The following chapter, consistent with the methodological concept devised in chapter 3, examines the discursive processes that have both fueled and tempered local violence. In the discourse analysis, it is our objective to get a better understanding of the mental representations of religion and religious others in the Philippines and Indonesia both at the national and local levels. We examined the attitudes of political and religious actors towards the status of religion in society and politics, religious minorities, peace-building, interreligious dialogue, and conflict transformation including the stereotypes, symbols, myths, and collective images that stand in the way of a lasting peace. As posited in the theory chapter (chapter 2), with this analysis we are able to identify the cognitive scope conditions which impact on conflict transformation and peace activities of the churches in the Philippines and Indonesia.
As indicated in the methodology chapter (see chapter 3), our discourse analysis is qualitative and follows an inductive approach. An inductive approach has the advantage that it is sufficiently open to identifying so far unknown and unexpected facts and relationships that a deductive approach may overlook. In the subsequent chapter, we mainly appraise societal attitudes towards religion and religious others through the lens of the press. The first section analyzes news coverage and media-based narratives surrounding the peace accords in Mindanao, the second section focusses on Maluku.
In the Philippines, the national discourse probably constitutes the greatest impediment to conflict transformation. It is very much informed by the persistence of colonial attitudes that the Filipino political establishment in Manila entertains towards the country’s Islamic minority. Many politicians from Luzon and the Visayas still cling to long-held stereotypes of Moros and Mindanao, which are revitalized whenever incidents on the ground seem to confirm them. In other words, these adverse attitudes towards the Moro population are constantly reproduced and are thus highly path dependent.
As already stated in chapter 4, negative images of the Moro population date far back to the colonial era. They were deeply inculcated in the memory of Christian Filipinos by cultural media such as the popular Moro-Moro plays or dramas. The first of these Moro-Moro plays was performed in 1637 by Jesuits to celebrate the victory of a Christian Filipino army in a battle against Muslim opponents. Moros were portrayed in these plays as pirates, bandits, lawless elements, villains, and foreign invaders, in sharp contrast to the shining positive image of Catholics. The plays were frequently performed in fiestas, thereby reaching a large audience and enjoying great popularity. As a consequence, Catholics from the northern regions of the Philippines, who had almost no personal contact with Muslims, drew their impressions of Muslims almost exclusively from the image presented to them in the Moro-Moro plays (Majul 1976; Buendia 2005; Leandicho Lopez 2006: 273).
The cultural underpinnings of the negative Moro image are still widespread in today’s mainstream Christian Filipino society. Even children are socialized in anti-Moro attitudes at a very early age. Parents, for instance, motivate their children to eat by threatening that “the evil Moro will come out from under your bed,” if they do not finish their meal. The school curricula fail to dissolve these prejudices and also present a biased account of Moro history in the Philippines (Quimpo 2016: 14).
Such societal stereotypes are exacerbated by a Luzon-centric Manila press that tends to report negatively about Mindanao.1 A content analysis of the Bulletin Today newspaper conducted in the 1980s, for instance, found that reporting on Muslims had a tendency to depict them negatively, characterizing them as rebels, terrorists, killers, traitors, and outlaws (Talibas-Nunez 1997: 43; Hall 2010: 142).2 Mohagher Iqbal, the MILF chief negotiator, singled out television broadcaster Maria A. Ressa and columnists Ramon Tulfo (Philippine Daily Inquirer) and the late Maximo Soliven (Philippine Star) as particularly hostile anti-Muslim agitators, quoting, inter alia, Soliven, who lambasted the MILF as “murderous” and a “cancer” to the Philippine archipelago (Jubair 2007: 49). In the 1990s and 2000s, press reporting linked the MILF to terrorist groups such as Al-Qaeda,3 the Abu Sayyaf Group, and the Indonesian Jema’ah Islamiyah (Cole 2009: 70; Jubair 2007: 50); links which the MILF leadership however fervently denied (Rüland 2003; Liow 2006: 21). Reporting almost exclusively relied on government and, in particular, military sources. As there were few Muslims among Filipino journalists, Islamophobia was rampant (Hall 2010: 235) and background information on the conflict’s root causes was conspicuously lacking (Cole 2009: 63). Unsurprisingly, thus, until today, reports about violent incidents in the south very often use headlines stating that Moros have staged an attack. Frequently, such reports also insinuate insidious tactics on the part of the attackers, suggesting that they cowardly ambushed government forces on duty. Unsurprisingly, Christians overwhelmingly supported government military offensives such as in 1997, 2000, and 2003 (Bacani 2005: 7). The belief that the Mindanao problem can only be solved by war seems to be widespread among Christians. War against the Muslims is thus considered a good thing (Hall 2010: 140).
In Mindanao, discourses on the ground are more ambiguous than in Luzon or the Visayas. At first glance, even at the local level, generalized stereotypes and prejudices predominate images of the religious other. While for Mindanaoan Christians “a good Moro is a dead Moro,” Muslims would say that “for killing Christians one can go to the paradise on a white horse” (D’Ambra 2011b: 86; Hall 2010: 140, 239). Neumann, too, in her excellent study of the Pikit Peace Zone, reports that Christians, in particular, generally hold very negative views of Muslims. They criticize that Muslims are armed and, as a corollary, blame them for any disruption of local peace. It is a common feature that Christians do not trust Muslims and brand them as “wrong-doers” and “liars” (Neumann 2013: 227). Due to their minority status, they complain, Muslims are given overproportionate attention by international donor organizations and governmental development programs, whereas the needs of underprivileged Christians are often neglected (ibid.: 230).
Yet, when it comes to everyday life, interpersonal relationships tend to be more nuanced. Christians, who claimed to have no contact to Muslims, suddenly admitted that they have multiple inter- and transactions with them – as farm workers whom they employ, or in NGO projects and community work. As a result, interviewed Christians professed to respect Muslims, considering them as their “brothers and sisters.” In other words, actual practice and discourse deviate (ibid.: 229).
However, it should be noted that respectful sentiments are often limited to one’s own community and rarely apply to other communities. While local people tend to generally externalize negative views on the religious other, they seem to make occasional exceptions for selected interfaith relations in their immediate vicinity. As “brothers and sisters,” local adherents of the other religion are exempted from the generally bad reputation of their fellow believers. The enemies are outsiders, who cause trouble and unrest through criminal acts, which in a constellation of fragile peace easily set in motion clan feuds (rido) and armed clashes. As hostilities escalate, this almost inevitably implicates the government’s security forces and Muslim rebel groups (ibid.: 230).
Local peace work by NGOs and church groups has thus built on local proximity in generating a “victim identity” that transcends religious divides (ibid.: 233). This “collective narrative of victimization” (ibid.: 232) highlights that apart from religion, the life world of local people does not differ markedly – emphasizing “overarching values” such as “strong faith, Malayan roots, the love of humanity and peace” (ibid.: 234). Nevertheless, despite these more nuanced and more amicable attitudes towards the religious other at the local level, all in all, Mindanao is still widely treated in mainstream Filipino society as a second-class region. It remains a frontier, a remote enclave, and a dangerous area, which most people tend to avoid.
Tallying with this quite sobering assessment is the representation of the Mamasapano incident in January 2015 (see chapter 4), which profoundly influenced public opinion on the government’s peace deal with the MILF. It led to “a huge public outcry” [. . .] “to abandon the peace deal”4 and an upsurge of anti-Moro prejudices in society at large and especially in the Philippine Congress as a review of national newspapers in the months after the incident suggests. The clash not only impacted negatively on political opinion in the country; it also provided opponents of the BBL the golden opportunity and ammunition to frame their opposition by rehearsing deeply inculcated stereotypes.
Two polls conducted by the Social Weather Stations (SWS) in cooperation with the Asia Foundation in March 2015 and an almost simultaneous poll conducted by Pulse Asia show that public support for the BBL and a peace solution in the south waned as a result of Mamasapano. The SWS survey, for instance, illustrates that attitudes of the respondents towards crucial autonomy regulations such as replacing the ARMM with the Bangsamoro region, extending sharia law beyond family affairs, and creating a new police force in Bangsamoro turned negative after Mamasapano. Peace talks, went the message conveyed by the respondents, do not benefit Filipinos.5 These findings were largely confirmed by the Pulse Asia survey which revealed that a majority of respondents were against the BBL, while only 21 percent were in favor. Many, a staggering 36 percent,6 were undecided, obviously reflecting that the public’s factual knowledge of the BBL was wanting.
Manila-based politicians also used the Mamasapano incident to impress on the national public old prejudices that Moros cannot be trusted.7 Although the investigation of the incident revealed that the government’s unilateral police operation against a notorious Malaysian terrorist ignored agreements made with the MILF concerning trespassing in territory controlled by the latter, Congress members spread doubts about the sincerity of the MILF as a peace partner.8 Even worse, Congressmen critical of the BBL used the incident to blackmail the MILF: only if it surrendered its fighters involved in the incident would deliberations on the proposed BBL be resumed.9 Ironically, this is, in fact, a rhetoric which corroborates decades-old Moro experiences with previous government peace initiatives. In the past, all of them eventually broke down, chiefly – albeit not exclusively – due to the fact that the central government either was unwilling or unable to fulfill its obligations, implanting in Moro collective memory a profound sentiment of permanent betrayal. This sentiment is aptly expressed by a Muslim living in Cotabato City who was interviewed by the Philippine Daily Inquirer on the occasion of the signing of the Comprehensive Agreement on Bangsamoro (CAB) on 27 March 2014. Recalling the past, the interviewee stated:
You see we have so many peace agreements in the past and yet we remain poor, underdeveloped. While I should be celebrating with this latest agreement, I am also preparing myself for the worst. Who knows, the government is just changing names of government but it is still run by the same people who enriched themselves at the expense of the Bangsamoro people.10
National security practitioners also alluded to risks associated with the BBL, which must be seen “in the context of jihadism worldwide pursuant to the establishment of a global caliphate.”11 An even less subtle way of reviving negative stereotypes as a strategy to discredit the BBL involves attempts to defame Moros as extraordinarily cruel, thereby rehearsing the narrative that they are uncivilized. This is the line of reasoning underlying the circulation of a video which shows an MILF fighter finishing off a wounded Special Action Force soldier.12 Also, the Philippine National Police (PNP) Deputy Director, General Leonardo Espina, sought to depict Moros as heinous and cruel adversaries by stating:
The SAF commandos were “finished off” after the encounter. They were stripped of their weapons and their cell phones were taken and [the MILF] called their wives [and told them] not to call anymore because their husbands were dead.13
Another narrative, already employed by BBL critics, was revitalized in the aftermath of the Mamasapano incident. Senators such as Miriam Santiago Defensor and Alan Peter Cayetano as well as former Senator Aquilino Pimentel vocally questioned the constitutionality of the BBL, which in the eyes of many Filipino legislators is a “monster.”14 According to Senator Ferdinand Marcos Jr, the son of former dictator Ferdinand E. Marcos, and chair of the Senate Commission on Local Government, the draft BBL in its present form and substance would lead the country “to perdition.”15 In particular, they targeted the so-called opt-in provision, allowing provinces contiguous to the Bangsamoro core territory to join the new autonomous region in a voters’ plebiscite, thereby raising fears this would make Mindanao Congress representatives lose their constituencies to the new Moro government.16 They also took issue with the fact that the Bangsamoro region would have a parliamentary system of government, which they claimed would not be compatible with the Philippine presidential system. They discredited the BBL as a government conspiracy with the MILF,17 selling out to the rebels the sovereignty and the territorial integrity of the Republic of the Philippines.18 The BBL would give rise to a “sub-state” in the Philippines, and eventually lead to the secession of Mindanao and Sulu19 or, as a Manila Times article polemically formulated, the Philippines becoming “just a state in the Malaysian Federation.”20 BBL critics thereby resumed earlier disagreements with the peace process, as pointedly expressed in an opinion piece in the Philippine Daily Inquirer. Commenting on the conclusion of the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) in October 2012, Roberto Tiglao, a Filipino diplomat, criticized the agreement as “a curse of the nation.” He linked the FAB polemically to other “ill-conceived peace pacts in the world’s history which have led to even greater hostilities” such as Neville Chamberlain’s 1938 Munich Agreement with Adolf Hitler, the 1973 Peace Accords that led to the fall of Saigon and the 1995 Dayton Agreement that ended the Bosnian War but facilitated “ethnic cleansing” in Kosovo. He cast strong doubts on the implementation of the agreement, which would once more spur sentiments of betrayal among Muslims and lead “to renewed violence in Mindanao and even terrorist attacks in urban centers.”21
In a petition to the Supreme Court to declare the peace agreements (the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) and the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB)) “unconstitutional and void,”22 the petitioners, which included the Philippine Constitution Association (Philconsa), former Congressman Jacinto Paras, former Senator Francisco Tatad, former National Security Advisor Norberto Gonzales, Congressman Ferdinand Martin Romualdez, and Archbishops Ramon C. Arguelles, Fernando Capalla, and Romulo dela Cruz, the FAB was denounced as “treacherous and unconstitutional” and the CAB as “void, flawed and polluted.”23
Critics also did not forget to mention that with the BBL the Philippine state would be “ceding to the MILF huge portions of productive resources in Mindanao.”24 Others ridiculed the Aquino administration as naïve and obsessed with building a legacy which would facilitate the nomination of the president for the Nobel Peace Prize.25 At the same time, the history of government peace agreements is portrayed as a succession of failures due to the unreliability of the Moros as partners, who in the following statement were presented to the readers as incapable of governing and utterly corrupt.
The national government spent billions of pesos to support the ARMM and help it bring progress and development to Muslim Mindanao. No such thing happened. Misuari spent more time relaxing in other Muslim countries than in the ARMM. The billions of pesos that the national government gave to ARMM disappeared into mansions and other luxuries of Muslim leaders. Even now, the luxurious mansions are anachronisms in communities marked by the hovels of the poor (for example, the Ampatuan26 mansions).27
This anti-BBL rhetoric completely relegated government promotion of the BBL, which was also supported by most Philippine business associations,28 to a backseat. The putative virtues of the peace deal for Mindanao and the Philippines were thus hardly audible in the deafening clamor of BBL critics. Government chief negotiator Miriam Coronel Ferrer, for instance, endorsed the BBL in a consultation with Filipino citizens as follows, claiming that it will end discrimination and will bring development to the south:
“[ . . .] At the end of the day,” she stated, “the meaning of this (peace) process is what it is to the ordinary child in Mindanao. And that is a chance to go to school, a chance to have equal opportunity with other citizens of the Philippines. Not to be discriminated upon based on ethnicity or religion.”29
Dismissing claims that the Bangsamoro would go the way of Kosovo, which seceded from Serbia, and of Crimea from Ukraine, she added that under the CAB, “the country could remain as one together with the Bangsamoro, living peacefully, co-existing peacefully, and sharing the benefits of being one country together.”30 President Aquino himself, on the occasion of the signing of the CAB, predicted that the Bangsamoro will “form a perimeter of vigilance against the spread of extremism” and “a bridge of moderation among the great faiths of the various constituencies in ASEAN.” It will become a “virtuous cycle of security, development, and equitable progress for the peoples of the entire region.”31 The Philippine Daily Inquirer also cited Presidential Advisor Teresita Deles with a similarly optimistic outlook. For her “a new dawn has come, the dawn for books, not bullets, for paintbrushes, not knives; for whole communities, not evacuation centers; and for regarding toil, not endless strife.”32 Warnings about the dire consequences that may be expected if the BBL fails, such as a resumption of the fighting and a radicalization of the rebels,33 were dismissed by the mouthpiece of the BBL opponents, the Philippine Daily Inquirer, as blackmail.34
As far as the Catholic Church’s role in the peace process is concerned, the support of Archbishops Arguelles, dela Cruz, and Capalla of the abovementioned Supreme Court petition confirms what has already been stated in chapter 4: a resounding ambiguity towards the Aquino administration’s peace deals and, in particular, the BBL, dividing even the highest Church dignitaries in archdioceses such as Manila and Cotabato.
This ambivalence is also reflected by the website of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines, which gives a forum to critics and supporters of the BBL. It contains several articles by a priest and CBCP official, Father Jerome R. Secillano, who – like Congress members – raised the specter of secession, arguing that the BBL in its present form is “slowly allowing the island of Mindanao to slip from [the central government’s] grip.”35 Worse than that, he expected the BBL to make “Mindanao a haven of revolutionary Muslim groups, both local and international, that harbor the aspiration of establishing a Muslim caliphate through terroristic activities or Islamic revolution.”36 He also spoke on the theme of the corrupt and irresponsible Muslim leadership, suggesting that the billions of pesos spent by the central government for development in Mindanao will get lost.37 Yet his concerns about the role of other Muslim groups such as the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF), the MNLF, Abu Sayyaf, and the newly organized Justice for Islamic Movement (JIM) (which in 2015 broke away from BIFF) after a peace agreement are valid and must be properly addressed by the central government.38
More subtle opposition to the BBL was aired by Manila Auxiliary Bishop Broderick Pabillo who veiled his skepticism towards the draft law by urging Malacanaňg “not to pressure lawmakers into hastily passing the proposed BBL.”39 The president of the CBCP, Lingayan-Dagupan Archbishop Socrates B. Villegas, also displayed a rather reserved position towards the law, exhorting the government to pursue a more transparent and inclusive peace process that takes into account the rightful interests of “the sectors that claim they were not included in the deals leading to the BBL such as the MNLF, indigenous cultural communities (Lumads) as well as Christian communities in Mindanao.”40
Although, in Mindanao, Catholic bishops were equally divided about the BBL, a group of bishops came out early with its strong support for an enduring peace accord. In a joint statement Bishops Guillermo Afable of Davao del Sur, Colin Bagaforo of Cotabato (who later became a vociferous critic of the BBL), José Cabantan of Malaybalay, Edwin de la Pena of Marawi, Jesus Dosado of Ozamis, Elenito Galido of Iligan, Dinualdo Gutierrez of South Cotabato, Martin Jumoad of Basilan, Antonio Ledesma of Cagayan de Oro, and Archbishop Orlando Quevedo of Cotabato endorsed the conclusion of the FAB in 2012 which, they admitted, was not the end of peace-building efforts in Mindanao. “Rather,” they stated, “it is just the beginning of much hard work in concretizing the meaning of sincerity, security, sensitivity, solidarity, spirituality, and sustainability in our various communities in Mindanao,” qualities that peacebuilding theory attached to conflict transformation and reconciliation (see chapter 2).41 The presidents of the church-run Ateneo de Manila university network also lent their unequivocal support to the peace agreements.42
However, the most vociferous supporter of the peace process was Cardinal Orlando Quevedo of Cotabato. He vocally urged Filipino Christians not to set in motion a revival of the “deeply entrenched biases and prejudices” after the Mamasapano tragedy. He found it disquieting that most of those “who disapprove of the BBL” and “know little or almost nothing about it, are Christians.”43 Filipinos, especially Christians, should refrain from succumbing to their anti-Moro biases.44 Quevedo also warned against a watering down of the BBL in Congress: if Congress’ version of the BBL backtracks from the current ARMM set-up, it would almost certainly reignite violence.45
Another vocal supporter of the BBL is Bishop Antonio Ledesma of Cagayan de Oro. Ledesma reversed the argument of the BBL opponents, arguing that non-passage of the BBL and failure to enact reconciliation would pave the way for international terrorists to gain a foothold in Mindanao.46 In fact, this is precisely what the 2017 battles between government troops and the shadowy Islamist Maute group in Marawi City suggest (see also chapter 4). Ledesma’s views are supported by Father Sebastiano D’Ambra, the founder of Silsilah movement for Christian-Muslim dialogue and the “Harmony Village” in Zamboanga,47 who believes that “uncertainty favors more radical groups, who demand total independence from Manila,” noting in particular groups like the Abu Sayyaf and BIFF which explicitly support the Islamic State.48
The CBCP as an organization glossed over these differences in a declaration which did not amount to a clear endorsement of the BBL. The declaration issued on 14 July 2015, only provided abstract principles with which the law should comply. It portrays Christianity and Islam as “religions of peace,” and seeks a BBL that is based on and guided by “social moral principles.” The law should “be rooted in social justice and promoting social justice” and should recognize that the Bangsamoro have suffered severe injustices which need to be addressed, naming in particular “the reduction of Moro ancestral territory, the erosion of their cultural identity, and the loss of self-determination in the development of their communities.” The declaration confirms the Bangsamoro’s right to self-determination without, however, sacrificing Philippine national sovereignty. The BBL that the bishops aspire to have must promote “harmonious relationships between peoples of various ethnic groups and different faiths.”49
Due to their less effective media access, Moro voices played a subordinate role in this discourse. In the absence of their own radio station or other mass media, they rely on their website and press releases to the mainstream media to disseminate their positions and arguments (Cole 2009: 70).50
Muslim accounts of the conflict in the Philippine south often refer to history, thus also engaging in a focalization of the conflict. The representation of the inclusion of Muslim Mindanao and Sulu into the independent Philippine state in 1946 as a betrayal by the American colonial masters has already been mentioned above (see chapter 4). Since then, Muslims have often described their relations with the Philippine state in “genocidal” terms. The mass migration of Christian settlers to Mindanao is portrayed as “ethnic cleansing” (Jubair 2007: 10), while the governmental education system, its dilapidated state notwithstanding,51 and co-optative state-sponsored development projects were regarded as examples of “cultural genocide” against the Muslim population (Molloy 1983: 20; D’Ambra 2011b: 84). Hashim Salamat, the MILF founder, spoke of a “tactical genocide” perpetrated by the Manila government in Mindanao.52
Unsurprisingly, Muslim confidence in the Philippine government is low. Reversing government rhetoric, Muslims question how serious the government is in trying to reach a lasting peace agreement. Referring to the Ramos-Misuari peace agreement of 1996, MILF vice-chairman for political affairs Ghazali Jaafar stated: “Muslims have already been fooled twice, by Marcos, then by Aquino. We won’t be swindled a third time.”53 Mohagher Iqbal, the MILF chief negotiator, concurs, speaking of “dilatory tactics,” that have been applied by
whoever became president of this country. Their policy of talk, war, talk, war, and talk, and of forging tentative agreements or putting in place palliative solutions to the problem is the substance of this grand strategy of delay. [. . .] The government is not addressing the roots of the conflict but merely dealing with the peripheral issues. Palliative cure is no cure at all.
(Jubair 2007: 97–98)
MILF leaders are also tired of the argument that peace agreements must be constitutional. Christian hawks had – as we have seen above – also questioned the constitutionality of the BBL. Already in 2007, Mohagher Iqbal had commented:
The tyranny of ideas is best exemplified when the government rationalizes that any agreement with any of the revolutionary groups must not be violative of the Constitution. But the hard fact is that this Constitution does not epitomize the dreams and aspirations of the minority with whom the government is negotiating and, on the contrary, it is solely designed to suit the majority’s concept of right or wrong and standard of interests.
(Jubair 2007: 70)
MILF responses to the anti-Muslim agitation following the Mamasapano incident were, by and large, surprisingly moderate. The MILF leadership criticized congressional overtures to modify and weaken the BBL, which in its view fell back even behind the provisions of the ARMM (International Crisis Group 2016: 8). It left among Moros an aftertaste of having been “tricked again” by the Philippine government. At the same time, the aborted congressional deliberation of the BBL nurtured fears among the MILF leadership that cadres frustrated with government policies radicalize and extremist attitudes get out of control. In a report of the International Crisis Group (2016: 11) on the prospects for a lasting peace, MILF chief negotiator Mohagher Iqbal was cited with the following words:
When peace is moving forward, the chance of violence is reduced, but if it stalls, the moral ascendency of the MILF will decline among our own people, and there will be other groups who espouse a more radical agenda.
Moreover, concerns mounted that the MILF will fragment as the MNLF did after two previous peace agreements. It might “break into 100 armed bands,” mused one interviewed MILF cadre (International Crisis Group 2016: 11).54
While MILF distrust of “imperial Manila”55 is sizeable, MILF leaders have a better perception of the Catholic Church. In particular, the work of the BUC is commended in the MILF discourse (Jubair 2007: 76). Although cognizant of the proximity of the Catholic Church to the state, the MILF acknowledges the Church’s emancipatory potential. Mohagher Iqbal, in his account of the peace negotiations between the MILF and the government, thus expressed a wish for
more effective efforts in the Catholic Church in taking a lead role in dismantling the structures that favor the few and discriminate [against] the greatest majority of our people, as well as in curbing the greed of some migrants for more land and other materials at the expense of the marginalized Moros and the non-Islamized indigenous peoples. [. . .] The MILF also wishes to see the Catholic Church use more in a sustained manner, its vast powers, or influences and resources in support of the peace process. It is our belief that whichever way the Church goes, there will always be a difference. The state listens or is forced to listen.
(Jubair 2007: 76–77)
Yet there is also much skepticism about the way ahead in the peace process among Muslim organizations, which at the same time illustrates the divisions in the Muslim camp. MILF Chief Peace Negotiator Mohagher Iqbal, for instance, while still adhering to the peace process, unequivocally criticized the post-Mamasapano discourse, blaming the majority of media practitioners for being mouthpieces of the BBL opponents.56 Iqbal, repeating earlier critique (see above), bemoaned the fact that there are still strong anti-Moro biases and prejudices in mainstream Filipino society, which he described as “very strong in Luzon and the Visayas” where they are spread by “hostile opinion-makers, columnists, talk show hosts, and a lot more.”57
A spokesperson of the BIFF splinter group went even further and uncompromisingly rejected the peace process, demanding a “Bangsamoro state free from the ‘control’ of the government” and stating that the organization does “not want a negotiation that is similar to the MILF, which lasted for years.” What they want is “something that is direct,”58 whatever that precisely means. He also blamed the government for the atrocities in Mindanao, emphasizing that the BIFF “does not attack civilians, only the military,” thereby alluding to Philippine government troops.59 Divisions within the Moro camp are also visualized by posters displayed in Sulu, which stated “Hindi Bangsamoro, Bangsasug” (not Bangsamoro, but Bangsasug), referring to the dominant ethnic group in the region, the Tausug, which are in their majority adherents of the MNLF, a Moro group critical of the MILF-led peace process.60 Finally, Muslim groups pledging allegiance to the Islamic State (IS) – in particular the Hapilon and the Maute group – likened Filipino security forces, which are mainly composed of Catholics, to “crusaders” who suppress the Muslims in the South (Gunaratna 2017a: 3, 2017b: 3). The siege of Marawi could thus be legitimized as “a fight between good and evil, and between Islam and non-believers” (Gunaratna 2017b: 3).
While the Philippine discourse about the conflict in the south is mainly national, the Indonesian discourse surrounding the Maluku conflict proceeds on multiple levels and is more complex. National and local discourses are here closely intertwined and interdependent. In the Maluku conflict, the national discourse serves as the sounding board for the local discourse which in turn was a driver for the focalization and transvaluation of the violence. Moreover, also differing from the discourse hegemony exerted by the Philippine government in Mindanao, conflict parties in Maluku had ample access to quality media on both levels. Veiled sympathy for the Christian side was evident in the Jakarta-based English-language press including The Jakarta Post and Jakarta Globe, as well as the Indonesian-language daily Kompas. All these daily print/online papers are owned by Christian tycoons and conglomerates.61 However, due to the minority status of the owners and the political vulnerability associated with it, these dailies usually trod carefully when it came to religious issues. Spearheading the media discourse on the Muslim side were Republika – a daily founded and owned by ICMI – and even more militantly Suara Hidayatullah. Republika, for instance, displayed skepticism towards interfaith dialogue, judging that it proves “that the efforts towards Christianization of Indonesia are continued in earnest” (Steenbrink 2001: 9). At the height of the conflict, both newspapers echoed the rhetoric of the jihad forces that had entered Maluku from May 2000 onward.
During the conflict, segregation also occurred in the local-level mediascape. Two dailies, Siwalima and Suara Maluku, sided with the Christians, while the Ambon Ekspres became the mouthpiece of the Muslims. Both sides practiced poor journalistic standards, often relying on hearsay, rumors and conspiracy theories, distorted facts, disseminating hate messages and entrenching prejudices in their readership (Bubandt 2001: 247; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 24). This has ceased in the meantime, but a content analysis of the Ambon Ekspres seven years after the formal end of the violence shows that partiality still negatively impacts on journalistic professionalism (Muriany & Unde 2011: 75).
The conflict parties’ online media have been powerful tools for interpreting events and mobilizing local, national, and international support. The physical war on the ground found its continuation in cyberspace62 ( Bräuchler 2003, 2004, 2005) and the creation of “virtual communities” (Bräuchler 2004: 2). The Catholic view on events was disseminated by an online newsletter issued by the Crisis Center of the Diocese of Amboina (CCDA), Protestants had the Masariku network, and Muslims the Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunna Wal Jamaah (FKAWJ) (ibid.: 3). Laskar Jihad also operated a radio station, Radio Suara Perjuangan Muslim Maluku (SPMM). These media persistently referred to each other, countering reports, statements, and interpretations of the other side. However, at later stages of the conflict, online media were also used for peacebuilding. Since mid-2001, the Catholic and the Protestant platforms especially have persistently reported on peace initiatives.
The discourse facilitating the war in the Moluccas was strongly influenced by an increasingly antagonistic national discourse on religion. As a consequence of Suharto’s alignment with political Islam in the 1990s (see chapter 4), the latter became increasingly assertive. Before, political Islam was muzzled and activists harassed under the New Order’s depoliticization policies. Religious agitation was widely curtailed by the sara laws (suku, agama, ras dan antargolongan, or ethnicity, religion, race, and social relations) (Ricklefs 1993), forcing fundamentalist and militant Islamic groups such as KISDI and DDII to operate underground. In the identity Indonesia propagated of itself in the world, Islam only played a subordinate role, irrespective of the fact that the country was an active member of the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) and also sought close relations with other leading Islamic countries in the D8 grouping (Rüland 2017).63 The increased space for political Islam fueled an increasing number of religious and ethnic conflicts towards the end of the Suharto era. The pogroms against the Chinese (many of whom are Christians) in Javanese towns, anti-Christian violence on Lombok, and the atrocities of pro-Indonesian militias and TNI forces against (mainly Christian) pro-independence East Timorese are cases in point (Sidel 2006). Violence also erupted in Central and West Kalimantan, where Christian Dayaks butchered and evicted Muslim transmigrants from Madura Island, and in Kupang (West Timor), where Christian mobs harassed Muslims in retaliation for church burnings on Java.64 At the same time hundreds of Christian churches were destroyed in moves against the alleged Christianization of Indonesia. The notion of a “civil Islam” (Hefner 2000), which so far had set Indonesian Islam apart from the harsher Middle Eastern versions, increasingly lost traction.
It was against this background of religious restiveness that the conflict in Maluku could reach its savage ferocity. National discourses were echoed in the conflict, enabled focalization and transvaluation, and eventually impacted on the national discourse, thereby creating an upward spiral of religious agitation. Local Moluccan discourses in particular, which portrayed events in the province as “religious cleansing” (see the following), resonated in the national Muslim discourse. The latter portrayed events in Maluku as a Judeo-Christian conspiracy against Islam, paving the way to mass demonstrations such as that on 17 January 2000, in Jakarta after news had reached the capital that in Halmahera hundreds of Muslims had been massacred by Christians. The demonstration led to the formation of Laskar Jihad and eventually the latter’s intervention in Maluku.
In sum, six major themes stood out in the local discourses in Maluku: (1) the instrumentalization of history for focalization and transvaluation; (2) Moluccan separatism; (3) religious cleansing; (4) external interests in the conflict; (5) local peacebuilding traditions; and (6) graft and corruption associated with relief and rehabilitation measures.
According to Mark Juergensmeyer (2000), conflict parties tend to instrumentalize history to link current with past events, to amplify the dimension and the meaning of the conflict, and to legitimate the use of violence. Such reflexes could also be seen in the discourse in the Moluccas, where many local Muslims associated Christianity with colonialism and oppression. Hence it was easy for leading Laskar Jihad members to portray the conflict in Maluku as a Christian crusade, driven by a global Judeo-Christian conspiracy against Muslims65 and the association of Moluccan Christians with colonial rule and RMS separatism. Even Moluccan early nineteenth century anti-colonial hero Thomas Matulessy (Pattimura), by most accounts a Christian, was stylized as an Islamic freedom fighter (Bräuchler 2005: 228).
Locating the conflict in the wider context of a religious war between Muslims and Christians, it was not surprising that both sides depicted the violence in religious terms (Duncan 2013; Al Qurtuby 2016). Muslims believed that they fought a perang sabil (war in God’s cause) or holy war (jihad), whereas Christians deemed themselves in a perang salib (crusade) (Al Qurtubi 2016: 6). Only a crusade could in their view halt the ongoing process of the Islamization of Indonesia, a concomitant of the worldwide resurgence of Muslim fundamentalism. By contrast, the Muslim jihad was driven by fears of expulsion from the Moluccas by Christians.
Accounts of the conflict show that the ongoing Christian discourse over the legitimacy of violent acts was full of Old Testament symbolism. Christians frequently referred to the Holy Land, likening themselves to the Israelis and the Jews, while equating their Muslim opponents with the Palestinians, the enemies of Israel (Spyer 2002: 31; Al Qurtuby 2016: 58). They equated themselves with Abel or King David, Muslims with Kain or Goliath. Associating themselves with these figures had the very function already discussed in the theory chapter (chapter 2): portraying their own group as good and truthful, while denigrating the religious other as evil, immoral, and wicked (Al Qurtuby 2015: 318).
Muslims, for their part, stereotyped Christians as notorious separatists, drawing from the fact that in the collective memory of Maluku, Muslims and Indonesians living outside the province, Christians were stigmatized as adherents of the Republic of South Maluku (RMS) movement of the 1950s (Bräuchler 2015: 75). From the very beginning of the conflict, Muslim leaders in Maluku used this stereotype to discredit Christians as being disloyal towards the Republic of Indonesia.66 However, with the arrival of the Laskar Jihad forces in May 2000, the equation of Christians with RMS separatists became ubiquitous in Muslim rhetoric (Davis 2002: 17). Typical is a statement of Laskar Jihad leader Ja’far Umar Thalib, quoted in the Böhm chronology:
When all Muslims are to be ousted out of the Moluccas, it would be a real danger that the “Moluccas will tear itself loose from Indonesia like East Timor”
(Böhm 2006: 78).
Tellingly, the Laskar Jihad handbook, authored by retired TNI Brigadier General Rustam Kastor, was titled “Konspirasi Kristen dan RMS Menghancurkan Umat Islam di Ambon-Maluku” (Kastor 2000).67 Yet the formation of the Front Kedaulatan Maluku (Front for the Sovereignty of the Moluccas, FKM) in July 2000,68 by a group of Protestant Christians under the leadership of physician Alex Manuputty, and the repeated hoisting of the RMS flag in Maluku, gave credence to this propaganda and ignored that some Muslims had also joined the group.69 SPMM, the radio station of the jihad forces in Maluku, thus persistently accused the Protestant Church of the Moluccas (GPM) and the Catholic Diocese of Amboina of being involved in the rebellion (Böhm 2006: 164).70 The RMS theme widely resonated in Indonesia, with even Indonesian Vice President Hamzah Haz calling the conflict in the Moluccas “a case of separatist aspirations,” and a TNI spokesman quoted in Republika as regarding the RMS Independence Movement “as one of the main instigators of unrest and violence in the Moluccas” (ibid.: 289). Certainly, both Moluccan churches vehemently rejected these allegations, which allowed the jihadists to pose in the Indonesian media as fierce nationalists, defending the Indonesian unitary state (Negeri Kesatuan Republik Indonesia, NKRI). Most likely, the followers of the FKM counted no more than 250–300 people, according to an estimate of Ichsan Malik, the founder of the secular Baku Bae peace movement and thus a more impartial source than the jihadists and their backers inside and outside the Moluccas (ibid.: 239). Yet the theme, deeply entrenched in the memory of Indonesian Muslims, continued to haunt Christians and resurfaced in isolated post-Malino II violent incidents (ibid.: 301, 337, 361).
Religious cleansing was a theme that figured prominently in the war rhetoric of both parties. It was Muslims who first effectively leveraged the issue, especially after the Christian massacres of Muslims in Halmahera at the end of 2000. The message of a seeming annihilation of Muslims in the Moluccas mobilized the followers of a broad array of Islamic organizations in Indonesia and eventually gave rise to the formation of Laskar Jihad and other militias entering the Moluccas in mid-2000 (International Crisis Group 2000: 1).
When, after the arrival of the jihadists, Christians were increasingly on the defensive, they used the same theme in their public messages, which mainly addressed an international audience. Slogans disseminated by mosques, graffiti calling for the annihilation of Christians, and demands to end Christian presence in the Moluccas seemed to corroborate such fears (Böhm 2006: 16, 28, 184). Particularly Catholic Bishop Petrus Canisius Mandagi vocally deplored processes of forced Islamization in the islands of Buru, Seram, and Teor, which all had the purpose of paving the way for the formation of the “Islamic State of Indonesia” (ibid.: 16).71 Referring to Ambon, he noted that Laskar Jihad “has succeeded in cleansing about 75 percent of the island from Christians” (ibid.: 88). As the Indonesian security forces were obviously incapable of preventing these atrocities, he combined his accusations with calls for an international peace mission under the auspices of the United Nations.72 However, with the United Nations discredited in Indonesia due to their concurrent involvement in East Timor, an international peace mission was anathema for the Indonesian government.
When in 2001, two years after the outbreak of the violence, war fatigue spread, the discourse surrounding the conflict increasingly focused on the role of external provocateurs and members of the Jakarta-based elite with an interest in prolonging the hostilities (Al Qurtuby 2016: 49). 73 This in fact resonates with Neumann’s findings in Mindanao (Neumann 2013: 231). In the emerging “collective narrative of victimization” (ibid.: 232), many Christians, but also local Muslims who wanted to get rid of the jihad forces (Böhm 2006: 52), found agreement in the argument that autochthonous Moluccans cannot be behind the atrocities perpetrated by the war parties and the disastrous destruction caused by the conflict (ibid.: 46). Yet in most cases these allusions remained vague, referring to shadowy figures in the capital who instrumentalized the leaders of the conflicting parties as pawns on the national political chessboard (ibid.: 43). Allegations of a political conspiracy, such as in a joint statement by Moluccan Protestant and Catholic leaders, implicated the military, Islamic fundamentalists, and New Order cronies. Rogue military officers linked to the Suharto family,74 the statement reasoned, were out to create instabilities with the objective of increasing their bargaining power in the political power struggle raging in Jakarta and eventually overthrowing the increasingly ailing government of President Abdurrahman Wahid (ibid.: 73).75 Amien Rais, the leader of the Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN) and speaker of the Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (People’s Consultative Assembly, MPR), was also accused of having been motivated by similar objectives (Steenbrink 2001: 14; Schulze 2002: 67). Prabowo Subianto – the son-in-law of Suharto, a former Kostrad commander, and presidential candidate in 2014 – was also named as one of political figures with a hand in the Moluccan unrest (Steenbrink 2001: 14). The shared belief in an external hand fomenting the conflict facilitated a gradual rapprochement between Christians and local Muslims, which eventually led to the Malino II accord. However, most Muslim migrants and the jihadists dissociated themselves from this convergence of peace-minded forces and continued their war mongering rhetoric.
In chapter 4, we argued that Moluccans had created valuable social capital in the form of customary law (adat). That Ambon had been celebrated for a long time as a role model of religious harmony, highlighted in the metaphor of Ambon manise, has been attributed to the effectiveness of the pela gandong practices, which established peace pacts among villages of different faiths. Churches, the Baku Bae peace movement, moderate Muslims, the traditional village authorities (rajas), the local governments, and even the police and international donor organizations all propagated the revitalization of these pela gandong practices (Böhm 2006: 62). The Social Harmony program and the Orang Basudara (Brotherhood) program of the city government was inspired by the pela gandong tradition and sought to make people aware of it (Anson et al. 2014: 59–63).76 Pursuing a similar objective, the head of the post-conflict Protestant Synod, John Ruhulessin, wrote an entire book reflecting on how pela gandong can make the pluralistic Moluccan society hang together (Bartels 2009: 16). Yet, as mentioned above, pela gandong was no panacea. It did not integrate migrants to the Moluccan archipelago and the peace pact covered only two or four villages at best, while for a sustainable peace it must cover the entire province. As in Mindanao, despite a less violent post-conflict history, negative peace persists in Maluku, too. People coexist, interrupted by occasional brawls and violent incidents, but to speak of reconciliation in the sense of positive peace is premature.
Another post-conflict theme was corruption. Already during the conflict, many NGOs had come to the Moluccas and Ambon in order to contribute to relief measures and later support rehabilitation of the war-torn region. Relief measures primarily concentrated on displaced persons, rehabilitation programs, and the reconstruction of the island’s ruined infrastructure. In the process, large sums of money in domestic and foreign aid entered the province, but did not reach their target groups. Press accounts persistently bemoaned rampant corruption and mismanagement which was massively impeding relief and rehabilitation programs (Böhm 2006: 227, 266; Anson et al. 2014: 49). The latter were chaotic in many respects and created new injustices. Data published in a study by the Habibie Center show that by 2012, ten years after the Malino II accord, a staggering 3,641 refugee households were still left unattended (Anson et al. 2014: 37). Other rehabilitation programs of the state such as a trauma healing center and the building of public spaces to reduce the effects of increased post-conflict residential segregation were also sluggish and did not achieve their targets (ibid.: 66). External support largely ended when a disastrous tsunami struck the province of Aceh in December 2004 and many donors left the Moluccas, exacerbating the difficulties in completing the rehabilitation programs (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 30).77
As mentioned before, distrust between the former conflict parties still lingers. Coexistence rather than reconciliation characterizes the attitude of Moluccans. This is underscored by the fact that one of the most significant results of the conflict in Maluku is a markedly sharpened religious segregation in the province (Böhm 2006: 13; Anson et al. 2014: 41).
That peace in Ambon and the remainder of Maluku province is still fragile and that reconciliation proceeds slowly must also be attributed to the national context. The national discourse on religion shows how volatile the relationship between Sunni Islam, the country’s majority religion, and religious minorities currently is.78 This not only includes Christian denominations ranging from mainline Protestantism and Catholicism to a great variety of Pentecostal and evangelical churches, but also so-called deviant Islamic religious groups such as the adherents of Ahmadiyah and Shia. While religious extremism is not a new phenomenon (the Darul Islam movement in the 1950s and 1960s, for instance, is a case in point), there are indications that fundamentalist religious leanings and expressions of religious intolerance have been on the rise. At the forefront of these developments are groups such as Front Pembela Islam (vigilante groups operating nationwide that fight against social manifestations of what they chastise as “immorality”), Hizb ut-Tahrir (a transnational organization to re-establish the Islamic Caliphate), and Jemaah Islamiyah (an underground rebel group allegedly linked to transnational terror networks and mastermind of the Bali bombings), to name some of the most significant ones.79 The Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (Prosperous Justice Party, PKS), a profoundly conservative Islamic political party has emerged (among other, less fundamentalist Islamic parties),80 and which, while so far never exceeding 8 percent of the nationwide vote in parliamentary elections, has nevertheless became a vocal domestic political factor. The American invasions in Afghanistan and Iraq further radicalized Indonesian Muslims, fueling raucous street protests inside and outside of Jakarta.
Observers also noted that an increasing number of Indonesians consciously practiced an Islamic lifestyle including a rising number of hajj pilgrimages.81 The province of Aceh was granted special autonomy in the Helsinki Peace Accord, which ended several decades of intermittent civil war. The autonomy law (Law No. 11/2006) permitted the province to introduce sharia law, which is implemented by a sharia police and entails harsh and inhuman punishments such as caning. Other local governments followed suit and also introduced local by-laws which are guided by the sharia. In 2015, such sharia by-laws existed in seven provinces and 51 regencies according to Muhammad Wildan, a philosopher and religious scholar at Universitas Islam Negeri (UIN) Sunan Kalijaga in Yogyakarta. Most of these local governments are located in West Java, West Sumatra, and South Sulawesi, regions where the Darul Islam had its strongholds in the 1950s and 1960s.82
Although the Catholic dean of interfaith dialogue in Indonesia, Father Franz Magnis-Suseno, persuasively argued that compared to the late 1990s and early 2000s (Magnis-Suseno 2011: 22) interreligious relations are less violent and on balance have improved in the last decade, survey results and the media discourse convey the impression of diminishing religious tolerance. A survey by the American Pew Research Center questioned the general belief that Indonesian Muslims are “moderate” and referred to the high percentage of Indonesians favoring sharia, including the draconian hudud punishments. Moreover, Indonesian surveys such as that conducted in 2008 by the Center for Islamic and Society Studies (PPIM) at Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University in Jakarta also indicated that most Islamic studies teachers in public and private schools in Java oppose pluralism while tending towards radicalism and conservatism.83 Also, a survey by the Center for the Study of Islam and Society at the Gadjah Mada University suggests that intolerance is on the rise among Indonesian Muslims.84
Some furor was caused by a survey organized by the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) in Jakarta based on 2,220 respondents from 23 provinces.85 The positive finding of this survey was that Indonesians still do not favor social segregation: a large majority of the respondents – some 83 percent – said that they had no problem with neighbors from different ethnic groups. However, on the other side of the coin is the rejection of interfaith marriages by 79 percent of the respondents. Even more disturbingly, the survey also revealed that 68 percent of respondents refused to allow people of different faiths to build places of worship in their neighborhood, while 91 percent said that people from different faiths must get approval from the local community before they could build a place of worship. Close to 80 percent of respondents also thought that all restaurants and eateries should shut down during the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan. Moreover, most survey respondents registered low levels of trust towards people of different faiths. More than 25 percent said they would not trust people of different faiths, while 60 percent said that “they would be on guard.” The survey also found that religious intolerance spread across party lines as no difference could be registered between nationalist and Islamic party supporters. Finally, a significant number of respondents supported piety-oriented ordinances. Nearly 65 percent said that they would approve a policy that would require female students to wear Muslim headscarves, while 61 percent of them would agree to an ordinance that would mandate students to be fluent in Arabic.86 Commenting on the survey, Wahid Institute director Zannuba “Yenny” Wahid caustically said that the results show that “there is no ‘silent majority’ that supports pluralism. The majority of Indonesian people probably practice religious intolerance.”87
As far as Christians are concerned, the discourse on religious intolerance mainly focused on the building of houses of worship and the concomitant increasing number of violent clashes orchestrated by Islamic militants such as the FPI and its affiliate organizations. In the case of Islamic minorities, the question debated regards how far deviant practices of Islam such as Ahmadiyah and Shia are a form of heresy, the eradication of which is the duty of a devout Muslim, which in turn justifies violence.
Press reports indicate that in the last decade it became increasingly difficult for religious minorities to build places of worship. Local government permits especially are often withheld due to the agitation of militant Muslim organizations, giving rise to accusations by human rights groups and pluralism activists who claim that these permits are often used to justify the oppression of religious minorities.88 The regulation was criticized by MPs of secular parties such as PDI-P and Golkar, but supported by Islamic parties such as PAN and then Religious Affairs Minister Suryadharma Ali.89
The Jakarta Globe deplored that vigilantism was increasingly taking root in religious affairs,90 leading to church closures grounded on the pretext that permits had been violated.91 Mobs physically attacked churches and private houses allegedly used illegally for worship, and members of a Christian congregation celebrated mass in the open air due to the refusal of a building permit for a church by local authorities.92 Muslim militants suspect church building of being open proselytizing, which is violating an interreligious agreement according to which missionary activities should be avoided where people already belong to a religion. Unfortunately, the police often stand idly by in these incidents, obviously influenced by the fact that powerful politicians such as the presidential candidate of 2014, Prabowo Subianto,93 former Jakarta governor Fauzi Bowo, and West Java Governor Ahmad Heryawan openly court militant Muslim organizations.94
Press reports noted that the Indonesian state was even less protective of Islamic minorities than of Christians. The deadly attacks against Ahmadis in 2013 were facilitated by a highly controversial government decree issued in 2008, which bans Ahmadis from propagating their belief.95 Ahmadis were also labelled a “deviant sect” by Islamic officials and the Religious Affairs Ministry accused them of “heresy,”96 thus making them an easy target for mob violence and Islamic hard-line organizations.97 What religious tolerance means for state representatives close to Islamic militants was succinctly expressed by West Java governor Ahmad Heryawan, who was quoted by the Jakarta Globe as follows: “Of course, we want religious tolerance to go properly, but the Ahmadiyah have committed a violation by spreading a deviant belief,” he stated. “The problem will disappear, if the belief disappears.”98 Religious Affairs Minister Suryadharma Ali also called Shiites “heretical,” thereby tacitly justifying the violent attacks on them on the island of Madura.99
In coincidence with these reports, in 2014, the Setara Institute for Democracy and Peace in Jakarta documented 220 cases of violent attacks on religious minorities in 2013, an increase from 91 such cases in 2007.100 Earlier the Wahid Institute and The Jakarta Post had criticized that radical groups are condoned by the authorities,101 and religious minorities persistently complain that little is done to bring the perpetrators of religious violence to justice. Examples named were the cases of the “17 people responsible for the destruction of churches in the Central Java town of Temanggung,” who “were sentenced to only 4–5 months in jail and the murderers of three Ahmahdiya members were jailed for only 3–5 months.”102 Former Indonesian Religious Minister Suryadharma Ali, a diehard Islamic conservative, flatly denied that there is a problem at all. According to him, “Indonesia is the best in the world in terms of religious tolerance. Is America like that?”103 This is very much in line with a fatwa (legal opinion) issued by the Majelis Ulema Indonesia (MUI) – another organizational stronghold of conservative Islam – which outlawed liberal Islamic thought and pluralism.104 Interfaith leaders subsequently castigated the MUI for failing to come up with an edict banning the increasing use of violence against different religious groups.105
Critics also relate what they regard as a climate of intensifying intolerance to the indiscriminate use of Indonesia’s blasphemy law. They argue that the law, originally enacted by the Suharto regime to prevent the emergence of more religions than the six constitutionally recognized ones,106 is poorly defined and hence can be easily abused for political purposes. The Setara Institute, for instance, found that so far the law has been used 97 times: only eight times during the Suharto era, the remainder in the Era Reformasi.107 In most cases it was applied against religious minorities, while cases against mainstream Muslims led to acquittals.108 The most controversial case was the recent sentencing of ethnic-Chinese Jakarta Governor Basuki “Ahok” Purnama, a Christian, to two years in jail for citing a Koran verse, which his political opponents successfully used to derail his re-election campaign. Human rights activists denounce the law as a strike against religious freedom, the criminalization of beliefs, freedom of speech,109 and a tool for political purposes that is used by an unholy alliance of ultra-conservative politicians, elements of the military and the police, and militant conservative Islamic organizations. Critics deplore that the large religious associations such as Nahdlatul Ulama and, in particular, Muhammadiyah, have so far done too little to defend pluralism and to rein in the militants, a view, however, that is not shared by Magnis-Suseno (Magnis-Suseno 2011: 22).110
Yet, like in the Philippines, most observers did not attribute the phenomenon of rising religious intolerance to religion per se. For them, religion is only an amplifier of other problems. The late Hasyim Muzadi, former chairperson of the Nahdlatul Ulama, for instance, opined that many religious conflicts in Indonesia were actually rooted in social status disparity or political reasons.111 Corruption, nepotism, and economic marginalization, as well as the deep inequalities and injustices associated with them, were identified as fertile ground for recruiting religious extremists.112 The key to greater religious harmony, some therefore argued, is improved access to socioeconomic welfare and education.113
In order to curb the rise of religious intolerance, press articles persistently cite voices in favor of an intensified interreligious dialogue. Reports highlighting best practices in interfaith relations complement this endeavor. Examples corroborating Magnis-Suseno’s less alarmist assessment of interreligious relations are Jakarta Post articles commending a Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) youth organization branch (Banser) that helped to secure churches in Poso,114 and NU protests against attacks on an interfaith forum in Surabaya by the FPI.115 Even the Indonesian government, while on the one hand strengthens conservative Islamic bodies such as the MUI,116 on the other promotes interreligious dialogue as a country championing moderation (Nguitragool & Rüland 2015; Rüland 2017).
Yet interreligious dialogue is also criticized as an elite phenomenon which mainly involves the moderates.117 Sumanto Al Qurtuby, the author of a major study on the conflict in the Moluccas, wrote on interfaith dialogues in the Jakarta Globe:
There are a number of reasons why such interfaith dialogues [have] so far had only little success in overcoming religiously-inspired conflicts. First, many if not most interfaith dialogues are merely formal, ceremonial conversations, often taking place in luxurious hotels. As a result, with few exceptions, such interfaith meetings are a waste of time and money, and little more than “feel-good-talk-fests” that do not fully grapple with real problems of interfaith relations and interfaith tensions on the ground. Worse yet, the meetings usually involve “moderate factions” of both religions, and do not engage with the “real actors” of religious violence: the extremists. [. . .] In order to become successful, such interfaith meetings must bring leaders of conservative-militant groups of both sides to the negotiating table.118
Sin Syamsuddin, the chairman of Muhammadiyah, and Abu Hafsin, the head of the central Java chapter of the Religious Harmony Community Forum (FKUB), concur, fearing that the situation will not improve markedly as long as interfaith dialogues do not become more representative.119 Abu Hafsin was quoted by The Jakarta Post, stating that interfaith dialogues have so far failed to widely promote tolerance,
due to a limited understanding and education at the grassroots level, many groups remained reluctant to spread the concept of pluralism. The majority of people from the middle to low-income brackets are not yet ready to move toward democracy, he says, and create institutions under the name of democracy, but fail to implement these values in their daily lives. Consequently, religion could spark conflict within the community because those at the grassroots level are still easily provoked by religious issues.120
Moreover, interreligious dialogues are often not conducted at regular intervals, involve a changing set of people, and thus lack consistency.121
But interreligious dialogues, even if organized comprehensively, are no panacea. What is also urgently needed is “intra-religious dialogue” or dealing with the “near-other” – in other words, taming the groups that foment intolerance.122 This is essential particularly in conflict regions such as Maluku, where moderate Muslim clerics admitted that it is difficult for them to control militant religious leaders who often are returnees from the Middle East and seek to hijack mosques in the province.123
In sum, the chapter has shown that as predicted in our explanatory model (see chapter 2), discourses are an important shaper of interreligious relations. For Mindanao as well as Maluku it could be shown that myths and stereotypes reproduced hostile attitudes against the religious “other” and in the wake of deteriorating socioeconomic conditions facilitated the outbreak of violence. However, the chapter also suggests, more in the case of Maluku than in Mindanao, that religious discourses, which highlight interreligious commonalities such as the manipulation and victimization of both warring religious groups by external actors and the (re-)discovery of a common traditional culture, may also become an enabling factor for peacebuilding initiatives. While such a positive discourse may lead to an end to interreligious violence, it is not a sufficient condition for a “positive peace” or reconciliation. For instance, if, as in the case of Maluku, the overarching national post-conflict interreligious discourse is characterized by tensions and acrimony, this has repercussions on the relations between religious groups on the local level. Under such conditions it is unlikely that peacebuilding will transcend the mere coexistence of the antagonists and proceed to reconciliation. In other words, peacebuilding does not deliver a state in which violence flaring up again can be ruled out with certainty.
1 Authors’ interview, 11 September 2015.
2 See also Jubair (2007: 47).
3 Thereby referring to the fact that MILF cadres fought in Afghanistan in the 1980s.
4 “Aquino invites Church to study BBL,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=53563 (accessed 27 May 2017).
5 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 23 May 2015.
6 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 19 March 2015.
7 See, for instance, statements of former Zamboanga City Mayor Ma. Clara Lobregat, a leading critic of peace negotiations with the MILF. Lobregat warned the government: “You don’t understand these people. They will not stop until they create an independent Islamic state here in Mindanao.” Lobregat was also a supporter of President Estrada’s “all-out war” in Mindanao in 2000. See Philippine Graphic, 22 September 2003.
8 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 6 June 2015.
9 Malaya, 2 March 2015.
10 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 27 March 2014.
11 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 9 March 2015.
12 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 17 February 2015.
13 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 6 February 2015.
14 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 2 March 2015 and 2 June 2015.
15 Minda News, 14 July 2015. Retired Supreme Court Chief Reynato Puno concurred, predicting that “The BBL could lead to a national crisis whether or not it becomes law.” See Manila Bulletin, 4 June 2015.
16 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 26 July 2015.
17 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 April 2015.
18 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 23 July 2015.
19 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 10 September 2014 and 28 January 2015.
20 This disapprovingly referred to the mediation role of the government of Malaysia since 2001. See The Manila Times, 24 June 2015.
21 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 25 October 2012.
22 Minda News, 14 July 2015.
23 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 20 June 2015.
24 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 April 2015.
25 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 30 January 2015.
26 The Ampatuans are a local clan that has its stronghold in Maguindanao province. The clan received notorious publicity in November 2009, when clan members in a clan feud (rido) ambushed supporters and relatives of another local politician, Ismael Mangadadatu, in the early stages of the 2010 elections. Among the slain were 32 journalists.
27 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 30 January 2015.
28 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 24 March 2015.
29 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 6 April 2014.
30 Ibid.
31 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 28 March 2014.
32 Ibid.
33 Miriam Coronel Ferrer, head of the government peace panel, cited in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 April 2015.
34 Ibid.
35 “‘Vague’ self-rule provision present in draft BBL – priest,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=52633 (accessed 27 May 2017).
36 “Can Peace be Attained through the Bangsamoro Basic Law?” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=52393 (accessed 27 May 2017).
37 Ibid.
38 Ibid.
39 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 17 May 2015.
40 “CBCP chief: Don’t silence groups excluded from BBL,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=54427 (accessed 27 May 2017).
41 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 16 October 2012.
42 “Ateneo presidents support new Muslim region,” available at: www.rappler.com/nation/108168-ateneo-presidents-bbl-bangsamoro-basic-law (accessed 27 May 2017).
43 Minda News, 14 July 2015.
44 “Quevedo calls for openness not anti-Moro biases in BBL,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=52599*hyperlink broken (accessed 27 May 2017).
45 “BBL ‘in limbo,’ says cardinal,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=69548 (accessed 27 May 2017).
46 “Bishop raises alarm over terrorism in Mindanao,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=81208 (accessed 27 May 2017). Similar Quimpo (2016: 20).
47 For details on the Silsilah Dialogue Movement, see D’Ambra (2011b) and Espiritu (2017).
48 “PIME missionary: lack of agreement between Muslims and government behind Mindanao attacks,” www.asianews.it/news-en/PIME-missionary:-lackof-agreement-between-Muslims-and-government-behind-Mindanao-attacks-36254.html (accessed 27 May 2017).
49 Minda News, 14 July 2015 and “Bishops back a BBL rooted in ‘social justice,’ ” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=59886 (accessed 27 May 2017).
50 Internet communication, 12 January 2018.
51 For a description, see Gutierrez (1999: 331–332).
52 Far Eastern Economic Review, 28 March 1996, p. 30.
53 Far Eastern Economic Review, 24 August 1995, p. 26.
54 See also International Crisis Group 2011a: 9, 2011b: 5).
55 Rushford (2006: 30).
56 “Catholic Church ‘supportive’ of BBL – MILF negotiator,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=54264 (accessed 27 May 2017).
57 Manila Standard, 12 April 2015.
58 BIFF spokesman Abu Misry Mama as quoted by the Philippine Daily Inquirer, 29 January 2015.
59 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 24 November 2014.
60 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 18 August 2015.
61 The Jakarta Post and Kompas belong to the Gramedia Group owned by founder Jakob Oetama and the Wanandi brothers. Jakarta Globe is owned by the Riady family, which controls the Lippo Group, a large real estate developer.
62 For details, see the careful accounts of Bräuchler (2003, 2004, 2005).
63 Members of the D8 are, apart from Indonesia, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Malaysia, Egypt, and Nigeria.
64 For instance, in Surabaya, Situbondo, Tasikmalaya, Rengasdenglok, and Jakarta, see Magnis-Suseno (2011: 20).
65 The belief in conspiracy found its expression in the belief of many Indonesian Muslims that the terrorist 9/11 attacks in New York and Washington were not the work of Islamist extremists, but in reality engineered by the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and the Israeli secret service, Mossad. See also Chapter 4.
66 The Jakarta Post, 15 May 2004.
67 “Christian and RMS conspiracy to annihilate the Muslim Community of Ambon-Moluccas.”
68 The formation was made official on 18 December 2000 (Böhm 2006: 370).
69 The Jakarta Post, 15 May 2004.
70 See also “Declaration of War” by Laskar Jihad Commander Ustadz Ja’far Umar Thalib, broadcast on Radio SPMM (Voice of the Maluku Muslim Struggle) on 1–3 March 2002; as published by the Indonesian newspaper “Berdarah” website on 8 May 2002, available at: http://websitesrcg.com/ambon/documents/laskar-jihad-010502.htm (accessed 30 November 2002). See also The Jakarta Post, 5 and 6 May 2002.
71 Cases of forced Islamization have been acknowledged by Moluccan provincial authorities (Böhm 2006: 123).
72 See also The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2000.
73 For early speculations about the “external factor” see The Straits Times, 23 January 1999.
74 Such allegations were supported by Defense Minister Mahfud M.D. and his predecessor Juwono Sudarsono (International Crisis Group 2000: 18).
75 See also an interview with the Catholic Bishop of the Diocese of Amboina in The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2000.
76 See also The Jakarta Post, 30 March 2009.
77 See also The Jakarta Post, 22 May 2015.
78 The Jakarta Post, 1 February 2013.
79 For a critical assessment of the assumed links between Jemaah Islamiyah and international terror networks such as Al-Qaeda, see Rüland (2003).
80 Apart from the established Partai Persatuan Pengangunan (PPP), which already existed in the New Order period, other Islamic parties formed in the Era Reformasi were, inter alia, the Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PBS), the Partai Amamat Nasional (PAN), and the Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB), to name the more significant ones.
81 For a very nuanced discussion of this phenomenon, see the recently defended PhD dissertation of Mirjam Lücking (2016). However, Lücking rejects the widespread notion that practicing an Islamic lifestyle is equivalent to an increasing “Arabization,” as some observers claim. See also Lücking (2017).
82 Muhammad Wildan presented these figures at a guest lecture at the Freiburg Institute for Advanced Studies (FRIAS) on 1 June 2015. See also John McBeth, “Is Indonesia teetering towards Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-toward-theocracy/- (accessed 31 May 2017).
83 The Jakarta Post, 26 November 2008.
84 The Jakarta Post, 7 October 2010.
85 The Jakarta Post, 6 December 2012.
86 Ibid.
87 The Jakarta Post, 6 December 2012; similarly, the Jakarta Globe, 29 December 2014.
88 Ibid.
89 Ibid.
90 Jakarta Globe, 9 July 2013.
91 Jakarta Globe, 20 March 2014, 4 June 2014; The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2010.
92 In one reported case, the house of a pastor was burnt; in another, community members were injured by affiliate organizations of the FPI disrupting mass. The Jakarta Post, 11 August 2011.
93 John McBeth, “Is Indonesia Teetering toward Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-towardtheocracy/- (accessed 31 May 2017).
94 The Jakarta Post, 7 May 2013.
95 Jakarta Globe, 1 June 2013.
96 Jakarta Globe, 31 October 2014 and The Jakarta Post, 16 March 2012.
97 Jakarta Globe, 7 May 2013.
98 Ibid.
99 The Jakarta Post, 13 February 2013.
100 Jakarta Globe, 25 August 2014 and The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012.
101 The Jakarta Post, 7 June 2012.
102 The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012.
103 Jakarta Globe, 7 July 2013.
104 The Jakarta Post, 30 July 2005 and 8 August 2005.
105 Ibid.
106 Setara Institute, “Civil Society Groups Call for Changes to the Blasphemy Law that Convicted Ahok,” available at: http://setara-institute.org/en/english-civilsociety-groups-call-for-changes-to-the-blasphemy-law-that-convicted-ahok/ (accessed 31 May 2017).
107 John McBeth, “Is Indonesia Teetering toward Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-towardtheocracy/- (accessed 31 May 2017).
108 Setara Institute, “Civil Society Groups Call for Changes to the Blasphemy Law that Convicted Ahok,” available at: http://setara-institute.org/en/english-civil-society-groups-call-for-changes-to-the-blasphemy-law-that-convicted-ahok/ (accessed 31 May 2017).
109 Jakarta Globe, 21 November 2014.
110 The Jakarta Post, 16 May 2011.
111 The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012.
112 The Jakarta Post, 28 September 2010, 7 October 2010.
113 The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012.
114 The Jakarta Post, 24 December 2014. For nearly 20 years, the Banser militia has guarded Christian churches at Christmas and during the Easter night (Magnis-Suseno 2011: 22).
115 The Jakarta Post, 12 June 2013 and 30 May 2014.
116 John McBeth, “Is Indonesia Teetering toward Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-towardtheocracy/- (accessed 31 May 2017).
117 The Jakarta Post, 16 February 2011.
118 Jakarta Globe, 22 March 2015; see also The Jakarta Post, 28 November 2008 and 16 February 2011.
119 The Jakarta Post, 28 November 2009. Such statements have also been made in the Moluccas. See The Jakarta Post, 26 March 2007 and Rev Jacky Manuputty in The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006.
120 The Jakarta Post, 16 February 2011.
121 The Jakarta Post, 14 September 2009.
122 The Jakarta Post, 28 February 2010.
123 Authors’ interview with a Moluccan Ustadz, 1 October 2015.
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