary wing, as well as numerous associated “supporter” groups, mem-
bership numbering in the tens, possibly hundreds, of thousands. Officially, the
function of satgas is for internal party security, such as protecting party assets
and controlling the membership. The reality has been that satgas have been
akin to private mercenary armies, intimidating opponents and critics both
within and outside of the party, providing “muscle” for the private sector, and
operating their own protection rackets alongside other criminal activities. They
have acted as a nexus between legitimate political power and criminality. Satgas
groups have provided a vehicle by which preman can gain a semblance of legiti-
macy and win concessions within the political system, and also a means by
which politicians can establish working relations with the criminal groups. The
1999 elections were peppered with incidents of violence and coercion, most in-
volving satgas from the major parties, PDI-P, United Development Party (Partai
270 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
16. Schulte Nordholt 2002, 33–60.
17. King 2003, 19–20.

Persatuan Pembangunan, or PPP), Golkar, and National Awakening Party (Partai
Kebangkitan Bangsa, or PKB). While on the surface many of these clashes ap-
peared to be caused by political rivalries, often the conflict was over control of
local resources by preman within satgas ranks. From late 1999 through to 2002
paramilitary and vigilante forces had emerged as a conspicuous and intimidat-
ing presence on the streets and in public consciousness.18
Of all the political parties, PDI-P has had perhaps the largest menagerie of
paramilitary- and militia-style “supporter” groups. The four main groups linked
to PDI-P at the national level have been PDI-P Security Taskforce (Satgas PDI-P),
Indonesian Young Bulls (Banteng Muda Indonesia), Defend Mbak Mega Com-
mand (Komando Bela Mbak Mega), and the “elite” Alert One Brigade (Brigass:
Brigade Siaga Satu). Of the four, only Satgas PDI-P is formally incorporated
within the party structure, and hence accountable to it. Indonesian Young Bulls
is an informally affiliated “youth” organization formerly headed by East Timor-
ese militia leader Eurico Guterres; Defend Mbak Mega Command is a militant
Megawati loyalist group.19
Brigass
Brigass, which is led by former student activist Pius Lustrilanang, is interesting
as an example of the degree to which some previously strident critics of the New
Order have reproduced its militarism post-1998. It was initially conceived as the
“elite” guard of the PDI-P, consisting of around two hundred highly trained
“troops.”20 Rumored to be financed by Megawati’s husband, Taufik Kiemas,
Brigass was formed in 1999 in order to raise support for her unsuccessful presi-
dential campaign.21 It did this by mobilizing supporters around the 1999 Special
Session of the MPR. Despite Megawati’s failure to secure the presidency, the
group did not disband, instead it established a headquarters in Bogor, West
Java. Recruiting from among taxi drivers, laborers, and security guards, its mem-
bership quickly grew to around thirty-five hundred.22 Adopting a centralized
Wilson / Continuity and Change 271
18. Panji 2000.
19. The Young Bulls came to public attention when two hundred of its members
were involved in an attack on the office of Tempo magazine in March 2003, af-
ter it ran a report implying that business tycoon Tommy Winata, a business as-
sociate of Taufik Kiemas, was behind a fire that destroyed the Tanah Abang
market in Jakarta. Winata recently won a libel suit against Tempo over the accu-
sation. Komando Bela Mbak Mega was established in August 2001, the product
of a split with Komite Bela Mega (Defend Mega Committee), a Megawati sup-
porter group set up in 1996. According to KBMM’s chairperson Herdy Mas, the
group’s loyalty is “to Mega alone, not to the PDI-P.” Kompas 2002a.
20. Supriyanto 2002.
21. Kiemas has fostered close relations with numerous underworld figures, in-
cluding Yapto Suryosumarno, head of Pemuda Pancasila. During demonstra-
tions over rising fuel prices, Kiemas deployed Satgas PDI-P to guard his petrol
stations, fueling the perception that the role of satgas and party militia was
merely to protect the business interests of the first family. Laksamana.net
2001b.

military-style command structure, the group is strictly controlled by Lustrila-
nang, who is deferentially referred to as “commander in chief ” (panglima). If
the PDI-P satgas are the “foot soldiers” of the party, then Brigass is its “special
forces,” ironic considering that its leader was kidnapped, imprisoned, and tor-
tured for several months in 1997–98 along with other student activists by
Kopassus special forces troops under the command of Prabowo Subianto.23
Brigass has received training from ex-special forces troops, including those who
were directly involved in abducting Lustrilanang.
Selection criteria for Brigass members are rigorous. Once accepted, recruits
undergo intensive and ongoing training in martial arts, crowd control, and mili-
tary-type exercises, such as that provided by ex-special forces troops. Whilst
PDI-P party membership is not compulsory, recruits receive sixteen hours of
“political education,” and Lustrilanang ensures that all members channel their
political aspirations to PDI-P.24 Like many satgas groups, Brigass also offers its se-
curity services to the private sector as well as government institutions via its affil-
iated business, Brigass Lustrilanang Security.25 Despite its initial mandate as
hardcore Megawati supporters, Brigass has recently developed into a largely
freelance organization, independent from the internal political interests of
PDI-P. Through its private security service and close links with government and
military figures, it has come to resemble New Order–period groups, such as
Pemuda Pancasila, which are available for hire to the highest bidder.
Satgas PDI-P
Unlike Brigass, Satgas PDI-P has been formally integrated within the PDI-P party
structure as its internal security branch. Led at the national level by Maringan
Pangaribuan, PDI-P’s membership is estimated to be between ten and fifty thou-
sand.26 Through neighborhood command posts known as posko (established
during the campaign period of the 1999 elections), PDI-P satgas maintain a con-
stant and intimidating presence at the local level. The size of Satgas PDI-P has
meant that factionalism and internal conflict were inevitable. Factional loyalties
between supporters of local candidates, as well as vertical conflicts between the
national-level party leadership and provincial branches, have been frequent.
Local PDI-P satgas groups have emerged as crucial players in factional fighting
within regional branches of the party, usually linked to the selection of candi-
272 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
22. Supriyanto 2002, 16.
23. The reasons behind Lustrilanang’s involvement with his ex-captors remain un-
clear. Former friends from activist circles have speculated that it could have
been due to the psychological effects of torture or his close personal relation-
ship with Taufik Kiemas. A number of those kidnapped are still unaccounted
for and presumed dead. Confidential interviews, Jakarta, 2005.
24. Supriyanto 2002, 18.
25. Pikiran Rakyat 2002, and Pikiran Rakyat 2003.
26. Pangaribuan is also a legislative candidate. In January 2004 he was accused of
extorting 1.3 billion rupiah from the Jakarta Public Works Department. See
Republika 2004a.

dates for the local legislature, and the positions of mayor and regent. In Tegal,
for example, PDI-P satgas went on a rampage after the head of Tegal PDI-P lost in
the mayoral election.27 Similar instances of inter-satgas violence have occurred
in Medan, Surabaya, Pemalang, Tulungagung, Banyumas, Mojokerto, Madiun,
and Jember. Like Brigass, PDI-P satgas have also worked as freelance security, in-
cluding breaking up labor actions by factory workers and acting as bodyguards
for business executives.28
In PDI-P rhetoric, satgas forces consist of grassroots supporters, and its mem-
bers are largely recruited from disenfranchised urban youth, rank-and-file party
cadre, and local preman.29 With scant job prospects and with the rising cost of
living, the satgas units have provided legitimacy and a sense of identity and em-
powerment for the ranks of unemployed youth.30 PDI-P specifically targeted
youths, conducting recruitment drives among unemployed senior high school
Wilson / Continuity and Change 273
East Jakarta, June 2003. “Special forces troops” from Betawi Brotherhood Forum (Forum
Betawi Rempug, or FBR) pose for a photo in front of the group’s headquarters in Cakung,
East Jakarta, before going on a routine patrol through the area. FBR claims that it provides
a neighborhood security service to fill the gap created by an understaffed, inefficient, and
corrupt police force.
27. Sinar Harapan 2004a.
28. Bernas 2000. The PDI-P in Central Java prohibited its satgas from working as
security for local businesses or as bodyguards, however this policy was not
adopted by the national leadership.
29. Interview with PDI-P official, 10 June 2003, Jakarta.
30. The average wage for a PDI-P satgas can be anywhere between five to fifty thou-
sand rupiah per week.

graduates unable to undertake university studies.31 As satgas membership auto-
matically confers PDI-P party membership, it becomes an effective strategy for de-
veloping a mass base that can be quickly mobilized. Apologists within PDI-P have
argued that the training, structure, and discipline involved in becoming a satgas is
a means for “reforming” preman, and provides them with an opportunity to be-
come “useful members of society.”32 In this respect, the parties claim to be provid-
ing a valuable social service for a marginalized social group. The argument is a
convenient and familiar one; it was used throughout the New Order to rationalize
the existence of groups such as Pemuda Pancasila. On the contrary, it is the very
fact that they are preman that makes them a valuable asset to the party. As the In-
ternational Crisis Group (IGC) has noted in its report on civil militias in Bali and
Lombok, local political candidates have found that the support of key criminal
figures and civil militias is considered proof of political power. Consequently,
rather than endeavoring to eradicate crime and vigilantism, they have sought to
“direct” them, via the incorporation of their perpetrators.33
Clashes in October 2003 in Bali between rival supporters of PDI-P and Golkar
left two dead, and renewed fears that the 2004 elections would be marred by
more conflict sparked by rival paramilitary and supporter groups.34 Yet, as it
turned out, the elections passed with a notable absence of violence, and the
feared satgas groups were conspicuously absent from the streets. This was
partly due to the last-minute introduction of regulation from the Indonesian
Electoral Commission, which imposed restrictions on the mobilization of
satgas forces during campaigning, with the threat of sanctions against parties
that failed to control their supporters.35 Since early 1999 moves had been made
to introduce similar regulations, most notably from the police and armed
forces, who by that stage had already grown alarmed at the threat the satgas
posed to their legitimacy. In 2002 Indonesia’s military chief, Endriartono
Sutarto, called for the disbanding of all “extremist and militia groups,” includ-
ing those affiliated with political parties and religious organizations.36 In March
2003 the minister for defense, Matori Abdul Djalil, also urged the dissolution of
civil militias, especially those that used military-style uniforms and symbols, and
the curtailing of party satgas that used a “paramilitary approach,” stating that
they were “inappropriate in a democratic system.”37 The response from political
parties, however, particularly PDI-P, was blunt: the military could no longer in-
terfere in party affairs, and satgas were an internal party issue.38
The primary reason behind satgas being sent “back to the barracks” in 2004
was the changed political climate. Compared to the high emotions and enthusi-
274 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
31. Supriyanto 2002, 16.
32. Interview with PDI-P official, 10 June 2003, Jakarta.
33. International Crisis Group 2003.
34. Republika 2004b.
35. Indonesian Electoral Commission Decision 2004.
36. Sriwijaya Post 2002.
37. Sinar Harapan 2003.
38. Sriwijaya Post 2002.

asm surrounding the 1999 elections, the 2004 election year was marked by a
more somber atmosphere of indifference on the part of the voting public. While
voters enthusiastically exercised their new voting rights, a deepening cynicism
and ambivalence toward the quality of available candidates resulted in lacklus-
ter turnouts to mass rallies. “Traditional” methods of mobilizing support no
longer guaranteed success. Vote buying was rampant throughout the 2004 cam-
paign, but it proved far less effective, for how successful can bribery be in the ab-
sence of at least the implied threat of repercussions? The possibility of voter
backlash, coupled with the risk of reprisals from rival groups, outweighed the
potential gains that were to be made by mobilizing satgas. At the national level
this indicates that Indonesia’s new system of electoral democracy may have re-
duced the effectiveness of the mobilization of satgas violence as a political strat-
egy. As Tilly has argued, the value of the use or threat of force is determined in
proportion to the magnitude of the potential damage, be it financial or political,
that may result from the absence of either protection or patronage from a partic-
ular group.39 When the “market” in violence comprises many players operating
with similar resources — in this case the satgas forces of the major parties — the
stakes involved in violent action increase dramatically and this can act as a
strong disincentive for its use.
The New Vigilantism
With the increase in crime in post–New Order Indonesia, vigilantism has also
become widespread. The ineffectiveness of the weakened state in maintaining
order has led to the establishment in many communities of vigilante groups os-
tensibly aimed at combating the symptoms of social and economic collapse,
such as “premanism” and “vice” (kemaksiatan). These non-state initiatives
were at first welcomed in official quarters.40 Vigilantes were considered to be fill-
ing a space created by the separation of the police and military by providing po-
licing and security at the community level. In many instances, however, preman
themselves either established or infiltrated these groups in order to establish a
new legitimacy, often with official backing, both financial and moral. In 1999,
the post–New Order state introduced decentralization reforms that sought to
answer criticisms of the previous centralized patronage network. In theory, this
devolving of power was to help foster local leadership and autonomy, and to an
extent this has happened. But devolution has also given long-standing patron-
client relations a quasi legality and allowed local interests to consolidate control
over resources and markets without institutional checks or rule of law. The new
vigilantes combine the pragmatic self-interest and reliance on violence of the
preman with a justificatory moral ideology. The following two examples, Betawi
Brotherhood Forum and Defenders of Islam Front, show that this ideology
takes the form of defending the interests of an imagined ethnic and religious
community.
Wilson / Continuity and Change 275
39. Tilly 1985.
40. International Crisis Group 2003, 1.

Betawi Brotherhood Forum
Betawi Brotherhood Forum (FBR) was formally established on 27 July 2001, the
same date as the anniversary of the 1996 overthrow of Megawati’s leadership of
PDI. The choice of 27 July was not mere coincidence: FBR’s head, Fadloli
el-Muhir, was himself a former chair of the Jakarta branch of the anti-Megawati
faction of PDI. More recently, he served as a member of the Indonesian Supreme
Advisory Council (Dewan Pertimbangan Agung). Fadloli conceived of FBR as a
forum for reclaiming Jakarta for middle- and lower-class members of the indige-
nous Betawi ethnic group. Ostensibly aimed at gaining employment for its
largely blue-collar, unemployed, and preman membership, FBR currently has
around ten thousand members throughout Jakarta.41 In the words of Fadloli:
Our aim is for Betawi people to become jawara [local strongmen] in their
own neighborhood. As the indigenous people of Jakarta, we should be en-
joying the fruits of its growth. Unfortunately, many businesses do not em-
ploy local people, and don’t contribute to the community in any signifi-
cant way.42
According to Fadloli, throughout the New Order the Betawi were culturally
and politically marginalized. Fadloli believes that this marginalization has been
compounded by “globalization” and this has led to a loss of ethnic and cultural
identity: “The first step we need to take post–New Order is to raise our heads, to
stop cowering and take pride in our ethnicity.”43 An increase in ethnic pride post-
1998 is evident in the emergence of a large number of groups representing the
ethnic Betawi in Jakarta. Sixty-seven of these are affiliated with the umbrella orga-
nization the Betawi Consultative Body (Bamus Betawi) led by Jakarta’s current
vice-governor, Fauzi Bowo. Initially FBR refused to join Bamus Betawi on the
grounds that it was considered to represent only the interests of the “Betawi elite”
and not those of poor and working-class Betawi.44 Later in 2003 FBR joined
Bamus, but only after Fadloli secured the position of deputy chair.45 FBR
strongly identifies itself as a voice for the Betawi underclass.
In and around its headquarters in the Ziyadatul Muslim boarding school, in
Cakung, East Jakarta, FBR has a firm hold over the informal economy. For exam-
ple, it provides local ojek motorbike chauffeurs who join FBR with interest-free
loans to assist them in buying their own motorbikes. The organization offers its
members other economic initiatives as well, e.g., screen-printing workshops
and food stall cooperatives. These are similar to the benefits nongovernmental
organizations (NGOs) give to the urban poor. From all appearances, however,
FBR’s concern for the poor extends only to its own membership, and its control
276 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
41. This number is based on various Indonesian media reports. The group itself
claims to have up to 150,000 active members.
42. Interview with Fadloli el-Muhir, 3 July 2003, Jakarta.
43. Ibid. Internal FBR document 2002.
44. Interview with Fadloli el-Muhir, 3 July 2003, Jakarta.
45. This was rumored to be a tactical move linked to Fadloli’s ambition to run as a
candidate for the governorship of Jakarta in 2007. Confidential interview, Ja-
karta, 2005.

of the informal sector has not occurred without conflict. A dispute between
Maduranese preman and FBR members in 2002 over control of the lucrative
parking market in Cakung soon escalated into a riot that left one person dead
and several seriously injured.46 FBR claimed that the incident was a product of
ethnic tensions resulting from uncontrolled migration into the capital. Indige-
nous Betawi and not migrant ethnic groups such as the Maduranese should
control the sectors of the informal local economy such as parking, FBR activists
insisted.47 FBR also attributes social ills such as prostitution and gambling to
non-Jakartans. Several bars and cafes in Cakung run by non-Betawi have been
attacked by FBR on the grounds of eliminating “immorality.” Perceiving the so-
cial, moral, and economic cohesion of the ethnic community as under threat,
FBR considers its use of violence as a legitimate act of self-defense.
FBR’s organizational structure consists of a central governing board that mir-
rors a mini-government, with separate “departments” for culture, economy,
law, and security. The emphasis, however, is firmly upon “security.” FBR security
personnel are called dedengkot, a colloquial Betawi term for “big shot.” The se-
curity wing employs a hierarchical structure similar to that found in local pen-
cak silat martial arts associations, from which many of its members are re-
cruited.48 The head of the security wing is referred to as a jawara. In Betawi
culture, a jawara is both a figure of reverence and fear who is believed to have
martial and magical powers.49 The second in command following jawara is the
pendekar, traditionally an honorary title given to an esteemed master of pencak
silat. Under the command of each pendekar are several hundred regular mem-
bers known as pitung, named after Si Pitung, the Robin Hood–style social ban-
dit of Betawi folk legend.50 FBR also has an “elite” group of security personnel
who possess advanced martial abilities and are believed to have supernatural
skills. Throughout Jakarta, FBR has 185 security posts, known as gardu, that are
coordinated by regional commanders, who in turn are accountable to the central
board. Ostensibly in order to fill the void left by the understaffed and underpaid
police, the gardu are an adaptation of the siskamling local security/surveillance
system established during the New Order. Aside from conducting neighbor-
hood patrols, gardu also organize various “cultural” services, such as perfor-
mances of Betawi arts and traditional weddings that provide an opportunity for
drawing in new members. When I visited FBR’s headquarters in 2003, the street
was filled with around seventy well-built men wearing black and camouflage
military-style uniforms emblazoned with the FBR logo; they were waiting to go
on “patrol” in the neighborhood. Some were armed with wooden batons and
Wilson / Continuity and Change 277
46. Suara Merdeka 2002.
47. Interview with FBR official, 4 July 2003, Jakarta.
48. See Wilson 2002.
49. During colonial times jawara and jago acted as power brokers for the colonial
and indigenous elite. On the relationship between the jago and the colonial
state, see Schulte Nordholt 1991, 74–91.
50. As Margareet Van Tillen discovered in her study on Si Pitung, the bandits’ rela-
tionship with the poor was largely predatory. Van Tillen 1995, 462–81.

barely concealed machetes. The group also has its own intelligence agents who
“collect information” on suspected drug dealers, petty criminals, gambling op-
erators, and potential “troublemakers.”51
According to Fadloli, crime rates in neighborhoods surrounding the security
posts have dropped since the establishment of the gardu. At the same time, FBR
membership has grown. The perhaps unintentional suggestion was that crime
dropped because its perpetrators now wore FBR uniforms, for intimidation and
extortion are only illegitimate, and hence criminal, when practiced by those
who do not have a “right” to do so. Businesses and street traders operating in
FBR territory are expected to make regular “contributions” to their local gardu.
In the Pulo Gadung industrial area, FBR taxes trucks a one thousand rupiah en-
trance fee. In early 2002 an alleged extortion letter from FBR sent to businesses
in Pulo Gadung and Cakung surfaced in the press. In the letter, signed by both
Fadloli and the group’s secretary, FBR requested monthly donations to cover
group “operational costs” and as a sign of support for ethnic Betawi. The letter
threatened retribution against those who refused.52 After initially making a
clumsy attempt to deny the authenticity of the letter, Fadloli then defended it,
saying that businesses that benefited from the security the gardu provided
should contribute. Fadloli insisted that business also has a moral obligation to
assist the indigenous population FBR claims to represent.53 FBR has regularly
demonstrated, picketed, and intimidated businesses and shopping malls that
have refused to employ its members.54
FBR first gained public notoriety in March 2002 when members attacked
peaceful demonstrators outside the Indonesian Human Rights Commission
(IHRC). The demonstrators, members of the Urban Poor Consortium (UPC),
had just left a meeting in which they sought IHRC’s support in the upholding of
a decision of the Jakarta district court that the Jakarta administration led by
Sutiyoso had unlawfully evicted and arrested pedicab drivers, buskers, street
vendors, and street children.55 The vicious attack, in which men, women, and
children were beaten with wooden clubs, resulted in seventeen being hospital-
ized. Wardah Hafidz, the coordinator of UPC, had a machete held to her throat.
Two weeks earlier FBR members had also attacked flood victims demanding
government assistance at the Jakarta City Hall. Why would FBR so violently op-
pose a peaceful demonstration in support of the rights of the urban poor? Ac-
cording to Fadloli, UPC and other NGOs “provoke and manipulate the poor for
their own agenda.…What’s more they ignore the FBR.”56 Considering the terri-
torial nature of FBR, it considered UPC both a rival for its Betawi constituency as
278 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
51. Ibid. “Intelligence agents” are a common part of many political and social orga-
nizations in the post–New Order environment.
52. See Kompas 2002b and 2002c.
53. Interview, Fadloli el-Muhir, Jakarta, 3 July 2003.
54. See Kompas 2003b and 2004b.
55. A chronology of the FBR attack can be found on the UPC website at http://ur-
ban poor.or.id/28.23.0.0.1.0.phtml.
56. Interview, Fadloli el-Muhir, Jakarta, 3 July 2003.

well as a supporter of those it considers competitors for resources: poor, pri-
marily Javanese, migrants. Media commentators, however, along with Wardah
Hafidz, saw the action as evidence that FBR was on the payroll of Jakarta’s gover-
nor, Sutiyoso, who as the administrative head of Jakarta was the object of the
UPC protest.57
The relationship between Fadloli and Sutiyoso extends back to at least 1996
and the New Order–orchestrated storming of the PDI headquarters in Jakarta.58
Fadloli at that time was prominent in the Suharto-backed faction of the PDI from
which Megawati had split. FBR was also established just two months after Suti-
yoso officially declared his 2001 “war on thugs” campaign.59 Around seventy-
Wilson / Continuity and Change 279
Central Jakarta, 18 August 2005. Members of Islamic Defenders Front (Front Pembela Is-
lam, or FPI) celebrate the group’s seventh anniversary with a march through the streets of
Jakarta. Employing the symbols of militant Islam and declaring itself a vanguard against
Western decadence and immorality, the organization has grown dramatically within the
space of a few years. It currently has branches in twenty-six provinces, with an estimated
membership of one hundred thousand.
57. Interview with Wardah Hafidz, Jakarta, 29 June 2003. Seven FBR members
were arrested over the attacks, however Fadloli himself as a then member of
the DPA could not be arrested without the formal permission of President
Megawati. The DPA itself severely reprimanded Fadloli, but Megawati made no
comment on the incident. INFID Short News Overview 2002, and Suara
Merdeka 2002.
58. Sutiyoso, who was then Jakarta military commander, was later implicated in
helping to coordinate the thugs involved in the attack in an investigation into
the incident. Jakarta Post 2002.

three areas of preman activity were identified throughout the city, and the gov-
ernment budgeted 12 billion rupiah for the operation. Ostensibly aimed at ad-
dressing public concern over rising levels of street crime, in practice the cam-
paign largely targeted street vendors and the homeless. Prior to the campaign,
Sutiyoso consulted with preman groups such as the Betawi-dominated Family
of Tanah Abang Association (Ikatan Keluarga Besar Tanah Abang, or IKBT) on
strategies for dealing with the “preman problem.”60 IKBT proposed that the Ja-
karta police give month-long training programs for the unemployed in order to
“prevent them from becoming thugs.”61 Those who completed the training
would be employed as security guards for shops and businesses in their local
district. Sutiyoso took to the idea. In order to carry out his cleansing program
Sutiyoso deployed around nineteen hundred civilian police assistants (Banpol:
Bantuan Polisi) in addition to the eight hundred regular police already as-
signed. The irony, noted by the local media, was that the Banpol were largely re-
cruited from the ranks of the very preman that the program was supposedly
aimed at eliminating.62 Not surprisingly, then, when amid great media fanfare
Sutiyoso took to the streets of Tanah Abang, there were no preman in sight, ex-
cept for those now wearing Banpol uniforms. The following day, however, it
was business as usual, with preman collecting entrance fees and “security”
money from taxi, bus, and ojek drivers. Only later did government officials state
publicly that preman were not the sole target of the operation, but that the cam-
paign also targeted pedicab drivers, buskers, street vendors, and others who
“disturbed public order.”63 In effect, Sutiyoso recruited preman to “eliminate”
themselves. Seeing the opportunity available to Betawi preman to work with
the Jakarta administration, FBR considered it a politically opportune time to es-
tablish a new preman organization. In this respect Fadloli’s choice of 27 July as
FBR’s founding day can be interpreted as a signal to Sutiyoso that, like IKBT,
FBR was available for hire. Considering that he faced reelection the next year,
Sutiyoso’s move was politically risky. Weighing the possibility of public backlash
against the political benefits of gaining access to Betawi preman, Sutiyoso chose
the latter. The war on thugs campaign prompted protests from NGOs, street
vendors, and bus drivers around Tanah Abang, but opposition to the new
“preman regime” failed to gain momentum.64
280 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
59. Jakarta Post 2001 and Gamma 2001.
60. IKBT started in 1998 as the product of a truce between rival ethnic gangs in
Tanah Abang negotiated by the mayor of central Jakarta. Led by a renowned
Betawi thug, the group splintered along ethnic lines after eighteen months.
61. Kompas 2001b.
62. Gamma 2001.
63. Later in June at a ceremony celebrating Jakarta’s anniversary, Sutiyoso symboli-
cally “shot” a statue meant to represent the “preman problem.” Horned and
with eight arms, each holding a weapon, the statue also wore a tie, prompting
some onlookers to suggest that it looked more like a politician than a preman.
Tempo 2001a.
64. Interview with Wardah Hafidz, UPC coordinator, Jakarta, 15 June 2003.

It wasn’t until negative publicity emerged over FBR’s attack on UPC that Suti-
yoso was forced to publicly deny involvement with it and similar groups, even
claiming to have never met Fadloli before.65 Despite his refutation, several days
later Sutiyoso attended an FBR gathering at which Fadloli supported his reelec-
tion as governor for 2002–2007.66 Fadloli stated that while in principle FBR pre-
ferred a native of Jakarta as governor it could accept a non-Betawi such as
Sutiyoso as he had proven his commitment to improving the conditions of the
indigenous population. Fadloli’s choice of political pragmatism over principle
did not find unanimous support within FBR ranks. A significant faction in the
group publicly backed the bid of former minister for women’s affairs Tutty
Alawiyah on the grounds that she was ethnic Betawi.67 Tensions were clearly
emerging between the political opportunism of FBR’s leadership and the ethni-
cally driven ideology that motivated many rank-and-file members. The split was
diffused uneventfully when Alawiyah unexpectedly died of natural causes prior
to the election. If Fadloli thought his support for Sutiyoso would secure special
treatment for FBR he was soon to be disappointed. In May 2003 FBR leaders met
with Sutiyoso to request that the Jakarta administration provide facilities for a
skills training center for unemployed FBR members as part of its obligation to
assist ethnic Betawi.68 Sutiyoso politely denied the request, saying that no orga-
nization would receive special treatment. Having secured his reelection, Suti-
yoso no longer needed to court the controversial FBR.
FBR’s other flirtation with those in power has been was with former police
chief Noegroho Djajoesman. Three months prior to the April 2004 legislative
elections, Noegroho established the “Save Indonesia Alliance” (Aliansi Penye-
lamat Indonesia, or API), a curious mix of former activists and human rights
advocates such as Hariman Siregar and Buyung Nasution, together with
preman-dominated groups such as FBR and Muslim Workers Brotherhood.
Noegroho appointed Fadloli deputy head of the alliance. Founded on an
“anticorruption” platform, API supported the election of former military candi-
dates such as Wiranto and Yudhoyono. Mirroring the prediction of armed
forces chief Sutarto, Noegroho threateningly suggested that the elections
would fail, in which case API was ready to “take action” to ensure a smooth tran-
sition to a stable government.69 In March 2004 FBR held its own rally, attended
by presidential candidate Wiranto, at which the group affirmed its willingness to
provide security for the upcoming elections and “hammer anyone who makes
trouble.”70 By the time of the second round of presidential elections in October,
however, FBR had emerged as a vocal supporter of Megawati, a position contra-
dicting their earlier involvement with the anti-Megawati API. FBR hosted a pub-
lic show of support for Megawati, who attended the event, in which Fadloli de-
Wilson / Continuity and Change 281
65. Republika 2002.
66. Liputan6.com 2002a.
67. Interview, FBR member, 28 June 2003, Jakarta.
68. Kompas 2003a.
69. Sinar Harapan 2004b.
70. Interview, Fadloli el-Muhir, Jakarta, 3 July 2003.

clared that she had made improvements in “every aspect of national life.”71
Three days later hundreds of FBR members held a noisy demonstration outside
the Indonesian Electoral Commission, protesting over the campaign leaflets
produced by Megawati’s rival, Bambang Yudhoyono. They claimed that the leaf-
lets played upon religious sentiment.72 Fadloli cited the seeming contradictions
in FBR’s shifting political allegiances as evidence of the group’s neutrality.
Rather than seeking out patronage, Fadloli insists that “currently we are like a
pretty girl, everyone is flirting with us!”73
FBR, then, is an example of a group that has successfully established a mass
support base and powerful street-level presence by appealing to both ethnicity
and class, whereby coercion is justified by claims to socioeconomic rights for an
exclusive community. As we will see in the next case study, calls to moral virtue
and asserting religious identity have also emerged as a foundation for claiming
legitimacy in the use of force.
Defenders of Islam Front
Defenders of Islam Front (FPI) was one of a number of “radical” Islamic organi-
zations to emerge as part of the pro-Habibie 1998 Pamswakarsa forces. FPI was
rumored to be close to a number of figures within the military involved in orga-
nizing the Pamswakarsa, including armed forces chief General Wiranto, Lieu-
tenant General Djaja Suparman, Major General Zacky Anwar Makarim, Police
Chief Noegroho Djajoesman, as well as Habibie’s brother-in-law Mochsin Moch-
dar, who funded transportation for the Pamswakarsa.74 On 24 September 1998,
a month after its founding, FPI made its first public appearance, attacking stu-
dent activists at the Christian Atmajaya University on the pretext of challenging
“left-wing and Christian students who are paid by American Jews.”75 One month
later FPI was involved in a bloody pitched battle with Christian Ambonese secu-
rity guards in Ketapang, Central Jakarta. In the aftermath fourteen were dead
and the public was left with an indelible image of white-robed and turbaned
young men angrily wielding machetes and swords in the name of Islam.76
FPI was founded by Misbahul Anam, a Nahdatul Ulama-educated preacher,
and Habib Rizieq, a habib (an Islamic preacher tracing familial descent from the
Prophet Muhammad) of mixed Arab-Betawi descent.77 According to a report in
Tajuk magazine, the FPI was originally intended to be a nationwide support
base for Muslim United Development Party (Partai Persatuan Pembangunan, or
PPP) of Hamzah Haz, modeled along the lines of the Banser paramilitary wing of
282 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
71. Liputan6.com 2004a.
72. Liputan6.com 2004b.
73. Interview, Fadloli el-Muhir, Jakarta, 3 July 2003.
74. Laksamana.net 2002, and Tempo 2002. See also Ngatawi 2002.
75. Radio Nederland Wereldomroep 2000.
76. Gunawan and Patria 2000.
77. FPI’s founding committee also included several seasoned Islamic radicals such
as Habib Husein Al-Habsyi, who was jailed for the bombing of the 1985 Boro-
bodur temple.

Nahdatul Ulama.78 With the emergence of the PPP-aligned Ka’abah Youth Move-
ment and FPI’s initial failure to create strong support bases outside of Jakarta,
FPI redefined itself as a street-level anti-vice movement.79 While its leadership
consists of scholars from habib circles alongside several seasoned Muslim radi-
cals of the New Order period, rank-and-file members are drawn mainly from
poor, urban youth in districts of Jakarta such as Tanah Abang and Depok. FPI’s
uniform, consisting of long white robes and turbans, invokes popular represen-
tations of the “wali songo,” the nine Muslim saints believed to have spread Is-
lam throughout Java.80 This romantic image, drawn from popular myth, com-
bined with the focus upon vigilante actions, religious instruction, martial arts
training, and vehement attacks on U.S. foreign policy, have proved irresistible to
many disenfranchised urban youth. By August 1999, Rizieq claimed to have up
to 3 million militia members who were “ready to fight,” and a total FPI member-
ship of 13 million.81 While Rizieq’s figures are greatly exaggerated, FPI’s mem-
bership did grow quickly. By 2005 FPI had an estimated one hundred thousand
members with branches in twenty-six provinces.82
Wilson / Continuity and Change 283
Central Jakarta, 23 August 2005. Habib Rizieq, leader of Islamic Defenders Front, ad-
dresses members at a demonstration in support of a 2005 government campaign to elimi-
nate gambling. Formed in 1998, the group has launched numerous vigilante attacks on
“places of sin” such as bars, nightclubs, gambling dens, and prostitution areas. Despite fre-
quent clashes with the police, calls from the government to disband, and Rizieq himself
being imprisoned for six months, FPI continues to act as self-proclaimed guardians of pub-
lic morality.
78. Tajuk 1999.
79. Front Pembela Islam Surakarta (FPIS), based in central Java, is estimated to
have around twelve thousand members, however its leadership operates inde-
pendently of FPI.
80. Gunawan and Patria 2000.
81. Gatra 1999.
82. This figure is derived from media reports in Indonesia and interviews with
Habib Rizieq and FPI officials.

Like FBR, FPI has a formal leadership hierarchy. A supreme advisory council
reports directly to Habib Rizieq. The FPI secretariat is subdivided into six coun-
cil fronts, such as those for “anti-sinful practices” and recruitment. The investi-
gation council front, the group’s intelligence unit, is rumored to have coordi-
nated the infiltration of FPI operatives into student organizations considered to
be “communist.”83 The council fronts are supplemented by numerous govern-
ment-style departments, covering issues from foreign relations, national de-
fense, and education, to women’s affairs and food distribution. The hierarchy of
the paramilitary wing FPI uses in its raids, the Laskar Pembela Islam, mirrors the
territorial command structure of the Indonesian armed forces, with a chain of
command and semiautonomous territorial units extending from the national
down to the subdistrict level. Recruits are given martial arts and “inner power”
training (e.g., physical invulnerability).
FPI’s ideology has two central themes. The first is the necessity for the inser-
tion of the “Jakarta Charter” into the Indonesian constitution. The Jakarta Char-
ter obliges the application of Shari’a law to all Muslims. Islamic political parties
proposed the inclusion of the Charter in the original version of the 1945 Consti-
tution, but the government of Sukarno and Hatta later dropped the proposal af-
ter objections from nationalists and Christians. Since the end of the New Order,
which had outlawed discussion of the proposed amendment, a variety of Mus-
lim groups and political parties have made its re-inclusion a rallying point. Un-
like Laskar Jihad and Hizbut Tahrir, FPI stops short of openly rejecting democ-
racy. Somewhat reservedly, Misbahul Alam stated that “the voice of the people is
the voice of God, however Islam is not a democratic religion even though it does
respect democracy.”84 According to Rizieq, the Prophet Muhammad never dis-
cussed the specifics of an Islamic state and was concerned only with the creation
of a society based upon Shari’a law.85 Consequently FPI’s agenda has been to re-
form public morality rather than directly challenge the nation-state. In Rizieq’s
opinion, “if the morals and character are not reformed then it would be useless
to talk about reform in economy, political affairs, and law.”86 The second theme
fundamental to FPI’s ideology is the Qur’anic edict of amar ma’ruf nahi mun-
kar, leading people toward good and away from evil. This principle is the ratio-
nale for FPI’s ongoing attacks on Jakarta nightspots. FPI believes that the Islamic
community in Indonesia is under serious attack from western decadence and
284 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
83. Confidential interview, Jakarta, 2003. FPI accused several student organiza-
tions such as the People’s Democratic Party of being the basis for a resurgence
of communism in Indonesia.
84. In an interview, Misbahul Anam said that he had held discussions with four
generals where the possibility was discussed of an armed Iranian-type insur-
rection in Indonesia in order to achieve a state governed by Shari’a law. He de-
clined to name them, but it is documented that FPI has enjoyed the patronage
of former generals Djaja Suparman and Wiranto. See Laksamana.net 2003a,
and interview with Misbahul Anam, Tangerang, 29 June 2003.
85. Interview with Habib Rizieq, Banda Aceh, 25 February 2005.
86. Asia Times 2004.

immorality. FPI attributes the uncontrolled spread of businesses “peddling in
vice,” such as discos, bars, and entertainment centers, to the rapid growth of
free-market capitalism.87 While FPI considers the upholding of morality to be
the government’s responsibility, it recognizes that the government is limited
both by its administrative capacity as well as by the presence of corrupt officials
within its ranks. Hence, devout private citizens have a right and an obligation to
defend their community, with violence if necessary.
FPI activity has been most vigorous during the fasting month of Ramadan, the
one most steeped in the symbolism of purification and cleansing for the Islamic
community. In December 1999, around four thousand FPI members blockaded
and occupied the office of the Jakarta regional government for over ten hours,
demanding that governor Sutiyoso close down all nightlife spots during Rama-
dan.88 After a lengthy meeting with Sutiyoso and police chief Noegroho Djajoes-
man, the governor issued a statement of support for FPI’s demands, saying he
would work with FPI to ensure that new regulations regarding hours of opera-
tion were enforced. The protest was an unexpected strategic success for FPI;
they gained concessions from the government and were essentially given a
mandate to act in its absence. Between 1999 and late 2002, when it was deacti-
vated, FPI’s paramilitary wing carried out dozens of raids on nightspots, billiard
halls, brothels, gambling dens, and other places of “sinful” activity throughout
Jakarta.89 Initially the raids were confined to the fasting month, but they soon ex-
tended beyond. It became apparent that FPI had a larger agenda: to purge vice
from the capital, full stop. In some instances the raids involved little more than
smashing signs and overturning tables. In others, FPI members attacked pa-
trons, staff, and local residents with clubs and machetes, burned down build-
ings, and clashed with local security and police. In at least one case FPI militia
killed a resident. Throughout the early attacks, the police response was non-
commital. Routinely late to the scene, they made only a small number of arrests
and released ambiguous statements that called upon FPI to uphold the law,
while simultaneously defending FPI’s democratic right to protest. Without a
mandate or legal basis to act against the group as a whole, the police were con-
fined to arrests of individual members proven to have committed criminal dam-
age or assault. Rizieq’s personal attitude toward the police was far less ambigu-
ous. While rhetorically insisting that FPI “didn’t dream of replacing the police,”
he regularly launched scathing and threatening verbal attacks, accusing the po-
lice of profiting from gambling and prostitution syndicates.90 The rumored links
between FPI and key military figures led to speculation that FPI antagonism to-
ward the police was part of a larger turf war between the police and the military,
who had seen many of their lucrative entertainment industry protection rackets
Wilson / Continuity and Change 285
87. Interview with Misbahul Anam, Tangerang, 29 June 2003.
88. Kompas 1999.
89. See Laksamana.net 2003b. The Indonesian Human Rights Commission was
also attacked in 2000 in anger over a report playing down the massacre of Mus-
lims by the military in Tanjung Priok in 1984.
90. Liputan6.com 2002b.

usurped after the formal separation of the police from the armed forces in
1999.91
By early 2001 relations between the police and FPI had grown increasingly
tense. Under pressure from the entertainment industry, Sutiyoso revised the
1999 regulations regarding hours of operation during Ramadan, allowing
businesses to stay open in the evenings. Furious at the changes, FPI threat-
ened to enforce a total ban during Ramadan. The police countered with a
threat to crack down harshly on the group.92 In September 2001 FPI leaders
and the police met and agreed to a “truce,”93 but it did not last for long. While
its anti-vice raids usually involved at most several hundred members, after the
11 September attacks in the United States FPI began to mobilize far larger ac-
tions, drawing on widespread opposition to Washington’s “war on terror.” In
October 2001, at a demonstration against the pending invasion of Afghanistan
by U.S. forces, an estimated ten thousand FPI supporters rallied in front of the
national parliament in what was the group’s largest mobilization to date. In his
oration to the crowd, Rizieq demanded that the government sever all ties with
the United States and he threatened to do “sweeping operations” to remove its
citizens in Indonesia.94 Fearful that the demonstration would spiral out of con-
trol, the police moved in. The situation quickly deteriorated into a series of
bloody pitched battles. The day after the demonstration police raided FPI head-
quarters in Tanah Abang. Rizieq was detained on charges of inciting hatred, but
later released.
Some saw FPI activities in late 2000 and early 2001 as part of a larger cam-
paign to destabilize the presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid.95 Angered at Wa-
hid’s rapid democratization of Indonesia, his attempts to bring the military un-
der civilian control, and the sacking of Wiranto as armed forces chief in February
2000, anti-Wahidists within the military found an ally in FPI as well as other
groups such as Laskar Jihad. The FPI considered Wahid a traitor to Islam due to
his attempts to reestablish relations with Israel, his bridge building with Chris-
tians and Indonesian Chinese, and his move toward reconciliation with former
communists.96
286 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
91. Interview with Munir, Jakarta, 26 June 2003.
92. FPI and police had clashed violently in late 2000, including an FPI attack on a
police station and an incident in which police fired shots into a van carrying
FPI militia. Gatra 2003.
93. Tempo 2001b.
94. Asia Times Online 2001.
95. The Guardian (UK) 2002. Muslim-Christian violence that rocked Maluku
throughout 2000, to which FPI contributed a small number of volunteer fight-
ers, has also been attributed to a military-Islamist alliance aimed at toppling
Wahid. See Hefner 2002, 754–65.
96. Interview with Misbahul Anam, Tangerang, 29 June 2003. The antagonism be-
tween FPI and Wahid has continued, most recently after the FPI forcibly closed
several churches and mosques linked to the Ahmadiyah sect. Liputan6.com
2005.

FPI was also considered a potential street-level counter to the Banser para-
military force of Nahdatul Ulama, Wahid loyalists who threatened to mobilize in
Jakarta in the tense period leading up to his impeachment in July 2001.97
It wasn’t until after the Bali bombing on 12 October 2002 that the new gov-
ernment of Megawati Sukarnoputeri acted more decisively against FPI.98 The
bombing signaled the end of the government’s tolerance toward groups em-
ploying the symbolism of militant Islam, such as FPI and Laskar Jihad. With in-
ternational pressure coming to bear on the Indonesian government to give at
least the appearance of tackling radical Islam, militant groups now became a po-
litical liability. Rizieq was arrested four days after the October bombing on charges
of inciting public unrest in relation to FPI attacks on a pool hall and nightclub in
Glodok on 4 October. Even while charging Rizieq, the state was still conciliatory,
as reflected in the state prosecutor’s recommended reduction of the penalty for
the offenses from the maximum of seven years to seven months on the grounds
that Rizieq had “merely intended to improve the morality of Indonesian society.”99
After a brief period in custody Rizieq was released and placed under house arrest
on the condition that FPI would stop its raids. Soon after, the laskar wing of the
group suspended its activities indefinitely.100 The then-threatened U.S.-led inva-
sion of Iraq put FPI back in the spotlight, as the group warned of “sweeping” ac-
tions against westerners in Indonesia. At its headquarters in Tanah Abang, FPI set
up recruitment desks to enlist “jihad fighters” to go to Iraq; more than five hun-
dred signed up.101 Rizieq broke the conditions of his house arrest, making a “hu-
manitarian” visit to Iraq in April 2003 with the Red Crescent, though the Red
Crescent itself refused to confirm this. On his return on 20 April, he was imme-
diately arrested and taken back into custody.102
Rizieq was confined in Salemba prison until November 2003. During his in-
carceration, FPI continued to operate as an organization, but the activities of its
paramilitary wing were still suspended. Soon after Rizieq’s release FPI held a na-
tional congress to “reconsolidate” its internal leadership, refocus its mission,
and formulate strategies for “cleaning up” its rank-and-file membership. Rizieq
and Misbahul Alam both admitted that the group had grown too fast and as a
consequence had allowed what they termed “uncontrollable and undesirable
elements” to slip into its ranks.103 Along with unrepentant preman, the infiltra-
Wilson / Continuity and Change 287
97. Salim 2004.
98. FPI categorically rejected Megawati as president. According to Rizieq, “a
woman president is always a source of difference and conflict, why not chose
someone far from that conflict? There are lots of men capable of becoming
president.” Laksamana.net 2001a.
99. Laksamana.net 2003c.
100. Tempo 2002.
101. Far Eastern Economic Review 2003. Plans to send fighters did not materialize
because of a lack of funds as well as the obvious logistical problems of getting
fighters into the country. More recently, Rizieq has threatened to send FPI mili-
tia to southern Thailand as well as to Falluja in Iraq. Tempo 2004.
102. After his arrest, FPI supporters helped Rizieq escape from the public prosecu-
tor’s office, but he surrendered to police the next day.

tors were believed to include individuals linked to the police and to businesses
involved in gambling and prostitution.104 Since its first raids, FPI had faced accu-
sations that it was little more than a band of criminal extortionists in religious
garb. Patrons of raided bars claimed to have been robbed, and nightspot owners
accused FPI of extortion and collusion with the police. Rizieq took the allega-
tions seriously, believing that they undermined the moral platform they claimed
to stand upon. It was apparent that a gap had emerged between the short-term
material self-interest of ordinary FPI members and the ideological objectives of
FPI’s leadership. FPI leaders introduced a number of measures to address the
problem, including tightening criteria for membership. Potential recruits now
had to undergo a stringent screening process and entrance test, and, once ac-
cepted, undergo intensive training coordinated by FPI headquarters. Rather
than acting as semiautonomous units, laskar militia activities were coordinated
centrally. If Rizieq’s imprisonment was intended to undermine the group, it had
the opposite effect. FPI responded by tightening its ranks, centralizing control
over its component units, and upgrading the discipline and training of its re-
cruits, moving the organization from an unruly bunch of thugs in religious garb
to a far more disciplined and ideologically motivated paramilitary force. During
Ramadan 2004 FPI once more took to the streets, targeting cafes and bars in the
Kemang district of South Jakarta.105 As in previous years, the police threatened to
act, but failed to do so. Faced with continued police inaction, Kemang locals
formed their own vigilante force to guard against repeat attacks, perpetuating
the cycle of vigilantism. FPI’s moral justification for organized violence appar-
ently makes the state reluctant to treat the actions as purely criminal. While
loathe to openly support FPI-style violence, the state has failed to act against its
vigilantism in any systematic way.
The devastating tsunami that hit the war-ravaged province of Aceh on 26 De-
cember 2004 created a new arena for FPI. Within two days of the tragedy, several
hundred FPI volunteers, along with Habib Rizieq, arrived in Banda Aceh, their
transportation provided by the government. Other paramilitary and militant
groups, including Pemuda Panca Marga, Pemuda Pancasila, and the Indonesian
Mujahidin Council, also arrived en masse, ostensibly as part of relief efforts.106
For predatory groups, post-tsunami Aceh was new “territory,” offering them a
host of political and economic opportunities.107 Reports soon emerged of extor-
tion rackets and the siphoning of aid supplies. The leadership of the Free Aceh
Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, or GAM) was quick to issue a statement
calling FPI a criminal organization and stating that FPI’s purpose in Aceh was to
288 Critical Asian Studies 38:1 (2006)
103. Interview with Misbahul Anam, Tangerang, 29 June 2003.
104. Ibid., 2003.
105. Asia Times 2004.
106. Aljazeera.net 2005. In 2003 Pemuda Panca Marga members attacked and ran-
sacked the offices of the local NGO Committee for Missing Persons and Victims
of Violence (Kontras) after it criticized the imposition of martial law in Aceh.
107. Bulletin 2005, and interviews with Acehnese aid workers, Banda Aceh, Febru-
ary 2005.

act on behalf of the Indonesian military.108 Yet, while not renowned for its hu-
manitarian relief work, FPI soon made a name for itself for its dedication to the
grisly task of recovering and burying the dead.109 At the same time, however, it is-
sued terse cautions to foreigners to respect the form of Islamic law practiced in
the province, with Rizieq further warning of the possibility of “Christianization”
by religion-based aid agencies and an East Timor-style intervention by foreign
troops. FPI’s relief work won it guarded praise from locals, while its links to the
military and open opposition to Acehnese independence ensures it govern-
ment support. The group formulated a five-year plan for its activities in Aceh,
which included proposals for FPI-run religious boarding schools (pesantern),
mosques, and a radio station, for which it claimed to have government ap-
proval. By mid 2005, however, it had reduced its presence in Aceh to just several
dozen members.110 Like the Laskar Jihad before them, the FPI failed to compre-
hend the depth of Acehnese religious traditions, and was unable to establish
any significant local support. To the Acehnese, FPI and its brand of Islam were
indelibly “foreign.”111
Like FBR, FPI has been largely transparent in its flirtations with elite figures.
Throughout its brief history the group has enjoyed the support of Habibie,
Wiranto, vice-president Hamzah Haz, and Amien Rais. According to Rizieq, “we
do not object to being used by others, and we will use others in order to uphold
morality and eliminate vice.”112 Neither FBR nor FPI are state proxies, for this
presumes the existence of the state as a unified entity. The relationship be-
tween vigilante groups and the post–New Order state might better be charac-
terized as strategic partial-patronage. At times the support of vigilante thugs
has benefited particular figures within the fragmented and competing elites.
At the same time temporary patronage has allowed vigilante groups to operate
with impunity and gain a degree of political leverage for agendas divergent
from official state interests. The groups have undoubtedly served as a vehicle
for the political opportunism of their leadership, yet this does not explain why
FBR and FPI have been able to gain significant support bases among the urban
poor. In the case of FBR, the material benefits of membership are tangible.
With FPI, especially since its 2001 reconsolidation, the primary motivation for
their involvement appears to be more ideological, the group drawing part of its
appeal from the broader global discourse of Muslim radicalism and opposition
to the west.
Wilson / Continuity and Change 289
108.The full statement can be read on a GAM-affiliated website: http://www.acheh-
eye.org/data_files/english_format/asnlf/asnlf_statements_data-eng/asnlf_state-
ments_data-eng_025_09jan2005.html.
109. In one instance FPI claims that GAM itself requested that they remove corpses
from a conflict zone in order to avoid a confrontation between GAM and the
TNI. Indo Pos 2005.
110. Interview with Habib Rizieq, Jakarta, 26 August 2005.
111. Confidential interviews, Banda Aceh, February 2005.
112. Asgart 2003, 643–67.

A Preman State?
As Hadiz has noted, political gangsters and vigilantes have been major benefi-
ciaries of the reforms introduced to decentralize power in Indonesia.113 This
new system, which has given greater autonomy and power to regional and local
government, has led to paramilitary groups and political gangsters becoming a
valuable form of political capital and influential power brokers in their own
right, like their ancestors the jago of the colonial period. Some have even as-
pired to more direct political power. In August 2003 the granddaddy of preman/
paramilitary groups, Pemuda Pancasila, formally registered its own political
party, the Pancasila Patriot Party.114 Disillusioned with the lack of rewards for its
long-standing loyalty to Golkar, the head of Pemuda Pancasila, Yapto Soerjo
Soermano, stated that “rather than choose a party who doesn’t care about us,
it’s better we form our own party.”115 The organization’s large membership net-
works enabled it to easily meet the necessary criteria, and it competed in the
April 2004 general elections, albeit with little success. The presence of a
“preman party” as a registered, albeit unsuccessful, competitor in the general
election could be seen as eroding the legitimacy of the existing party system.
While Pemuda Pancasila is far more established than other similar organiza-
tions, it has opened a path that other groups are beginning to take. For example,
FBR is planning to nominate Fadloli as a candidate for the 2007 election for gov-
ernor in Jakarta, using its growing membership base to mobilize support.116 Re-
cent regional head elections (Pilkada, or Pemilihan Kepala Daerah) conducted
throughout the country have seen satgas, preman groups, and organized crime
figures fund successful candidates as well as fielding their own. As one preman
figure commented, “the smaller the scale of an election, the easier it is to either
buy or intimidate your way to victory.”117
If the patronage of political parties is no longer sufficient or too unpredict-
able, will satgas and vigilante groups seek to establish a more stable role for
themselves as security agencies, akin to the transition made by Brigass, or will
the now largely demobilized rank-and-file satgas simply return to the streets to
join the increasing ranks of street thugs? Rather than resulting in a decrease in
violent thuggery, the temporary demobilization of political paramilitary forces
has seen an analogous increase in the emergence of violence as a commodity in
the private sector. The labor sector is one example. No longer able to rely solely
on the police and military, factory owners have turned to gangs of hired thugs
who specialize in intimidating workers and breaking up strikes.118 Thugs acting
290 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
113. Hadiz 2003.
114. Around four hundred Pemuda Pancasila (PP) members already occupy seats in
parliament throughout Indonesia, primarily as representatives of Golkar. After
initially being prohibited from being involved in political parties aside from
the Pancasila Patriot Party, PP members are now free to do so. See Kompas
2003c and Suara Merdeka 2003.
115. Kompas 2003c.
116. Interview with FBR officials, Jakarta, August 2005.
117. Confidential interview, Jakarta, 2005.

in behalf of powerful clients have also regularly targeted journalists and the me-
dia.119 In an attempt to establish a reputation as legitimate businessmen, some
infamous gangland figures have even turned to the courts, seeking compensa-
tion from media outlets that have referred to them as thugs.120
Criminal gangs, vigilante groups, and individual preman have established a
lucrative yet unstable control over public space, such as markets, terminals, and
parking lots, creating further hardship for those living on the margins of the in-
formal economy. Preman-based organizations are both a product of poverty and
unemployment and a factor further exacerbating it. Without the protection they
once enjoyed from the authorities under the territorial protection racket sys-
tem, preman have now become vulnerable to attacks from rivals, as well as from
a public that can no longer stand the burden of what amounts to an informal
taxation system that parallels the state’s. A review of media reports between
2002 and 2005 indicates that the number of retaliatory attacks and instances of
vigilante street justice against preman have increased steadily. During the New
Order, such citizen-initiated attacks were practically unheard of. The character
of such extra-legal violence, however, is self-justificatory and hence cyclic in na-
ture.
Schulte Nordholt has suggested that on its current trajectory Indonesia is
heading toward what he refers to as a “preman state,” similar to that of post-
communist Russia.121 The comparison with Russia is an intriguing one. Volkov,
in his study of Russian gangsters, has shown how criminal networks and thugs
trafficking in violence have played a pivotal role in the making of Russian capi-
talism and have hijacked the new political and economic structures.122 After a
period of fierce rivalry between criminal gangs in the mid-1990s, stronger “vio-
lent entrepreneurs” have gradually established semi-legitimate monopolies,
becoming recognized guarantors of business transactions. Over time private se-
curity companies with closer links to government, often run by former KGB and
military officers, have commandeered these monopolies, leading to the legal-
ization of private protection. Privatized sections of the state’s coercive appara-
tus have also become more independent market actors.123 Faced with myriad
autonomous groups employing violence, the Russian state has lost “uncon-
ditional priority in those very areas that constitute it: protection, taxation, and
law enforcement.”124 Looking to the future, Volkov speculates that one possible
Wilson / Continuity and Change 291
118. One recent example of this is the beating and intimidation of workers from the
Shamrock textile factory in Medan. See Wapada 2004, and Kompas 2004a.
119. For documentation of attacks on the Indonesian press, see Suwarso et al.
2002.
120. This includes Hercules, the former gangland leader from Tanah Abang, Pemu-
da Panca Marga, as well as underworld figure and business tycoon Tommy
Winata, who won a libel case against Tempo magazine. Hercules later withdrew
his claim, whilst Pemuda Pancasila lost the case against Tempo.
121. Schulte Nordholt, 2002, 33–60.
122. Volkov 2002.
123. Volkov 1999, 741–54.
124. Ibid., 752.

scenario is a gradual appropriation of those private protection agencies with
state links, leading to a re-centralization of state control, albeit in a more dy-
namic form. This process entails not just controlling crime, but a fundamental
rebuilding of the state. The logic of the market, where intensive violence is sim-
ply unprofitable, could also emerge as a mediating factor.125
Conditions in contemporary Indonesia show significant parallels. As in Rus-
sia, the semiautonomous nature of the Indonesian armed forces and its diverse
business interests are a major hurdle in the way of the restoration of state con-
trol over organized violence. Curbs on satgas violence have come less from state
intervention than from its political redundancy; the voting public can no longer
be simply coerced into giving support. While groups such as FBR and FPI have
connections to figures within the political elite, the nature of patron-client rela-
tionships is far more fragmented than during the New Order; allegiances are
largely tactical and for the achievement of short-term goals, hence they shift rap-
idly. Attempts to incorporate such groups within state structures could only be
temporary, and might further erode public trust, leading to more vigilantism.
That political elites continue to make alliances with such groups is itself an indi-
cation of what they perceive as the fragility of their own position, one that forces
them to accept such partners.126 As Schulte-Bockholt has argued, elite alliances
with organized crime groups and paramilitaries commonly transpire during cri-
ses of hegemony. In the case of Indonesia the crisis of hegemony is the fractured
and fragmented nature of post–New Order politics itself. The ability of preman
groups to integrate themselves within existing power structures is being further
facilitated by the insecurity of the political elite. Dismissing such groups as
self-serving thugs may be easy, but understanding the role that ideology plays is
crucial. With the abandonment in 1999 of the New Order requirement that all
non-state organizations adopt the state philosophy of Pancasila (five princi-
ples) as their “sole ideological foundation” (asas tunggal), appeals to local
identity, ethnicity, and religion have become a persuasive justification and moti-
vating factor behind the use of violence that both intersects with and transcends
material self-interest.127 At issue, then, are not just particular configurations of
political and economic power, but also more fundamental questions regarding
what constitutes post–New Order “Indonesia.”
The proliferation of paramilitary and vigilante groups post-1998 represents a
manifestation of the decentralization of violence as a political, social, and eco-
nomic strategy, with the state losing control as its sole formal source and patron.
If we define the state in Weber’s terms, as the entity with a territorial monopoly
over “legitimate violence,” then these other groups present a major challenge to
restoring public confidence in state institutions and the judicial system. FBR
292 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
125. Ibid., 753.
126. Schulte-Bockholt 2001, 225–42.
127. The Pancasila consists of these five principles: belief in one God, civilized hu-
manitarianism, a unified Indonesia, popular sovereignty, and social justice.
During the New Order the Pancasila was a central ideological tool through
which the state sought to legitimate its authoritarian rule.

and FPI, for example, both legitimize violence and extortion within ideological
frameworks in which they conceptualize themselves as acting in lieu of the
lapsed state. Violence is justified as an act of necessary rectification rather than
direct opposition, in a situation where the state has failed to provide staples
such as security, justice, and employment.128 Thus, the state might have an open-
ing to engage with valid grievances while simultaneously enforcing the rule of
law. So far, it has failed to do either. Local governments have tried to “eliminate”
violent elements without elite backing, via police shootings and mass arrests of
individual preman, or to incorporate them by employing preman as assistant
police officers, such as in Sutiyoso’s war on thugs.129 The rationale behind this
recruitment is identical to that given by paramilitary and vigilante groups them-
selves, namely, that with discipline and direction preman can be “reformed”
and transformed into law-abiding and productive citizens. The fact that anti-
crime campaigns have conspicuously avoided taking action against organized
preman groups has provided the groups with added legitimacy, a point of which
preman themselves are well aware. During the latest campaign, in August 2005,
FBR membership increased dramatically, with as many as three hundred people
joining each week. Membership in an established group has become a safe ha-
ven from the law. The message sent out to the public is a contradictory one, and
an indication of the functional disarray of state institutions. If this remains the
extent of the state’s response, the public remains trapped between two types of
thugs in uniform, those with state backing and those without. What is required
is a multifaceted approach that includes a broad-ranging reconfiguring of state
institutions along with measures to address the deep-rooted social and eco-
nomic causes of violence, such as corruption, unemployment, and endemic
poverty. This project is something far more complex and ambitious than merely
tackling crime. If the state is now but one of many sources of protection, then in
order to regain a monopoly over coercive force without resorting to New Or-
der–style authoritarianism, it must attempt to provide a service that is more
comprehensive, accountable, and transparent than any of its would be competi-
tors. In essence it must undermine the free market in organized violence by
both regulating the sources of supply and tackling the reasons for demand, in-
cluding those within state institutions and the political elite.
Wilson / Continuity and Change 293
128. Sung 2004, 111–30.
129. Detik 2001.

294 Critical Asian Studies 38:2 (2006)
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