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Sukarno Years - Gestapu

President Sukarno



Editor aims at compiling a true record of his presidency
His political aspirations and ambitions have often been
distorted and blackened to suit Western interpretations.

He fought Western domination but in the end tragically succumbed to their political pressures, intrigues and
machinations as well as biased Western media reporting





Kathy Kadane's research
December 6, 1995

Indonesia 1965: Role of US Embassy
introductory note from David Johnson:
On May 21, 1990 the journalist Kathy Kadane working for States News Service published an article in the Washington Post, "U.S. Officials' Lists Aided Indonesian Bloodbath in '60s."
On July 12, 1990 the New York Times published an article by Michael Wines, "C.I.A. Tie Asserted in Indonesia Purge." Wines' article contained criticism of Kadane's article by several of the U.S. officials that Kadane had interviewed and several other people.
In response to the New York Times, States News Service distributed a 20-page memorandum to newspaper editors defending the accuracy of Kathy Kadane's work and including excerpts from the interviews that Kadane had made with the top three U.S. Embassy officials in 1965: Ambassador Marshall Green; Deputy Chief of Mission Jack Lydman; and political section chief Edward Masters.

Reprinted here is the July 1990 States News Service memo to editors. Readers may be interested to compare the remarks of the U.S. officials here with their subsequent claims after attention had been drawn to their activities in 1965. For example, the News York Times article states that "Mr. Green...called the Kadane account 'garbage.'"
In his 1990 book (Indonesia: Crisis and Transformation 1965- 1968) Marshall Green devotes a footnote to the Kadane material.

B. Hugh Tovar, the CIA station chief in Jakarta in 1965, was not interviewed by Kadane but has commented on her work. Tovar published an article "The Indonesian Crisis of 1965-1966: A Retrospective," in the International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence, 1994, volume 7, number 3. (We should note in passing that in this article Tovar states that on October 1, 1965, "The CIA didn't even realize who Suharto was at that time...He was a comparatively obscure officer." Remember that Suharto was the number two ranking officer in the Army, after General Yani.)
This is what Tovar states about Kadane's research.

B. Hugh Tovar further commented on Kadane in an interview published in the Indonesian magazine Gatra on October 14, 1995




WASHINGTON -- U.S. officials who said in interviews that they knew of and approved a decision to pass the names of Indonesian Communist party members to the Indonesian army in 1965 are now denying they did so, according to an article published in the New York Times.
States News Service in May reported the United States played a significant role in one of the worst massacres of the century by supplying lists of thousands of Communist party members to the Indonesian army in 1965, which hunted down and killed many of the leftists.

The Times article said there is no question that a list of names of alleged communists was provided to the Indonesians by the U.S. embassy.
But it said, "The dispute has focused on whether the decision to turn over the names was that of an individual American embassy officer, or was coordinated with the Central Intelligence Agency and approved by senior embassy officers."

The Times article asserted that transcripts of several key interviews are "ambiguous" about what top embassy officials knew.
But taped interviews, conducted after years of in-depth research and numerous interviews with Bob Martens and other mid-level officials, some of whom were not quoted in the article, show that top embassy officials knew of and approved the release of the names, that CIA employees contributed to the lists of names, and that CIA officials in Washington, along with embassy officials in Jakarta, during the massacre, gathered and "checked off" the names of the victims.

The House Select Committee on Intelligence is conducting a preliminary inquiry into the allegations to determine whether to open a formal investigation into the American actions in Indonesia in 1965.
Jack Lydman, the former deputy chief of mission -- the embassy's second ranking official -- confirmed in an interview with States News on May 14, 1990, that the decision to release the names was made by top officials at the embassy, including himself; that CIA personnel contributed to the lists; and that the embassy subsequently collected information about who had been caught and killed in an effort to determine whether the organization was being destroyed.

In an interview with reporter Kathy Kadane, Lydman responded "Absolutely" to the question of whether top embassy officials, he among them, approved the decision to turn over the names.
The Times, which interviewed Lydman after the States article appeared, quoted Lydman as saying this response was "absolutely not what I intended," and that "I certainly wasn't focusing on the impact" of what the reporter had asked him.

A portion of a transcript of the May 14, 1990, interview with Lydman shows the response came after an extended discussion of the lists.
Interviews with Edward Masters, chief of the embassy's political section, Martens' direct superior, also show that he and other top officials were aware of and approved the release of the names; that CIA personnel contributed to the lists, and that the lists were used as a basis for "checking off" what happened to the PKI leaders during the massacre.

In three interviews in December, 1989, excerpted below, Masters said the decision to release the names was made by an inner group of top officials at the embassy of which he was a member, and that top embassy officials knew the names were going to the army. He said he "fully recognized that (a) person might be taken into custody as a result of being on our lists."
When asked what was in his mind when he agreed to the released of the names, Masters said "In my own feeling, the Indonesians were out to take care of the communist party (PKI), and it was in our interest to help them."

The Times article asserted that interview transcripts show that former Ambassador Marshall Green "had no recollection that Mr. Martens had compiled lists of Communist Party members." A transcript of the Dec. 18, 1989, interview with Green clearly shows that he knew about Martens' work in the political section, though he said he was not familiar with the details of Martens' files.
"I knew he was sort of our guru with regard to the PKI," Green said.

When questioned about the Martens' PKI study, Green said that as political counselor (chief of the embassy's political section) in Sweden in the 1950s, he had supervised a similar project to gather names of Swedish communist party activists. By coincidence, he said, William Colby, later chief of the Far East Division of the CIA in 1965, served on his staff at the time, though Colby was actually an employee of the CIA.

"If you had asked our ambassador in Sweden about this file [on the communists], he wouldn't have known a thing -- but I did, because it was my section," Green said.
The transcripts show that later, when the army attack began, Green had more information about the PKI files.

In the Times article, the phrase, "if he said that were so, I would agree with it" was omitted.
The New York Times article erred in quoting portions of the Green transcript, confusing two key passages concerning Green's knowledge of the release of the names.

In the States article, Joseph Lazarsky, deputy CIA station chief in Jakarta at the time, said CIA employees contributed to Martens' lists, a point confirmed by Masters and Lydman, and by two CIA employees -- not identified in the article -- who said they worked on the PKI roster in the political section.
The Times said Bernardo Hugh Tovar, the station chief, denied his office gave "any classified information on Indonesian communist officials to Mr. Martens."

The States article did not say that the CIA information contributed to the PKI lists was classified.
Tovar did not return phone calls placed to his home during the preparation of the States News Service article.

The Times article asserted that "the two senior CIA officials in Jakarta at the time of the coup denied any involvement in Mr. Martens' action."
The States article did not assert that they had any hand in disseminating PKI names. The States account did include an account by Joseph Lazarsky, the deputy CIA station chief, about his dealings with Ali Murtopo, the Indonesian intelligence chief. Murtopo relayed back to the embassy information about who had been caught and who had been killed, Lazarsky said.

The Times story described John Hughes, a former editor of the Christian Science Monitor, who won a Pulitzer Prize for his reporting on Indonesia in the mid-1960s, as an "observer removed from the controversy."
Hughes told the Times that he thought the idea that the United States helped the army locate Communist was "pretty far out."
"I don't think the Indonesian Army needed any help in going after Communists in Indonesia at that time," he said. "It sort of boggles the mind that our embassy would need to be giving out lists. There wasn't any problem about killing people. There was an abundance of names and targets. Everybody knew who was a PKI cadre."

The Times article did not say that Hughes later served as a State Department spokesman (August 1982 to January 1985.) Michael Wines, the reporter who wrote the Times story, told States News Service he had decided to use Hughes as an expert in the story despite Hughes' apparent "conflict of interest" in his later employment by the State Department.

In August 1989, Kadane interviewed Hughes about his experiences in Jakarta after the abortive coup in late September, 1965. At the time, Hughes was a reporter in the Far East Bureau for the Christian Science Monitor.
In the weeks following the Sept. 30 abortive coup that set off the army backlash against the communists, embassy officials have said it was a hard task to gather intelligence about what was going on.
Hughes told Kadane that during this period, he and other western correspondents helped out, often functioning as the "eyes and ears of the embassy." As an example of the aid he gave embassy officials, he said, "I can remember going off to rallies and coming back (to the embassy) and playing a tape," he said.

Times reporter Michael Wines declined to answer questions about why he omitted key portions of the Lydman, Masters and Green interviews. He gave this statement.

Wines' statement

"I think that (conflict) was fully addressed in the story and I think anyone who reads the story ought to be able to see where information on the tapes appears at odds with what people have said after seeing the article. I don't want to go beyond that.
"As do the reporters at States, I do the best job I can as a reporter.

"As the story notes, the House Intelligence Committee is looking into this matter and I'm sure they will do a fair and impartial evaluation of the facts in the case and that they'll come to some kind of conclusion as to what likely happened in Indonesia in 1965.
"It's not my business to be an investigator of what happened in Indonesia, it was my (job) to look into this report and I don't intend to get into a back-and-forth."

David Johnson
Research Director Center for Defense Information
1500 Massachusetts Ave. NW
Washington DC 20005
phone: 202-862-0700
fax: 202-862-0708
email: djohnson@cdi.org
CDI web page





Who plotted the 1965 coup?

Suharto always said it was the communists. Yet from the start, says Colonel Latief, Suharto himself was involved.
Greg Poulgrain

Indonesian President BJ Habibie has refused to release Colonel Latief, whose arrest in 1965 for involvement in a military coup was followed by Major-General Suharto's rise to the presidency.
Habibie has granted amnesty to 73 other political prisoners, even to members of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) accused of involvement in the 1965 coup attempt. Refusing amnesty to Latief now shows how Suharto overshadows Habibie.

Interviewed in Cipinang Prison, Jakarta, three days after Suharto resigned, Latief told me that he expected never to be released. Despite various kidney operations and the stroke he suffered last year, Latief is still very alert. His explanation for his involvement in 1965 directly implicates Suharto.

By late 1965, President Sukarno was ailing and without a successor. Tension between the PKI and the armed forces was growing. Conspiracies rumours were rife. Who would make the first move?
On the night of 30 September 1965, six hours before the military coup, Latief confirmed with Suharto that the plan to kidnap seven army generals would soon start. Latief was an officer attached to the Jakarta military command. As head of the Army Strategic Reserve Command (Kostrad), Suharto held the optimum position to crush the operation, so his name should have been at the top of the list. When troops who conducted the kidnappings asked why Suharto was not on the list, they were told: 'Because he is one of us'.

There was a rumour the seven generals were intending to seize power from Sukarno. Latief and two other army officers in the operation, Lieutenant-Colonel Untung (in charge of some of the troops guarding Sukarno's palace) and General Supardjo (a commander from Kalimantan), planned to kidnap the generals and bring them before President Sukarno to explain themselves.

The 30th September Movement was thus a limited pre-emptive strike by pro-Sukarno officers against anti-Sukarno officers. They kidnapped the generals and occupied strategic centres in Jakarta's main square, without touching Suharto's headquarters. The plan involved no killing, but it went terribly wrong and six of the seven died.

Although Untung was assigned responsibility for collecting the generals, this crucial task was then taken over by a certain Kamaruzzaman alias Sjam, evidently a 'double agent' with contacts in the Jakarta military command as well as the PKI. At his trial, Sjam admitted responsibility for killing the generals but blamed the PKI under Aidit. In 1965 when Suharto accused the PKI of responsibility for killing the generals, the Sjam-Aidit link gave Suharto enough leverage to convince his contemporaries.
Between Sjam and Suharto there was a twenty-year friendship going back to the fight against the Dutch in Central Java in 1948-49. This strengthened in the late 1950s when both attended the Bandung Staff College.

Suharto was also on close terms with Untung, who served under him during the campaign to reclaim Netherlands New Guinea in 1962 and who became a family friend.

During his trial in 1978, not only did Latief explain that he met Suharto on the night of the coup, but also that several days before he met both Suharto and his wife in the privacy of Suharto's home to discuss the overall plan. The court declared that this information was 'not relevant'.
Suharto, more than anybody, described the events that night as 'communist inspired'. Suharto's claim that he saw the slain generals' bodies had been sexually mutilated was shown to be deliberately false by post-mortem documents, not revealed till decades later. This false claim provoked months of killings against communists, particularly in Bali and Central and East Java.

The PKI, numbering 20 million, were mostly rice farmers. Accused en masse they became victims in one of the worst massacres this century. In the opinion of the author, many writers underestimated the death toll, which may be around one million persons. Another 700,000 were imprisoned without trial. The most notorious general involved, Sarwo Edhie, claimed not one but two million were killed. 'And we did a good job', he added. Traumatised by violence, the nation became politically malleable.

Using Suharto's own categorisation of crimes related to 1965, his prior knowledge of the alleged coup places him in 'Category A' involvement - the same as those who faced execution or life imprisonment.
The release of Colonel Latief is a litmus test of Habibie's willingness to promote genuine reform. Fewer than ten long term prisoners remain. Latief has pleaded: 'Most of them are already 70 years old and fragile. For the sake of humanity, please take notice of us.'

Dr Greg Poulgrain <g.poulgrain@qut.edu.au> is a research fellow at the School of Humanities, QUT Carseldine.




Rampart Vol. 9 No. 4. October 1970
The Berkeley Mafia and the Indonesian Massacre
By David Ransom



Indonesia, which in the past fired the imagination of fortune-hunters and adventures as the fabled East Indies, was long regarded as "the richest colonial prize in the world." Harking back to such times, Richard Nixon described in 1967 as "the greatest prize in the Southeast Asian area." Not too many years earlier, however, the prize had been thought all but lost to the fiery nationalist Peking-oriented Sukarno and the three million-strong Indonesian Communist Party waiting in the wings. Then in October 1965 an unsuccessful coup and a swift move by Indonesia's generals immobilized the leader and the precipitated the largest massacre in modern history, in which from 500,000 to a million unarmed communists and their peasant sympathizers were killed. When the bloodletting was over, the immense nationalist spirit of a decade had vanished, and the Indies' vast natural treasures were opened by the new regime to U.S. oil companies and corporations.

To cut the ribbon on the Indonesian side was an extraordinary team of economic ministers known to insiders as "the Berkeley Mafia." Sporting PhDs from the University of California [at Berkeley] and acting as a closely-knit clique in the councils of power, these men shaped the post-nationalist policies of the new regime. Behind their rise to eminence and power lay a saga of international intellectual intrigue, of philanthropoids and university projects, of student Generals and political Deans, and a sophisticated imperial design beyond Cecil Rhodes's wildest dreams.

Part I
A Dean is Born

Following Japan's defeat in World War II, wars of national liberation raged in China and Vietnam. Meanwhile, far away in Washington offices and New York living rooms, Indonesian independence was being sensibly arranged. By 1949, the Americans had persuaded the Dutch that if they took action before the Indonesian revolution went the way of China, they could learn to live with nationalism and like it. And sure enough, in that year the Indonesians accepted an independence agreement, drafted with the help of friendly American diplomats. It maintained the severely was-weakened Dutch economic presence, while swinging wide the Open Door to U.S. cultural and economic influences as well.

Among those handled the diplomatic maneuvers in those years were two young Indonesian aristocrats: Soedjatmoko,* called Koko by his American friends, and an economist and diplomat named Sumitro Djojohadikusumo. Both were members of the upper-class, nominally socialist PSI (Partai Sosialis Indonesia), one of the smaller and more Western-oriented of Indonesia's myriad political parties.

In New York the two were lionized by a group closely linked to the notorious Vietnam lobby which shortly thereafter launched Ngo Dinh Diem on his meteoric career in U.S.-Vietnamese politics. The group, which included Norman Thomas, was composed of members of the Committee for Independence of Vietnam and the India League. It occupied as something of a vanguard position among socialist anti-communists. "We were concerned that the United States not be caught flatfooted in the post-war necessity to create non-communist governments in Asia," explains League member, Park Avenue attorney and legal counsel for Indonesian in the U.S., Robert Delson.
Delson squired Sumitro and "Koko" around town, introducing them to his friends in the American for Democratic Action (ADA) and to top-communist labor leaders. They also circulated in Establishment circles, particularly among the members of the foundation-funded Council on Foreign Relations, the most influential elite-policy formulating group in the United States.

Distressed by Indonesia's peppery nationalist leader Sukarno and the strong left wing of the Independence forces, the Americans found that, as with Diem in Vietnam, the rather bland nationalism of "Koko" and Sumitro offered a most palatable alternative. In Council on Foreign Relations parlance, they were interested in "modernizing" Indonesia, not revolutionizing it. At Ford-funded School of Advanced International Studies in Washington in early 1949, Sumitro explained that his kind of socialism included "free access" to Indonesian resources and "sufficient" incentives for foreign corporate investment.

When independence came later that year, Sumitro returned to Jakarta to become Minister of Trade and Industry in the coalition government and then, in two later cabinets, Minister of Finance. As the Minister through the early '50s, Sumitro defended an economic "stability" that favored Dutch investments. Carefully eschewing radicalism, he appointed as advisor the German Hjalmar Schact, economic architect of the Third Reich.

Sumitor was supposed by the PSI and their numerically stronger "modernist" ally, the Masjumi Party, a vehicle of Indonesia's commercial and landowning santri Moslems. But he was clearly swimming against the tide. The Communist PKI, Sukarno's PNI, the Army, the orthodox Moslem NU-everybody, in fact, but the PSI and Masjumi-were riding the wave of post-war nationalism. In the 1955 national election-Indonesia's first and last-the PSI polled a miniscule fifth place. It did worse in local balloting of 1957, in which the Communist PKI emerged the strongest party.
Nevertheless, when Sukarno started nationalizing Dutch holdings in 1957, Sumitro joined Masjumi leaders and dissident Army commanders in the Outer Island Rebellion, supported briefly by the CIA. It was spectacularly unsuccessful. From this failure in Sumatra and the Celebes, Sumitro fled to an exile career as government and business consultant in Singapore. The PSI and the Masjumi were banned.

America's Indonesian allies had colluded with an imperialist power to overthrow a popularly elected nationalist government, headed by a man regarded as the George Washington of his country-and they had lost. So ruinously were they discredited that nothing short of miracle could ever restore them to power.
That miracle took a decade to perform, but now Sumitro has risen once again. He serves Minister of Trade in a new Indonesian government. And he is no longer an odd man out: today he is regarded as the number two man in Indonesia, and he and his comrades are firmly in control.

The "modernist" restoration was not imposed by American troops. The secular arm of American imperium reached into Indonesian politics, often under the cloak of the CIA. But it was the hallowed private institutions of academia and philanthropy that worked the greatest wonders. For Sumitro had not simply been a minority politician and cabinet minister, but since 1951 Dean of the Faculty of Economics at the University in Jakarta. There he marshaled the young men with whom he planned to implement his program for Indonesia; there the Ford Foundation made common cause with him to do so.

Institution Building
Ford's interest in Indonesian education began in the early '50s, but it was the Rockefeller Foundation that had pioneered the area. Just before he left the Far East section of the State Department in 1952 to become the Rockefeller Foundation's president, Dean Rusk explained the purpose behind the program. "Communist aggression" required not only that Americans be trained for work in the Far East, but that "we must open our training facilities for increasing number of our friends from across the Pacific."

The head of the Ford Foundation, Paul Hoffman, who launched Ford's program in educational internationalism, was no stranger to the Indonesia situation. As head of the Marshall Plan in Europe he had cut off Marshall Plan funds, which were vital to the Dutch counter-insurgency effort, and thus assisted the birth of the first pro-U.S. Indonesian government. The Dutch themselves had practiced "indirect rule" in the Indies by simply adding their own administrators to the top of the existing aristocratic-administrative hierarchy (from which Sumitro's PSI was derived). As America supplanted the Dutch, Hoffman's Ford team laid the basis of a post-independence national bureaucracy trained to function under the "new indirect rule of America-in Ford's words, to train a "modernizing elite."

"You can't have a modernizing country wihtout a modernizing elite," explains the deputy vice president of Ford's international division, Frank Sutton. "That's one of the reason we've given a lot of attention to university education."Sutton adds that there's no better place to find such an elite than among "those who stand somewhere in social structure where prestige, leadership, and vested interests matter, as they always do."
With the services it purchased from America's top universities,, Ford manage to create a tough, sophisticated infrastructure that reached into every major institution of Indonesian society. Students selected and molded by the Americans, trained in essential disciplines and skills, became in effect a paragovernment, representing the old PSI-Masjumi parties, but in reality far stronger than they.

Ford launched its effort to make Indonesia a "modernizing country" in 1954 with field projects out of MIT and Cornell. The scholars produced by these two projects-one in economics, the other in political development-have since effectively dominated the field of Indonesian studies in the United States. Compared to what they eventually produced in Indonesia, however, this was a fairly modest achievement. Working through the Center for International Studies (the CIA-sponsored brainchild of Max Millikan and Walt W. Rostow), Ford put together an MIT team to discover "the causes of economic stagnation in Indonesia." An interesting example of the effort was Guy Pauker's study of "political obstacles" to economic development, such as armed insurgency. Domination of natural and cultural resources by foreign institutions like Ford would be somewhat outside the theoretical framework of Pauker's Harvard training.

In the course of his field work, Pauker-an urbane and egocentric man-got to know the high-ranking officers of the Indonesian Army rather well. He found them "much more impressive" than the politicians. "I was the first who got interested in the role of the military in economic development," Pauker says. He also got to know most of the key civilians: "With the exception of a very small group," Pauker says, they were almost " totally oblivious" to what he called modern development. Not surprisingly, the "very small group" was composed of PSI aristocrat-intellectual, particularly Sumitro and his students.

Sumitro, in fact, had participated in the MIT team's briefings in Cambridge. Some of Sumitro's students were also known by the MIT team, having attended a CIA-funded annual seminar run each summer at Harvard by Henry Kissinger, now President Nixon's top foreign policy strategist. One of them was Mohamed Sadli, son a well-t-do santri trader, with whom Pauker became good friends. In Jakarta, Pauker had struck friendships with members of PSI clan and had formed a political study group among them, whose members included the head of Indonesia's National Planning Bureau, Ali Budiardjo, and his wife Mirriam, "Koko's" sister.
Rumanian by birth, Pauker had helped found a group called "Friends of the United States" in Bucharest just after the Second World War. He then came to Harvard, where he got his degree. While many Indonesians have charged the professor with having CIA connections, Pauker denies that he was intimate with the CIA until 1958, after he joined the RAND Corporation. Since then, it is no secret that he briefs and is briefed by the CIA, the Pentagon, and the State Department. Highly-placed Washington sources say he is "directly involved in decision making."

In 1954 Ford grubstaked a Cornell Modern Indonesia Project with $224,000. With that money, program chairman George T. Kahin has built the social science wing of the Indonesian studies establishment in the United States. In Indonesia, Cornell's elite-oriented studies are what the universities use to teach post-Independence politics and history.
Among the several Indonesians brought to Cornell on Ford and Rockefeller grants, perhaps the most influential, is sociologist-politician Seloseomardjan. Selosoemardjan is right-hand man to the Sultan of Jogjakarta, one of the strong men of the present Indonesian regime.
Kahin's political science group worked closely with Sumitro's Faculty of Economics in Jakarta. "Most of the people at the university came from essentially bourgeois or bureaucratic families," recalls Kahin. "They knew precious little of their society." In a "victory" which speaks poignantly of the illusions of the well-meaning liberals out of their depth, Kahin succeeded on prodding them to get "their feet dirty" for three months in a village. Many were to spend four years in the United States.

Together with Widjojo Nitisastro, Sumitro's leading protégé, Kahin set up an Institute to publish the Village studies. It has never amounted to much, except that its American advisors helped Ford maintain in contact in the most difficult of the Sukarno days.
Kahin still thinks Cornell's affair with Ford in Indonesia "was a fairly happy marriage"-less for funding than for the political cover it afforded. "AID funds are relatively easy to get," he explains. "But certainly in Indonesia, anybody working on political problems with [U.S.] government money during this period would have found their problem much more difficult."
Kahin, one of the leading academic Vietnam doves, has irritated the State Department on occasion, and many of his students are far more radical than he. Yet for most Indonesians, Kahin's work was really not that much of different from Pauker's. One man went on to teach-ins, the other to RAND and the CIA. But the consequences of their nation building efforts in Indonesia were much the same.

Berkeley East
MIT and Cornell made contact, collected data, and built up expertise. It was left to Berkeley actually to train most of the key Indonesians who would seize the government power to put their pro-American lessons into practice. Dean Sumitro's Faculty of Economics provided a perfect academic boot camp for these political shock troops.

To oversee the project, Ford President Paul Hoffman tapped his old friend Michael Harris, a one-time CIO organizer who had headed Marshall Plan programs under him in France, Sweden, and Germany. In the words of one Berkeley professors and close acquaintance, Harris was "a typical Lovestone kind of guy-the labor leader who makes a career out of anti-communist activities working with the government." Harris had been on a Marshall Plan survey in Indonesia in 1951, knew Sumitro, and before going out was extensively briefed by Sumitro's New York promoter, the Indonesian counsel Delson. Harris reached Jakarta 1955 and set out to build Dean Sumitro a brand new Ford-funded graduate program in economics.

This time the professional touch and academic respectability were to be provided by Berkeley. The Berkeley team's first task was to replace the Dutch professors whom Sukarno was phasing out and to relieve Sumitro's Indonesian junior faculty so that Ford could send them back to Berkeley for advanced credentials. Already at Berkeley was Sadli, who shared a duplex with MIT's Pauker. Pauker had come to head the new center for South and Southeast Asian Studies on his way to RAND and the CIA. Sumitro's protégé Widjojo led the first crew out to Berkeley.

While the Indonesian junior faculty learned Ameri can economics in Berkeley classrooms, the professor from Berkeley set to turning the Faculty on Jakarta into an American-style school of economics, statistics, and business administration.
Sukarno objected. At an annual lecture to the Faculty, team member Bruce Glassburner recalls, Sukarno complained that "all those men can say to me is 'Schumpeter and Keynes.' When I was young I read Marx." Sukarno might grumble and complain, but if he wanted any education at all he would have to take what he got. "When Sukarno threatened to put an end to Western economics," says John Howard, long-time director of Ford's international Training and Research Program, "Ford threatened to cut off all programs, and that changed Sukarno's direction."

The Berkeley staff also joined Sumitro's protégés in the effort to prevent the faculty's being brought more in line with Sukarno's "socialism" and Indonesian national policy. "We got a lot of pressure through 1958-1959 for 'retooling' the curriculum," Glassburner recalls. "We did some dummying up, you know-we put 'socialism' into as many course titles as we could-but really tried to preserve the academic integrity of the place." A very academic integrity, indeed.
The project, which continued for six years at a cost of $2.5 million, had a clear, if not always stated, purpose. John Howard explains the purpose quite simply: "Ford felt it was training the guys who would be leading the country when Sukarno got out."

There was little chance, of course, that Sumitro's minuscule PSI would outdistance Sukarno at the polls. But "Sumitro felt the PSI group could have influence far out of proportion to their voting strength by putting men in key positions in government," recalls the first project chairman, a feisty Irish business prof named Len Doyle.
When Sumitro went into exile, his university carried on. His students visited him surreptitiously on their way to and from the U.S. Powerful Americans like Harry Goldberg, a lieutenant of labor boss and CIA-coordinator Jay Lovestone, kept in close contact and saw that Sumitro's message got through to his Indonesian friends. No dean was appointed to replace him; he was the "chairman in absentia."
All of the unacademic intrigue caused hardly a ripple of disquiet among the scrupulous professors. A notable exception was the essentially conservative business professors, Doyle.
"I feel that much of the trouble that I had probably stemmed from the fact that I was not as convinced of Sumitro's position as the Ford Foundation representative was, and, in retrospect, probably the CIA," recalls Doyle.

Harris tried to get Doyle to hire "two or three Americans who were close to Sumitro." One was Sumitro's friend from the MIT team, William Hollinger. Doyle refused. "It was clear that Sumitro was going to continue to run the Faculty from Singapore." But it was a game Doyle didn't want to play. "I felt," Doyle explains, "that the University should not be involved in what essentially was becoming a rebellion against the government-whatever sympathy you might have with the rebel cause and the rebel objectives."
Back home, Doyle's lonely defense of academic integrity against the political pressure exerted through Ford was not appreciated. Sent there for two years, Berkeley recalled him after one. "We had no choice but to ship him home." In fact, Harris had him bounced. "In my judgment," Harris recalls, "there was a real problem between Doyle and the Faculty."

Ralph Anspach, a Berkeley team member now teaching at San Fransisco, got so fed up with what he saw in Jakarta that he will no longer work in applied economics. "I had the feeling that in the last analysis I was supposed to be a part of this American policy of empire," he says, "bringing in American science, and attitudes, and culture…winning over countries-doing this with an awful lot of cocktails and high pay. I just got out of the whole thing."
Doyle and Anspach were the exceptions. Most of the academic professionals found the project-as Ford meant it to be-the beginning of a career. "This was a tremendous break for me," explains Glassburner. "Those three years over there gave me an opportunity to become a certain kind of economist. I had a category-I became a development economist-and I got to know Indonesia. This made a tremendous difference in my career."

Berkeley phased out its people out of Jakarta in 1961-62. The running battle between the Ford representative and the Berkeley chairman as to who would run the project had some part in hastening its end. More important, the professors were no longer necessary; in fact, they were probably an increasing political stability. Sumitro's first string had returned with their degrees and resumed control of the school.

The Berkeley team had done its job, "kept the thing alive," Glassburner recalls proudly. "We plugged a hole…and with the Ford Foundation's money we trained them 40 or so economists." What did the University get out of it? "Well, some overhead money, you know." And the satisfaction of a job well done.


Part II
School for Soldiers

In 1959, Pauker set out the lessons of the PSI's electoral isolation and Sumitro's abortive Outer Islands Rebellion in a widely read paper entitled "Southeast Asia as a Trouble Area in the Next Decade." Parties like the PSI were "unfit for vigorous competition" with communism, he wrote, "Communism is bound to win in Southeast Asia…unless effective countervailing power is found." The "best equipped" countervailing forces, he wrote, were "members of national officers corps as individuals and the national armies as organizational structures."
From his exile in Singapore, Sumitro concurred, arguing that his PSI na dMasjumi parties, which the Army had attacked, were really the Army's "natural allies." Without the, the Army would find itself politically isolated, he said. But to consummate their alliances "the Sukarno regime must be toppled." Until then, Sumitro warned, the generals should keep a "close and continuous watch" on the growing and powerful communist peasant organizations. Meanwhile, Sumitro's Ford scholar protégés in Jakarta began the necessary steps toward rapprochement.
Fortunately for Ford and its image, the Army had a school: SESKOAD (Army Staff and Command School). Situated 70 miles southeast of Jakarta in cosmopolitan Bandung, SESKOAD was the Indonesian Army nerve center. There, generals decided organizational and political matters, senior officers on regular rotation were "upgraded" with manuals and methods picked up at the US Command school back in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

When the Berkeley team phased itself out in 1962, Sadli, Widjojo, and others from the Faculty began regular trips to Bandung to teach at SESKOAD. Ford's Frank Miller-who replaced Harris in Jakarta and who, like Harris, had worked under Ford President Hoffman in Germany-says that they "taught economic aspects of defense."
Pauker tells a different story. Since the mid '50s, he had come to know the Army General Staff rather well, first on the MIT team, then on trips for RAND. One good friend was Colonel Suwarto (not to be confused with General Suharto), the deputy commander of SESKOAD and a 1959 Fort Leavenworth graduate. In 1962, Pauker brought him to RAND.

Besides learning "all sorts of things about international affairs" while at RAND, Suwarto also saw how RAND "organizes the academic resources of the country was consultants," Pauker says. According to Pauker, Suwarto had "a new idea" when he returned to Bandung. "The four of five top economists became 'cleared' social scientists lecturing and studying the future political problems of Indonesia in SESKOAD."
In effect, this group became the Army's high-level civilian advisors. They were joined at SESKOAD by other PSI and Masjumi alumni of the university programs-Miriam Budihardjo from Pauker's MIT study group, and Selosoemardjan from Kahin's program at Cornell, as well as senior faculty from the nearby Bandung Institute of Technology, where the University of Kentucky had been "institution-building" for AID since 1957.

These economists were quickly caught up in the general's anti-communist conspiracy. Lieutenant General Achmad Yani, Army commander-in-chief had drawn around him a "brain trust" of generals. It was an "open secret," says Pauker, that Yani and his brain trust were discussing "contingency plans" which were to "prevent chaos should Sukarno die suddenly." The contribution of Suwarto's mini-RAND, according to Colonel Willis G. Ethel, US defense attache in Jakarta at the time, was that the professors "would run a course in this contingency planning." Col. Ethel was a close confidant of Commander-in-chief Yani and others of the Army high command. He even introduced them to golf.
Of course, it wasn't "chaos" of the Army planners were worry about, but the PKI. "They weren't about to let the Communists take over the country," Col. Ethel says. Moreover, any but the most dense officer or advisor knew that since there was immense popular support for Sukarno and the PKI, a lot of blood would flow when the showdown came.

Other institutions joined the Ford economists in preparing the military. High-ranking Indonesian officers had begun US training programs in the mid '50s. By 1965 some 4000 officers had been taught big-scale army command at Fort Leavenworth and counter-insurgency at Fort Bragg. Beginning in 1962, hundreds of visiting officers at Harvard and Syracuse were provided with the skills for maintaining a huge economic, as well as military, establishment, with training in everything from business administration and personnel management to air photography and shipping. AID's "Public Safety Program" in the Philippines and Malaya trained and equipped the Mobile Brigade of Indonesian military's fourth arm, the police.

While the Army developed expertise and perspective (courtesy of the generous American aid), it also increased its political and economic influence. Under the martial law declared by Sukarno at the time of the Outer Islands Rebellion, the Army had become the predominant power in Indonesia. Regional commanders took over provincial governments-depriving the Communist PKI of its plurality victories in 1957 local elections. Fearful of a PKI sweep in the planned 1959 national elections, the generals prevailed on Sukarno to cancel them for six years. Then they moved quickly into the upper reach of Sukarno's "guided democracy," increasing the number of ministries under their control right up to the time of the coup. Puzzled by the Army's reluctance to take complete power, journalists called it a 'creeping coup d'etat." General Nasution termed it the "Middle Way."

The Army also moved into the economy, first taking "supervisory control," then key directorship of the Dutch properties that the PKI unionists had seized "for the people" during the confrontation over West Irian in late 1957. As a result, the generals controlled plantations, small industry, state-owned oil and tin, and the state-run export-import companies, which by 965 monopolized government purchasing and had branched out into sugar milling, shipping and distribution.
Those high-ranking officers not born into Indonesian aristocracy quickly married in, and in the countryside they firmed up alliances-often through family ties-with the santri Moslem landowners who were the backbone of the Masjumi Party. "The Army and the civil police," wrote Robert Shaplen of the New York Times, "virtually controlled the whole state apparatus." American University's Willard Hanna called it "a new form of government-military-private enterprise."

The economists "economic aspects of defense" thus became a wide-rangin subject. To make it even broader, the professors undertook preparing post-Sukarno economic policy at SESKOAD, too.
Deprived of their victory at the polls and unwilling to break with Sukarno, the Communist PKI tried to make a poor best of this "guided democracy," participating with the Army in coalition cabinets. Pauker has described the PKI strategy as "attempting to keep the parliamentary road open," while seeking to come to power by "acclamation." That meant building up PKI prestige as "the only solid, purposeful, disciplined, well-organized, capable political force in the country," to which Indonesians would turn "when all other possible have failed."

By 1963, three million Indonesians, most of them in heavily populated Java, were members of PKI, and an estimated 17 million were members of its associated organizations in 1963-making it the world's largest Communist Party outside Russia and China. At Independence the party had numbered only 8000.

In December 1963, PKI Chairman D.N. Aidit gave official sanction to "unilateral action" which had been undertaken by the peasants to put into effect a land reform and crop-sharing law already on the books. Though landlords' holdings were not large, less than half of Indonesian farmers owned the land they worked, and of these, the majority had less than an acre. As the peasants' "unilateral action" gathered momentum, Sukarno, seeing his coalition endangered, tried to check his force by establishing land reform courts which included peasant representatives. But in the countryside, police continued to clash with peasants and made mass arrests. In some areas, santri youth groups began murderous attack on peasants.
Since the Army held state power in most areas, the peasants' "unilateral action" was directed against its authority. Pauker calls it "class struggle in the countryside" and suggests that the PKI had put itself "on a collision course with the Army." But unlike Mao's Communists in pre-revolutionary China, the PKI had no Red Army. Having chosen the parliamentary road, the PKI was stuck with it. In early 1965, PKI leaders demanded that the Sukarno government (in which they were cabinet ministers) create a people's militia-five million armed workers, ten million armed peasants. But Sukarno's power was hollow. The Army had become a state within a state. It was they-and not Sukarno or the PKI-who held the guns.

The test of the strength came in September 1965. On the night of the 30th, troops under the command of dissident lower-level Army officers, in alliance with officers of the small Indonesian Air Force, assassinated General Yani and five members of his SESKOAD "brain trust." Led by Lt. Colonel Untung, the rebels seized Jakarta radio station and next morning broadcast that their September 30th Movement was directed against the "Council of Generals," which they declared was CIA-sponsored and had itself planned a coup d'etat for Armed Forces Day, four days later.

Untung's preventive coup quickly collapsed. Though he did not denounce it, Sukarno, hoping to restore the pre-coup balance forces, gave it no support; on the other hand, the PKI had prepared no street demonstration, no strikes, no coordinated uprising in the countryside. For their part, their dissidents missed assassinating General Nasution and apparently left General Suharto off their list; Suharto rallied the elite paracommandos and units of the West Java division, the Siliwangi, against Untung's colonels. Untung's trrops unsure of themselves, their mission and their loyalties, made no stand as Suharto drove them from their strong-points. It was all over in a day.

They Army high command quickly blamed the Communist for the coup, a line the Western press had followed ever since. Yet the utter lack of activity in the street and the countryside makes PKI involvement unlikely, and many Indonesia specialists believe, with Dutch scholar W. F. Wirtheim, that "the Untung coup was what its leader…claimed it to be-an internal army affair reflecting serious tensions between officers of the Central Java Diponegoro Division, and the Supreme Commander of the Army in Jakarta…"

Leftists, on the other hand, assumed after the ensuing massacres and Sukarno's overthrow that the CIA had a heavy hand in the affair. Indeed, embassy officials had long wined and dined the student apparatchiks who rose to lead the demonstrations that brought Sukarno down. And old Indonesia hands casually mention the CIA's connections with the Army, especially with Intelligence Chief Achmed Sukendro, who retrained his agents after 1958 with U.S. help and studied at the University of Pittsburgh in the early '60s. But Sukendro and most other members of the Indonesian high command were equally close to the embassy's military attaches, who seem to have made Washington's chief contracts with the Army both before and after the attempted coup. And considering the make-up and history of the generals and their "modernist" allies and advisors, it is clear that at this point neither the CIA nor the Pentagon needed to play any more than a subordinate role.

The professors may have helped lay out the Army's contingency plans, but no one was going to ask them to take the streets and make the generals' "revolution". Fortunately, they could leave that to their students. Lacking a mass organization, the Army depended on the students to give authenticity and "popular" leadership in the events that followed. It was the students who demanded-and got-Sukarno's head; and it was the students-as propagandists-who carried the cry of jihad (religious war) to the villages.

In late October, Brigadier General Sjarif Thajeb-the Harvard-trained Minister of Higher Education-brought student leaders together in his living room to create the Indonesian Student Action Command (KAMI). Many of the KAMI leaders were the older student apparatchiks who had been courted by the U.S. Embassy. Some had traveled to the U.S. as American Field Service exchange students, or on year-long jaunts in a "Foreign Student Leadership Project" sponsored by the U.S. National Student Association in its CIA-fed salad years.
Only months before the coup, U.S. Ambassador Marshall Green had arrived in Jakarta, bringing with him the reputation of having masterminded the student overthrow over Syngman Rhee in Korea and sparking rumors that his purpose in Jakarta was to do the same there. Manuals on student organizing in Korean and English were supplied by the embassy to KAMI's top leadership soon after the coup.

But KAMI's most militant leadership came from Bandung, where the University of Kentucky had mounted ten-year "institution-building" program at Bandung Institute of Technology, sending nearly 500 hundred of their students to the U.S. for training. Students in all Indonesia's elite universities had been given paramilitary training by the Army in a program for a time advised by an ROTC colonel on leave from Berkeley. Their training was "in anticipation of a Communist attempt to seize the government,": writes Harsja Bachtiar, an Indonesian sociologist (alumnus of Cornell and Harvard).
In Bandung, headquarters of the aristocratic Siliwangin Division, student paramilitary training was beefed up in the months preceding the coup, and santri student leaders were boasting to the Kentucky friends that they were developing organization contacts with extremist Moslem youth groups in villages. It was this group that spearheaded the massacre of PKI followers and peasants.

At the funeral of General Nasution's daughter, mistakenly slain in the Untung coup, Navy chief Eddy Martadinata told santri students to "sweep." This message was "that they could go out and clean up the Communist without any hindrance from the military," wrote Christian Science Monitor Asian Correspondent John Hughes. "With relish they called out their followers, stuck their knives and pistols in their waistbands, swung their clubs over their shoulders, and embarked on the assignment for which they had long been hoping." For starters, they burnt the PKI headquarters. Thousands of PKI and Sukarno supporters were arrested and imprisoned in Jakarta; cabinet members and parliamentarians were permanently "suspended"; and a purge of the ministries was begun.

On October 17, Col. Sarwo Edhy took his elite paratroops (known as the "red berets") into the PKI's Central Java stronghold in Bojolali-Klaten-Solo triangle. His assignment, Hushes says, was "the extermination by whatever means might be necessary, of the core of the Communist Party there." He found he had too few troops. "We decided to encourage the anti-communist civilians to help with the job," he told Monitor correspondent Hughes. "In Solo we gathered together the youth, the nationalist groups, the religious (Moslem) organizations. We gave them two or three days training, then sent them to kill Communists."
The Bandung engineering students, who had learned from the Kentucky team how to build and operate radio transmitter were tapped by Col. Edhy's elite corps to set up a multitude of small broadcasting units throughout strongly-PKI East and Central Java, some of which exhorted local fanatics to rise up against the Communist in Jihad. Providing necessary spare parts for these radios was one of the ways the U.S. Embassy found of helping the general's anti-communist pogrom that followed.

Time magazine described the slaughter in Java in mid September 1965: "Communists, Red sympathizers and their families are being massacred by the thousands. Backlands army units are reported to have executed thousands of Communists after interrogation in remote rails…Armed with wide-blade knives called parangs, Moslem bands crept at night into the home of Communists, killing the entire families and burying the bodies in shallow graves…The murder campaign became so brazen in pasts of rural East Java and Northern Sumatra, where the humid air bears the reek of decaying flesh. Travelers from these areas tell of small rivers and streams that have been literally clogged with bodies; river transportation has at places been seriously impeded."

Graduate students from Bandung and Jakarta were dragooned by the Army to research the number dead. Their report, never made public, but leaked by correspondent Frank Palmos-something of an insider-estimated a million victims. "In the PKI 'triangle stronghold' of Bojolali, Klaten, and Solo," Palmos said they reported, "nearly one third of the population is dead or missing." Most observers thinks their estimate high, positing a death toll of 3-500,000.
The KAMI students' most important task was bringing life in Jakarta to a standstill with anti-communist, anti-Sukarno demonstrations whenever necessary. By January, with Col. Edhy back in Jakarta addressing KAMI rallies, his elite corps providing KAMI with trucks, loudspeakers, and protection, KAMI demonstrators could tie up the city at will.

"The ideas that Communism was public enemy number one, that Communist China was no longer a close friend but a menace to the security of the state, and that there was corruption and inefficiency in the upper level of the national government were introduced on the streets of Jakarta," says Bachtiar, whose scholarly output includes recording these activities.
The old PSI and Masjumi leaders nurtured by Ford and its professors were at home at last. They gave the students advice and money, while the PSI-oriented professors maintained "close advisory relationshi" with the students, later forming their own Indonesian Scholars Action Command (KASI). One of the economists, Emil Salim, recently returned with a Berkeley PhD, was counted among the KAMI leadership. Salim's father had purged the Communist wing of the major pre-war nationalist organization, and then served in the pre-Independence Masjumi cabinets.

In January, the economists made Jakarta headlines with a week-long Economic and Financial Seminar at the Faculty. "Principally…a demonstration of solidarity among the members of KAMI, the anti-communist intellectuals, and the leadership of the Army," Bachtiar says, the seminar heard papers from General Nasution, Adam Malik, and others who "presented themselves as a counter-elite challenging the competence and legitimacy of the elite led by Presiden Sukarno."

It was Jakarta's post-coup introduction to Ford's economic policies.
In March Suharto stripped Sukarno of formal power and had himself named Acting President, tapping old political warhorse Adam Malik and the Sultan of Jogjakarta to join him in a ruling triumvirate. The generals whom the economists had known best at SESKOAD,--Yani and his brain trust-had all been killed. But with the help of Kahin's protégé, Selosoemardjan, they first caught Sultan's and then Suharto's ears, persuading them that the Americans would demand a strong attack on inflation and swift return to a "market economy." On April 12, the Sultan issued a major policy statement outlining the economic program of the new regime-in effect announcing Indonesia's return to the imperialist fold. It was written by Widjojo and Sadli.

In working out the subsequent details of the Sultans' program, the economists got aid from the expected source. When Widjojo got stuck in drawing up a stabilization plan, AID brought in Harvard economist Dave Cole, fresh from writing South Korea's banking regulations, to provide him with a draft. Sadli, too, required some post-doctoral tutoring. According to an American official, Sadli "really didn't know how to write an investment law. He had to have a lot of help from the embassy." It was a team effort. "We were all working together at the time-the 'economists', the American economists, AID," remembers Calvin Cowles, the first AID man on the scene.

By early September the economists had their plans drafted and the generals convinced of their usefulness. After a series of crash seminars at SESKOAD, Suharto named the Faculty's five top men (the "Berkeley Mafia") his team of Experts for Economic and Financial Affairs, an idea Ford man Frank Miller claims as his own.
Armed with Sadli's January 10, 1967 investment law, the economists could put on their old school ties and play host to the lords of the great American corporations. In August the Stanford Research Institute-a spin-off of the university-military-industrial complex-brought 170 "senior executives" to Jakarta for a three-day parley and look-see. "The Indonesians have cut out the cancer that were destroying their economy," an SRI executive later reported approvingly. Then, urging that big business invest heavily in Suharto's future, he warned that "military solutions are infinitely more costly."

In November, Malik, Sadli, Salim, Selosoemardjan, and the Sultan met in Geneva with a select list of American and European businessmen flown in by Time-Life. Surrounded by his economic advisors, the Sultan ticked off the selling point of the New Indonesia-"political stability…abundance of cheap labor…vast potential market…treasurehouse of resources." The universities, he added, have produced a "large number of trained individuals who will be happy to serve in new economic enterprises."

David Rockefeller, chairman of the Chase Manhattan Bank, thanked Time-Life for the chance to get acquainted with "Indonesia's top economic team." He was impressed, he said, by their "high quality of education."


Part III
Harvard Bringing It All Back Home

"To some extent, we are witnessing the return of the pragmatic outlook which was characteristic of the PSI-Masjumi coalition of the early fifties when Sumitro…dominated the scene," observed a well-placed insider in 1966. That same year, Sumitro slipped quietly into Jakarta, opened a business consultancy and prepared himself for high office. The prospect was not long in coming. Having received its bona fides from the lords of international finance, the Indonesian generals regime was ready to names its "Development Cabinet." In June 1968, Suharto organized an impromptu reunion for the class of Ford, known in Jakarta as the "Berkeley Mafia." As Minister of Trade and Commerce he appointed Dean Sumitro (PhD, Rotterdam); as Chairman of the National Planning Board he appointed Widjojo (PhD, Berkeley, 1961); as Vice Chairman, Emil Salim (PhD, Berkeley, 1964); as Secretary General of Marketing and Trade Research, Subroto (Harvard, 1964); as Minister of Finance, Ali Wardhana (PhD, Berkeley, 1962); as Chairman of the Technical Team of Foreign Investment, Mohamed Sadli (MS, MIT, 1956); as Secretary General of Industry, Barli Halim (MBA, Berkeley, 1959). "Koko" Soedjatmoko, who had been functioning as Malik's advisor, became ambassador in Washington.

"We consider that we were training ourselves for this," Sadli told a reporter from Fortune-"a historic opportunity to fix the course of events." To make the most of the opportunity, Ford provided the Indonesians with a post-graduation present-a development team from Harvard.
Since 1954, Harvard's Development Advisory Service (DAS), the Ford-funded elite corps of international modernizers, had brought Ford influence to the national planning agencies of Pakistan, Greece, Argentina, Liberia, Colombia, Malaysia, and Ghana. Officially, the Harvard-DAS Indonesia project began July 1, 1968, but DAS head Gus Papanek had people in the field well before that, joining with AID's Cal Cowles in bringing back the old Indonesia hands of the '50s and '60s. Dave Cole returned to work with Widjojo on the Ford/Harvard payroll. Leon Mears, the agricultural economist who had learned Indonesian rice marketing in the Berkeley project, came for AID and stayed on for Harvard. Sumitro's buddy from MIT, Bill Hollinger, transferred from the DAS-Liberia project and now shares Sumitro's office in the Ministry of Trade.

The Harvard people are "advisors," explains DAS Deputy Director Lest Gordon-"foreign advisor who don't have to deal with all the paperwork and have time to come up with new ideas." They work " as employees of the government would," he says, " but in such a way that it doesn't get out that the foreigners are doing it." Indiscretion got them bounced from Pakistan. "We stay in the background."

They stayed in the background for the five-year plan. In the winter of 1967-68, a good harvest and a critical infusion of U.S. "Food for Peace" rice had kept prices down, cooling the political situation for a time. Hollinger, the DAS's first full-time man on the scene, arrived in March and helped the economists lay out the plan's strategy. As the other DAS's technocrats arrived, they went to work on its planks. "Did we cause it, did the Ford Foundation caused it, did the Indonesians cause it?" asks AID's Cal Cowles rhetorically. "I don't know."

The plan went into force without fanfare in January 1969. With its key elements being foreign investments and agricultural self-sufficiency, it is a late-20th century American "development" plan that sounds suspiciously like the mid-19th century Dutch colonial strategy. Then, Indonesian lands-often corvee-substituted for Dutch capital in building the roads and digging the irrigation ditches necessary to create a plantation economy for Dutch capitalists, while a "modern" agricultural technology increased the output of Javanese paddies to keep pace with the expanding population. The plan brought an industrial renaissance to the Netherlands, but only an expanding misery to Indonesia.

As in the Dutch strategy, the Ford scholars' five-year plan introduces a "modern" agricultural technology-the so-called "green revolution" of high-yield hybrid rice-to keep pace with Indonesian rural population growth and to avoid "explosive" change in Indonesian social-i.e., class-relationship.

Probably it will do neither, though AID is currently supporting a project at Berkeley's Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies to give it the old college try. Negotiated with Harsja Bachtiar, the Harvard-trained sociologist now heading the Faculty's Ford-funded research institute, the project is to train Indonesian sociologists to "modernize" relations between the peasantry and the Army' state power.

The agricultural plan is being implemented by the central government's agricultural extension service, whose top men were trained by a University of Kentucky program at the Bogor Agricultural Institute. In effect, the agricultural agents have been given a monopoly in the sale of seed and the buying of rice, which puts them in a natural alliance with the local military commanders-who often control the rice transport business-and the local santri landlords whose higher returns are being used to quickly expand their holdings. The peasants find themselves on the short end of the stick, but if they raise a ruckus, they are sabotaging a national program and must be PKI agents, and the soldiers are called in.

The Indonesian ruling class, observes Dutch scholar Wertheim, is now "openly waging [its] own brand of class struggle." It is a struggle the Harvard technocrats must "modernize." Economically, the issue is the Indonesia's widespread unemployment; politically, it is Suharto's need to legitimate his power through elections. "The government…will have to do better than just avoiding chaos if Suharto is going to be popularly elected," Papanek reported in October 1968: "A really widespread public works program, financed by increase imports of PL480 ["Food for Peace"] commodities sold at lower prices could provide quick economic and political benefits in the countryside."

Harvard is pushing its Indonesian New Deal with a "rural development" program that will further strengthen the hand of the local Army commanders. Supplying funds meant for labor-intensive public works, the program is supposed to increase local autonomy by working through local authorities. The money will merely line military pockets. DAS Director Papanek admits that the program is "civilian only in a very broad sense, because many of the local administrators are military people." And the military has two very large, and rather cheap labor forces, which are already at work in "rural development."

One is the 300,000-man Army itself. The other is composed of the 120,000 political prisoners still being held after the Army's 1965-66 anti-Communist sweeps. Some observers estimate there are twice as many prisoners, most of whom the Army admits were not PKI members, though they fear they may have become Communists in the concentration camp.
Despite the abundance of "Food for Peace" rice of other purposes, there is none for the prisoners, for whom the government's daily food expenditure is slightly more than a penny. At least two journalists have reported on Sumatran prisoners quartered in the middle of a Goodyear rubber plantation where they had workers before the massacres as members of a PKI union. Now, the correspondents report, they daily work its trees for the substandard wages paid to their guards.

In Java the Army uses the prisoners in public works. Australian professor Herbert Faith was shown around one Javanese town in 1968 where prisoners had built the prosecutor's house, the high school, the mosque, and (in process) the Catholic church. "It is not really hard to get work out of them if you push them," he was told.

Just as they are afraid and unwilling to free the prisoners, so the generals are afraid to mobilize the troops. "You can't add to the unemployment," explained an Indonesia deskman at the State Department, "especially with people who know how to shoot a gun." Consequently, the troops are being worked more and more into the infrastructure labor force-to which the Pentagon is providing road building equipment and advisors.

But it is the foreign investment plank of the five-year plan that is the pay-off of Ford's 20-year long strategy in Indonesia and the pot of gold that the Ford modernizers-both Indonesians and Americans-are paid to protect. The 19th century colonial Dutch strategy built an agricultural export economy. But the Americans are interested primarily in resources, mainly mineral.
Freeport Sulphur will mine copper on West Irian. International Nickel has got the Celebes' nickel. Alcoa is negotiating for most Indonesia's bauxite. Weyerhaeuser, International Paper, Boise Cascade and Japanese, Korean, and Filipino lumber companies will cut down the huge tropical forests of Sumatra, West Irian, and Kalimantan (Borneo). A U.S.-European consortium of mining giants, headed by U.S. Steel will mine West Irian's nickel. Two others, U.S.-British and U.S.-Australia, will mine tin. A fourth, U.S.-New Zealander, is contemplating Indonesian caoline. The Japanese will take home the archipelago's shrimp and tuna, and dive for her pearls.

Another unmined resource is Indonesia's 120 million inhabitants-half of the people in Southeast Asia. "Indonesia today," boasts a California electronic manufacturer now operating his assembly line in Jakarta, "has the world's largest untapped pool of capable assembly labor at a modest cost." The cost is ten cents a day.

But the real price is oil. During one week in 1969, 23 companies, 19 of them American, bid for the right to explore and bring to the market the oil beneath the Java sea and Indonesia's other coastal waters. In one 21,000-square-mile concession off Java 's northeast coast. Natomas and Atlantic-Richfield are already bringing in oil. Other companies with contracts signed have watched their stocks soar in speculative orgies rivaling those following in the Alaskan North Slope discoveries.

Ford, like an over-attentive mother, is sponsoring a new Berkeley project at the U.C. law school in "developing human resources for the handling of negotiations with foreign investors in Indonesia."

Meanwhile in Indonesia, the "chaos" that Ford and its modernizers are forever preventing is once more gathering force. Late last year, troops from West Java's crack Siliwangi division rounded up 5000 surprised and sullen villagers in an odd military exercise that speaks more of Suharto's fears than Indonesia's political "stability." Billed as a test in "area management," officers told reporters that it was an exercise in preventing a "potential fifth column" in the once-heavily-PKI area from linking up with an imaginary invader. But the Army got no cheers as it passed through the villages, an Australian reporter wrote. "To an innocent eye from another planet it would have seemed that the Siliwangi division was an army occupation."
There is no more talk about land reform or arming the people in Indonesia now. But the silence is eloquent. In the Javanese villages where the PKI was strong before the pogrom, and landlords and officers fear going out after dark. Those who do so sometimes found in the morning with their throat cut. The generals mutters about "night PKI."

David Ransom, a member of the Pacific Studies Center, is currently at work on a book in Indonesia.
His views do not necessarily represent those of the center.





"The Berkeley Mafia and the Indonesian Massacre"
Author: David Ransom

Summary by: Kyle Howe

The Basic Point
The article shows how the Ford Foundation, the State Department, CIA, and other U.S. institutions worked with American university diplomats to pursue U.S. interests in Indonesia (primarily economic; oil, minerals, etc.). They funded the education of these diplomats and set up education institutions in Indonesia to further spread American economics. Ultimately, the author blames the U.S. for the 300,000- 500,000 lives lost when anti-communists overran the government.

Summary of the Facts

The United States took interest in Southeast Asia at the end of WWII.
They wanted the available resources and they wanted to implement an anti-communist government. In the early 1950's, Indonesia consisted of anti-communists and communists. Anti-communist Sumitro, along with the PSI and the small Masjumi party, had some power in the early 50's.

However, large national support for communist Sukarmo and the PKI forced Sumitro out of power. In 1954, the U.S. responded when the Ford Foundation launched field projects out of MIT and Cornell.
They set up camp and taught post independence politics and history to Indonesians that sided with Sumitro and who had political influence. Amongst them was Sumitro and the Sultan of Jogjakarta's right hand man, Selosoemardjan.
By 1962, MIT and Cornell had created a stable foundation of contacts and expertise so they passed the spotlight to Berkeley. Berkeley, aided by the CIA, trained and educated even more Indonesian students in American economics and business.

Meanwhile, trained Indonesians (trained earlier at MIT facilities and U.S. army bases) began campaigning against Communism and taught at the Indonesian Army base. (Not to be confused with the Communist PKI). Anti- communist General Yani formed a "brain trust" of generals and they started making plans to keep the PKI and Sukarmo from fully running the country.
While this was happening, the U.S. was training 4000 Indonesian officers, teaching them military strategies.
The army increased its economic power by controlling plantations, small industry and state owned business.
They also gained political power by taking over provincial governments and by increasing their control of ministries.
There was still large support for the PKI (3 million people in Java) but Sukarmo's attempt to expand the PKI militia was paralyzed by the new spread of opposing power

On September 30th, 1965, General Yani and the five generals that composed the "brain trust" were assassinated.
The PKI was blamed for the assassinations and ultimately, with the help of U.S. organized ROTC's of Indonesian students, Sumitro and the anti- communists prevailed.
(There were rumors that the anti-communists had plans of taking military action on Oct. 4 regardless of the assassinations).

In the end, there were an estimated 300,000 - 500,000 Indonesians dead.

The U.S.'s payoff for all their energy was economic resources and foreign investment.

The article ended by saying that there was still some political unrest.

-Kyle Howe




Filmmaker Chris Hilton on the Anti-Communist Purges in Indonesia in 1965-66

A new documentary, Shadow Play, by the Australian award-winning filmmaker, Chris Hilton, deals with the anti-communist purges in Indonesia in 1965-66, during which up to a million Indonesians are estimated to have been killed. Using recently declassified documents, Shadow Play also reveals the extent to which Western powers may have been involved in the events leading up to the overthrow of President Sukarno in Indonesia in 1966, and in what the CIA itself has termed "one of the worst mass murders of the 20th century."

Here Chris Hilton explains why he became interested in the subject, what areas the documentary covers, and what its likely reception will be here in the United States.

Your documentary, Shadow Play, discusses American, British and Australian complicity in the mass murder of communists and alleged communists in Indonesia in 1965-66. When were the official documents exposing this complicity revealed to the public, and under what conditions? That is, what prompted the US government to reveal these when they did? In any case, prior to their revelation, there must have been some speculation about American involvement in the massacre.

Yes, there was quite a bit of speculation even before the documents were released. About 20 or 30 years after an event, the State Department writes an official history of what happened. The State Department released these documents having to do with US involvement in Indonesia through normal declassification procedures. In fact a draft had been written of the official history of the State Department in Indonesia and Malaysia in 1964-66. There was a volume that was prepared by an official historian in the State Department; this volume was then reviewed by the CIA and withdrawn from publication because they had some concerns about it but it was accidentally published and posted on a website. So it was because of this lapse in the declassification process that the most overt connections between the US government and the Indonesian military during that time were revealed. This is the story of the United States.

As far as Britain is concerned, a lot of the information is available in the Foreign Office archives. It is quite clear that the British wanted a change of government in Indonesia but the physical proof of their various manipulations is not as obvious. The cables often talk about how the British government should be involved in propaganda, in influencing people's opinions in Indonesia as much as possible, but in terms of covert operations, there still is nothing on the record, nothing written explicitly saying that Sukarno ought to be assassinated or anything like that, even though we strongly suspect that this was also happening.

In terms of the film, one of the significant elements came from the head of the propaganda operation who actually revealed information which we were able to get hold of before he died to other journalists. His name was Norman Reddaway; he appears in one version of the documentary although not the one that is being aired on PBS. Norman Reddaway was an official propagandist from the British Foreign Office and had worked in World War II and had also been involved in different British campaigns like the Suez Crisis and was sent out to Singapore to take charge of this operation.

He appears in the 79-minute version, which is the longer one, and is also more in-depth. We do a lot more in that film on the press and information manipulation and propaganda.

How did you become interested in this event?

I grew up in Indonesia as an adolescent, in Central Java, because my parents were working there, so I got to hear lots of stories. I also remember being told by my parents, at the age of 13, not to discuss politics around the table or anywhere in the country, which struck me as rather unusual. This made me even more intrigued by what it was that had transpired in Central Java seven years before I was there. I had met missionaries and other people who had been there then and had very dark stories to tell.

Of course when Suharto's regime fell [in 1998], it became possible to revisit the whole issue of what happened.

In your documentary, you say that Indonesia's military under Suharto murdered more of its own population than any other regime supported by the West and that the military operated very much as a political party. How is it that one can account for the power of the institution?

It has mostly to do with the revolution; the history of Indonesia was essentially as a fragmented country of multiple nations, multiple languages. It became the Dutch East Indies under the Dutch and only became the nation of Indonesia through a war of independence which was fought by initially a rag-tag groups of guerilla fighters who linked themselves up informally. These groups then became the Indonesian army. So effectively it was the most powerful institution in the country from day one.

You say in the documentary that after the 1957 elections, in which the Communist Party of Indonesia (PKI) fared well, the US started supporting insurgencies throughout Indonesia. What effects did this American involvement have on the shape these insurgencies subsequently took? Were these insurgencies actually expressions of popular discontent, either against Sukarno or the centralized nature of the Indonesian state? Or were they actually created or propelled by the support they received from the outside? What was the effect of this involvement on US-Indonesian relations?

You will hear the argument mounted both ways. If one is interested in a regime change, one cultivates opposition elements. Now to what extent those elements could achieve their ends on their own is possibly the major question. In this case, there is no doubt that there was a major US military intervention. More guns, bombs, planes, and bombing raids were run in that operation than any other operation even against Mao and in support of the KMT in the 1950s; so it was a major operation.

The Americans flew bombing missions themselves. American pilots from the US Air Force operating under CIA command from the Philippines ran bombing raids against the Indonesian military. An American pilot named Allen Pope was shot down in 1957. He was shot down while bombing a church and a port in Ambon. His plane was hit, he parachuted out, and was arrested and put on trial in Indonesia. The most significant thing is that he was shot down with his papers on him. Normally when officers fly in this kind of covert mission, they carry no identification with them; in the event that they are caught, they say they were acting as a mercenary. He actually had a copy of his orders with him. The Indonesians got hold of the orders, he was put on trial, given the death penalty but treated very well, in the sense that he was kept under a house-arrest situation. His release was secured by Robert Kennedy in 1962 through intensive diplomacy.

So it is absolutely clear, through other studies that have been done as well of Eisenhower's and Dulles' records, that there was a huge covert operation in Indonesia, supporting the insurgencies with bombs, guns, ships, planes, etc. There were two places in particular where these insurgencies were: a region in Sumatra and the other was in the very northern tip of Sulawesi.

American involvement clearly strengthened these insurgencies materially. The insurgencies seemed to be run by a bunch of disaffected colonels who wanted to run the country themselves. The effect was that the Indonesian army put these rebellions down rather effectively within 18 months or so.

US support for these insurgencies was viewed by Indonesia as an act of betrayal by the West (the British and the Australians were also involved in supporting this covert operation). So it shattered trust and isolated Sukarno and made him paranoid (although justly suspicious is probably more accurate) and pushed him more over to the Soviet camp. Even after this happened, the Indonesians went back to the Americans in 1958 asking for military supplies to put down other rebellions. When they were refused by the Americans, they got supplies from the Soviet Union.