A History of Australian Journalism in Indonesia Ross Tapsell University of Wollongong
University of Wollongong Thesis Collections University of Wollongong Thesis Collection
University of Wollongong Year
A history of Australian journalism in Indonesia Ross Tapsell University of Wollongong
Tapsell, Ross, A history of Australian journalism in Indonesia, PhD thesis, School of History and Politics, University of Wollongong, 2009. http://ro.uow.edu.au/theses/028
This paper is posted at Research Online.
A HISTORY OF AUSTRALIAN JOURNALISM IN INDONESIA
A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the award of the degree
Doctor of Philosophy
from
UNIVERSITY OF WOLLONGONG
by
ROSS TAPSELL B.A. (Honours) School of History and Politics Centre for Asia Pacific Social Transformation Studies Faculty of Arts 2009
ii
CERTIFICATION:
I, Ross Tapsell, declare that this thesis, submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the award of Doctor of Philosophy, in the Faculty of Arts, School of History and Politics, University of Wollongong, is wholly my own work unless otherwise referenced or acknowledged. The document has not been submitted for qualifications at any other academic institution.
Ross Tapsell 22 May, 2009
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CONTENTS
Thesis Certification……………………………………………………………………...ii Abbreviations……..…………………………………………………………………….vi Abstract………………………………………………………………………………...vii Acknowledgements……………………………………………………………………viii Ethics Clearance………………………………………………………………………...ix
I ~ Introduction ………………………………………………………………..1 1.1. The journalist as ‘hero and myth-maker’………………………………..1 1.1.1. Reaction to the ‘hero and myth-maker’ literature………………...6 1.2. Australian journalism in Indonesia……………………………………...8 1.2.1. Cultural differences……..………………………………………11 1.2.2. Political-cultural differences…………………………………....13 1.3. Writing ‘A History of Australian Journalism in Indonesia’…………..17 1.3.1. Conclusion……………………………………………………….19
II ~ Identifying the Foreign Correspondents………………………33 2.1. Background and personal identity………………………………………34 2.2. The shock of arrival……………………………………………………....39 2.3. Performing the role of journalist………………………………………..45 2.3.2. War Correspondents: 1945-1949………………………………...46 2.3.3. The Asia Hand: 1950-1963………………………………………53 2.3.4. The Young Professional: 1965-1975…………………………….57 2.3.5. The Outsiders: The legacy of the Balibo Five…………………...60 2.3.6. The Insider: The Jenkins Affair…………………………………66 2.3.7. The Contemporary Correspondent: The Competitor……………71 2.4. Performing the role of ‘truth-seeker’ and ‘objective’ journalist……...74
III ~ Local Staff…………………………………………………………………79 3.1. Recognition of local staff…………………………………………………80 3.2. Local staff professional practice…………………………………………84 3.2.1. Role in the reporting process…………………………………….86 3.2.2. A hierarchical role……………………………………………….91
3.3. Local staff and Indonesian officials…………………………………….96 3.3.1. Right or wrong it’s my country?...... 99 iv
3.3.2. Controls through political affiliation…………………………..105 3.4. Conclusion……………………………………………………………….111
IV ~ Indonesian Government Influences…………………………..114 4.1. Indonesian Government controls over its press: A brief outline…….115 4.1.1. Journalists are to build and develop the nation…………………121 4.1.2. Australian journalists and the legacy of Balibo………………...127 4.2. Methods used by the Indonesian Government to influence Australian journalists……………………………………………………………………132 4.2.1. Visas……………………………………………………………133 4.2.2. Blacklists and bans……………………………………………..138 4.2.3. Persuasion………………………………………………………142 4.2.4. Intimidation, violence and deaths………………………………145 4.4. Australian journalists’ responses to these influences…………………154
V ~ Australian Government Influences……………………………..163 5.1. Friendly neighbours or a free press……………………………………166 5.2. Australian Government attempts to influence journalists…………...175 5.2.1. The end of Sukarno…………………………………………….175 5.2.2. East Timor and Government complicity……………………….181 5.2.3. An increasing bureaucracy……………………………………..184 5.3. Conclusion: The Australian media as a problem to be rectified……..188
VI ~ Sources and Contacts………………………………………………..193 6.1. Early correspondence with English-speaking elites…………………..195 6.2. The President as the highest source……………………………………200 6.2.1. Sukarno as ‘Indonesia’…………………………………………200 6.2.2. News sources and the Indonesian killings of 1965-66…………205 6.2.3. Still seeking the President’s company………………………….210 6.2. New Order sources and contacts……………………………………….213 6.3.1. CSIS and ‘second track diplomacy’……………………………215 6.3.2. The dangers of using CSIS and ‘second track diplomacy’……..219 6.4. Conclusion: moving beyond hierarchical sources…………………….223
VII ~ New Technologies and Reporting……………………………..228 7.1. Early technology and editorial direction………………………………230 v
7.1.1. Early ‘primitive’ technology…………………………………...230 7.1.2. Contact with Australia………………………………………….235 7.2. Contemporary newsgathering………………………………………….239 7.2.1. Live television and radio reporting……………………………..240 7.2.2. The Internet……………………………….…………………….247 7.2.3. Sabotaged by our own technology?...... 249 7.3. Parachute journalism and the Schapelle Corby phenomenon……….256 . VIII ~ Conclusion…………………………………………………………….266
Bibliography……………………………………………………………………276
Abbreviations
AP – Associated Press (United States)
AAP – Australian Associated Press
ABC – Australian Broadcasting Commission
AFP – Agence France Presse
AFR – Australian Financial Review
AJA – Australian Journalists’ Association
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ANU - Australian National University
ASIO – Australian Security Intelligence Organisation
BAKIN – Indonesian Intelligence
BBC – British Broadcasting Commission
CNN – Cable News Network
CSIS – Centre for Strategic and International Studies, Jakarta.
DEPLU – Department of Foreign Affairs, Indonesian Government
DFAT – Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Australian Government
DSD – Defence Signal Division (now Directorate), Australian Government
FRETILIN - Frente Revolucionária de Timor-Leste Independente/Revolutionary Front for
an Independent East Timor
NGO – Non-Government Organisation
OPSUS – Indonesian Military Special Forces
RA – Radio Australia
SMH or Herald – The Sydney Morning Herald
UN – The United Nations
US – The United States of America
Abstract
This thesis examines the changing professional practice of Australian journalists since they began reporting in Indonesia from 1945. Existing literature on the Australian media in Indonesia has emphasised the problem of biased and troublesome Australian journalists who have deliberately caused bilateral relations disturbances between Australia and Indonesia. It is argued that the existing literature overstates the agency of Australian journalists, and downplays the attitudes and roles of governments and news forces in the shaping of journalists’ professional practice. This thesis will show how Australian journalists and their Indonesian staff have attempted to report what they saw as the ‘truth’ from the archipelago, yet have been subjected to numerous pressures and vii
constraints that hinders their professional practice and limits their autonomy. In particular, Indonesian staff working for Australian news agencies have been subjected to numerous pressures from a hierarchical system of newsgathering and from their own government. The Indonesian Government and military have attempted to control the flow of news through often crude and violent tactics to hinder journalists’ professional practice. The Australian Government, which supports the notion of a free press, has also limited Australian journalists’ professional practice in Indonesia. The news system requirement for journalists to seek elite sources and the improvements in communications technology have also hindered the freedoms for Australian journalists as they operate from Indonesia. Thus, it is argued that Australian journalists in Indonesia and their local staff have worked under a range of constraints and have been pressured to serve a variety of competing masters in reporting from the archipelago. Their work has to be understood as a complex artefact crafted in response to this range of insistent and intrusive pressures.
Acknowledgements
My gratitude goes out to my supervisors, for their essential and consistent encouragement and enthusiasm over four years. Professor Philip Kitley was meticulous in the reading of drafts, supportive at conferences, and continually provided intellectual assistance. Professor Adrian Vickers was encouraging and patient, especially in the early stages of my research, and later from the University of Sydney where he continued his support and assistance. Special thanks also to Associate Professor John McQuilton for his continual support and for reading the final draft. Thanks to the Faculty of Arts and CAPSTRANS staff at the University of Wollongong who have fostered a spirit of collegiality in the corridor, and for the opportunities and support given to me as a teaching academic for four years. Gratitude also goes to my postgraduate colleagues who provided intellectual stimulation and great friendships, especially John Kwok, who viii
patiently shared an office with me for three years. Thanks particularly to Joakim Eidenfalk, Jaimee Hamilton, Jen Hawksley, Andrew Humphreys, Claire Lowrie, Georgia Lysaght and Sophie Williams.
This was a history based largely on personal interviews in both Australia and Indonesia, and I would like to thank those that gave up their time to help with this project at no financial gain. In particular, Frank Palmos was very generous with his time, encouragement and in providing documents over a number of years. In Jakarta, I would especially like to thank Tony and Rennie Gooley, and Samantha Brown for their incredible hospitality and help. Thanks also to The Jakarta Post for their assistance and support of my fieldwork in 2006. My gratitude also goes out to Yvonne Kitley and Dr. Ron Witton for their lessons in Indonesian. Most importantly, my gratitude goes out to my family. Thanks to Kieran Tapsell for his world-renowned hospitality, and also to Mereki Garnett. Finally, to my parents, Michael and Meryl Tapsell, whom I never thank enough and often take for granted, thankyou for supporting me in my decisions despite them often leading to greater financial burden. Thankyou for your understanding and assistance, and your belief in the value of further, and further, and further, education.
Human Resources Ethics Clearance
All personal interviews were conducted according to the University of Wollongong’s Human Research Ethics Committee (HREC) guidelines. Clearance to conduct interviews was approved by Dr Garry Hoban, Chairperson of the HREC, under ethics number HE05/262, on November 10, 2005. Informants were provided with an information sheet and asked to sign a form confirming their consent to participate in an extended interview for this PhD research, and for other possible publications.
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CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
This thesis examines the changing professional practice of Australian journalists since they began reporting from Indonesia in 1945. Much of the existing literature suggests journalists have significant autonomy to operate effectively and shape stories. This is true of the general journalism history literature, and of literature which specifically addresses Australian journalists in Indonesia. In journalism history texts, especially those encompassing foreign correspondents, the dominant theme is that of the journalist overcoming constraints and hindrances. Despite constant danger, deceit and obstruction, the journalist maintains considerable autonomy to select stories and cover events effectively. Much of the existing literature on the Australian media in Indonesia emphasises the problem of biased and troublesome Australian journalists who have created turmoil between Australia and Indonesia. This also implies journalists have significant agency to single-handedly and deliberately cause bilateral relations disturbances in otherwise positive bilateral relations. This chapter will outline and analyse this existing orthodoxy and argue that the suggestion that Australian journalists in Indonesia have significant agency needs to be queried.
1.1. The journalist as 'hero and myth- maker'
Australia has extensive literature on individual doyen journalists, such as Banjo Paterson, W.C. Bean, ‘Morrison of Peking’, and even pro-communist reporter Wilfred Burchett.1 Much of the journalism history literature that engaged with the workings of the foreign correspondents became hagiographies or glorified biographies, creating a mythical perception of their subject. Journalists are portrayed as part of an all-important
1 See A.B. Paterson, Happy dispatches; journalistic pieces from Banjo Paterson’s days as a war correspondent, Sydney, Lansdowne Press, 1980. See also Cyril Pearl, Morrison of Peking, Sydney, Angus and Robertson, 1980. For W.C. Bean see Dudley McCarthy, Gallipoli to the Somme; The Story of C.E.W Bean, Sydney, John Ferguson, 1983. For Burchett see Ben Kiernan (ed.), Burchett Reporting the Other Side of the World, 1939-1983, London, New York, Quartet Books, 1986, and Roland Perry, The Exile; Burchett; Reporter of conflict, Richmond, William Heinemann Australia, 1988, and most recently, Tom Heenan, From Traveller to Traitor; The Life of Wilfred Burchett, Melbourne University Press, 2006. 2
Fourth Estate, striving towards objectivity and truth despite enormous difficulties. Foreign correspondents are described as legendary beings who ventured to far-away lands, overcoming difficult terrain and mystifying societies to somehow make sense of it all to the reader at home. Philip Knightley describes this narrative as the journalist as 2 “hero and myth-maker”. These histories focus on the personal story rather than larger issues, grabbing the interest of the reader, and finding the best possible story without rigorous academic study and analysis. For example, Fred Inglis wrote in People’s Witness: The Journalist in Modern Politics: “Largely, I have looked for and found tall, exemplary tales of brave journalists, fine writers, high steppers, good lives: and a few satisfactorily bad ones thrown in, to lend color.”3 Peter Sekulus wrote in his preface to A Handful of Hacks: “This book’s aim is to enable those interested in the media at whatever level to learn about the pride of a previous and quite extraordinary generation 4 of journalists.” John Hohenberg’s title and content in The Great Reporters and Their Times is further evidence of this type of literature.5
Australian foreign correspondents to Asia have also been portrayed in the form of ‘hero and myth-maker’. One of the most famous is Tim Bowden’s biography of Neil 6 Davis, One Crowded Hour. Bowden obtained most of his material from letters from Davis, and the result is a fascinating story of Davis’ time as a cameraman in Asia. Davis’ story in One Crowded Hour inspired a novel by Christopher Koch, Highways to a War. Full of impressive and intriguing stories of Australian reporting in Southeast Asia, this literature adds to the myth of journalists as ‘heroes and myth-makers’,7 and in some cases, even inspired its readers to become a foreign correspondent in Asia.8
2 Philip Knightley, The First Casualty: The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-maker from the Crimea to Kosovo, London, Prion Books Ltd, 2000. 3 Fred Inglis, The People’s Witness: The Journalist in Modern Politics, Yale University Press, 2002, p. 6. 4 Peter Sekulus, A Handful of Hacks, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1999, p. 3. 5 John Hohenberg, Foreign Correspondence: The Great Reporters and their Times, Syracuse Press, New York, 1995. 6 Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour: Neil Davis Combat Cameraman 1934-1985, Collins, Australia, 1987. 7 Davis was a world-renowned cameraman, and his feats are well worth recording, but Bowden’s depiction of him certainly fits the mould of an ‘exemplary tale of a bold journalist’. For example, in one such story Bowden recalled how Davis had a larger penis than his male colleagues! Ibid., p. 389. 8 C.J. Koch, Highways to a War, Port Melbourne, Minerva, 1996. Australian Financial Review Indonesia correspondent Morgan Mellish, who died in the Garuda plane crash in Yogyakarta in 2007, was reportedly enthralled at the life of a foreign correspondent in Asia from reading Koch’s book as a young man, and envisioned this future for himself after reading Koch's novels, Highways to a War and The Year 3
Koch’s earlier novel, The Year of Living Dangerously, a fictional story set in Jakarta in 1965, when his brother, Philip, was reporting from Indonesia for the ABC, has also added to this body of literature. Australian historian Adrian Vickers wrote that the novel had a large effect on further literature and popular consciousness where “Indonesia is seen as ‘living dangerously’ - a place where only a strapping young journalist ventures or dares to comprehend.”9 Documentary films about foreign correspondents in Asia have added to this ‘hero and myth-maker’ literature. Examples include two produced by David Bradbury: Frontline, which profiles Neil Davis, and Public Enemy Number One, which portrays Wilfred Burchett as crusader, ‘reporting the other side’, in his efforts to interview Ho Chi Minh.10 The foreign correspondent in Asia as ‘hero and myth-maker’ has also been portrayed in a number of Hollywood films, including The Year of Living Dangerously in which the Australian correspondent to Indonesia is played by Mel Gibson.11 In his book Journalism in the Movies, Matthew Ehrlich makes special mention of this film and others similar to it when he argues that
foreign correspondent films pay less attention to the global politics underlying their respective conflicts than to the trauma their journalist protagonists suffer. On screen, journalists do thrilling and wondrous things, and if they do not always coincide with the tidy image that professional 12 associations promote, they seem more likely to stir the imagination and stoke the flames.
Similarly, historian Josie Vine concluded: “Every profession has its myth that defines its self-identity and work culture. For Australian journalism, it is that of the hard-working, 13 hard drinking, aggressive and defiant ‘lovable larrikin’.” This myth of the Australian journalist dominates because the literature emphasises the role of individual journalists, especially during war-time. Prue Torney-Parlicki argues that the “collective role of war reporting is an area largely untapped by historians.”14 Existing studies such as Pat Burgess’ Warcos and Peter Sekuless’ A Handful of Hacks draw attention to better- of Living Dangerously. See Mark Forbes, Ian Munro and Karen Kissane, ‘Anatomy of a disaster’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 March, 2007, p. 1. 9 Adrian Vickers, ‘A paradise bombed’, in Insecurity in the New World Order, Griffith University and ABC books, Spring, 2003, pp. 107-113. 10 Produced by David Bradbury, Frontline, Ronin Films, A.C.T., 1983, Public Enemy Number One: Wilfred Burchett, A biography, Ronin Films, 1980. 11 The Year of Living Dangerously, a Peter Weir film, A McElroy & McElroy Production, MGM, 1982. 12 Matthew Ehrlich, Journalism in the Movies, University of Illinois Press, 2004, p. 123. 13 Josie Vine, ‘Who is the Lovable Larrikin? An Historical Inquiry using Biography and Autobiography’, 'When Journalism Meets History’: Refereed papers from the Australian Media Traditions Conference, RMIT, 2004, pp. 1-8. 14 Prue Torney-Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia: War, Journalism and Australia’s Neighbours, 1941-1975, UNSW Press, 2000, p. 170. 4
known individual journalists, and thus do not examine Australian war correspondents’ collective role. Anderson and Trembath explain this further:
Journalism History texts excel at describing the generally difficult and often dangerous conditions under which Australian reporters lived and occasionally died. They do not address significant historical issues such as how war correspondents’ work influenced the way in which Australians viewed the nation’s role in major conflicts and how this role might have changed over the course of the preceding century.15
Australian Phillip Knightley’s The First Casualty, which covers war correspondents (and many Australian reporters) from the Crimean War to Iraq, is perhaps an exception to the rule. Peter Young and Peter Jesser, authors of The Media and the Military: From the Crimea to Desert Strike describe Knightley as “the man who first posed the question of the public’s right to know in time of conflict.”16 Furthermore, Knightley’s ability to examine the collective role of war correspondents shows his attempt to look beyond the ‘lovable larrikin’ myth, as he questions the ability of journalists to overcome the obstacles contrived by government and news forces, and in particular, the military in the field.
In addition to works by historians and popular culture, there is a large body of literature encompassing books and memoirs from foreign correspondents. Torney- Parlicki explains this further in the ‘Australian Journalist as Historian’:
Works by correspondents such as Osmar White, Denis Warner and Wilfred Burchett did not carry the status of official histories, yet their inclusion on library shelves alongside conventional histories of Asia and the Pacific confirmed an acceptance of their legitimacy as regional history. In their authors’ opinion, extensive reportorial experience in the countries they wrote about had qualified them to document the history they had lived through and observed. 17
Memoirs and descriptive accounts by foreign correspondents of their time in Asia added to the idea of the journalist as ‘hero and myth maker’. While these accounts from
15 Fay Anderson and Richard Trembath ‘The Greatness and Smallness of Their Story: Australian War Correspondents in the Twentieth Century’, in When Journalism Meets History, Sybil Nolan (ed.), Australian Media Traditions Conference, Melbourne, RMIT Publishing, 2004, p. 4. 16 Peter Young and Peter Jesser, The Media and the Military: From the Crimea to Desert Strike, Melbourne, Macmillan Education Australia, 1997, p. 3. 17 Prue Torney-Parlicki, ‘The Australian Journalist as Historian’, in Anne Curthoys and Julianne Schultze (eds.), Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999, p. 105. 5
journalists do contribute to our knowledge of life of journalists, many are narratives rather than analysis. Denis Warner wrote a number of books from 1966 until his last, Not Always on Horseback, in 1997, in which the introduction states that there are “both heroes and villains in this book”.18 The Australian journalist often comes across as ‘living dangerously’ amongst the villains, adding to the ‘hero and myth-maker’ literature. Michael Maher’s first line of his book begins dramatically, “From the rooftop I watched as Jakarta burned.”19 While many of these journalists set out to give a more detailed account of Indonesian politics and life than they could in their news reports, the result is often a story of rich in events and drama surrounding the life and work of the individual correspondent. I argue later that many former foreign correspondents’ memoirs and books can be understood as serious attempts to fill out the story and provide a richer and more informed context for their often all-too-brief stories from the field. Perhaps market pressures shift these publications into popular culture, and thus contribute to and perpetuate the larger-than-life construct of the foreign correspondent. The result is again, as Vickers stated earlier, a portrayal of Indonesia as a place of ‘living dangerously’, where only a young journalist dares to venture, thereby adding to the ‘myth-maker’ literature.
As these examples show, the myth dominates when the individual story of the foreign correspondent becomes the narrative. The focus on the individual suggests decisions are largely made by the journalist, and lessens the role of other forces which interfere with and influence their professional practice. The focus on individual feats rather than collective professional practice described in themes and issues in journalism reinforces the image of the foreign journalist being portrayed as ‘hero and myth-maker’, and the Australian journalist as ‘the lovable larrikin’. Much of the existing journalism history literature has not been effective in detailing aspects of the reporting process, as the dominant genres are biographies or hagiographies of individual foreign correspondents. Thus, there is a gap between empirical reality and the journalist as constructed hero. These accounts imply that journalists have a significant amount of autonomy in their professional practice, and when constraints do occur, that they are overcome.
18 Denis Warner, Not Always on Horseback: A correspondent at War and Peace in Asia 1961-1993, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1997, p. 4. 19 Michael Maher, Indonesia: An Eyewitness Account, Ringwood, Viking, 2000, p. 1. 6
1.1.1. Reaction to the ‘hero and myth-maker’ literature
These problems inherent in the ‘hero and myth maker’ literature led to a reaction by scholars who chose to ignore the individual stories of the foreign correspondent. In these studies, the canvas of journalists interviewed is larger, and authors typically write about a selection of correspondents, giving little attention to individual comments from journalists. As a result, there is less scope for individual myth-making. The ‘truth’ for these scholars lies in statistics and compiling of data and collective surveys. One of the first scholars to do this was Theodore Kruglak,20 who surveyed 277 journalists, asking them a range of questions, but questions which did not require extensive replies. The result of this type of literature is often a ‘statistical analysis’, exemplified by Stephen Hess’ chapter, where he asks in the chapter title, ‘Who are the Foreign Correspondents?’ The answer is, for example, that “82% are college graduates”, and the conclusion that “journalism has become if not an elite profession, a profession attractive 21 to elites.” Hess’s conclusions are drawn without personal comments from foreign correspondents. Susan Ford and Elizabeth Burrows studied this type of data collected by researchers, concluding that any survey of less than 1000 respondents is not a true reflection of the field.22
A further backlash to the ‘hero and myth-maker’ genre in journalism history is to avoid interviewing or surveying the journalist at all, examining only the published or broadcast results of journalists’ work. Jim Lederman in The American Media and the Intifada analyzed 800 nightly newscasts, more than 2000 dispatches from wire services, and 1500 print articles. Lederman explained the importance of avoiding the identity of journalists:
20 Theodore Kruglak, The Foreign Correspondents: A Study of the men and women reporting for the American information media in Western Europe, Librairie d. droz. Geneva, 1955. 21 Stephen Hess, International News and Foreign Correspondents, Washington Dc; Brooking Institution, 1996. 22 Susan Ford and Elizabeth Burrows,‘The Faces of the News, Now and Then: An Historical Profile of Journalist in Australia and Overseas', in Sybil Nolan (ed.),When Journalism meets History, Refereed Papers from the Australian media traditions Conference, RMIT, 2004. 7
I have used few quotes from journalists in this book because once I began my archival research in depth, I discovered that there was an enormous gap between what most of my interviewees 23 said they had done or had intended to do and what I actually found in the public record.
As a result, Lederman chose to examine the final report rather than examine the professional practice of journalists. For Australian journalism in Indonesia, Barry Lowe adopted a similar approach, identifying Indonesia-related articles from the Sydney Morning Herald, and analyzing their content:
In 1968, the Sydney Morning Herald coverage of Indonesia chiefly reflected that country's problems of nation building. The greatest number of stories (54) concerned the army's efforts to control separatist insurgencies in several islands and provinces. The resistance movement against Indonesian control in Irian Jaya was another focus of this theme. A related group of stories dealt with the aftermath of the failed 1965 coup and the continued purging of suspected rebels and communist sympathisers from army ranks. The second largest group of stories (35) concerned Indonesia's relations with other countries. These included Indonesia's role in diplomatic efforts to resolve the dispute over Sabah between Malaysia and the Philippines, Jakarta’s role in regional alliances and relations between Indonesia and its former colonial rulers, the Dutch. The next largest category (32 stories) referred to relations between Indonesia and Australia.24
The emphasis here is on the number and content of stories. There is little explanation of how the Australian journalist operates, and the efforts made to collect and compile the news from Indonesia. It became common for scholars claiming to be taking a more rigorous approach to journalism history to avoid comments from the journalist for fear of being part of this ‘hero and myth maker’ literature.
However, the statistical approach adopted in this literature radically de- personalises journalism as practice, treating journalists more as mechanical ciphers rather than historically situated, politically and culturally aware discursive agents. The aim may be to find a ‘collective role’ but the result is to de-personalise the profession of journalism, as the larger number surveyed means that there is less room to examine individual comments or personalities. There is little attempt to examine journalists’ degree of agency in the field. Journalists have some autonomy and role in the shaping of
23 Jim Lederman, Battle Lines: The American Media and the Intifada, New York, Henry Holt & Co., 1992, p. 13. 24 Barry Lowe ‘Australian news media constructing Asia: a case study of Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (eds.), Foreign devils and other journalists, Monash Asia Institute, Melbourne, 2000, pp. 120-121. 8
stories and the collating of news, and this approach mostly ignores the professional practice of the journalist as part of the reporting process. Thus, much of the literature in journalism history either describes individual feats of the journalist, implying they have significant agency in the reporting process, or presents no examination at all of journalists’ professional practice. But to write effective journalism history, scholars must strike a balance in recording the lives of journalists. Writing predominantly about the individual feats of a foreign correspondent leads to a gap between empirical reality and the journalist as constructed hero. However, the statistical approach radically de- personalises journalism as practice, treating journalists more as mechanical ciphers. The methodology of this thesis will therefore be about themes and issues of journalism, as it is argued that studies that inspect the collective role of reporters while providing the individual journalists a voice in the literature contribute to a broader model of journalism history.
1.2. Australian journalism in Indonesia
The current orthodoxy on Australian journalism in Indonesia emphasises troublesome Australian journalists meddling in otherwise positive bilateral relations between the two countries.25 This suggests they have sufficient agency in their professional practice to personally and deliberately disrupt the affairs of the Australian and Indonesian Governments. This has been a consistent argument from politicians from both countries. It was exemplified as recently as 2004, in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade report, ‘Near Neighbours - Good Neighbours: An Enquiry into the Australian Relationship with Indonesia’. The report concluded: “The committee considers that the medium with the most power to enhance mutual understanding both immediately and in the long term is the broadcasting media”, and added that “much hard work can be undone quickly by careless reporting”.26 The study quoted both Australian and Indonesian political leaders who claimed the portrayal of events by the media (and the
25 For example, a 1980 Senate Committee Report on Australia and ASEAN noted that one of the “more contentious features” of dealings between the two was the role of the media. See Peter Rodgers, in Alison Broinowski (ed.), Australian, Asia and the Media, Proceedings for the Australia Institute of International Affairs, Canberra Conference, 17-18 October, 1981, Centre for the Study of Australia-Asia relations, Griffith University, 1981. 26 Australian Government Report, ‘Near Neighbours – Good Neighbours: An enquiry into the Australian relationship with Indonesia’, Joint Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade, Foreign Affairs Sub-committee, Canberra, 2004. 9
ABC in particular) was “one of the concerns about the bilateral relationship.”27 The report led the former Indonesian Ambassador to Australia Wiryono to suggest that “misperceptions and misunderstandings are hindering the full flowering of the bilateral relationship”, due largely to “the [Australian] mass media that mitigate against closer ties, no matter how closely the two governments may be working together.”28
Along with politicians, academics have also accused the Australian news media of creating misperceptions in their portrayal of Indonesia. Senior scholars of Australia- Indonesia relations have both made the point of stressing the importance of the press. Indonesia’s Yusuf Wanandi wrote in 1984: “One should admit that the Australian press is largely responsible for the deterioration in bilateral relations.”29 Australian academics have continued this argument, claiming that the media, not government policy, has played a significant role in shaping public opinion. Jamie Mackie wrote in 1994: “The press, TV and other media have probably played the dominant roles in transmitting the information and images involved in shaping popular perceptions of Indonesia.”30 In 2005, Australian historian Adrian Vickers agreed: “Indonesia is generally featured in the world media for political violence and involvement in international terrorism…Such negative images do not do justice to the country.”31 Many scholars writing about Australian news media in Asia saw the conflict as unique. Rod Tiffen concluded in 2001 that “only in bilateral relationships with Indonesia and Malaysia does the behavior of the Australian media figure as an important element, and only in relations with Indonesia...has the role of the media been such a contentious issue over such a long period.”32 The most recent case of media creating issues in bilateral relations has been the Schapelle Corby courtroom drama. John Schwartz, in his analysis of the media’s coverage of the event, wrote in 2005:
27 Ibid. 28 S. Wiryono, ‘An Indonesian View: Indonesia, Australia and the region’ in John Monfires (ed.) Different Societies, Shared Futures: Australia, Indonesia and the Region, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 2005, pp. 11-20. 29 Jusuf Wanandi, ‘Chapter One’, Regional Dimensions of Australia-Indonesia Relations, Centre for Strategic and International Studies, Jakarta and The Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Canberra, 1984, p. 11. 30 Jamie Mackie, ‘In each others minds: Indonesia in Australia’s mind’ in Expanding Horizons: Australia and Indonesia into the 21st Century, East Asia Analytical Unit: Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Canberra, 1994, p. 283. 31 Adrian Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 1. 32 Rod Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits: Government, Media and East Timor, UNSW Press, 2001, p. 99. 10
The lesson to be learned from the media coverage of the Schapelle Corby case is that commercial media outlets play a very active role in setting agendas, shaping public opinion and encouraging strong reactions. The public outrage which came after the guilty verdict was announced, including the incident at the Indonesian Embassy and the attacks on Indonesia’s legal system, has in the short term at least, worked to sour Australia's diplomatic relations with Indonesia.33
It is argued here, and supported in subsequent chapters that a widespread belief amongst scholars and politicians from both Australia and Indonesia is that the Australian media has been a crucial factor in relations between the two countries. Australian journalists in Indonesia have often been at the centre of this debate over the role of the media in destabilising Australia-Indonesia relations.34 This suggests Australian foreign correspondents in Indonesia have a significant amount of autonomy in their professional practice, and that they have the power to disrupt the efforts of governments, academics and cultural exchange programs which attempt to further the Australia-Indonesia relationship.
Nick Freedman’s comprehensive literature review entitled ‘Indonesia In Australian Media’ divides the existing literature on this topic into three broad categories: liberal-pluralist, political economic, and cultural.35 I agree with Freedman’s categorisation but argue that the ‘cultural’ category dominates the literature. I will begin with a discussion of scholars who focus on ‘cultural differences’ as explaining problems in Australian reporting of Indonesia. This literature can be separated into two broad strands.
1.2.1. Cultural differences
The first body of literature examined here emphasises the cultural understanding of the individual foreign correspondent. Inspired by Edward Said’s theory of Orientalism and
33 John Schwartz, ‘Pot and Prejudice: Australian coverage of the Corby saga’, Metro Magazine, volume 145, 2005, pp. 138-143. 34 See Rod Tiffen, ‘New Order Regime Style and the Australian Media’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (ed.), Foreign devils and other journalists, Monash Asia Institute, Clayton, 2000, p. 39. See also J.V. D’Cruz, and W. Steele, Australia’s Ambivalence towards Asia, Monash Asia Institute, Clayton, 2003, pp. 138-9. This will be examined in greater detail in chapters IV and V of this thesis. 35 Nick Freedman, ‘Indonesia in Australian Media: A Literature Review’, Asia Pacific Media Educator, Issue No. 8, January-June 2000, pp. 149-163. 11
claim that Western culture has created an Eastern ‘Other’36, these scholars take issue with the concept of sending a foreign correspondent to report ‘through Australian eyes’. They argue that Australian journalists tend towards the partisan; that they are mouthpieces of their culture, and reflect its outlook and articulate its biases. They conclude that the foreign correspondent arrives in Asia with a set of values that are culturally different from the values of the country to which they are assigned to report, and that this affects the content of news that returns to Australia. As Robin Gerster argues, “Like tourists, Australian journalists bring to their professional tour of duty in Asia a burden of cultural baggage. However noble their aspirations or rigorous their professionalism, their experience remains counterfeit, second-hand, touristic.”37 Thus, it is the cultural background and ideology of the Australian correspondents that is the key subject for examination. Two doctoral theses from Australian scholars stand out for mention here. Alan Knight’s thesis examines Australian correspondents in Southeast Asia and explains how
reporting of post-colonial Asia is still framed in Western perceptions of the Orient, and furthermore guilty of negative stereotyping, portraying the Orient as a place of misgovernment and arbitrary violence and thereby justifying Western political, economic and ultimately military intervention…[Foreign correspondents] remain preoccupied with preconceptions of how Asia should be, as seen through Western eyes, rather than how many Asians feel it should be reported. In doing so, one finds that Australian correspondents reporting of post-colonial Asia is still framed in Western perceptions of the Orient.38
Similarly to Knight, John Tebbutt’s thesis and subsequent publications present a ‘cultural differences’ approach when writing of the Australian foreign correspondent. Tebbutt outlines how cultural history can be used to explain how Australian correspondents “define” Asia, and how “the practice of reporting international news
36 See Edward Said, Orientalism, Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1978, re-published, Penguin Books, 1991. See also Covering Islam: How the media and the experts determine how we see the rest of the world, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981. 37 Robin Gerster, ‘Covering Australia: Foreign Correspondents in Asia’, in Wenche Ommundsen and Hazel Rowley (eds.), From a Distance: Australian Writers and Cultural Displacement, Deakin University Press, 1996, p. 120. 38 Alan Knight, ‘Reporting the Orient’, PhD Thesis, University of Wollongong, Department of Media and Communications, 1995, p. 14. See also his publications, ‘Re-inventing the wheel: Australian foreign correspondents in Southeast Asia’, Media Asia, volume 22, no.1, 1995, pp. 9-15, and ‘Fact or friction? The collision of journalism values in Asia’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (eds.), Foreign devils and other journalists, pp. 1-17. 12
could be figured into a national identity.”39 Thus, Tebbutt writes of how Australian correspondents “sell” Australian culture, focusing on their notion of “home” and “seeing through Australian eyes”, and how this may influence their reporting.
The examination of the Australian media’s preoccupation with contextualising Indonesia as ‘the Other’ has been also been undertaken by Rob Schutze with regard to Australian newspaper reporting of the Bali bombings. Schutze wrote: “In generating images of the other, the news media is creating an imagined zone of moral and political exclusion, enacting a national identity based on difference.”40 In particular, Australian reporting of the Bali bombings “depict Indonesia as a spawning ground for terrorists and a stage on which the shadow play of terrorism is played out.”41 Simon Philpott has argued that Australia has a long history of writing about Indonesia as a place of ‘difference’. Australian journalists are often preoccupied with introducing Indonesia as a “vast, densely populated Muslim archipelago” (Philpott cites The Australian’s former Jakarta correspondent Patrick Walters), to the extent that even though much of the literature attempts to improve Australian understanding of Indonesia, the predominant “discursive framework” of cultural differences “nourishes and extends fears of Indonesia”. 42
When scholars in this category attempt to discuss hindrances to the agency of Australian journalists to Indonesia, they tend to examine this through the cultural differences and concept of Australia as ‘home’ which might limit a journalist’s ability to ‘understand’ Indonesia more broadly. Journalists are portrayed as passive bearers of the structure of Orientalist thought and incapable of critically analyzing their own background and assumptions. While this literature sheds light on an important issue of the journalist’s background and lingering colonial discourse in their reports, it is argued that this is only one aspect which may hinder the agency of the Australian journalist to Indonesia.
39 John Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of the Australian Foreign Correspondent’, PhD Thesis, Department of History, University of Sydney, 2003, p. 26. 40 Rob Schutze, ‘Othering Indonesia? Images of Chaos and Order in the Post-Cold War News Frame’, Conference Paper, 3rd International Convention of Asia Scholars, Singapore, 2003, p. 8. 41 Rob Schutze, ‘Terror in our Backyard: Negotiating ‘Home’ in Australia after the Bali bombings’, Crossings, Volume 8.3, School of Journalism and Communications, University of Queensland, 2003. 42 Simon Philpott, ‘Fear of the Dark: Indonesia and the Australian National Imagination’, Australian Journal of International Affairs, volume 55, issue 3, 2001, pp. 371-388. 13
1.2.2. Political-cultural differences
The second body of literature comes from scholars who call for a greater emphasis on agents of politics and history and argue that the explanation of cultural differences of the individual foreign correspondent is not sufficient and is too simplistic. Michael Byrnes, a former Indonesian correspondent for the Australian Financial Review and Financial Times, dismissed the cultural differences of the individual correspondent. Byrnes wrote: “There is a feeling in Australia that if its’ media coverage of Southeast Asia, particularly Indonesia, is handled intelligently, sensitively, and carefully enough, it is possible to report and not to inflate passions to offend.” 43 He said this analysis was “too simple” and argues that Australian foreign correspondents have unwillingly been forced to ‘play the Asia game’ of being largely amenable and compliant to Indonesian leaders, so that the Australian Government might gain a measure of influence over the region. Here we see a former correspondent argue that journalists’ autonomy is limited by political forces in reporting Indonesia, and state that these forces are of greater influence than overcoming cultural sensitivities.44
Scholars in this category point towards the forces and political environment that persuade the journalist to report in a certain way. Angela Romano attributes the conflict to socio-political factors which construct the role of the media in Indonesia during the New Order as culturally different from Australian foreign correspondents’ understanding of their role. Correspondents operate in an “alien culture”, particularly in Indonesia, where officials do not perceive “openness to the media, especially the foreign media, as being important or beneficial.”45 Damien Kingsbury argues that the conflict is not with simplistic cultural perspectives46, but rather “conflicts between different
43 Michael Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, NSW, 1994, p. 157. 44 Byrnes argued that there were “many judgements” which influence journalists’ professional practice, and it is too simplistic to state that journalism is “is just a matter of reporting the facts.” See his chapter ‘Indonesia and the Australian Press’, Ibid, pp. 127-167. 45 Angela Romano, ‘Foreign correspondents and knowledge broking in Indonesia’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (eds.), Foreign devils and other journalists, 2000, pp. 51-76. See also ‘Piecing Together the Jigsaw: The Professional Culture of Foreign Correspondents in Indonesia’, Media International Australia, number 79, February, 1996, pp. 49-59. 46 Damien Kingsbury, ‘Constraints on reporting Australia’s near neighbours’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (eds.), Foreign devils and other journalists, pp. 34, argues: “I do not believe that issues of concern expressed by regional governments can be sustained on the basis of cultural insensitivity. Rather, what is at issue is political insensitivity.” 14
political systems”.47 However, Freedman wrote that these scholars “still see a fundamental ‘clash of cultures’ as the key determinant of Australian media representations of Indonesia, even if culture is understood as a battleground of politics and ideology.”48 The cultural ‘clash’ comes from different political systems of developing countries, and differences in understandings of the objectives of the press in society. Thus the cultural difference here is not necessarily the background and ideology of the individual Australian correspondent, but rather, the way in which Western journalists’ professional practice differs from how Indonesians see the role of a journalist.
Rod Tiffen takes issue with simplistic ‘cultural differences’ arguments as stated above, and argues that conflicts between the Australian media and Indonesian government “were more political than cultural”.49 He further states that “the most important single determinant of how Indonesia is covered is what sort of events are occurring there”, and as such scholars must examine “political events and interests”. However, he still attributes ‘cultural differences’ as a key factor for analysis, such as “the lack of press freedom and the absence of a liberal tradition” in Asia50, and the “opposing assumptions and orientations” in Indonesia.51 Alison Broinowski, a former Australian diplomat, wrote about how correspondents display a set of political values which they promote in their reports.52 Her later research concludes that “for Australian journalists, investigative reporting has traditionally meant getting the facts, regardless of the consequences”, which has historically been “at odds” with Australian and Indonesian government policy, especially regarding East Timor.53 Thus, the conflict lies in the differing standpoints of the Australian media and respective governments on political events.
47 Damien Kingsbury, Culture and Politics: Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, 1975-1993, Centre for Southeast Asian Studies, Monash University, Melbourne, 1997, p. 17. 48 Freedman, ‘Indonesia in Australian Media: A Literature Review’, p. 162 49 Tiffen, ‘New order regime style and the Australian media’, p. 40-44. See also Diplomatic Deceits; Government, Media and East Timor, UNSW Press, Sydney, 2001. 50 Rod Tiffen, The News from Southeast Asia; The sociology of newsmaking, Singapore, Southeast Asian Studies, 1978, p. 139. 51 Tiffen, ‘New order regime style and the Australian media’, See pp. 44-49. 52 See Alison Broinowski, The Yellow Lady: Australian Impressions of Asia, Oxford University Press, Volume Two, 1996, which also shows how Asia has been imagined as Australia’s ‘other’ through art and culture, noting the geographical paradox of calling our near north the ‘Far East’. See also Broinowski (ed.), Australia, Asia and the Media, Centre for the Study of Australian-Asian relations, Griffith University, 1981. 53 Alison Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in both our shoes: East Timor and the media, 1999’, Australian Journalism Review, volume 21, issue 3, December 1999, p. 8. 15
This literature examines the dominant ideologies of Western journalism practised by the Australian media, which is culturally opposed to the model of developmental journalism practiced by the Indonesian media, particularly under Suharto’s New Order (1965-1998).54 Developmental journalism theory asserts that Western journalism, and in particular foreign correspondents in Indonesia, focus only on ‘negative’ news.55 The Western journalist’s practice of ‘good news is no news’ leads to a highly distorted picture of Indonesia and its problems, as Australian journalists’ construction of Indonesia is weighted heavily on the downside of life, focusing on “conflict, brutality, danger and disappointment.”56 In contrast, Indonesian officials have historically believed the press is an ‘instrument of development’ and has an obligation to promote the national interest while subordinating the personal views of the journalist and the newspaper.57 The press should be ‘free but responsible’ because inflammatory articles could lead to social disruption.58 These issues will be examined in greater detail in subsequent chapters of this thesis, but as Pudjomartono stated: “In Asia, they feel that journalism is too important to be left to journalists.”59 Suharto’s New Order Government in particular argued that Indonesian journalists regarded themselves as different from the Western Press. A watchdog role was culturally alien, as they perceived Western journalists as deliberately, and overly, critical.60
This body of literature concludes that embedded ideological differences between the ideology of a ‘watchdog’ role of the Western journalist holding government
54 See Angela Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia: Understanding an Evolving Political Culture, RoutledgeCurzon, 2003, and David T. Hill The Press in New Order Indonesia, Asia Papers no. 4, University of Western Australia Press, 1994. This will be examined in Chapter IV. 55 Perhaps the best critique of the foreign news system is by former AP foreign correspondent Mort Rosenblum, in Coups and Earthquakes: Reporting the World to America, Harper Colophon books, 1979, and later, Who Stole the News? Why we can’t keep up with what happens in the World and what we can do about it, John Wiley and Sons, 1993. See also Anthony Smith, The Geopolitics of Information: How Western Culture Dominates the World, Oxford University Press, New York, 1981. 56 See Lowe, ‘Australian news media constructing Asia’, pp. 128-134. 57 See Mackie, ‘In each others mind: Indonesia in Australia’s mind’, p. 283. See also Oey Hong Lee, Indonesian Government and Press during Guided Democracy, Hull Monographs on Southeast Asia, no.4, University of Hull, 1971. 58 Former ABC correspondent Peter Rodgers has written of this in, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia: Free but Responsible? Centre for the Study of Australian-Asian relations, Research Paper No.18, Griffith University, 1981. David T. Hill notes that this phrase was attributed to an American press publication from the 1950s, although the term was popularised by the New Order. Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, fn 9, p. 55. 59 Susanto Pudjomartono, Walking the Tightrope: Press Freedom and Professional Standards in Asia, Asia Media Information and Communications Centre, 1998, p. 14. 60 Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 123. 16
accountable, and Indonesia’s understanding of journalism as part of the Developmental State will always lead to conflict between foreign correspondents and Indonesian Government officials. This ideological difference regarding the role of the press was accentuated and supported by Asian Governments, who have pushed the idea of ‘Asian Values’ to support their autocratic rule when criticised by the Western Press.61 The ‘cultural difference’ is based around the idea that in the Western news model of the press, journalists have significant freedoms, while in Asia journalists were deliberately restricted in their agency, as they were forced to self-censor or face various repercussions, which could see their entire publication banned.
Many scholars of the ‘political-cultural’ approach point towards one event as the key starting point for the conflict between the Australian media and Indonesia – the death of five Australian-based newsmen in Balibo, East Timor, in October, 1975.62 Rod Tiffen argues that “the first serious conflicts began with the reporting of Indonesia’s annexation of East Timor in 1975 and, of course, that issue has remained a sore point.”63 He described East Timor in 1975 as “the first, the most enduring and the most important source of media-centered conflicts” resulting in deteriorating bilateral relations between Australia and Indonesia.64 Former Fairfax correspondent Louise Williams wrote that the deaths of the Balibo Five were part of Indonesian attempts to scare foreign reporters, who were “symbols of Western Governments pressuring Indonesia over human rights abuses”65, and since that event, “East Timor became a symbol of the Australian media’s determination to tell the Indonesia story as it was.”66 Damien Kingsbury argues it is important to start in 1975 because “relations between the Australian news media and the Indonesian government since 1966 had been relatively uneventful, but the killing of the five journalists marks the beginning of a serious falling out in their relations and, allegedly as a consequence, between Australia and Indonesia.”67 This implies that journalists have significant agency to be able to
61 See Chua Beng Huat, ‘Asian Values: Is an Anti-Authoritarian Reading Possible?’, in Mark Beeson (ed.), Contemporary Southeast Asia, Palgrave, 2004, pp. 98-117. 62 The details of the Balibo Five deaths and their legacy on Australian journalism in Indonesia will be examined in greater detail in Chapter II. 63 Tiffen, ‘New order Regime Style and the Australian Media’, p. 39. 64 Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 2. 65 Louise Williams, Losing Control; Freedom of the Press in Asia, Asia Pacific Press, ANU, 2000, p. 7. 66 Louise Williams, ‘Forward’, in Ida Mursyidah Palaloi, Indonesia in the Australian Press, (a case study of the Soeharto Resignation, 21 May, 1998), Science Research Foundation, Sydney-Jakarta, 2005, p. 1. 67 Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, p. 17. 17
continually shape stories from Indonesia to continually add fuel to the flame of the Balibo Five story. It suggests that Australian journalists, operating under the Western model of a free press, have enough autonomy to select stories and highlight issues on their own, and that this autonomy gets them into trouble with Indonesian Government officials who are unable, or unwilling, to accept significant autonomy as prescribed professional practice for journalists. This is certainly an important way of understanding Australian journalism in Indonesia, but it is the argued here that the existing orthodoxy overplays the agency of the Australian journalist in the Western model of a free press. It does not fully examine other forces that have constrained and hindered Australian journalists’ agency in their professional practice as they reported Indonesia from 1945.
1.3. Writing ‘A History of Australian Journalism in Indonesia’
While Australian foreign correspondents have some degree of autonomy in their professional practice, this thesis will outline and analyse the constraints which hinder Australian journalists as they attempt to report from Indonesia. A brief examination of Australian journalists’ books and memoirs suggests constraints are real and significant in shaping reporting. Many Australian journalists stated that they published memoirs of their time in Indonesia because of the lack of mainstream knowledge about Indonesia in Australian society. Many chose to publish books after their posting, to explain more to the reader. A chronological list (in order the time period they reported from Indonesia) of correspondents working for Australian news organisations who published either a memoir or commentary on their time in Indonesia during the period 1945-1967 includes: John Thompson, Lachie McDonald, Charlotte Maramis, Emery Barcs, Colin Mason, James Mossman, Denis Warner, Peter Hastings, Peter Barnett, Bruce Grant, Frank Palmos, Peter Polomka and Tim Bowden. A select few journalists who operated in Indonesia after 1967 have written more analytical books about the nature of news or politics in Asia, such as Hamish McDonald, David Jenkins, Michael Byrnes, Don Greenlees and Louise Williams. More recently, publications from Michael Maher, Sally Neighbour, John Martinkus and Mark Bowling have also contributed to this literature. This thesis will use these accounts but in a manner which examines the Australian journalists’ collective role. This will be a history which distances itself from larger- 18
than-life adventure stories based on individual narratives, and presents an historical account which describes an unfolding practice and culture of reporting Indonesia, informed by evidence drawn from a wide range of sources, particularly through personal interviews with former foreign correspondents.
Australian ‘understanding’ of Indonesia is evident in most of these journalist’s aims for writing these accounts. John Thompson claims his account, Hubbub in Java (1946) is “the first over-all survey of personalities and events available to the Australian public on the republican revolution in Indonesia”. He also stressed the importance of understanding Indonesia because “the character and destiny of 70 000 000 neighbours are of cardinal importance to Australia.”68 Peter Hastings wrote in his memoirs that his reporting of Indonesia to Australians seemingly achieved very little, as “in the end two radically different political cultures faced each other across the narrow gap of the Timor Sea, neither really able to understand each other.”69 Hamish McDonald said of writing Suharto’s Indonesia, in 1980: “You want something a bit more substantial to write. It does sometimes take a book to tell the whole story.”70 There is a convincing argument that reporting Indonesia left many Australian journalists unsatisfied, so much so that they felt compelled to write a more detailed account in the form of a book. David Jenkins said:
When I left Indonesia in 1980, there was only so much you could tell about the place. I wanted to write a monograph, and in day-to-day-or week-to-week journalism, I found it very frustrating that I wasn’t able to, even for a regional magazine. I couldn't really say some things that I wanted to say, and I certainly felt that in those four years I hadn't done justice to this.71
Michael Maher outlined his purpose for writing Indonesia: An Eyewitness Account in 2000: “For Australian readers, I hope I have gone some way towards lifting the veil that often shrouds our largest neighbour.”72 These comments suggest that at least some Australian correspondents have been dissatisfied with the amount of information available to Australians about Indonesia, and it is only through writing a book after their
68 John Thompson, Hubbub in Java, Kangaroo Press, 1946, p. 2. 69 Peter Hastings, The Road to Lembang; A retrospect, 1938-1966, Australians in Asia Series no. 5, Centre for the Study of Australia-Asia Relations, Griffith University, 1990, p. 38. 70 Hamish McDonald, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 71 David Jenkins, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. 72 Michael Maher, Indonesia: An Eyewitness Account, Viking Press, 2000, pp. xi-1. 19
posting that they can, as Maher states, ‘lift the veil’ to reveal more to the reader than the daily reporting process allows. It suggests they were restricted in their agency in reporting for mainstream Australian news, and that publishing a book or memoir could overcome these restrictions. However, Hamish McDonald explained there are further benefits to writing a book about Indonesia: “I wanted to explain it [Indonesia] to myself, and I educated myself as much when writing that book as the reader. I felt if I could do that it would be useful. It seemed like a good career move.”73 There are, of course, numerous reasons for these reflections, but it would seem from this brief analysis that many Australian journalists to Indonesia felt compelled to write more once their posting ended. It will be argued in following chapters that Australian journalists to Indonesia were frustrated in reporting from the archipelago due to the limitations and restrictions placed upon the reporting process. This suggests that Australian foreign correspondents see as their role to inform, educate and enlarge their Australian readers’ knowledge of Indonesia. The resort to book-length analyses after their posting suggests that many believed they had not achieved their goal.
1.3.1. Conclusion
This thesis will examine in detail the range of hindrances, constraints and limitations that are placed upon the reporting process of Australian journalists in Indonesia. As this is a study of Australian journalism in Indonesia, it focuses on mainstream Australian foreign correspondents. It will not examine opinion pieces by columnists from Australia, nor will it examine the editors’ role in amending the story, or how the final report reaches the audience in Australia. Also, this research will not examine the semiotics of individual stories. These details are important and could be examined in subsequent research, but are beyond the scope of this thesis. This thesis will draw upon interviews conducted with former and current Australian foreign correspondents to Indonesia, their Indonesian staff, government officials and Indonesian journalists who also worked alongside Australian foreign correspondents in Indonesia. It is the argument of this research that the key figures in Australia-Indonesia media relations have been, and still are, the resident correspondents. Thus, this research will focus
73 McDonald, personal interview. 20
largely on journalists who have spent a significant number of years living and working in the archipelago, having reported on a number of key events and dominant issues during their posting. The focus is on the mainstream media, and Australian media organisations which have established bureaus in Jakarta. While smaller, less mainstream accounts of life in Indonesia are published in Australia, such as in Inside Indonesia, these publications are principally for the Indonesia-specialist, and reach a much smaller audience. The limited attention to such publications in this research does not imply a lack of credibility in the content or quality of their journalistic practices, but rather, that these magazines reach a limited audience. To examine the professional practice of the Australian journalist I have attempted to interview, or read memoirs from, as many Australian resident correspondents to Indonesia as possible within the timeframe selected for discussion.
All personal interviews were conducted according to the University of Wollongong’s Human Research Ethics Committee (HREC) clearance. Some informants were identified through previous research for my history honours thesis at the University of Sydney, through my PhD supervisors, and through the assistance of other academics. Secondary sources provided some names and details of Australian journalists. Particularly useful was Errol Hodge’s Radio Wars (1995), Ken Inglis’ This is the ABC (1983), and Damien Kingsbury’s Culture and Politics: Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, 1975-1993 (1997). As stated earlier, many Australian journalists compiled individual memoirs of their time in Indonesia, and this helped with identification and details. However, it should be noted that the most common form of identifying informants was through the ‘snowballing’ technique of interviews, where informants provide names and even contact details for potential future informants. This was particularly the case with finding Indonesian local staff who worked for Australian news organisations. All informants were asked to remember other Australian journalists they were involved with, and whether there was anyone they could think of that would help in recording this history. In many cases informants were shown a list of people who had already been interviewed, in order to jog their memory.
Informants were initially approached by phone, email or in person (for example, at an academic conference or private function). In Australia, interviews were conducted mostly in Sydney, but also in Wollongong, Canberra, Melbourne, Perth, and on one 21
occasion, a specific trip was made to Noosa to interview Philip Koch, a crucial informant for this history. Throughout this PhD research, I undertook lessons in Indonesian, and travelled to Indonesia for three months in 2006, and again for one month in 2007, in order to interview informants living in Indonesia. I travelled to a number of regions of Indonesia, including Central Java (mainly Yogyakarta), Bali, Sumatra, and Lombok, in order to expand my knowledge of the media in Indonesia. In addition, I worked as a journalist for the Lombok Post in early 2008. However, most interviews in Indonesia used in this thesis were conducted in Jakarta in 2006. Informants were usually found through assistance from the Centre for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) where I was a visiting scholar, or through the staff from The Jakarta Post, where I maintained a desk as a researcher, observer and occasional journalist from September – November, 2006.
No informants explicitly refused to be interviewed for this thesis. However, a number were unavailable for personal interviews. This was usually due to distance, such as Lindsay Murdoch, Ian Macintosh, Patrick Walters and Ric Curnow. Some were approached but unable to find time, such as Tim Palmer, Yenny Wahid, and Harmoko (the former Indonesian Minister for Information). Not all former Australian journalists to Indonesia were found. Some suggested informants were unable to be approached for personal interviews, due largely to the limited time to complete research for this thesis. Some journalists were not approached for personal interviews because their memoirs, books or articles were considered sufficient.
Interviews were usually conducted in English, although on occasion interviews were conducted in Indonesian, and on occasion translations were done by staff members at The Jakarta Post. All informants who were current or former journalists or local staff were asked questions based loosely on the themes set out in each chapter. This was to enable journalists from all eras to discuss broad issues adopted for this research, and to achieve a detailed understanding of how the reporting process has changed over time. Indonesian Government officials interviewed for this research were asked to discuss their involvement with the Australian media and any contact they may have had with Australian journalists in Indonesia. With all personal interviews, the ‘snowballing’ technique was adopted, whereby informants were asked additionally questions in order for them to expand on a topic, or to establish further information. The majority of 22
informants were incredibly helpful and supportive, and very keen to re-tell stories and provide information about people and events. Their support and assistance led to such a comprehensive list of informants and the informative and colourful quotes and stories provided in this thesis. The same issues were raised with each correspondent, and the result is a detailed understanding of how the reporting process has changed over time.
There are a number of concerns with the ‘cultural differences’ approach to the Australian media in Indonesia. Chapter II will show that Australian journalists who have reported form Indonesia since 1945 have a variety of backgrounds and personal identities which make conclusions about their ‘cultural differences’ difficult. Furthermore, the ‘cultural differences’ approach has largely ignored the Indonesians who are involved in the reporting process, such as assistants, fixers, and other staff, with the focus largely on the foreign correspondent. It implies the country or people of Indonesia cannot change foreign correspondent’s pre-conceived Orientalist attitudes. Said emphasised the pervasiveness and systematic character of Orientalism.74 Certainly, one’s own socialisation is strongly buttressed by family, emotional and educational processes, and three years in Indonesia may not be able to match that, but a mature thoughtful adult can reflect on their experience and it is easy to imagine some shifts in perspective. For if the culture one comes from shaped one’s ideas, the culture one is surrounded by must surely have an influence. Chapter III will explain the lingering colonial hierarchies of newsgathering, but it will also show that Indonesian staff have played an important role in shaping the attitudes of foreign correspondents, and it is argued that while the Australian journalist’s cultural knowledge and preconceived ideas of Indonesia need to be examined, there must also be a clear recognition of the Indonesians who were involved in this process.
As Simon Philpott stated with regard to much of the Australian literature on Indonesia, it can be simplistic and problematic to focus only on ‘cultural differences’ as an understanding of Australia-Indonesia relations, and greater emphasis could be placed on the similarities of the two nations.75 For example, there is a long history of bans on
74 Said, Orientalism, pp. 3-9. 75 Philpott, ‘Fear of the Dark’, pp. 380-2, showed that the problem with focusing on differences tends to lead to accounts that portray that Australian values are superior, and the Indonesian national as negative, which leads to a greater fear of Indonesia in Australia. 23
journalists and entire publications in Indonesia.76 In particular, Indonesian journalists during the New Order did not always report in the way the Suharto Government or its military desired. This supports the claim that politics and ideology can shape practices in journalism, and that Indonesian journalists shared ideas with their Australian counterparts about how the press should operate. Thus, I support Freedman’s conclusions where he states that “analysing culture per se is inadequate, as this reifies the concept as an unchanging monolith, abstracted from social and historical conditions, intra-cultural conflicts and inter-cultural relations.”77 The historical framework of Australian attitudes towards Indonesia is largely unexplored by these scholars. Freedman claims the cultural approach lacks an analysis of both historical background and ideological content, and we are left with a simple assertion that there is a clear difference between ‘Western’ culture, which is opposed to ‘Eastern’ culture.78 He concludes the approach has “ignored, or at least under-theorised, the historical and social conditions under which cultures are formed and undergo change.”79 The ‘political-cultural’ approach implies great freedom in the Western news model for journalists, and overplays the controls from the Indonesian Government. Certainly, the hindrances from the Indonesian Government are an important aspect to this history and will be explained in detail in chapter IV. However, too much emphasis on the role of the Indonesian Government lessens the role of the Australian Government, and of internal forces which also constrain Australian journalists’ professional practice.
Journalistic work practices have a long and varied history. It is a history that has not been fully uncovered in Australia, and is beyond the scope of this thesis.80 It is argued throughout this thesis that journalists’ construction of their professional identity, their news values and approaches to newsgathering and writing have changed over time. In his renowned work published in 1985, Profession: Journalist, historian Clem Lloyd noted that the “practices and principles of journalism are changing rapidly.”81 Here we
76 See Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, and Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, See also Janet Steele, Wars Within: The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Suharto’s Indonesia, Equinox, Jakarta, 2005. This will be examined in greater detail in chapter IV. 77 Freedman, ‘Indonesia in Australian Media: A Literature Review’, p. 161. 78 Ibid., p. 155. 79 Ibid., p. 158. 80 Ann Curthoys, ‘Histories of Journalism’, in Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz (eds.), Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, University of Queensland Press, 1999, pp. 1-3. 81 Clem Lloyd, Profession: Journalist: A history of the Australian Journalists’ Association, Hale & Iremonger, 1985, p. 309. The AJA was founded in 1910. 24
shall examine the idea of the journalist as ‘professional’, and examine briefly the construct of ‘professional practice’ as inscribed in codes of practice which have guided Australian journalists over the period discussed in this thesis.
A Code of Ethics for journalists was first developed by the Australian Journalists’ Association (AJA) in 1944. The code stated that the role of a journalist was “to report and interpret news with a scrupulous honesty” and “not to suppress essential facts nor distort the truth by omission or wrong or improper emphasis.” Howard Palmer, General President of the AJA, writing twenty years later affirmed the central principle of the journalists’ code, noting that the idea of a “free press rests on the professional and economic freedom of the reporter”.82 W. Sprague Holden articulated in 1961 that he was disappointed with Australia’s training for journalism, suggesting that while the skills of everyday practice were well established, attention to broader social and cultural issues that might engage and develop a professional consciousness were overlooked. He found there was “A passion for learning shorthand, typing and for covering a round properly, but no attempt to instil any regard for history, theory and practice of government…key components of journalism.”83 It wasn’t long, however, before journalists themselves took up Holden’s concerns and began to position themselves as professionals with ethics and standards, rather than as disposable hacks. Their campaign for professional status began to be articulated through the trade union movement, but was not popular with media owners and managers.84
The journalists’ code was substantially revised in 1984 to emphasise the “profession of journalism” more clearly. The Code stressed that “in the pursuance of these principles journalists commit themselves to ethical and professional standards”, to follow the Code of Ethics in their “professional activities” and acknowledge others in the AJA as their “professional colleagues”. Under the code, greater stress was given to respect for privacy and balanced treatment of issues, but the preamble continued to emphasise truth as the key for any journalist. The first line of the revised code states:
82 Geoff Sparrow (ed.), Crusade for Journalism: Official History of the Australian Journalists’ Association, published by the Federal council of the A.J.A, 1960, p. 149. 83 W. Sprague Holden, Australia Goes to Press, Wayne State University Press, 1961. 84 Ibid., and Lloyd, Profession: Journalist, pp. 259-267. See also John Henningham, Journalism’s Threat to Freedom of the Press, University of Queensland Press, 1992, pp. 33-37. 25
“Respect for truth and the public’s right to information are the over-riding principles for all journalists.”85
In 1997, the AJA became the Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance, when another Code of Ethics was drafted. It maintained the theme of the previous codes that “seeking truth is at journalism’s core”, but noted concerns that the previous code’s wordings of “public’s right to information” had been interpreted by some media organisations as “what interests the public”, which raised concerns about journalists’ professional practice becoming more about entertainment than news.86 The report noted that more people were entering journalism who had completed tertiary courses, including many who had university degrees in journalism. It acknowledged that this background enriched their knowledge of the practice and issues of the profession, but that the increasing number of graduates and monopolisation of the industry meant intense competition for both gaining employment and seeking stories.87 The result for journalists’ professional practice is, as Agnes Warren, the presenter of Media Report stated in 1997, “There are quite a lot of cowboys in our business…And they don’t get sacked for breach of ethics. In many cases I would probably expect them to get a pay rise.”88
The diverse nature of the media in the twenty-first century means that the nature of a ‘professional’ journalist must be understood broadly, and may not be easily summed up by reference to a single code of professional practice.89 But as the media diversifies to include foreign correspondents, and journalists whose work is much more like that of IT professional, the key question of journalists’ professional practice
85 See ‘AJA Code of Ethics 1944-1984’, and ‘1984-present’, in Ethics in Journalism, Report of the Ethics Review Committee, Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance, AJA section, published by Melbourne University Press, 1991, pp. 121-123. The 1984 code applied also to radio and television, as complaints had been made that the 1944 press code did not deal with the special problems of broadcasting. 86 Ethics in Journalism, p. 16. The code is also available at the Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance website, http://www.alliance.org.au/code-of-ethics.html (accessed 20 January, 2008). 87 See Roger Patching, ‘Too many students, not enough jobs?: A comparative study of Australian Journalism Programs’, Master of Arts (Honours), University of Wollongong, 1997. See also Wendy Bacon, ‘What is a journalist in a university?’ Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture and Policy, no. 90, 1999, pp. 79-90. 88 Ethics in Journalism, p. v. 89 Those involved in drafting the new 1997 Code of Ethics argued that to find a precise definition of the profession of journalism “is bound to be too restricted to apply to the variety of groups that have some fair claim to be professional these days”. John Pollock has argued that for foreign correspondents, Codes of Ethics are too vague to help resolve professional dilemmas and that journalists may be aware of them only in general terms. John Pollock, The Politics of Crisis Reporting, New York, Praeger, 1981. 26
remains: how much freedom do Australian journalists have in their profession? Henry Mayer noted as early as 1968 that Codes of Ethics are “attempts to present journalism as a profession, since most professions have conventional or other codes of behaviour. However, journalism lacks the main mark of a profession – actual autonomy.”90 It is this contested issue of the scope and changing degree of professional autonomy that is traced here in this research on Australian correspondents in Indonesia since 1945.
Central to this study is an analysis of the autonomy, or freedom of foreign correspondents to operate in Indonesia. As this chapter has shown, previous studies have ignored or overplayed the autonomy of foreign correspondents in the shaping of reports. Philosopher and historian Isaiah Berlin distinguished two concepts of liberty.91 He defined ‘negative liberty’ as the absence of interference from an agents’ possible action. Greater “negative liberty” meant fewer restrictions by a class, a corporation or another individual, with what one wishes to do. Thus, negative liberty is freedom ‘from’ oppression or obstruction by others, or the power to operate without interference from others. Negative liberty, Berlin argued, is clear. We can usually tell with relative ease whether someone’s actions are physically obstructed or whether we are prevented from doing something by another, or by the state. Berlin associated “positive liberty” with the idea of self-mastery, or the capacity to be in control of one’s destiny, without interference. In short, this was freedom ‘to’ operate in a certain way as a “thinking, willing, acting being, bearing responsibility for my choices and able to explain them by references to my own ideas and purposes.”92 Even though Berlin writes that “the freedom which consists in being one’s own master, and the freedom which consists in not being prevented from choosing as I do by other men, may, on the face of it, seem concepts at no great logical distance form each other”93, his distinction between positive and negative liberty is heuristically useful in understanding the scope of journalist’s autonomy in their professional practice.
The work done in researching this thesis, in terms of interviews in Australia and Indonesia, sets it apart from those works previously mentioned. No work has
90 Henry Mayer, The Press in Australia, Landsdown Press, 1964, reprinted 1968, p.203. 91 Isaiah Berlin, Four Essays on Liberty, London, 1969. See also Alan Ryan (ed.), The idea of freedom: essays in honour of Isaiah Berlin, Oxford University Press, 1979, and Margalit, Edna and Avishai (ed.), Isaiah Berlin: A celebration, The University of Chicago Press, 1991. 92 Sidney Morgenbesser and Jonathan Lieberson, ‘Isaiah Berlin’, in Margalit (ed.), Isaiah Berlin, p. 20. 93 Ibid. 27
interviewed such a large collection of informants about Australian journalism in Indonesia. No work has previously examined the Indonesian staff point of view to the extent that is covered in this thesis. The vast material from correspondents about how they saw what they were doing leads us to examine their autonomy in their professional practice. Berlin’s twin components of ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ freedom are discussed in this thesis in relation to issues of autonomy as practised in regards to journalism. His concepts are useful for interpreting professional autonomy, and are advantageous in understanding the complex and varied constraints on Australian journalists’ professional practice.
As Berlin suggests, the concept of autonomy is based on notions of control over one’s own destiny. More specifically, workplace autonomy is the amount of freedom workers have to schedule their work and determine the procedures to be used in carrying it out.94 However, autonomy and agency are indeed contested terms, and it is beyond the scope of this thesis to extensively examine various studies of these terms in relation to other work practices. This thesis will detail the experiences of the practitioners through extensive interviews and revisiting of early texts. It will provide an important contribution to what we know about how Australians report from Indonesia, provided to us through their own words, and in the commentaries of those that would constraint them, and by those that analyse these practices. It will examine the extent to which Australian journalists have freedom to operate in Indonesia and whether this freedom is overestimated by officials and critics. As such, this research focuses on aspects of restrictions on journalistic autonomy. While there is a certain degree of complexity to this aspect, this thesis suggests that lessening the degree of autonomy permitted to a journalist will constrain his or her ability to effect change in news coverage. While there is no consensus on the issue, a number of researchers have suggested that individual factors do affect news production.95 This thesis will explain
94 J. Richard Hackman and Greg Oldham, Motivation through the Design of Work: Test of a Theory. Organizational Behavior and Human Performance, Yale University Press, 1976, pp. 250-276. Brian K. Evans and Donald G. Fisher, ‘A Hierarchical Model of Participatory Decision-Making, Job Autonomy and Perceived Control. Human Relations’, Human Relations, Volume 45, Number 11, 1992, pp. 1169- 1189.
95 For example, Herbert Gans, Deciding What's News. A Study of CBS News, NBC Nightly News, Newsweek and Time, New York, Vintage Books, 1980. Pamela Shoemaker and Stephen Reese, Mediating the Message. Theories of Influences on Mass Media Content, New York, Longman, 1991. See also Carol 28
the autonomy of Australian journalists to Indonesia and scrutinize the changing conditions under which they worked. It will examine their frustration with sources, pressures from governments, technology and the news system.
Many scholars debate whether or not journalism is a profession96, but another aspect of this discussion is to examine how the notion of professionalism is deployed in the practice of journalism.97 Reese and Cohen argue that journalism is different from other professions such as medicine because it has a “significant judgemental autonomy for the practitioner.”98 Indeed, as Anne Dunn states, many Australian journalists claim a “significant judgmental autonomy” as they work.99 John Henningham’s 1990 study found that 60% of Australian domestic journalists surveyed stated they have considerable freedom to shape and select stories. Henningham discusses how autonomy is a contested term, but noted that if seeing journalism as a ‘profession’ leads to greater agency for journalists, a greater professionalization of the industry would benefit society as a whole.100
However, John Hartley has argued that journalist’s lack of control over their conditions of work precludes journalism from developing as a profession at all.101 Scholars have examined the constraints on journalistic practices through the notion of professionalism, as they are bound by the in-house rules of professional news organisations. For example, Robert McChesney has written about journalist’s “internalized values” which are shaped by the political economy of the Western media
Liebler, ‘How race and gender affect journalists’ autonomy’, Newspaper Research Journal, Athens, Volume 15, issue 3, 1994, p. 122-9. 96 John Henningham, ‘Is Journalism a Profession?’ in Henningham (ed.), Issues in Australian Journalism, Melbourne, Longman Cheshire, 1990, pp. 141-144, J. Merrill, ‘Journalism is not a profession’, in Dennis, E. and Merrill, J., Media debates: Issues in mass communication, New York, Longman, 1996, pp. 209- 211. 97 Professional journalism, which emerged over the course of the first half of the Twentieth Century, was discussed initially in the late 1970s and 1980 by Herbert Gans. Also of that era include works by sociologists Mark Fishman, Manufacturing the News, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1980, and Gaye Tuchman, Making News: A study in the construction of reality, New York, Free Press, 1978. 98 Stephen Reese and Jeremy Cohen, ‘Educating for journalism: the professionalism of scholarship’, Journalism Studies, Volume 1, Issue 2, 2000, p. 217. 99 Anne Dunn, ‘From quasi to fully: On journalism as a profession’, Australian Journalism Review, Volume 26, Number 2, December, 2004, p. 22. 100 Henningham, ‘Is Journalism a Profession?’, pp. 144, and Issues in Australian Journalism, Melbourne, Longman, 1990. 101 John Hartley, Popular Reality: Journalism, modernity, popular culture, London, Arnold, 1996. 29
system.102 “Professional journalism’s core problem” writes McChesney, is that it devolved to rely upon ‘official sources’ as the basis of legitimate news.”103 This discussion of journalist’s professional autonomy as hindered by a compulsion to placate official sources will be discussed further in Chapter VI of this thesis. Furthermore, McChensey argues that “smart journalists” begin to understand that “some stones are best left unturned” as they see their colleagues sacked or reprimanded for investigating powerful businesses and government organisations.104
John Soloski argued that although internal news policies do limit journalists’ professional behaviours, journalists do not necessarily see the policies as constraining their work, since “professional norms and news policies are rules of game which journalists learn to play by.”105 This raises doubts about journalist’s claims to freedom and independence in their professional practice. The important question here is how Australian journalists to Indonesia discuss their practice with regards to professional independence, interaction with others and control over their work. Through an examination of these aspects this thesis will discuss the notion of professional autonomy. This thesis argues that professional autonomy is important in examining how journalists operate, and in understanding the constraints placed upon their practice. As Hatchten and Scotton state in The World News Prism: “Only journalists who are free and independent of authoritarian controls and other constraints can begin the difficult task of reporting the news and information we all have a right and need to know.”106 This thesis will show that Australian journalists have often been restricted in their freedom and independence as they attempted to report from Indonesia. These restrictions to their autonomy have come from authoritarian controls, but significantly, from other constraints caused by the news system, and even by their own government. It is these various constraints on journalists’ professional practice that this thesis will explore.
102 Robert McChesney, The Political Economy of the Media: enduring issues, emerging dilemmas, Monthly Review Press, New York, 2008, p.131. 103 Ibid. 104 Ibid, p. 130-131. See also Robert McChesney, Corporate Media and the Threat to Democracy, New York, Seven Stories Press, 1997. 105 John Soloski, ‘News reporting and professionalism: some constraints on the reporting of news’, Media, Culture and Society, 11, 1989, pp. 207-228. 106 William A. Hachten and James F. Scotton, The World News Prism: Global Information in a Satellite Age, Blackwell Publishing, Seventh Edition, 2007, p. xxii. 30
Government pressures, censorship and obstructing journalists’ access to a range of sources are obvious hindrances to their autonomy. This will be examined in this thesis, and indeed, has often been the focus of scholars examining political factors hindering Australian journalists’ freedoms. As was explained earlier, the ‘political- cultural’ approach argued that the deaths of the Balibo Five mark the beginning of this history. This thesis will show that hostility between the Australian news media and the Indonesian Government occurred long before the Balibo Five deaths in 1975. No doubt the Balibo Five incident was an important and monumental event in this history, but this thesis will show that there is a complex web of pressures on journalists that is not the result of one single, overarching event. This thesis will examine events and issues from as early as 1945: the beginning of Indonesia’s struggle for Independence against Dutch rule and the moment a number of Australian former WWII war correspondents began, for the first time, to write about newly formed ‘Indonesia’.107 Chapters IV and V examine government influences on the Australian media in Indonesia. It is argued that government coercion has produced a history of problematic Australian reporting from Indonesia and a restriction on Australian journalists’ autonomy. Chapter V examines the pressures from the Australian Government. It will show that despite the Australian Government’s supposed support of a free press, it has often meddled in, and interfered with the flow of news from Indonesia, and at times supported various forms of coercion placed upon Australian journalists. These influences have contributed to restrictions on Australian journalists’ freedom ‘from’ government control or oppression.
If we examine the freedom of the press and the autonomy in journalists’ professional practice to incorporate ‘positive liberty’, the concept of agency can be discussed more broadly, and will contribute to a greater understanding of the role of journalists in the reporting process. Chapters VI and VII will examine Australian foreign correspondents freedom ‘to’ report in a certain way, examining the role of the news system and journalistic processes in reporting Indonesia. Chapter VI will argue that the methods for obtaining information from elite and official sources in Indonesia led to a limited picture of the archipelago, and therefore journalists’ autonomy to report a wide range of topics was restricted. Chapter VII looks particularly at contemporary
107 This research will begin when Indonesia declared Independence from the Dutch on August 17, 1945. As chapter II will outline, this was also the time when many foreign journalists arrived to report on the events of the war, calling it the ‘Indonesian Revolution’, and no longer referring to the country by its colonial name - the Dutch East Indies. 31
Australian reporting of Indonesia, and argues that improvements in communications technology have limited journalists’ freedom to travel, operate and select and analyse stories from Indonesia. With a broader understanding of liberty in journalists’ professional practice, this thesis will shed greater light on the external and internal forces which affect the flow of news from Indonesia to Australians.
Chapter II begins by giving greater insights into what Australian journalists see as important in their professional practice, and what they aim to achieve in reporting Indonesia. It will argue that Australian journalists attempted to seek the ‘truth’ from the archipelago, but their concept of ‘truth’ was determined largely by the time period in which they reported. Thus, political forces and historical events play a significant role in the shaping of journalists’ attitudes. However, for the most part Australian journalists and their Indonesian staff have seen the gathering of ‘truth’ as an essential and predominant component of their professional practice. This is largely a history where journalists’ attempts to report what they see as key ‘truths’ have been negated by forces attempting to control the flow of news from Indonesia. Subsequent chapters of this thesis will describe and explain the pressures and elements of coercion placed upon Australian journalists in Indonesia since 1945 to the present day, all of which have inhibited their professional practice. These constraints reveal a complicated system where internal and external forces aim to control the flow of news from Indonesia. As former Fairfax Indonesia correspondent Peter Rodgers stated in 1982:
Australian reporters face a complex task. They need to satisfy what can be a variety of competing masters. To keep their bosses happy, and I would think to give themselves some sense of professional worth, they need to report on a variety of subjects which will give some feel for the workings and atmospheres of Asian societies in a manner which is readily saleable within Australia. At the same time, if they want some continuity of operations they need to be wary about treading too heavily on local politics or other correspondents. It should not really be a surprise if it does not always work out.108
This research will examine historically the processes by which the mainstream Australian media operates and the factors which have influenced reporting from Indonesia. It is argued that by examining a range of influences on journalists’
108 Rodgers, in Broinowski (ed.), Australia, Asia and the Media, p. 67. 32
professional practice, rather than limiting responses to culture ‘per se’, or a single event such as the deaths of the Balibo Five, a much clearer understanding of the Australian media in Indonesia is provided and a richer history explained. This thesis will show the external and internal forces and influences that have affected the process of reporting for Australian journalists from Indonesia, and how these forces have changed over time. It will ultimately argue that these limitations have produced a history of problematic Australian reporting from Indonesia, where journalists have little autonomy as they cover the archipelago. This leads us to question the role of journalists as actors in shaping the news. Thus, this research contributes to the literature on Australian understanding of Indonesia, showing that the constraints on Australian journalists’ agency contributed to a limited and distorted coverage of Indonesian affairs in the Australian news.
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CHAPTER II
IDENTIFYING THE FOREIGN CORRESPONDENTS
This chapter presents an outline of Australian journalists to Indonesia in the period 1945-2005. It will argue that a key theme from Australian foreign correspondents of all eras is their determination to report what they saw as the ‘truth’ about Indonesian affairs. What exactly each correspondent viewed as key ‘truths’ was determined by the political context and historical scope in which he or she reported, but overall Australian journalists operated within a structure of ideals which constructed the media as an agent that should help discover the ‘truth’. This chapter will explain how Australian journalists to Indonesia performed their role as journalists, and what they set out to achieve in their professional practice.
Chapter I explained the importance of examining the collective role of journalists, giving them a voice in the history, as the skills, ideas and practices of these correspondents are significant in this story. Much of this research is based on interviews with the foreign correspondents, and their perception of themselves once their posting was completed. For some, this is only a few years, and their memories are fresh. For others, it is as much as sixty years, and it must be recognised that one’s memory changes as time progresses, and may romanticise long ago events, and may simply forget specific details.1 However, this research will show that in the interviews conducted, journalists were willing to discuss their faults and reflect upon various difficulties they encountered.2 The result is not a hagiography of particular individuals, nor a glorification of the profession of journalism. For the purposes of this chapter we will see these reflections as constitutive, as Giddens argues, of “the self as reflexively understood by the person in terms of his or her biography”, and “what we think we are
1 Barbara Allen, From Memory to History; Using Oral Sources in Local Historical Research, Nashville, Tennessee, American Association for State and Local History, 1981. 2 The people interviewed for this research were interviewed in person, with the author, and the interviews were recorded and later transcribed. Although Australian journalists were asked the same set of questions, there was room for elaboration and discussion employed through the ‘snowballing’ technique. Most interviews between 30-60 minutes, although some were much longer. No one was paid for participating in their interview.
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in the light of our past and present circumstances”3, and how these historical actors reflect on themselves and their surroundings.
2.1. Background and personal identity
Scholars have examined the personal loyalties, sectarian beliefs, and opposing cultural identity of Western journalists as a determinant for what gets noticed, and overlooked, and where the line is drawn between empathy and critical detachment.4 Furthermore, through the Western notion of objectivity, journalists like to imagine they can transcend the limits of their own cultural values and boundaries regardless of who they are and how much, or how little, they may identify with their subjects.5 This makes research on journalists’ personal identity all the more important. As discussed in Chapter I, previous examinations of the background and personal ideology of Australian reporting of Indonesia has largely concluded that Australian journalists are culturally insensitive due to a preconceived idea of Indonesia as the ‘other’, and through the notion of ‘reporting through Australian eyes’.6 This section argues that while the examination of the journalist’s cultural background and personal ideology is understandable, upon historical investigation, Australian journalists to Indonesia have complex and varied backgrounds and personal identities, all of which underscores why making personal identity the measure of a writer’s work quite dangerous for this particular topic, especially considering the scope of this research dates from 1945, to the present day. Chapter I has shown that popular culture portrays the Australian foreign correspondent as a young, white, unmarried male. Indeed, the first group of Australian reporters to cover the new Indonesian republic were previously WWII correspondents, and were all
3 Anthony Giddens, Modernity and Self-identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age, Cambridge, Polity, 1991, p. 53. 4 Eyel Press, ‘The Identity Trap: Does the personal make reporting predictable?’ Colombia Journalism Review, volume 46, issue 3, September-October, 2007, p. 28. 5 Ibid., see also William Dorman and Mansour Farhang, The U.S. Press and Iran, Foreign Policy and the Journalism of Deference, University of California Press, 1987, where they state furthermore, “to suggest to journalists they are any way ideological is to insult them”, p. 206. 6 Alan Knight, ‘Reporting the “Orient”: Australian foreign correspondents and Southeast Asia’, PhD Thesis, Faculty of Creative Arts, University of Wollongong, 1997, and John Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of Australian Foreign Correspondents’, PhD Thesis, Department of History, University of Sydney, 2003.
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male. However, this section will show how foreign correspondents have a variety of backgrounds and personal characteristics in their identities.7
While males dominated the profession, many women have played important roles in Australian reporting from Indonesia. The post-war decade of the 1950s saw a number of women reporters in Indonesia. Christine Cole reported the rebellion in Sumatra for the ABC in 1958. Cole was a pioneer as both a woman reporting conflict and as a foreign correspondent to Asia.8 Her reporting for the ABC was well received in Australia.9 Another woman to report in Indonesia during this time was 20 year-old Charlotte Maramis, who began reporting in 1954 for a Jakarta based English-language daily, The Indonesian Observer.10 Maramis admitted that being a female Australian journalist in Indonesia was rare. “They thought I was rather unique, but I was determined to get through that”, she said.11 Maramis reported on the 1955 Asia Africa Conference in Bandung, which created a separate bloc of countries that did want to be part of USSR or USA in the Cold War. From that historic conference came the term ‘Third World’, and it elevated Indonesia into world politics.12 Cole’s and Maramis’s identity is important because they were amongst the first group of pioneer Australian women journalists to operate in Indonesia. They were active, qualified, professional females who had a right to perform this role. This is in contrast with the dominant portrayal from earlier literature of pioneer journalists as male explorers.
7 ‘Identity’ is not a term easily defined. This section looks towards Chris Barker's argument that no single identity can act as an overarching, organising identity, rather, that we are constituted by fractured multiple identities. In sum, identity here is examined as sameness and difference, about the personal and the social, about what you have in common with some people and what differentiates you from others. This 'sameness and difference' will also be examined here with regard to the working of Australian journalists in Indonesia. See Chris Barker, Cultural Studies: Theory and Practice, Sage Publications, 2000, p. 166. 8 Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of Australian Foreign Correspondents’, p. 47. Tebbutt claims the fact she was a New Zealand-born woman made her less likely to become the ABC’s first resident correspondent in Jakarta. The ABC’s Southeast Asia bureau chief in Singapore at the time, Colin Mason, wrote in ABC’s online history that Cole was “a brilliant correspondent”, and research undertaken by Tebbutt and Inglis, in This is the ABC, suggest Cole’s reports and film from Indonesia was well-received and highly regarded in Australia. See ‘ABC Around the World: On the job with ABC foreign correspondents- Indonesia’, http://abc.net.au/aroundtheworld/content/temp_indonesia.htm (accessed 20 July 2007). 9 Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of Australian Foreign Correspondents’, p. 47. 10 Maramis has written three accounts of her time in Indonesia. See Book One: Charlotte’s Echoes, 2006, Book Two: Echoes: My years in Indonesia 1949—1962, 2005, and Life’s Way, 2007 (all published in Rose Bay, NSW). 11 Charlotte Maramis, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 12 Adrian Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 126. See also Jamie Mackie, Bandung 1955: Non-Alignment and Afro-Asian Solidarity, Editions Didier Millet, Singapore, 2005.
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Considering the profession of foreign correspondents has been largely dominated by males, it has been rare to see a mother as a foreign correspondent. Fairfax correspondent Louise Williams reported in Indonesia from 1996-98 while caring for her young children. She described her life as mother and correspondent:
As the mother, you can’t go out at night, or socialise after work at the Foreign Correspondents Club. Socially there are not that many female correspondents with children, so I didn’t drink with the boys in that sense. The mother being the primary breadwinner and correspondent is quite different from the bloke with the wife and kids in tow. You can’t function in the same way as other correspondents when you have kids, as every spare minute has to go to those kids. I think being a mother connected me with Indonesian society in a way that a Westerner wouldn’t have been connected. We had a very good relationship with the families around us. The expectation upon women in Indonesia is to have children, so single women from the West were seen as a curiosity. On the street level I probably had an easier time because I was married with children. I would argue I had a great network of contacts through my kids at the International School. We once went to the British Ambassador’s house for a party and it wasn’t me that was invited, it was my five year old! People underestimate that networking aspect .13
Williams’ description of her personal identity is in stark contrast to the perception of Australian journalists as the “hard-working, hard drinking, aggressive and defiant lovable larrikin.”14 Thus, it would seem that situating the background and personal identity of Australian journalists as stable and uniform is problematic.
The 1955 Bandung Asia-Africa Conference also saw Australians Emery Barcs and Ted Shaw report from Indonesia. They were both aged about 50 and well established as formidable journalists. Perhaps ironic in today’s perception of the identity of journalists, it was Barcs, a PhD scholar, who wrote for the Daily Telegraph, while Shaw, who was known to tell a few ‘tall tales’15 (he was previously a sports reporter for The Brisbane Telegraph), who represented the ABC. The first ABC resident correspondent, Ken Henderson, was aged 42 when he began his posting in 1961.16 This
13 Louise Williams, personal interview, Wollongong, June, 2006. 14 As explained in Chapter One. See Josie Vine, ‘Who is the lovable larrikin? An Historical Inquiry using Biography and Autobiography’, ‘When Journalism Meets History’: Refereed Papers from the Australian Media Traditions Conference, RMIT, 2004, pp. 1-8. 15 Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour; Neil Davis Combat Cameraman, 1934-1985, Sydney, Collins, 1987, pp. 65-66. See also John Tebbutt, ‘Emery Barcs (1905-1990)’ in the Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 17, Melbourne University Press, pp. 59-60. 16 There are conflicting accounts on the actual date for the opening of the Jakarta Bureau, but early 1961 seems the most likely according to my interviews and account from journalists at the time. See Colin
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illustrates that many of these earlier correspondents were different from the popular perception of early Australian correspondents to Asia - not all were crusading young males in search of adventure with little knowledge or experience in journalism or Asian affairs.
Some journalists had strong backgrounds in Indonesian language and culture and it was a personal interest in Asia that attracted newcomers to report from Indonesia. Kate Webb was one of the few women who reported from Southeast Asia in the 1960s.17 “Asia was what fascinated me”, she said in 2007.18 Webb worked on cables desks and reported on a number of occasions from Indonesia, but like Visnews cameraman Neil Davis, who covered Indonesia in the mid-1960s, their professional attention turned to war-torn Indochina in the 1970s.19 The ABC’s Tim Bowden also admitted to being captivated by Indonesia when he first arrived there on a cruise. He wrote: “Jakarta was my next port and a stunning experience for my first day in a foreign country. I have never forgotten the romance of that incredible day when I became instantly fascinated by Southeast Asia.”20 Bruce Grant first went to Indonesia “expecting to contemplate Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘fresh, green breast of the new world’.”21 The depiction of Indonesia as a romantic destination was indeed how many Australian correspondents pictured their posting upon arrival. This had led scholars to conclude that Australian correspondent’s stories from post-colonial Asia were framed by Western
Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, Norwitz Publications, 1966, and Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence: A journalist’s biography, Macmillan, 2001. The ABC website states 1959 (See http://www.abc.net.au/aroundtheworld/content/s1010485.htm), but as Tebbutt states, this is more likely the start when “the first official representative of ABC interests was sent to Indonesia”, in this case the correspondent was Christine Cole. See Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of Australian Foreign Correspondents’, p. 34. Fred Inglis in This is the ABC, Melbourne University Press, 1983, p. 235, wrote that the bureau was officially opened in 1964. However, as Henderson stated, “There are some minor errors of fact in the book”, claiming that his successor, Colin Hann, had arrived in 1962, not 1961 as the Inglis claimed. Kenneth Russell Henderson, ‘Details about Auntie’, Hemisphere, Volume 28, No.3, November-December, 1983, p. 159. The journalist Kenneth Russell Henderson became the editor of a publication funded by the Department of Foreign Affairs, entitled, Hemisphere. He is not to be confused with the Reverend Ken Henderson, predominantly a religious broadcaster for the ABC, who retired in 1956, aged 65. 17 In a telephone interview with Bruce Grant, Melbourne, September, 2007, he said he could not recall any women correspondent in those early days of reporting Indonesia in the 1960s. 18 Kate Webb, radio interview with Verbatim, ABC, 1 June, 2002. Also replayed in Verbatim 14 February, 2008, after her death in late 2007. 19 Bowden, One Crowded Hour, p. 110. Bowden said Davis might have ended up living in Indonesia, as he was “fascinated by its contrasts”. 20 Tim Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 2003, pp. 99-100. 21 Bruce Grant, Indonesia, Melbourne University Press, 1964, p. 13. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about a Dutch sailor exploring the ‘new world’ in The Great Gatsby, in that sailor’s had an idealised version of the ‘New World’ as fresh, green and creative.
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perceptions of the ‘Orient’.22 ABC correspondent from 1967-70, Mike Carlton, reflected on his lack of experience when he began reporting from Jakarta at the age of twenty- one. “I knew almost nothing, I knew a bit about reporting but I knew almost nothing about Indonesia,” he said. “I'd done a lot of reading, and I'd worked in Asia, but it was an enormous learning curve. I shudder to think now how ignorant I was.”23 Thus, some young Australian journalists did not have much previous experience of working in Indonesia, yet a youthful exuberance and ambition drove them to accept the posting.
There is certainly merit to the argument that some journalists had similar ideas as to how Indonesia should be reported according to their idea of Asia as ‘the other’. However, further examination of many Australian journalists to Indonesia from 1945 shows this was not always the case. Despite the common perception that the pioneer Australian journalists were sent to Indonesia with little knowledge or background in Asia, the earlier war correspondents, John Thompson, Tony Rafty and Graeme Jenkins, had reported in Asia previously, albeit as war correspondents, and were experienced in journalism and in living in Asia. Frank Palmos had learnt Indonesian before arriving there in 1963, and recalled being “deeply enamoured” with Indonesia due to influences from academics Peter Russo and Jamie Mackie.24 Some of the more recent correspondents also have strong backgrounds and knowledge of Indonesia. The ABC’s Michael Maher grew up in India, Thailand and Burma, and has an honours degree in Asian studies.25 Greg Earl had studied Indonesian at high school during the Indonesian language boom in the 1970s, and had also covered Southeast Asia, so when the Australian Financial Review wanted to set up a bureau he was sent there in 1991 to negotiate, eventually reporting there for five years from 1994.26 Louise Williams, who moved officially to Jakarta in 1996, also had a considerable amount of Asian experience. She had visited Indonesia quite frequently, spending a number of years trying to obtain a journalist’s visa. She described herself as an “Indonesianist who got diverted for 10 years” in the Philippines.27 The current correspondent for The Australian, Stephen Fitzpatrick, is fluent in Indonesian and had begun a PhD in
22 Knight, ‘Reporting the “Orient”’, p. 15. 23 Mike Carlton, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 24 Frank Palmos, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 25 Michael Maher, Indonesia: An eyewitness account, Viking Press, 2000, p. 11. See also Maher, ‘Vietnam: Between Deadlines’ in Trevor Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ Tales: Stories from the ABC’s Foreign Correspondents, ABC Books, 2004, p. 167. 26 Greg Earl, personal interview, Sydney, July, 2007. 27 Williams, personal interview.
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Indonesian history, while the current ABC correspondent, Geoff Thompson studied Asian history at the University of Sydney.28
To conclude, the correspondents outlined here clearly have complex and varied personal identities and backgrounds, as have many others who have not been examined here. While the cultural upbringing is important in the study of journalism history, it can be largely overplayed in the measuring of a writer’s work. The research on identity is understandable because as writers and reporters are not, despite what they may argue, immune to the sway of their personal attachments; particularly when exploring subjects close to their hearts.29 But as Eyel Press argues in ‘The identity trap; does the personal make reporting predictable?’, it is dangerous to draw wider conclusions because “the way such attachments end up shaping a story is by no means certain”, and “such hard- won awareness arises not from a writer’s personal background but from his or her sensibility, values, and judgment, things that can never be inferred from identity alone, even if identity plays an inevitable role in shaping them.”30 Through my interviews and examination of the Australian journalists, the influence of their background and personal identities in their reporting does not seem self-evident. There are simply too many differences in backgrounds and complex personal characteristics which mean drawing larger conclusions, such as Australian journalists’ cultural insensitivity when reporting Indonesia, would be problematic. Rather than attributing too much to correspondents’ personal identities, this chapter will look more toward the changing process of Australians performing the role of ‘journalist’ while they are in Indonesia, and the shifting historical and political forces that shaped this role.
2.2. The shock of arrival
This section will explain one important similarity that most Australian journalists to Indonesia faced - the difficulties upon arrival. It will show that despite their varied gender, experience, background, and knowledge of Asia, many found their initiation to their new posting an incredible shock. Chapter I explained how some scholars have
28 Stephen Fitzpatrick, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. Geoff Thompson, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 29 Press, ‘The Identity Trap’, p. 28. 30 Ibid.
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declined to interview journalists for fear of being lured into glorifying the individual correspondent, or the profession of journalism. This section will show that the Australian journalists interviewed were willing to discuss their faults and talk openly in personal interviews. While some works that examine the final product of reports in the news end up portraying journalists as mechanical ciphers, this section will shed light on the human experience of reporting Indonesia for Australians.
Many Australian journalists shared the common experience of living through what they described as a ‘hardship post’ of Jakarta. Lachie McDonald, a New Zealander writing for the Sydney Morning Herald, had reported extensively in Asia during WWII. He arrived in Jakarta on July 23, 1947 and returned to Australia after only one month. He later wrote, “Nothing I had read or heard in Australia prepared me for the tension and mix of feelings in Batavia.”31 Peter Hastings, who had reported from Asia since 1938, wrote, “I found Jakarta overwhelming.”32 The early ABC journalists found life very difficult. Peter Barnett summed up the feeling of many correspondents who reported from Indonesia in the early 1960s: “In those days merely to survive in a hardship post like Jakarta was an achievement.”33 Some did not. Colin Hann was arrested three times at bayonet point in Jakarta, in 1962, and returned to Australia after only a few months.34
Barnett described the initial experience in this way: “During this first interlude in Indonesia I can recall few moments of pleasure. The dominant images were heat, humidity, perpendicular walls of rain, crowds, traffic jams, frustration, dreary food, indigestion, rough local Commodore cigarettes, sore throat.”35 Phil Koch arrived in 1965 and commented: “Jakarta was stressful. The living conditions are not what you’re used to. Generally the wife wants to go home. It was a real hard slog in very humid, tough conditions. Roads broken down, traffic just awful, kids with guns turning up at your house wanting money.”36 Frank Palmos (Melbourne Herald) recalled, “There were
31 Batavia being the former name of modern day Jakarta. Lachie McDonald, Bylines: Memoirs of a War Correspondent, Kangaroo Press, 1998, p. 61. 32 Peter Hastings, The Road to Lembang, A retrospect; 1938-1966, Centre for Asia-Australia Relations, Griffith University, Australians in Asia Series number 5, 1990, p. 6. 33 Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence: A Journalists Biography, Macmillan, 2001, p. 266. 34 Ken Inglis, This is the ABC; The Australian Broadcasting Commission, 1932-1983, Melbourne University Press, 1983, p. 233. 35 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 266. 36 Philip Koch, personal interview, Noosa, February, 2007.
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a few correspondents in town. It was a hardship post. The earlier guys they had for United Press International and Associated Press were drunkards. They used to say ‘You can’t get anything done, you can’t get information.’ They were basically just attending press conferences.”37
The self-confessed difficulties in reporting are also part of how Hamish
McDonald described his time in Indonesia as a 26 year-old. McDonald moved to Indonesia as a freelance journalist in 1974, with his wife and two-year old in tow. As a freelance journalist, McDonald experienced many practical difficulties that made the reporting process even tougher than that of an ABC correspondent, who at least had an office and the ABC residence to move into. McDonald describes his initial situation in this way:
It was extremely difficult. It was at the peak of the first oil boom so rents were extremely expensive in Jakarta, so we lived in a Kampung house for the first eighteen months. We couldn’t afford a telephone, so I had to use payphones in a hotel lobby, and of course no one could call me. We didn’t have air conditioning, just enough electricity for lights, a fan, and a small fridge. I had a motorbike which was good except for the raining season where you would turn up to an interview soaking wet.38
These difficulties led to Indonesians seeing McDonald differently from the typical Western correspondent they had been accustomed to. He explained that “many Indonesians looked down on me because they were used to Westerners having the car, chauffeur, servant, and arriving in crisp suits to an interview.”39 These were luxuries the freelance journalist could not afford. Reporting was difficult because there were expectations from others of whom McDonald should be, that he simply could not meet.
While difficulties changed depending on the era, almost all journalists shared a common feeling of being thrust into a ‘hardship post’. Even with an extensive resume of reporting from Asia, and her previous travels to Indonesia, Louise Williams shared a common experience with her predecessors - the shock of arrival. She said her posting to Jakarta was
37 Palmos, personal interview. 38 Hamish McDonald, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 39 Ibid.
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really tough to start off with, just the practicalities. I arrived in 1996 and it was economic boom time so even rental accommodation was very hard to get. I didn’t really have sufficient language skills after not being there enough. Trying to learn a language, find housing, figure out what on earth what was going on in a city that was just about money in 1996, the boom time before the crash in 1997. It was also very clear that we were going to be watched heavily.40
Some of these initial troubles have largely remained the same across all eras. Operational practicalities, the language barrier, and various Government influences are common complaints from many of the Australian journalists interviewed. These factors will be examined further in later chapters. Here it is important to conclude that many journalists from 1945-2005 experienced some initial trepidation and practical difficulties upon arrival in Jakarta.
In addition to the practical difficulties that journalists had not experienced before, many were thrown into unfamiliar situations, resulting in considerable personal trauma. Frank Palmos, who reported on the 1965-66 killings in his early 20s, recalled: “I went too early, too young. I was highly strung all the time…[If I had been older and more experienced] I wouldn’t have suffered quite as much from the agonies of the dead bodies and wouldn’t be quite as nervous.”41 Palmos’ successor, David Jenkins, joined the Melbourne Herald in 1967 having been to Asia twice but never Indonesia. He said bluntly of his time in 1969-70 in Indonesia at the age of 27: “I don't think I was very good”. Recalling his reporting in the initial stages when Indonesia occupied East Timor from 1975, Jenkins said: “I look back and think I was too cautious. On Timor I should have been tougher on the Indonesians initially, later on they think I was too tough.”42
Williams covered East Timor in the build up to the 1999 referendum, receiving a Walkley Award for proving that Indonesia had lied about withdrawing its troops.43 In October 1999, militia threatened many Australian journalists. “People I knew well were killed,” Williams said. “I was profoundly emotionally affected by Timor and what happened there, to the point of not being very objective now when reading about
40 Williams, personal interview. 41 Palmos, personal interview. 42 David Jenkins, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. 43 Louise Williams, On the Wire: An Australian Journalist on the Front Line in Asia, Simon and Schuster, NSW, 1992.
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Timor.”44 Williams explains her journalistic identity changed once she became a mother, as she was much more wary of taking personal risks once she had the responsibility of children. “October 1999, the threatening of Australian journalists in particular meant my kids were freaked out about me dying in Timor”, she said.45 While correspondents like Williams had previous foreign postings, there were still occasions when Australian media organisations sent young correspondents to Indonesia during the thick of the action, without much overseas experience. Geoff Thompson shared Louise Williams’ emotions on being thrust into Timor. He said, “No other cause has affected me as profoundly as Timor, but that is as much because it was my first [overseas] posting.”46
The emotional stress experienced by early correspondents working in Indonesia shadows Australian reporting, most recently in the Bali bombing events of 2002. Andrew Burrell’s first reporting experience in Indonesia was Sunday, October 13, one day after the first Bali bombing. Moved from his news desk in Sydney, he flew into Bali and filed from Kuta for The Australian Financial Review (AFR). He said his “first impression of Indonesia was of chaos and tragedy.” Burrell went on to be the AFR Indonesia correspondent from 2003, but admitted he was “more comfortable speaking to an economist about how disasters affect investment than to a grieving mother on how she felt after her son was killed”, exemplifying just how much his first reporting experience from Indonesia affected him.47
The first Bali bombing was an event many Australian journalists will remember for the rest of their lives. Peter Lloyd recalled frantically reporting to Australia the news of the bombings, then finally having a moment to himself. The result: “There were tears, floods and floods of tears. Not for the man I knew, but for the 200 I didn’t.”48 Lloyd’s stress has had long term consequences. Arrested in 2008 in Singapore on drugs
44 Williams, personal interview. 45 Ibid. 46 Geoff Thompson, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 47 Andrew Burrell, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 48 Peter Lloyd, ‘Two weeks in Bali’, in Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ Tales, p. 212.
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charges, Lloyd spoke publicly about using drugs to ease the pain of reporting on violent and catastrophic events as a foreign correspondent.49
It is clear that these journalists are willing to discuss their faults and comment on the difficulties in reporting from Indonesia. We can draw from these journalists self- assessment a tension in their understanding of themselves as supposedly professional, competent, but actually struggling to understand and report on Indonesian events during these tumultuous times, due largely to their youth and inexperience in this type of environment. It is in these extreme situations, with their lives changed by being thrust immediately into a worldwide event, often under dangerous conditions, that the Indonesia correspondent was often placed. As Louise Williams quipped, this is “the lot of the foreign correspondent – you’re in a position where your life is on the line and you end up getting five paragraphs.”50
When placed in this situation, journalists contemplate their role, and a degree of soul-searching and questioning of their purpose often occurs. Geoff Thompson remembers dwelling on this question in East Timor. He wrote: “I needed to take a few moments to try and process how my daily realities had shifted so radically in just three days. It was one of those rare existential moments that never leave your memory. Looking at myself, I wondered who I was, where I was, and why.”51 No doubt each correspondent, faced with this moment of contemplation, finds a different set of personal responses, but it is argued here that thrown into the initial shock of arrival, facing practical difficulties, and in many cases life-threatening situations, correspondents reflect upon their role as ‘journalist’. This does not mean all see their profession as paramount to their existence, however, this research understands that an important facet of reporting Indonesia is how Australian journalists reflect on their roles as translators and bearers of news. It is argued that faced with these difficulties, the important factor to be examined is how the Australian correspondent performs their role as ‘journalist’. The subsequent findings of this chapter will explain that journalists perform their roles according to their historical framework and political context in
49 J. Cooke, ‘Why I took drugs: a reporter’s war with his demons’, Sydney Morning Herald, November 8, 2008, and ‘ABC reporter facing drugs charges ‘shell-shocked’ by stress of job’. The Age, November 8, 2008. 50 Williams, personal interview. 51 Geoff Thompson, ‘First Day Out: East Timor’, in Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ Tales, p. 85.
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which they report. By situating these correspondents in historical frames, and examining how events shaped their performance, we can begin to understand Australian journalists’ professional practice.
2.3. Performing the role of journalist
The theatricality of daily life has been explored by Erving Goffman and his classic work on the presentation of ‘self’ as performance, and the roles people create and perform depending on the ‘space’ in which they are situated.52 Journalism is seen here as a chameleon profession where journalists take on roles, depending on their surroundings. Anna Sosnovskaya has described this as the “journalistic practices” of professional identity, referring to behavior typical of journalists according to their internalised rules. “Fulfilling journalistic functions strengthens one’s identity as a journalist”, she wrote.53 But what influences them to perform their ‘journalistic function’? Sosnovskaya concludes that for Russia and Sweden, “changes in journalists’ identity are caused by transformations in society.”54
Personal influences and social upbringing are important, but the performance of the role of ‘journalist’ can become a default response as we examine their collective professional practice.55 Journalists often fall back on performing their ‘journalistic functions’ as they report. For example, studies of US television journalists in first 24 hours of reporting the September 11 terrorist attacks show they stuck to strategies of reporting a ‘breaking news story’, a common journalistic function in contemporary reporting.56 This signals a learned behaviour in the professional practice of reporters.
52 See Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Allen Lane The Penguin Press, 1971, p. 14. A ‘performance’ is also the activity of a participant which serves to influence others. Kevin Hetherington, Expressions of Identity: Space, Performance, Politics, Sage Publications, 1998, p. 150. 53 Anna Sosnovskaya, ‘Transformation of professional practices of identity among journalists in Russia and Sweden: a comparative analysis’, Germano-Slavica, Annual, 2002, Volume 75, Issue 16, pp. 75-101. Although extensive interviews were undertaken Sosnovskaya acknowledges this method involved making generalizations and concentrating on the similarities of journalist’s professional practice. “In a drop of water, the ocean is reflected”, she wrote. 54 Ibid. 55 See, for example, Stephen Alomes, When London Calls: The Expatriation of Australian Creative Artists to Britain, Cambridge University Press, 1999, p. 208. 56 See Kirsten Mogensen, et. al. ‘How TV News Covered the Crisis’, in Bradley S. Greenberg (ed.) Communication and Terrorism: Public and Media Responses to 9/11, Hampton Press, 2002. Other studies also largely support this claim. See Scott Abel, Andrea Miller and Vincent F. Filak, ‘TV Coverage
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Thus, it is important to examine where practices of journalism originated, and by what historical conditions and political context the professional role of a journalist is determined. This chapter will contribute to the understanding of Australian journalism in Indonesia by establishing periodisations and categorisations determined by the political context in which the Australian journalist reports. As journalism is a chameleon profession, correspondents can cross into different periods and timeframes. While the Australian journalist’s professional practice in Indonesia can change considerably due to these historical timeframes, it will be argued that a consistent thread in correspondents’ narratives is the compulsion and determination to report what they saw was the ‘truth’.
2.3.1. War Correspondents: 1945-1949
Late September 1945 saw an influx of the foreign press such as Reuters and UPI to Indonesia57 following the Indonesian declaration of Independence against the Dutch, on August 17, 1945.58 Although at that time Australian dailies did not keep their own correspondents except in London and New York, a select few Australian journalists were sent to Indonesia in 1945.59 The first group of Australian reporters to cover the new Indonesian republic had previously been WWII correspondents. The first Australian correspondent was cartoonist Tony Rafty, whose sketches were subsequently published in the Sydney Morning Herald and Sydney Sun.60 He received a simple message from the Sun to go to Java from Borneo, the telegraphed message began with ‘proceed to another war’.61 This was largely how the first group of Australian journalists saw their role upon arrival to Indonesia – to report on ‘another war’. Shortly after, John Thompson (ABC) and Graeme Jenkins (Reuters/AAP/Melbourne Herald) of Breaking News in First Hours of Tragedy’, in Grusin and Utt., (ed.), Media in an American Crisis: Studies of September 11, 2001, University of America Inc., 2005, pp. 105-117. See also Amy Reynolds and Brooke Barnett, ‘”America under Attack”: CNN’s Verbal and Visual Framing of September 11’, in Chermak, Bailey and Brown (ed.), Media Representations of September 11, Praeger, 2003, pp. 85-103. 57 Donald Read, The Power of News: A History of Reuters, 1849-1989, Oxford University Press, 1994, p.378. 58 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. Anwar commented how the influx of foreign reporters occurred at this time, especially from wire services. Many correspondents were from India, keen to relay the anti-colonialist story home. See also Spurr, Let the Tiger Turn Tail, p. 93. 59 McDonald, Bylines, p. 33. 60 Rafty had a distinguished career as a cartoonist, and many of his sketches, including those of his time in Indonesia from 1945, are housed in the National Library and the Australian War Memorial in Canberra. 61 Rafty, personal interview.
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arrived. These two worked closely together. Thompson still wore the war uniform cap insignia for a war correspondent, and was always dressed in khaki62, even though WWII had ended, confirming the initial belief from editors at home this was simply another war, and an indication of how he performed his role. Thompson was described as “typically Australian”63, always dressed in khaki, drank scotch on the rocks, disliked formalities, and loved a joke. For almost all of their short careers these correspondents had reported in the context of war, although they had witnessed few actual battles. Tony Rafty remembers a colonel describing him as a “better artist than a soldier”64, and John Thompson wrote in 1946: “I think perhaps that I am the only war correspondent who has never seen a shot fired in anger and has seen only one dead body.”65
Although details of this time period are limited, evidence suggests these correspondents’ experienced more war-like conditions in Indonesia than they saw in WWII. Rafty and Sydney Morning Herald correspondent Nigel Palethorpe were fired upon by rebels as they travelled in an aircraft with the future Indonesian President, Sukarno.66 Graham Jenkins, one of the first AAP-Reuters correspondents, was arrested by the nationalists in 1949 and apparently sentenced to death, but later released.67 The Herald also sent Australian journalists Ian Flemming and Ray Olsen to Indonesia in 1945, but both returned in a few months, after they were fired upon and arrested by Indonesian rebel soldiers.68 Thus, the earliest Australian journalists resorted to war correspondent-like behaviour, attitudes and practices, so their well-established professional practice of reporting previous wars shaped how they performed their role in Indonesia.
How exactly did they perform their role as ‘war correspondent’? War was an Australian and a journalistic theme, the key to making sense of the world for these
62 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview. Yusuf Ronodipuro, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 63 Ibid. 64 Tony Rafty, personal interview, Sydney, May, 2006. 65 John Thompson, Hubbub in Java, Currawong Publishing, Sydney, 1946, p. 9. 66 Malcolm Brown, ‘Caricaturist whose story began at the frontline’, National, Sydney Morning Herald, April 25, 2006. 67 Read, The Power of News, p. 378. 68 Brown, ‘Caricaturist whose story began at the frontline’. The article states that there were “seven Australian correspondents” fired upon that day, but Rafty could not recall that many in his personal interview with me. John Thompson wrote in 1946 that by December 1945 there were only four Australian, two American, and three Indian correspondents operating from Jakarta. Thompson, Hubbub in Java, p. 74.
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reporters.69 As we have seen in Chapter I, this was a time when many Australian correspondents made a name for themselves reporting war, such as Chester Wilmot, Alan Moorehead, film-maker Damien Parer in New Guinea, and Wilfred Burchett in Hiroshima.70 It was not uncommon at this time for war correspondents to take a personal and political stance on the war they were reporting. During WWII, many saw their role of correspondent to be part of the war effort, which Knightley described as the WWII correspondent’s “excusable identification of the cause” of assisting in winning the war.71 Australian correspondents covering Indonesia’s war of Independence also largely identified with the cause of the new Republic, supporting Sukarno and the anti- colonial administration. They still performed the role of journalist to report ‘facts’ and used a wide range of sources in order to explain the outcome of the war to Australians at home, but they also personally supported the Indonesian Independence movement.72 For example, Ian Flemming stated categorically in his report on December 21, 1945: “I believe that a just and commonsense way of settling this Java problem after getting the Japs and internees out is to grant them the Independence they seek.”73
Fellow Indonesian journalists, also supportive of the Revolution, remembered these Australian war correspondents fondly. During the 1945-49 period, Indonesian newspapers were quite polemical, with the press a key instrument in the building of national consciousness.74 Herawati Diah, then a young Indonesian journalist supporting
69 Alomes, When London Calls, p. 195. See also Prue Torney-Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia; War, Journalism and Australia’s Neighbours; 1941-1975, UNSW Press, 2000. 70 See Pat Burgess, Warco: Australian Reporters at War, Richmond Victoria, Heninemann Australia, 1986, and Wilfred Burchett, Shadows of Hiroshima, London, Verso, 1983. 71 Philip Knightley, The First Casualty: The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-Maker from the Crimea to Kosovo, London, Prion Books, 2nd Edition, 2000, p. 361. 72 Rosihan Anwar, managing editor of Merdeka Daily in Jakarta from 1945-6, recalled that the war correspondents routine was keeping in touch with three main avenues for information - the British command of Allied forces, led by Lieutenant-General Christeson, the Dutch forces led by Governor General van Mook, and the Republic of Indonesia led by Sukarno, who resided in Jakarta until January 4, 1946. Rosihan Anwar, personal interview. This will be examined further in Chapter VI. 73 Ian Flemming, ‘The Indonesian Republic seen as a going concern’, Sunday Sun, December 21, 1945. He reported that “the young republic [four and half months old by this stage] fervently backed by the population, is apparently, resolved to fight to the death, if needs be, for Independence.” 74 For earlier accounts of the press and national consciousness in Indonesia see Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities; Reflections on the origins and spread of nationalism, London, New York, Verso, 1991, and Ahmat B. Adam, The Vernacular Press and the Emergence of Modern Indonesian Consciousness, Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995. See also Robert Cribb, Gansters and Revolutionaries; the Jakarta people’s militia and the Indonesian Revolution, 1945-1949, Asian Studies Association of Australia with Allen and Unwin, 1991.
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the revolution75 said “the Australian war correspondents were positive towards Indonesia. They saw in Indonesia a country that was not given Independence - we fought for Independence - and that appealed to the foreign journalists.”76 Rosihan Anwar, managing editor of Harian Merdeka (Freedom Daily), explained that journalists had to move regularly as fighting could break out in many areas of Jakarta. As a result, many of the correspondents sought refuge with Indonesians, sometimes living with them for short periods of time. Rosihan recalled that these correspondents “knew Indonesia, they lived amongst us, and understood that we had nothing. Because they had to live through this experience they were more objective in their reports and reported with context.”77 Rafty and Thompson provide examples of what Rosihan means by ‘more objective’ and ‘reporting with context’. Rafty’s remembers seeing British soldiers force Indonesian boys who were caught looting eat a whole bowl of sugar each. He said: “I remember one British soldier belting an Indonesian with the butt of his rifle and I went up to him and said ‘Don’t you do that again!’ I was shocked to see how they treated the young Indonesians who really had to steal food to survive.”78 John Thompson provided this example of how Australian journalists were different from other journalists at that time:
Several correspondents saw such dreadful deeds and ungovernable mobs in some parts of Java that they condemned the whole Indonesian people and reported only what was unfavourable to them. I thought these correspondents were arguing from the particular to the general, and had lost their sense of proportion.79
All accounts suggest these Australian correspondents believed that colour of one’s skin should not determine the authority or leadership, and thought the Netherlands had no right to reassert their colonial rule over the Indonesian people. Similarly, Graham Jenkins was described in the History of Reuters as “an Australian, rugged and smooth by turns. He introduced post-colonial attitudes just in time, he deliberately separated himself from the old colonial ruling circle, now in its last days.”80 Because they
75 See Herawati Diah, An Endless Journey: Reflections of an Indonesian Journalist, Equinox Publishing, 2005. 76 Herawati Diah, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 77 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview. 78 Rafty, personal interview. 79 Thompson, Hubbub in Java, p. 17. 80 Read, The Power of News, p. 236. It also states that after Indonesia, Graeme Jenkins went on to “revitalise the key Singapore office” on his appointment as Reuters manager for Southeast Asia in 1955.
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separated themselves from the ‘old colonial ruling circle’, the Australian war correspondents were described as being ‘more objective’ than correspondents from other nations, and from some of the mainstream conservative Australian press at home who were against Indonesia’s Independence.81 However, Thompson’s ‘sense of proportion’ was questioned in Australia. As a member of the Australian Communist Party since 193882, it was alleged he was not reporting all the details of the war. One commentator wrote in 1947:
Mr Thompson’s political convictions did not permit him to expend much sympathy on the plight of the tens of thousands of Dutch internees, nor on the difficulties of the British, landed with an invidious job at the conclusion of a bitter war, caught between their obligations to a wartime ally and their determination not to become involved in a colonial war.83
The criticism that Thompson failed to examine a particular side of the war due to his ‘political convictions’ questions the methods by which these journalists reported. These accounts suggest these Australian correspondents had significant compassion towards the Indonesian cause to free the archipelago from the colonial rule of the Netherlands. This is not to impugn the motives of the journalist, but rather to prove that an examination of how these journalists performed their role is important when examining their professional practice.
The Australian correspondents choose to support Indonesia’s war of Independence for a number of reasons. Firstly, it is important to state that background and previous personal experiences no doubt played a part. The war-time experience of Indonesia’s Japanese occupation helped shift Australian correspondents perspective in favour of Indonesia’s Independence. While the first Australian journalists to Indonesia were not necessarily veterans of the wartime Japanese occupation of the Dutch East Indies, they had reported war from Asia, and experienced Australians and Asians
81 See Rupert Lockwood, Black Armada, Australian Book Society, Sydney, 1975, p. 278. Tom Gurr, chief editor of the Sunday Sun, and Brigadier Errol G. Knox, chief editor of the Melbourne Argus, became the guests of the Dutch in Java on initiatives from Baron Van Aerssen and Mr Menzies. Lockwood claimed this “aimed at countering rising anti-Dutch feeling in Australia”, which worked, as “they returned to publicise the Dutch case against the Indonesian republic.” See also Torney-Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia, p. 170, where she described how editorially the conservative press maintained a constant refrain emphasising the danger of Sukarno. 82 Thompson, John Joseph Meagher (1907-1968), Australian Dictionary of Biography, online edition, www.adb.online.anu.edu.au/biogs/A160465b.htm, accessed 26 May, 2007. 83 Ian Morrison, Book Review, ‘Hubbub in Java’, Pacific Affairs, University of British Colombia, December 1947, pp. 89-90.
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sharing a common experience of fighting against the Japanese. Many Australian soldiers lost their lives in Indonesia, especially on the islands of Ambon and Timor, while fighting side-by-side with the Indonesians.84 Thompson wrote of his experience reporting WWII:
Wherever our soldiers went during the Pacific War, they treated the native peoples unusually well. I am sure there are good grounds for the generalisation that the Australian soldier, whenever he had dealings a Kanaka, a Chinese, an Indian, a Filipino, or an Indonesian, looked at him first to discover what sort of mind he had. He did not prejudge that man by the colour of his skin.85
These correspondents did hold strong beliefs before they entered Indonesia. Tony Rafty remembers reporting from Bandung when the Japanese were being over-run by Indonesian forces. A Japanese soldier complained to him that many of his soldiers were being killed. Rafty admitted, “I thought, ‘so what?’ As far as I was concerned they could kill every Japanese soldier because my brother was a POW [of the Japanese] so I wasn't concerned with how many Japs they killed.”86 Thus, background, and personal and professional experience would have led to preconceived ideas before they proceeded to ‘another war’ in Indonesia. However, there were other significant factors in determining how these war correspondents performed their role, and supported the Indonesian cause for Independence.
Certainly, any foreigner in Indonesia who was against Independence would have found life more difficult, as journalists were very popular if they supported the Indonesian war against the Dutch.87 Thompson wrote of being accosted by a local Indonesian farmer: “‘Are you on our side or are you against us?’ he said, holding his hatchet firmly. I was not prepared to give him too much satisfaction, so I told him that many Australian were sympathetic to the Indonesians. This pleased him and he transferred the hatchet to his left hand and offered his right for a handshake.”88 This example shows it would have been much easier as a correspondent to report if one was
84 See Dick Horton, Ring of Fire: Australian Guerrilla Operations against the Japanese in WWII, Secker and Walburg, 1983. 85 Thompson, Hubbub in Java, p. 95. 86 Rafty, personal interview. 87 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview. 88 Thompson, Hubbub in Java, p. 78.
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known to be sympathetic to the Indonesian cause, suggesting there is a certain pragmatism in the Australian war correspondents’ ‘sense of proportion’.
Correspondents perform their roles by using pragmatic tactics to get information from a range of sources, to be able to operate more effectively. By being supportive of the Independence movement, Australian journalists could operate more freely. British and Dutch reporters were not welcome by the Indonesian authorities, while Australian correspondents could travel with Sukarno, Hatta, and many Indonesian officials.89 The political context in Australia also would have affected these correspondents’ decision to write favourably of the Indonesian revolution. There was considerable support from Australian dockside workers for the Dutch to leave Indonesia90, and the Australian Government also supported Indonesia’s Independence as their representative at the United Nations.91
Due to the historical legacy of Australian war correspondents writing polemically on wartime issues, and by the fact that many Indonesian newspapers were also polemical, these journalists fell into a mode of reporting that seemed natural after their earlier experiences reporting war, which was to support a wartime cause. Their background and previous experiences, the political context in Australia, and practicalities, meant that they chose to support the Independence movement. By 1947, the British, and Lord Mountbatten, had made clear they were not prepared to stay in Indonesia fighting a Dutch cause92, although it was not until December 1949 that the Dutch finally agreed to hand over sovereignty to Indonesia.93 Many Australian correspondents went home, or further abroad, during this 1947-49 period. There is little evidence as to why they chose to leave at this time, but most likely it was simply because the war had ended. They were there to report on ‘another war’, and once the war for Independence had been won, they moved on. Thus, the journalistic practices of war correspondents were adopted and continued largely because of the historical framework and political context of the time.
89 Ibid. See also Russell Spurr, Let the Tiger turn tail: Spurr’s War, Mainstream Publishing, Edinburgh, 1992, p. 84. 90 See Lockwood, Black Armada, p. 278. 91 Ibid. See also Bob Catley and Vincensio Dugis, Australia-Indonesia Relations since 1945: The Garuda and the Kangaroo, Ashgate Publishing Company, 1998. 92 Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 99. 93 Ibid., p. 112.
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2.3.2. The Asia Hand: 1950-1963
Peter Hastings, Australian journalist to Asia from 1938, wrote: “While Australian newspapers published a reasonable amount of basic news on the Dutch Indonesian War, some of it front-page news, Indonesia did not attract special correspondents trying to drive home its present and future importance to Australia.”94 The role of the next generation of Australian journalists, the ‘Asia hand’, became just that - to stress the significance of Indonesia to Australians. These “special” correspondents, travellers, and feature writers performed the role of knowledge-broker, ‘discovering’ stories of Indonesia politics, life and society for Australian readers. Hastings also wrote: “It seemed to me that the Australia-Indonesia relationship lacked substance”, and so these correspondents performed their role of providing more information about the archipelago, promoting its importance to Australia’s future as part of the Asia-Pacific region.
The predominant post-war attitude of most in the Australian news business, including journalists, was that London’s Fleet Street, the publishing heartland of the British Press, was their ‘Mecca’, and many shared the view of their British colleagues that Asian countries such as Indonesia were distant nations.95 British, not Far Eastern, experience was a prerequisite for advancement in the industry, and Australian newspapers were not prepared to fund their own newsgathering beyond a small bureau in London.96 With the Menzies-inspired White Australia policy dominating the political landscape97, most news organisations post-WWII had offices only in London, Washington, and New York.98 Thus, journalists had few incentives to improve their knowledge of world affairs beyond the boundaries of Britain, Europe, and America. Although the ABC opened a Singapore bureau in 1956, this was not indicative of the rest of the Australian press – the ABC had a larger newsgathering system in Asia than
94 Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. 6. 95 Jacqui Murray, Watching the Sun Rise; Australian Reporting of Japan,1931 until the fall of Singapore, Lexington Books, 2004, p. 42. See also Alomes, When London Calls, p. 141. 96 Murray, Watching the Sun Rise, p. 42. 97 See James Jupp, From White Australia to Woomera; the story of Australian immigration, Cambridge University Press, 2002. 98 Inglis, This the ABC, p. 233.
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the whole of the Australian press put together, and in any case, Jakarta did not receive an ABC resident correspondent until 1961.99 The 1950s saw a select few roving journalists report from Indonesia, but it was difficult for these journalists to convince Australian newspaper and magazine proprietors that after WWII, Asian events, including events in Indonesia, would demand interest from the Australian public.100 Peter Hastings made one visit in August 1961, writing for The Daily Telegraph, “by dint of much nagging” of his editors.101 The first resident correspondent to Jakarta was the ABC’s “lone and lonely figure”102, Ken Henderson. Henderson recalled that Walter Hamilton, then ABC Controller of News, asked him: “Why the ABC’s first office in Jakarta, which I opened, was not operating as it would have done in Pitt Street, Sydney? The ABC, with its usual omniscience, had not thought conditions might be different.”103 Thus, those that did choose Indonesia as their posting were seen as Asia Hands; experts in reporting Asian affairs because they were the first group of correspondents to reside in Indonesia and begin to write about Indonesian society on a deeper level, regarding Australia’s relationship with its nearest neighbour of great significance, of which little had been discussed in the mainstream press at home.
The Asia Hands became known as the pioneers of Australian journalism to Indonesia. Bruce Grant described his generation as “a wandering band of freelance journalists and writers who have made foreign correspondents such a romantic calling in the past.”104 Writing for mainstream publications, their role was more as ‘roving’ correspondents throughout Southeast Asia and the Pacific, and they were more feature writers than daily news reporters. They performed this role largely by choosing their own stories, and writing lengthy feature articles over weekly periods. Indonesian citizen Viktor Laurens, who was still at school when he was hired by Henderson as the ABC driver, said: “The situation was much different during Henderson’s time, it was still the ‘good old times’.”105 Laurens recalled less demand for consistent news updates, and that
99 Ibid., p. 235. Chapter I has explained the conjecture in when the ABC opened its bureau in Jakarta and began to employ resident correspondents to Indonesia. 100 Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. 2. 101 Ibid., p. 25. 102 R.W.L. Austin, The Shadow of the Durian: Indonesia Observed, Australians in Asia Series, CSSR, 1993, p. 47. 103 Henderson, ‘Details about Auntie’, p. 159. 104 Bruce Grant, ‘Foreign Affairs and the Australian Press’, Roy Milne Memorial Lecture, Australian Institute of International Affairs, Canberra, 1969, p. 9. 105 Viktor Laurens, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006.
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the “more senior” Henderson was not particularly concerned with rushing about the streets of Jakarta to report on breaking new developments, and had little instructions from his editors in Australia.106 As a result of these accounts, the Asia Hand’s professional practice of travelling to far-away lands and roving lifestyles were often looked upon as romantic, especially by future generations caught in the grind of daily journalism.107 The Asia Hand romantic legacy and perceived exoticism of reporting Asia led many to take up the role of Indonesia correspondent in the future.108 Furthermore, during the 1960s and 1970s, Australians began to travel more to Indonesia and other Asian nations, as they saw them as more than just a stop-over on the way to Britain.109
While the Asia Hand performed the role of explaining Indonesia’s present and future importance to Australia, their reasons for performing this role varied. Each promoted their own views and analysis of why Indonesia was so important to Australia. Some emphasised tales of Indonesian places and people to broaden the knowledge of Australia’s nearest neighbour. Journalist-turned-academic Bruce Grant, and the ABC’s first Southeast Asia reporter based in Singapore, Colin Mason, understood their role as reporters to Indonesia as to “inform and enlarge” Australian knowledge of the archipelago.110 Grant argued in 1964: “There is a great deal of outside political judgment about Indonesia but very little knowledge of its politics.”111 Mason’s reporting was described as “in keeping with the establishment of long-term engagement with Asia.”112 Ken Henderson became the editor of Hemisphere, a self-proclaimed, ‘Asian-Australian Magazine’ designed to give a “broader understanding of Asian affairs to Australian readers.”113 In addition, many writers and journalists during this time
106 Ibid. 107 This will be examined in greater detail in chapter VII. 108 See former ABC correspondent in 1997, Michael Maher, ‘Vietnam: Between Deadlines’ in Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ Tales, p. 169, where he describes a road near Bukittinggi, West Sumatra: “Beyond each mountain bend another startling vista beckons, when cooling breezes waft off the rice paddy stirring palm fronds and sweeping away lingering thoughts of looming deadlines. These are the days you allow yourself a quick, self-satisfied smile and quietly marvel: ‘I can’t believe I’m getting paid to do this!'” 109 Agnieszka Sobocinska, ‘The Role of the Asia-educator in the post-war period: the case of Frank Clune’, in Vickers and Hanlon (eds.), ASAA conference proceedings, University of Wollongong, July, 2006. See also ‘Hippies blazed a trial for those far-out reaches’, The Australian, October 4, 2006. 110 See Colin Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, Norwitz Publications Inc, 1966. 111 Grant, Indonesia, 1964, p. 3 112 Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of the Australian Foreign Correspondent’, p. 13. 113 Hemisphere existed from 1957, originally published monthly through the Department of Education and Science until 1979, where it became an annual publication. It ceased publication completely in 1984.
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came not from the established mainstream news media but from the alternative press.114 They were less constrained by traditional socio-economic or political sensibilities115, but further examination of this is beyond the scope of this thesis.
Other Asia Hands emphasised Indonesia’s political future as crucial to Australia. Peter Hastings became well known for his accounts and analysis from both Indonesia and Papua New Guinea.116 A former intelligence officer, Hastings expressed the view that it was in Australia’s interest to leave both West Papua and later, East Timor as an Indonesian province.117 Denis Warner, amongst others, saw it important to drive home the potential danger of a completely communist-run Indonesian archipelago which would threaten Australia’s future.118 As the interest in Indonesian politics rose in Australia in the early 1960s, Australian news organisations began to send resident correspondents to Indonesia. Philip Koch and Tim Bowden reported for the ABC in Indonesia in 1965. Koch said, “I wanted to go to Southeast Asia because it was in our sphere of influence.”119 While Bowden wrote:
There could not have been a better time to be sent to Southeast Asia as a foreign correspondent. In 1965 the Menzies inspired fantasy that Australia was somehow linked to Britain by some kind of spiritual - and economic - umbilical cord was being replaced by a belated but timely awareness that we had better take account of where we actually lived.120
The result of the Asia Hands who performed the role of explaining the importance of Indonesian affairs was that Australians began to see political events in Indonesia as
114 Herb Feith, for example, went to Indonesia for two years in 1951, and returned again in 1954, publishing important material that led to his PhD and book, ‘The Decline of Constitutional Democracy in Indonesia’ in 1962. See also Jemma Purdey, ‘Knowing Indonesia Inside and Out: Herb Feith and the International Search for Understanding’, Life Writing, Volume 4, Issue 2, October 2007, pp. 181-195. 115 Neil Henry, American Carnival: Journalism Under Siege in the Age of New Media, University of California Press, 2007, p. 46. 116 See Hugh Lunn ‘Forward’ in Hastings, Road to Lembang, p. 1. 117 Bernadette Siely, ‘Newspaper reporting of Indonesia in the 1980s: An Historical Perspective, MA thesis, Faculty of Arts, UNSW, 1990, p. 54. See also Hastings, The Road to Lembang where Hastings describes a conversation with Dr Subandrio and General Nasution which made him change his mind over the ‘West New Guinea issue’. Hastings then outlined this to Donald Horne, then editor of The Bulletin. 118 For example, see Denis Warner, ‘The threat of a Red Indonesia’, Sydney Morning Herald, September 7, 1965, p. 3. Warner wrote in December 1961 Jakarta: ‘Will Indonesia become a Second Cuba?: “There is no reason to doubt that a Communist breakthrough in Indonesia, the largest, richest, and most populous of all Southeast Asian states, would be a tremendous victory for the Kremlin. Australia and New Zealand would be isolated.” See Denis Warner, Reporting Southeast-Asia, Angus and Robertson, 1966, and James Mossman Rebels in Paradise, Alden Press, Oxford, 1961. 119 Philip Koch, personal interview, Noosa, February, 2007. Sobocinska is writing a PhD at the University of Sydney entitled, ‘Australian travel to Asia: 1939-2005’. 120 Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, p. 174.
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central to Australia’s future. By 1965, this increase in importance in covering Indonesian affairs meant that the wandering band of freelance writers and journalists was replaced by a significant number of professional Australian resident correspondents who became a dominant presence in the foreign press corps of Jakarta.
2.3.3. The Young Professional: 1965-1975
The legacy of the Asia Hands and the increasingly volatile political events contributed to greater interest in Asian affairs. The atmosphere of Indonesia was perceived to be exciting, stimulating and ideal for the launching of a career as a foreign correspondent; it was overseas experience and there was growing Australian public interest in Indonesia due to the Cold War climate.121 ‘Confrontation’ in 1963 saw an increased readership in Australia-Indonesia relations122, and the prospect of a posting to Asia during the height of the Cold War helped recruit journalists, especially to the recently established ABC Jakarta bureau.123 Peter Barnett, who had experience on the West Australian, joined the ABC at Singapore in 1961, at first part-time and then in a full- time job for which he applied on the spot.124 Philip Koch, who had trained on the Hobart Mercury, decided while working for Reuters in London that he wanted to try broadcasting in Asia; and after three years with the ABC News he achieved that ambition at the age of 29.125 It is this group that is mostly captured in the literary imagination of Australian foreign correspondents to Asia126 - the young Australian adventurer thrust into a momentous period in modern Indonesian history.
This category differed from the Asia Hand. They were not a ‘wandering band of freelance writers’ exploring the archipelago. They were employed as resident Jakarta
121 Karim Najjarine and Drew Cottle, ‘The Department of External Affairs, the ABC and the reporting of the Indonesian Crisis of 1965-9’, Australian Journal of Politics and History, volume 49, issue 1, 2003, pp. 48-60. 122 Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. 6. See also Hilman Adil, Australia’s Policy Towards Indonesia During Confrontation, 1962-1966, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 1977, for an account of the Australian mainstream media’s response to Confrontation with Indonesia on the Malaysian border of Borneo. Much of the press supported the Menzies Government stance of unequivocal support for Malaysia, as Australians perceived Indonesia’s actions as a threat to their own security interests. 123 Inglis, This is the ABC, p. 121. 124 See Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 142. 125 Inglis, This is the ABC, p. 124. 126 In particular Christopher Koch’s novels, The Year of Living Dangerously, Sphere Books, Melbourne, 1982, and Highways to a War, Minerva, 1996.
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correspondents who were to report on the daily political life revolving around the Merdeka Palace. The recruits were mostly young males who saw their role as one of great responsibility and privilege, and wanted to perform the role of qualified, professional reporter. Despite their initial inexperience, many of the Australian journalists soon became accustomed to life as a professional correspondent. “I didn’t like it for the first year because I was out of my depth and was struggling, but afterwards I came to love it,” said Mike Carlton, who also formed a rock band with some Indonesian friends and fellow correspondents. There was a certain amount of status to their position. Carlton recalled: “I was young, unmarried, lived in a handsome bungalow with servants, and had my shirts washed and ironed.”127 Peter Barnett was known even by President Sukarno as ‘Mr ABC’, a title Barnett took great pleasure in retelling in his autobiography.128 However, due largely to their youth, inexperience, and perhaps fear of living in the shadow of their experienced predecessors, this group was nervous about whether they would succeed in their role as professional qualified foreign correspondent. Frank Palmos, who bought his own ticket to Indonesia on the advice of Indonesianists Peter Russo and Jamie Mackie, recalled “being quite naive” as he began to report from Jakarta in 1961.129 Mike Carlton said: “It was all terribly exciting and glamorous [but] I was nervous about the job I was taking on.”130 They placed importance on impressing their news organisations as qualified, professional foreign correspondents. They wanted to reward their organisations for taking a chance by sending them so young, and aimed to further their career. While it was the energy and inquisitiveness of youth that took them to Jakarta, their inexperience made them question whether they performed their task of reporting Indonesia to Australia adequately.
Despite his nerves, Carlton said his role was clear, and that all correspondents “knew what the job was – to report on the politics and economics and occasionally social structure of the country.”131 The ABC maintained its office only a few streets
127 Carlton, personal interview. 128 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 112. 129 Palmos, personal interview. Dr Peter Russo was working with the Melbourne Argus and the ABC in 1960-1. According to Palmos, Russo tried to convince powers in the news business to invest in young people to learn Asian languages and send them as correspondents to Asia. See also Murray, Watching the Sun Rise for a greater account of Russo’s reporting from Japan. Jamie Mackie was Palmos’ lecturer in Indonesian studies. 130 Carlton, personal interview. 131 Ibid.
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away from the Palace itself, while many other correspondents resided in the famous Hotel Indonesia, not far from the Palace and Merdeka Square. Philip Koch said that “anything that ever happened of interest as a Western correspondent revolved around the Merdeka Palace.”132 As resident correspondents operating out of a bureau in Jakarta, their role was both more refined and restricted than the Asia Hands, as these journalists saw their role to report the politics of Jakarta and the leadership struggle between Sukarno and Suharto.
Once again, the historical events and political context influenced this role. This was a fevered ideological climate, when it was thought a global struggle with Communism would determine the course of history for decades, possibly centuries.133 News organisations stressed the importance of performing the role of political reporter from Jakarta, with stories largely about the leadership around the Palace. As Koch said: “The big interest was the strength of the PKI, and the movement to what was now a Peking-Jakarta axis, and the inflation shambles while Sukarno did his Confrontation with Malaysia.”134 Bruce Grant reflected on his earlier reporting in the early 1960s: “No matter how sensitive you tried to be towards the new nations of the developing world, you saw it as your duty, and perhaps even your right, to keep in mind the big story, which was the strategic and intellectual clash between two global centres of power.”135 Kate Webb stated that her interest in Indonesia was the political story of “the emergence from the colonial system, not just British and Dutch, but from the Japanese. Then you had the Cold War.”136 This political context meant reporters saw the struggle for leadership in Jakarta in the context of the Cold War as their key role in reporting the news from Indonesia to Australians.
Correspondents of this era believed that despite their youth and inexperience, and despite the chaos building around them, that if they could report the movements of the Palace leadership accurately, they would, in their own eyes and in the eyes of the news organizations, have performed the role of professional foreign correspondent. In most instances, the correspondents preformed this role with great success. Australian
132 Koch, personal interview. 133 Brian May, The Indonesian Tragedy, Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1978, p. 103. 134 Koch, personal interview. 135 Bruce Grant, Indonesia, Melbourne University Press, second edition, 1994, p. 3. 136 Webb, Verbatim interview.
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journalist’s coverage of Indonesian affairs during the mid-1960s was well received by news organizations at home and abroad. Palmos claimed to have written fifteen stories a day from Jakarta once American and British journalists were expelled by Sukarno, to cover for the demands from other world agencies.137 Philip Koch’s reporting in 1965 was described in an ABC cable as “outclass[ing] all agencies all other sources”.138 Later that year, the Suharto government, which had replaced Sukarno, chose an interview with Koch as the occasion to signal the end of Confrontation, which was seen as “an important scoop for the Koch and the ABC.”139 However, as will be examined in greater detail in Chapter VI, the correspondent’s focus on the leadership struggle between Sukarno and Suharto narrowed their focus to events inside Jakarta, which led to limited reports of the Indonesian killings of 1965-66. The focus on the politics of the capital rather than stories of ordinary Indonesians dominated the way these journalists operated, and many saw the key stories as those which emphasised Indonesia’s transformation from the anti-Western rhetoric of Sukarno, to the anti-communist military leader, Major-General Suharto.
2.3.4. The Outsiders: The legacy of the Balibo Five
The 1970s was a time when “advocacy journalism” became more common in Australian reporting of Asia.140 This was especially the case with television’s preference for the straightforward story emphasising the view from one side, as the medium had little room for qualification. Many journalists of the 1970s saw journalism of the previous era as having harmful consequences for both journalism and the nation, in the form of shallow analysis and political irresponsibility.141 These journalists became increasingly critical of Government policy on the Vietnam War and the previously ‘secret’ bombings of Cambodia, which were seen as the hidden Cold War agendas of Western Governments that needed to be exposed.142 Julianne Schultze described this as a
137 Palmos, personal interview. 138 Inglis, This is the ABC, p. 264. 139 Ibid. 140 Alomes, When London Calls, p. 212. 141 Richard H. Reeb Jnr, Taking Journalism Seriously; ‘Objectivity’ as a Partisan Cause, University Press America Inc. 1999, p. 314. 142 See Knightley, The First Casualty, pp. 224-5. See also Patricia Payne, War and words; The Australian Press and the Vietnam War, Carlton, Victoria, Melbourne University Press, 2007.
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‘reviving’ of the concept of the media as a Fourth Estate143, where journalists act as ‘watchdogs’ over politicians.144 In particular, the political situation in East Timor from 1975 became a common subject for Australian journalists challenging government agendas.
To their politically conservative critics, these journalists were more concerned with appealing to the heartstrings than with the facts. John Pilger, for example, became known as a ‘crusading journalist’, while Wilfred Burchett was described as ‘public enemy number one’.145 But Pilger enjoyed being considered an outsider, one that performs the role of journalist by being “outside the establishment”.146 Pilger looked upon Wilfred Burchett as someone who “epitomised the integrity and courage of the outsider. He could easily have slipped into the role of successful and respected media worker, but chose a life which brought him much pain and anguish.”147 Journalists who performed the role of outsiders emphasised “an idealistic commitment to justice and sympathy for the underdog.”148 Not all those reporting East Timor were strict followers of advocacy journalism along the Burchett or Pilger lines, but many foreign correspondents in the 1970s performed the role of journalist as outsider, situating themselves outside the establishment by exposing government hidden agendas. For many, being cast as an outsider meant they were getting closer to the ‘truth’.
As Chapter I stated, one of the most significant historical events in Australian- Indonesia media relations is the death of the ‘Balibo Five’.149 Before travelling to East Timor, only two of these journalists had limited experience in war reporting.150 None had been to Indonesia or East Timor before. Former Indonesia correspondent Frank Palmos, a veteran by 1975, remembers pointing out the island of Timor on a map to one
143 See Julianne Schultze, Reviving the Fourth Estate; Democracy, Accountability and the Media, Cambridge University Press, 1998. 144 Eric Louw, The Media and the Political Process, Sage Publications, 2005, p. 29. 145 John Pilger, A Secret Country, London, Cape, 1989, p. 5, and David Bradbury and Stewart Young film, Public Enemy Number One; A biography of Wilfred Burchett, Ronin Films, 1980. 146 John Pilger and Michael Coren, The Outsiders. London, Quartet, 1985, pp. 9-10. 147 Ibid., pp. 9-10. 148 Alomes, When London Calls, p. 213. 149 The ‘Balibo Five’ consisted of two Australians, Greg Shackleton (reporter) and Tony Stewart (sound recordist), New Zealander Gary Cunningham (cameraman) working for Channel 7, and two Britons, Malcolm Rennie (reporter) and Brian Peters (cameraman) working for Channel 9. All were aged in their 20’s, with Stewart the youngest at 21. A sixth journalist, Roger East, a freelance journalist working for AAP, was killed in Dili on December 8, 1975. 150 Knightley, The First Casualty, p. 474.
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of the five before they left.151 As the Australian weekly newspaper, the National Times, was later to report, “they went straight from chasing fire engines in Australia to irregular warfare in Timor.”152 They were not the first group of Australian reporters to do this. The popularity for performing the role of truth-seeker on East Timor is exemplified in Kerry Packer’s response after being asked to fund boat for a news story (disguised as a mission) to expose the ‘truth’ behind what was occurring in East Timor. Packer agreed, but insisted he come along. The boat set sail from Darwin on 26 August, 1975, returning a few days later with a significant amount of footage and approximately 200 refugees.153 The ‘Balibo Five’ went to East Timor and performed the role of truth- seekers and advocacy journalists through a number of reports from East Timor. Greg Shackleton’s (Channel 7) final report is transcribed here:
Something happened here last night that moved us very deeply. It was so far outside our experience as Australians, that we’ll find it very difficult to convey to you, but we’ll try. Sitting on woven mats under a thatched roof, in a hut with no walls, we were the target of a barrage of questioning from men who know they may die tomorrow, but cannot understand why the rest of the world does not care. That’s all they want – for the United Nations to care about what is happening here. The emotion here last night was so strong that we felt we should be able to reach out into the warm night air, and touch it. Greg Shackleton, in an unnamed village in which we’ll remember forever, in Portuguese Timor.154
The next day, October 16, 1975, the five Australian-based newsmen were killed by Indonesian soldiers in the town called Balibo. In December, 1975, another Australian correspondent, Roger East, who had gone to East Timor to investigate the deaths of the other five, was, according to an eyewitness, seized by Indonesian soldiers, bound, and then shot by a firing squad.155 Philip Knightley argued that this meant “for journalists, Balibo’s significance in 1975 was that it marked what must have seemed like open season for killing war correspondents.”156 The deaths of the journalists certainly brought
151 Palmos, personal interview. See also Hendro Subroto, ‘Five Australian Journalists Killed in Balibo’ in Eyewitness to Integration of East Timor, Pustaka Sinar Harapan, Jakarta, 1997, p. 93. 152 Knightley, The First Casualty, p. 474. 153 Paul Barry, The Rise and Rise of Kerry Packer, Bantam, ABC Books, 1993, pp. 162-166. 154 Extract was recorded in Manufacturing Consent: Noam Chomsky and the Media, Zeitgeist Films, Montreal, National Film Board of Canada, 1992. 155 Tom Sherman, ‘First Report on the Death of the Australian-based journalists in East Timor in 1975’, Australian Government, 1996. 156 Knightley, The First Casualty, p. 474.
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the events home to the Australian audience at the time157, and they received more attention than the estimated 125,000 East Timorese deaths showing the importance the world placed on Western lives, and Australian journalists in particular.158 The image of Shackleton, standing with a microphone in front of the house in Balibo with the drawing of the Australian flag is an image that still resonates in the consciousness of the Australian public.159 With the events soon to be portrayed in the feature film Balibo, written by David Williamson, there is sure to be greater public consciousness of the event.160 An Australian Government commissioned enquiry was compiled by the former chairman of the National Crime Authority, Mr Tom Sherman, in 1995-96. The report concluded that the five journalists were killed in battle, and not deliberately executed.161 The ability of the Australian press to keep the issue going was shown when a second report was requested after an ABC Foreign Correspondent program in 1998, in which the Foreign Minister, Alexander Downer, stated he was “concerned by the claims made on the program”, and “in view of the long-standing public interest in this matter and this apparently new information” he appointed Sherman to submit a second report in 1998- 99.162 The second report concluded along similar lines to his first.163 However, the most recent finding in 2007 from the NSW Coroners Court inquest into the death of Brian
157 Damien Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism in Indonesia 1975-1991, Australia-Asia Papers No. 80, Centre for Australia-Asia Relations, 1997, p. 116. 158 Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 167. 159 Desmond Ball and Hamish McDonald, Death In Balibo, Lies in Canberra, Blood on whose hands? Allen and Unwin, 2000, p. xi. 160 AAP, ‘LaPaglia expects controversy over Balibo film’, SMH, 6 December, 2007, p. 14. 161 The report concluded that the five journalists were killed in a battle, rather than summarily executed, at Balibo, early in the morning October 16, by members of an attacking force under Indonesian officers consisting of Indonesian irregular troops and anti-Fretilin East Timorese. However, the first report stated that “after they were killed some of the bodies of the journalists were dressed up in military clothes and photographed beside captured machine guns. All bodies appear to have been burnt later in the day.” 162 Statement by the Hon. Alexander Downer, MP, House of Representatives, 16 February, 1999. See www.foreignminister.gov.au/releases/1999/fa015_99_statement.html. Accessed 15 Nov, 2006. See also, ‘Balibo Five’ Foreign Correspondent, ABC Television, 20 October 1998. The ABC reporter, Jill Jolliffe, interviewed a witness who stated “I’m telling you because I trust you. I didn’t tell this to him [Sherman] because I didn’t trust him.” The witness went to say, “He [Sherman] can say I’m a crook, that I’m a liar, that’s his mission, isn’t that so? Wasn’t that his mission?” In the first report, Sherman used this witness to conclude the Balibo Five were killed in a battle. The same witness said to Joliffe: “I only know what I saw, and I know that when I entered there was no battle any more. I saw a shot here, and a shot there – hidden (sniper?) shots, see? Battle, resistance, was over.” 163 Sherman concluded along similar lines to his first report, arguing that the soldiers mindset (and during sniper fire) at the time when the journalists were killed would still have been one of battle. He concluded in section 8.3. of the report: “The information available on the Balibo killings is quite inconsistent, particularly as to circumstances of death.” 8.9., he states: “I don’t believe that further eye-witness accounts will necessarily cast clearer light on this matter.” Tom Sherman, ‘Second Report on the deaths of the Australian based journalists in East Timor in 1975’, Australian Government Report, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Canberra, 1999.
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Peters concluded that the journalists were indeed killed deliberately by Indonesian Special Forces, and not, as the Sherman report concluded, in the heat of battle. The Coroner found the Indonesian Special Forces killed them to prevent them from revealing their participation in the area, and that war crimes may have been committed.164 Despite the historic finding, the Indonesians responsible have yet to face trial, and as one news reports at the time of the verdict stated, “the issue may never be laid to rest.”165
In this period when correspondents increasingly performed the role of watchdog over Government policy, the Balibo deaths were a story of Government deceit, denial, and cover-up. Australian journalists who were in Indonesia in 1975 believe much of the available evidence points to the premeditated killings of the journalists in Balibo.166 Philip Koch, who was Head of Radio Australia at the time, said: “There is an attitude from Australian journalists that the Balibo Five were simply doing their job and were eliminated. Malcolm Rennie had been subbing on our desk, so you can imagine what the sub-editors were feeling.”167
The extraordinary lengths to which some journalists pursued the details of the deaths of their colleagues exemplify the journalist as ‘truth-seeker’. David Jenkins continued to write a number of articles about the apparent Balibo Five ‘cover up’.168 Hamish McDonald made extensive investigations soon after the deaths, resulting in a lengthy article in The National Times newspaper in July, 1979169, and sections of his book Suharto’s Indonesia in 1980.170 He co-authored a book entitled Death in Balibo, Lies in Canberra: Blood on Whose Hands?, and wrote further investigative reports in the Herald in 1998 outlining the ‘cover up’ in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade about Balibo since 1975.171 He was also actively involved in the NSW Coroner’s
164 Cr Dorrelle Pinch, ‘Inquest into the death of Brian Raymond Peters’, Court Findings and Recommendations, NSW Coroner’s Court, LawlinkNSW, 2007, pp. 1-132. 165 Simon Palan, ‘Coroner finds Balibo Five were deliberately killed’ Lateline, ABC, 16 November, 2007. 166 Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism in Indonesia, p. 116. 167 Koch, personal interview. 168 See David Jenkins, ‘Timor killings claim set to strain Jakarta links, The Age, 14 October, 1995, p. 2 and ‘What really happened’, The Age, 14 October 1995 pp.19, 24, and David Jenkins, ‘The Five Ghosts of Balibo Rise Once More to haunt Indonesia – and Us’ SMH, 15 October 1995. 169 Hamish McDonald ‘Death in Balibo’, The National Times, 7 July, 1979. 170 Hamish McDonald, Suharto’s Indonesia, Fontana, Collins, 1980. 171 Hamish McDonald, ‘Revealed: How the Balibo murders were covered up’ Sydney Morning Herald, 24 August 1998.
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Court inquest in 2007, both reporting for the Herald and occasionally assisting lawyers in their enquiries.172 Jill Jolliffe was also regularly present at this case. Like McDonald and Jenkins, the Balibo Five were her colleagues. She began her career as a Reuters journalist in 1975. “My own baptism of fire as a journalist occurred only a few kilometres from Balibo not long before they died, and I had slept in the house in which they were killed,” she wrote.173 Her intentions for her continual efforts in seeking the truth are clear in her book Cover up: The Inside Story of the Balibo Five:
I felt certain that if I had died in Balibo instead of them, my last thoughts would have centered on the hope that somebody would eventually get the story out, and my colleagues would do everything possible to uncover the truth. The death of the five marked me personally, and led to a determination that whoever was responsible for their killings would not go unpunished, no matter how long it took.174
Jolliffe concedes there is a “personal reason and a political reason” to her motives.175 The personal reason for Jolliffe’s pursuit to find ‘the truth’ was her own conviction that if it happened to her, she would want someone to follow the story up. A further reason is that Jolliffe, like many of her colleagues at the time, understood their professional role as ‘truth-seeker’. The Balibo Five story became synonymous with Indonesian atrocities in East Timor, and the Australian Government’s compliance in the invasion, and has been continuously emphasised by supporters of East Timor’s independence ever since.176
The Indonesian occupation of East Timor and its effect on media relations will be examined in greater detail in later chapters of this thesis. The events of the 1970s saw a number of foreign correspondents to Asia who made a name for themselves by reporting against Government policy, performing the role of watchdog and truth-seeker which positioned them outside the establishment. The brutal occupation and aggression shown by the Indonesian troops invading East Timor, and the Australian Government's cover-up, meant East Timor was a perfect case where journalists sought out evidence of
172 I attended a number court sessions at the NSW coroner’s court in Glebe, Sydney, for the inquest into the death of Brian Peters. 173 Jill Jolliffe, Cover up: The Inside Story of the Balibo Five, Scribe Publications, Melbourne, 2001, p. 4. 174 Ibid., p. 5. 175 Ibid. 176 John G. Taylor, Indonesia’s Forgotten War: The Hidden History of East Timor, Pluto Press, 1991.
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the occupation and attempted to expose Government deceit and denials. The deaths of their colleagues on 16 October, 1975, meant journalists of this era saw it as a personal goal to find out what happened on that day, and any further atrocities by the Indonesian military in East Timor, were reported with vigorous determination. The result of performing the role of outsider saw many Australian journalists literally become not only outside the establishment, but persona non-grata and expelled from Indonesia.177 By 1981, Australian journalists were so much a group of ‘outsiders’, that not one resident Australian correspondent was allowed to operate from Indonesia, a far cry from the period in the 1950s when Australian journalists were widely respected in Indonesia.178
2.3.5. The Insider: The Jenkins Affair
The previous group of Indonesian journalists performed the role of outsider, which led them to be expelled from Indonesia. From 1974, the New Order Government became increasingly unwilling to allow foreign journalists regular access to high-ranking political figures.179 The speculation on whether Suharto, by then in his 60s, would appoint a successor, led to a desire for information about the political leadership of the New Order.180 Instead of becoming outsiders, Australian journalists aimed to become part of the inner circle of Jakarta politics and gain access to knowledge of backroom dealing and closed-door decisions. Thus, the mid-1980s saw the Australian journalist perform the role of ‘insider’ – intent on making personal connections and contacts with Indonesian politicians and policy makers. Leigh Mackay, the first Australian journalist to be allowed into Indonesia after the previous group of outsiders were expelled, described his professional practice: “This was a conflict a lot of correspondents come across: Are you going there to report or to educate your readership? If the reader is to
177 Warwick Beutler and Peter Rodgers were expelled in 1981. Their story of expulsion will be explained in greater detail in Chapter V ‘Indonesian Government Influences’. 178 It took nearly five years for the Indonesia Government to allow resident Australian correspondents back into Jakarta, and this was initially only the AAP’s Leigh Mackay and AFR’s Michael Byrnes. They were only allowed in on the condition they renewed their visa every six months. This will be explained in greater detail in chapters IV and V. 179 See Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 38. See also Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, for details of New Order controls over the press, both foreign and domestic. This will also be examined further in chapter III and IV. 180 See Bob Elson, Suharto: A Political Biography, Cambridge University Press, 2001.
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really understand a set of events, you have to have enough background.”181 Thus performing the role of insider meant obtaining background and knowledge of Indonesian politics with greater understanding through personal connections with elite officials. However, as this section will show, the historical event of the 1986 Jenkins Affair led to additional diplomatic feuds, as Indonesian officials were not prepared to accept that the Insider should write negatively of the sanctum into which they were personally welcomed.
By the mid-1980s, David Jenkins was considered one of the most experienced and best informed journalists specialising in Indonesian affairs, having begun reporting from Indonesia in 1967.182 Jenkins had seen a number of professional journalistic identities since he began reporting, and as the chameleon profession of journalism took various forms, Jenkins was astute enough to mould his professional identity according to the historical events and political scope of the period. By 1986, Jenkins saw himself as having a reputation of being “too Javanese”.183 That is, he had a diplomatic politeness about him, and would not always come straight to the heart of the issue, but he claimed, “I was rather proud of that – that’s how I got my point across.”184 This reputation, and the fact he was considered very active in meeting people and establishing friendships with Indonesians, saw him become the leading Insider Australian journalist of this time. He had an important working relationship with Major- General Benny Murdani, who was at one stage said to be the heir to Suharto’s throne, and a key player in New Order politics at the time.185 Such was Jenkins connections that he managed to write Suharto and his Generals; Indonesian military politics 1975-1983, published in 1984, an important work in informing readers on the nature of New Order military rule. Jenkins also recalled Suharto’s wife, Madame Tien, giving him a wedding present. As Insider, a journalist could get too close to the sources they are trying to develop relations with. Jenkins said:
Do you say to the first lady: ‘Sorry, our ethics prevent me from taking this present?’ These days it’s pretty clear you would. In those days there were no rules, and this kindly old lady gives you
181 Leigh Mackay, personal interview, Sydney, July, 2006. 182 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 154. 183 Jenkins, personal interview. 184 Ibid. 185 See Harold Crouch The Army and Politics in Indonesia, New York, Cornell University Press, 1974, and David Jenkins, Suharto and his Generals; Indonesian Military Politics 1975-1983, Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1984.
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a present, and a photographer comes out and takes a picture. I don't think for a moment they were trying to compromise me. I thought it was a kindly old-aunt thing to do.186
On April 10, 1986, Jenkins wrote an article in the Sydney Morning Herald about corruption in Indonesian President Suharto’s first family. In the article, he compared Suharto’s fortune with recently ousted and corrupt Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos, and used the popular Indonesian saying, ‘Madame ten percent’ to describe Ibu Tien, Suharto’s wife. The article was placed on the front page of the Herald and entitled, ‘After Marcos, now for the Suharto Billions’.187 The reaction in Indonesia to Jenkins’ article depended on which side of politics you were on. In terms of bilateral relations, the results of this publication were disastrous. A plane load of Australian tourists bound for Bali were sent home, a RAAF Hercules was unable to land in Eastern Indonesia, and a complete ban was placed on all Australian journalists, meaning they were no longer permitted to report from Indonesia.188 Relations between the two countries were so soured that the event became known as ‘The Jenkins Affair’, and is one the most famous cases in Australia-Indonesia media relations. As a result the Indonesian Government saw to it that all Australian journalists and media organisations were banned from Indonesia.
Outside of diplomatic circles, there were Indonesians who liked the article. Many Indonesian students of younger generation and political dissidents saw this article as a brave act of defiance, as it declared what everyone knew in Indonesia, but could not openly say. Leigh Mackay recalls a number of young Indonesians coming into his AAP office requesting a copy of the article, genuinely excited in seeing the details openly in print.189 Andreas Harsono, who worked for The West Australian, said his earliest memory of Australian journalism was reading the ‘Suharto billions’ story with fellow students at university. “We all thought it was positive. He was daring to challenge
186 Jenkins, personal interview. 187 David Jenkins, ‘After Marcos, now for the Suharto billions’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 April, 1986, p. 1. The role of the sub-editor in this story is unexamined here, as it is beyond the scope of this thesis. However, Jenkins was unimpressed with the headline and surprised the story was placed on the front- page, which of course, added to the story creating such a stir. Jenkins, personal interview. See also Bernadette Siely, ‘Newspaper Reporting of Indonesia in the 1980’s: An Historical Perspective’, MA thesis, Faculty of Arts, UNSW, 1990. 188 For details see Bob Catley and Vincensio Dugis, Australia-Indonesia Relations since 1945: The Garuda and the Kangaroo, pp. 162-64., and Richard Robison, ‘Explaining Indonesia’s response to the Jenkins article: Implications for Australia-Indonesia relations’, Australian Outlook, Volume 3, 1986. See also Elson, Suharto, p. 241, and Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism, pp. 92-99. 189 Leigh Mackay, personal interview.
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Suharto. For me it was not rude, it was true,” Harsono said.190 It has been argued that the Australian journalist became identified as a hero and professional champion to a number of young Indonesian journalists as a result of this story.191 The publication of the article did give the issue of Suharto’s corruption an international audience, not because of the worldwide readership of the Herald, but because of Indonesia's strident reactions to the article. The issue resurfaced later that year when two Washington-based Australian journalists were banned from entering Indonesia with US President Ronald Reagan. Instead of being good publicity for Indonesia, Reagan's visit became a public relations disaster and led to other journalists from some of the world’s leading news agencies continuing the story of Suharto’s corruption and heavy-handed approach to the media.192
There were articles in other foreign press publications that had previously criticised Suharto’s corruption and nepotism, but Jenkins had become the leading Insider Australian journalist and his criticism was seen as a personal attack, or betrayal of his friends and contacts.193 Bhimanto, who worked for Agence France Press at the time, said:
A lot of people have been saying what Jenkins had been saying, but the fact that it was said by someone who had been trusted by Suharto, that made all the difference. David Jenkins had been allowed into the inner circle, he’s had quite good access and is quite intelligent too. It’s not so much what he said but that he had said it. You could have read that in other articles long before.194
Jenkins was told by a number of Indonesians, ‘If George Negus had written it, no one would have cared.’195 At the time, Negus was probably the most famous Australian foreign correspondent, but Negus had little personal affiliation with Indonesia, while Jenkins had a long history and friendship with many Indonesians. Journalist Zamira
190 Andreas Harsono, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 191 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 154. 192 Damien Kingsbury, The Politics of Indonesia, Oxford University Press, Volume 3, 2005, p. 103. 193 See Elson, Suharto, p. 241. See David Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes Towards the Domestic and Foreign Media’, Australian Outlook, Volume 3, 1986, pp. 158-60, where Jenkins argues the London Times and New York Times and Washington Post had previously written similar articles detailing Suharto’s corrupt polices and even compared him with and other corrupt authoritarian rulers. See Robison, ‘Explaining Indonesia’s Response to the Jenkins’ Article’, p. 135. Robison mentions the Asian Wall Street Journal and Paul Handley’s article in the Far Eastern Economic Review, 194 Bhimanto, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 195 Jenkins, personal interview.
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Loebis, who lost her job with Australian Financial Review because of the Jenkins Affair, said that “Indonesians saw it as an attack on the country rather than the government.”196 Jenkins’ colleagues told him that Benny Murdani’s response was that he was “white with rage - and I believe it”, Jenkins said.197 The article stuck in Murdani’s mind for many years. At a function in 1994, The Australian columnist Greg Sheridan was confronted by Murdani. “Is this the man from Herald?” Murdani asked a colleague, pointing to Sheridan. Sheridan wrote, “On being assured that I was not from that publication, Murdani was gradually placated.”198 Herald correspondent Matthew Moore said even during his posting in 2001 Indonesians would recall the Jenkins Affair and that “they still know, they still talk about it. People would ask you ‘Who do you write for?’ You would say ‘The Herald’ and they would say, ‘David Jenkins, David Jenkins’.199 Indonesians believed after nearly twenty years of reporting Indonesia, Jenkins should have known that some of the content in this article, especially the term ‘Madame ten percent’, was disrespectful. Jenkins admitted in 2005: “I accept that it was my fault for not trying to stop [the article from being overblown]. I think it could’ve been done better - I had all this experience in Indonesia.”200
Despite widespread diplomatic reactions, the reason Indonesians were shocked by the article was because its author was performing the role of insider, someone who at the very least should be respectful of Indonesian elders and authority, even if the corruption and nepotism that Jenkins wrote about was widely known in Indonesia. Jenkins had written critical articles of the New Order regime before, but the ‘Suharto billions’ article was considered an “aberration”. 201 Due to the personal nature of Insider journalism, the incident became widely known as the ‘Jenkins Affair’ and not, for example, ‘the Sydney Morning Herald Affair’ or the ‘Australian Media Affair’. After the article was published, Jenkins remembers receiving a number of “rather nasty letters”; someone even sent him a t-shirt with ‘David Jenkins is a wanker’ printed on the front. “It was a disaster, it was awful, it was a really bad time, my colleagues were being thrown out”, he said.202 He also recalled how Indonesian friends expressed
196 Zamira Loebis, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 197 Jenkins, personal interview. 198 Greg Sheridan, Tigers: New Leaders of the Asia Pacific, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1997, p. 107. 199 Matthew Moore, personal interview, Sydney, June 2006. 200 Jenkins, personal interview. 201 Ibid. 202 Ibid.
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disappointment in him: “They would say ‘We knew who you were, we thought you were somebody who would understand where we are coming from.’”203
The Jenkins Affair highlighted the problems of journalist as insider. While journalists aspired to be part of the inner sanctum of Jakarta politics, there were problems if they drew back the curtain further than the establishment wished. The 1980s showed that for Australian journalists, it did not matter whether they performed the role of Outsider or Insider, articles considered overly critical of Suharto’s corruption and nepotism, or military brutality, would result in immediate expulsion. As later chapters will show, this pleased neither the news organizations nor the respective Governments of Australia and Indonesia. Thus, Australian journalists were forced to adapt, and mould their professional practice once more.
2.3.6. The Contemporary Correspondent: The Competitor
By 1990, Australian correspondents in Indonesia reflected the growing trends of Australian journalists at home. Journalists came to Indonesia with greater reporting experience, were older than the 1960s generation, and their education levels increased, suggesting a greater commitment to careers in journalism.204 Women remain a minority in journalism both in Australia and as Indonesia correspondents, but the numbers of women pursuing a career in journalism had increased considerably.205 By the 1990s, Australian media coverage of Asia generally, and Indonesia in particular, greatly expanded, and its range and expertise improved.206 The exception to this would be Radio Australia, which radically decreased its broadcasting service.207 Australian journalists aspired to report from Jakarta, which was now a highly sought-after and competitive posting. Major news organisations wanted regular correspondents in Jakarta, and many journalists knew a posting to Indonesia would mean a front-page by- line. Matthew Moore explained: “Correspondent’s jobs are sought after. I wanted to go
203 Ibid. 204 John Henningham, ‘Australian Journalists’, in D. Weaver (ed.), The Global Journalist: News People Around the World, Hampton Press Inc., 1998, p. 105. 205 Ibid. 206 Alison Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in Both our Shoes: East Timor and the Media, 1999’, Australian Journalism Review, Volume 21, Issue 3, 1999, p. 2. 207 See Errol Hodge, Truth, Propaganda and the Struggle for Radio Australia, Cambridge University Press, 1995.
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to Indonesia because it was interesting journalistically. I had limited interest in Indonesia.”208 Terrorist activity and natural disasters meant Indonesia was regarded as a volatile posting. Peter Lloyd, who reported on the first Bali bombings, admitted: “To be perfectly frank, journalists despise normality. Good is bad. Quiet is boring. Your up is our down. Generally speaking, the worse it is for you, the better for us. It makes for good copy.”209 Australian correspondents have usually seen an overseas posting as good career advancement, but certainly, the Indonesia posting is now more sought after than previous years, and the journalists selected are more experienced. Acquiring the role of Indonesia correspondent carries with it a significant pressure to perform, as the competition seeking out the posting is much greater.
Partly because of the Internet, the roles performed by journalists and other writers became more diverse. Journalists have also become authors and filmmakers; academics write as journalists and internet communicators; cartoonists and photographers become quasi-journalists; politicians comment as authors, and military people engage in diplomacy and journalism.210 Contemporary correspondents face greater competition for readers’ and audiences’ attention in Australia. Douglas Kellner has argued: “As technocapitalism moves into a new information-entertainment society, mergers between the media giants are proliferating, competition is intensifying, and the media are generating spectacles to attract audiences.”211 The improvements in media technologies will be examined in greater detail in Chapter VII, but the intense competition has led to a different type of correspondent sent to Indonesia – the parachute journalist.
An increasing number of Australian journalists who report from Indonesia are not necessarily resident correspondents or even from nearby Asia bureaus. Journalists can be ‘parachuted’ in from Australia to cover a breaking story, and flown out again once events die down. This type of reporting reinforces a pack mentality whereby correspondents tend to stick together due to comfort and fear of being ‘out-scooped’, yet compete with one another to find the most dramatic angle on the story.212 Generalist
208 Moore, personal interview. 209 Lloyd, ‘Two Weeks in Bali’, p. 211. 210 Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in Both our Shoes’, p. 2. See also John Street, Mass Media, Politics and Democracy, Palgrave, 2001, p. 263. 211 Douglas Kellner, ‘Megaspectacle: The O.J. Simpson murder trial’, in Kellner (ed.), Media Spectacle, Routledge, London, New York, 1983, p. 93. 212 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, pp. 11-12.
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journalists are seen to be able to perform this role but seldom are left in Indonesia long enough to develop the background and adequate knowledge of Indonesian life. 213 This was exemplified by the courtroom dramas in Bali from 2000, where all Australian news media reported on court trials in Bali involving Schapelle Corby, Michelle Leslie, the convicted 2002 ‘Bali bombers’ and the ‘Bali Nine’.214 Matthew Moore (Fairfax) said, “The big change in my time was that the story became a police rounds story with Schapelle and the Bali Nine. We didn’t get to talk about the vast problems that were occurring in Indonesia.”215 Rob Taylor (AAP) stated: “None of us particularly enjoyed the Bali Court cases of the past few years. I would think they are not particularly focused on Indonesia.”216 Even AFR correspondent Andrew Burrell, who described his paper as one that “didn’t really get into really popular stores”, was sent to cover the courtroom dramas in Bali, “Such was the hysteria of it”, Burrell said.217 Thus, the role performed by contemporary resident correspondents can change dramatically with the onset of a ‘megaspectacle’218 when increasing numbers of journalists are flown in from Australia.
In a ‘megaspectacle’ situation, the role performed by the journalist is to stay one step ahead of their competitor. Moore explained that the “desire is to break stories”. That means getting the story ‘out’ quicker than your competitor, but as many journalists complained, their role meant news organizations often “break a few wrong stories too”.219 The role of the journalist to “break stories” faster than their competitor is not limited to this particular generation, but is due mostly to the improvements in technology and the increasing number of parachute journalists. The professional practice of the journalist has changed so that greater emphasis is placed on the journalist as competitor: one that gives fast, accurate facts to its audience and readers at record speed. Contemporary Indonesia correspondents are under increasing competition from other sources so they are expected to work more efficiently, produce a greater number of stories, and stay ahead of the increasing number of rivals on rolling news stories.
213 Lunn, ‘Forward’ in Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. xi. 214 Rob Schulze, ‘Pot and Prejudice: Australian Coverage of the Corby Saga’, Metro Magazine, no.145, 2005, pp. 138-143. The Schapelle Corby phenomenon will be examined in greater detail in Chapter VII. 215 Moore, personal interview. 216 Rob Taylor, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 217 Burrell, personal interview. 218 Douglas Kellner, ‘Megaspectacle: the O.J. Simpson murder trial’ in Media Spectacle, Routledge, London, pp. 93-124. 219 Moore, personal interview.
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This will be examined in greater detail in Chapter VII. The wider variety of news sources available for consumption and the increasing number of parachute journalists in Indonesia during a breaking news story positions the contemporary correspondent as a competitor, jostling for audiences and reader’s attention.
2.4. Performing the role of ‘truth-seeker’ and ‘objective’ journalist
The aim of this chapter was to give a broad outline of the shifting role of Australian correspondents to Indonesia from 1945 to the present day. It became clear that the wide variety of backgrounds and personal characteristics worked against drawing larger conclusions from how the identity of the correspondent affects their reporting process. It is argued that each journalist performed their role depending on the historical era and political context in which they reported. The roles these journalists performed, much like the disparate events that they covered, varied greatly.
These roles were often the result of journalists supporting the notion of objectivity and truth as a journalist’s professional obligation. Errol Hodge was acting head of ABC’s Jakarta bureau from late 1968 to early 1969. He wrote: “I believe that Australian journalists have a duty to promote understanding between our two countries. I believe that the only basis of understanding is truth, and that journalists best serve the interests of understanding between our countries if, accurately and sympathetically, they report the truth.”220 This idea of the role of the journalist to report what they saw as ‘the truth’ continued throughout the period covered in this thesis. In 2003, Australian journalist Peter Lloyd encapsulates the continuation of Australian journalist’s professional practice:
Ours is the high-minded, vocational pursuit of the holy grail of truth and meaning. We're in it to shine light where others would prefer it to remain dark, delving the whys and wherefores, motives and prejudices, causes and effects. Of course this is easily dismissed as hippie claptrap
220 Errol Hodge, ‘Constraints on Reporting Indonesia’, in Anton Lucas (ed.) Half a Century of Indonesian-Australian Interaction, Flinders University Asian Studies Monograph, no. 6, 1996, pp. 46-60.
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of the highest order, but even the most hard-faced, cynical old hack secretly believes it to be true. Otherwise they wouldn't still be doing the job.221
In this regard, Australian journalists to Indonesia follow the Code of Professional Conduct for the International Federation of Journalists, which states that “respect for the truth and for the right of the public to the truth is the first duty of the journalist.”222 This chapter has shown that Australian journalists believed in the importance of freedom to report what they perceived as ‘truth’, depending on the historical timeframe and political scene in which they reported, but overall they operated within a structure of ideals defined by Fred Siebert in 1956 as ‘libertarian’ theory of the media, which he wrote was “to help discover the truth.”223
But how did Australian journalists specifically perform their role of pursuing ‘the truth’ in their reports? This chapter has divided Australian reporting into specific time periods, arguing that journalists in various eras had a particular idea of how they saw the ‘truth’ of Indonesian society which was, or was not, being reported.224 The periodisation and categorisation of correspondents have been presented in this thesis as a contribution to understanding the role and professional practice of Australian journalists in Indonesia since 1945, and to examine how this role was affected by historical circumstances and political dynamics. This chapter has argued that the journalist's definition of ‘truth’ and ‘objectivity’ depended on historical era and political scope in which they operated.
The Australian war correspondents who reported the Indonesian Revolution did not see political neutrality as the key to objectivity. Similarly to many Indonesian journalists at that time, these war correspondents did not believe that supporting a
221 Lloyd, ‘Two Weeks in Bali’, p. 213. 222 International Federation of Journalists, Research Paper, ‘Danger: Journalists at Work’, 1992, p. 27. 223 Knight, ‘Reporting the “Orient”’, p. 268. Siebert argued that, in theory at least, the libertarian media aimed to save the public: “Under the libertarian concept…basically the underlying purpose of the media was to help discover truth, to assist in the process of solving political and social problems by presenting all manner of evidence and opinion for the basis of opinions.” Fred S. Siebert, ‘The Libertarian Theory of the Press’, in Siebert, Schramm and Peterson (eds.), Four Theories of the Press, University of Illinois Press, 1963, p. 51. 224 Similarly, Richard H. Reeb’s outlines the thoughts of various notable American journalists, showing each have a very different definition of objectivity which shaped how they performed the role of journalist. Journalists, Reeb concludes, are “expected to place information into the political context” in which they report, which he stated, means “the mere claim of objectivity, in short, does nothing to demonstrate the truth”. Reeb, Taking Journalism Seriously, p. 314.
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political cause nullified their role as journalist. Instead, they believed reporting ‘truth’ and reporting ‘objectively’ was to move away from the colonial attitudes of the past, and to see Indonesians not by the colour of their skin, but as a sovereign people destined to create a new world order. The Asia Hands saw their role to promote Indonesia as an important bilateral partner and subsequently describe how Indonesian and Asian events were crucial to Australia’s future. They distanced themselves from the dominant narrative at the time, which was that Australia's future lay with Britain and Europe. The ‘truth’ for them was that Indonesian politics and society was important to Australia, and their role was to explain how and why this was the case, shedding greater light on Indonesian affairs for Australian readers.
The young professionals saw their role in accordance with advice from their news organisation; to report predominantly on politics and economics of the capital. The key ‘truth’ for them was to cover the change of leadership from Sukarno to Suharto, and who was in control of the Merdeka Palace. This was no easy task, and their coverage was well received by their news organizations. Yet at times this view meant larger events and issues were narrowly interpreted in the context of Cold War politics. The outsider emphasized the role of the journalist as watchdog, ruthlessly exposing Government cover-ups in the process of journalist as ‘truth-seeker’. They saw this role as the basis upon which the modern Fourth Estate was founded. Atrocities in East Timor, and particularly the story of the Balibo Five, were an example of this. But by performing the role of ‘truth-seeker’, the Australian journalist became an ‘outsider’ from the establishment, and eventually all were expelled from Indonesia. They even became ‘outsiders’ from their own government, which will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter V.
The insider saw their role as an informant. They believed the ‘truth’ behind Indonesian politics lay in the underhand machinations of the New Order Government. They saw their role to become part of this exclusive circle and gain insights from a select few knowledge-brokers who could provide previously unobtainable, yet crucial information from ‘behind the curtain’ of Suharto’s decision-making process. The insider could then reliably inform the reader of the real ‘truth’ of who had power in Indonesian politics. Finally, the modern day journalist performs the role of competitor; always attempting to stay one step ahead of the increasingly large media pack, providing
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accurate information to the audience as quickly as possible. Objectivity was seen as the avoidance of editorialising in their reports. In contemporary reporting, fast, accurate, ‘facts’ without commentary or analysis means ‘subjectivity’ and ‘bias’ are avoided. This is problematic and will be examined further in the Chapter VII of this thesis. Mort Rosenblum ironically saw the contemporary correspondent as performing the role of ‘Bionic Correspondent’, who has “no ego, libido, mother, career drive, cultural snobbery, fallen arches or fear of flying.”225 His ironic quip suggests there is a common belief that the contemporary journalists should be non-ideological and without any obvious identity in their reports. The contemporary correspondent is ‘bionic’ because they express little personal commentary in their reports. It also indicates that correspondents have a certain sameness, so that news organisations can send any reporter to Indonesia, and the resulting story will be the same, as long as their correspondents follow the established ethos of ‘objectivity’. As a result, a diversity of viewpoints, which was common in the earlier age of reporting Indonesia, is now not encouraged among the newer generation of correspondents.226
Largely through their own explanations, the journalists interviewed in the course of this research have explained how they perform their role as Australian journalist to Indonesia. This research approach humanises the reporting process, treating journalists as more than just mechanical ciphers. It is also clear from their accounts that these journalists have faults and limitations, and were ready to accept these retrospectively, and that the dominant narrative of journalist as hero and myth-maker is contrary to how Australian correspondents in Indonesia saw themselves.
The skills, ideas and practices of these correspondents are significant in this story, and informants admitted to not always being able to overcome difficulties they faced. This chapter has shown that Australian journalists in Indonesia saw their role along the lines of the libertarian idea of the media - to seek the ‘truth’. It negates the suggestion that journalists are inherently troublesome and opposed to greater engagement with Indonesia, as is the view of many government officials and academics. Journalists see their agency in their ability to seek ‘truth’ and write ‘objectively’. Subsequent chapters will examine the internal and external forces that attempt to distort
225 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 54. 226 Lunn, ‘Forward’, in Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. 2.
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these ‘truths’ and inhibit these journalists in their goals. This chapter has also shown that the shaping of journalist’s attitudes depended little on the cultural preconditions and backgrounds of each individual journalist, but rather on the historical timeframe and political events surrounding them. This suggests that journalist’s practices are shaped significantly by external and internal forces such government pressures and news constraints of the time. This thesis will build on this discussion by historically examining how political and news forces limit the agency of Australian journalists, and distort their attempts to record the details of Indonesian life effectively for Australians at home.
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CHAPTER III
LOCAL STAFF
Billy Kwan: ‘To listen to Potter’s radio reports, you’d have never have known what Confrontation was.’ He grinned with cheerful malice. Wally: ‘Now now Billy. You’re just annoyed that Potter didn’t give you enough work.’ He looked reproving; what he was really saying was that he didn’t care to hear a correspondent criticised in the Wayang [bar] by a stringer cameraman.1
This excerpt from the Christopher Koch novel The Year of Living Dangerously involves Billy Kwan, a stringer cameraman of Asian heritage and fluent Indonesian speaker, questioning the reports of an Australian correspondent. It depicts a hierarchical system of newsgathering where the foreign correspondent is at the top, and stringers, cameramen and local staff, all below. Furthermore, it shows how the Asian stringer believes that the Australian journalist did not report a story accurately, or as fully as possible, but the response from another foreign correspondent was that it was not the stringer’s place to criticise his correspondent, especially in the bar, amongst colleagues.
This chapter will explore the contribution of Indonesian staff to Australian journalism in Indonesia. It will explain and analyse the professional practice of local staff, arguing that they are crucial to the reporting process. Similar to Australian foreign correspondents described in the previous chapter, local staff have seen reporting the ‘truth’ about Indonesia to Australians as a central part of their professional practice. However, their role has been hindered by a hierarchical system in the reporting process, as depicted in the excerpt above. This chapter will also show how the professional practice of the local staff has been made more difficult by expectations and pressures from Indonesian officials. This pressure to satisfy a variety of competing masters has placed local staff under considerable duress, and hindered their autonomy. Yet despite these pressures and limitations, they have contributed enormously to Australian journalism in Indonesia, and they deserve greater recognition and acknowledgement for their role. This chapter argues for greater agency for local staff in the reporting process, so a broader understanding of Indonesia can be evident in Australian news.
1 Christopher Koch, The Year of Living Dangerously, Melbourne, Sphere books, 1982, p. 6.
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3.1 Recognition of local staff
Australian news organisations have a long history of employing Indonesian nationals as part of the reporting process in Indonesia. For this research, the term ‘local staff’ includes fixers, assistants, stringers, drivers, translators, and accredited journalists who worked with Australian news organisations in Indonesia. This section will explain how the contribution of local staff to Australian reporting of Indonesia has largely been ignored by scholars and news organizations, despite their presence in the reporting process since 1945.
Australian news organizations have neglected to recognise local staff in reports filed from Indonesia. It is only since the late 1990s that Indonesian staff began to receive a by-line in Australian newspapers.2 It was the Australian foreign correspondent who always received the by-line, as they wrote the story. Despite the involvement of local staff in the reporting process, the by-line was awarded to whoever compiled the account, and local staff have traditionally not been encouraged to file their own copy.3 The reason for this was partly a concern for the safety of local staff under Suharto’s authoritarian regime. Endy Bayuni, local staff for Reuters during the New Order, reported a political speech during the trial of the dissident, Ali Sadikin. The speech attacked the Suharto regime, and this story was played out in many newspapers around the world. The consequences of writing this story led Bayuni to question his safety as he was threatened by Indonesian military personnel soon after.4 Reuters agreed to Bayuni’s request that stories considered ‘sensitive’ would not carry his by-line. He gave up the reward of seeing his name accredited to his work. “Of course I would like the by-line, but I had other things to consider”, he said.5 While sacrificing a by-line might ensure Indonesian staff did not get recognised by the Government officials, it also meant a lack of recognition of the role of Indonesian staff in the reporting process. It was not until 1999 that an Indonesian national was nominated for the prestigious Walkleys awards –
2 The Sydney Morning Herald attributed a by-line to Louise Williams’ assistant, Yenny Wahid, for the reports she was delivering from East Timor in 1999. The Herald continued this policy with some of Wahid’s successors, such as Kristiani Tunelap and Karuni Rompies into the twenty-first century. 3 Greg Barton, Gus Dur: The Authorised Biography, Equinox Publishing, 2006, p. 280. 4 Endy Bayuni, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 5 Ibid.
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the highest awards in Australian journalism.6 Along with her colleagues, Yenny Wahid received a Walkley for her reporting in East Timor, when she lived in TNI headquarters in Dili for one week before the Australian led UN peacekeeping Interfet forces landed.7 However, to receive this recognition Wahid had to be recommended by the Australian foreign correspondent, Louise Williams, who also won a Walkley for her reporting in East Timor that same year.8 Thus, it was the initiative of one foreign correspondent, rather than a news organisation or the Walkley committee, which recognised Indonesian local staff role in the reporting process.
Foreign news companies all over the world have generally been unwilling to be responsible for the lives of local staff.9 Local staff for foreign news outlets are not provided with the same working conditions as the correspondents they work with, and have not been adequately compensated for injury or death.10 If a situation becomes too dire, the foreign correspondent can often return home to their native country. Local staff, hired occasionally on a casual or stringer basis, are often left to fend for themselves, with little support or assistance from their employer.11 The situation of leaving local staff behind while the foreign journalist departs is one that has often occurred in Indonesia. Indonesian journalist Aristides Katoppo was stringer for The New York Times from 1958-64. In 1964 Sukarno launched a public attack on the USA. American buildings were damaged, and anti-US propaganda was posted on Jakarta
6 The Sydney Morning Herald team won the Walkley Award for Excellence in Journalism, for ‘Coverage of the Asia-Pacific Region’, for the story ‘The Battle for Timor’, in 1999. See www.walkleys.com/winners (accessed 20 January, 2007). 7 Barton, Gus Dur, p. 282. 8 Louise Williams, personal interview, Wollongong, June, 2008. 9 See Paul McLeary, “The stringers: Iraqis dig up much of the news we get about their country. To do so they live secret lives, filled with danger.” Columbia Journalism Review volume 44, issue 6, March-April 2006, p. 20-23. See also Elizabeth Witchel, ‘The Fixers’, www.cjp.org/Briefings/2004/DA_fall04/fixers/fixers.html, Online journal of The Publication of the Committee to Protect Journalists, 2004, p. 5. (accessed 20 May, 2007). The Rory Peck Trust, a London based institute, aims to get news organizations to accept their responsibilities, not just for foreign correspondents who get injured or killed during assignments, but freelancers and local staff who may not have a permanent contract. 10 Ibid. 11 This crucial aspect of the foreign news process has largely been unexplored by researchers. Mort Rosenblum explains how local staff in Asia have “risked jail terms and persecution of their families to file cables which won’t earn them enough to buy groceries for the evening meal”. See Mort Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes; Reporting the world to America, Harper Colophon Books, 1981, p. 65. Rosenblum also outlines how three Cambodian local staff, reporting for AP, stayed on to report the Khmer Rouge arrival into Phnom Penh, April, 1975. Their last cable read ‘I feel rather trembling. Do not know how to file out stories… May be last cable today and forever.’ See also Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour; Neil Davis, Combat Cameraman, Collins, Sydney, 1987, pp. 213-15.
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street walls.12 Many foreign journalists, especially American correspondents, were worried about their safety and returned home, or were expelled from Indonesia.13 Katoppo knew he was in danger due to being affiliated with a foreign news company, especially an American newspaper, yet realised he had little option but to stay, and decided to start his own newspaper, Sinar Harapan.14 Katoppo recalls foreign correspondents telling him he should get out of Indonesia, but there was no offer of assistance from The New York Times.15
The dangers for local staff continued in the ensuing decades, yet despite the danger, many continued to be involved with Australian news organisations.16 Perhaps the most extreme situation for an Australian news crew was when an ABC crew was confronted by violent militia in East Timor, on 26 August, 1999. Hidayat Djajamihardja, assistant to ABC Jakarta correspondent Mark Bowling, retold the story:
There was Mark Bowling, his translator, and myself, and suddenly someone threw a rock through our truck window which hit me and shattered the glass. [Djajamihardja still keeps the rock in his office]. We were surrounded by about 50 militias in black t-shirts. People were calling out ‘kill him’ as I came out of the truck. Someone was pointing a gun at me. I don’t think he was a local Timorese because he called me ‘pig’ - the locals eat pig. I was told to go back to the car, after that we left, they were still throwing stones. We went to the beach and hid under a coconut tree. I was bleeding.17
It was decided later that it was becoming too dangerous for ABC staff to report from Dili. One morning a meeting was held in Dili for ABC journalists, cameramen and local staff. Local staff were told if there was to be an evacuation, they would be left behind. Bowling wrote of this moment: “I felt an incredible heaviness in my heart. Guilt. I felt a gulf between us – the Australians and our East Timorese staff who had been both loyal
12 Brian May, The Indonesian Tragedy, London, Boston, 1978, p. 93. 13 See, John Hughes, The End of Sukarno: A coup that misfired, a purge that ran wild, London, Angus and Robertson, 1967 and Denis Warner, Not Always on Horseback: An Australian correspondent at war and peace in Asia, 1961-1993, Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1997. 14 Aristides Katoppo, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 15 Ibid. 16 Mort Rosenblum outlines how American news agencies in Burundi in 1978 could not hire any local staff because no one wanted to risk working for them, as a previous local stringer had already been jailed for his contributions, and “since it was obvious that almost any story of interest out of Burundi was likely to involve embarrassing conflict or disaster.” See Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, pp. 63-64. It would seem from my interviews this was rarely the case in Indonesia. Indonesian journalists and translators were often willing to assist, despite the danger to their lives. 17 Hidayat Djajamihardja, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2007.
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and kind.”18 The East Timorese staff were asked if they wanted to stay and work, or leave ABC offices in Dili immediately, but they insisted on staying. The situation was similar to Katoppo’s dilemma in 1964. As Bowling stated: “It was more likely that as each of them considered their options they realised they had nowhere to run.”19 Not long after that meeting with his staff, Bowling made the decision to leave East Timor. “I felt a pang of guilt”, he said, “What about the East Timorese who had helped and guided me? Who would protect our staff, drivers and friends? Not to mention their families.”20 While Bowling's account shows he felt personally responsible for the East Timorese staff, and feared for their lives, news companies have shirked responsibility for the lives of these staff members. This negligence toward local staff is because they are not Australian citizens, and suggests a tendency for Australian news organisations to support a neo-colonial practice, where local employees are exploited and then abandoned.
The ‘hero and myth-maker’ literature portrays professional foreign correspondents as wandering freelancers who travel light and fast and set their own agenda.21 If we place local staff as crucial to the reporting process it limits the myth of the solo, crusading, independent Australian journalist in Indonesia; “a place where only a strapping young journalist ventures or dares to comprehend.”22 Scholars who attempted to distance themselves from the ‘hero and myth-maker’ literature focused instead on the text of final reports in the news. As Chapter I explained, this methodology radically depersonalises journalism as practice. Furthermore, since news organizations have historically neglected to recognise the role of local staff in the reports, historians examining the final published product have little evidence to account for the presence of local staff. Therefore, this chapter attempts to do what previous historians, news organisations, and even foreign correspondents have failed to do: explain the professional practice of local staff in Australian journalism in Indonesia. Those that reported for a number of years for other foreign news agencies have also been interviewed for this research, as their ability to explain the professional practice
18 Mark Bowling, Running Amok, Hammond, 2006, p. 164. 19 Ibid. 20 Ibid., p. 172. 21 See Josie Vine, ‘Who is the Lovable Larrikin? An Historical Inquiry using Biography and Autobiography’, ‘When Journalism Meets History: Refereed papers from the Australian Media Traditions Conference’, RMIT, 2004, pp. 1-8. 22 See Adrian Vickers, ‘A paradise bombed’, in Julianne Schultze (ed.), Insecurity in the New World Order, Griffith University and ABC books, Spring, 2003, pp. 107-113.
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meant their contributions could not be ignored, despite them having never worked for an Australian news organisation. It is argued that Australian news reporting from Indonesia was hindered due to constraints on local staff’s professional practice. These hindrances are determined by a hierarchical role of news reporting, and by Indonesian Government expectations of the role local staff should perform.
3.2. Local staff professional practice
There has traditionally been a certain amount of status attributed to local staff employed by foreign news organisations, as the pre-requisites for the position generally mean more wealthy and educated Indonesians are accepted. This is because Australian foreign correspondents tended to look for two main attributes when hiring Indonesian staff. The first was the ability to translate effectively between Indonesian and English, and the second was to be able to develop sources and contacts. The ability to speak English and have contacts in newsworthy circles meant the position was more likely to go to wealthy and educated Indonesians. In the 1960s, local staff were often hired because of their connections, and not through formal application procedures.23 David Jenkins admitted that in 1969, despite many educated Indonesian looking for work due to the recession, he employed two assistants who “were basically hired because they were sons of Indonesian diplomats.” 24 In 1965, Hidayat Djajamihardja was recommended to Philip Koch through an Australian embassy official.25
The nature of the job meant those Indonesians with reporting experience and fluent English-speaking were highly sought after. In 1983, Australian Lionel Hull helped establish The Jakarta Post, an English-language daily newspaper from the Indonesian capital.26 It became a trusted avenue for foreign news agencies to find local
23 In 1964, the ABC’s Colin Hann advertised in the Indonesian press for an Indonesian broadcaster to work for Radio Australia. He was overwhelmed with over 1000 applicants to assess. K.S. Inglis, This is the ABC: The Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 1932-1983, Melbourne University Press, 1983, p. 235. Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence; A journalist’s biography, Macmillan, 2001, p. 151. 24 David Jenkins, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. They were Peter Penturi and Dudi Sudipyo. 25 The official was Harvey Barnett, brother of Koch’s predecessor, Peter Barnett. See Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, pp. 100-102. Djajamihardja, personal interview. Koch’s previous local staff had gone to work with a Japanese Radio (NHK). 26 Sabam Siagian and Fikri Jufri, who were also active in the establishment of this paper, are still involved as contributors. Personal interviews, Jakarta, October, 2006. See also Bill Tarrant, Reporting Indonesia: The Jakarta Post Story, 1983-2008, Equinox, 2009.
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staff, and the Indonesian reporters there enjoyed the thought of higher pay, less restrictions on stories, a chance to report outside of Jakarta, and the prestige of working for a foreign news company.27 While foreign correspondents often had their own personal system for finding local staff, they were also handed down by their predecessors. This meant local staff were crucial in settling the newly arrived journalist into their role as resident correspondent. As Chapter I explained, the shock of arrival in Jakarta was an experience many Australian correspondents shared, and local staff have been vital in negating some of the practical and professional difficulties of reporting from Jakarta.
Many Australian journalists interviewed for this research commented on the importance of local staff to their own professional practice and personal welfare. Carlton described his assistant, Hidayat Djajamihardja, as “the mainstay of the Jakarta office who basically kept us all on the straight and narrow and reported for us as well.”28 David Jenkins, who began his career with The Melbourne Herald in 1967, reiterates the invaluable nature of a translator, as “in those days I didn't speak any Indonesian so they were very helpful”, he said. Andrew Burrell, AFR correspondent in 2003, said this was still the case for contemporary journalists. He said, “AFR had a permanent fixer or assistant who was invaluable – I wouldn’t have been able to survive without that person there.”29 Fairfax correspondent Matthew Moore (2002-05) agreed that the local staff were fundamental to the existence of the agency. He said, “It’s hard to survive without them. You have to be completely fluent, but even then [given] the realities of finding out what’s going on, you need people to gather information.”30 This was the common theme as resident correspondents described the role of local staff - essential to the process, and crucial to ‘surviving’ the hardship post of Jakarta. Thus, this section will explain and analyse the professional practice of Indonesian staff who have worked for Australian news companies, and argue that despite their importance to
27 This is especially the case today. I worked with the Jakarta Post from September-November, 2006, interviewing many staff members who commented on the possibility of eventually working for a foreign news organisation. A large motivation for this desire was career aspirations; they saw it as a more prestigious role, but many commented on the increase in pay they would receive as an important factor. Journalists I interviewed who worked for foreign news companies but came from the Jakarta Post were Andreas Harsono, and Kristiani Tunelap. While Endy Bayuni started his career at the Jakarta Post, went to Reuters, then returned to become chief editor of the Jakarta Post eight years later. 28 Mike Carlton, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 29 Andrew Burrell, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 30 Matthew Moore, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006.
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this process, they have largely been limited as to what role they can perform for Australian news organisations, due to a newsgathering system that perpetuates colonial relations and hierarchies.
3.2.1. Role in the reporting process
The most crucial task local staff perform for Australian foreign correspondents is translating from Indonesian to English, as fluency in the Indonesian language has not been a pre-requisite for obtaining the position of resident correspondent.31 Australian news organisations only began to hire translators when they established news bureaus in Jakarta in the 1960s. The 1945 generation of war correspondents did not have official translators working with them, and as such relied largely on English speaking sources. John Thompson, a member of the Australian Communist Party, lamented his lack of Indonesian language skills. “I did not learn enough words to chat with workers and peasants,” he wrote.32 However, he mentioned that Indonesian journalists would often help him with translations, “Rosihan Anwar sat by me for hours, patiently interpreting the speeches paragraph by paragraph, and sometimes phrase by phrase.”33 Resident correspondents realised that if they were going to branch out from English-speaking sources, they needed help from an Indonesian-speaker. This made the role of the translator vital as they brought verbatim reports of what sources said. While traditionally the role of the foreign correspondent may have been to see Indonesia ‘through Australian eyes’, in many ways the correspondent speaks and hears through their translator. ABC local staff Hidayat Djajamihardja recalled his first correspondent, Philip Koch, instructing him: “Koch always said to me ‘Hidayat, you are my eyes and my ears’. He always stressed I needed to be where the action is and were the policy makers were.”34 This makes the correspondent a hybrid creature, double-eyed and compiling stories through a lens of the translator. It also means the relationship between the Australian journalist and their Indonesian translator is crucial to the understanding
31 Philip Koch, who had experience in London before his posting to Jakarta in 1965, claimed, “They [ABC] were not really seeking that you had the language.” Philip Koch, personal interview, Noosa, February, 2007. News agencies generally tend to believe that a good journalist can always find people who speak English, or can use a translator when needed. Jim Lederman, Battle Lines: The American Media and the Infitada, New York, Henry Holt and Company, 1992, p. 215. 32 John Thompson, Hubbub in Java, Currawong Publishing Company Pty Ltd, 1946, p. 53. 33 Ibid. 34 Djajamihardja, personal interview.
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of a situation or story, as often the lack of fluency in Indonesian means correspondents are limited in what they can see and hear. Frank Palmos, who was fluent in Indonesian, retold a story of travelling around Jakarta one day in 1965, with ABC correspondent Koch, who did not speak Indonesian:
I remember driving along with Phil Koch in the car once, and we were all happy and smiles, and I suddenly got really quiet as we headed into town. I was reading all the signs in Indonesian: ‘Kill the Foreigner!’ ‘The Red is rising in the East’. Phil, who couldn’t read them, was still singing some song at the top of his voice!35
This shows the difficulties correspondents face when assessing situations if they are not fluent in the local language, and that for correspondents like Koch, translators were vital to the reporting process. Koch’s other assistant was Alan Morris, one of the few Australian-born translators sent by Radio Australia from the Royal Australian Navy, where he had learnt Indonesian. Koch described Morris as “a superb linguist, quite unusual. I had him during the [1965] coup. He did all the translations of Untung’s [coup leader] broadcasts over the radio. An Indonesian translating to English could only give approximate words. Morris’ translations were immediate.” The Koch and Morris situation of an experienced journalist and a genuine Australian linguist posted together was rare in this history. Morris recalled his initial posting as ‘specialist trainee’ for the ABC in Jakarta. He said, “My Indonesian language skills came in very handy in that I translated and interpreted for the correspondent. I did very little work on my own in Indonesia during the first couple of years.”36 Such was the necessity of the translator for the ABC correspondent in the 1965-68 years, where Koch and his replacement in 1967, Mike Carlton, spoke only minimal Indonesian.
The role of translator is also crucial because one mistranslated word can lead to a complete change of direction in a particular story, the consequences of which could lead to drastic error. On one occasion there was a failed attempt on President Sukarno’s life as he said prayers inside a mosque. Sukarno was unharmed and whisked away from the area. A reporter on the scene commented in Indonesia, ‘President Sukarno tertinggal’ – ‘The President has left’. This was interpreted by the foreign news as ‘the President has died’ (meninggal being the Indonesian word for ‘die’). The story was
35 Frank Palmos, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 36 Alan Morris, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2008.
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flashed to the world: ‘President Sukarno has been assassinated in Jakarta’.37 In Australia, programmes were interrupted with news of the stunning event, which meant the report was heard right across Indonesia through Radio Australia. When Sukarno heard of this mistranslation he expelled the foreign correspondent (Ted Stannard from UPI), despite it not being his translation, and UPI had their Indonesia bureau closed down because of this report.38 Thus, there have been occasions where if the translator gets one word wrong, the entire news bureau can be expelled from Indonesia. Even when the person being quoted is speaking English, there can be problems in the translation. Geoff Thompson, the current ABC correspondent, recalled when a diplomat stated, “the temperature in the room was cool”. Thompson said, “Was he joking saying it's ‘cool’, or was he saying the temperature of the meeting was cool?” Thompson thought, “…and that became a story of the day. A turn of phrase can mean a completely different story...”39 For this reason, language experts are essential to the professional practice of Australian news organisations in Indonesia, and traditionally, it has been the local staff who fulfilled this role, rather than the Australian correspondent.
Being able to adequately interpret, not just translate, has been an important task of local staff. Interpreting language became even more complex under the New Order, where indirection, and ‘reading between the lines’, was a tactic to communicate anything slightly politically critical.40 The controversial political speeches of Sukarno addressing the Australian journalist in English, French and Dutch were replaced with the bland, undistinguished speeches of Suharto that droned on about development.41 Indy Noorsy, an Indonesian local who worked for SBS, explains that this language is “…hard to explain to the reporter. It is very indirect, sometimes meaningless words. The language is like undercover, almost dishonest, but not lying or untrustworthy. It is hard to understand if you normally talk about things openly.”42 Australian journalists hope for specific answers to their often very blunt questions, and are often frustrated
37 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 151. 38 Ibid. 39 Geoff Thompson, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 40 Philip Kitley, ‘Winning and Information War: An Indonesian Case Study’, in Thompson, E.A. and P.R.R. White (eds.), Communicating Conflict: Multilingual Case Studies of the News Media, London, Continuum, p. 224. 41 Adrian Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge, 2005, p. 174. 42 Indy Noorsy, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006.
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when they do not get a direct answer.43 Noorsy believes local staff “understand the words behind the story”,44 which the Australian journalist sometimes misses. Former ABC Jakarta correspondent Warwick Beutler said: “The cultural gulf between the Australian and his Asian translator can also add to misunderstandings…There are features of the Indonesian psyche which transcend all Western logic.”45 This leads the role of local staff to become more of an interpreter than a translator.
Further to this, it is often what is not said that is the key to the story. American academic Janet Steele recalled how she told her Indonesia assistant that the convention in Western journalism was that the person who does the most talking is the most important. Her assistant, Citra, replied: “But that's not true! Not if you're Javanese. In Java, the people who do the most talking are weak. A really powerful person - like Suharto - doesn't have to say anything at all.”46 Thus, the role of local staff became more important during the New Order because direct, hard-hitting sentences were rare, and there was a large amount of interpretation, rather than direct translation, needed for a greater understanding. It also places greater agency in the hands of the interpreter, as how the words are interpreted shapes the story.
Local staff, however, were not just translators. A good assistant had to perform a multitude of roles. Viktor Laurens was hired as a driver for the ABC in 1963, but as the ABC did not have a permanent staff cameraman during the 1960s,47 Laurens was trained to use a cinecamera.48 While many local Indonesians have been used as cameramen, a key part of the professional practice of local staff was their ability to find sources and contacts. Thus, in addition to translating and interpreting, the professional
43 See Angela Romano, “Foreign correspondents and knowledge broking in Indonesia” in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (eds.), Foreign devils and other journalists, Monash Asia Institute, Clayton, 2000, pp. 51-76. 44 Noorsy, personal interview. 45 Warwick Beutler, ‘Comment’, in Broinowski (ed.), Australia, Asia and the Media, Griffith University, 198, p. 61. 46 Janet Steele, Wars Within; The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Soeharto’s Indonesia, Equinox, 2005, p. 50. This was particularly the case during the New Order, but Bob Elson described this as part of Suharto’s legacy. He quotes a number of sayings complied by Suharto such as, “Silence is an asset. Whoever has a sharp toungue will suffer. Whoever is silent will accumulate wealth. One who is silent is like a lighthouse.” Elson, Suharto, p. 298. 47 The ABC would often hire Visnews cameraman Neil Davis on short term contracts if he was available. See Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour; Neil Davis, Combat cameraman, 1934-1985, Sydney, Collins, 1997, pp. 188-193. 48 Koch and Davis trained Laurens personally to become more than a driver. Koch said Davis in particular saw that Laurens had a “particular fascination with filming and trained him further”. The eventually convinced the ABC to send Laurens to Sydney and give him further professional training. Koch, personal interview.
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practice of local staff involves being a ‘fixer’ – someone that can network with sources and gain information. This suggests, wrongly, that local staff were merely helpers, arranging meetings, coordinating transport and answering phones. Most staff interviewed for this chapter performed many more duties than this, and should be considered journalists themselves. A key aspect of the local staff in Indonesia has been to arrange interviews and obtain information that the Australian foreign correspondent could not otherwise manage to do. Indy Noorsy said, “Connections are precious and valuable to a stringer. I have good relationship with my sources [including] the military.”49 The desire for local staff to be used to find sources and make contacts for future stories has led them to be much more active in the reporting process.
In the Sukarno era, foreign correspondents relied more upon English-speaking sources and diplomatic networks,50 and the role of the local staff to provide sources could be considered not as crucial. As they began the professional practice of networking and maintaining contacts, local staff became considered more as journalists, rather than ‘fixers’. In the 1960s Hidayat Djajamihardja began to develop contacts through the Department of Defence, Army headquarters, the Palace, Foreign Affairs and in the University of Indonesia, while the ABC correspondent focused more on their contacts in foreign diplomatic circles.51 Mike Carlton, ABC correspondent from 1967- 70, said of his local staff:
They were more than helpers, they were proper reporters. Hidayat did a lot of the reporting because he had contacts in the government and the military, contacts that we would never possibly hope to have, so he would report a story, we would add to it and check it out. And we had the diplomatic contacts, but he was integral to the whole thing.52
So while Indonesian local staff were initially hired to translate copy, they were quickly called upon to perform a multitude of roles in the newsgathering process.
As Chapter I has stated, journalism is a chameleon profession where the performance of roles adapts to changing historical circumstances. As the demand for
49 Noorsy, personal interview. 50 This will be examined further in Chapter VI. 51 Djajamiharja, personal interview. Koch, personal interview. 52 Carlton, personal interview.
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instantaneous and regular news increased by the end of the twentieth century, local staff would be asked to develop the number of roles they performed. In 1997, Louise Williams said drivers “would become a third set of eyes”, and, as the technology became available, drivers “became a third mobile phone”, in addition to her own and her Indonesian assistant journalist.53 Fairfax correspondent Matthew Moore (2002-05) said, “You need to be ringing and ringing and texting all the time to find out what's going on. So you need a fixer to gather this information.”54 Being able to obtain information from these contacts was a key role for local staff, and crucial to making sure stories were presented with information from a number of sources.
This section has revealed an often unacknowledged and undervalued dependency of foreign correspondents on their local staff. This would suggest that local staff have considerable autonomy and agency in shaping stories, selecting quotes, and determining avenues to pursue further contacts, as their role is clearly vital to the reporting process. One would assume their fluency and ability to be ‘the eyes and ears’ of the foreign correspondent would give them great agency in their role. However, this has historically not been the case. Foreign correspondents have traditionally been wary of the role of local staff to expand from direct translator to interpreter. They have often been unwilling to acknowledge the role of local staff in determining stories, or educating the correspondent. The next section will show that despite their multi-lingual ability, the professional practice of the local staff has been constructed as ‘assistant’, below that of the foreign correspondent, which places constraints on reporting the news from Indonesia to Australians.
3.2.2. A hierarchical role
The previous section explained how the local staff performed a multitude of roles in the reporting process, but it is argued that one of these roles has not been to criticise or instruct the Australian journalist. The hierarchy in the practice of foreign news reporting positions the foreign correspondent on top of the pyramid, and local staff, while essential, below them in this order. The role of local staff has, historically, been limited
53 Williams, personal interview. 54 Moore, personal interview.
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to that of translator and fixer, and the relationship has traditionally been one of boss and assistant, rather than colleague. While this role has changed over time, and certainly the role is expanding for local staff today, it still remains a consistent policy amongst Australian media organisations in Indonesia to restrict the role of local staff.
As Australian correspondents began employing local staff on a full time basis in Indonesia during the 1960s, it was clear that lingering colonial relations and hierarchies limited their role. Viktor Laurens remembers trying to ‘pigeon’55 ABC film out at Jakarta Airport, but his request was often met with suspicion and rejection. Laurens said, “It’s funny, I would often ask people to take film on a plane and they would say ‘no’, but if a foreigner like Phil asked, they would do it.”56 This clearly shows a mistrust of accepting a package from an Indonesian to take on a plane. People apparently were more comfortable believing the package was news if it were handed to them from a foreign correspondent. As Djajamihardja stated, “Koch was always best dressed, ‘Philip Koch, Jakarta’” he laughed, “He wouldn’t go in dirty jeans or an unironed t-shirt, he would go in a safari suit, a foreign cigarette, very formal.”57
Koch was no doubt performing the role of young professional, but this role was limited to the correspondent. The local staff performed very different roles. Djajamihardja said he would act for “mostly all duties, with the exception of [diplomatic] receptions, where you needed a necktie and so on. That was Koch and Morris.”58 Clearly there was a role that needed to be performed that the local staff could not – that of the white, qualified, professional. Despite their increased training and skills, Indonesian staff were not perceived to be performing this role. This colonial perception of newsgathering meant diplomatic staff were to be contacted almost solely by the foreign correspondent. Instead, Djajamihardja would network with students, labour unions, and in villages and “go and mix and mingle with them, milking information and gossip.”59 This was the domain of the Indonesian staff, not the foreign correspondent. Djajamihardja said despite Alan Morris’ fluency in Indonesian, that
55 A method employed by foreign journalists, especially from the ABC in Jakarta, to get their tape to the Southeast Asian office in Singapore. Journalists would go to the airport and ask a passenger to carry the tape from Jakarta and look for an ABC man upon arrival at Singapore. This will be explained more closely in Chapter VII. 56 Viktor Laurens, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 57 Djajamihardja, personal interview. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid.
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because “he was white he would be like a fish out of water” in these areas.60 Students, villagers and labour unions were more likely to accept an Indonesian into their domain, and Indonesian staff were more likely to obtain information due to their perceived lesser status, and ability to converse in an informal setting. The foreign correspondent was seen as higher class, and perhaps not someone these sources would open up to, or relate to.
The local staff during the 1960s and 1970s rarely entered the domain of the diplomatic circuit and English-speaking elite.61 Even Alan Morris, despite being Australian and having the persona of the young, white professional, said, “I hung out with the Indonesians and the ABC assistant correspondents more than the Australians. I didn’t have a great deal to do with the Foreign Correspondents Club.”62 This suggests a hierarchical nature of foreign news reporting at that time. Morris admitted that he saw his role as below that of the Australian correspondent, despite his fluency being crucial to the entire operation. He said, “The important roles were taken by the ABC correspondent. I was junior, I had my job to do.”63 His ‘job’ was to translate, and assist the correspondent, who he saw as his superior. This is not to devalue the role correspondents played in teaching young Indonesians how to operate, as few had experience in journalism.
Djajamihardja recalled how Philip Koch taught him a great deal about how to become a good reporter. He said, “I learned through experience and Koch was my mentor. My basic journalistic knowledge was obtained in America, but he gave me the practical journalistic duties and through experience, trial and error, and through praises and dirty words I learnt.”64 Despite this knowledge, the precedent set was that the
60 Ibid. 61 This has been discussed in Chapter I, and will be discussed further in Chapter VI. Furthermore, John Tebbutt has written that the Australian Ambassador to Indonesia was keen to employ Ken Henderson as the first resident correspondent to Indonesia, over Christine Cole, a NZ woman, and Mrs Oliver Baudert, an Indian Eurasian woman. Tebbutt claimed “the Australian ambassador to Indonesia intervened and let it be known that an ‘Australian’ should be put in charge of reporting from Jakarta.” See John Tebbutt, ‘A Cultural History of Australian Foreign Correspondents’, PhD thesis, Department of History, The University of Sydney, 2003, p. 34. This will also be examined in Chapter V. 62 Morris, personal interview. 63 Ibid. 64 Djajamihardja, personal interview. It is also worth reiterating here that Koch and Davis funded Viktor Laurens, who began as the ABC driver, to travel to Australia and undertake basic training to become the ABC’s cameraman in Jakarta. Laurens went on to a formidable career as cameraman with both the ABC until 1975, before he was employed with the Indonesian Government.
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Australian correspondent educated the local staff, and not the other way around, which perpetuates colonial hierarchies and relations. While both correspondents and local staff were assigned ‘beats’, these beats were again determined by lingering colonial perceptions of the role of the well-dressed white professional as opposed to the Indonesian local staff.
Gharfur Fadyl, who began his career as local staff for AP in 1964, and is now head of AP in Jakarta, said the roles of Indonesian staff and foreign correspondent have not improved much. He said, “For those who work with only one correspondent, they rely more on the boss’ whims and fancies they just do what the boss wants.” This suggests that despite the assignment of separate ‘beats’, the focus of the story was almost solely determined by the foreign correspondent. When local staff did question their ‘boss’, they were not always heard. AFP’s Bhimanto first went to East Timor 1989, with little result. He explained the difficult situation:
The East Timorese were suspicious of me because I am Indonesian. The Indonesians were suspicious of me because I worked for a foreign news company. It has never been an effective way to cover Timor by sending an Indonesian. In 1992, I told my boss, ‘Don’t send me - not because I’m afraid, it’s going to be useless because people won’t talk to me.’ He still sent me, I spent the whole day going around offering cigarettes to people and got nothing, the BBC girl who had come four hours later than me - the minute she stepped off the plane she had interviews lined up.65
This shows a lack of understanding of the social and political position of local staff. The employer did not understand that there are issues of allegiances that would affect the Indonesian assistant when he performed this role. It also showed the nature of the relationship as that of boss and assistant, rather than colleagues having an equal say in how a story should be covered, as despite Bhimanto’s protestations, he was still sent.
This attitude of the boss-assistant relationship has continued into the twenty-first century. Andrew Burrell (AFR) praised his assistant for her work, but made clear to her the hierarchy. He said, “She recognised that I wanted to do things my way – I still set the course in terms of what stories are important.”66 The traditional role of the foreign
65 Bhimanto, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 66 Burrell, personal interview.
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correspondent to shape the stories has often led to the idea of a hierarchical relationship in which the local staff have little independence to cover a number of issues, or question the angle of a story. Zamira Loebis, who has worked for AFR and now Time magazine, believes the foreign press in Indonesia often look down upon local staff. She said, “I don’t hang out with foreign journalists too much because of this attitude. I don’t go to [the] Jakarta Foreign Correspondents Club because of this arrogance. I don’t blame them for thinking they are better because of the culture of envelope journalism in Indonesia, but they should not judge.”67 The Jakarta Foreign Correspondents Club, much like the Wayang bar depicted in The Year of Living Dangerously, was a place for Western correspondents to mix amongst themselves, and although Indonesian staff were allowed to join, there was an assumption that the key roles were performed by the foreign correspondent. As the excerpt depicted, there was a presumption that the local staff were not on the same level as the foreign correspondent, and should not criticise them in the bar. Educating the Australian correspondent has not traditionally been the role of the local, or Indonesian speaking, staff. Dian Islamawati Fatwa, who works for the ABC, believes it is not part of the local staff’s professional practice to criticise or instruct the Australian journalist. She stated, “There’s a patriarchy. The assistant looks at your boss –whatever your boss says, that’s it.”68
While Australian correspondents have often educated their local staff on Western journalistic practices, my interviews suggest it is not the role of local staff to educate the correspondent. There were, of course, exceptions. For example, Carlton described his assistant, Djajamihardja as “vital to my education”,69 and Jenkins said of his assistant, “I learnt a lot from him”70, but on the whole the research suggests a hierarchical relationship where the foreign correspondent gives orders and instructs, and the local staff see them as ‘boss’, with little wish to be educated on a different political culture. Zamira Loebis argued that “a stringer should educate their correspondent but I think it’s the other way round.”71 This section has shown how the professional practice of local staff is crucial to the reporting process, but that this is mostly when local staff
67 Zamira Loebis, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. For envelope journalism and bribery in reporting in Indonesia see, Romano, Angela. "Bribes, Gifts and Grants in Indonesian Journalism", Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture and Policy 94, February, 2000, pp. 157-173, and ‘I always throw the envelope away, Inside Indonesia, Issue 54, April-June, 1998. 68 Dian Islamiati Fatwa, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 69 Carlton, personal interview. 70 Jenkins, personal interview. 71 Loebis, personal interview.
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perform roles and achieve tasks that Australian journalists believe they could not ordinarily do themselves, such as translating, and obtaining information from Indonesian sources. Giving insights on the culture and people, and educating the foreign correspondent on different political and journalistic cultures of Indonesia has not been a large part of the professional practice of local staff. The shaping of stories and final compilation of copy has traditionally been the domain of the foreign correspondent. This is due to the hierarchical nature of the relationship between the foreign correspondent and their local staff, where correspondents see themselves as educating the local staff on the professional practice of Western journalism. Due to the hierarchical nature of the foreign news process, local staff are not expected to criticise or even educate the foreign correspondent on different journalistic or political cultures. Despite their role to ‘be the eyes and ears’ of the foreign correspondent, Australian journalists have been determined to ensure that the copy produced is ‘seen through Australian eyes’, with little regard to Indonesian staff educating them on stories and professional practice. This supports the ‘cultural differences’ assertion described in Chapter One. The lingering colonial assumptions of the role of a white, qualified, professional foreign correspondent are seen as superior to Indonesian local staff. The next section will show how the life of local staff becomes even more difficult as Indonesian officials have a very different expectation of their role in working for foreign news companies.
3.3. Local staff and Indonesian officials
In contrast to the expectations of Australian journalists explained above, Indonesian officials see the role of local staff to educate the foreign correspondent specifically on matters of Indonesian nationalism and political culture. Here I explain how Indonesian officials have attempted to pressure local staff to lessen the criticism of Government and military in Australian news reports about Indonesia, and have regularly held local staff accountable for the actions of their foreign correspondent. This makes the professional practice of local staff much more difficult, and worthy of acknowledgement in this history, and subsequent studies of foreign news.
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Indonesian local staff complained that they were regularly pressured by Indonesian officials. As a result, an important aspect of their role has been to endure criticism, and explain the actions of their foreign news organisation. This continues today. Bhimanto said, “I get the full force of whatever is happening…regardless of who writes the story they will always call the Indonesian first.”72 Karuni Rompies, Fairfax assistant journalist in 2006, believes the calls from officials are directed mostly toward Indonesian staff. She said, “We received lot of complaints from the Indonesian Government, especially stories about human rights abuse by TNI in Papua.”73 On one occasion Rompies was questioned by a foreign ministry official, who asked, ‘When did you go to Papua?’ Rompies replied: “We just called them”. The official reprimanded her and said, “that’s not how it’s done”,74 suggesting her office must have permission to travel to Papua before writing a story, which of course, the Government made it very difficult to do. This example highlights the occasions when the officials were reluctant to challenge the correspondent, believing initially their best way was to act through the Indonesian staff. Rompies’ predecessor, Kristiani Tunelap stated: “When I joined the Sydney Morning Herald there were complaints to me from Foreign Ministry official Wahid Supriadi, asking me why the Australian journalist cannot ‘write more balanced?’”75 Clearly Supriadi took the view that local staff should have more of a role in influencing Australian journalists and how they write. These attitudes have persisted even in the era of a more independent press post-New Order. Geoff Thompson explained how one ABC Indonesian staff member was “gone after because he’s Indonesian and they got to us through him, they could do what they want with him, and they would be more reluctant to do that to us, but that is how they got to us.”76
Reasons why officials continue to target local staff are numerous and varied. Geoff Thompson argues that because local staff are Indonesian citizens the Government officials and military believe they “have power over them, and that was still being used for leverage” to influence the Australian journalist.77 Locals have been at much greater risk because the military are more likely to become violent when an Indonesian journalist is causing disruptions, while if it is a foreigner they risk international
72 Bhimanto, personal interview. He was working with AFP at the time of interview. 73 Karuni Rompies, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 74 Ibid. 75 Kristiani Tunelap, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 76 Thompson, personal interview. 77 Ibid.
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headlines. Bhimanto describes Aceh as the most dangerous area he has reported, and argued that “Indonesians can go to Aceh but if they get caught it’s goodbye – its military territory, so Agence France Press doesn’t send us. We are at greater risk than foreign journalists in that way.”78 There have been incidents where Indonesian journalists and their staff were indeed killed by Indonesian soldiers, having been previously kidnapped by the Free Aceh Movement.79 It has also been common in military areas for local staff to be questioned for hours in military occupied zones, while the foreign correspondent is not interrogated.80 Local staff are still often told how they should operate in military zones. On one occasion Rompies was scrutinised by military officials in Aceh where they stated bluntly, “you are just a journalist, not an investigator”,81 thereby questioning local staff attempts to find further information other than that originally supplied by the military. This implies that Indonesian military officials see local staff as having the ability to instruct and advise the foreign correspondent on what angle to take on various stories.82 As we have seen, this is not ordinarily the case.
Local staff are often called upon because officials are more confident questioning or reprimanding in their own language, but for the most part it has been the belief of Government and military officials that the Indonesian citizen must be supportive of the Indonesian nation and Pancasila principles.83 In this way, local staff have had to endure insults where their nationalism is questioned because they work for an Australian news organisation. It is through an examination of these pressures that we can obtain a greater understanding of the professional practice of local staff, and see why they deserve recognition for their efforts.
78 Bhimanto, personal interview. 79 Indonesian television journalist Ersa Siregar, camera operator Ferry Santoro, and their driver Rahmatsya where, along with two female passengers, kidnapped in Aceh on 29 June, 2003. Ersa was killed by TNI bullets, the circumstances of which have yet to be resolved. See Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, pp. 203-4. 80 Kristiani Tunelap was interrogated by military officials in Aceh while Herald correspondent Matthew Moore was forced to wait in the car outside. This will be explained later in this chapter. Tunelap, personal interview. 81 Rompies, personal interview. 82 Kitley has shown that there was a distinct difference between the high command and military field commanders. Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, p. 201. 83 David T. Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, Asia Papers, No.4, 1994, pp. 27, has discussed this as “the press of political struggle…which largely dominated press life until (it can be argued) the 1980s.” this will be examined in greater detail in Chapter IV.
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3.3.1. Right or wrong it’s my country?
The intensity of group or consensual values over individualistic critical perspectives extended to government officials’ attitudes in Indonesia. Indonesian officials believed an important aspect of the professional practice of local staff was to support Indonesian nationalism. They believed that local staff should convince the Australian foreign correspondent to write articles in a more positive light, rather than focusing on negative stories from Indonesia. They took the view that local staff should always keep in mind the greater cause of the Indonesian nation over the values of Western Fourth Estate model, which, theoretically at least, should comment on and criticise Government institutions. It is in this context that the professional practice of local staff must be examined.
The Indonesian media’s role in promoting the nationalistic cause has been well established since before Independence.84 Benedict Anderson has shown how newspapers played an integral part in forming the idea of the Indonesian nation.85 Newspapers during and after 1945 acted as vehicles for revolutionary ideals, and carried optimistic messages about the new nation, of a new and exciting period, and presented common themes which highlighted the importance of a unified Indonesia.86 In the 1950s, newspapers usually became mouthpieces for political parties or major ideological streams.87 Thus, at the time the foreign press was beginning to report from Indonesia, there was an expectation, especially from the Government, that any Indonesian journalist would naturally take pride in “providing information with the aim of forging the national consciousness of the people.”88 This belief that the Indonesian citizen must be supportive of the Indonesian Government and Pancasila principles, thus promoting Indonesia to the world, was developed throughout the New Order and was
84 Ibid., pp. 26-28. This will also be explained in greater detail in Chapter IV. 85 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism, Verso, London, New York, Revised Edition, 1991. See also Ahmat B. Adam, The Vernacular Press and the Emergence of Modern Indonesian Consciousness, (1855-1913), Cornell University, New York, 1995. 86 Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 126. 87 See Angela Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia; Understanding an evolving political culture, RoutledgeCurzon, 2003, pp. 1-13. 88 An excerpt from an English-language booklet from the Indonesian Journalists Association, in Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 26.
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rooted in the principles of developmental journalism. In short, that if negative stories were published about Indonesia, foreign investment and trade relations would be hindered, thus weakening the economic and political development of the country.89 Janet Steele, writing of the Suharto era, noted that Government and military officials made frequent use of the telephone, encouraging journalists to emphasise “harmony”, and because this was oral pressure, there was no written record of the occurrence.90 David T. Hill has written that during the New Order, “a phone call to editors from the authorities…is frequently enough to quash any sensitive revelations” in the Indonesian news.91 Thus, a common tactic used by government and military officials to persuade Indonesians to write in a certain way was by personally pressuring and reprimanding journalists about their patriotic duty. This included the local staff of foreign news companies.
These pressures continued after the fall of Suharto.92 Even one of the biggest proponents of freedom of the press in Indonesia, former President Abdurrachman Wahid, admitted to being concerned when his daughter, Yenny, decided to work for The Sydney Morning Herald, in 1997. Wahid said, “On one side I was proud that she can work for a world class paper like the Sydney Morning Herald. Second thing, at the same time, that kind of feeling is accompanied by another feeling that she will lose her national identity.”93 Wahid’s comment is a common belief amongst many Government officials that once an Indonesian begins to work for an Australian newsagency, they will be trained in Western journalism, lose their capacity to see events from the Indonesian national perspective, and lose sympathy to what the Government might be trying to achieve for the nation. Bhimanto explained on one occasion he was summoned to the Director General for Political Affairs: “I just got a thorough lesson about what
89 This will be examined further in Chapter IV, Indonesian Government Influences. 90 Steele, Wars Within, p. 99. 91 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 45. Hill writes: “Only if a paper is recalcitrant enough to breach such instructions is it sent written warnings. The last resort is the revocation of the company’s license…” This shows Indonesian Government officials preferred to pressure journalists and editors through ways which could later be denied. 92 See Naswil Idris, ‘Indonesia: Negative and Judgemental’, in Anura Goonasekera & Chua Chong Jin, Under Asian Eyes: What the West Says, What the East Thinks, SPF, 2002, p. 33, where he describes how Indonesian State Policy sees the role of the media to present a “true picture of Indonesia for people throughout the world. This is necessary to protect Indonesia from anti-Indonesian circles wanting to hurt the Indonesian nation.” 93 Abdurrachman Wahid, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006.
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nationalism is…that even if you work for a foreigner you should think of your nation.”94 Djajamihardja recalled being questioned by a Major in Papua during the 1969 Act of Free Choice: “He boasted how patriotic he was fighting against the Dutch, that his family suffered and so forth, and he asked me, ‘How much does the ABC pay you?’ ‘Must be good money’ he said.”95 The Major was implying that he was more patriotic having fought for Independence, while Djajamihardja was performing his role simply for money, at the expense of what the Major had fought for. Viktor Laurens remembers vividly being accosted by a soldier of the Palace Guard, in 1965. The guard stated explicitly: “Don’t sell your country to a foreigner!”96 These officials saw the local staff as being ‘bought out’ by Australian news organisations. The assumption was that these local staff compromised their nationalism in return for a decent wage, and the ‘sold out’ taunt became a common insult local staff have had to endure.
This intimidation is much more serious when dealing with the military in the field.97 In particular, East Timor and Aceh have been difficult areas for Indonesian staff to operate because of this reason.98 Bhimanto said, “the military have a tendency to lecture you about you nationality every time you meet them.”99 Endy Bayuni, as an assistant journalist for Reuters (1984) and AFP (1986-91) recalled the fear it caused him as a young reporter: “One of the Generals called me a traitor, and in those days when a General in a very powerful position calls you a traitor you have to take it very seriously.”100 For a young Indonesian, such an accusation is of great concern,101 and must cause them to question their professional practice, and their personal safety. These accusations were most common in East Timor. Bayuni stated:
94 Bhimanto, personal interview. 95 Djajamihardja, personal interview. 96 Laurens, personal interview. 97 There have been numerous studies on reporting during a situation of conflict and war. As Chapter I explained, Philip Knightley’s work, The First Casualty; The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth- Maker from the Crimea to Iraq is one of the more highly regarded texts on this subject. Here makes the point on several occasions that historically, the journalists have found it difficult to report during wartime, and it is only after the conflict has ceased that the ‘truth’ becomes known. See pp. 485-88, 495-497, 521- 521. 98 For Aceh see Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, pp. 203-227. For East Timor see Djajamihardja, ‘A Reporter’s View’, pp. 99-117. 99 Bhimanto, personal interview. 100 Bayuni, personal interview. 101 Kitley has stated that military authorities took the view that any news that was favourable to the Free Aceh Movement was a betrayal of Indonesian sovereignty. In his interview with a Indonesian journalists he concluded that “the difficulties of negotiating these competing priorities take a toll on truth and on the journalists’ wellbeing.” Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, pp. 226-27.
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Stories about East Timor were the worst. Foreign reporters were barred from reporting East Timor, but we were getting stories out of Darwin from the radio there and we would pick it up here and we tried to get a reaction [response] from the military officials in Jakarta. Asking them questions like ‘How do you respond to the allegations or these claims by Fretilin that they have killed two soldiers in an ambush?” Of course the military were not happy, and they would ask, ‘Who are you? What is your nationality? Are you Indonesian? So why are you asking these questions?’ My nationality credentials were then questioned by the military.102
These are rhetorical questions, aiming to ‘guilt’ local staff into supporting government policy, and promote the ‘right or wrong it’s my country’ attitude. It is also an attempt by officials to escape questioning and tough issues directed to them by the foreign press. This type of military pressure and influence on journalists as they report in a conflict zone has not been limited to Indonesia. Knightley has shown that Western journalists embedded with their military during the Iraq war of 2003 felt they could only write favourably of the soldiers due partly to fear of betrayal, or the questioning of their patriotism.103 In particular, Indonesian staff were often reprimanded by the Foreign Ministry for using the word ‘occupation’ for Indonesia's involvement in East Timor.104 If using a wrong word led to a stern lecture, reporting the atrocities that occurred in East Timor had greater consequences. In mid-August 1999, Yenny Wahid flew to East Timor with Australian journalist Lindsay Murdoch until she was evacuated to Jakarta because of consistent harassment from the militia.105 On one occasion an Indonesian cameraman in East Timor gave a feed to the ABC which showed footage of Indonesian warships off the coast of East Timor. The Government told the Indonesian news organisation to fire him because he was considered a “traitor”.106
The stigma of believing that Indonesian local staff are ‘traitors’ or ‘selling out their country’ was not only a belief of the Government and military. Indonesian staff have endured criticism of their ‘nationalism’ from other avenues. Zamira Loebis recalled being in East Timor in 1999 when it was closed for journalists, but the military
102 Bayuni, personal interview. 103 Phillip Knightley, The First Casualty: The war correspondent as hero and myth-maker from Crimea to Iraq, John Hopkins Press, 2007, pp. 427-443. 104 Ibid. 105 ABC Lateline interview transcript - Tony Eastely with Yenny Wahid, 26 June, 2001, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, www.abc.net.au/lateline/stories/s319430.htm (accessed 20 June, 2007). 106 Ishadi, S.K., personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. The cameraman was from TVRI of which Ishadi was involved with. He was also with the Ministry of Information. His story will be explained later in Chapter IV.
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government had allowed Indonesian staff working for foreign media to operate. Eventually, as Interfet entered the region, Australian journalists were allowed in, but according to Loebis, many assumed the local staff supported Indonesian control of East Timor. “One Australian journalist came to me and said ‘this is not your territory’”, she said.107 Tunelap recalled travelling to East Java to track down East Timorese children who were living in Semarang: “A local NGO said to me, ‘I don’t understand why an Indonesian would help a foreigner report about this country’.”108 Naswil Idris has studied Indonesian public opinion in 2002, and found that most Indonesians surveyed believed that Western media “were biased against Indonesia”, and 63% of respondents concluded that Australia was unfriendly towards Indonesia, the highest of any country.109 Due to this public opinion, local staff working for Australian news companies would not be seen as supporting the Indonesian nation, with many Indonesian nationals unable to comprehend the professional practice of local staff. This must be personally difficult for local staff to endure, as they are met with suspicion and contempt by fellow Indonesians, and in some cases by other Australian journalists, supposedly their colleagues. By being a part of the professional practice of Western journalism, they were considered to be traitors, or accused of compromising their nationalism for a decent wage.
Questioning their nationalism would no doubt cause Indonesian local staff considerable distress, and was a topic many felt the urge to discuss in their interviews. The response of local staff to those who questioned their nationalism was to explain their role, and argue against the perception that Western professional practice meant disregarding the goals of the Indonesian nation. A significant part of their role has been to explain the process by which Australian journalists operate from Indonesia to officials who have either no idea about, or no regard for, the way in which Australian journalists operate. Local staff became vital negotiators with the military and government and the Australian journalist. This is a crucial, difficult, and dangerous aspect of the Indonesian staff’s professional practice.
107 Loebis, personal interview. 108 Tunelap, personal interview. 109 Idris, ‘Indonesia: Negative and Judgemental’, pp. 40-43.
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Yenny Wahid, an Indonesian in East Timor, who occasionally stayed with the Indonesian military, admitted it was difficult. “It was really hard because you saw all these people doing all the atrocities, all the soldiers and militia and they claim that they’re doing it for the glory of my country”, she said.110 Hidayat Djajamihardja recalled reporting for the ABC that there was an Indonesian navy warship off the coast of Biak, Papua, during the so-called ‘Act of Free Choice’ in 1969. The UN sent fact- finding officers to Papua to investigate. He said, “I knew after the commotions of the reports which made the UN send people there, that I was an insult to Indonesian nationalism. But even as an Indonesian citizen I did not see that [Act of Free Choice] as right.”111 Clearly, these journalists working for Australian news organizations did not accept that it was their professional responsibility to report, ‘right or wrong it’s my country’. Gharfur Fadyl, employed with Associated Press for over 40 years, explained this further:
Sometimes your nationalism was questioned. It happens even sometimes today. I said ‘we file what we have to file’. If the Army bomb a certain village we say ‘bomb’. When I write, I strive for the truth, when I write I write for universal. There’s a difference between being loyal to the country and loyal to the government.112
Tunelap also explained how she described her professional practice to Indonesian officials: “It’s got nothing to do with selling your country, assuming the journalists are professionals. It is our job to present all aspects possible of the case, and the audience can judge for themselves.”113 Thus, when Indonesian staff had their nationalism questioned by officials, they argued their role was to professionally give a fair and balanced account to the people. Karuni Rompies explained that during the time when military officials in Aceh expected journalists to be embedded with a unit, she was responsible for explaining their situation:
In Aceh we were stopped by the military. They advised me of nationalism. I explained that we had to write the facts. I tried to assure him that we are simply journalists, trying to cover things, it has nothing to do with nationalism, but it took an hour to talk with him. Matthew [Moore] had to wait in the car. This was not the first time.114
110 Ibid. 111 Djajamihardja, personal interview. 112 Gharfur Fadyl, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 113 Tunelap, personal interview. 114 Rompies, personal interview.
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Rompies’ use of the term “simply” shows her attempts to limit the expectations of officials of her professional practice. She explains how the role of local staff is not to take into account larger issues of nationalism and bilateral relations, rather to be “simply” journalists writing facts.
This response did not always convince the officials, who saw this attitude as contrary to the interests of the country. The typically pragmatic Bhimanto, now a veteran of 20 years, said that “it doesn’t serve anybody’s purpose to argue, you just say yes, yes.”115 Perhaps agreeing with the official was due to the futility in changing the opinions of the officials, as after 20 years there would be a certain amount of monotony from hearing the same speech. Furthermore, the process could often be a junior official under orders from a higher authority to reprimand the local staff. Thus, both local staff and junior officials know this to be a game they must play. However, my research suggests that when confronted with interrogation from Indonesian officials, local staff responded by explaining their professional practice was to write ‘facts’ and ‘simply report as journalists’. This meant they reacted strongly to the suggestion they should form political or nationalistic alliances. This shows local staff were determined not have their role compromised by Indonesian government expectations. This determination was crucial to a greater scope of news of Indonesia sent to Australia.
3.3.2. Controls through political affiliation
Some local staff did indeed have political allegiances. Philip Koch recalled one local staff member going AWOL for days during 1965, seemingly preferring involvement in Muslim youth groups who went out at night looking for PKI members and supporters. Koch recalled seeing him for the last time on top of the Chinese embassy. He had just participated in its attack and looting. He was “waving at me, smiling. I had to get rid of him! He understood why!”116 Peter Barnett believed ABC driver Viktor Laurens was getting paid to report details of his whereabouts. He said, “I’m certain that Viktor had a second job – an employee of the intelligence community. It was no secret that Radio
115 Bhimanto, personal interview. 116 Koch, personal interview.
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Australia in Jakarta was suspected of having its own private transmitter, because news from Indonesia was reported in Melbourne so soon after the event.”117 Koch believed Laurens was not working directly for the intelligence community in 1965, explaining that it would have been common for local staff have been targets for officials wanting information about their foreign correspondent. “He didn’t have a second job with us because you couldn’t leave your car. Viktor worked terribly long hours for me. 7am – midnight”, Koch said, but added that “it doesn’t mean to say that secret service weren’t asking him where I was going and who I was talking to, but that was pretty obvious anyway. One would assume drivers like Viktor were asked questions, whether they were employed or not.”118 Laurens denied working for the intelligence community, and knowing the dangers of passing on information to the wrong person, claims he was cautious of answering questions too specifically during this confusing time. “You had to careful in the friends you picked”, he warned.119 He recalled his first few years, 1963- 67, as years of great distrust: “Everyone was suspicious to everybody. If you went to the PKI headquarters often, maybe you were a Communist! They said there was a list of names of people who were Communists, and they [those on the list] could be killed.”120 It was common in Indonesia for people to ask about the movements of Westerners. Sometimes they are inquisitive bystanders, sometimes they are reporting it to an official. For local staff, it has been part of the job to face questions about the movements of their Australian journalist. These questions and instructions from officials were all the more difficult when they challenged the local staff to choose between their national heritage, and their employer.
Whether local staff had allegiances to political parties or Government departments and benefited financially from passing on information was a subject of some concern for the foreign correspondents. Even in the beginning of this century, a Jakarta bureau office manager for an Australian news organisation was sacked. The manager, a former employee of the Indonesian Embassy in Canberra, was quietly reporting to the Indonesian Government details of the bureau’s foreign correspondent’s movements.121
117 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 115. 118 Koch, personal interview. 119 Laurens, personal interview. 120 Ibid. 121 Moore, personal interview.
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Indonesian journalists, including local staff for foreign news companies, were pressured to operate in certain ways through professional affiliation with the Indonesian Journalists Association, Persatuan Wartawan Indonesia (PWI). The PWI was more than just a professional association.122 It became complicit in the publication of government policies, and some of its members, including local staff for foreign news organizations, felt thoroughly compromised and unable to report fairly and freely.123 PWI was established in 1946 to mobilise professional journalists to support the nationalist struggle.124 By 1966, the New Order Government under Suharto began to control, or outlaw, many labour unions, and often made sure they had a political affiliation with the ruling Golkar Party.125 The PWI was no exception, with journalism among the first major sectors to be corporatised during the New Order.126 The ruling party could officially strip journalists of their PWI membership, meaning that under Indonesian law they could not work in the mainstream press.127 To become a chief editor, one should apply for a recommendation from PWI. If you did not belong to PWI, you could not receive a recommendation, and promotion was unlikely, if not impossible.128 Journalists were pressured to obtain a press card with the Ministry of Information, which meant membership of PWI.129 This press card was often needed for access to the Presidential Palace, the Foreign Ministry and to the Military Headquarters.130
122 For a more detailed account of PWI see Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, Chapter 7, pp. 86-102, and Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, pp. 67-73. Janet Steele also writes of PWI and the formation of AJI in Wars Within, pp. 254-266. 123 Steele, Wars Within, p. 257, explains this well with regard to the relationship between the banning of Tempo and the formation of AJI. 124 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 67. See also Oey Hong Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press During Guided Democracy, Switzerland, Inter Documentation Company, 1971, p. 178. 125 See Michele Ford, ‘Challenging the Criteria of Significance: Lessons from Contemporary Indonesian Labour History’, The Australian Journal of Politics and History, Volume 47, Issue 1, March 2001, pp. 101. 126 Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 86. Furthermore, a number of journalistic organizations were disbanded during the 1970s. See Daniel Dhakidae, ‘The state, the rise of capital and the fall of political journalism: Political economy of Indonesian news industry, PhD Thesis, New York: Cornell University, 1991. 127 My research did not come across any local staff working for foreign news organizations who were specifically banned from reporting. However, Romano has found that the PWI expelled 165 ‘socialist’ journalists in Jakarta and at least 208 in other cities, with many jailed or ‘disappeared’. This would resonate through to local staff in the media, including those in the foreign press. See Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 88. 128 Bayuni, personal interview. He discussed this in his role of Chief Editor of The Jakarta Post. 129 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 69, has discussed the conditions for becoming a PWI member. He wrote: “For a rank and file journalist however, a PWI membership card is theoretically essential and rejection by…the Association, for whatever reason, is likely to close the door formally on a press career.” 130 Laurens, personal interview. Bhimanto, personal interview.
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In Jakarta, the foreign journalist could not get a permanent press card unless they asked well in advance, but local staff with a PWI card could. Endy Bayuni chose to get one, but said he remained free from political allegiances. “You needed that press card, and that’s why I joined the PWI. But I was never an active member”, he said.131 Others, like Bhimanto, refused to join:
Particularly being an Indonesian I’ve got some problems with the authorities because you had to be affiliated with Golkar and I objected to that, but every time you meet them they harass you, asking 'when you are joining?' and threatening 'I can get you arrested'. It was a means to get you and you don’t want that. They can issue and revoke your license.132
Bhimanto operated with his name card, which being part of the foreign news, got him further than the local press, but he did encounter the occasional problem with this method. Interviewing the military and police without this PWI card was very difficult, as “some organisations which are rigid like the military - I wouldn’t be able to go in.”133 This story indicates that local staff reporting for foreign news bureaus were not exempt from the types of legalities and bureaucracy commonly placed on Indonesian publications under Suharto's New Order. The Ministry of Information attempted to control the local staff working for foreign press in similar ways to how they controlled Indonesian press.
David T. Hill has written that during the New Order journalists could receive some benefits from joining PWI, such as certain welfare support and access to housing, but claimed that towards the end of the New Order a general feeling of dissatisfaction with the organisation was prevalent.134 Despite government pressures to join PWI, by 1994, of the 5,359 journalists whose details are routinely provided to the Department of Information by their employers, only 3,164 were listed as members.135 In 1994 the Suharto regime closed down three Indonesian weekly papers.136 PWI issued a statement that it could understand the decision by the Government to close down these papers,
131 Bayuni, personal interview. 132 Bhimanto, personal interview. 133 Ibid. 134 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 70-71. 135 Ibid. 136 They were Tempo, Editor and DeTik. See Romano, Politics and the Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 90.
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showing just how much it had become of a mouthpiece for Golkar.137 Despite pressure from infuriated journalists, PWI would not retract their statement, nor help get the weeklies back in publication, so a number of dissident journalists decided to set up a separate organisation called the Alliance of Independent Journalists (AJI) .138 However, AJI was outlawed that same year on the grounds that it violated the ministerial declaration that said there would be only one journalists’ association in Indonesia139, and AJI’s members were regularly harassed by Government officials.140 Andreas Harsono claims his involvement in AJI led to his employer, The Jakarta Post, to not extend his contract, as PWI pressured editors not to employ AJI members.141 He said, “It was also very difficult to find another job for newspapers in Jakarta. Editors had to show that they were not stubborn to oppose PWI mandate. Even Reuters felt the pressure from the Ministry of Information.”142 Harsono then chose to be employed with the Australian media, a decision which was to benefit him greatly.
Harsono became employed by West Australian on a freelance basis. The West Australian had no office, and no Australian correspondent, so they employed him as a stringer while he remained with AJI. It was dangerous to join AJI, even for international organisations, so many Indonesian staff working for Australian news organisations did not join. Harsono said, “you might be arrested, our offices were ransacked by the police. There was even a danger for foreign news.”143 Harsono was also helping to establish ISAI, an organisation of mainly young journalists who established a foundation to engage in political struggle.144 AJI members shared an urge for increasing freedom of
137 Harsono, personal interview. See also Steele, Wars Within, p. 254. Which led to the establishment of PWI on August 7, 1994. 138 ‘Indonesia.’ World Press Freedom Review, IPI Report, December-January 1996, pp. 46-48. Journalists I interviewed who were involved in this included Fikri Jufri, Bambang Harymurti (Tempo), Aristides Katoppo (formerly Sinar Harapan) and Andreas Harsono (formerly Jakarta Post). See Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia,. p. 72 for a greater list, and Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 88-91 for more detail. See also Steele, Wars Within, pp. 254-6 where she explains through interviews with Harsono, Goenowen Mohamad and those from Tempo, how these journalists became increasingly frustrated after the PWI issued this statement. 139 Steele, Wars Within, p. 254. 140 “Indonesia”, World Press Freedom Review, IPI Report, December-January, 1996. 141 Harsono, personal interview. See also Andreas Harsono, ‘Journalists' Use of the Internet Bubbled Up From Underground.’ Nieman Reports, Volume 54, Issue 4, Winter, 2000, p. 74. 142 Harsono, personal interview. 143 Ibid. 144 ISAI is the ‘Institute for the Study of Free Flow of Information’. See Victor Menayang, Bimo Nugroho and Dina Listiorini, ‘Indonesia's underground press: the media as social movements.’ Gazette, Volume 64, Issue 2, April, 2002, pp. 141-157.
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information in Indonesia and were frustrated with continual government censorship.145 They had to remain underground and met in secret locations, but continued to report. Harsono explained:
But we were an underground organisation! So then the idea of using the West Australian name came up. It was wrong of course, but I printed fake West Australian business cards – and everyone was using them! I told them to be careful, because the government could trace down that I was behind it, but we needed that card – we couldn't use Kompas or The Jakarta Post cards because they were scared of being involved with our underground organisation.146
Occasionally Harsono gave other reporters a by-line in the West Australian so if they were ever questioned by government officials, they had proof they had written for the Australian news organisation. Harsono laughs, “This is the first time I ever told someone of how I exploited the West Australian! They might be surprised!”147 This example shows how Indonesian journalists realised that if they identified themselves as staff for the Australian media, rather than from the Indonesian media, they would be less scrutinised by the Government and the PWI. While there was certainly pressure for local staff in foreign news companies to join PWI, the fact that Harsono managed to keep his underground organisation running by using the business cards from an Australian news organisation shows there was less scrutiny on Australian news outlets. As Bhimanto explained, it was possible to operate without membership of PWI if you had a foreign news name card, and Harsono and the ISAI members used this to their benefit.
This section has shown the concerns amongst Australian journalists that their local staff may have political allegiances, thus compromising their professional practice. It has examined how the New Order Government attempted to control local staff, by pressuring them to have political affiliation with the ruling party, Golkar. Harsono and others’ ingenuity in using the Australian media to their benefit shows how many local staff were determined to trumpet the cause of press freedom, and saw their professional practice as being more than mouthpieces for ruling party policies.
145 See Romano, Politics and the Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 94 and Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, pp. 68-9 for discontent with PWI and the forming of AJI, and Steele, Wars Within, p. 259. 146 Harsono, personal interview. 147 Ibid.
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3.4. Conclusion
This chapter has shown the polarisation in the expectations of the professional role of local staff between Australian journalists and Indonesian officials. The Australian media expect local staff to take on the professional practice of Western journalism, yet the hierarchical nature of foreign news reporting means local staff have little autonomy in the decision-making process to shape and write stories. On the other hand, the Indonesian Government believes the professional practice of local staff should be to ameliorate disparaging reports of the foreign correspondent. This wrongly assumes that local staff have considerable agency in shaping reports, and in influencing foreign correspondents. These very different ideological standpoints on the role of local staff are the grounds for significant tension in the accounts of Indonesian nationals working for Australian news organisations, as described in this chapter. This chapter has displayed comprehensively the difficulties in the professional practice of local staff, and why their role should be acknowledged more thoroughly by both news companies and historians. The professional practice of the stringer, the fixer, the translator and journalist has been to be a vital cog in the reporting process for Australian newsgathering from Indonesia. Their response to officials is not be downplayed. Their strong-willed dedication to the pursuit of a free press despite government pressures has seen them become important dissidents against New Order (and Guided Democracy) suppression, harassment and humiliation.148
Indonesian local staff have risked their careers and occasionally their lives while working for the Australian press. While this chapter is not encouraging the myth- history of the ‘heroic’ Australian media overcoming ‘the evil’ obstacles of the Indonesian Government, the argument here is that by describing how local staff have risked their lives just as much, or even more than foreign correspondents, we may start to recognise that they play a key part in this history, and the difficult role they have played in the reporting process from Indonesia. As Louise Williams said of her rationale for nominating her assistant, Yenny Wahid, for a Walkley, “It doesn’t matter whether they are crafting the story or not, they are out on the street and in danger, and they are
148 ‘Indonesia’, World Press Freedom Review, IPI Report, December-January, 1996.
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asking the questions.”149 And these questions often led to fear of being killed. As Djajamihardja feared when he was summoned to the police station in Papua, 1969: “I was worried. I was away from my family, my two children. I remember thinking, ‘Will I return alive?’”150 The difficulties encountered in local staff professional practice include: performing a multitude of tasks for the correspondent without being allowed to become an 'educator'; not being acknowledged with a by-line; remaining free from political allegiances; dealing with pre-conceived assumptions or insults towards their nationalism, especially by Government and Military officials; and even risking death. They have largely accepted this questioning, harassment and persecution from all angles as part of their job. They have risked jail terms, injury and even death to simply file a story, sometimes without the rewards of a good salary or of seeing their work in print. In many cases, local staff exhibit incredible loyalty to their media organisations in Australia, and to many of the editors and bosses they have never met.
This chapter has shown through historical inquiry that local staff are important in understanding the nature of Australian journalism in Indonesia, and the process by which Australian foreign correspondents report. As local staff have not been adequately recognised by media organizations or historians, this research is groundbreaking as it shows foreign newsgathering involves more than the workings of the foreign correspondent, and that local staff are essential to the reporting process. It has revealed a history of close and principled professional collaboration between Australian correspondents and their local staff, and an often unacknowledged and undervalued dependency of foreign correspondents on their local staff that perpetuates colonial relations and hierarchies.
This chapter has shown that a significant constraint on Australian reporting of Indonesia has been the expectations of the Indonesian Government and military of the role local staff should perform. It touched briefly on the belief from Indonesian officials that journalism should not hinder the development of the nation, and various government attempts to control the flow of news from the archipelago. The next chapter will explain this in greater detail and examine Indonesian Government influences over Australian journalists in Indonesia. This chapter has shown that government pressures
149 Williams, personal interview. 150 Djajamihardja, personal interview.
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aimed to limit the professional practice of Australian journalists in Indonesia by influencing their local staff. The next chapter investigates the operation and effect of official intervention in Australian correspondents’ professional work.
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CHAPTER IV
INDONESIAN GOVERNMENT INFLUENCES
This thesis began by explaining how the Australian media has been seen as a constant cause of disturbance to bilateral relations between Australia and Indonesia. The next two chapters will examine the numerous limitations and restrictions placed upon Australian journalists by the Australian and Indonesian Governments, in order to prevent possible diplomatic incidents and shape news from the archipelago. This chapter will examine the influences upon Australian journalists by the Indonesian Government and military, and explain how Indonesian Government and military officials believe they have a duty to intervene in journalists’ professional practice, especially in conflict zones.
This chapter will show that the history of Australian journalists’ relations with the Indonesian Government and military is largely one of tension, and at times conflict. Chapters II and III have shown how both Australian correspondents and Indonesian local staff see their professional practice as writing ‘objectively’, recording the facts, reporting the ‘truth’ as much as possible, and working as a ‘free press’. This often meant the Australian media wrote and broadcast stories that were considered damaging to the Indonesian nation, and destabilising to Australia-Indonesia relations. The Indonesian Government believed Australian journalists should exercise restraint in their coverage of Indonesia, and their response was to influence these journalists through numerous pressures and controls. This chapter is thus a history of struggle between the Australian correspondent’s desire for greater freedoms, and the Indonesian Government’s attempts to exercise various controls over the Australian media in Indonesia. It will conclude by arguing that government and military controls and influences have done little to prevent reporting on contentious issues, and have only further exacerbated the conflict between the two groups. The controls reflect a simplistic and naïve understanding of journalists’ balance of power and freedom, and in the shaping and production of reports.
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4.1. Indonesian Government controls over its press: A brief outline
Indonesia has a long history of Government intervention over both the local and foreign press. Legislation aimed at curbing the indigenous nationalist press were implemented by the Netherlands Government in 1917 and again in 1931. The laws were executed on the grounds of maintaining order, but were evidently an instrument of intimidation against emerging nationalist newspapers and periodicals.1 Despite these press acts being a colonial imposition on Indonesia’s freedoms, future Indonesian Governments continued the policy of supporting press laws and legal power to “muzzle” journalists.2 This account begins in 1945, and will attempt to explain why the Indonesian Government and military have exercised various forms of influence over the media in Indonesia since that time. It is important to recognise that Indonesian Government influences on Australian journalists did not occur in a vacuum. Thus, a brief account of some of the controls over the local press from 1945 is given here in order to provide context, but an in-depth historical account of the Indonesian Government press laws and their implementation is beyond the scope of this thesis.
Oey Hong Lee described the period of 1949-1957 as the Parliamentary Democracy period where “freedom of the press undeniably existed in Indonesia”.3 Articles in the Indonesian press covered Government corruption, and even President Sukarno’s new marriage to a divorcee received criticism from the local press.4 When Rosihan Anwar began reporting for his nationalist paper, Merdeka, in 1945, he claimed there was “no control from the government” of newly established Indonesia, and
1 Oey Hong Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press during Guided Democracy, Hull Monographs on Southeast Asia, no. 4, University of Hull, 1971, p. 9. 2 Ibid., p. 15. The historiography of Indonesian Government influences over the press is explosive, and due to the sensitive nature of the topic, research has been limited. For example, in 1981 a book entitled Aspects of the Historical Development of the Press in Indonesia was published and part-funded by the Indonesian Government. Chapter Four was entitled 'The Muzzling of the Press', and concluded a conspicuous problem in the history of the press in Indonesia were prohibitions on publication or the ‘muzzling’ of newspapers. Perhaps because of this conclusion, Indonesian authorities withdrew the book from circulation, with many copies warehoused and eventually destroyed. See Abdurrachman Surjomiharjo (ed), Berberapa Segi Perkembangan Sejara Pers di Indonesia, Ist edition, Jakarta, Proyek Penelitian Pengembangan Penerangan, Departmen Penerangan R. I., 1980, and Peter Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia: Free but Responsible’? Centre for the Study of Australian- Asian Relations, Research Paper No. 18, Griffith University, 1981, p. 32. 3 Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press during Guided Democracy, p. 14. 4 Foreign minister Abdulgani was accused of corrupt practices while in London by Mochtar Loebis’ paper Indonesia Raya. Ibid., p. 15. 116
officials did little to curb the type and content of stories appearing in the press.5 Even Western observers were amazed at the lack of Government regulation in Indonesia.6
By 1957, when Sukarno began the period of Guided Democracy, there were greater controls over the press7, with greater censorship of publications, and blacking out of offending articles.8 B. M. Diah, editor of Merdeka, and his wife, Herawati, were arrested and imprisoned in 1960.9 They were released after twenty-four hours, but were soon posted abroad because Merdeka was considered “too political”.10 Despite the apparent ‘promotion’ to work overseas and represent the Government, the message was clear, and according to Herawati, “people knew why”.11 The only English-language newspaper in Indonesia, Indonesian Observer, was also owned by the Diahs. In 1957 it was closed down. The editor at the time, Daisy Hadmoko said, “Some newspapers like Indonesian Observer were closed because they were against the PKI. They [Government] didn’t come in and take the equipment or anything, you went in one day and suddenly you didn’t have a job.”12 During the Guided Democracy period, the army was also moving to control the press. In July, 1960, the army reacted sharply to criticism in the PKI paper, Harian Rakyat [People’s Daily], and the Jakarta Military Commander suspended the paper and summoned the members for questioning.13 Ali Alatas was then Director of Information with the Department of Foreign Affairs. He said, “In the early 1960s the press became more controlled, leading up to 1965, the press were being increasingly harnessed by the Ministry of Information.”14
5 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 6 Schumaker, in Indonesien Heute, Frankfurt, 1960, p.136, wrote about “an amazing extent of freedom of expression” that, according to him, “would be unthinkable even in the countries of the Western world with the greatest press freedom.” See Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press during Guided Democracy, p. 15. 7 See Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press during Guided Democracy, pp. 14-15. 8 See ‘Censorship’ Robert Cribb and Audrey Kahin, Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, Scarecrow, 2004, p. 70. 9 Herwati Diah, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. See also her book An Endless Journey; Reflections of an Indonesian Journalist, Equinox, 2005. 10 Diah, personal interview. 11 Ibid. 12 Daisy Hadmoko, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 13 John Legge, Sukarno; A political biography, Archipelago Press, 2003, p. 365. 14 Ali Alatas, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 117
Australians David T. Hill and Angela Romano’s research has extended our understanding of the Indonesian press during the New Order or Suharto period.15 Heavy press restrictions were introduced in 1965-66, when 46 local publications were banned and the Indonesian Journalists Association purged.16 In addition, the only television station was used to broadcast Government messages under the monopoly control of the New Order Government.17 Sukarno’s fall and the destruction and banning of the PKI meant papers such as the Indonesian Observer were re-opened, and B.M. Diah welcomed back in 1967, ironically, as Minister of Information, albeit briefly.18 After the 1965 coup the press was only allowed to operate if it was considered by the Government to be anti-communist in nature.19 Yusuf Ronodipuro was Director General and Secretary General of the Ministry of Information from 1967-72. He said, “At the beginning the press were in favour of Suharto because he was anti-Communist, so we provided facilities and contacts and created a Press Council consisting of Government officials and journalists.”20
However, as the press became more critical of Suharto, the Information Ministry was used to control the press. Public demonstrations against Suharto’s government in January, 1974, saw the end of the New Order ‘honeymoon’ period of press freedom, with severe crackdowns on the Indonesian press, and a hardening of the regime’s attitude towards the international media.21 Australian journalist David Jenkins recalled
15 David T. Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, Asia Papers no 4, University of Western Australia Press, 1994, and Angela Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia; Understanding an evolving political culture, RoutledgeCurzon, 2003. 16 Cribb and Kahin, A Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, p. 70. 17 See Philip Kitley, Television, Nation, and Culture in Indonesia, Ohio University Center for International Studies, 2000. 18 Diah was founding editor with Rosihan Anwar of Merdeka and was briefly a Minister of Information in Suharto’s 1968 cabinet. Diah was replaced that same year. Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 68. For further details on B.M. Diah and his relationship with the Indonesian President see also Bob Elsom, Suharto; A political biography, Cambridge, 2001, p187, and Legge, Sukarno, p. 419. Herawati Diah, An Endless Journey. 19 See Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 34. 46 of 163 newspapers were banned because of their presumed sympathy for the PKI. 20 Yusuf Ronodipuro, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 21 The Malari riots of January 1974 saw public demonstrations against the New Order Government in Jakarta, resulting in Government response to order 12 Indonesian publications have their printing and publishing permits withdrawn. David T. Hill states that prior to the Malari demonstrations newspapers which supported Suharto had enjoyed relative freedom to engage in “robust debate”. See Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 37, 115, 153-55. For crackdowns on the foreign press from 1974, see Rod Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits; Government, Media and East Timor, UNSW press, 2001, p. 3, and Tiffen, ‘The Australian media and Australian-ASEAN relations’, in Alison Broinowski, (ed), ASEAN into the 1990’s, Macmillan press, London, 1990, p. 260. 118
that by 1974 the Indonesian Government “really had their act together and pressure got tighter”, in terms of censoring actual copy of the local press. “The Malari riots in 1974, and 1978 student riots meant they were monitoring what the media was saying a lot more,” Jenkins said.22 Ronodipuro argued, “Most of the problems were with the Indonesian press. The criticism of the government was too strong - trying to undermine the government. Sometimes the reports were not true that were published in the press.”23 In 1974, twelve Indonesian publications had their publishing and printing permits withdrawn by the government, including Mochtar Loebis’ Indonesia Raya, and Rosihan Anwar’s Pedoman.24
In 1978, General Ali Murtopo, a close advisor to Suharto, became Minister of Information.25 Murtopo was former head of Indonesian intelligence, or OPSUS, special assistant to President Suharto, Deputy Head of BAKIN (the state sponsored Intelligence Coordinating Agency) and Honorary Chairman of CSIS.26 There was now an increased network of intelligence and security linked more directly with the Department of Information.27 Salim Said, former foreign editor of Tempo and now military historian, argued: “Those people who were in the Department of Information and dealing with foreign correspondents were very much under the control of the military.”28 In the same year of Murtopo’s appointment as its head, the Information Ministry closed a number of major newspapers, including Aristides Katoppo’s Sinar Harapan, and Jacob Utomo’s Kompas.29 Indonesian newspaper editors knew the dangers of writing with political connotation and self-censored, fearing closure. Jacob Utomo, Chief Editor of Kompas, a
22 David Jenkins, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. 23 Ronodipuro, personal interview. 24 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 37. 25 See R. E. Elson, Suharto: A Political Biography, Cambridge University Press, 2001, pp. 100, 124, 150, 164, 204. 26 Michael Leifer, “Ali Moertopo: Regional Visionary and Regional Pragmatist”, in Sekar Semerak: Kenangan untuk Ali Moertopo, CSIS, Jakarta, 1984, p. 67. Murtopo, Murdani, and their role with CSIS are examined in greater detail in Chapter VI. 27 See Harold Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, Cornell University Press, 1978, and David Jenkins, Suharto and his Generals: Indonesian Military Politics 1975-1983, Southeast Asia Program Cornell University Press, 1984. 28 Said, personal interview. See also Salim Said, “The Political Role of the Indonesian Military: Past, Present, and Future”, Southeast Asian Journal of Social Sciences, Volume 15, Issue 1, 1987. Genesis of Power: General Sudirman and the Indonesian Military in Politics, 1945-49, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian studies, 1991. Tumbuh dan Tumbangnya Dwifungsi (The Making and Unmaking of The Dual Funtion of the Indonesian Armed Forces), Jakarta: Aksara Karunia, 2002. 29 See Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 12. Seven student papers were also shut down as part of a crackdown against students and intellectuals. See in David T. Hill and Krishna Sen, The Internet in Indonesia’s New Democracy, Routledge, 2005, p. 19. 119
leading daily newspaper in Indonesia, said “Kompas policy was to report as much as possible, but in order to be able to report, we have to be very wise, or cautious, or cowardly.” 30 Papers employed ‘hidden messages’ in suggestive language and communicated through subtle structural techniques.31 By 1987, Suharto had declared publicly what many in the media knew had been the case previously. “Every news item, regardless of the source, should be censored carefully before being published”, he said.32 Harmoko, a former journalist and influential figure in New Order politics, was the Minister of Information for nearly 15 years.33 Despite Suharto’s statement for greater openness in the early 1990s34, the decision was made by New Order officials to ban the influential publication Tempo, along with the magazine, Editor, and the tabloid, Detik, in June, 1994.35 But as Janet Steele has shown, despite Tempo’s banning, the magazine played a significant role in securing freedom of expression in Indonesia, and bringing down Suharto’s New Order.36
With the fall of the New Order, one of the first tasks of new President, Abdurrachman Wahid, was to disband the Ministry of Information. Wahid said of this decision:
With that kind of Ministry, the government meddles into the affairs of the society and I don’t like it. Under Suharto the ministry was a kind of police over us. Always when I write, I have to
30 Jacob Utomo, personal interview, Jakarta, Novermber, 2006. See also Jakob Oetama, Pers Indonesia: Berkomunikasi dalam Masyarakat Tidak Tulus, Penerbit Buku Kompas, Jakarta, 2001. 31 See See Janet Steele, Wars Within; The story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Suharto’s Indonesia, Equinox, 2004, p. 234. Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 46-8. 32 Editorial, The Jakarta Post, 11 December, 1984, p. 5. 33 Harmoko became Golkar Chair, the first civilian to hold this position, in October, 1993. Elson, Suharto, p. 273. He had previously worked with the Army newspaper, Angatan Bersenjata and studied with the National Defence Institute. He claimed, ‘body and soul I’m still a journalist’, the nature of which has been questioned by Australian journalist Michael Byrnes, in Australian and the Asia Game, Allen and Unwin, 1994, p. 165. Seemingly out of favour with Suharto, Harmoko eventually lost his post as Information Minister in June,1997, Elson, Suharto, p. 294, despite once owning 40% of 10 publications in the Pos Kota group. See Damien Kingsbury, The Politics of Indonesia, Oxford University Press, 2nd edition, 2005, p. 123. 34 Openness or ‘keterbukaan’ ultimately failed, due to the consistent bans and restrictions on plays and newspapers especially. See Cribb and Kahin, Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, p213. See also Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 123. 35 See Janet Steele, Wars Within; The story of Tempo, an Independent magazine in Suharto’s Indonesia, Equinox, 2004, pp. 234-5. 36 Ibid., p. 282. 120
apply a kind of self-censorship, otherwise my piece will not be published. You had to be careful. Suharto controlled society through that.37
When asked in a personal interview whether the freedom of the press was all he had hoped for when he closed down the Ministry of Information, Wahid replied, “No. I’m not satisfied. There is a more subtle form of censorship now. Self-censorship is evident. A legacy of the Suharto era – the legacy now takes another form.”38 Journalists who reported in the Suharto era have now become editors, many taking time to adjust to this new style of news-making.39 A culture of giving journalists money for favourable coverage had become entrenched in society.40 Many officials from the old Ministry of Information were simply moved to the Department of Foreign Affairs and newly formed Ministry of Communication and Informatics, but Angela Romano has argued that physical violence is the journalist’s greatest risk.41 The legacy of self-censorship from the Suharto era is taking some time to dissipate, but on the whole the press in Indonesia, both local and foreign, as Janet Steele writes, is “moving from darkness into light.”42
However, heavy restrictions on press freedom continued in the outer regions controlled by the military. Government regulations in outer regions meant journalists were restricted in movements, denied access to some areas, and forced to adhere to martial law regulations which prohibited journalists from publicising statements “likely to disrupt military operations.”43 In reporting Aceh in 2002, Philip Kitley has shown that despite high ranking military officials publicly supporting the concept of balanced
37 Abdurrachman Wahid, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 38 Ibid. However, Romano has argued it was Wahid who most directly attempted to reverse the flow of press freedom by trying to instigate various controls, which ultimately failed. See Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 167. 39 Andreas Harsono, ‘Journalists confront new pressures in Indonesia: in an era of press freedom, the quality of journalism is a concern’, Nieman Reports, Volume 56, Issue 2, Summer 2002, p. 73. 40 Ibid. See also Angela Romano, ‘I always throw the envelope away’, Inside Indonesia, Issue 54, April- June, 1998, and Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 150-63. 41 Romano writes that “the biggest threats are no longer laws and regulations that are designed by the executive and parliament”, suggesting the era of press laws designed to control journalists is over. However, she notes the “dramatic increase in attacks and threats against journalists and their workplaces” during the era of reform post-Suharto. Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 167-8. 42 Steele has argued this, but also stated that until press freedom is institutionalised and safeguarded by law, the struggle to completely reform the system will remain incomplete, Steele, Wars Within, p. 282. 43 Martial Law Authority Declaration 06, 2003, Kompas, 22 July, 2003, in Philip Kitley, ‘Winning an ‘Information War’: An Indonesian Case Study’, in Elizabeth Thomson and P.R.R. White (eds.), Communicating Conflict: Multi-lingual Case Studies of the News Media, London, Continuum, p. 212. 121
and fair reporting in line with journalists’ professional code of practice, the military in the field took the view that journalists should not write sympathetically or approvingly of the rebel movement.44 In 2006, Australian journalists wrote that restrictions on their reporting in Papua were of similar ilk, a continuing legacy of the Suharto era.45 This will be examined in greater detail later in this chapter. This section has outlined briefly the Indonesian Government’s propensity to control its press, especially in the New Order period. It has shown that for the most part, the Indonesian Government has been relentless in controlling and limiting press freedom, even putting major papers out of business. The next section will examine reasons why they persisted with these policies.
4.1.1. Journalists are to build and develop the nation
Benedict Anderson has shown that in Indonesia as elsewhere, newspapers have been an integral part in forming the idea of ‘a nation’.46 The Indonesian media played an important role in promoting the nationalistic cause during Indonesia’s Independence.47 Newspapers during and after 1945 acted as vehicles for revolutionary ideals, and carried optimistic messages about the new nation, of a new and exciting period, presenting common themes which highlighted the importance of a unified Indonesia48, and often became mouthpieces for political parties or major ideological streams.49 The idea that journalists should assist in nation-building was continued throughout the New Order in a new, ideologically inflected guise known as ‘developmental journalism’ – in short, if negative stories were published about Indonesia they would endanger society and weaken the economic and political development of the country.50 In developmental journalism, journalists are not encouraged to engage in attacks on the institutions of the state, because their “fragile political structures cannot withstand this endless scrutiny of
44 Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, p. 212. 45 For example, see Morgan Mellish, ‘Why it’s all quiet on the West Papua Front’, The Walkley Magazine; inside the Australian media, issue 44, October/November, 2006. 46 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism, Verso, London, New York, Revised Edition, 1991, and ‘The Idea of Power in Javanese Culture’, in Holt, Claire (ed), Culture and Politics in Indonesia, Cornell University Press, Ithica, 1972. 47 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, pp. 26-28. 48 Adrian Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 126. 49 See Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 1-13. 50 See Angela Romano, ‘Developmental Journalism: State versus Practitioner Perspectives in Indonesia’, Media Asia, 1999, Vol 26, Issue 4, pp. 183-191. 122
their faults”.51 This belief has put them at odds with the Western Fourth Estate model, which sees it as vital that journalists comment on, and criticise, other institutions. The role of journalists as ‘watchdogs’ over Government policy is inherently different to the belief that journalists should be “providing information with the aim of forging the national consciousness of the people”.52
One early example of this difference was well represented in a book published by the Ministry of Information in 1949, Illustrations of the Revolution, in which there are a number of photographs of foreign journalists interviewing revolutionary leaders, including President Sukarno. One caption stated: “Their photographs were taken, they were filmed and bombarded with questions by foreign correspondents who, according to Indonesian standards, moved a little too freely. Naturally, Bung Karno was the main target of the ‘aggression’ of the foreign press”.53 This would suggest that in the very early days of Indonesia’s formation as a nation, in the eyes of the Ministry of Information at least, the professional practice of the foreign press corps was seen as “too free”, and “aggressive”. The foreign press’ persistent and upfront questioning of Indonesian officials, many of whom were revered heroes of the Revolution, was seen as unwarranted and impolite, as foreign correspondents were considered guests of the Indonesian Government.54 To many Indonesian officials, Western journalists were seen be part of the colonialist imperialist press, and opposed Indonesia’s sovereignty.55 Foreign Minister Subandrio told Australian journalist Colin Mason in 1962: “Everyone knows the press is a tool of a certain group, a certain group that is powerful and wealthy. For us, journalism and diplomacy are tools of the revolution.”56 This was a view of many Indonesian Government officials who saw the role of journalists and the press to support the nationalist cause.57 Rosihan Anwar agreed, and said, “The press
51 Ibid., p. 184. 52 An excerpt from an English-language booklet from the Indonesian Journalists Association, see Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia. p. 26. 53 Anon., Illustrations of the Revolution, Ministry of Information, Indonesian Government, 1949. Colin Mason also mentions this book in Sukarno’s Indonesia, Norwitz Publications, 1966, p. 65. 54 Romano, ‘Foreign correspondents and knowledge broking in Indonesia’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne (eds.), Foreign Devils and other journalists, p. 53. 55 Neil Davis, in Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour; Neil Davis, Combat Cameraman, 1934-1985, Collins, 1987, pp. 100-102, told how Sukarno would often call the Western powers OLDEFOS, the old emerging forces, and would comment on how the ‘imperialist press’ was recording his speeches. See also Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence; A journalist’s biography, Macmillan, 2001, p. 266. 56 Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, p. 111. 57 Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 1-13. 123
was on the side of the revolution so there was no problem of control from the government.”58
Rosihan’s view was shared by many Indonesian journalists. Herawati Diah recalled her time reporting with the Indonesian Observer until it was closed in 1957. She said:
The Observer would consider ‘right or wrong it’s my country’ so we did not emphasise the bad things about Indonesia. At that time it was a good thing we wrote like that because we were proud to become an independent country and we wanted the world to know we are free and look at us positively.59
The idea that the press was an instrument of nation-building continued once Suharto took power and established the New Order regime. In 1966, a new Press Bill was introduced which imposed severe limitations on the media, in order to support the concept of the press as ‘free but responsible’.60 What then Minister for Information, Professor Yamin, meant by ‘responsible’ was made abundantly clear in his threatening statement that “Journalists, both local and foreign, must not be anti-revolutionary or anti-Indonesian in their writings. Otherwise they will be crushed by the State apparatus.”61 The Commander of the Air Force, Budiarjo, became Minister of Information in 1968.62 Budiarjo oversaw new press laws to be implemented in 1969. He told the press, “Don’t write anything that will damage the national struggle.”63
Perhaps the harshest laws were licensing. All journalists were required to be registered with the government before they could work.64 There were journalists, both local and foreign, who disagreed with these new laws. “Next thing farmers will have to register before they can begin farming”, quipped Aristides Katoppo in Sinar Harapan.65 Frank Palmos wrote in the Melbourne Herald: “The New Indonesian Press laws
58 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview. 59 Herawati Diah, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 60 Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press during Guided Democracy, p. 120. Cribb and Kahin, A Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, p. 70. 61 Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, p. 89. 62 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, p. 68. 63 Frank Palmos, Melbourne Herald, June 5, 1969, p. 4. 64 Lee, Indonesian Government and the Press during Guided Democracy, p. 47. 65 Frank Palmos, Melbourne Herald, June 5, 1969, p. 4. 124
released this week are almost an exact copy of the harsh laws that allowed Sukarno’s guided democracy regime to gag and intimidate the press.”66 But some of the Indonesian press saw merits to the laws, seeing the press as an instrument of nation- building. The nationalist party paper, Suluh Marhaen commented: “We condemn every action to curb the press, but we understand the problem fully. If people wish to practise the freedom of the press as prevails in Western countries, the Indonesian people who are imbued with Pantja Sila values will object.”67 Thus, the government belief was that the press should not criticise Pancasila values or detract from the greater goals of the nation, and that its control of news is a legitimate right, and a national necessity. Under the New Order, newspapers, magazines, music and film were controlled through censorship codes designed to protect state security and social harmony.68
The concept of developmental journalism was widely supported in many Third World countries and newly established nations.69 It was discussed and implemented widely in Asia, where leaders espoused the importance of the ‘Asian values’ of its press70, and Developmental Journalism was recognised as a legitimate professional practice by the United Nations.71 Jacob Utomo, Chief Editor of Kompas, supported developmental journalism as professional practice for journalists in Indonesia. He said in a personal interview:
The situation here is not like Australia. Here in this country it is developing. Reform is by nature a step-by-step improvement, and that is what we are doing. I always consider the realities that we are facing. I cannot be blunt, we must be considerate, especially about religion and race. These are sensitive issues in this country. I always think of the impact.
66 Ibid. 67 Editorial, Suluh Marhuan, 5 August, 1970, in Peter Polomka, Indonesia Since Sukarno, Harmonsworth, Penguin, 1971, p. 203. 68 Cribb and Kahin, A Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, p. 70. 69 Rosenblum argues the concept began partly from “inadequate” and “derisive” reporting from foreign news journalists, which led “disgruntled” Third Word leaders to “compare notes and make collective complaints” about the impact of such reports on the development of their nation. Mort Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes; Reporting the World to America, Harper Colophon, 1981, p. 204. 70 Former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohammed was a strong proponent of this style of journalism. See ‘A Prescription for a socially responsible press’, Media Asia, volume 12, issue 4, 1985, pp. 212-215. See also the account from former Singapore Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, ‘Discipline versus Democracy’, Far Eastern Economic Review, 10 December, 1992, p. 29. 71 See United Nations Development Program (1998), Human Development Report, 1998, Paris, UNDP. 125
Suharto argued the national press needed to be contained, as “freedom alone without responsibility can clearly be destructive”, and thus free expression, especially in news reporting, had to be modulated with concern for the general social good.72
David T. Hill has argued that the mass media had become the most important area of maintenance and reproduction of the New Order’s legitimisation.73 This was achieved by creating an environment whereby a ‘responsible press’ should not write unfavourably on the five Pancasila principles, the Government's development programs, the military, dissent in outer regions, the President’s life or family business interests, the business activities of senior officials, or corruption or mismanagement stories with ‘sensitive’ political overtones.74 In addition, the only television station was government owned75, and would broadcast government messages, even without commercial advertising, because New Order officials were worried that the ‘ignorant masses’ would be too easily led.76 Suharto contended that the role of journalists was to be a “partner in the process of nation building”,77 but importantly, Angela Romano has shown that developmental journalism had many different understandings, with many Indonesian journalists critical of the Government imposed restrictions under the guise of supposedly culturally appropriate Pancasila values.78
For the foreign press, the New Order Government controls meant Indonesia was considered a country of ‘reluctant coverage’.79 It ‘reluctantly’ accepted foreign news organisations, not least because of their importance to foreign investment, which was booming under Suharto in the 1980s.80 Although the concept of developmental journalism takes on many forms, the basic idea is summed up by an Indonesian official, who told a Washington Post correspondent in 1977:
72 Elson, Suharto, p. 241. 73 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, pp. 34-60. 74 Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign press in Indonesia, p. 9, See also Adam Schwartz, A Nation in Waiting; Indonesia in the 1990’s, Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1994, p47, where he contends tried to cover problems of corruption and legal framework through the ‘ideological blanket’ of Pancasila. See also Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 164-65. 75 See Kitley, Television and Culture in Indonesia. 76 Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, pp. 174-5. 77 Suharto, ‘The Role of the press in national development’, in Achal Mehra (ed.), Press Systems in Asean States, Singapore, AMIC, pp. 131-34. 78 Romano, ‘Developmental Journalism’, pp. 183-191. 79 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 99. 80 Elson, Suharto, pp. 148-150, 251-55, 278. 126
These critical reports you’ve all been making lately hamper our speed of development. They draw attention of the people away from development to other issues, which creates frustration…if correspondents employ the Western tradition of hitting issues face-on, they will not achieve their mission. They must follow the slower, more indirect Indonesian way, or else our government will ban foreign journalists and ignore their reports.81
Australian journalists were often the target of New Order official’s concerns with ‘critical reports’.82 As Chapter I explained, many saw the crucial difference being the ‘cultural differences’ between Australia and Indonesia as the key reason for concerns: the Western model of a watchdog press was culturally alien to Indonesian Government officials, who saw the press as a partner in nation-building. This was especially the case when writing of the outer regions’ instability and aims of breaking away from the Jakarta Government.83 Former Indonesian Ambassador to Australia, 1996-1999, Wiryono Sastrohandoyo, explained:
It’s a cultural problem. Australians are always scrutinising Indonesia. As a young nation you are concerned about your existence, especially when Australian journalists write ‘Independence of Aceh is a matter of time’. When it is said by an Australian we think, ‘these people are trying to break us up’.84
This comment has particular resonance in Australia – that the Australian press has a motive for destabilising the Indonesian nation – a harsh but unfortunately persistent belief amongst some Indonesians.85 Some reporting by Western journalists has been regarded as derisive and without sensitivity to the positive aspects the Indonesian Government was trying to achieve. Even amongst regular citizens, the feeling was that
81 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 204. Rosenblum did not name the official or the American correspondent. 82 See Damien Kingsbury, ‘Constraints on Reporting Australia’s Asian Neighbours’, Asia Pacific Media Educator, Issue No. 2, Jan-June, 1997, pp. 102-110. David Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes Towards the Domestic and Foreign Media’, Australian Outlook, vol. 3, 1986, pp. 153-161. 83 Sukarno’s phrase used during the revolution ‘Sabang to Merauke’ was a statement of national unity, but the phrase later became an assertion especially of Indonesia’s claims to Aceh and Papua. See Cribb and Kahin, A Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, p. 380. See also Robert Cribb, ‘Nation: Making Indonesia’, in Donald K. Emmerson (ed.) Indonesia Beyond Suharto: Polity, Economy, Society, Transition, M.E. Sharpe, 1999, pp. 22-23. 84 Wiryono Sastrohandoyo, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 85 See Ratith Hardjono, The White Tribe of Asia; An Indonesian View of Australia, Monash Asia institute, 1993. See also Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism. Byrnes, Australian and the Asia Game, p. 128 discusses this as a psychology amongst Indonesian officials. 127
the Western news media failed to report accurately the country to which they are posted.86 In this sense, developmental journalism and controls over the foreign press had a particular resonance in Indonesia. However, as scholars have argued previously, the Indonesian Government, and in particular the New Order military regime, has used this problem as an attempt to place greater controls and restrictions over the media in Indonesia, under the guise that it will protect Pancasila principles, but in reality the controls were implemented to limit criticisms and legitimise the authority of the ruling party for the purpose of maintaining and legimitising Suharto’s authoritarian regime.
4.1.2. Australian journalists and the legacy of Balibo
The Australian media has, according to former ABC correspondent Peter Rodgers, often been “singled out for special attention”, because of “official resentment at Radio Australia's Indonesian language broadcasts together with the fact that major reports on Indonesian affairs in the Australian press can trigger wider, often unwelcome, media interest in happenings in the country.”87 Indonesian officials deny Australian journalists were scrutinised more closely than any other nations reporters88, and there is not, nor has there been, a particular sense of unity in Indonesian officials responses to the Australian media.89 However, a regular accusation by Indonesian officials is that Australian journalists’ reports were often biased – even if inadvertently – against Indonesia. They believe Australian journalists emphasised stories of military mismanagement in the outer regions of Indonesia, rather than the positive aspects Indonesia was trying to achieve for the region or the nation. The Minister of Information from 1978, Ali Murtopo, once told Australian officials he did not mind if
86 See Naswil Idris, ‘Indonesia: Negative and Judgemental’, in Anura Goonasekera & Chua Chong Jin, Under Asian Eyes: What the West Says, What the East Thinks, SPF, 2002, p. 33, where he describes how Indonesian State Policy sees the role of the media to present a “true picture of Indonesia for peoples throughout the world. This is necessary to protect Indonesia from anti-Indonesian circles wanting to hurt the Indonesian nation” because most people surveyed saw the Western media as “biased against Indonesia”. 87 Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 31. 88 Indonesian officials interviewed consistently argued that they treated Australian journalists the same they would for a journalist from any country. In particular, Ali Alatas and Imrom Cotan argued that there was never a specific policy against Australian journalists which differed from other foreign correspondents. However, in their interviews many officials were able to distinguish between concerns they had with the Australian press, as opposed to press from other Western nations, which suggests a particular concern with the way Australian journalists operated. 89 Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism, p. 110. 128
Australian journalists formed critical impressions of Indonesia, but it was important to only admit those who did not have a “predetermined bias”.90 Many Indonesian Government and military officials claimed this deliberate ‘mounting of a campaign’ against Indonesia was a policy of the Australian media, due to the historical legacy of the Balibo Five deaths.91
As scholars and journalists have argued, many Indonesians deeply resented Australian media coverage of their covert war in East Timor since 1975.92 Chapter I explained that previous scholars have seen the deaths of the Balibo Five in 1975 as the starting point for the conflict between Australian journalists and the Indonesian Government. This research has shown there has been conflict between the two groups before 1975. However, many Government officials see the Balibo Five deaths as a crucial event in the reporting of Indonesia by Australians. Indonesian officials claim sections of the Australian media were ideologically opposed to Indonesian involvement in the region, largely because of the death of their five colleagues in Balibo. Former Ambassador to Australia until 2002, Imrom Cotan, sums up this point of view:
Sentiments on East Timor still lingered, and the Australian media have the kind of ‘baggage’ because, although a few have forgotten, some of them still remember the five journalists who were killed in Balibo when the first Indonesian Armed Forces entered into Timor. Some of those journalists continued to remember this and because of that they have a biased perspective of Indonesia. And in fact in 2005 again they reviewed the case, so if you hold up into the past, there are constraints that could prevent you from advancing. I’m not accusing the whole Australian media of bias but this fact I believe although we regretted the fact that some Australian journalists were killed – a tragedy – we need to move forward so we can clear up things, and then they can see Indonesia much clearer.93
90 Rawdon Dalrymple, ‘Ali Moertopo and the Australian Connection’, in Sekar Semerbak: Kenangan untuk Ali Moertopo, CSIS, 1986, p. 19. 91 Recently released cabinet documents from 1978 show that Asian leaders were reluctant to visit Australia because they feared a hostile media reception. See Philip Hudson, ‘Why Fraser gave up on East Timor’, Sydney Morning Herald, 1 January, 2009, p. 7. 92 Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes towards the Domestic and Foreign Media’, p. 157-58. See Errol Hodge, Radio Wars; Truth, Propaganda and the Struggle for Radio Australia, Cambridge University Press, 1995. Rod Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, Tanter, van Klinken and Ball (eds.), Masters of Terror; Indonesia’s Military and Violence in East Timor, Rowan & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2006, pp. 51-52, 115-16, 154. See also Alison Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in Both Our Shoes: East Timor and the Media’, Australian Journalism Review, Volume 21, Issue 3, 1999, pp. 1-24. 93 Cotan, personal interview. At the time of interview the NSW Coroner’s Court was investigating the death of one of the Balibo Five, Brian Peters, with the case still underway. The case has since been completed, with the Coroner, Dorelle Pinch, concluding the Balibo Five were indeed murdered on orders by Indonesian military officials. This has been explained in Chapter I. 129
Chapter V will show this was also the view of many Australian Government officials, including former Prime Ministers Gough Whitlam and Paul Keating.94 Certainly, journalists are not immune to error, and there were examples of broadcasts which overstated the plight of the East Timorese.95 One such example was a 1979 Radio Australia report which quoted the Indonesian Foreign Minister, Dr Mochtar Kusumaatmadja, as saying the situation in East Timor was as bad as Biafra (during the Nigerian civil war) and potentially as bad as the Cambodian genocide. The Radio Australia item relied on a foreign news agency story, which had totally distorted Mochtar’s comments.96 No doubt there were cases of incorrect reporting, but to allege Australian journalists reported incorrectly deliberately because of a ‘predetermined bias’ since Balibo is a much more serious accusation.
Chapter II has discussed the legacy of the Balibo Five at some length, and concluded that many Australian journalists felt it their responsibility to keep the story of Balibo alive, and seek the ‘truth’ behind the events behind the journalists’ deaths. The story of Balibo became one of popular consciousness for successive Australian journalists who knew the story well before arrival to Indonesia. Current ABC Indonesia correspondent Geoff Thompson wrote about being thrust from Darwin to report on East Timor in 1999 and how the story of the Balibo Five was fresh in his mind: “I knew about Indonesia invading in 1975, and about Australia's blind-eyed complicity, and of course the killing of five journalists at Balibo - but that was kind of it.”97 Louise Williams’ first experience of visiting East Timor in October, 1989, was with Shirley Shackleton, the wife of one of the Balibo Five. Mrs Shackleton had gone to Timor to attempt to find out how her husband had died, and to plant a tree in Balibo.98 However, journalists deny they have some kind of ‘past baggage’ which affects their professional practice. David Jenkins wrote, “I know of no Australian journalist in Jakarta who
94 Whitlam stated, “The Australian media have no credibility in Indonesia because they have conducted a vendetta against Indonesia since the deaths of two television teams in Balibo on 16 October 1975.” See Whitlam, in Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 99. 95 Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in both our Shoes’, p. 2. 96 Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 38. Coverage of East Timor by Radio Australia will be examined in greater detail in Chapter V. 97 Geoff Thompson, ‘First Day Out: East Timor’ in Trevor Bormann (ed), Travellers tales: Stories from ABC’s foreign correspondents, Volume 1, ABC Books, 2004, p. 77. 98 Louise Williams, On the Wire: An Australia Journalist on the Front Line in Asia, Simon & Schuster, 1992, p. 106. 130
nurtured a vendetta against Indonesia because of the events, however tragic, at Balibo.”99
The Indonesian Government believed the Australian media’s coverage of East Timor, particularly the 1991 Dili massacre and 1999 referendum, was not what the Australian media espouses - fair and balanced reporting. The consistent allegation leveled at Australian journalists was that they were reporting the Timor situation in a sensationalist manner, without balance.100 In particular, Radio Australia’s reporting on East Timor was often considered by Indonesian Government and military officials as biased and inaccurate.101 This opinion went as high as the former President, Abdurrachman Wahid, who argued:
The Timor case is very complex, but the Australian press made it very simple because of our violations of human rights, because of efforts to disregard the Timorese aspirations which was against human rights. We were seen as oppressors, as colonialists of East Timor, this is what happened in the Australian press, while in fact, on one side we were oppressive, but at the same time we brought progress and better things for them. Many of the reports of the Australian press on the cruelties of Indonesia are good, but they are motivated by one thing – that Indonesia has to go from East Timor.102
Wahid’s argument is consistent with many former and current Indonesian Government officials – that the Australian press has a pre-determined attitude on the situation in East Timor, and that they failed to understand, or attempt to explain, the Indonesian side of the story. Ali Alatas continues this argument:
The Australian press and certain NGOs were quite mobile and capable of mounting a campaign against Indonesia. The NGOs started it and were supported by certain sections of the Australian press, giving publicity to what they were saying. Our biggest worry was that despite the fact that both governments were following the same path on East Timor [until 1999], the NGOs and some
99 Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes Towards the Domestic and Foreign Press’, p. 158. 100 See Kingsbury’s chapter ‘Indonesian Views of Australia’s News Media’, in Issues in Australian Journalism, pp. 87-114. 101 Ibid., p. 107, See also Hodge, Radio Wars, chapter ‘Collision with Indonesia’, 1975-1988’, pp.181- 206. This will also be discussed in Chapter VI, with comments made by the Radio Australia Head at that time, Phil Koch, on his mission to Indonesia to discuss accusations from Indonesian Government officials that Radio Australia was only reporting the Fretilin side. Koch argued Indonesian officials were unwilling, or unavailable, for comment. Thus, their point of view was largely missing in Australian news reports on the East Timor situation. 102 Wahid, personal interview. 131
sections of the Australian press were so obviously mounting a campaign against Indonesia, that it worried us. It caused some tensions among the two governments.103
In September 1999, stories in the Australian print media from East Timor were descriptive and graphic104, and led to strong public outrage in Australia over Indonesian involvement in the region.105 The ABC’s Geoff Thompson was sent to East Timor from Darwin in 1999. It was his first overseas posting and his first experience of reporting a violent conflict. Chapter II has outlined his experience in some detail, but his comments here reveal a certain naivety, rather than prejudice or preconception. Thompson said:
At least on the ground in Timor, the perception of goodies and baddies was very real. What I’ve realised since is that at the time you could easily paint this idea of the all-innocent Timorese, and I think I did to some extent fall into that, and there was some legitimacy to it, but no other cause has affected me more profoundly than Timor, but that is as much because it was my first posting.106
The Australian media’s reporting of ‘goodies and baddies’ has led to a questioning of the Australian media’s simplistic and shallow coverage of the crisis in East Timor in 1999.107 However, Tiffen has argued that the Australian media in 1999 too often “took their cues about newsworthiness from what was ‘in play’ in the power games of Canberra and Jakarta.”108 This suggests Australian journalists also got caught up in bilateral relations concerns.
103 Alatas, personal interview. 104 This was especially the case in September, 1999. See Sian Powell, ‘Blossoms in the dust’ The Australian, 4 September, 1999, in which the opening line states, “The people of East Timor have endured terrible privations for more than two decades.” Lindsay Murdoch, ‘Liquica’s Crying Time’, News Extra, The Age, 10 April, 1999, in the opening paragraph states “Before the thugs of an Indonesian-backed militia started their reign of terror this week the people of Liquica were looking forward to a vote in July they hoped would end 23 years of repression.” 105 See Janine McDonald, ‘Timor Outrage And Sadness Floods Politicians’ Offices’, The Age, 8 September, 1999, and Julie McCrossin, ‘Putting A Leash On Talkback’s Dogs of War’, The Australian Financial Review, 10 September, 1999. 106 Geoff Thompson, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 107 Michael O’Connor, as Executive Director of Australia Defence Association, offers numerous examples in East Timor, 1999, of an unethical, unprofessional and biased Australian media that failed to question and scrutinise people, groups and actions in war. See ‘Ignorance Is Bliss: The Media and East Timor’, Review, March, 2000, pp. 4-6. Alison Broinowski, examines how the reports of the Australian correspondents in 1999 of the Australian actions in East Timor can be described as both authoritarian and nurturing – with imagery of soldiers pointing weapons at tied up militia, and female medical personnel administering aid to children. Meanwhile, Indonesian media perspectives tended to concentrate on the men pointing weapons, and stories of Australian atrocities. See ‘A Pebble in Both Our Shoes: East Timor and the Media’, Australian Journalism Review, volume 21, issue 3, 1999, pp. 1-24. 108 Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 104. 132
This section has highlighted the main reasons for Indonesian Government press controls and restrictions. Firstly, there was a belief amongst leaders and officials that the Indonesian nation needed a ‘responsible’ press, which took the form of developmental journalism. Foreign journalists were generally seen as “a little too free by Indonesian standards” and their activities had the potential to disrupt the development of the nation. The second reason outlined is directed more specifically toward the Australian press. Many Indonesian Government officials believe Australian journalists have consistently reported incorrectly and irresponsibly from East Timor. They argue that this lack of proportion is largely because of the preconception that the military were responsible for the deaths of the Balibo Five, on 16 October, 1975. Since that time, they argue, Australian reporting of Indonesian involvement in Timor has been one-sided and biased.
This discussion has outlined the background and more specific concerns Indonesian Government officials had with the idea of complete press freedom. In their view, controls over the press, and the flow of news from Indonesia, were just and necessary to control the power play of journalism and thus the representation of the Indonesian nation. Although the regimes changed, and were briefly tolerant of critical reporting from both the domestic and international press, it is in this context that such constraints can be understood. It also suggests the Indonesian Government believed they could control what they saw as a simple, arithmetic system by limiting journalist’s professional practices. The next section will show how controls and influences have been exercised over Australian journalists since 1945.
4.2. Methods used by the Indonesian Government to influence Australian journalists
The previous section explained the long history of press control in Indonesia, and the importance the Indonesia government has placed on the press as an instrument of development. Throughout its history, the local press has often been muzzled through press laws and controls, largely through the Ministry of Information. It is in this context that the story of Indonesian Government attempts to shape the flow of news from 133
Australian journalists should be examined. At times, these efforts were quite clear and specific, such as making the correspondent ‘persona non-grata’, and expelling them from Indonesia. At other times, the persecution or hindrances were more subtle and benign, but still quite effective. This research draws upon personal interviews with Indonesian Government officials, as well as Australian journalists, in order to fully explain these methods. This is a history of conflicting ideologies shaping professional practice. For Australian journalists, any restriction on their reporting is understood as a hindrance to the free press and a deliberate attempt by the government to affect the reporting process. For the Indonesian Government and military, the press is an instrument of nation-building, needing to be monitored and shaped in line with Pancasila principles and press laws, and any interference or departure from these Laws must have consequences. This clash over differing constructions of the cultural and political role of the press has contributed to a legacy of conflict between Australian journalists and Indonesian officials.
4.2.1. Visas
A common method of the Indonesian Government to control the foreign press was to subject them to various regulations for obtaining, and keeping, a journalistic visa. Any foreign journalist who wished to report in Indonesia had to obtain permission from Jakarta before arrival, with the government reserving the right to reject applications. This began during Sukarno’s rule.109 Explanations were rarely given to a journalist if their application for a journalist’s visa were unsuccessful. Denis Warner requested to report from Indonesia in 1958. His cabled reply from an official in stilted diplomatic language, simply stated: “We have the honour to inform you that your application for a visa to Indonesia has been refused.”110
109 During Indonesia’s War of Independence, Sukarno was particularly unwelcoming to British correspondents. See Russell Spurr, Let the Tiger Turn Tail: Spurr’s War, Mainstream Publishing, Edinburgh, 1992, p. 131. During the height of the Cold War, Sukarno rejected a number of American and British correspondents. Australian journalists were never completely rejected under Sukarno, but as the Warner case showed, rejections of visa applications did occur. Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, p. 74. 110 Denis Warner, Wake me if there’s Trouble; An Australian correspondent on the front line – Asia at war and peace, 1944-1964, Penguin Books Australia, 1995, p. 63. 134
Regulating foreign journalists through visas became increasingly popular during the New Order. Potential correspondents to Indonesia were required to register with the Indonesian Embassy in their home country, and submit a resume. It was then decided in Jakarta whether the application was accepted, which could take a number of months. Those involved in the decision process varied, but were usually from the Foreign Ministry, the Ministry of Information, the National Intelligence Agency, the National Police and the Armed Forces Information Section. Each week these groups met to discuss all applications from abroad, including Australia. The Indonesian Government would sift through background analysis about a foreign correspondent, particularly any details gathered from the Head of Information section from the Indonesian Embassy in Canberra.
Sulaiman Abdulman was involved in visa meetings as spokesperson for the Information Department in the Foreign Ministry from 1974-1999. He then went on to become Director of Information for the Foreign Ministry, 1999-2001. He said, “The most important thing whether or not we decide yes would depend on information from the Embassy, so if the Indonesian Embassy gave positive information from Canberra, we can accept.”111 This was, of course, a method for the Government to select the journalists they wanted. Abdulman claimed the final say was usually with the Ministry of Information.112 Brata Subrata was the Information Ministry’s Head of Radio and Television from 1975-1980, and would help decide whether Australian TV and radio journalists should be allowed into Indonesia. Subrata believed that especially during the tumultuous period when many Australian journalists wanted to report on East Timor, this system worked well for both Australia and Indonesia. “In my experience, sometimes an individual makes errors. It makes sense if we can warn each other, not only from Australia but [we warn Australia] of our journalists also”, he said.113 The “errors” Subrata mentions are not clear, but are likely to be articles that the New Order Government would consider ‘negative’ towards Indonesia, or perhaps a reporting style considered too ‘aggressive’.
111 Sulaiman Abdulman, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 112 Ibid. 113 Brata Subrata, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. Subrata also became the Director General of Press and Graphic in Indonesia Department of Information. 135
If the visa was granted, the length of stay varied according to the government’s wishes. The requirement to renew a visa was a method the Indonesian Government could employ to expel journalists once their initial visa time period had elapsed. This meant the journalist was not officially expelled from the country. “It turned out that generally they’d tolerate you and just not renew your visa”, said Hamish McDonald, whose visa was not renewed in 1977 after he had reported from Indonesia for three years. He explained:
My visa not being renewed was a culmination of sharp criticisms of writing about Suharto and his family, plus writing about his mysticism and Javanism. The final thing they complained about was over reporting of my trip to Buru Island in November 1977. They didn’t want me to go on that trip and I sort of really pleaded and went along and they said ‘we gave in to your pleading and you turn around and write this very unfair report’. Mine was a kind of like a negotiated exit, but it was very clear that I couldn’t stay any longer.114
The visa laws were used by the New Order Government to subject foreign journalists to closer supervision from Government officials. The threat of a withdrawn visa hung over foreign correspondents for their entire posting. In the most extreme case, AAP’s Leigh Mackay had to renew his visa every six months from 1983-1986. As he said, “basically they could throw me out at any time.”115 The initial acceptance visa for journalists to Indonesia did not include access to outer regions of the archipelago, specifically, East Timor, West Papua or Aceh. After journalists arrived in Jakarta they applied for ‘special permission’ to travel to these regions, and the process of acceptance involved similar levels of discussion. Journalists were required to travel with a surat jalan, a letter needed for travel to these outer regions signed by the Ministry of Information, or a high- ranking Government official.
After the New Order, Indonesian officials in Canberra continued to provide information to their Government about Australian journalists upon their requests for journalistic visas. Former Indonesian Ambassador to Australia, Wiryono, once walked out of an interview with Australian journalists because the questions about East Timor
114 Hamish McDonald, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. Buru Island was described as ‘Indonesia’s Alcatraz’, which also housed political prisoners during Suharto’s New Order. See Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 160. 115 Leigh Mackay, personal interview, Sydney, July, 2006. This was after all Australian media organizations had been banned form Indonesia from 1981. This will be examined later in this chapter. 136
were so abrupt and gave little respect to his position of authority. “It was like I was being interrogated. You cannot just say ‘what are you doing?’ ‘You are killing people’. I cannot accept that kind of behaviour”, he explained.116 Matthew Moore (Fairfax) met with the Indonesian Ambassador, Imrom Cotan, in Canberra, before he was posted to Jakarta. Moore was told he was “free to go anywhere and report anything” provided he was “fair and balanced”.117 Events such as these would have been reported back to officials in Jakarta, with information provided about the Australian journalists involved in these discussions.
The requirement for journalists to obtain permission from Government officials to travel to outer regions of Indonesia continued after Suharto's fall in 1998. Rob Taylor was the AAP correspondent from 2003-06, and was never given permission to enter West Papua. He said of trying to report the conflict in Aceh: “I had several applications for Aceh refused in the early days. The Defence Minister said at one point that ‘we think it’s better that foreign media don’t go there’.”118 Indeed, it was only after the tsunami of December 2004 that devastated Aceh, that foreign access to the region increased.119 Andrew Burrell (AFR) reported from Indonesia at the same time as Taylor. “I could not go to Papua. They were knocking back applications. I didn’t go to Aceh until after the tsunami”, he said.120 Even if a journalist was allowed to report from Papua, it came with strict instructions stating the reporting was for cultural, not political, stories.121
Former officials of the Information Ministry claimed the restrictions were there for the safety of the journalists. Subrata explained: “Sometimes we give warnings and provide information as to the situation and conditions there - if it’s a dangerous area. There are many areas that are not good to cover by journalists because of the conditions
116 Wiryono, personal interview. See also Alison Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in both our shoes’, Australian Journalism Review, Volume 21. No. 3, December 1999, p. 6. Wiryono accused the Australian media of ‘enthusiasm and glee’ in their reporting of the atrocities in East Timor. 117 Moore, personal interview. 118 Rob Taylor, personal interview, Jakarta, August, 2006. 119 See Matthew Moore, ‘After the deluge, it’s back to politics for Aceh’, The Age, 15 January, 2005, and similarly an Agence France Press report, ‘Indonesia kills 120 rebels in devastated Aceh, tsunami toll nears’, 20 January, 2005. 120 Andrew Burrell, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 121 Stephen Fitzpatrick, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 137
and extremists there.”122 Imrom Cotan, now Secretary General of Foreign Affairs, defended the decision to only allow those journalists to outer regions who obtained permission from the ministry. He said, “If the security concerns are dubious, we do not allow them to go, so it is free to visit depending on the security risks. Even if you were riding a motorbike in Jayapura and suddenly you fell down, we were so worried because people could easily say it is the work of the TNI, or the Police.”123
One reason for these restrictions on travel to conflict zones was that Government and military officials felt that they would be held responsible for the lives of journalists who enter the region.124 Officials in Jakarta relied on information from military officers of the province before they allowed a journalist to travel to these areas. Abdulman admitted this was especially the case during the Indonesian occupation of East Timor. He said: “It was not easy for us to organise [journalists to enter Timor] because we have to get permission from the military and Armed Forces and local commander in Bali, because Bali is covering military command in Nusa Tenggarra, and for the local Commander in Dili. Army Commander there had to give permission.”125 The military official making the decision no doubt disliked the idea of foreign journalists in their province, and visas were rarely issued. The policy of visa laws and restrictions may have meant that only quality Australian journalists were accepted into the country to report on Indonesian affairs126, but as this next section will show, the visa restrictions were also ruthlessly abused by New Order officials and used as leverage to encourage Australian journalists to self-censor if articles were not written according to the government’s wishes.
122 Subrata, personal interview. 123 Imrom Cotan, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 124 A common argument from government officials for implementing the practice of embedded journalism is the concern for the safety of journalists during wartime. See Philip Knightley, The First Casualty: The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-Maker from the Crimea to Iraq, John Hopkins University Press, 2nd edition, 2004, pp. 434-4, 484, 532. 125 Abdulman, personal interview. 126 Jenkins has suggested this in ‘Indonesia’ in his article in Australian Outlook. The parachute journalism and new era of reforms has meant than many Australian journalists can ‘parachute’ to Indonesia and report without much background or experience of Indonesian politics and culture. This will be examined in Chapter VII. 138
4.2.2. Blacklists and bans
In addition to not renewing visas, the Indonesian government also employed a more direct method to control the foreign press by blacklisting journalists, or banning entire news organisations. As explained in Chapter I, the Jenkins Affair was the most extreme case of this, when all Australian news organisations were banned from Indonesia. The most common form of blacklisting, however, was a ban on an individual journalist, and the threat of expulsion was often used to persuade journalists to report in a certain way. For example, Colin Hann (ABC) was told by officials in an Army Information centre in 1962: “You won’t disregard our request will you? We wouldn’t want to expel our dear old friend from Australia”.127 After receiving many threats, Peter Hastings was blacklisted for the first time from Indonesia in 1966 after he reported in The Australian that the now powerless President Sukarno had rejected Foreign Minister Adam Malik’s suggestion he should retire.128
During the New Order, Sulaiman Abdulman explained that the reasons for blacklisting a journalist were often quite simple. He said, “Sometimes if we allow a foreign journalist to come and they write a negative thing [about Indonesia] and report back to their own country, they will be blacklisted, and we will not allow them to come again.”129 Similar to the process of approving visas, a number of information officials from various departments would meet and discuss whether a person should be banned, or declared ‘persona non-grata’. During the New Order, decisions were usually made by information from Intelligence (BAKIN), the military, and OPSUS. General Ali Murtopo and Major-General Benny Murdani could easily sway decisions as to whether a journalist could be blacklisted130, although officially they denied this power.131
The ABC’s Gary Scully (1976) and Warwick Beutler (1980), and the Herald’s Peter Rodgers (1981) were all expelled as the situation worsened in East Timor and the
127 Hodge, ‘Radio Australia and Indonesia: The Early Years’, p. 21. 128 Peter Hastings, The Road To Lembang; A retrospect, 1938-1966, Australians in Asia Series no. 5, Centre for the Study of Asia-Australia relations, Griffith University, 1990, p. 88. 129 Abdulman, personal interview. 130 Gharfur Fadyl, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. Said, personal interview. At one point, Murdani was considered “one of the most powerful men in Indonesia”, see Cribb and Kahin, Historical Dictionary of Indonesia, ‘Murdani, Benny’. 131 Dalrymple, ‘Ali Moertopo and the Australian connection’, p. 19. 139
Indonesian Government became increasingly sensitive as to what they saw as overly critical reports.132 Beutler was eventually expelled for Radio Australia’s broadcasts of corruption allegations made against Suharto in a court room in Singapore, while Rogers was deported for reporting famine conditions in East Timor in June 1980 and February 1981.133 Radio Australia survived numerous threats by the Indonesian Government, who were opposed to the presence of staffer Alan Morris in Timor from 1975, but by 1980 the Indonesian Government finally refused to renew a visa for Radio Australia’s staff representative, with no official reason given for the refusal.134
The complete ban on Australian media organisations continued until 1983, when AAP were allowed one resident correspondent in Jakarta. Leigh Mackay was chosen as the person to fulfil this role. He said, “Benny Murdani didn’t like this deal – it was done behind his back. He didn’t want any Australian journalists in Indonesia and demanded it be overturned or AAP be allowed in under heavy restrictions.”135 AAP was allowed to operate from Jakarta on the condition that Mackay renewed his visa every six months. The only Australian journalist who was allowed in after Mackay was Michael Byrnes (1985) for the Australian Financial Review, given the importance of the economic situation, but he also was hindered in his attempts to gain a one-year visa.136 The conflict between the Australian media and the Indonesian Government exploded with the Jenkins Affair in April, 1986. Reasons why the Indonesian Government and various Indonesian people reacted so strongly to the article are discussed in Chapter I.137 This was the most powerful and open reaction to a single news item from an Australian journalist in Indonesia’s history, and it showed how dramatic the conflict between the two groups had become. It was ten years until the Herald was allowed a resident
132 See also Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, pp. 100-114. 133 See Elson, Suharto, p232, Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, David Jenkins, ‘The mirror on the wall’ FEER, 27 February, 1981, pp. 19, 21. Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 192-195. 134 ‘Visa Row: Jakarta ban on Radio Australia Officer’, National Reporter, Volume 1, April 16, 1980, Alan Morris, personal interview. See also Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 195. 135 Mackay, personal interview. 136 Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, pp. 158-165. Byrnes’ visa was not renewed after the ‘Jenkins Affair’. 137 See Siely, Bernadette, ‘Newspaper Reporting of Indonesia in the 1980’s: An Historical Perspective’, MA thesis, Faculty of Arts, UNSW, 1990, or Robison, Richard, ‘Explaining Indonesia’s response to the Jenkins article: Implications for Australia-Indonesia relations’, Australian Outlook, Volume 3, 1986, pp. 132-138. Chapter I has explained how the Indonesian Government, the Jenkins Affair prompted Jakarta to dislocate military agreements with Australia, ban all Australian journalists from Indonesia, refuse entry to 200 tourists at Bali and refuse landing permission for an RAAF aircraft in Eastern Indonesia. B. J. Habibie, then Indonesian Foreign Minister, cancelled his trip to Australia and there were planned mob demonstrations outside the Australian embassy. 140
correspondent to Jakarta again. Herald correspondents who succeeded Jenkins believed their paper has been watched more closely than other Australian newspaper publications, and believe Indonesian officials scrutinize it more than its sister publication, The Age.138 Australian news organizations gradually were allowed back into Indonesia, although the Herald did not have a resident correspondent until 1995.
Even in its final stages, the New Order continued the policy of threatening to blacklist journalists if they were critical of the regime.139 Imrom Cotan was an official present at some of the meetings towards the end of the New Order regime, from 1997, which discussed making Australian journalists ‘persona non-grata’. He recalled the mood in one of the meetings:
We have these hardliners. At one point they wanted to put on the list [of black-listed journalists] a journalist from Australia telling us that this journalist was biased. I said ‘How would you qualify bias?’ ‘He attacked [criticised] the armed forces’ was the reply. But I had read the last ten articles and only three of them were negative, so on the scale of ten I think this guy was still OK.140
It is clear from this account that the actual numbers of stories classified as ‘negative’ or ‘critical’ were discussed by the Indonesian Government. It would seem from this account that officials are not necessarily interested in whether the story was factually correct, but rather, whether or not the report was considered negative towards Indonesia. Of course, foreign journalists were also left wondering as what would qualify as ‘bias’. If the journalist had written five negative articles would Cotan classify that as ‘biased’? Or seven out of ten? It is in the government’s interests to make the restrictions vague, as they can then decide arbitrarily whether a journalist should be blacklisted or not.141
138 Matthew Moore argued English correspondents Tim Johnson from The Times and John Eglianby from The Guardian wrote similarly critical articles yet were not scrutinised the way Moore was when he wrote for the Herald. Moore, personal interview. 139 On October 27, 1991, the visit of a Portuguese parliamentary delegation to East Timor was cancelled, just a few days before it was due to begin, when Indonesian officials objected to the presence of an Australian journalist in the party, Jill Joliffe, whom they regarded as partisan. Garran and Greenlees, Deliverance, pp. 22-23. 140 Cotan, personal interview. 141 Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, p. 136, wrote: “In my own case I was accused of writing in anger. Another reporter in earlier years was attacked on sexual grounds. Several times in 1990 and 1991 even though he had obtained visas to enter Indonesia, Murdoch was detained on arrival at Jakarta's airport, where officials tried to put him on a plane out of the country.” This will be examined later in this chapter with regard to Australian journalist’s responses to these controls. 141
Despite the fall of the New Order, the Herald once again saw its Jakarta correspondent expelled in March, 2002. Lindsay Murdoch had previously been blacklisted from Indonesia in 1991, while acting as The Age’s Southeast Asia correspondent.142 In 2002 he reported that Indonesian soldiers had poured boiling water on a baby in Aceh.143 Murdoch's assistant and translator, Kristiani Tunelap, reported with Murdoch from Aceh. She recalled the situation:
One person said a rape was conducted a few days earlier. They said the military separated the mother from the baby and poured boiled water on the baby. We couldn’t locate the mother, who had moved to a dangerous village, and the baby died not long after and it was buried, and we checked with others who said they knew about it.144
Indonesian Foreign Affairs ordered the Herald and Age to send a replacement.145 Sulaiman Abdulman was privy to the discussions in the Foreign Ministry to decide whether or not Murdoch's visa should not be renewed. Abdulman said, “Lindsay Murdoch was always writing articles that were, from a Jakarta viewpoint, negative articles, to criticise the government. There were complaints in the Foreign Ministry and even from the Military.”146 Imrom Cotan concurred, “The decisions that were taken against Lindsay was because he filed reports that were inconsistent with the facts that we gathered.”147 This suggests it was not only that the article was critical or negative, but incorrect. Tunelap claimed they did ask the military to comment, but nobody replied, so they went ahead with the story.148 Cotan defended the Indonesian Government’s decision to evict journalists such as Murdoch, and stated, “We need to establish a code of conduct. Although there is freedom to report, there are some regulations and limitations that you need to follow.”149 Murdoch’s eventual
142 Ibid., p. 160. 143 See Mark Baker, ‘Too Close to the Bone: Herald’s Jakarta Man Barred Over Abuse Reports, The Sydney Morning Herald, 18 March, 2002. The Age ran an editorial 19 March 2002, which stated: “This decision invites comparisons with the bullying censorship of the Suharto years. It makes a mockery of President Megawati Sukarnoputri's commitments to the principles of an open society and a free press.” 144 Kristiani Tunelap, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 145 Foreign Ministry spokesperson, Wahid Supriadi, said on March 19, 2002, that Fairfax had already been given over three months notice to find a new replacement. See Baker, ‘Too close to the bone’, SMH. 146 Abdulman, personal interview. 147 Cotan, personal interview. 148 Tunelap, personal interview. 149 Cotan, personal interview. 142
replacement, Matthew Moore, claimed the line was explained to him by Imrom Cotan in Canberra. Cotan told him explicitly, “Indonesians do not boil babies”.150 It is of no surprise that the story that caused Murdoch to be blacklisted in 2002 was about military involvement in the outer regions of Indonesia. Historically, this has been, and no doubt will continue to be, the greatest cause of conflict between the Indonesian Government and Australian journalists, and will be explored later in this chapter.
4.2.3 Persuasion
One of the more subtle techniques employed by the Indonesian Government to pressure journalists in all periods covered by this research was the informal meeting or ‘chat’. Chapter III has shown that local staff were subjected to questions and reprimands from Indonesian officials. However, Australian journalists also faced various levels of persuasive meetings and discussions. The first level was if a journalist wrote something which the Government mildly disapproved of. A low level bureaucrat would enter the journalist’s office, usually claim to be ‘in the neighbourhood’, and have a ‘cup of tea’. After some polite conversation the official would eventually hint that a certain story the journalist wrote was not completely correct, or would even give suggestions as to what should have been written. Frank Palmos recalled being told by an official in 1962 that he was nakal, but not jahat, [naughty, but not wicked]. It was a ‘friendly’ warning he had crossed the line, and that a jahat article would lead to further repercussions.151 If a journalist was asked to visit a Government building the warning was more severe. Peter Barnett was ABC correspondent in 1963. He wrote, “In Jakarta I was subject to constant pressure – summoned to lectures and warnings from press liaison officers in the Military, Information and Foreign Affairs Departments.”152 Barnett recalled how all departments were well briefed on his movements, through regular surveillance and constant meetings. This system of surveillance and meetings began during Sukarno’s time, and was continued to greater effect by New Order officials. Journalists were under particularly heavy surveillance from the military and intelligence services while in the outer regions. “There was always somebody watching. This had started in Sukarno’s
150 Moore, personal interview. 151 Frank Palmos, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 152 Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence; A Journalists Biography, Macmillan, 2001. 143
time and was continued in Suharto”, claimed Viktor Laurens, ABC driver and cameraman 1963-1975.153
Censorship of actual copy of news articles was superficial and perfunctory. In the 1960s, censorship was limited to foreign journalists being asked to send their copy through to the press building. Mike Carlton describes the process in 1967:
A couple of sleepy university students would sit there watching what passed for TV, and they would censor your copy, but by-and-large they would send it through. They didn’t like you reporting about violent demonstrations too much. It didn’t last all that long, and I think it was a hangover from the Sukarno period actually.154
The Indonesian Government preferred the techniques of meetings, persuasive phone calls and threats to pressure Australian journalists to self-censor. They employed techniques of subtle yet elaborate bureaucratic processes which could be justified as part of a process of media accountability. These were techniques employed to push foreign correspondents into writing careful prose and avoiding sensitive issues.155
Ali Alatas, as a foreign ministry information official, said reprimands happened regularly once the article had been written, in order to persuade journalists not to write similar articles in the future. Alatas said, “Very often I had to discuss with Australian journalists, ‘Why do you write this? This is not in accordance with the facts of the case! It happened quite often I had to tell them their writings were unfair or not completely according to the facts, and were biased.”156 Alatas agreed that in the case of Australian journalists, the most controversial stories concerned East Timor. He said, “Very often I reprimanded journalists on Timor. It was a big issue in the late 1970’s. Also then Suharto became increasingly the object of Australian critical writings of his family and so on.”157 Abdulman’s recollection of reprimanding one particular Australian journalist in the early 1990’s is indicative of the subtleties that were employed by officials:
153 Viktor Laurens, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 154 Mike Carlton, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 155 Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, pp. 44-45, has discussed this in greater detail with regard to the language of the press during the New Order. 156 Alatas, personal interview. 157 Ibid. 144
I tried to remind him his permission to stay will not depend on us in the Foreign Ministry but on the other agencies, so please if you write, write the facts, not your own interpretation that make these people get angry. So I told him, ‘if you want to stay longer as a foreign journalist here in Jakarta, please help me to help you, because I have to defend you to the other officials from the Military institutions.158
These subtle hints that the visa could be withdrawn were common practice. Once the complaints originated from the military, then action from other Government institutions needed to be seen to be taken. The enormous network of bureaucracy was daunting for an Australian correspondent to comprehend, as Michael Byrnes (AFR) confirms, “I had no way of knowing the full machinations” of a system of “subtle nuances and blunt instruments”.159
Persuasive informal ‘chats’ continued post-New Order. Andrew Burrell was called in to the Indonesian Foreign Ministry, who told him a complaint had been made by the Indonesian Embassy in Canberra about a story he wrote about Papua. “This guy called me in – there was no direct threat, but he did indicate that people above him were not happy with that story, I felt there was an underlying message that said, ‘you had better watch what you do’,” Burrell said.160 Rob Taylor recalled about four meetings like this with the Foreign Ministry officials. They were “usually done fairly light heartedly, ‘as a friend’, very quick and very soft”, he said.161 Matthew Moore had this experience after he returned from Aceh: “When I got back to Jakarta [from Banda Aceh] I was called in by DEPLU [Indonesian Foreign Affairs] and told that ‘some people’ did not like my reporting, ‘I can't tell you who’, they would say.”162 Often the journalist was told their facts were wrong, or questioned as to why they did not make further enquiries. It was a warning the journalist had caused offence, and was being reprimanded.
These meetings show that persistent persuasion and discussions from Indonesian officials continued despite the closure of the Ministry of Information in 1999. It shows
158 Abdulman, personal interview. 159 Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, p. 144. 160 Burrell, personal interview. 161 Rob Taylor, personal interview, Jakarta, August, 2006. 162 Matthew Moore, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 145
how officials tried to influence Australian journalists to self-censor or write more cautiously on issues that were considered sensitive to the Indonesian Government or military. Much like the visa situation, the levels of bureaucracy involved in these meetings, and subtle and not-so-subtle warnings and admonitions, show a determined effort on behalf of the Indonesian Government to control Australian journalists through networks of officialdom.
4.2.4. Intimidation, violence and death
At times Australian journalists were subjected to direct threats and intimidation from military officials. This was much more confronting and frightening than the quiet courteous meetings over a coffee with an Indonesian Government official. Australian journalists who reported from Indonesia in the 1960s explained the constant intimidation from military and intelligence officials. Colin Mason recalled being threatened by a military official who asked him: ‘Why not leave, before the people revenge themselves on you?’163 Tim Bowden and Phil Koch were reporting on a student demonstration in Jakarta in 1966, when suddenly the Palace Guard charged and Bowden was hit with a rifle butt in the back. “I looked up to see a very angry soldier, with his bayonet fixed, who seemed to be suggesting I move on – fast. These soldiers were prepared to use their weapons and there was no safety in being foreign”, wrote Bowden.164 Peter Barnett complained that his home and office telephones were bugged, and he often received death threats over the phone.165 Meanwhile Denis Warner wrote that telephones were often deliberately not functioning and all cable communications with the outside world cut.166 Frank Palmos said he was constantly monitored by intelligence officers posing as civilians, such as the staff in the Hotel Indonesia.167 Philip Koch assumed his food was poisoned on a number of occasions.168 ABC correspondents of the 1960s complained that the company Holden would be
163 Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, p. 92. 164 Tim Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 2003 p. 233. 165 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 176. 166 Warner, Not Always on horseback, p. 48. 167 Palmos, personal interview. 168 Philip Koch, personal interview, Noosa, February, 2007. 146
consistently flagged down by Police.169 During the 1970s, an American correspondent who often smoked marijuana grew out of favour with the Indonesian Government. The Jakarta Police simply raided his flat and told him he must leave immediately or he would be charged with possession of narcotics.170 These examples show that journalists worked in an increasingly hostile and frightening environment from the 1960s onwards, and that Australian journalists felt intimidated and under constant pressure of surveillance and scrutiny.
The outer regions were often the most difficult areas to report for foreign correspondents. The military in the outer regions consistently employed tactics of intimidating journalists as they reported from conflict zones, specifically West Papua, East Timor, and more recently, in Aceh. The situation in these regions was often very tense, with separatist movements making centre-periphery relations precarious, and conflict zones dangerous places for journalists to operate freely. Despite some scholars arguing that the starting point of the conflict between Australian journalists and the Indonesian Government was the death of the Balibo Five in October, 1975, this section will show there was conflict much earlier in the outer regions of Indonesia, with the reporting of West Papua a particularly contentious issue.
Australian reporting of Indonesian operations in West Irian did not please Indonesian officials. Palmos said, “As best as I could accurately portray, it was clear the Indonesians were not wanted in Irian Barat [West Papua]. Sukarno got angry because my articles were very influential in the sense that they were published broadly.”171 Ali Alatas recalled Australian reporting of Papua and having to take action against various Australian journalists: “The Australian press in general was in favour of the Dutch position in Papua, and therefore many of them very often wrote articles that were critical of Indonesia and damaging of the Indonesian position and many of them had to pay with occasionally being declared persona non grata.”172 On one seven day trip to the region, Frank Palmos claimed he was detained eleven times. The military in the
169 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence. p. 176. Koch, personal interview. 170 McDonald, personal interview. 171 Palmos, personal interview. 172 Alatas, personal interview. It is interesting that Alatas calls the position of Australian journalists ‘in favour of the Dutch’, which seems to continue the argument that any criticism of Indonesian claims to the outer region was an attempt to break up the Indonesian nation. 147
region had little or no contact with Indonesian Foreign Affairs, so they often made decisions according to their own protocol, rather than any orders from Jakarta. Palmos said the situation in Papua in 1963 was “basically martial law. There was an Antara [government news agency] man there and they [the military] didn’t even like him!”173 Philip Koch was made ‘persona non grata’ and evicted from West Papua because, he claimed, he “was talking about the Javanese imposition on them, even to what they wore and that sort of thing.”174
The Indonesian Government also used its own press, which it controlled tightly, to occasionally discredit foreign journalists.175 The government owned news service, Antara, was used to discredit Australian journalists reporting from West Papua. On May 12, 1965, an Antara headline stated: ‘Frank Palmos Poisons the Mind of the People in East New Guinea by Spreading Lies About Indonesia’.176 This was followed a month later, on June 15, when the Army newspaper Angkatan Bersendjata headlined a story, ‘ABC Djakarta Correspondent Insults Indonesian People’. It is worth quoting substantial excerpts of this story because the method used was to specifically target Australian journalists, distinguishing them from other nationalities in the foreign press at the time:
The Government of the Indonesian Republic has shown its good will to the Australian correspondents, and up to last May, four groups of Australian correspondents were permitted to visit West Irian, in the belief that these correspondents would view the development in West Irian through the glasses of freedom. Apparently, Frank Palmos and Philip Koch, both ABC correspondents, used the glasses of necolim, and it is in fact that these Australians have a necolim character. We ask, why had other members of the party in which Frank Palmos travelled to West Irian had…positive impressions …including Americans, Britons, Chinese, Dutch, Hungarians, Filipinos, etc. Palmos is generating ill-feeling between the Australian and
173 Palmos, personal interview. 174 Koch, personal interview. 175 For example, when American owned Associated Press was closed down in Indonesia and correspondent Peter Arnett banned, the Indonesian Herald, an unofficial voice of the government, ran an editorial condemning foreign journalists for “playing into the hands of the enemy” by reporting “falsehoods” about the nation’s problems. See Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 176. 176 Editorial, ‘Frank Palmos Poisons the Minds of the People in East New Guinea by spreading lies about Indonesia’, Antara, Sukarnapura, Morning Bulletin, 12 May, 1965. 148
Indonesian peoples, and has even made himself a pawn of necolim. In view of this behaviour, it would be appropriate for Palmos to immediately leave Indonesia.177
Angkatan Bersendjata’s details were incorrect, (Palmos never worked for the ABC) and the phrase, ‘glasses of freedom’ and ‘pawn of Necolim’ are particularly Sukarno-esque - ‘Necolim’ being Sukarno’s word for neo-colonialism and imperialism, and can be understood as a strident attempt to represent criticism of Indonesia ‘reclaiming’ West Papua from the colonial Dutch, as ‘neo-colonialist’. Once again, sensitivity over the new republic’s interest in emphatically proclaiming the boundaries of its national territory precipitated tensions over unsympathetic analysis and reporting.
In June 1969, The Jakarta Foreign Correspondents Club lodged a protest with the Ministry of Information on the restriction on travel and entry of foreign press into West Papua, claiming the measures would have grave consequences for Indonesia’s image abroad and lend substance to doubts about the government’s approach to the preparations for the Act of Free Choice.178 Despite the visa pressures previously outlined, Alan Morris and other ABC journalists reported from Papua during the Act of Free Choice, but they faced difficulties. To begin with, often the only opportunity journalists had to travel to the region at this time was with the military.179 Directly before the Act of Free Choice in West Papua, foreign correspondents trying to contend with the territory's fickle and infrequent air services complained that Ali Murtopo’s OPSUS had almost every available plane on charter.180 Guided tours organised through the military were very tightly controlled. Alan Morris arrived with four other journalists in Biak, West Papua, in 1969. He said, “There was literally nothing. The Indonesian
177 Editorial, ‘ABC Djakarta Correspondent Insults Indonesians People’, Angkatan Bersendjata, Djakarta, June 15, 1965. There was also a clarification of the story in, ‘No Denial’, Angkatan Bersendjata, Djakarta, June 17, 1965, in which it was stated that Palmos did not, in fact, work for the ABC, but that Palmos had not denied reporting ‘through the glasses of Necolim’. 178 Press Collect: Telex from Frank Palmos (Jakarta) to Melbourne Herald, aa30124, June 5, 1969. [Note: in the possession of Palmos]. The UN decided that the people of Papua should choose, in an ‘act of free choice’, whether to be part of Indonesia or not. 1000 community leaders were chosen by the Indonesian military to vote, and stories of intimidation were common. The decision was to remain with Indonesia, but journalists quipped it was neither free nor a choice. US advisors involved in the process submitted a positive report to the UN, as Vickers stated, “Irian was Indonesia’s reward for getting rid of communism” a few years earlier. Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 163. 179 Gharfur Fadyl, of AP, only got to Papua once, when he was invited by General Suardi. Mike Carlton only managed to get in due to his contacts through Sawro Edhie, the Indonesian military commander. 180 Polomka, Indonesia since Sukarno, p. 134. 149
military had been through the place”, and made sure no one was available to talk.181 The general consensus from foreign journalists was that the decision to incorporate West Papua into Indonesia was neither free nor a choice. From 1969, West Papua was effectively sealed off from the outside world.182
The Act of Free Choice in West Papua was planned and supervised by then Lieutenant General Ali Murtopo.183 Benny Murdani, then captain, was chosen as commander of airborne operations.184 Murtopo and Murdani have been key figures in Australian journalist’s relations with the Indonesian military ever since. Ali Murtopo, once considered Australian journalist’s bete noir,185 was known for being impatient and angry with Western journalist’s persistent ‘negative’ articles.186 Salim Said recalled reporting for Tempo and said: “Ali Murtopo radiated fear. I was afraid of him.”187 Journalists had similar feelings toward Murdani. Bhimanto (AFP) once ‘door stopped’ (interrupted an official to request an on-the-spot interview without prior invitation) Australian Defence Minister, Kim Beazley, in Jakarta. His actions meant a number of military officials, including Murdani, had their conversation with Beazley interrupted. “Benny Murdani was there and I could feel the ice drilling through my skull for the whole ten minutes! I thought there was a gun on my head! I still find him scary, even today, and he’s dead”, Bhimanto said.188 Fikri Jufri, who had to deal with Murdani when his magazine Tempo was closed189, said that Benny Murdani “was a tough person. A combat man. You heard stories about this man - that he was cold blooded.”190
181 Alan Morris, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2007. 182 Julious Pour, Benny Murdani: Profile of a soldier statesman, Yayasan Kejuangan Panglima Besar Sudirman, Jakarta, 1993, p. 192. See also Jim Elmslie, Irian Jaya Under the Gun: Indonesian Economic Development versus West Papuan Nationalism, University of Hawaii Press, 2002, pp. 9-18. 183 Murtopo was considered “probably the most powerful man after Suharto”, see Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia., p. 161. See also Rawdon Dalrymple, ‘Ali Moertopo and the Australian Connection’, in Sekar Semerbak: Kenangan untuk Ali Moertopo, CSIS, 1986, p. 16. See also Harold Crouch, The Army and Politics in Indonesia, Cornell University Press, pp. 307-09, 336-337. Murtopo and Murdani’s role as sources for journalists reporting New Order politics will be explained in greater detail in Chapter VI. 184 Jenkins, Suharto and his Generals, pp. 23-29,135-36, 248-50. 185 Dalrymple, ‘Ali Moertopo and the Australian Connection’, p. 22. 186 David D. Newsom, ‘Ali Moertopo’, in Sekar Semerbak, p. 106. 187 Said, personal interview. 188 Bhimanto, personal interview, Jakarta, August, 2006. 189 Steele, Wars Within, pp. 137, 239. See also pp.110-112 which discusses Jufri’s dealings with Murtopo. 190 Fikri Jufri, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. 150
While West Papua generated a number of conflicts between Australian journalists and the Indonesian Government, East Timor was no doubt the greatest open conflict between the two groups. As we have seen, there was a belief on the Indonesian Government side that Australian reporting of East Timor, especially Radio Australia, was biased against Indonesian objectives in the region, and as a result many Australian journalists were banned, with all Australian news organisations banned by 1981. After the occupation of East Timor began in 1975, access to the outer regions was sometimes limited to a single day, during which the itinerary would change by the hour.191 Events were rigorously orchestrated to enable visitors to ‘discover for themselves’ the validity of the military’s view of the conflict. Hamish McDonald attended one ludicrous tour to East Timor in 1976 where foreign journalists were guided around by Indonesian soldiers pretending to be Timorese.192 If journalists saw any sign of trouble, visitors were explicitly told that what they had seen was the exception to the rule, or that they had not been in East Timor long enough to fully appraise the situation.193 Richard Carleton visited East Timor in 1977. Evading his Indonesian escorts, Carleton visited Balibo, attempting to recreate the events surrounding the deaths of the five Australian newsmen who were killed. Naturally, the authorities were less than impressed, and Carleton was flown out of Timor with the excuse that the blue skies looked threatening.194 Louise Williams was granted access to East Timor in 1989 when the Pope visited the region, and claimed: “We were blatantly followed everywhere by alleged road contractors, and when we got to Denpasar Airport the same contractors, funnily enough, were on our flight. When we were waiting to board one of them dropped a bunch of photos of us on our trip and just smiled.”195
Earlier, it was explained how the legacy of the Balibo Five deaths was a crucial event in Australian reporting of Indonesian military actions in East Timor, and how the incident has coloured Indonesian Government perceptions of Australian journalism ever since. Here, another perspective is explored, which outlines the intimidation from the Indonesian military in East Timor and suggests that the brutal methods to suppress
191 John G. Taylor, Indonesia’s Forgotten War: The Hidden History of East Timor, Pluto Press, 1991, p. 34. 192 McDonald, personal interview. 193 Taylor, Indonesia’s Forgotten War, p. 145 194 Ibid. The story received front page coverage in the Melbourne Age, 10 August, 1977, p. 1. 195 Williams, personal interview. See also Williams, On the Wire., p. 112. 151
reports from foreign journalists in East Timor has been a key reason for Australian journalist’s ‘negative’ reporting. As Philip Koch said with regard to Australian reporting of East Timor since 1975: “In short, there were two things going on - the deaths of the journalists at Balibo, and the way the Indonesian military behaved since.”196 There is little doubt that Australian journalists faced the greatest danger to their life when reporting from East Timor. As discussed in Chapter I, a significant moment in Australia-Indonesia media relations was the death of five Australian based newsmen in Balibo, 1975. The tactic of threatening Australian journalists, and even killing them, was, according to author James Dunn, “to scare journalists away so that the military could operate with impunity, without witnesses.”197 It was largely successful in the sense that the Indonesian military occupation from 1975-1999 was carried out without the watching eyes of foreign reporters, despite constant pressure to ‘open up’ the region for access to the foreign press.198 When Pope John-Paul II arrived in East Timor in October 1989, demonstrators were beaten and journalists had their film exposed.199 Australian journalists who attempted to report from East Timor during Indonesia's occupation often received death threats, sometime with a gun pointed directly at them.200 It is important to recognise that there were a considerable number of rogue military leaders in East Timor, especially in 1999, and their stance was hardline and not always in keeping with military policy.201
In 1999, President Habibie’s sudden change of policy supporting a referendum in East Timor led to a belief that the media should be able to operate freely from the region. Yet the Indonesian military continued its policy of threatening Australian journalists.202 In 1999 journalists were chased by pro-Indonesia militia. Specifically,
196 Koch, personal interview. 197 James Dunn, Timor: A People Betrayed, Jacaranda, 1983, p. 23. 198 Louise Williams, Losing Control: Press freedom in Asia, ANU, 2000, p. 74. 199 Taylor, Indonesia’s Forgotten War, p. 156. 200 Williams, personal interview. 201 Australian journalists Don Greenlees and Robert Garran illustrate this point effectively in Deliverance: The Inside Story of East Timor’s Fight for Freedom, Allen and Unwin, 2002, when discussing the military in East Timor in the early 1990s. Armed forces commander Try Sutrisno dismissed the Santa Cruz crowd as troublemakers and warned ‘these agitators have to be shot and we will shoot them’. Furthermore, Garran and Greenlees wrote, p. 23: “The reaction revealed a great deal about the military’s lack of understanding of the way media coverage of the massacre would affect the international response to the East Timor issue.” 202 For details on Indonesia’s ‘sudden’ transition to democracy see Stephen Sherlock, ‘Indonesia’s Dangerous Transition: the politics of Recovery and Democratisation’, Research Paper 18, 1998-99, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Australian Government, 28 April 1999. 152
targets were Western journalists who were seen as symbols of Western governments pressuring Indonesia over human rights abuses.203 Geoff Thompson, who reported from East Timor in 1999 for the ABC, said, “you could tell the militia were obviously told, ‘go like crazy but [do] not hurt the foreign journalist’. The message was to scare the journalist, make them so scared that they leave.”204 In 1999, the atmosphere at a polling station became heated after Sixty Minutes reporter Richard Carleton began asking voters in the queue who they would support. A scuffle followed involving militiamen, who later set up a roadblock searching for Australian journalists, whom they threatened to kill.205 Deaths of foreign journalists did occur. Sander Thoenes, a Dutch journalist for the Financial Times, was shot by people wearing TNI uniforms armed with automatic weapons.206 Indonesian Agus Malyawan, reporting for a Japanese news agency, was also murdered four days later.207 So terrifying was the violence that the majority of foreign and local journalists fled and the military continued their oppressive tactics in the region.208
Scholars have argued that the world saw little of the initial brutalities in 1999 because almost all the journalists who had been in East Timor left when UN personnel pulled everyone out as the violence accelerated.209 International agencies had already left, taking their million-dollar satellite dishes and feed-out equipment which could beam instant, eyewitness images of the carnage to the rest of the world. The ABC’s Mark Bowling left for Jakarta, taking eight tonnes of equipment with him. He wrote, “It was a humiliating exit for all of us. As we passed block after block of burnt out buildings, we saw Indonesian loyalists…many were brandishing machetes and jeered as we passed.”210 However, there remained a United Nations compound in Dili, and some
203 Williams, Losing Control, p. 74. 204 Thompson, personal interview. In contrast, in April, 1999, militias destroyed the equipment of the only local East Timorese newspaper, forcing it to close down, and a few days later destroyed the house of a journalist who worked for that paper. See Tanter, Ball and van Klinken (eds.), Masters of Terror, p. 144. 205 Mark Bowling, Running Amok, Hammond, 2006, p. 165. 206 K.P.P. Ham, ‘Full Report of the investigative Commission into Human Rights Violations in East Timor’, in Tanter, Ball and van Klinken (eds.), Masters of Terror, pp. 51-52. There were suspicions Thoenes was murdered for investigating the various business operations of Indonesian military leaders. 207 Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 68. 208 Williams, Losing Control, p. 74. 209 Philip Seib, The Global Journalist; News and Conscience in a World of Conflict, Rowman and Littlefield, 2002, p. 129. 210 Bowling, Running Amok, p. 172. 153
foreign journalists and their staff stayed and reported from there, despite the increasing violence, and despite most news organisations requesting their staff to evacuate. Those that did stay included photographer Max Stahl, who repeated his heroics at the Santa Cruz massacre in 1991, to video women and children fleeing militia intent on causing violence.211 Australian journalists who stayed behind the razor wire at the UN headquarters were Tim Lester and Di Martin for the ABC, Lindsay Murdoch, and freelancers John Martinkus, Joanna Jolly and Heather Paterson.212 The failure of the military to subdue the international press, including Australian journalists, from reporting the violence in East Timor, led to a stronger stance on allowing foreign reporters into other regions of Indonesia, such as West Papua. Geoff Thompson claimed it was “a miscalculation and they’ve learnt. That’s why it’s almost impossible to report from Papua now.”213 Australian journalists have recently reported being subjected to intimidation by the military while in Papua.214
The legacy of intimidating foreign journalists in outer regions continued to be a process employed by the military post-New Order. TNI Chief, General Endriartono Sutarto, urged journalists to ‘stick to the TNI’ when going into the field in Aceh and added ominously that “it will be difficult for us to protect journalists if they do not join the TNI embedded program.”215 The Herald’s Matthew Moore chose not to be part of this embedded program, and was once stopped by a soldier in Aceh, who warned, “I could kill you whenever I like.”216 These were not the blunt instruments of threats of visas being revoked or stern lectures – these were direct threats on the journalist’s life.
This chapter has shown how the Indonesian Government and military went to extraordinary lengths to muzzle, contain, and hinder the journalistic practices of Australian foreign correspondents from 1945-2005. In the Suharto era this included a
211 Seib, The Global Journalist, p. 129. 212 Bowling, Running Amok, p. 172. 213 Thompson, personal interview. 214 In September 2006 Morgan Mellish (AFP), Stephen Fitzpatrick (The Australian) and Geoff Thompson (ABC) travelled together to Papua on a rarely issued permit. See Morgan Mellish, ‘Why it’s all quiet on the West Papua Front’, The Walkley Magazine; Inside the Australian Media, Issue 44, Oct/Nov 2006. Stephen Fitzpatrick, ‘Suharto’s legacy rules and divides’, The Australian, 25 September 2006, p. 12. Geoff Thompson, ‘Journalists face difficulties in Papua, even with work permits’, The World Today, [transcript], ABC, 19 October, 2006 and Lateline, ABC, 3 October, 2006. 215 The Jakarta Post, July 3, 2002, p. 3, in Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, p. 212. 216 Moore, personal interview. 154
complex intertwined web of bureaucratic non-cooperation, aimed at deliberately stifling the voice of the foreign and domestic press. In military occupied zones strong-arm tactics and attempts to intimidate journalists were used to hide TNI involvement and actions in the regions. In his history of war reporting, Knightley has argued that the aims of the military in the field and the free press are irreconcilable.217 Philip Kitley has shown that the Indonesian military in the field made little attempt to accept the freedoms of the press.218 The international media can often simplify the politics of these struggles, further infuriating military officials who see themselves as misrepresented.219 As a result, a government’s war plans now include carefully constructed public relations strategies to manage the media in the field and information from the region, as the media is seen as crucial to the overall objective.220 Thus, the rationale in Indonesia has not simply been about threatening Australian journalists - the military has a point and purpose to these controls. However, the thuggish approach adopted by the military failed because it was a simple imposition of power and Australian journalists were unwilling to accept these controls. Rather, the military’s calibrated range of violence, intimidation and coercive threats seemingly heightened the resolve of Australian journalists to write more descriptive and powerful reports of the conflict in the outer regions.
4.4. Australian journalist’s responses to these influences
This chapter has outlined and explained the methods by which the Indonesian Government and military attempted to control and influence the reports of Australian journalists. Here we will examine how Australian journalists responded to these influences. It is argued that Australian journalists largely ignored the threats and coercion, and attempted to report as openly and as accurately as possible. Thus, one
217 See Philip Knightley, The First Casualty; The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-maker from Crimea to Iraq, 2003, p. 2, where he states the military wants to win the war as quickly as possible and away from the scrutiny of journalists, while the media wants to observe, witness and record the first draft of history. Knightley’s contribution to journalism history has also been explained in Chapter I. 218 Kitley, ‘Winning an Information War’, p. 210. 219 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 169, argues along similar lines to Knightley when he wrote, “No war, from the first clash of the stone ages, has been faithfully depicted to those back home. No faraway reader or viewer – however plentiful his sources - can feel a war’s full impact or truly understand its intricacies.” 220 Eric Louw, The Media and Political Process, Sage Publications, 2005, pp. 221-225, argues this is warfare as ‘PR-ized and media-ized’. 155
response was to write openly and accept the consequences afterward. This was not always possible, and during the New Order period of extensive bans on entire Australian news organizations, this method became increasingly impractical, and journalists were forced to self-censor. However, the thuggish approach by the military failed, and attempts by the Indonesian Government to control the flow of news from Indonesia were naïve and simplistic, and as a result, their attempts to get Australian journalists to write more positively of Indonesia did not succeed.
For the most part, journalists ignored the controls and influences as best as they could. This was largely because there was never a complete expulsion of entire Australian news organisations until the late 1970s. One early example occurred in 1958, when Denis Warner was denied a visa by the Indonesian Government, but chose to board a Danish freighter, the Bretagne, to enter Indonesia anyway.221 Warner then reported on the state of rebellion forces in Padang without being expelled, although he admitted it took some time for Indonesian officials to forgive him for his disobedience.222 Peter Hastings was expelled from Indonesia for reporting a conversation Adam Malik had with Sukarno, but was soon allowed to return to Jakarta, upon which he was met with a wry smile from former journalist Malik, who said to him, “the black sheep returns.” 223
This is not to suggest that all journalists found life easier reporting Indonesia during Sukarno’s rule. Frank Palmos kept a diary as he reported from Jakarta 1963-7. His final entry on 15 December, 1967, as he prepared to leave for Australia, shows his fear of the Indonesian Government and Army, and the constant sense of surveillance at the Hotel Indonesia:
I've destroyed all carbons and roughs of all my Herald stories, and any letters which could cause trouble. My money, camera and negatives would also be targets. Were I Sukarno or his Army boys, I would close all alleyways Saturday night - clean up Sunday - and have all the white
221 Denis Warner, Reporting Southeast Asia, Angus and Robertson, 1966, p. 74. 222 Denis Warner, Not Always on Horseback; An Australian correspondent at War and Peace in Asia, 1961-1993, Allen and Unwin, 1997, p.136. He makes special mention of the Indonesian Foreign Minister at the time, Subandrio. 223 Hastings, The Road To Lembang, p. 88. 156
community tabbed by Monday afternoon. So Friday I won't sleep here. All things considered (the joys of returning home) I still feel I would rather risk it in this place.224
Having outlined the efforts and levels of bureaucracy the Indonesian Government and military were prepared to go to in controlling the press, this suspicion is somewhat justified. While Palmos’ diary entry shows a distinct difficulty in reporting from Indonesia, it shows he was afraid his previously published stories were controversial and perhaps even previously unread by Indonesian officials, which suggests he did not self-censor at the time.
During the New Order, Australian journalists tried to ignore the threats, reprimands, and restrictions placed upon them. Perhaps one of the more recognised acts of defiance was an article by the Herald’s Peter Rodgers detailing the starvation and hunger in East Timor in 1979. Having taken numerous photos of malnourished East Timorese children, Rodgers discovered a senior officer from the state security body had ordered a ban on the transmission of his photographs. Ignoring the ban, Rodgers smuggled them into Australia through (ironically) a Garuda Indonesia Airways flight.225 The photos received international coverage, and the article was entitled, ‘The Photos Indonesia did not want us to see’.226 Rodgers was named 1979 Australian Journalist of the Year for his article. However, due to this and a number of other articles, Rodgers was subsequently banned from Indonesia in 1980. All Australian news organizations were soon banned less than a year later. This led to a belief in the industry that Australian journalists to Indonesia were improperly banned. For many journalists, being banned was seen as a badge of honour, for as former ABC Southeast Asia correspondent Graeme Dobell noted:
Australian journalists in Southeast Asia have got into trouble for getting stories right, not for getting them wrong...The Australian reporters who have got into trouble with governments in the region in the last dozen years are a roll-call of the best we have. They are careful, experienced reporters...none fits the drongo mould of cultural insensitivity or ignorance.227
224 Personal diary of Frank Palmos, 15 December, 1967. As shown in Palmos, personal interview. 225 Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 34. 226 Peter Rodgers, ‘The Photos Indonesia did not want us to see’, Sydney Morning Herald, November 1, 1979, p. 1. 227 Graeme Dobell, 1993, in Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, p. 134. Dobell has also written Australia Finds Home: The Choices and Chances of an Asia Pacific Journey, ABC books, 157
Thus, while no journalist wanted to be banned, if they were expelled from Indonesia, it was unlikely they would consider it a mistake or error in their reports, but a reaction from government and military officials unhappy with their ‘dirty laundry being aired’.
Ignoring constraints and accepting repercussions was an easy policy to follow if it only meant enduring a stern lecture, but if the entire agency could be banned the dangers were far greater. Leigh Mackay explained that, “officials let you know they are not happy. Mostly you just accepted that you were being reprimanded and took nothing from it.”228 But Mackay felt pressure to maintain his posting, considering he was the only Australian media representative in Indonesia, and considering he was only on a six month visa each time.229 Occasionally, Australian news organisations stood behind their blacklisted correspondents. The Age in 1991 responded to the Indonesian Government’s decision to ban Lindsay Murdoch by refusing to send a replacement correspondent to Jakarta.230 This meant Indonesian authorities could not simply ban all those Australian journalists who wrote what they saw as ‘negative’ articles and wait for the Australian newspaper companies to compliantly produce a new correspondent. However, this action from The Age is rare in this history, as generally the competitive ethic of the Australian media industry requires news organizations to replace their correspondents immediately, for fear of being ‘scooped’ by their competitors.
In reality, expulsion is not necessarily a badge of honour. Correspondents must change their life immediately – in some cases move their family, their children from school and farewell their friends. They do not necessarily receive another posting. Their news organisation must find a replacement, and placate infuriated Indonesian officials so the entire Jakarta bureau is not closed down. To open a bureau in Jakarta cost
2000. See also Jenkins ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes towards the Domestic and Foreign Media’, pp. 158-160, where he reflects on the point that no one questioned whether the ‘Suharto Billions’ article was actually factually incorrect. 228 Mackay, personal interview. 229 This pressure was exacerbated due to many Australian Government officials ensuring Mackay knew of the importance of the posting with regard to the Australia-Indonesia relationship. This will be examined in Chapter V. David Jenkins also argued that AAP “exercised a good deal of self-restraint and self-censorship in its coverage of Indonesia, steering well clear of anything controversial” from 1983- 1986. Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes Towards the Domestic and Foreign Press’, p. 158. 230 Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, p. 136. However, he states, “The Age was the only Australian paper to take this course, and the ban was not watertight.” 158
approximately $A200 000 in 1994231, a great deal of money to risk for one ‘negative’ report. While in theory editors may tell journalists to report frankly and ignore pressures as best they can, they prefer that their correspondents do not risk getting thrown out except on the biggest of stories.232 Journalists are often told no story is worth their life and few stories are worth their career or the banning of their organisation. Louise Williams calls this a journalist’s “profession ego” - not to be expelled unless completely necessary. She explained: “You want to be here for the big story, which for me was the end of Suharto, you didn’t want to get thrown out for a small story.”233
The desire for longevity of tenure may persuade some Australian journalists to tread lightly in areas of official sensitivity and exercise a degree of self-censorship.234 This was the case for Radio Australia reporters who had their Indonesian listeners to take into account.235 Radio Australia’s Errol Hodge wrote of reporting during the New Order:
None of us foreign correspondents so much as alluded to the growing stories of corruption in high places. We were sure that to do so would have brought quick retribution – the closure of our offices and our expulsion from the country. We felt we could be more effective in reporting Indonesia to an Australian audience, and in my case to an Indonesian audience as well, if we exercised some self-censorship and stayed in Indonesia.236
During the New Order, however, it was often difficult to measure which topics were taboo. This was the benefit of the techniques of Government controls - to make the journalist think they needed to self-censor, or ‘play the game’, more than they actually
231 Ibid., p. 131. 232 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 95. 233 Williams, personal interview. 234 David Jenkins wrote in 1986: “I think it is also fair to say that correspondents in Indonesia engage in a good deal of self-censorship”. See Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government attitudes towards the domestic and Foreign Media’, p. 153. See also Damien Kingsbury, ‘Constraints on Reporting Australia’s Asian Neighbours’, p. 110, where he claims Australian journalists working in the Asian region have told him they do practice self-censorship, in order to maintain their bureaux in difficult political environments. In their interviews with me, many Australian journalists admitted to caution when writing about Suharto’s first family or corruption. 235 Radio Australia was widely enjoyed, and its English language instruction was considered the best. Thus, there were greater ramifications if Radio Australia was to be banned. Hodge has discussed this in Radio Wars, p. 191, and in ‘The impact of the ABC on Australian-Indonesian relations since Timor’, Australian Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 45, No. 1, 1991. 236 Errol Hodge, ‘Constraints on Reporting Indonesia’ in Anton Lucas (ed.), Half a Century of Indonesian-Australian Interaction, Flinders University Asian Studies Monograph no. 6, 1996, p. 50. 159
did.237 Official vagueness can be more effective as journalists feel the need to tread cautiously for professional, financial and personal reasons. Louise Williams said, “Censorship in Indonesia is the invisible line. You can really overestimate it by standing so far back that you are missing out on so much freedom, and you don’t actually understand how far you can push it.”238 This was also the case with surveillance. Williams, like most Australian journalists, felt a “constant sense of surveillance” in Indonesia. She said, “The funny thing about surveillance is it works whether it’s there or not. You suspect everybody is a government agent because people behave in a sense that they are being monitored in some way.”239
After the New Order, bans were not as common. Despite the Lindsay Murdoch example explained earlier, Australian journalists have not faced threats of bans on their Jakarta bureaus to the extent of their predecessors during the New Order. However, this chapter has shown that in the outer regions there were still considerable threats on Australian journalists and restrictions placed upon their access to certain areas. When ABC correspondent Mark Bowling left East Timor in 1999, he admitted the whole operation of reporting under such difficult circumstances led to his decision to return to Jakarta. He wrote, “I felt mentally and physically drained, and I knew, for me, leaving was the right choice.”240 Despite the difficulties, some journalists continued to ignore the restrictions on travel to the outer regions. Matthew Moore faced difficulties obtaining a visa to Papua in 2001. He eventually chose to ignore the permit regulations and traveled to the region illegally. He said, “Indonesian journalists smuggled me in to the Freeport Mine on a convoy with the Police Chief, with a newspaper to read and hat over my head as the car fogged up in the rain. I was able to report to the clear irritation of Freeport bosses.”241 Moore received warnings about his disobedience from Government officials, but was never banned, although he never made an attempt to renew his visa in 2005.242
237 Former AFR correspondent Michael Byrnes claimed this was a crucial part of ‘playing the Asia game’, which has been discussed in Chapter I. Byrnes argued the result of the game is that usually the Indonesian Government ‘wins’, as self-censorship occurs. Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, p. 132. 238 Williams, personal interview. 239 Ibid. 240 Bowling, Running Amok, p. 174. 241 Moore also received help from Indonesian journalists who worked for the Timika Post, and an Associated Press stringer who assisted him with translations. Moore, personal interview. 242 Moore, personal interview. 160
This section has shown that Indonesian Government and military controls over Australian journalists did have consequences on the reporting process of Australian foreign correspondents. While journalists often chose to ignore the threats and even employ the method of ‘publish and be damned’ during the late New Order period from 1980-1997, there was considerable pressure on Australian journalists to self-censor, because they did not want to follow the same path of some of their predecessors and not be there to report at all. As Jenkins stated, self-censorship for the purpose of keeping a journalistic visa was justified, because, “it was better to have three quarters of the pineapple than no pineapple at all.”243 While a limited form of self-censorship from Australian journalists for a period of time may have been cultivated, the controls placed upon Australian journalists had greater repercussions. The greatest consequence of these controls was to further exacerbate the legacy of conflict between Australian journalists and the Indonesian Government. Not allowing foreign press coverage of outer regions of the archipelago, gave the journalist reason to think the Indonesian Government had something to hide, and a story was waiting. The constant bureaucratic deceits, surveillance, threats and dangers meant Australian journalists began to believe they were meshed in an ongoing conflict between free press principles and practice and the Indonesian Government and military, intent on hindering their professional practice. As the ABC’s Peter Barnett wrote: “At times I felt I was an enemy in a hostile country.”244
Historically, for Indonesian Government officials, the most important factor is the national interest, as defined by their press laws. As Chapter II has shown, this contradicts how Australian journalists saw their role. This ideological difference was perhaps displayed most openly in a conversation between Herald correspondent James Mossman and an Indonesian official, in 1958. The official told Mossman: “We have suffered too much. All we want is to be left alone, but foreign powers use us as pawns in their game.”245 With the belief at that time that Western correspondents were part of the ‘imperialist’ press, it is unsurprising that the Indonesian official saw the Australian reporter as part of this group interfering in Indonesian affairs. Mossman’s response
243 See Hodge, ‘Constraints on Reporting Indonesia’, p. 50, and Jenkins, Indonesia: Government Attitudes Towards the Domestic and Foreign Press’, p. 153. 244 Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 135. 245 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 281. 161
signifies most Australian journalist’s thoughts about their victimisation: “A people that has made many mistakes invariably looks for a scapegoat. If the scapegoat is foreign, so much the better.”246 But he did concede, “It is a familiar cry, half truth, half self- indulgence.”247 Indeed, it has been a familiar theme in the history of Australia- Indonesia relations. If there is a problem with the bilateral relationship, government officials are quick to blame the media. If problems in the outer regions of Indonesia are reported, the Australian media with its ‘past baggage’ of reporting military atrocities are often derided for their ‘bias’ against the Indonesian military. Australian journalists soon saw themselves as scapegoats for reporting the ‘truth’ of Indonesian politics, especially in reporting occupation of the outer regions. They felt unfairly treated by the government and military’s techniques of influence and controls. This only further increased the tension between the two groups.
This research has shown how Indonesian officials have had numerous concerns with the way Australian journalists report from Indonesia. Of course, the concerns were not limited to the Australian media. The Indonesian Government’s arguments for influencing the media are premised on the lofty ideals of development journalism, mixed increasingly over the later New Order period with more selfish interests in regime maintenance. Indonesian journalists working for Indonesian dailies were also pushing the limits of their government’s ideological project. They tried to subvert it rather bravely and for principled reasons. On many occasions, they had their papers closed down around them. As Chapter III explained, it was often local staff working for Australian news media that were first confronted by government and military officials. This was due to the regime’s interests in trying to control the representation of Indonesia so that they would not lose face internationally, and would not have to deal with the static that intrusive Australian reporting might have domestically.
This chapter has shown that the measures employed to influence and hinder Australian journalists have led to a strong level of mistrust between the two groups. The military’s calibrated range of persuasive and at times highly coercive warnings and threats to Australian journalists in the outer regions did little to stop supposedly ‘negative’ reporting from the region, as the Balibo Five case explicitly illustrates.
246 Ibid. 247 Ibid. 162
Indonesian Government tactics were often crude, and the various government departments roped in to control the press were unable to justify their position adequately to foreign, and local, journalists. In particular, the Department of Information had become a propaganda operation that journalists had little time for. It was not a communicative, educative department that some officials claimed was its original purpose in relation to the media. Their controls did little to assist the development of accurate and extensive coverage of Indonesian affairs. While some Australian journalists admitted to self-censorship during the New Order, this chapter has depicted a history of tension and occasionally conflict between Indonesian officials and Australian journalists. While controls and influences did limit Australian journalists’ professional practice, they did not succeed in their aims to encourage a more positive representation of Indonesia in the Australian press. In fact, for the most part they simply exacerbated the problem, narrowing Australian journalist’s focus so reports continued about the threats or controls from the military and government.
The Indonesian Government’s belief that it could control the flow of news in Indonesia reflects a simplistic account of the way journalists perform their role. It suggests the Indonesian Government thought it could limit controversial reports from Australian journalists by hindering or controlling their professional practice. This implies great agency in the role of Australian correspondents in shaping the news. Yet this chapter has shown the controls and influences did not work due to a naïve understanding of the balance of power and freedom, and how journalists might react to this attempted subjugation. The next chapter will explain that the Australian Government had similar simplistic ideas about the nature of Australian journalist’s professional practice from Indonesia. As this chapter has shown, these pressures and hindrances directly impacted on journalist’s autonomy, and created a history of tension between the two groups, and ultimately a narrow and distorted coverage of Indonesian affairs. 163
CHAPTER V
AUSTRALIAN GOVERNMENT INFLUENCES
In 1989, the Australian Foreign Minister Gareth Evans urged the Australian media to be more “constructive” in their coverage of Indonesia, suggesting there were excessive “negative” reports by Australian journalists about the archipelago. This was a senior Australian Government minister publicly reprimanding its press, and pressuring them to report about its neighbour in a certain way. “The remarkable aspect of this statement”, states Rod Tiffen, “is that we took it as unremarkable.”1 By tracing the historical relationship between the Australian Government and Australian journalists in Indonesia, this chapter will show why, by 1989, Evans’ instructions were met with little objection or bewilderment. The tactics employed by the Australian Government to influence Australian journalists in Indonesia will be detailed. These are not the blatant intimidatory controls applied by the Indonesian Government and military described in the previous chapter, but they do question the attitude of the Australian Government towards the notion of the free press. It is argued that by the end of the twentieth century, the relationship between the Australian media in Indonesia and the Australian Government had deteriorated to such an extent that neither trusted the other, and both saw each other as a hindrance to their professional practice. By 1997, as Herald correspondent Louise Williams stated: “When I arrived, there was just this exchange missing. They [Embassy officials] weren’t supposed to talk to me. Their idea was we weren’t on the same team.”2
From the journalists I interviewed, many of those posted to Indonesia post-1975 had more to say about the pressures from the Australian Government than their predecessors. Australian journalists post-1996 talked about the increasing influences placed upon them by the Australian Government not to write on contentious issues nor travel to controversial regions. It throws into dispute the Australian Government’s support of press freedoms. This chapter will examine why Australian officials felt the
1 Rod Tiffen, ‘New Order Regime Style and the Australian Media’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne, (eds.), Foreign devils and other journalists, Monash Asia Institute, Clayton, 2000, p. 39. 2 Louise Williams, personal interview, Wollongong, July, 2006. 164
need to create such pressures, and why they became a hindrance to Australian journalistic professional practice. The implications for Australian reporting of Indonesia were that the Australian Government saw bilateral relations with its neighbour of greater importance than that of supporting the freedom of the press. As a result, they tried to control the flow of news from Indonesia to Australia by pressuring Australian journalists in their professional practice.
Central to this is analysis is a consideration of the professional practice of the pursuit of knowledge. That is, the Australian journalists’ knowledge versus Australian politicians and bureaucratic knowledge in Indonesia. The roles of foreign correspondents and foreign diplomats are very similar. Both are attempting to find credible information in the country to which they are posted. Due to the nature of their work, correspondents and diplomats have always nurtured a symbiotic relationship, feeding off each other for sources, information and occasionally assistance in their job.3 The key difference is one displays the information publicly to a greater audience, while the other sends it via a secure cable to a select group. Because of the nature their work, journalists strive for access to these secure cables and documents, and attempt to go beyond the official version described to them by press attaches. Thus, the information a foreign diplomat can provide can be extremely rewarding to a journalist. Conversely, because of their unofficial status, reporters can move around more freely than diplomats. In this sense, they can be useful informants for Government officials.4
Journalists were often called upon by officials to assist them in their knowledge of the situation in Indonesia. Philip Koch believed an important symbiotic relationship with embassy officials developed when he was the ABC correspondent in Jakarta in 1965. He said, “Australian Ambassadors were well aware that I had a daily meeting with Sukarno, and [Foreign Minister] Subandrio, that they couldn’t have,” he explained,
3 Rod Tiffen, in The News from Southeast Asia: The Sociology of Newsmaking, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 1978, has argued that there was a symbiotic relationship between journalists and diplomats, each using the other to their own benefit. Furthermore, the danger of journalists relying on diplomats and intelligence for the information was highlighted enormously through the consistent reporting that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. See O.B. Barrett, ‘Judith Miller, the New York Times and the Propaganda Model’, Journalism Studies, Volume 5, Issue 4, 2004, pp. 435-449. See also Philip Knightley, The First Casualty: The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-Maker from the Crimea to Iraq, John Hopkins Press, 2004, pp. 527-548. 4 Mort Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes; Reporting the World to America, Harper Colophon Books, 1981, p. 93. 165
“Mick Shann [Australian Ambassador] was forever asking me about Sukarno’s health, how he looked, because Shann couldn’t see him.”5 This was a case of the journalist having greater access to officials than the diplomat, and thus, perhaps having a greater insight into the working of the inner sanctum of policy makers. However, correspondents and diplomats also share faults and limitations. Chapter VI will show problems in the reporting of Indonesia if Australian correspondents rarely travel outside Jakarta. Many of the earlier correspondents stuck mainly to obtaining sources from Western diplomats, as few spoke Indonesian.
Information was swapped even at the highest level. Before he was to travel to West Papua in 1961, Peter Hastings was summoned to meet Australian Prime Minister Robert Menzies, the first time Hastings had met an Australian Prime Minister. Hastings advised Menzies that Australia “should not get caught on the Dutch hook” over West Papua, to which Menzies became impatient and sarcastic, clearly unimpressed.6 At the conclusion of the meeting, Hastings rang Peter Heydon in External Affairs to describe the tense situation, as he had clearly not told Menzies what he wanted to hear. On many occasions, Australian journalists accounts differed from official line. For example, in 1961, Australian Prime Minister Robert Menzies invited Indonesia’s General Nasution to Australia for discussions over West Papua. Menzies stated that the meeting was a success, and claimed it cleared up any ‘misunderstanding’ that existed between Australia and Indonesia.7 However, Bruce Grant reported from Jakarta that the Indonesian Government was greatly dissatisfied with the results of Nasution’s visit and no longer sought Australia’s favour over the West Papua dispute.8 Grant contradicted the Government line that the two countries were supportive neighbours over the West Papua dispute, and aired this knowledge publicly, to the ire of Australian Government officials.
The nature of the government-press relationship in overseas postings requires government officials to pass on certain pieces of information to journalists, yet keep others secret. Important details are often withheld from correspondents in every country
5 Philip Koch, personal interview, Noosa, February, 2007. 6 Peter Hastings, The Road to Lembang, A Retrospect, 1938-1966, Australians in Asia Series no.5, Centre for the Study of Asia-Australia Relations, Griffith University, 1990, p. 32. 7 Greg Pemberton, All the way; Australia’s Road to Vietnam, Allen and Unwin, 1987, p. 93. 8 Editorial, Bruce Grant, The Age, 26 June, 1961. 166
because the government does not want them exposed to the public. Certainly, the Government has a view about the way a certain story should be reported, and will try to convince correspondents of this. Correspondents have their own way of acquiring knowledge, which ideally entails seeing the situation for themselves, and their assessment is not always motivated by the same interests of government officials. However, this research will show that the relationship between correspondents and diplomats in Indonesia took on a particular character. Herald correspondent Louise Williams, after first being posted in the Philippines, noticed the difference immediately as she began to report from Indonesia in 1997.9
This chapter will show the Australian Government has pressured Australian correspondents to report the way they wanted various stories to be covered. It is argued this was a result of the importance Australian Government officials placed on the bilateral relationship. Australian journalists’ ability to disrupt bilateral relations caused officials to distrust the press, and impose greater pressures on their freedoms, so much so that they began to employ similar tactics to that of the Indonesian Government in attempting to influence coverage of Indonesia. As a result, the symbiotic relationship between correspondents and diplomats broke down in Indonesia by the end of the century.
5.1. Friendly neighbours or a free press
As chapter I has shown, Australia has always viewed its relationship with Indonesia as important. In the last quarter of the twentieth century, officials have openly discussed the increasing necessity of the relationship. The Dibb Report of 1986 helped to define the geopolitical importance for Australia in seeking closer engagement with Southeast Asia and placed emphasis on the strategic significance of Indonesia.10 The 1997 White Paper, In the National Interest, sponsored by the Minister for Foreign Affairs and
9 Williams, personal interview. She claimed journalists could get much closer to embassy staff and more information was shared in the Philippines, than in Indonesia. 10 See Peter Edwards and David Goldswothy (eds.) Facing North: A Century of Australian Engagement with Asia, Volume 2: 1970s to 2000, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Melbourne University Press, 2003, p. 79. 167
Trade, Alexander Downer, identified Indonesia, along with China, Japan and the U.S., as the most important bilateral relationships for Australia.11
The bilateral importance Australia placed on its relationship with Indonesia is exemplified by the idea there is a ‘Jakarta Lobby’, that is, a group of politicians and academics who are seen to believe that there are greater long term benefits for Australian in placating Indonesian Government officials, rather than offending them. This apparent policy dates back to Australia’s implicit support of Suharto’s rise to power in 1965, and is also referred to as the ‘Indonesia Lobby’. Bruce Haigh, a former Australian diplomat to Indonesia, exemplified the concept of the Jakarta Lobby when he wrote, “We thought by being thoroughly amenable and compliant we might gain a measure of influence over the region.”12 During the New Order, the Jakarta Lobby feared the collapse of the Suharto government would bring about chaos and instability in the region. Therefore, it was argued Australian long-term interests were best served by a policy of support and sympathy for the New Order Indonesian government.13 As a result, the Jakarta Lobby is sometimes interpreted as a group of shadowy figures involved in underhand machinations; and sometimes they are seen as ‘stooges’ of former President Suharto or his military henchmen.14 However, Richard Robison explained the Jakarta Lobby in a more reasoned manner, arguing they were a group that believed Australia was more likely to have influence over the government of Indonesia if it was considered a “friendly, sympathetic and supportive neighbour.”15 Scott Burchill argued the Jakarta Lobby has been “remarkably influential” in tightly controlling Australian foreign policy towards Indonesia and East Timor despite numerous “public relations challenges”.16 Their strategy, according to Brian Toohey and Marion
11 Ibid., p. 326. 12 Bruce Haigh, Pillars of Fear: A critical examination of Australian failure in regional defence planning, Otford Press, 2001, p. 5. 13 Ibid. See also Clinton Fernandez, Chapter One, ‘The Jakarta Lobby’, in Reluctant Saviour: Australia, Indonesia, and the independence of East Timor, Scribe publications, 2004, and Bruce Haigh, The Great Australian Blight: Losing the plot in Australian foreign policy, Otford Press, NSW, 2001. 14 See, for example, Corey Oakley, ‘Suharto; The mass murderer the West loved to love’, Socialist Alternative, edition 125, February, 2008. 15 Richard Robison, ‘Explaining Indonesia’s Response to the Jenkins Article; Implications for Australia- Indonesia Relations’, Australian Outlook, Volume 3, 1986, pp. 132-138. 16 Scott Burchill, ‘The Jakarta Lobby- Mea Culpa?’ The Age, 4 March, 1999. 168
Wilkinson, has been to “act in a way which would be designed to minimise the public impact in Australia and show private understanding to Indonesia of their problems.”17
There were claims that intelligence was massaged or corrupted for political ends during the East Timor conflict in 1999.18 Australian Army Captain Toohey, stated: “A pro-Jakarta lobby exists in Defence Intelligence, which distorts intelligence and is heavily driven by government policy”.19 This did not help to dissipate the theory that the Jakarta Lobby took part in some form of underhand machinations to influence and implement Australian Government policy on Indonesia. John Birmingham controversially argued in 2001 that the policy of supporting Suharto’s New Order regime, and in particular, Indonesia’s intervention in East Timor, was a policy of ‘appeasement’ which ultimately failed in its objective, largely because East Timor was “the prism through which everything else was viewed. It distorted and defined the relationship between the two countries”.20 However, Clinton Fernandez wrote that to suggest the Jakarta Lobby ‘appeases’ Indonesia was incorrect, and stressed the importance of explaining it is a group that “advocates good relations, not with the Indonesian people in general, but with the regime that best controls them”.21
Although there is no official club or meeting place, the group was said to include a number of Australian academics, such as Heinz Arndt and Jamie Mackie from ANU, and William Macmahon Ball from Melbourne University. Robison notes that the Lobby is generally regarded to cluster around former Ambassadors to Indonesia, such as Gordon Jockel, Richard Furlonger, Keith Shann, Tom Critchley, Rawdon Dalrymple and Richard Woolcott.22 It was even said to incorporate Australian Prime Ministers Gough Whitlam and Paul Keating, and also said to include some Australian foreign
17 Brian Toohey & Marian Wilkinson, The Book of Leaks: exposes in defence of the public’s right to know, Angus and Robertson, Sydney, 1987, pp. 179-80. 18 See also Scott Burchill, ‘East Timor, Australia and Indonesia’, Guns and Ballot Boxes; East Timor’s vote for Independence, 2000, pp. 169-197. 19 Transcript of interview between Mark Davis and Andrew Plunkett, ‘Dateline’, SBS, Wednesday 14 April, 2004. www.sbs.com.au/dateline/andrew_plunket_interview_130375 (accessed 20 June, 2008). 20 John Birmingham, ‘Appeasing Jakarta: Australia’s Complicity in the East Timor Tragedy’, Quarterly Essay, no 2, 2001, pp. 1-88. See also Desmond Ball ‘Silent Witness: Australian intelligence and East Timor’, and Ball and McDonald, Death in Balibo; Lies in Canberra, Allen and Unwin, 2000, Bruce Haigh, The Great Australian Blight: Losing the plot in Australian foreign policy, Otford Press, 2001. 21 Clinton Fernandez, Reluctant Saviour: Australian, Indonesia and the independence of East Timor, Scribe Publications, 2004, pp. 1-24. 22 Robison, ‘Explaining Indonesia’s Response to the Jenkins Article’, p. 132 169
correspondents to Indonesia, such as Peter Hastings, Bruce Grant, and Peter Rodgers.23 Of course it must be stated that categorizing foreign policy decisions and one’s personal stance on relations with Indonesia is problematic and simplistic. Rodgers took exception to being seen as part of the Jakarta Lobby. “I wonder whether it’s not possible to be both a supporter and a critic of Australia’s approach towards Indonesia without having to wear a label?” he asked.24 Jamie Mackie also took offence to the idea of the Jakarta Lobby, and argued that the policy was not to pander to Jakarta or avoid opposition on issues of importance, but that we must recognize that good relations with Jakarta will give us a greater chance of a worthwhile relationship with the rest of our region and the entire East Asian international system.25 If we take Robison’s Jakarta Lobby as following the line that as neighbours, Australia needs to be friendly, sympathetic and supportive in its relations with Indonesia, then of course, there have been many occasions when Australian media reports have not helped this policy. Australian Government officials saw this as a hindrance to the progress they were making towards bilateral relations.
As Australian news organisations began setting up bureaus in Indonesia in the 1960s, there was a consistent belief from the Indonesian Government that the Australian Government had the power to control its own press, and furthermore, the Australian Government’s failure to control its press was regarded as proof that it did not wish to do so.26 In 1963, Peter Hastings met Indonesian Foreign Minister Dr Subandrio, who chided the Australian press for their negative reports on Indonesian involvement in West Papua. Subandrio responded to Hastings’ claim that the Australian press was ‘free’ from its own Government’s controls and argued: “You know very well your Government could force your press to tell the truth about Irian. It does not because it is hostile to Indonesia and therefore makes no attempt to change hostile press attitudes. It encourages them.”27 Subandrio’s belief was typical of many Indonesian Government
23 Fernandez, Reluctant Saviour, p. 3-5, and Brian Brunton, ‘Australia’s Indonesia lobby observed’, Inside Indonesia, No. 11, August, 1987, p. 23. 24 Peter Rodgers, ‘The Trouble with the Jakarta lobby ‘conspiracy’’, The Age, Opinion, August 9, 2004. 25 See Jamie Mackie’s reply to Birmingham’s essay, in ‘Appeasing Jakarta Correspondence’, in Quarterly Essay, No 3, 2001, pp. 83-93. See also Jamie Mackie, ‘After the Revolusi: Indonesia 1956-58’, in Anton Lucas (ed.), Half a Century of Indonesian-Australian Interaction, Flinders University Monograph no. 6, 1996, p. 43. 26 R.W.L. Austin, In the Shadow of the Durian: Indonesia Observed, Australians in Asia Series, CSAAR, 1993, p. 48. 27 Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. 12. 170
officials’ attitudes at that time, that Australian journalists in Indonesia were in some way controlled or manipulated by the Australian Government. Ray Austin, a long serving diplomat in the Australian Embassy in Jakarta during the 1960s, said the common belief of officials in Indonesia was that “the old adage applied - he who pays the piper may call the tune.”28 The idea that the Australian Government would fund an institution that it could not control, such as the ABC or Radio Australia, seemed absurd to many Indonesian officials. They often thought broadcasts were, quite naturally, the voice of the Government.29 Mike Carlton, ABC correspondent from 1967-70, said, “Indonesian officials could never get their head around a news organisation operating independently from the government.”30 Ultimately, Indonesian officials believed the Australian press was an extended arm of the Government and the content of reports was not always controlled by journalists and editors. This comes from Indonesian official’s historical legacy of the way the press should operate, as was discussed in the previous chapter.
One of the most contentious issues in the Australian Government’s involvement in the media in Indonesia was the implementation of Radio Australia (RA). RA was established by the Australian Government during WWII as a broadcasting service aimed at countering enemy propaganda, but by 1950 responsibility for Radio Australia was returned to the ABC, and it was declared free from Government control.31 Yet the Minister for External Affairs, Percy Spender, wrote in that same year to ABC’s Boyer: “I think it is important that RA be looked at as an instrument of foreign policy.”32 In Indonesia, radio was the main source of news and information, and ownership of radios was spreading rapidly there in the early 1950s.33 The Australian Government saw this as an opportunity to broadcast news via short wave radio to areas of Indonesia.34 While
28 Austin, In the Shadow of the Durian, p. 48. 29 Errol Hodge, Radio Wars: Truth, Propaganda and the Struggle for Radio Australia, Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 175-191. 30 Mike Carlton, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 31 Alan Thomas, Broadcast and Be Damned: The ABC’s First Two Decades, Melbourne University Press, 1980, pp. 113-116. 32 Ken Inglis, This is the ABC; The Australian Broadcasting Commission, 1932-1983, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1984, p. 156. 33 Adrian Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 127. 34 Numerous studies have been written on the history radio in Australia. The Unseen Voice: A Cultural Study of Early Australian Radio, London, Routledge, 1988. John Potts Radio in Australia, Kensington: UNSW Press 1989, and Out of the Bakelite Box: The Heyday of Australian Radio, Sydney, Angus & Robertson 1990. A number of works on the history of the ABC have been used for this thesis. Hodge (op cit.) is used widely in this research, as it is specific to Radio Australia and the Department of External 171
RA programming was based on domestic broadcasts, there was special content for Southeast Asia and the Western Pacific, including Indonesia. RA stationed a full-time officer in Jakarta in 1965, Alan Morris, who broadcast reports in Indonesian. He worked with ABC correspondents, and shared an office with the ABC correspondent.35 Australian Embassy officials faced problems convincing Indonesian officials that RA was free from Government intervention. Austin recalled: “Our protestations that RA was an independent organisation and not subject to Government direction made no sense to the Indonesians.”36 As a result, RA soon became a major political problem because of the broadcasting of material the Indonesian Government regarded as ‘anti- Indonesian propaganda’. This was levelled at RA as early as the 1960s, due to RA reports being broadcast in the Indonesian language. RA reporting of an attempt on Sukarno's life during his trip to South Sulawesi, in early 1962, brought criticism from the Indonesian Foreign Ministry of pro-Dutch bias. Ali Alatas, then an information officer with the Indonesian Foreign Ministry, expressed concern that Radio Australia was carrying the “wrong type of propaganda”, expressing the view that RA was a voice of the Government.37 After his time as a foreign correspondent in Jakarta in 1965, Philip Koch became the ABC’s Head of RA from 1975-78. He stated, “Bahasa broadcasts from Radio Australia irritated the Indonesian Government, because they didn’t know why Australia wanted to do this.”38 To some Indonesian officials, the answer was clear. The Australian Government used RA to broadcast ‘anti-Indonesian propaganda’. There was a distinct conflict in the minds of Indonesian officials who would attend Australian Government briefings professing friendship for Indonesia, then return home to hear an Australian Government funded broadcasting service airing ‘negative’ stories about Indonesia.39 Thus, there was considerable pressure on Australian Government officials to control Australian journalists, especially Radio Australia, more directly than they would normally do in Australia.
Affairs. See also Ken Inglis' This is the ABC: The Australian Broadcasting Commission 1932-1983, Melbourne, Black Inc, 2006. Alan Thomas, Broadcast & Be Damned: The ABC's First Two Decades, Melbourne, Oxford Uni Press, 1980. Quentin Dempster's Death Struggle: How Political Malice & Boardroom Powerplays Are Killing The ABC, St Leonards: Allen & Unwin 2000, is a recent journalist's account of the concern of lack of funding given to the ABC. 35 Alan Morris, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2007. 36 Austin, Indonesia Observed, p. 48. 37 Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 169. 38 Koch, personal interview. 39 Peter Rodgers, The Foreign and Domestic Press in Indonesia: ‘Free but Responsible’? Centre for the Study of Asian Australian Relations, Research Paper no. 18, Griffith University, 1980, p. 24. 172
Australian Ambassadors to Indonesia expressed their Government’s line that bilateral relations were of utmost importance, and they consequently pushed for the media to support them in their endeavours in this matter. Richard Woolcott, Ambassador to Indonesia, 1975-78, wrote: “Relationships [between governments] are closer if we find ourselves pursuing similar approaches to major international and regional issues.”40 He argued that the media needed to support officials in this process: “This is a challenge and a national interest…in which all intelligent Australians including media…should work to assist rather than retard as some have done. This is not ‘appeasement’…it is practical common sense and a recognition of the realities stemming from our place on the globe.”41 This was not the first time Woolcott had discussed ‘practical common-sense’ decision making with regard to Australia-Indonesia relations.
A cablegram, sent by Woolcott from Jakarta to Canberra on 6 December, 1975, records Woolcott commenting about how Australian Government should react to Indonesia’s invasion of East Timor: “The Government faces one of those issues which governments frequently face in the conduct of their foreign relations…A choice between a pragmatic realistic position and a principled but ineffective posture.”42 This statement can be interpolated to provide greater understanding of the Australian Government’s attitude toward the Australian media in Indonesia. The “principled but ineffective posture” was to support freedom of the press and openly pursue a policy of criticising the Indonesian government controls as outlined in Chapter IV. The “pragmatic realistic position” was to agree the Australian media were often a cause of bilateral relations concerns, and accept that Indonesian officials were unhappy with the media, and exert some control and influence over Australian journalists.
Tom Critchley, Ambassador to Indonesia 1978-81, saw the Australian media as deliberately destabilising the good work done by officials. He said, “I appreciate that the media cannot be controlled. But surely an organization dependent on the Government should be expected to attempt to give a balanced broadcast and not embark
40 Richard Woolcott, in Good Neighbour, Bad Neighbour, Australia’s Relationship with Indonesia, Papers from the Uniya Seminar Series, 2006, p. 11. 41 Ibid., p. 17. 42 Quoted in Duncan Campbell (ed.), Good Neighbours, Bad Neighbours; Australia’s Relations with Indonesia, Papers from the Uniyar Seminar Series, 2006, p. 35. 173
on an exercise designed to engender hatred of a country with which we need to have good relations.”43 His successor, Rawdon Dalrymple, Australian Ambassador to Indonesia 1981-85, wrote that “dealing with Indonesia has been the most difficult test of Australian foreign policy for more than fifty years”, and noted that media reports from Australian journalists could disrupt bilateral relations with consistent negative portrayals of Indonesia, and that “obviously it is more difficult to promote engagement when the electorate’s dominant feeling is one of alienation.” 44
Bill Morrison, Australian Ambassador to Indonesia 1985-88, wrote, “The essential element of being neighbours is that we cannot be indifferent to each other. We have to deal with each other on a regular basis.”45 During Morrison’s posting the Jenkins Affair occurred, and complaints about the Australian media from Indonesian Government officials were now occurring on a regular basis. The Australian Government dealt with it by distancing themselves from its media. Officials increasingly began to believe they had to choose between friendly relations with Indonesia or a free press. When press articles contradicted reports by the embassy’s political section, the Embassy must defend itself to superiors, and occasionally to Indonesian Government officials. This has led many Australian Government officials to see the Australian press as disrupting their policies, pursuing stories with a lack of context or without understanding the complexities of the bilateral relationship. Thus, in order to maintain the special relationship with Indonesia at a diplomatic level, the Australian Government believed that it was in its interest to have greater control over the Australian press in Indonesia, so as to limit the possible damage to bilateral relations, and to placate Indonesian Government officials.
Chapter IV has discussed the common belief amongst government officials that Australian journalists were ‘ideologically committed’ to writing about Indonesia in a certain way and how this was linked to the ‘obsession’ with continuing the Balibo Five story. Birmingham argues the Balibo deaths “fuelled a lasting antipathy within the Australian media towards the Suharto regime and more generally towards the
43 Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 78. 44 Rawdon Dalrymple, Continental Drift: Australia’s Search for a Regional Identity, Ashgate, 2003, p. 162-3. 45 Bill Morrison, ‘Conclusion – Australia’, in Desmond Ball & Helen Wilson (eds), Strange Neighbours: The Australia-Indonesia Relationship, Allen and Unwin, 1991, p. 248. 174
Indonesian state”, as the murder and consequent cover-up “set aside an entire generation of journalists against the New Order regime and any Australian attempt to deal with it from any basis other than a vaguely hostile reserve”.46 Many Australian government officials claimed Australian journalists since 1975 persist in making negative comments about Indonesia because of the legacy of Balibo.47 Former Australian Prime Minister Gough Whitlam reflects the view of many Government officials when he claimed Australian journalists have lacked credibility because they “have been embittered by the deaths”48 and “have conducted a vendetta against Indonesia.”49 Paul Keating was also concerned by Australian journalists reporting in Asia. He said, “Too many Australian journalists still go to Asia on a mission rather than as reporters...too many editors seek intermittent drama from their correspondents rather than a linked and coherent story of our region.”50 The ‘mission’ in Indonesia might allude to the reports continuing the legacy of the Balibo Five, as explained in Chapter II. In light of the comments made in this section, this chapter will examine the influence exerted on Australian journalists as they reported from Indonesia. It will show that the Australian Government saw the media as an important mouthpiece for publicising positive bilateral relations with Indonesia, and attempted to influence journalists to report positively since the first agencies began to set up bureaus in Jakarta. It became clear over time, however, that Australian journalists were not conforming to demands on how to report Indonesia, and the pressure and influence the Australian Government exerted increased.
46 Birmingham, ‘Appeasing Jakarta’, p. 46. 47 See Rod Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits: Government, Media and East Timor, Sydney, UNSW Press, 2001, p. 99-102. 48 Gough Whitlam, ‘Australia, Indonesia and Europe’s empires’, Australian Outlook, vol.34, no 1, April, 1980, p. 11, in Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, p. 116 49 Gough Whitlam, ‘Leadership needed in our neighbourhood and our federation’, speech at dinner for Carol Marple, Melbourne, 9 December, 1991, pp. 2-3, in Damien Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism, 1975-1993, Monash University, 1997, p. 116. See Chapter II and Gough Whitlam, ‘Australia, Indonesia and Europe’s empires’, Australian Outlook, vol.34, no 1, April, 1980, p. 11. See Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, p. 116. 50 J.V. D’Cruz, and W. Steele, Australia’s Ambivalence towards Asia, Monash Asia Institute, Clayton, 2003, pp. 138-9. 175
5.2. Australian Government attempts to influence journalists
This section will show the subtle machinations by which the Australian Government attempted to influence Australian journalists in Indonesia so that reports would follow the official line. Pressure was usually applied through the Australian External Affairs Department (now the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade) through personal meetings with high-ranking officials. There were also attempts to control the workings and movements of correspondents, and to subject them to various levels of threats and coercion.
5.2.1. The end of Sukarno
One of the earliest examples of External Affairs influence came even before Australian media organizations had set up bureaus in Indonesia. External Affairs Minister Richard Casey helped smuggle Denis Warner into Sumatra in 1958, to cover the rebellion against the Sukarno Government. Casey did this despite the Indonesian Government’s rejection of Warner’s visa application to enter the region. Seeing Warner in Singapore, Casey questioned him as to why he was not in Sumatra.51 Casey’s motivations for helping Warner were not altruistic. He had probably hoped that sending Warner to Sumatra, who often wrote about the dangers of communism, would help push the cause of the rebels.52 He had made a complaint in January that same year, suggesting that Australian reporting of the rebellion was not following Australian foreign policy interests.53 Meanwhile, Laurence McIntyre, the Australian Ambassador at that time, had told the ABC’s Colin Mason it was the Australian Government’s view that all possible measures, including assistance from the Australian media, should be taken to keep the
51 Denis Warner, Not Always on Horseback; An Australian Correspondent at War and Peace in Asia, 1961-1993, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1997, p. 85. 52 Many correspondents I interviewed who knew Warner mentioned his personal beliefs as generally anti- communist. See also Warner’s assessment in February 1958 of communism in Indonesia, where he describes the PKI as ‘patient, efficient and clearly long-range’. Warner, ‘February 1958: Jakarta’ Reporting Southeast Asia, Angus and Robertson, p. 35. Warner also had a much-publicised and long- running feud with noted communist reporter Wilfred Burchett, in which Burchett sued Warner in the Supreme Court of Victoria in 1969 for the statement that Burchett wanted to return home from the Korean War to hand over details of germ warfare to the Australian Government. See Warner, Not Always on Horseback, pp. 35-37. 53 Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 166-167. 176
Sumatra rebel movement alive.54 Herald correspondent James Mossman, who went to Sumatra to cover the rebellion, claimed Casey’s intentions were “to spread alarm about Sukarno’s intentions by telling correspondents that Indonesia was ‘going communist’. He [Casey] implied that the rebels were the main, if not the only, obstacle to the communists left in the republic.”55 On March 11, 1958, Casey cabled Prime Minister Menzies. The cable stated: “All help that is possible to provide should be given to the dissidents although every possible care should be given to conceal the origins.”56 Casey’s diaries, released in 1989, made him appear “more gung-ho than the Americans”.57
Australian correspondents were not convinced by Casey’s fear-mongering, as the situation in Sumatra was clearly not what he had tried to sell to them. “No one believed him”, Mossman argued, “his assessment of the threat of communism in Indonesia was absurdly exaggerated and suggested that he was trying rather clumsily to dispose correspondents favorably towards the rebels.”58 Warner himself wrote, “All newspaper correspondents, who spent any time with the rebels, sometimes wondered whether there really was a revolution.”59 While Casey’s methods may have been transparent, this example shows there was pressure from the Australian Government on correspondents before the Australian media began to establish bureaus in Jakarta and employ full-time resident correspondents to Indonesia. This set a precedent in which the Australian Government outlined its role influencing Australian journalists in Indonesia. The stage had been set for similar influences to follow.
By the time Jakarta bureaus were established in the early 1960s, the Cold War in Asia was dominating the front pages of Australian newspapers. The Department of External Affairs was concerned Indonesia might ‘turn communist’, and Western governments thought in terms of a global struggle with Communism that would determine the course of history for decades and possibly centuries to come.60 Political
54 Ibid., p. 168. See also Colin Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, Norwitz Publications Inc, 1966. 55 James Mossman, Rebels in Paradise; Indonesia’s Civil War, Jonathan Cape, London, 1961, p. 231. 56 Audrey, R, and George McT. Kahin, Subversion as Foreign Policy; The Secret Eisenhower and Dulles Debacle in Indonesia, New York Press,1995, p. 156. 57 Ibid., p. 157. 58 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 232. 59 Denis Warner, ‘May 1958: A revolution fades away in Padangpanjang’ Reporting Southeast Asia, Angus and Robertson, 1966, p. 37. 60 Brian May, The Indonesian Tragedy, London, Boston, 1978, p. 93. 177
tension in the 1960s had caused many riots in Jakarta, with the British and US consulates targeted. When Sukarno took action against the British and Australian troops in Borneo over the formation of Malaysia, the West saw him as increasingly erratic and irresponsible.61 The beginning of ‘Confrontation’62 in 1963 precipitated ugly outbreaks of mob violence against the British in Jakarta.63 Sukarno’s ties with the Communist party, which looked to China as their world power, became much more evident. As American troops arrived in Vietnam in March, 1965, their efforts to overcome communism in Southeast Asia would be pointless should Indonesia ‘turn communist’. As historian John Roosa states: “A PKI takeover in Indonesia would render the intervention in Vietnam futile. U.S. troops were busy fighting at the gate while the enemy was already inside, about to occupy the palace and raid the storehouses.”64
During the time surrounding the events of the September 30, 1965 abortive coup, Richard Woolcott, then a Public Information Officer with the Department of External Affairs, visited editors of the major Australian newspapers and “suggested to them that they might be guarded in discrediting Sukarno through associating him with the Untung movement or writing him off as a political force.”65 Such was the belief in the danger of communism, that most mainstream Australian newspapers followed Woolcott’s advice. Najjarine and Cottle explain that in the period from 1965-9, the Department of External Affairs went to considerable lengths on a number of occasions to influence reporting of Australian journalists in Indonesia, subjecting them to varying levels of pressure, threat and coercion to offer news items and commentary on Indonesia in accordance with the Government's wishes.66 For example, a letter from Gordon Jockel, then Acting
61 Ibid., p. 95. 62 Adil Hilman, Australian’s Policy Toward Indonesia During Confrontation; 1962-1966, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1978, and Pemberton, op. cit., p. 168. 63 Deirdre Griswold, Indonesia: the Second Greatest Crime of the Twentieth Century, Atlanta, 1979. 64 John Roosa, Pretext for Mass Murder, Madison, The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006, p. 15. 65 Memorandum number 661 from R.A. Woolcott, Public Information Officer, Department of External Affairs to Acting Secretary Sir Lawrence MacIntyre. NAA A1838/280, 3034/2/1/8. Part 1 ‘Indonesia- political-coup d’etat pf October 1965’, in Najjarine and Cottle, ‘The Department of External Affairs…’, p. 53. 66 K. Najjarine and D. Cottle, ‘The Department of External Affairs, the ABC, and the Reporting of the Indonesian Crisis of 1965-9, Australian Journal of Politics and History, Volume 49, Issue 1, 2003, pp. 48-60. Errol Hodge has also argued that regarding the 1965-66 killings, that the reporting from the ABC “depicting it as a counter-insurgency that had saved our nearest neighbour from communism – had satisfied most Australian diplomats and the government they represented, despite the fact, or perhaps because of the fact, that it had understated the horror of the carnage that had taken place”. Hodge, ‘Constraints on Reporting Indonesia’, in Anton Lucas (ed.) Half a Century of Indonesian-Australian Interaction, Flinders University Asian Studies Monograph No. 6, 1996. See also Edwards and Goldsworthy (eds.), Facing North, pp. 98-99, 121, 295. 178
Secretary of the Department of External Affairs, to Australian Ambassador to Indonesia, Keith Shann, stated: “You might let me know personally whether there are any problems with the ABC representative in Jakarta” and suggested Radio Australia correspondents would need to be “steered in the right course.”67 The ABC’s Tony Cane was reprimanded by for his report on 15 March, 1966, which Shann described as “inaccurate, provocative, and very unhelpful to the Army”.68 The relationship between RA staff in Indonesia and the Department of External Affairs was one of high tension, not least because there were expectations that RA managers and journalists would be more sensitive to the Australian Government position.69
The Australian Embassy in Jakarta described the eradication of the PKI as a ‘cleansing operation’, and used Radio Australia broadcasts to present the situation as a struggle or civil war type conflict in which they effectively supported the Army.70 Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt summed up the Government’s thoughts on the killings when he stated: “With around 100 000 communist sympathizers being knocked off, I think it is safe to say that a re-orientation has taken place.”71 Holt’s crude remarks reveal an awareness of the slaughter which had not been adequately conveyed to Australian journalists in Indonesia by Australian officials. Meanwhile, Gough Whitlam, then leader of the ALP, wrote in The Australian on 18 February, 1967:
The new Government of Indonesia is well disposed towards this country. It is our obligation and in our interest to see that we render all of the political, diplomatic and economic support we can. If the coup of 18 months ago which toppled Sukarno had succeeded, as it nearly did, we would have had a country of 100 million dominated by communists on our border.72
The Sydney Morning Herald had already made this statement a few months earlier in an
67 Letter from Gordon Jockel to Shann, 15 October, 1965, in Najjarine and Cottle, ‘The Department of External Affairs…’, p. 54. 68 Inward Cablegram number 304 from Shann to External Affairs, Canberra. 16 March 1966. NAA A1838/273, 570/7/9, in Najjarine and Cottle, ‘The Department of External Affairs…’, p. 54. 69 See Inglis, This is the ABC, p. 175. 70 David Goldsorthy (eds), Facing North, A Century of Australian Engagement with Asia, Volume I, 1901-1970s, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Melbourne University Press, 2001, p. 354. 71 Quote obtained from the documentary Shadowplay: Indonesia’s Year of Living Dangerously, written, produced and directed by Chris Hilton. A co-production of Hilton-Cordell/Vagabond Films and Thirteen/WNET new York in association with Arte France, SBS, YLE, and the Australian Film Finance Corporation, 2001, p. 29. For details of the killings see Robert Cribb, The Indonesian Killings, 1965-66, Studies from Java and Bali, Clayton, Victoria, 1990. 72 Gough Whitlam, The Whitlam Government, Penguin, 1985, p. 102. 179
editorial. It declared: “Communism had expected to engulf Indonesia soon, so endangering Australia’s existence”.73 Some correspondents also followed the Department of External Affair’s view. Warner, as the Herald’s Southeast Asia correspondent wrote that “Australia can breathe more freely. If this rare bonus is not to be wasted, however, the West will need to show a great deal of patience, sympathy, and understanding of this developing situation, now and in the months and years ahead.”74 The Herald was unable to give an accurate account of the massacres of Communists in Indonesia which followed the abortive coup.75 Nor was the Melbourne Age or The Sun.76 Mike Carlton was the ABC correspondent from 1967-69. He claimed:
All the Western embassies wanted to push the idea that Suharto was the only way forward for Indonesia. Suharto was to be supported in every possibly way because he was the only one that could bring ‘stability’ - by that they meant ‘anti-communist stability’ - to the Indonesian archipelago. That was the general line. They were constantly at you to support this theme. They didn't like you going outside that line.77
Australian Ambassador Gordon Jockel proposed in 1969 to the Department of External Affairs that a more “mature and experienced person” was needed in Jakarta to replace Carlton, who “did not think it was part of his job to consult seriously with the Embassy.”78 This was the first time Australian Government officials had pushed for specific Australian journalists to be recalled from their Jakarta posting, and suggests they wanted a certain type of reporter for the Jakarta posting. Although there is no evidence to suggest the ABC followed Jockel’s instructions, it shows an attempt by Australian officials in Jakarta to employ similar tactics to the Indonesian Government when they were not happy with a specific journalist, by asking for a more ‘responsible’ replacement.
73 Editorial, “Indonesia Expects visit by Holt”, Sydney Morning Herald, 1 August, 1966, p. 7. 74 Denis Warner, ‘Right about turn in Jakarta’, October 1965, Reporting Southeast Asia, Angus and Robertson, 1966, p. 83. 75 Ross Tapsell, ‘Australian Reporting of the Indonesian Killings of 1965-66: the media as a “first rough draft of history”’, Australian Journal of Politics and History, Volume 54, Number 2, 2008, pp. 211-224. A greater examination of Australian reporting of the 30 September coup and subsequent PKI killings will be explained in Chapter VI. 76 Richard Tanter, ‘Witness Denied’, Inside Indonesia, No. 71, July-September, 2002. 77 Carlton, personal interview. 78 Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 235. Jockel was Australian Ambassador to Indonesia from March 1969- February, 1972. Jockel also stated: “The foreign correspondents here are a volatile group, with a strong Australian element, and there is a natural tendency for the youthful ABC staff to be over-influenced by them.” 180
This was not the first time that this had occurred. In the height of Cold War politics, James Mossman had reported for the Herald from Sulawesi, Northern Indonesia, in 1960. He wrote of meeting Indonesian sailors who had told him they had seen a number of Americans piloting rebel planes.79 An attempt was made to have him recalled to Australia. The United States Embassy officials in Canberra suggested to the Australian Department of External Affairs that Mossman’s presence in such a delicate part of the world as North Indonesia could be “embarrassing to the West”.80 Mossman was not recalled, but claimed officials implied his report was false, and that he had made the story up.81
While this section is not a complete compilation of Australian Government involvement in press affairs in Indonesia during the Cold War, it does give an indication of how the Department of External Affairs wanted Indonesia depicted to Australians during this time. Ultimately, they aimed for a simplistic representation in the mainstream press of Suharto’s New Order as pro-Western, pro-development and anti- communist. It was considered a better alternative to the previous administration under Sukarno. Often, the mainstream press promoted this representation. Sometimes this was done willingly, as no doubt some correspondents believed in the Communist threat. However, it is clear from this research that during the Cold War, correspondents were pressured by Australian officials who actively discouraged journalists from writing unfavorably about the Suharto’s rise to power. Those that did compile stories against the official line, hinting at covert Western involvement in the region, or depicting killing by the Indonesian Army, faced greater pressure. They were quickly reprimanded, their stories discredited, and in some cases, attempts were made to have them replaced.
79 See Kahin and Kahin, Subversion as Foreign Policy, pp. 167-68, where pilots in Manado were reported as “American and Chinese and very young”. An Indonesian colonel described to his superiors in Jakarta that he was “sure the Americans are running the show” after seeing the U.S. pilots, and according to Kahin and Kahin, the incident “undoubtedly removed any doubts…as to whether the United States itself was directly [their italics] backing the rebels” not just with arms, but also with military personnel. The pilot issue came to a head when a US pilot was captured after being shot down. 80 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 224. 81 Ibid. 181
5.2.2. East Timor and Government complicity
Information flows from the Australian Government to journalists became more limited in the 1970s, especially over the issue of the Indonesian entry into East Timor in 1975.82 Philip Koch was head of Radio Australia in 1975. He said, “There was a view in Australian Foreign Affairs that the best thing was for the Indonesians to have East Timor.”83 Hamish McDonald, a freelance journalist in Indonesia in 1975, agreed, “The Australian Government, through [Ambassador] Dick Woolcott, were trying to convince you that Timor would be part of Indonesia and that independence would have been a bad track. So they tended to argue this line very strongly and through very sustained messages.”84 Australian Prime Minister Gough Whitlam took the view that, “for the domestic audience in Australia, [East Timor’s] incorporation into Indonesia should appear to be a natural process arising from the wishes of the people.”85 According to McDonald, this view was not only stated, but the Australian Government was deliberately hiding facts to further push their line. “What the Australian Embassy told us was very selective in terms of what they knew what was happening”, he said.86 As stated at the start of this chapter, information from Embassy officials is a traditional and important source of information for the foreign correspondent. While the Government will always select appropriate information for the public record, it is argued here that access to information from Embassy officials deteriorated as the conflict between the
82 There are numerous accounts on the Australian Government’s complicity in the Indonesian occupation of East Timor. James Cotton, East Timor, Australia and Regional Order: Intervention and its aftermath in Southeast Asia, RoutledgeCurzon, 2004, is a detailed and effective study. John Birmingham, ‘Appeasing Jakarta: Australia’s Complicity in the East Timor Tragedy’, Quarterly Essay, no 2, 2001, pp. 1-88. See also Desmond Ball ‘Silent Witness: Australian intelligence and East Timor’, and Ball and McDonald, Death in Balibo; Lies in Canberra. Bruce Haigh, The Great Australian Blight: Losing the plot in Australian foreign policy, Otford Press, 2001 have already been discussed earlier in this chapter. Tiffen’s Diplomatic Deceits, is used extensively in this thesis and covers the 1999 crisis and Australia’s involvement and media complicity. Some other accounts include John G. Taylor, Indonesia’s Forgotten War: The Hidden History of East Timor, London, Zed Books, 1991, Philip Eldgridge, Indonesia and Australia: The Politics of aid and development, ANU press, 1979. Former correspondents to The Australian Don Greenlees and Robert Garran wrote Deliverance; The inside story of East Timor’s fight for freedom, Allen and Unwin, 2002, and Clinton Fernadez, Reluctant Saviour: Australia, Indonesia, and the independence of East Timor, Scribe Publications, 2004, are recent works that cover the initial Indonesian occupation of 1975 before assessing the Independence movement in 1999. Works that assess the independence movement the violence that ensued include, Joseph Nevins, A not-so-distant horror: Mass Violence in East Timor, Cornell University Press, 2005. Damien Kingsbury (ed.) Guns and Ballot Boxes, James Dunn, East Timor: A rough passage to independence, Longueville Books, 2003. Tanter, van Kilinken and Ball, Masters of Terror, and Stephen McCloskey (ed.), The East Timor Question: The Struggle for Independence from Indonesia, I.B. Tauris & co. ltd., 2000. 83 Koch, personal interview. 84 Hamish McDonald, personal interview, Sydney, October, 2006. 85 Birmingham, ‘Appeasing Jakarta’, pp. 44-45. 86 Ibid. 182
Australian Government and its media became more pronounced over the situation in East Timor.
As Chapter IV has shown, the Indonesian Government complained about ‘negative’ articles from the Australian media during the Timor crisis. The Timor crisis of 1975-79 saw the Australian media in direct confrontation with many of its Government’s policies towards Indonesia. East Timor and the Balibo Five had been a central factor in the deterioration of relations, and the Australian media was often scorned by politicians and officials for their apparent ‘obsession’ with following this story. Certainly, Australian journalists were not immune to error, and chapter IV has given examples where broadcasts overstated the plight of the East Timorese. In his address to the ‘Australia, Asia and the Media’ conference, the ABC’s Warwick Beutler outlined how some errors occur, often due to “mistranslation”.87 Beutler was reprimanded by a senior Radio Australia manager for his comments.88 Hodge, as Radio Australia editor in 1980, agreed some of the complaints were justified. He wrote that “needless offence was caused at times by sub-editors ignorant or uncaring about Indonesian sensitivities.”89
As the Indonesian Government heated up its battle with Australian journalists over the East Timor issue, many Australian Government officials, continuing their policy of being friendly, sympathetic and supportive, began to deride the workings of the Australian press. Warwick Beutler endured criticism from then Australian Ambassador to Indonesia, Tom Critchley, that Radio Australia should not use the term ‘invasion’ to describe Indonesia’s involvement in East Timor. When Warwick Beutler was banned from Indonesia in 1979, Critchley said in an interview with RRI, “We do have a problem...the problem of the Australian press or should I say the Australian media.” He continued, “I would like to see the Australian media encourage a greater
87 See Warwick Beutler, ‘Comment’, in Alison Broinowski (ed.), Australia, Asia and the Media, Griffith University, Centre for the Study of Asian-Australian Relations, 1981, p. 26. 88 See Peter McCawley, ‘Australia’s Misconception of ASEAN’, in Paul Dibb (ed.) Australia’s External Relations in the 1980s, Canberra, St. Martin’s Press, 1983, p. 95. McCawley commented in the footnote, ‘Apparently some senior Australian officials share with some senior Indonesian officials a reluctance to see publicity given to embarrassing matters’. 89 Hodge, ‘Constraints on Reporting Indonesia’, p. 58, admitted, “In retrospect, I wish I had not waited until after this reprehensible mistake had been made to instruct the sub-editors not to use such agency reports without checking with Beutler [ABC Jakarta correspondent].” 183
understanding of the great goodwill that exists in this country for Australia.”90 Foreign Minister Bill Hayden stated that “elements of the Australian media have been the cause of the greatest strains in bilateral relations between this country and other countries of the region.”91 This was now a familiar line pushed by Australian Government officials, as Chapter I has shown, and was reinforced earlier in this chapter. Former Australian Ambassador Keith Shann said Australia’s relations with Indonesia in 1979 were worse than they had been at the height of Confrontation in 1963. He said the relationship had soured in part because of the Australian media's presentation of Indonesian affairs.92 He argued what now seemed to be the official line, which was to criticize the ‘presentation’ of stories (especially on Radio Australia) and comment on the apparent continuing focus of the Australian media on East Timor and the deaths of the five Australian-based newsmen there.
By 1983, Leigh Mackay (AAP), John Lombard (ABC) and Peter Hastings were allowed to travel to East Timor with an Australian parliamentary delegation, headed by the Foreign Minister (and later Australian Ambassador to Indonesia), Bill Morrison. It was made clear to the journalists that it would be better for everyone if they would report that life was tough for the East Timorese but the situation was improving. Mackay recalled, “The report would be ‘Fretilin is a spent force; Indonesia is winning hearts and minds there; and the problem between Australia-Indonesia relations was now coming to and end’.”93 As the sole resident correspondent in Indonesia, Mackay was under considerable pressure to report the official line, or risk creating further diplomatic incidents. By only inviting specific journalists to travel with officials, it encouraged the privileged correspondents to write positively of the tour, and according to the Department’s wishes.
From 1975-1999, the East Timor situation continued to be a problem for Australian-Indonesian bilateral relations, yet the Indonesian and Australian Governments often agreed that the situation in East Timor was being overblown by the Australian media. Alison Broinowski described the Australian media as a “pebble in
90 Transcript of interview with Tom Critchley and Radio Republic Indonesia, 17 August, 1980, in Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 32. 91 Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 41. See also Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 174. 92 Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 40. 93 Leigh Mackay, personal interview, Sydney, August, 2006. 184
both the Indonesian and Australian Government’s shoes”.94 Rod Tiffen argued that the Australian media's “diplomatically unhelpful performance resulted from an accurate reporting of the posturing and hyperbole of Australian partisan politics”.95 As chapter II has shown, Australian journalists continued to document the Australian Government’s ‘cover up, hypocrisy and duplicity’ in supporting Indonesia’s invasion of the region, and the deliberate hiding of facts of the situation in Balibo.96 The reporting of the East Timor situation was crucial in establishing an official Australian Government position dealing with its media in Indonesia. While previously they had seen Australian journalists as a sporadic nuisance to be placated, from 1975 they began to state openly that the media regularly attempted to deliberately disturb bilateral relations with Indonesia. Once they stated this policy, they were left with no alternative but to place greater controls on Australian journalists in Indonesia.
5.2.3. An increasing bureaucracy
In the last twenty years it was largely agreed upon in Australian Government and academic circles that in no other country has the media have played such a pivotal role in bilateral relations than in Indonesia. The importance of the media in bilateral relations with Indonesia is exemplified in 1983, when Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke requested a personal meeting with an Australian foreign correspondent, Leigh Mackay, before Mackay was posted to Indonesia. In the eyes of the PM, Mackay’s reports would be crucial to the bilateral relationship, as he was about to be the only Australian resident correspondent allowed into Indonesia since all were expelled in 1980. Mackay said:
He just reiterated how important this whole deal was and how much was riding on it. I think they wanted to see that I wasn’t a firebrand or ideologically committed to some view of Indonesia - and I wasn’t - and they wanted me to understand the subtleties of the relationship and how East Timor had got in the way.97
94 Alison Broinowski, ‘A Pebble in Both Our Shoes: East Timor and the Media, 1999’, Australian Journalism Review, Volume 21, Issue 3, December 1999. 95 Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 99. 96 See McDonald and Ball, Death in Balibo, Lies in Canberra, op. cit., and Jill Jolliffe, Cover Up: The inside story of the Balibo Five; Melbourne, Scribe Publications, 2001. See also Maureen Tolfree, ‘Balibo: The cover-up that led to genocide’, in Paul Hainsworth and Stephen McCloskey, The East Timor Question: The Struggle for Independence from Indonesia, I.B. Tauris & Co., 2000, pp. 31-41. 97 Mackay, personal interview. 185
Mackay recalled walking out of the meeting with Hawke a little bemused. He said, “My initial reaction was ‘hang on I’m a journalist not a diplomat, I’m going there to report’. My first duty is to AAP and my profession.”98 This implies Hawke had suggested to him to tread warily on sensitive issues and write according to what would benefit Australia-Indonesia relations. This conflicted with how Mackay saw his role as a reporter: he was not a mediator to settle a diplomatic rift. While this meeting occurred in Australia, it set the scene for the journalist to understand the importance of their overseas work, and signalled the levels of power which the Australian Government would employ to push its own agenda in its relations with Indonesia.
The 1980s saw successive postings of Australian Ambassadors to Indonesia who were identified as part of the Jakarta Lobby, and took strong anti-Australian media positions.99 Some Australian Government officials in Jakarta were even said to be against the idea of Australian media agencies returning to the capital. When the ABC’s manager, David Hill, visited Jakarta in 1987 to inquire about re-establishing an ABC bureau there, he heard stringent criticism of the Australian media from Embassy staff.100 In 1986, Foreign Minister Bill Hayden advised one Australian journalist to effectively self-censor stories while reporting from Indonesia. In writing articles likely to offend, “journalists might want to consider their own self-interest and continued access to the country in question”, Hayden claimed.101 By the 1990s the Australian Government had publicly separated itself from involvement in Australian media relations with Indonesia.102 Yet the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade quoted an embassy official in 1992 who advised that the bilateral relations situation was improving, due partly to “the improvement in Australian media reporting”.103 It is unclear what exactly this meant, but the Herald's Louise Williams stated: “The Australia Embassy had a very clear idea of where their interests lay, and that was to make sure the Australian journalists didn’t cause problems.”104 In 1994, the Australian Embassy increased the number of public affairs officers in countries “requiring the most active public affairs
98 Ibid. 99 Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, p. 141. 100 Ibid. 101 Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 225. 102 Michael Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1994, p. 134. 103 Parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia, Australia’s Relations with Indonesia, Joint Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade, November, 1993, p. 2. 104 Williams, personal interview. 186
programs”, and Jakarta was one of these priorities.105 Yet the symbiotic relationship outlined in opening this chapter had broken down as journalists were seen as a hindrance to otherwise positive bilateral relations, and Australian officials in Indonesia were wary of being available for public comment on contentious topics.
The rise of the public relations industry and ‘spin’ in packaging politics in the twenty-first century has affected the nature of the bureaucrat-journalist relationship at home and abroad.106 Distinguished Australian political journalist Michelle Grattan argued when she arrived in Canberra in the 1970s, it was not difficult to engage with bureaucrats, but as for contemporary political reporting, she wrote:
The majority of bureaucrats will run a mile from the most innocuous media call. Most departments have strict rules that officers should report contacts to the minister’s office. Even the bureaucrats who take the call feel more constrained. Today’s problem is not so much that the bureaucracy has been politicized, though there’s that, but it’s had the fear of God put into it. Many professional men and women have turned into mice, afraid of what should be a useful and non-controversial role in helping inform what the media convey.107
Considering the history of Australian media disruptions to bilateral relations, this ‘fear of God’ was particularly evident for Australian bureaucrats in Indonesia. In Jakarta, Australian Embassy bureaucrats provided little assistance to foreign correspondents professional practice. Louise Williams claimed: “There wasn’t a lot of unsolicited advice, but there wasn’t any information either. It was just this exchange missing. There wasn’t an opportunity to talk to people [from the Australian Embassy], and they weren’t supposed to talk to me.”108 The symbiotic relationship that once had existed between journalists and diplomats had changed radically. In the Howard-Downer years, journalists complained that threats and influences from Australian Government officials have become increasingly overt. By 1997, the Embassy was advising Australian
105 Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade Annual Report, 1993-1994, 1.9 ‘Information and Cultural Relations’. See www.dfat.gov.au/dept/annual_reports/93_94/1_9.html - 41k. 106 There are numerous studies on the rise of the public relations industry and ‘spin’ in packaging politics in the twenty first century. For a general study Eric Louw, The Media and Political Process, Sage Publicatons, 2005, pp. 143-172 and pp. 210-238, and John Street, Mass Media, Politics and Democracy, Palgrave. 2001, pp. 185-212 has also written about the way bureaucrats talk to journalists and the packaging of politics. 107 Michelle Grattan, ‘Watching the watchdogs’, The Age, May 3, 2005, quoted in Shelly Savage and Rod Tiffen, ‘Politicians, journalists and ‘spin’: Tangled relationships and shifting distance’, in Sally Young (ed) Government Communication in Australia, Cambridge University Press, 2007. 108 Williams, personal interview. 187
journalists not to travel to some regions of Indonesia at all.109 Williams was “directly asked by the Australian Embassy not to go to Aceh - not to ‘rock the boat’.”110 The situation had gone from inviting only specific journalists, to not wanting journalists to travel outside Jakarta at all, for fear of diplomatic incidents that might ensue.
While Australian foreign correspondents played an important role in giving coverage of the East Timor violence against the result of referendum of 30 August, 1999, negative encounters with Australian Government officials continued into the twenty-first century.111 Andrew Burrell (AFR) stated that some journalists were “shunned completely” from being invited to embassy functions when they reported something of which the Ambassador disapproved.112 In 2005, AAP’s Rob Taylor was personally reprimanded by Foreign Minister Alexander Downer for a particular story Taylor had written. He recalled, “I had the ‘audacity’ to report that something had overshadowed his visit”.113 Taylor wrote a story stating that the Australian Ambassador to Indonesia was staying in a penthouse suite at great expense, and “Downer wrote a fiery letter saying I would be blacklisted from embassy meetings and parties,” Taylor said.114 Taylor’s use of the term ‘blacklisted’ is quite significant. Downer would not have used such a term in his letter, but in the mind of Taylor (and no doubt other Australian journalists subjected to the same treatment) the Australian Government were resorting to similar methods and tactics as the Indonesian Government to pressure the press into avoiding contentious issues.115 Taylor confirms this, and argued that “this is more the behaviour we expect from Indonesian Government but it seems it’s our Government now. I have had far more grief from them than from the Indonesians.”116 Louise Williams agreed that this method reminded her of the Indonesian Government’s
109 This idea that the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade must warn its citizens of dangerous areas around the world was developed further with the creation of official travel warnings through www.smarttraveller.gov.au. This has been a particularly contentious issue for Indonesia, as the Australian Government has regularly advised its citizens to ‘reconsider your need to travel’ due to ‘the very high threat of a terrorist attack’. See Matthew Moore, ‘Tough travel warnings threaten relations with Indonesia’, Sydney Morning Herald, 15 June, 2004, or more recently, Greg Sheridan, ‘Cut travel warnings: Indonesia’, The Australian, 2 June, 2008. 110 Williams, personal interview. 111 Hugh O’Shaughnessy, ‘Reporting East Timor: Western Media Coverage of the Conflict’, pp. 31-41. See also Tiffen, Diplomatic Deceits, p. 104. 112 Andrew Burrell, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 113 Rob Taylor, personal interview, Jakarta, August, 2006. 114 Taylor, personal interview. 115 Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, p. 134, states that tactics to hinder journalists in the 1990s were of “increasingly sophisticated use by the Indonesian Government and an equal lack of sophistication from Australia.” 116 Ibid. 188
restrictions on press freedom. She said, “The Australian Embassy was very stingy with its invitations. They acted as though they had control laws over the press.”117
Thus, the judgments of some correspondents diminished the distinction between the Indonesian Government and the Australian Government in their attempts to manipulate the press. While the previous chapter detailed Indonesian government controls over the Australian press, especially under Suharto’s New Order military regime, the Australian Government has always officially supported the freedom of the press and the concept of the media as a Fourth Estate, separate from government controls. Yet the accounts from Australian journalists to Indonesia question the motives of officials with regard to the free press. The methods of influence and control are all similar methods described by journalists in their description of the Indonesian Government in the previous chapter. This ultimately made the reporting process for Australian correspondents to Indonesia more difficult. Chapter IV concluded that Australian journalists occasionally felt like an ‘enemy in a hostile country’ because of the controls and influences placed upon them by the Indonesian Government. This chapter has shown that Australian journalists in Indonesia were further alienated by their own government officials. By the late 1990s, Australian journalists were given the message that they were, quite simply, ‘not on the same team’ as Embassy officials. The final section will explain further why these pressures were put in place.
5.3. Conclusion: The Australian media as a problem to be rectified
The pressures outlined above can be explained in a number of ways by reference to the Australian Government’s political culture and the tensions within it regarding bilateral relations with Indonesia. Firstly, this research has shown that the Australian Government has always seen the media as an important avenue for promoting positive Australia-Indonesia relations. It often aimed to project its beliefs and values through the Australian media in Indonesia. This was especially the case with regard to Radio Australia, but staff for Radio Australia often disliked the pressure they were placed
117 Williams, personal interview. 189
under. For example, Laurence McIntyre, the Australian Ambassador, once told ABC staff that RA was an important instrument in expressing the views of the Australian Government, because of its very large audience throughout Indonesia. Colin Mason, the ABC’s Southeast Asia representative, replied to McIntyre that it was his function, until he received instructions otherwise, to present the facts from both sides as accurately as his sources or information permitted.118 Philip Koch explained that despite constant criticism, most of the RA staff expressed strong commitment to what they were doing, and a belief their reports were an opportunity for Indonesians to learn about Australia, to be taught English, and to receive credible news reports about the region and the world, which Indonesian news radio services were simply not providing. “There is a lot of pride in RA. They think they report better than the domestic press,” said Koch. For example, Peter Barnett, a former ABC and Radio Australia Jakarta correspondent, wrote in his memoir: “The impact of Radio Australia on its neighbour remains one of the greatest success stories in the annals of broadcasting.” 119 RA was broadcast widely around Indonesia as an alternative source of news in the Indonesian language, and many Indonesians tuned in to RA to discover what was happening in the world, and in their own country.
However, Philip Koch argued: “There wasn’t, in my time, a discussion of, ‘Should we be doing this at all?’”120 That is, the fundamental issue of whether it was Australia’s right to report on and interpret the affairs of neighbouring countries for their inhabitants was not canvassed.121 Surprisingly, perhaps, as a former RA Chief, Koch held the view that:
These are ABC journalists and they are not running the editorial line, and we run a bahasa service so that Indonesians who don’t understand English can hear Australia’s view of the world. I don’t like any of that. I never have. I think we should just have an English service. Radio Australia staff would be very disappointed that a former head of Radio Australia would say that,
118 Hodge, Radio Wars, p. 169. 119 Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence; A Journalists Biography, Macmillan, 2001, p. 266. 120 Koch, personal interview. 121 Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 28 As stated earlier, Indonesian officials resented the impact of RA, and Barnett claims an “influential minority” in the Department of Foreign Affairs agreed, maintaining that considering the Indonesian government believed in the importance of press censorship for the sake of national stability, for Australia to send uncensored news to Indonesia was intrusive. The debate raged for decades, but eventually the decision was made to cut funding for Radio Australia in 1997. See also Barnett, p. 266. 190
because they believe sincerely in what they are doing, but being Australia’s head of propaganda didn’t sit well with me.122
A major problem for RA journalists in Indonesia was they had to constantly fight for autonomy against Australian Government officials who have wanted RA news and current affairs programs tailored to take into account the sensitivities of bilateral relations, and broadcast what the government saw fit. The government’s belief that the Australian media could assist in promoting its point of view is exemplified by the government’s pressures on controlling Radio Australia, to the point that the Head of RA saw himself as “Australia’s head of propaganda”.
As has been shown, the majority of Australian journalists ignored or resisted government directions as best they could. They often wrote articles regardless of the consequences to bilateral relations. The Australian Government’s earlier attempts to persuade Australian journalists to write in a certain way did not work during the late 1970s, especially regarding the reporting of East Timor. Thus, pressures increased after the diplomatic rows of 1979-81, once a number of Australian journalists were expelled from Indonesia. The Australian Government soon saw Australian journalists in Indonesia as a problem to be rectified. The Australian Government’s political culture and the tensions regarding insecure bilateral relations with Indonesia meant the Australian media was, in the mind of government officials, performing two main functions: firstly, journalists wrote articles or broadcast stories that were biased (especially in the case of East Timor), or wrote negative accounts which portrayed Indonesia in an unfair light. These reports destabilised otherwise positive bilateral relations and seemingly meant any work done by government officials to promote better relations with Indonesia was nullified. Secondly, journalists were the subject of much discussion between the two countries, as Indonesian officials expected Australian officials to be able to control its press, or at least curtail various ‘negative’ reports. Many reports from Australian correspondents were in direct confrontation with the idea of ‘friendly, sympathetic and supportive neighbours’ which the Australian Government, and in particular, various members of the so-called Jakarta Lobby, hoped to pursue.
122 Koch, personal interview. 191
Faced with this situation, the Australian Government began to state openly that the media have in fact been the greatest contributor to poor bilateral relations between Australia and Indonesia. Once this was stated, the government seemingly had two choices. One was to accept these problems as a consequence of a free press system. It is argued here that government officials saw this as ‘a principled but ineffective posture’. The second option, or the ‘pragmatic realistic position’, was for the Australian Government try to control, or at least shape press reporting in order to respond to the issues stated above. This history has shown that for the most part, the Australian Government chose the latter. It chose, on many occasions, to implement strategies and techniques not dissimilar to those imposed by the Indonesian Government, to the extent that Australian journalists used terms such as “blacklisting” and “control laws” to describe the way Australian Government officials treated them. Louise Williams claimed that when she returned to set up the Herald and Age bureau in 1997, the Australian Government was monitoring the movements of correspondents. She said, “Because we’d been banned, and because the Australian Government saw the Australian media as potential trouble makers, we were not just frozen out by the Indonesians, we were watched by the Australians as well.”123
Indeed, this research has shown that the Australian Government maintained some similar ideas about the nature of news flow in Indonesia as the Indonesian Government. They believed that by intervening in Australian journalists' professional practice they could control the news more directly. As this research has explained, this is a simplistic belief in the agency correspondents have in their professional practice. These pressures limited Australian journalists’ breadth of knowledge, as officials became more likely to hinder journalists’ autonomy, rather than contribute to a broader professional practice. Peter Rodgers argued that by openly berating Australian correspondents in Indonesia, the Australian Government, “at least unwittingly put a public seal of approval on Indonesian actions [of banning Australian correspondents] which drastically reduced the amount of first hand reporting on Indonesia available to Australians.”124 As a result, Australian Government influences contributed to an increasingly narrow coverage of Indonesia.
123 Williams, personal interview. 124 Rodgers, The Domestic and Foreign Press in Indonesia, p. 30. 192
Australian foreign correspondents to Indonesia were disappointed with the pressures placed on them, and the criticisms levelled against them by Australian Government officials. They believed their government should support their reports (assuming they were indeed factually correct), and appeal against actions which hindered the freedom of the press. Contrary to some of the official opinions outlined earlier, David Jenkins argued that most Australian foreign correspondents believe in the importance of good relations with Indonesia. “We love Indonesia. We have lots of good Indonesian friends, and we see the importance of the relationship,” he argued, “but that doesn’t mean when a diplomat comes and says, ‘Hey, don’t do this’, you're going to listen and change your material.”125 This is similar to the way Leigh Mackay reacted in his meeting with Prime Minister Hawke. Mackay knew that despite the pressure, his duty was to the profession of journalism, not diplomacy. Michael Byrnes (AFR), who was banned from Jakarta during the Jenkins Affair in 1986, wrote that “the refusal of the Australian Government in normal events to adopt a structured role in Indonesia- related Australian press affairs is clearly because the entire matter has been elevated by Indonesia to the heights of tribulation.”126 Thus, some Australian journalists saw themselves as scapegoats for bilateral relations failures between the two countries, not their cause, and their dismay at Australian Government official’s lack of support for press freedoms meant the often productive symbiotic relationship between journalists and diplomats broke down.
Reporting Indonesia was made more difficult by the pressures placed upon correspondents by officials from the Australian External (and later Foreign) Affairs, the Australian Embassy in Jakarta, and occasionally, the Prime Minister of Australia. It is clear why, by 1989, Gareth Evans’ comment that the Australian media needed to be more ‘constructive’ in its coverage of Indonesia was met with little bewilderment. In fact, my interviews with correspondents from Indonesia suggest these pressures have increased in the past decade. Yet this is in direct counter to the free press to which the Australian Government supposedly endorses. As a result of this confrontation, diplomats and correspondents began to distrust one another, and Australian reporting of Indonesia was made increasingly difficult in a practical and emotional sense, as relations between compatriots soured.
125 Jenkins, personal interview. 126 Byrnes, Australia and the Asia Game, p. 134. 193
CHAPTER VI
SOURCES AND CONTACTS
The previous two chapters examined external constraints on Australian journalists’ autonomy. They argued that both governments have overplayed the agency of the foreign correspondent in shaping the news, and that it was simplistic to think that by attempting to shape and/or control Australian journalists’ professional practice, they could control the flow of Australian news from the archipelago. The next two chapters will examine the internal forces of the news system which shape this practice. It reveals a greater power play in the reporting of Indonesia than troublesome or biased journalists with significant agency who solely determine the nature of reports from Indonesia. It will show that Australian journalists’ professional practices in Indonesia are guided by a system with its own influences and pressure. The internal dynamics of the newsgathering system can also inhibit journalists’ freedom to report, and contribute to constraints on Australian journalists reporting from the archipelago and to a narrow and distorted coverage of the Indonesia.
Leon Sigal wrote in ‘Sources Make the News’ that: “News is not what happens, but what someone says has happened or will happen.”1 The foreign correspondent’s necessity for acquiring adequate sources is portrayed in the C.J. Koch novel, and Peter Weir film, The Year of Living Dangerously. The protagonist, a young and inexperienced Australian radio journalist, turns to an Indonesian helper to find him sources after his editor rejected his first report, saying, “You could have written that from Australia.”2 For Australian correspondents in Indonesia, finding and assessing sources can be difficult, as they often rely on translators, and receive much of their information second- hand. As Chapter III explained, a crucial role for local staff is to help establish contacts and arrange meetings with various sources. Andrew Szende argued that particularly for
1 Leon Sigal, ‘Sources make the news’, in Manoff and Schudson, Reading the News, Pantheon Books, New York, 1986, p. 15. 2 C.J. Koch, The Year of Living Dangerously, Sphere Books, Melbourne, 1982, pp. 34-35. 194
foreign correspondents in Southeast Asia, sources are like blood vessels, carrying news to other veins and arteries of the system.3
The nature of the job for any journalist is to assess the value of one source compared with another. Sigal states that “tacit alliances form between reporters and officials on the beat, as each uses the other to advantage within their own organisation.”4 The ability of a journalist to maintain and develop working relationships with sources is crucial to the reporting process. However, Tiffen and Savage point to sociologist Herbert Gans, who argued that “the relationship between sources and journalists resembles a dance, for sources seek access to journalists and journalists seek access to sources. Although it takes two to tango, either sources or journalists can lead, but more often than not, sources do the leading.” Tiffen and Savage conclude, “Sources lead, but journalists are often recalcitrant and wayward followers.”5
Entman and Bennett argue that sources do not always project their own interests, as “the problem is contacts do not speak for themselves”6, so simply quoting a variety of sources does not guarantee objectivity. In this regard, Cunningham has noted that the pursuit of objectivity can trip journalists up on the way to ‘truth’ because objective reporting excuses “lazy reporting”.7 Journalists can become stenographers for dominant sources by simply ‘sticking to the facts’ provided by public officials.8 In journalism, there is a convention that one must obtain quotations and information from the highest ranking or the most authoritative source. Sigel argues this is because journalists “cope with uncertainty by continuing to rely on authoritative sources”, and concludes that there is a “hierarchy of sources” in the news process.9 Political journalists might claim
3 Andrew Szende, From Torrent to Trickle: Managing the flow of News in Southeast Asia, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1986, p. 136. 4 Sigal, ‘Sources make the news’, p. 24. 5 Shelly Savage and Rod Tiffen, ‘Politicians, journalists and ‘spin’: Tangled relationships and shifting distance’, in Sally Young (ed) Government Communication in Australia, Cambridge University Press, 2007, p. 79. 6 W. Lance Bennett and Robert .M. Entman Mediated Politics, Communication in the Future of Democracy, Cambridge University Press, 2001, p. 31. 7 B. Cunningham, ‘Re-thinking objectivity’ Colombia Journalism Review, July/August, 24-32, 2003, p. 26. 8 Eric Louw, The Media and the Political Process, Sage Publications, 2005, pp. 37-59, 143-172. 9 Sigal, ‘Sources make the news’, p. 23. A recent study of television journalists reporting 9/11 terrorist attacks show that journalists fell back on reporting strategies which saw them consult authoritative sources during a time of crisis and confusion. See Kirsten Mogensen et. al., ‘How TV news covered the crisis’, in Bradley, S. Greenberg (ed.) Communication and Terrorism: Public and Media Responses to 9/11, Hampton Press, 2002. 195
that if they could consult with the president or leader of the country, their story would receive more credibility, as often the highest political figure is considered the most authoritative. This chapter will show that when Australian journalists are unable to reach the most ‘authoritative’ source in Indonesia, they turn to the next best thing – those with inside knowledge of the political leadership. Angela Romano has shown that Indonesia’s bureaucratic and political culture emphasises personalised decision-making, especially that of the president and his cabinet.10 Thus, foreign correspondents have had to establish and maintain source networks in an exclusive, centralised, and mostly closed political and information environment of Jakarta. Romano has stressed that especially during the New Order period, it was far more important for journalists to develop personalised relations with news sources in Indonesia than it was in Western countries.11
This chapter will show that the compulsion to maintain and develop personal contacts with high-level political figures is entrenched in Australian reporting from Indonesia. A constant aim for Australian journalists was to find the highest official source for comment, but more importantly, to believe they had access to Jakarta’s elite cohort of political decision-making. This is best summed up by the AAP Indonesia Correspondent, 1983-86, Leigh Mackay, who said to be a good foreign correspondent in Indonesia, “You really had to be in the inner sanctum or have connections, to know what was going on.”12 This chapter will argue that the institutionalised processes of the news system of hierarchical sources has demanded journalists maintain contact with the elite. The consequence is that often the highest official source gave inaccurate or limited information to journalists in order to have greater control over the depiction of the news from Indonesia.
6.1. Early correspondence with English-speaking elites
When Australian news organisations began sending resident correspondents to Indonesia, the first avenue for contacts and information came from their fellow
10 Angela Romano, ‘Foreign Correspondents and Knowledge Broking’, in Kingsbury, Payne and Loo (ed.), Foreign devils and other journalists, Monash Asia Institute, 2000, p. 53. 11 Angela Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, RoutledgeCurzon, 2003, p. 126. 12 Leigh Mackay, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 196
Australians and English-speaking expatriates living in Jakarta. The early war correspondents and Asia Hands who reported from Indonesia maintained and nurtured contacts in the diplomatic corps and English-speaking elites of Jakarta. This often involved networking in hotels and bars frequented by these sources and contacts. This adds to the legacy of the Australian foreign correspondent as the ‘hard-drinking loveable larrikin’13, and there were advantages for a journalist to operate in this way. In the late 1950s, every day between 12 and 3:30 (the hottest part of the day when most Indonesians would go home to rest) foreign correspondents in Jakarta would gather at the bar for drinks and discuss the latest rumors circulating for a possible story.14 One of the ABC’s first resident journalists, Peter Barnett, quipped that chatting at a bar “was how I gained my best information. Never undervalue the advantages of what you can learn over a drink.”15 Of course, the crowd gathered in the bar was likely to be exclusively male and likely to include very few Indonesians, given Islamic prohibitions against drinking alcohol. Thus, it was information from official and elite Western sources that was highly sought after. War correspondent Lachie McDonald stated: “I made a mental note: when in any colony the better clubs were often a quick route to senior officials.”16 Lachie McDonald recalled one night when Dutch Governor van Mook asked several foreign correspondents for evening drinks. He wrote in 1998, looking back on reporting in that situation, “in a later era of journalism I have no doubt some of his subsequent epithets and comments on the mental equipment of his bosses would have enlivened our reports but I don’t think anyone recorded them.”17 The bar was a useful place for foreign correspondents to find information, but they had to be careful of how much could actually be printed, otherwise they might not be welcomed to these exclusive drinking holes again. To be ‘locked out’ of this inner sanctum would be disastrous for a correspondent. This was how the journalist-elite source relationship began in Indonesia.
A key element of reporting from Jakarta was the ability to mix within the diplomatic party circuit, as a way of obtaining information and establishing contacts.
13 Josie Vine, ‘Who is the Lovable Larrikin? An Historical Inquiry using Biography and Autobiography’, 'When Journalism Meets History’: Refereed papers from the Australian Media Traditions Conference, RMIT, 2004, pp. 1-8. This has been explained in Chapter I. 14 James Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, Alden Press, Oxford, 1961, p. 9. 15 Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence: A Journalists Biography, Macmillian, 2001, p. 110. 16 Lachie McDonald, Bylines: Memoirs of a War Correspondent, Kangaroo Press, 1998, p. 148. 17 Ibid. 197
During the 1960s, there were diplomatic functions or informal parties almost every week. National days especially were occasions where a particular embassy would host large gatherings. Foreign correspondents spoke of how crucial it was to be part of this ‘party circuit’, to the extent that if you were not invited or did not wish to attend you were missing out on valuable information. This was a chance to meet ‘elite’ sources – Western diplomats and expatriates together with Indonesian Government officials, academics and businessmen. Mike Carlton, ABC correspondent 1967-70, explained: “Parties were essential. You had to be on the diplomatic circuit, so you were in constant contact. There was no shortage of chances to meet highly influential Indonesians.”18 David Jenkins, who first went to Indonesia in 1967 with The Melbourne Herald, said that at cocktail parties, “one got to meet senior officials. The Indonesian elite was very small and you got to know them. [They were] wonderfully rewarding contacts.”19
The benefit for journalists was that they believed in the importance in obtaining crucial knowledge from elite decision makers in Jakarta – knowledge that could not be obtained through other avenues. As Hamish McDonald, a freelance journalist in Indonesia from 1974, stated: “No one expected to be quoted but you would get a commentary, and people would slip you bits of information. These parties gave you some of the background behind these rather cryptic public announcements.”20 The importance of mixing with the inner sanctum of English-speaking elites meant most resident correspondents chose to reside in the elite Jakarta suburb of Menteng as it was close to where many Indonesian Government officials and foreign diplomats also lived.21 For example, when Charlotte Maramis was working for the Indonesian Observer, she lived on the same street as the Australian Residence, opposite high- ranking Indonesian general, Nasution, and close by to the American Ambassador.22 Romano argues that the desire for proximity to the Jakarta elite “arises from the journalists' perceived function as a conduit between the general public and sources of
18 Mike Carlton, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 19 David Jenkins, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. 20 Hamish McDonald, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 21 Adrian Vickers described Menteng as historically Jakarta’s “garden suburb” and housed many key Indonesian figures during the Revolution. Adrian Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge University Press, 2005, pp. 94-96. Suharto lived in 10 Cendana Street. Scholars often used the term ‘Cendana’ to refer to decisions made by the Suharto family and his closest advisors during the New Order. Former President Megawati Sukarnoputri also lived in Cendana St, and many Australian journalists still reside in Menteng today. 22 Maramis, personal interview. 198
power”.23
Journalists were aware of the problem stated earlier by scholars that sources attempt to ‘lead’ journalists. Maramis said:
All the diplomats wanted to promote their interests in your paper. They would send you flowers and chocolates [and] ‘butter you up’. They were really not inviting us as people because they liked us, they were inviting us because they thought they could get something out of us, too. You don’t make friends with these people. They want to find out information from you.24
Thus, an essential skill of the foreign correspondent was to obtain information from diplomatic sources without divulging their own. This, of course, could lead to problematic relationships, but as Jenkins stated: “Diplomatic sources were also very good, they could give you background. Diplomats were quite honest, but you don't just accept it uncritically.”25 So the early group of Australian journalists were aware of the hazards of mixing in elite diplomatic circles, but saw it as an essential part of the reporting process, as it was considered the inner sanctum and essential for obtaining inside knowledge that was otherwise difficult to find.
It is argued here that relying heavily on Western diplomats and English-speaking elite leads to a narrow view of Indonesia. Since many of the earlier foreign correspondents did not have Indonesian language skills and did not hire full-time translators, they talked primarily amongst themselves and to the local English-speaking elites - many of whom were totally isolated from the rest of the country about the particular issue being discussed.26 As the ABC’s pro-communist John Thompson lamented in 1945: “All my coherent contacts with Indonesians were with Dutch- educated intellectuals, for the national leadership is held by such men and women, and
23 Romano also argues that “the location of journalists around the hubs of politico-socioeconomic activity and authority is hardly unique to Indonesia. Studies of the media in the West have long found that the news industry’s insatiable appetite for fresh information is most commonly satisfied by concentrating journalists resources around the pulse points of government and business”. Romano, ‘Foreign correspondents and knowledge broking in Indonesia’, p. 51. 24 Charlotte Maramis, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 25 Jenkins, personal interview. 26 Mort Rosenblum argued that the lure of the Embassy for foreign correspondents in countries such as Indonesia was strong because it was “the most effective cure for culture shock” and an antidote to hostile authorities and an unhelpful bureaucracy. Mort Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes: Reporting the World for America, Harper Colophon Books, 1981, p. 42. 199
with them it is easy to converse.”27 The danger is that correspondents who restrict their contacts to members of the elite may end up accepting and reinforcing the conventional wisdom of the ruling elite.28
This raises particular concerns for the reporting of Indonesia. Western embassies and multi-national businesses usually give pre-evaluated data and information to journalists, and the information has been evaluated for its international significance.29 This was especially the case during the Cold War, where Western officials often tied their foreign policy objectives to the greater battle against communism. Foreign correspondents become a part of this process. James Mossman, the Sydney Morning Herald correspondent who reported on the Sumatra rebellion in 1958, was concerned that:
Newsmen descend like furies on some dusty little provincial argument and turn it into something of international importance by describing it in the vague but menacing jargon of the Cold War. This is easily done by linking the local dispute with other local disputes in the neighborhood and implying that they are all part of a plot by world communism.30
Constant contact with foreign diplomatic officials can encourage this type of reporting. By mixing predominantly in diplomatic circles foreign correspondents can get caught tying every issue to world rhetoric and see all political events in the context of global international circumstances.31 Bruce Grant, who reported for The Age in the 1960s, wrote of being a foreign correspondent to Indonesia during the height of the Cold War. He said, “No matter how sensitive you tried to be towards the new nations of the developing world, you saw it as your duty, and perhaps even your right, to keep in mind the big story, which was the strategic and intellectual clash between two global centres
27 John Thompson, Hubbub in Java, Currawong Publishing, Sydney, 1946, p. 20. 28 Thompson has argued that correspondents during the Indonesian Revolution often wrote of seemingly “ungovernable mobs in some parts of Java that they condemned the whole Indonesian people” as being unfit to rule themselves, a line pushed by the English-speaking elite. Ibid., p. 17. This has been examined earlier in Chapter I. 29 Romano, ‘Foreign correspondents and knowledge broking in Indonesia’, p. 57. 30 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 133. 31 Chapter V has explained that Australian journalists Mason, Warner and Mossman described how relying on officials sources was a problem in reporting the 1958 rebellion in Sumatra, where Australian officials tried to persuade them Indonesia could ‘go communist’ if the rebellion in Sumatra did not succeed. After their assessment on the ground in Sumatra, the journalists concluded Western diplomats information about the threat of communism was ‘absurdly exaggerated’ and correspondents ‘wondered if there really was a revolution’ there at all. 200
of power.”32 This was considered essential due to the larger struggle for power in Indonesia at the time33, and Indonesian President Sukarno’s tendency to stress the importance of Indonesia on the world stage to foreign correspondents.34 The problem is that the consistent line pushed by many Western diplomatic sources in Indonesia was to comment on the political ‘situation’ in its global context, and to push Western interests.35 As Mossman concluded, “Only those who abandoned the futile language of the Cold War saw what was really happening in Indonesia, saw that it was largely the result of uniquely Indonesian circumstances. These few took the Indonesians at their own evaluation.”36 This chapter will show that those who remained inside the inner sanctum of official and elites sources faced difficulties in presenting a broader picture of Indonesia in their reports.
6.2. The President as the highest source 6.2.1. Sukarno as ‘Indonesia’
As colonialism came to an end in Asia, the Western media became obsessed with the cult of the revolutionary Asian leader, with foreign journalists drawing attention to these men, who became symbols for the complex nations they represented.37 In Indonesia it was the charismatic and brilliant orator, Sukarno, who was reported in one 1945 Australian newspaper report as “the chief prophet, inspiration and spellbinder of the Republic”.38 Sukarno’s photographic looks, immaculate military-style attire and ability to converse in a number of languages added to his growing interest on the part of the
32 Bruce Grant, Indonesia, 2nd edition, Melbourne University Press, 1994, p. ix. 33 See George Kahin and Audrey Kahin, Subversion as Foreign Policy; The Secret Eisenhower and Dulles Debacle in Indonesia, New York, The New Press, 1995. 34 Sukarno would explain to journalists the idea of NEFOS, or ‘new emerging forces’ in which Indonesia was a part, as opposed to countries such as Britain and America, which were OLDEFOS, or old established forces. Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour, Neil Davis, Combat cameraman, 1934-1985, Sydney, Collins, 1987, p. 103. The recently released U.S. state department files described this type of language by Sukarno as ‘futile’. 35 The recently released U.S. State Department files show this was the case during Suharto’s rise to power in particular. This will be examined in greater detail later in this chapter. See Brad Simpson (ed.) Suharto; A Decalssified Documentary Obit, National Security Archive Breifing Book, released 28 January, 2008. http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB242/index.htm. (accessed 14 August, 2008). 36 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 134. 37 Prue Torney-Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia: War, Journalism and Australia’s Neighbours, 1941-1975, UNSW Press, 2000, p. 170. 38 See Ian Flemming, ‘The Indonesian Republic seen as a going concern’, Sunday Sun, December 21, 1945. 201
Western media.39 It has been argued that the Western media was responsible for giving him a first name, ‘Achmed’ Sukarno, to make him more understandable in the eyes of the West.40 In Australia, there were numerous cartoon images and photographs of Sukarno in the press.41 Prue Torney-Parlicki argued that the mainstream media’s focus on his famed sexual exploits and extravagant lifestyle led to a greater emphasis on his leadership style rather than an account of the new republic’s policies and political objectives.42
A belief grew amongst the foreign press corps in Jakarta that the more access one had to President Sukarno, the closer one was to the seat of power, and thus a first- hand understanding of the changes occurring in the country.43 Perhaps the greatest reason for the media’s obsession with Sukarno was because he was so accessible to foreign correspondents. Tony Rafty recalled arriving in Jakarta in 1945 and literally knocking on the Palace door. He said, “I went straight to the Palace to introduce myself – it was simple as that. I was allowed in.”44 He met Sukarno, Vice-President Hatta and other ministers who were present at the time. This was the case with many Australian correspondents during Sukarno’s rule, up until the ABC’s Philip Koch in 1964, who laughed, “I found it much easier entry than it was to other countries, you don’t just arrive in Washington and see the President!”45 Sukarno would also hold press conferences on weekdays in Jakarta, and on Saturday invite foreign correspondents to his Palace in Bogor on an informal basis. Indonesian journalist Rosihan Anwar recalled in the early years in the Republic of Indonesia, that journalists could even go to Sukarno’s house. He said, “There was nothing of protocol because this was the revolution. He would welcome them into his house. There was only one policeman on
39 See J.D. Legge, Sukarno: A Political Biography, Archipelago Press, 3rd edition, 2003, and Cindy Adams, Sukarno: My friend, Gunung Agung, Singapore, 1980. 40 Stephen Drakeley ‘In search of Achmed Sukarno’, Conference Proceedings, 16th Biennial Conference of the Asian Studies Association of Australian, University of Wollongong, 26 June - 29 June 2006. See also Colin Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, Norwitz Publications Inc, 1966, p. 10. 41 Rafty sent home many drawings which are now displayed in both the Australian War Memorial and National Library in Canberra, a crucial part of this was drawing personal sketches of Sukarno and his cabinet, so Australians could put a face to the names, and recognise the new president. 42 Torney Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia, p. 172. Charlotte Maramis said this was a common discussion amongst foreign correspondents, and of great interest as a story, but unlike her colleagues working for Australian news organisations, she could never actually write about it in The Indonesian Observer. Maramis, personal interview. 43 Frank Palmos, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. 44 Tony Rafty, personal interview, Sydney, May 2006. 45 Philip Koch, personal interview, Noosa, February, 2007. Koch had previously been posted to London before his arrival to Jakarta in 1965. 202
guard. They would come by on a bike and walk in and have a talk.”46 Sukarno would remember the names of the Australian correspondents and would meet with them often.47 Charlotte Maramis remembers being quite impressed about that quality of the President. She said, “He had a wonderful personality, he would make sure he knew all about you. You think he doesn’t know you, he would know your interests and talk to you about them…here’s this fella who likes doing all the things you do!”48
Perhaps the Australian reporter who had the closest contact with any President of Indonesia was Australian cartoonist Tony Rafty, who described President Sukarno as “a personal friend”.49 Rafty said Sukarno thought it important that the rest of the world heard about the revolution in Indonesia. Many of Rafty’s early sketches were of Sukarno and his cabinet ministers.50 Due to their friendship, Rafty once convinced Sukarno to release two Australian journalists who had been imprisoned during the war of independence.51 After Rafty left to return to Australia in 1949, Sukarno would continue the policy of allowing a media crew, including Australian journalists, to travel with him around Indonesia, and would often mention in his speeches the foreign journalists who were present.52 This would give the impression to his audience the world was interested, and also appeal to the vanity of the foreign press, emphasising their importance.53 Colin Mason, who opened the ABC’s Southeast Asia bureau in
46 Rosihan Anwar, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2007. 47 Bowden, One Crowded Hour, pp. 99-101. If he did not remember correspondents names, he would remember the news company they worked for, such as Peter Barnett, whom he always called ‘Mr ABC’. Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 110. 48 Maramis, personal interview. 49 Rafty, personal interview. 50 See Ian Flemming, ‘The Indonesian Republic seen as a going concern’, Sunday Sun, December 21, 1945, where Rafty has drawn sketches of Vice President Hatta, Lt-General Sudirman, Foreign Affaris Minister Dr Sobarjo, and Governor of East Java Soerio. 51 Rafty, personal interview,. See also ‘Tony Rafty recalls Sukarno’s kindness’, “Staff News”, July, 1970, p. 3. And more recently, Malcolm Brown, ‘Caricaturist whose story began at the frontline’, Sydney Morning Herald, April 25, 2006. The journalists were captured after rebels opened fire on a hotel they were staying in. A British journalist Hennel was killed. Rafty successfully pleaded with Sukarno to release the two journalists from The Sydney Morning Herald, and the others were eventually released a few days later. Rafty, personal interview. 52 In the revolutionary days Sukarno used to travel with radio broadcasters and film and slide projectionists so he could ‘educate’ villagers. See John Legge, Sukarno: A Political Biography, Archipelago Press, 2003, pp. 204-5. On one occasion, at a rally Sukarno asked the foreign press, ‘There are at least half a million people here; do you agree?’ The journalists knew a more accurate figure would have been 100 000, but Sukarno asked each correspondent to agree personally. The next day the reports read: ‘A crowd estimated by the President to be half a million’. See Barnett, Foreign Correspondence, p. 110. 53 On one occasion Sukarno taught the whole audience to say after him in English (for the benefit of the Western correspondents present) ‘Everything is running well’. He would ask the crowd in Indonesian, ‘What about the sugar factories?’ to which they replied, ‘Everything is running well’. Sukarno then called 203
Singapore in 1956, described the ABC’s Indonesia correspondent Christine Cole: “She was a brilliant correspondent with probably a better communications link to Sukarno than any other foreign correspondent at that time...” suggesting that the measure of a journalist was determined by how much access they had to Sukarno. Mason said, “Christine Cole was much admired by him. She travelled with him on a number of press tours. He referred to her on a number of occasions as ‘Radio Australia's beautiful correspondent’.”54
This leads to the question of whether journalists became caught up with the mystical figure that was President Sukarno, and whether correspondents lacked critical judgement over how he was running the country. Ian Flemming, who travelled with Sukarno and Hatta on an eight-day trip through Java, reported in The Sunday Sun in 1945: “I like Sukarno personally. He is an intelligent and cultivated man with nothing of the dictator about him. But I believe he is sometimes carried away by his own oratory.”55 Rosihan Anwar denied foreign correspondents got caught up in the excitement. He said simply, “Journalists are not stupid, they were not overwhelmed by Sukarno, even if he was a good orator.”56 Diary entries from Australian journalists support this statement. John Thompson, a member of the Australian Communist Party, wrote of Sukarno: “His political ideas are too broad and hazy, even at their best, for practical application. My reading of him is that he is a rather simple man in spite of his cleverness, sentimental and highly suggestible.”57 In fact, many of the Australian correspondents had a noted revulsion towards Sukarno’s leadership. Richard Hughes recalled with relish how a friend called Sukarno to his face, ‘the only living Quisling’ in reference to Sukarno’s reported cooperation with the Japanese during the Pacific War.58 Denis Warner, part of the conservative, anti-communist element reporting Asia, often
for a louder response, ‘What about the railways?’ The response in English was a louder, ‘Everything is running well’. See Thompson, Hubbub in Java, p. 75. On another occasion, when one foreign correspondent asked Sukarno for a personal statement he replied, ‘No, only a smile’, and walked away. See Mason, Sukarno’s Indonesia, p. 122. 54 ABC online history. ‘ABC Around the World: On the job with ABC foreign correspondents - Indonesia’, http://www.abc.net.au/aroundtheworld/content/temp_indonesia.htm. (accessed 1 June, 2005) 55 Ian Flemming, ‘The Indonesian Republic seen as a going concern’, The Sunday Sun, Decmeber 21, 1945. The Sunday Sun was the Sunday edition of the Sydney Morning Herald at that time. 56 Anwar, personal interview. 57 Thompson, Hubbub in Java, p. 25 58 Torney-Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia, p. 175. 204
attacked Sukarno over his policy of Confrontation with Malaysia.59 Editorially, the mainstream Australian press at home sustained a constant barrage emphasising Sukarno’s ties with Peking, his anti-Western speeches and the danger he presented to Australia.60 Twenty years later, journalists had witnessed first-hand Sukarno’s authoritarian rule. Neil Davis wrote in his diary on 25 April, 1965 that Sukarno was personally liked by journalists: “I must say with all his arrogance and Hitler-like tactics (in some respects), he is a charming devil.”61 Christopher Koch, who received a secondment from UNESCO to carry out a mission in Indonesia in 1967, summed up the change in Westerner’s views of Sukarno. He wrote, “Sukarno’s charisma, his humour, his jaunty charm, his intoxicating oratory and his poetic flair all made him irresistible. But in his decline, Bung Karno had become yet another of these demagogues with which our century is all too familiar.”62
Whether Australian journalists loved him or disliked him, they certainly focused their attention on Sukarno. To a great extent, Sukarno had come to signify ‘Indonesia’: new and exciting, but increasingly volatile and a threat to Western dominance and world order. This was a direct result of Australian foreign correspondents focusing so much of their attention on the man himself, rather than the country as a whole.63 This was evident right until his fall from grace, in an ABC Four Corners program in July 1966, where the focus was more about how Sukarno was stripped of his ‘President for Life’ status rather than the political change occurring in Indonesia. The personality cult of Sukarno was clear as a report of the leader’s oratory skills, rather than the content of his speeches, was accentuated.64 As Philip Koch stated, “Anything that ever happened of interest as a Western correspondent revolved around the Merdeka Palace, and revolved around your access to Sukarno. It was access you began to rely on, you could see him almost daily.”65 Gharfur Fadyl, Associated Press journalist from 1964, explained, “The foreign press thought Sukarno was a good subject, it gave them something to write
59 For example, see Denis Warner, ‘What we got for pampering Sukarno’ in Reporting Southeast Asia, Angus and Robertson, 1966, p. 43. 60 Torney-Parlicki, Somewhere in Asia, p. 175. 61 Bowden, One Crowded Hour, p. 99. 62 Christopher Koch, Crossing the gap: A Novelists Essays, Sydney, 1987, p. 231. 63 Australian journalists Colin Mason Sukarno’s Indonesia, 1966, and Peter Polomka, Indonesia since Sukarno, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1971, both wrote books focusing their attention on Sukarno. As did American Correspondent John Hughes, The end of Sukarno: a coup that misfired: a purge that ran wild, London, Angus and Robertson, 1967. 64 Ibid. 65 Koch, personal interview. 205
about. Like a goldmine for miners, this was it for reporters. Everyday you would wake up and there would be a story.”66 This was no doubt a consequence of his charming personality and hospitable accessibility, but it was also due to the news process encouraging journalists, to the point of obsession, to constantly seek out the highest official source for the focus of the story. Thus, the story of Indonesia became the story of Sukarno.
6.2.2. News sources and the Indonesian killings of 1965-66
The problems with this style of reporting was exemplified in Australian reporting of the 1965 coup and subsequent killings, when an estimated 500 000 communists and their supporters were massacred.67 Philip Koch, ABC correspondent from 1964-67, recalled his first reaction when hearing a coup was taking place in Jakarta coup on September 30, 1965: “The immediate thing in my mind was just to find Sukarno. Where was he? What was his involvement? And where was Aidit because he could tell me everything I wanted to know.”68 His journalistic instinct was to seek out the highest official source during a time of great confusion. This supports Sigal’s argument as stated earlier that journalists cope with uncertainty by relying on authoritative sources.
Solving who was ‘behind’ the coup is one of the most difficult questions in Indonesian history.69 Furthermore, a coup d’etat by definition is a replacement of the highest official source, so for Koch and others to seek out the highest sources such as Sukarno and Communist Party leader Aidit seems perfectly natural. However, one reason why Australian correspondents were initially confused about the 1965 coup was because names such as Untung (the apparent coup leader) and Suharto (the Kostrad [Air
66 Gharfur Fadyl, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2007. 67 For details on the 1965 abortive coup see John Roosa, Pretext for mass murder; The September 30th movement and Suharto’s coup d’Etat in Indonesia, University of Wisconsin Press, 2006. For the killings see Robert Cribb, The Indonesian killings 1965-66, studies from Java and Bali, Centre for Southeast Asian Studies, Monash University, 1990. 68 Koch, personal interview. 69 The coup leaders were identified as Lt-Gen. Untung, and the G30S [Spetmeber 30th] movement. Who actually was behind this movement has been the subject of much debate. It was in the interests of the Army and then Suharto’s New Order Government to state that the coup was entirely a PKI inspired attempt to take power in Indonesia, but historians have argued that the PKI’s role in the coup has been overplayed. For the most recent and arguably complete account of the coup see Roosa, Pretext for mass murder, 2006. 206
force] commander who then took power) were completely new to foreign correspondents – they were not regulars at diplomatic functions, nor were they constantly seen with the Indonesian elite.70 As Koch admitted, “We didn’t know who Suharto was. He was not on my radar screen. I had certainly not met him before.”71 Peter Hastings arrived in Jakarta in October, 1965, and claimed: “I spent my time trying to get some feeling for where the changed political situation was heading and in trying to see generals of whom I had never heard or knew little”.72 The story of the coup was one of initial confusion for correspondents, partly because the main players involved were people that Australian correspondents had not established any personal contact with, as they were not part of the inner sanctum in which Australian journalists mixed.
More disastrously, and more damning for Australian reporting, during 1965-66 editors and correspondents focused on the highest official source and overlooked another story which was dominating the country – the massacres occurring in the villages. The killings occurred outside Jakarta, in the villages of Java, Bali, Sumatra, and the news of the killings was not getting around to the Jakarta elite.73 Coverage of the killings in the Australian press was limited, and at times distorted.74 Koch explained:
There was a major problem – as the only ABC correspondent, if I left Jakarta, and went to Bali or Sumatra, I would have been leaving the day-by-day search for Sukarno, and who was really in control and what really had happened in the coup. The ABC wasn’t into that, so I didn’t get outside Jakarta until this Suharto-Sukarno act began to unfold.75
By that stage most of the killings had already taken place, and the story had become ‘the forgotten years of Indonesian history’.76 Mike Carlton, Koch’s predecessor in 1967, said:
70 The recently released (2008) U.S. state department files show similar confusion. See Brad Simpson (ed.) Suharto; A Decalssified Documentary Obit. Apparently, unlike many of the other Jakarta generals who preferred expensive luxury hotel lunches, Suharto customarily went home to lunch with his wife. See Bob Elson, Suharto, Cambridge University Press, 2001, p. 95. 71 Koch, personal interview. 72 Peter Hastings, The Road to Lembang; A retrospect, 1938-1966, Centre for the Study of Asia-Australia Relations, Griffith University, 1990, p. 24. 73 See Cribb, The Indonesian Killings, for further details. 74 See Ross Tapsell, ‘Australian Reporting of the Indonesian killings of 1965-66: the media as a first rough draft of history’, Australian Journal of Politics and History, Issue 1, 2008. See also Richard Tanter, ‘Witness Denied’ Inside Indonesia, July-September, 2002. 75 Koch, personal interview. 76 Hermawan Sulistyo, ‘The forgotten years: the missing history of Indonesia’s mass slaughter’, PhD dissertation, Department of History, Arizona State University, 1997. 207
Most of us missed the incredible slaughter of the remnants of the PKI. I don't think any journalist in Jakarta had the idea that literally hundreds of thousands of people were being slaughtered and tossed into rivers and so on. I don't think diplomats did either. It happened out of Jakarta, it was happening in the villages, and it simply just didn't get around [to us] that it was happening on that scale.77
Alan Morris, who arrived in Jakarta in July 1965 with the ABC’s Radio Australia, and whose ability to speak fluent Indonesian would have perhaps given him a better chance of traveling outside Jakarta, agreed. He said, “In 1965 we didn’t know anything about it. I certainly didn’t, I had not been outside Jakarta at that stage. I knew nothing about the killings in the provinces.”78 The insistence from editors to keep their correspondents in Jakarta and continue the focus on the leadership struggle was a reflection of the obsession with Sukarno as the story of Indonesia, and the news process of constantly seeking out the highest official source as the main story. But there were other factors stopping Australian journalists from travelling outside the region in 1965, including the curfews and press passes that the Indonesian Government placed on journalists, as explained in Chapter IV.79 Chapter V has shown that Western governments were largely supportive of the Suharto administration’s rise to power, so Western diplomatic sources were unlikely to be encouraging foreign correspondents to report the killings in vivid and explicit detail.
Frank Palmos tried to go out to the villages soon after the coup. He said, “I agree the reports in the press could have come out in more lurid detail. The killings mostly took place at night. The Army removed the leaders of the PKI in villages initially, but we couldn’t get in then. Reporting was so dangerous”.80 But the Indonesian elite and
77 Carlton, personal interview. 78 Alan Morris, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2007. Morris arrived in June, 1965, so reported the entire 6 months without leaving Jakarta. 79 After the coup, Jakarta itself was a city of press passes and curfews, and for foreigners to travel outside Jakarta they had to get permission from the Armed Forces, the Foreign Affairs office and the Ministry of Information, which, as chapter IV has shown, was not easy, and if foreign journalists went anyway, they ran the risk of being detained for an extended period of time. See Warner, Not Always on Horseback, pp. 85-105. 80 Frank Palmos, personal interview, Perth, November, 2006. He claimed it took him and Donald North [from US] four hours to get eight miles when they attempted to travel to Central Java, due to the military blockades, and they couldn’t get near Solo in Central Java, their initial destination. Research by Richard Tanter also suggests this was a problem for correspondents with The Age and The Sun. However, Seymour Topping, The New York Times correspondent, suggested this was untrue, that “You could do it if you wanted to”, but even Topping, who was one of the first to write in detail of the killings, did not travel to Central Java until August, 1966. See Tanter, ‘Witness Denied’. 208
official sources remained either tight-lipped or unaware of the massacre that was taking place in the country-side, and this is one reason why the killings were not reported extensively in Australian mainstream media, a tragic indictment of the problems of constantly seeing President Sukarno as the key story of Indonesia. However, not all journalists who reported at the time believed this was the main reason. Veteran Indonesian journalist Aristides Katoppo was less circumspect:
We can say the setting or the environment was not conducive, but that should never be an excuse for a journalist. Outside of Jakarta, in the beginning, was not a high priority. The political situation in Jakarta was more gripping. We focused on what we thought to be more important. It’s not that we didn’t get the information, we didn’t pay any attention to it. Sukarno made press releases, he appointed a Commision to verify reports.81
Peter Hastings, now deceased, wrote in his memoir that “all Jakarta knew people were being killed. There were horrific stories of mass killings…” which contradicts the perspective that journalists simply ‘didn’t know’ the killings were taking place outside of Jakarta. Hastings wrote further that the difficulty for journalists lay in effective sourcing, as “Getting an accurate figure was something else…All of Indonesia seemed a killings field. But was it? It was difficult to get information.”82 Hastings’s comments suggests there was no accurate information for elite and official sources in Jakarta, and as such journalists were wary of publishing details without accrediting figures from an official source.
As Koch explained, Australian journalists did eventually travel outside of Jakarta to attempt to report the killings, but by the time they left Jakarta in 1966, much of the killings in Java were over.83 Denis Warner wrote that he was “unaware” of the killings until “later, when I made a long trip from Jakarta to Surabaya by car in an effort
81 Aristides Katoppo, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. Tanter has found that President Sukarno’s statement in January 1966 that 87 000 people had been killed was reported on two occasions in The Sun, but in a manner that suggested it was an unreliable report by an irrational politician. Tanter, ‘Witness Denied’. Sukarno also once described the killings as “a ripple in the ocean of the revolution”, suggesting its significance was not important. See Cribb, The Indonesian Killings, p. 28. 82 Hastings derided Sukarno’s figure of about 80 000, but wrote “I sent an over-cautious estimate to The Australian of 100 000.” Hastings, The Road to Lembang, p. 27. 83 Cribb has shown that the biggest wave of killings had expired by the end of 1965, but that violence persisted in outlying areas, with the island of Lombok suffering in early 1966. See Cribb, The Indonesian Killings, p. 25. From the Australian journalists I interviewed, (and as Tanter has shown), all tried to report on the killings only in Java and Bali, mostly by travelling overland by car from Jakarta. 209
to estimate the number ... massive killings had already begun.”84 Neil Davis and the BBC’s Anthony Lawrence drove from Jakarta across Java to Bali in July, 1966.85 Alan Morris also went eventually to investigate with Tim Bowden, and they drove from Central Java to Bali but not until October, 1966, and not until “the brouhaha of the first anniversary of the coup had died down.”86 A further problem for journalists was finding sources to verify numbers. Australian journalists who reported the killings commented on the insistence of their editors to confirm actual and verifiable amounts of people killed. The journalists were unable to do so, and the reports were considered ineffectual. Palmos said that they confronted a major problem. “It’s really unusual, [reporting on] the disappearance of people”, he said. Newspapers specialise in reporting specific events, and a diffuse pattern of genocide is difficult to report as news if there are few single events that stand out as headline material. On his trip to investigate, Palmos recalled “hearing stories about the killings from villagers”, but it was only about a month later that he saw evidence, in this case, “bodies everywhere in the canal. Seriously hacked bodies. The Madurese went into the villages and hacked these bodies. But it was only many months later that we got an assessment of the numbers.”87 Gharfur Fadyl, of AP, confirmed this was a problem. He said, “People disappeared. Thrown into rivers, in mountains, in the well. How do you verify those figures? People that I talked to in Central Java were suspicious of anything related to Communists, and were under tight control of the Army,” so he could not get information from witnesses.88 Koch also eventually went in mid-1966. It is worth quoting his account of these times in some detail, as it shows a contemplative former reporter dissatisfied with the result of his work:
I found it difficult to estimate the numbers as I travelled. The official release by Sukarno was that 80 000 had died. I don’t know if the figures have ever really been nailed down. The ABC would report figures it felt could be credible, from me trying to give an estimate from reports from every part of the country. The stuff I got was a village leader saying, ‘There are no more
84 Denis Warner, Chapter 8, ‘Ghosts of the Crocodile Hole’ Not Always on Horseback; An Australian correspondent at war and peace in Asia, 1961-1993, Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1997, p. 88. Warner eventually reported that the PKI had been completely annihilated in The Sydney Morning Herald, on August 12, 1966, ‘Bloody Liquidation of Indonesia’s PKI’, p. 3. 85 Some of the Balinese actually re-enacted their killings for Davis on camera. Bowden, One Crowded Hour, pp. 109-110. Davis told Bowden the killings in Bali had been “particularly bad”. 86 Tim Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, Allen and Unwin, 2003, p. 230. 87 Palmos, personal interview. See also Palmos’ report in The Sydney Morning Herald, on 13 November, 1966, ‘The Indonesian Massacres’, p. 14. 88 Gharfur Fadyl, personal interview. 210
people here, they are all gone’. That’s a colourful quote but it doesn’t give a figure. My reporting was saying, ‘It appears there was widespread reporting of PKI and their families’. The miss[ed] [story] is we couldn’t put an accurate, really hard assessment of the number of deaths, and nor could anybody else. They were wild figures blowing around. Editors can’t cope with that. I think that’s why it didn’t impact. The size of the killings wasn’t going into the Australian electorate’s mind because people like me who were there weren’t able to give it to them. It stands in my mind as a bit of a failure. My overall feeling is that it is in the millions. There are aspects of the coverage that made me feel it was incomplete.89
While Koch and Palmos lament their inability to report the killings effectively, an important factor is that the news process demands figures from an authoritative source. Koch’s mention of the official release from Sukarno shows he recalled the highest source information, but that stories from the countryside were treated with suspicion because they were not verified by high-ranking officials. While many journalists wrote of the killings in great detail in their subsequent books and memoirs, these details were not in the news reports.90 A large reason for this is the news media’s concerns with finding authoritative sources to justify the details.
6.2.3. Still seeking the President’s company
As the New Order regime began to take shape after the coup of 1965, there was decreasing access to government sources for reliable information. While he could never be described as an advocate of press freedom, President Sukarno’s era of daily press conferences and of inviting foreign correspondents to the Palace were gone. The new President, Suharto, had a particular distrust of the foreign press corps, avoiding press conferences, and rarely granting personal interviews. Suharto granted his first press conference for the foreign press seven years after he came into office, and the Palace became a ‘Forbidden City’ for the foreign media.91 Mike Carlton recalled that “Suharto didn't speak much English, and had none of the charisma of Sukarno. He was a much colder figure, ruthlessly efficient, but no grasp of how to play, stroke or massage the
89 Koch, personal interview. 90 Tapsell, ‘Australian Reporting of the Indonesian Massacres of 1965-66’, pp. 220-222. 91 Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 118. See pages 117-133 for a detailed account of journalist’s sources in the New Order. Also see David T. Hill, The Press in New Order Indonesia, Asia Papers, Volume 4, 1994. 211
media.”92 The Australian’s Peter Polomka, who claimed in 1969 to have asked Suharto to write his ‘philosophy of life’, said of the new President: “In contrast to the exuberant Sukarno, Suharto - or ‘Pak Harto’ as he is commonly known among Indonesians - is a shy, friendly man whose mild manner often belies his inner toughness and resolution.”93 Australian journalists’ personal contact with high-ranking officials was lessened as the New Order tightened its grip on society. Hamish McDonald explained that Australian journalists had no contact with Suharto after the riots in Jakarta in 1974, after which Suharto became “very reclusive and defensive”.94
Throughout the New Order, Australian correspondents continued to seek out the highest official source in Indonesia. This was partly the continuing belief from editors and journalists that news from the Palace was crucial to Australian reports from Indonesia. David Jenkins recalled thinking in 1967, as a young journalist in his first overseas posting, ‘How do I make an impact at the Melbourne Herald?’ His answer was to attain interviews with five of the most prominent Indonesian Government officials. Jenkins proposed to the Melbourne Herald to run each interview Monday to Friday for that week. The editor supported this but insisted on Jenkins interviewing Suharto. Jenkins said, “In vain I explained this wasn't possible. But through great fortune I managed to ambush Suharto down at the palace in Bogor at a ‘do’, and by being a bit persistent, I was able to sit him down with his wife and talk to him and get a picture. I think the editor of the Herald thought, ‘it was just like that, you just do it.’ It was an extraordinary stroke of fortune.”95 This story supports two arguments. Firstly, in 1967 editors had not learnt from the mistakes of Australian reporting of the 1965-66 killings, and were still encouraging their correspondents to seek out the highest official source. Secondly, editors in Australia were out of touch with the changing situation in Indonesia of Australian journalist’s access to the president. As Jenkins argued, “Within the first 5-10 years Suharto wouldn't give interviews. But they [editors] didn't appreciate this back home.”96 Nevertheless, Australian journalists found ways of being in closer
92 Carlton, personal interview. 93 Peter Polomka, Indonesia Since Sukarno, Penguin, 1971, p. 152. 94 McDonald, personal interview. On 15 January, 1974, student protests took place in Jakarta which soon escalated, and rioting, looting, and anti-Chinese violence occurring. The escalation of the riot was manipulated by Ali Murtopo, whose intelligence group then put down any dissent, including the student leaders behind the protest. See Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 166. Suharto’s greater controls over the domestic and foreign press because of these riots has been explained in Chapter IV. 95 Jenkins, personal interview. 96 Ibid. 212
contact with Suharto. In 1977, they arrived uninvited to Suharto's Lebaran party at his house in Cendana Street, wearing batik shirts and joining the reception line. Suharto, seeing they were dressed for the occasion, probably assumed they were invited, shook their hands and let them in.97 While creative, it also exemplifies Australian journalist’s keenness to be part of the ‘inner circle’ of the President’s movements.
The increasing number of foreign and local journalists operating in Jakarta, and the increasing, and indeed world-wide, tendency for leaders to employ media managers, has led to less personal connections between journalists and their highest official source.98 But like their predecessors, Australian journalists in the post-New Order period went to great lengths to find ways to access the ‘highest source’, although not to the same extent as journalists covering Sukarno. The ABC’s Evan Williams would chat to President Wahid during his very early morning walks around the Palace grounds. The importance of access to the Indonesian President is evident in what Williams wrote, “These were wonderful moments for a journalist - for us it was unprecedented access to a national leader - especially at a time of crisis - and access that was also highly personal, unvarnished.”99 The belief from some journalists reporting in the post-New Order period was still that ‘highly personal’ contact with the president is the key to good reporting, and something to which foreign correspondents should aspire. This is despite the failure to adequately report the 1965-66 killings, due largely to a focus on elite politics in Jakarta and lack authoritative sources giving accurate numbers of deaths.
The continual focus on the president as the most important story of Indonesia comes as a result from two aspects of journalism history: that the key to good journalism is access to the highest official source, and the historical precedents set by their forebears who maintained, or went to great lengths to enable, close contact with the Indonesian President. In particular, President Suharto’s rule emphasised political power centrism, where politics in Indonesia was highly personal100, and the press
97 McDonald, personal interview. McDonald is referring to the Muslim celebration after the fasting period. 98 John Street, Mass Media, Politics and Democracy, Palgrave, 2001, p190-193, and Eric Louw, The Media and Political Process, Sage Publications, 2005, pp. 172-194. 99 Evan Williams, ‘Gus Dur: The Man Who Would’ in Travellers’ Tales: Stories from the ABC’s Foreign Correspondents, ABC Books, 2004, p. 54. 100 Bob Elson has written that during the height of Suharto’s power, the popular press (and occasionally scholars) wrote about Indonesia as a Javanese kingdom, with Suharto the supreme ruler. Elson argued that “so many Indonesians seemed to adopt it uncritically themselves.” Elson quotes Bayang Nasution: “I 213
reflected this in their reports. However, political reporting emphasising the movements and actions of primarily the President is not limited to Indonesia, and scholars have argued that the world’s press is becoming more ‘presidential’ in the sense that it mirrors a presidential style of politics.101 But the consequences of this type of reporting, as this section has shown, is that it reduces the political complexities of a country to one person, rather than to the plight of hundreds of thousands of people.
6.3. New Order sources and contacts
If Suharto was initially ‘the golden boy’ for the mainstream Australian press it was a reflection of the fact that he had been responsible for the lessening communist threat in Indonesia, and was seen to be taking the country towards greater development and pro- Western interests.102 As a source available for journalists, Suharto was certainly not ‘gold’. His authoritarian regime consistently denied access to the Palace, and to the man himself.103 A considerable problem for journalists under the New Order was the lack of sources and information from Government officials. The political and journalistic reality of developmental journalism, although not singular in practice, meant Indonesian official sources and journalists were encouraged to suppress criticism, in case they reduced the process of development of the country.104 Furthermore, press conferences from high-ranking New Order officials almost never occurred, and interviews with even middle-level officials could take weeks of bureaucratic paperwork.105 When press conferences did occur, they were described by correspondents as “ludicrous stage- managed events”.106 Many Javanese-Indonesian officials, who by custom tend to avoid
think that it is Suharto’s worst crime that he made Indonesians afraid to think and afraid to express themselves.” See Elson, Suharto, pp. 301, 308. Further to this, the popular phrase in Indonesia had become asal Bapak senang [keep the boss happy], suggesting there was little room for critique of superiors. 101 See Todd Gitlin, Inside Prime Time, Berkeley, University of California Press, 2000, and Daniel Hallin, Comparing Media Systems: Three models of media and politics, Cambridge University Press, 2004. 102 Denis Warner, for example, described Suharto as “highly regarded and incorruptible” in October, 1965. Denis Warner, ‘The Truth about Indonesia’ The Sydney Morning Herald, 15 October 1965, p. 2. Suharot’s popularity with Australia’s leaders been explained in Chapter V. The U.S. State Department files also indicate this. 103 Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 117-121. 104 Angela Romano, ‘Developmental Journalism, State versus Practitioner Perspectives in Indonesia’, Media Asia, Volume 26, Issue 4, 1999, pp. 183-191. Developmental Journalism in Indonesia has been discussed in greater detail in Chapter IV. 105 Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, pp. 122-128. 106 McDonald, personal interview. 214
direct answers, came to be known as masters of waffling.107 Often, different officials would give alternative answers on the same subject, thoroughly confusing everyone and committing no one to any embarrassing positions.108 While in Western countries the most powerful person does the most talking, in Indonesia under the New Order, the most powerful, such as Suharto, said nothing at all, and this filtered down into most levels of society.109 The then Information Minister, B.M. Diah, would consult journalists on sources and stories, but, according to Carlton, was “basically Propaganda Minister, perfectly charming but largely useless.”110 Government sources under Suharto began to talk only ‘off the record’, and few would say anything of value. Indeed, being able to ‘interpret’ what a government source was actually saying was an important skill for a journalist in Indonesia.111 At times officials gave away more than they realised, in that journalists became adept at reading something into what the official would not say, rather than focus on the official comment. However, for the most part official press conferences were either propaganda for the New Order, or presented little definitive or concrete information. Journalists began to realise the futility of government and military sources in the New Order, and were concerned that information provided to them was inaccurate, vague and unreliable.
When Australian journalists did not use official sources, they were often criticised. As Chapter IV has shown, Indonesian officials accused Australian journalists of bias if the story did not portray an official New Order point of view. For example, during the East Timor conflict from 1975, Fretilin (Revolutionary Front for Independent Timor) began sending lengthy messages by radio to its supporters in Darwin, who sent them on by telex to the Radio Australia newsroom in Melbourne.112 Philip Koch, the Head of Radio Australia, recalled the situation. “We were getting flooded with information from Fretilin and we weren’t getting balance,” he said, “They were raining cables like confetti, they were very good at the self-publicity, and Jose Ramos-Horta
107 Vickers, A History of Modern Indonesia, p. 174. 108 Romano argued that bureaucrats were only willing to talk openly once they had found that their higher-ranked official had already commented publicly on the matter if they had not, lower ranking officials were unwilling to commit to a position. See Romano, Politics and the Press in Indonesia, p. 125. 109 Janet Steele, Wars Within: The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Soeharto’s Indonesia, Equinox, 2006, p. 105. 110 Carlton, personal interview. 111 Chapter III has discussed this as local staff ability to ‘interpret’ political speeches and press conferences, not just translate word-for-word. 112 Errol Hodge, Radio Wars: Truth, Propaganda and the Struggle for Radio Australia, Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 181. 215
was based in Sydney.”113 As a result, the official Government spokesman in Jakarta alleged that Radio Australia broadcasts were pro-Fretilin, and as Chapter V showed, the disturbance in bilateral relations caused by the Radio Australia reporting of East Timor led many Australian government officials to question the worth of the reports. Koch attended several meetings with Indonesian officials concerning the Radio Australia reporting of East Timor, and attempted to explain that the difficulty was the lack of official comment from Jakarta, as Indonesian officials seldom granted interviews with, nor returned calls from, the ABC Jakarta correspondent, Peter Munckton. Koch said, “We could not get Indonesia to give proper access to Munckton, yet they blamed us for being overweight on the coverage of Fretilin. Our argument was that we had a senior journalist based in Jakarta - why can’t you talk to him?”114 Thus, Australian journalists operating during the New Order saw the necessity of sticking largely to the convention of aiming for official or elite sources as a regular port of call. The situation needed resolution. New Order government and military figures such as Ali Murtopo and Benny Murdani knew this, and began to specialise in ‘second track diplomacy’.
6.3.1. CSIS and ‘second track diplomacy’
Australian journalists, with their desire to be in the inner sanctum of Jakarta politics, began to use the Centre for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) for information and contacts. CSIS was founded in 1971 as a research institute but became commonly known as a Catholic Chinese think-tank in the heart of Muslim Indonesia. Located in central Jakarta, CSIS headquarters looked out to the Presidential Palace, the Foreign Ministry, and Merdeka Square, but nestled in the small streets of Tanah Abang, was shrewdly just far enough away to be in a different suburb from the Government.115 CSIS came to be considered by journalists and academics as the resident experts in understanding Suharto’s Indonesia and the Golkar Party, and with most of the dissident intellectuals jailed or transported to various far-flung places in the archipelago, CSIS provided much needed intelligence and interpretation on the workings of the
113 Koch, personal interview, and Ibid., pp. 184-5. 114 Ibid. 115 Perhaps as a sign of its declining in importance, in late 2008, CSIS moved from this central location and in now located in Palmerah. 216
Government.116 They conducted a great deal of what is known as ‘second-track diplomacy’, that is, semi-official negotiations and consultations, on behalf of the Indonesian government, connecting official policy with interested foreign diplomats and journalists.117 While founder Harry Tjan (or Silalahi) did not hold an official position with the Indonesian government or military, CSIS Honorary Chairman, Lieutenant- General Ali Murtopo was the deputy head of the intelligence body BAKIN and controller of Special Forces group OPSUS, and later became Minister for Information. Murtopo was at one point considered Suharto’s “right hand man”.118 Later, Major- General Benny Murdani, a protégé of Murtopo, became involved with CSIS, and was Commander in Chief of the Indonesian Armed Forces, 1983-88, and also head of military intelligence.119
CSIS became useful for foreign journalists operating during the New Order. Hamish McDonald said, “CSIS people were the back door to the government, who would put out a more sophisticated message than the actual bureaucrats, and I got to know them very well. I put a lot of weight on the CSIS as a source.”120 CSIS founder Harry Tjan explained that it was natural for journalists to seek out help through CSIS, and said that “because of the closeness of these two generals, journalists smelt this situation, it was very obvious when they came to us to exchange of view, taking of information, conveying ideas that is from the respective government that they come
116 CSIS cooperated with the ‘Indonesia Project’ of the Australian National University, to publish the Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies. The link between ANU academics and politicians and CSIS academics and politicians was considered an important part of ‘second track diplomacy’ between Australia and Indonesia. It also led to suggestions the two institutions were working together to form ‘The Jakarta Lobby’ policies, as explained in Chapter V. 117 Desmond Ball and Hamish McDonald, Death in Balibo, Lies in Canberra. Blood on whose Hands? Allen and Unwin, 2000, p. 66. 118 Harold Crouch, Army and Politics in Indonesia, Cornell University Press, 1978, p. 74. David Jenkins stated that Ali Murtopo and Benny Murdani were in the ‘inner core group’ with whom Suharto had not only had close relations for many years but with whom he felt most comfortable. Murtopo was particularly useful in helping end Confrontation with Malaysia, ensure a favourable Act of Free Choice in West Irian, and secure Suharto’s Presidency in the mid-late 1960s. Jenkins claimed in the late 1970s and early 1980s policy was shaped “to a quite extraordinary degree” by these two men. See David Jenkins Suharto and his Generals: Indonesian Military Politics, 1975-1983, Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University Press, 23-32. Murtopo died in 1984. 119 Benny Murdani was also in the ‘inner core group’ of Suharto, and replaced Murtopo in his role at CSIS. Murdani was a powerful New Order figure, especially due to his running of military intelligence, in which he was increasingly expanding. Murdani was said to be the only person in Indonesia who could question Suharto’s nepotism, which possibly eventually led to his dismissal as Army commander in 1988. Murtopo died in 2004. See Elson, Suharto, pp. 276, 258-260. See also Jenkins, Suharto and His Generals, pp. 23-32, and Julius Pour, Benny Murdani: Profile of a soldier statesman, Jakarta, 1993. 120 McDonald, personal interview. 217
from. We are private and non-profit, it is easier to be reached by these journalists.”121 Tjan recalled that Australian journalists in particular were fond of using CSIS for quotes and information. “All of them used to come here, Jenkins, McDonald, Hastings”, he recalled, “they would discuss anything at all, and if they heard something they would ask us.”122 McDonald confirmed that as a journalist, you ‘smelt’ this situation: “The only Generals we could meet [during the New Order] were Ali Murtopo and to some extent Benny Murdani, partly through CSIS but they were senior intelligence operatives used to dealing with the West.”123 David Jenkins argued that “CSIS were really well connected. I was given access to that world. They were very frank, very good at establishing lines of communication, they had good links in Washington and knew everyone well. They were considered a very valuable source.”124 CSIS could arrange visas and trips for foreign journalists to regions that were otherwise restricted, such as East Timor. Jenkins himself was the beneficiary of a number of trips organised by CSIS. One in particular involved travelling with Indonesian colonels to meet political prisoners in Kalimantan. This was a chance to meet the dissident intellectuals that were kept silent during the New Order. These types of trips were otherwise incredibly difficult to organise, and getting permission from the Foreign and Information ministries in Indonesia to be allowed to enter these regions could take months.125 In fact, the ABC’s Hidayat Djajmihardja claimed he was only allowed to visit East Timor once he had introduced himself to CSIS, who then interviewed him and briefed him on the ‘do and don’ts’ of reporting while in the region.126
In terms of statistical data, official facts and figures printed by the Government would be inaccurate, often deliberately, but according to Jenkins, “CSIS were on to this in a flash and could give you [correct] figures”.127 Occasionally, Australian journalists would get invited to CSIS dinners. They were be conducted ‘off the record’, but the journalist would have the feeling that they had been accepted into the inner sanctum of
121 Harry Tjan, personal interview, Jakarta, August, 2006. See also Harry Tjan Silalahi and Mari Pangestu, ‘In each others minds: Australia in Indonesia’s mind’ in Meredith Borthwick (ed.), Expanding Horizons: Australia and Indonesia into the 21st Century, East Asia Analytical Unit, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, 1994, And ‘Think Tank’, in Sekar Semerbak, pp. 334-341. 122 Tjan, personal interview. 123 McDonald, personal interview. 124 Jenkins, personal interview. 125 This has been explained in Chapter IV. 126 Hidayat Djajamihardja, ‘A Reporter’s View’ in Damien Kingsbury (ed.), Guns and Ballot Boxes: East Timor’s Vote for Independence, Monash Asia Institute, 2000, p. 103. 127 Jenkins, personal interview. 218
Jakarta politics. In a city filled with rumours and uncertainty, CSIS were as close as a foreign journalist could come to hearing about the workings of Jakarta politics from its elite generals, businessmen and policy makers. David Jenkins wrote that he felt he was “transported through the looking glass, accepted overnight in a world which once seemed hopelessly distant and closed off; granted access to senior military and security officials, invited to accompany ministers on journeys around the republic, treated, in short, as some sort of pampered interloper.”128
Australian journalists’ closeness to CSIS during the New Order can be attributed to a number of reasons. Firstly, journalists found official sources inadequate when reporting a story due to a lack of, or misleading information provided by the government. CSIS on the other hand would provide a useful quote, or reliable statistic – information so important to a journalist when writing a credible story - that was otherwise unavailable to journalists in Indonesia. Secondly, journalists enjoyed both the privileged information and organisational skills of CSIS that helped them create an interesting, and otherwise logistically impossible story. Foreign correspondents’ obsession with being in the inner sanctum of Jakarta politics and elite decision- making led them to CSIS, which may not have been founded on that principle, but certainly adopted the tactic of ‘second track diplomacy’ soon enough. CSIS learnt to arrange visas, establish networks of contacts, and give reliable information on the Indonesian Government. On the surface there seems little that was problematic with the use of CSIS as a source. Journalists complained that there was only a trickle of reliable information coming from the government, so CSIS was an avenue to understand government policy and decision-making.
This yearning to be part of the inner sanctum of CSIS was not restricted to Australian journalists. Many Indonesians used CSIS as well. Fikri Jufri explained that all journalists, foreign and Indonesian, had practical reasons for using CSIS. He said, “Harry Tjan would have, for instance, a list of the new Ministerial Cabinet.”129 Jufri would often ‘lobby’ CSIS as a way of getting to Benny Murdani, so when a major story broke, they could get the ‘inside story’.130 Western diplomats also sought a close
128 David Jenkins, ‘Indonesian Government Controls over the Australian Press’, p. 154. 129 Fikri Jufri, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2006. 130 Steele, Wars Within, p. 105. 219
relationship with CSIS as it was a channel leading to contact with Murtopo and Murdani.131 Former Australian Ambassador to Indonesia, Rawdon Dalrymple, described Murtopo as “a shadowy figure” as he remained for a long time without any direct contact, but Dalrymple stressed the government’s policy was to “develop direct discussions” with him and OPSUS, to get “a better insight into the directions which the New Order would take politically”.132 American diplomats also pursued Murtopo as a source for intelligence on Indonesian politics. David Newsom, former US Ambassador to Indonesia 1974-77, said, “He could explain Indonesia’s history, its problems, its limitations, its aspirations, and its policies in a way that the visitor understood because he understood the visitor”.133 This was the view amongst diplomats and journalists, and the question is whether it places too much emphasis on CSIS and these generals as a source to explain the political situation in Indonesia. During the New Order, to use a cliché of Indonesian studies, politics was often described as shadow puppetry, shot through with rumours about who really was the puppet master, and who was having their strings pulled. The question is, in their yearning to be part of the 'inner sanctum' of Jakarta politics, was it the Australian journalists who were having their ‘strings pulled’ by the puppeteers at CSIS?
6.3.2. The dangers of using CSIS and ‘second track diplomacy’
It was important for CSIS to use the foreign press in the hope of attracting foreign investment and visiting scholars. Tjan hinted at the reason CSIS helped journalists. He said, “There was no real benefit for us, just to help, but maybe we were concerned, [because] inflation was very high and the economic development of Indonesia had just
131 John Birmingham argued that by far the most important source of Australian government knowledge was through collaboration with Indonesian government officials. He claimed much of the plan to invade East Timor in 1975 emanated from CSIS. He wrote, “Two men in particular kept the Australian Embassy in the loop. General Benny Murdani and Harry Tjan.” John Birmingham, ‘Appeasing Jakarta: Australia’s Complicity in the East Timor Tragedy’, Quarterly Essay, no 2, 2001, pp. 1-88. Bruce Haigh, former Australian diplomat to Indonesia, wrote, “Australia based its defence policy on the myth of the US alliance and a close relationship with the Javanese elite. We danced and partied with the military regime in the vain hope that we might seduce it into believing that we were a benign neighbour and a like-minded friend.” Bruce Haigh, Pillars of Fear, Otford Press, 2001, p. 5. 132 Rawdon Dalrymple, ‘Ali Murtopo and the Australian connection’, in Sekar Semerbak, Dalrymple commented on how the Australian Government would only see pictures of him behind dark glasses, which of course added to his mysteriousness. 133 David D. Newsom, ‘Ali Murtopo’, in Sekar Semerbak, p. 105. 220
started, so we needed more sympathy from the outside world.”134 High-ranking officials in semi-government institutions using journalists to woo foreign investment was something most journalists would expect, and to an extent, be accustomed to. However, understanding there was greater involvement from CSIS chairmen in the complex world of power politics in the New Order is a more difficult connection to make, and perhaps one that journalists were unaware of, or willing to overlook. Salim Said, military historian and former foreign editor of Tempo, stressed the importance of knowing that Ali Murtopo had an ambition to one day become President of Indonesia, which did not please Suharto. Said argued:
Murtopo used CSIS to influence [both] the policy of the government and foreign policy. And CSIS: well funded, well financed, was well equipped for that. So CSIS was really the tool of Ali Murtopo in influencing Suharto, in influencing the policy of the government, and in preparing himself to become the candidate to replace Suharto, the day Suharto decided to step down. For foreign journalists, if you need information you go to CSIS, they will direct you to Murtopo and so on, but you have to be aware that is their agenda, you don’t write outside that, so they corner you inside the paradigm you created.135
These are complex issues for a journalist who might simply require a quote to substantiate a story, and must file by the deadline in a few hours. But these are issues that journalists during the New Order period had to deal with when consulting CSIS and using it as a source. Australian government officials were wary of being ‘cornered’. A file in the Department of Foreign Affairs office records show officials were concerned that Australia kept obtaining so much information from CSIS and Tjan and Murdani about the East Timor invasion of 1975, that the Australian Government could be compromised and seen as supporting Indonesian invasion of East Timor.136 Briot said, “CSIS was seen as an easy window into Indonesian thinking. What worried me was it was too easy. They were only telling us what they wanted us to know.”137
134 Tjan, personal interview. 135 Saliam Said, personal interview, Jakarta, October, 2006. Salim Said, “The Political Role of the Indonesian Military: Past, Present, and Future”, Southeast Asian Journal of Social Sciences, 15, 1 (1987). Genesis of Power: General Sudirman and the Indonesian Military in Politics, 1945-49, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian studies, 1991. Tumbuh dan Tumbangnya Dwifungsi (The Making and Unmaking of The Dual Funtion of the Indonesian Armed Forces)., Jakarta: Aksara Karunia, 2002. 136 McDonald and Ball, Death in Balibo; Lies in Canberra, p. 66. 137 Ibid. 221
After the death of Ali Murtopo in 1984, Lieutenant-General Benny Murdani, a Catholic, became affiliated with CSIS as his influence became wider in Indonesian politics. Indeed, Murdani’s role at CSIS was not as pronounced as Murtopo’s, but his influence was there nonetheless. Greg Sheridan described CSIS as “the most important think-tank in Indonesia” because “it had direct and powerful access to the decision makers…but was very closely associated with Murdani”.138 Thus, journalists closely linked with CSIS were seen to be ‘friends’ with Benny Murdani. This was also because of how CSIS would embed the Australian journalist with its Generals to various regions of the archipelago, regions that journalists would normally not have access to, but as Jenkins explained, “You travel round for two weeks with all the General's staff on board. They adopt you, they give you nicknames, you're taken under their wing, and they give you access. But they want journalists to pose in photos with them - they think you're part of the family.”139 The concern for Australian journalists was that they were perilously close to pushing the line given to them by the Generals, Murtopo and Murdani.
Australian journalists I interviewed talked openly in retrospect about their closeness to CSIS. Jenkins agreed it was a concern being linked too closely to CSIS, especially when he wanted information from elsewhere, in particular from other generals not involved with CSIS, or not allied to Murdani. He said, “This [alliance with CSIS] was also the kiss of death - if you were seen to be with this group, others might not talk to you, so you tried to have other sources, but it was very difficult to see what the Indonesian government were doing.”140 Hamish McDonald looked back on his use of CSIS with some concern. He said, “Usually they would tell you the truth, not always the whole truth, but bits of the truth, and often if it was a particular line they would flag that line. I think in retrospect we were probably a bit uncritical of it. But I think we reported the Jakarta side quite well.”141 Leigh Mackay, AAP reporter in the 1980s, stated, “CSIS would never give me anything that would damage their image or put them offside with the military.”142 He concluded, “I think we all got a bit too close. All of us relied very much on CSIS. We talked about this, a danger that were being captured or
138 Greg Sheridan, Asian Tigers: Leaders of the New Pacific, Allen and Unwin, 1997, p. 157. 139 Jenkins, personal interview. 140 Ibid. 141 McDonald, personal interview. By ‘The Jakarta side’ McDonald means the official Jakarta position and reporting Jakarta politics. 142 Mackay, personal interview. 222
manipulated, but all this stuff they gave me, you couldn’t get anywhere else.”143 Jenkins wrote that CSIS were largely willing to “shower” correspondents “with all kinds of help and hospitality, the fullest of briefings, the frankest of assessments” as long as the correspondent played by “the rules of the game” – to take care when writing on sensitive subjects.144 Foreign correspondents allied with CSIS then, ran the very real danger of any negative story as not being seen as part of the ‘rules of the game.’ Critical pieces were seen as a personal attack on a ‘friend’, and an offence to the host. This was exemplified enormously with the Jenkins Affair, where the 1986 ‘Suharto billions’ article was seen as a foolish and inconsiderate personal attack by an experienced and connected journalist who knew ‘the rules of the game’.145 Jenkins wrote that he was, “reminded, somewhat harshly, of the truth that there can be no real friendship between politicians and journalists”146, as Murdani was said to be furious with Jenkins after he saw the article.147
Thus, it can be argued that Australian journalists during the New Order knew they were allied too closely with CSIS, and knew some of the information was distributed for the benefit of the organisation and its members. Murdani especially received constant publicity due to his assistance, and was regularly portrayed as a logical heir apparent to Suharto.148 Certainly, the problem for Australian journalists was how to report the government side if there was no official source willing to volunteer information, hence their preoccupation with ‘second track diplomacy’. However, as we have seen in this examination of the use of sources in Indonesia, Australian journalists were caught in the CSIS web because of their preoccupation with being part of the inner
143 Ibid. 144 David Jenkins, ‘Indonesia: Government Attitudes towards the Domestic and Foreign Media’, pp. 157- 58. 145 This has been discussed in Chapter II. It is worth noting again here that many Indonesian politicians and military figures felt Jenkins had written the article to undermine Suharto and support the rise to power of Benny Murdani, who, as we have seen was closely involved with CSIS and with providing Jenkins with details and access. Jenkins, personal interview. Michael Byrnes Australia and the Asia Game, Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1994, has also been discussed in Chapter I. Chapter IV also quotes Byrnes as saying “I had no way of knowing the full machinations” in which the Indonesian Government tried to control him through “blunt instruments and subtle techniques”, p. 144. 146 Jenkins, ‘ Indonesia: Government Attitudes towards the Domestic and Foreign Media’, p. 158. 147 Jenkins, personal interview. This has also been explained in Chapter II. 148 A few articles are listed here from the The Sydney Morning Herald, ‘Murdani tells of battle to win hearts and minds in Papua’, 18 December, 1984 p. 5. ‘Murdani seeks PNG pact on border’, 19 December, 1984, p. 7. 29, May, 1985 ‘Murdani angry over China visit’, p. 7. March 31, 1986, ‘How a general rebuilt Indonesia’s army’, p. 9. 22 April, 1986, ‘Jakarta’s army chief warns of defence setback’, 22 April, 1986, p. 3. ‘Murdani criticised foreign press reports of Indonesia’, 10 January 1987, p. 17. ‘Murdani tipped for Soeharto ministry’, 9 November, 1987, p. 15. 11 February, 1988, ‘Murdani to retire next month’, p. 7. 223
sanctum of Jakarta politics. CSIS could provide this entre, but journalists were forced to play by their rules if they wanted to maintain these sources and contacts. One of the consequences of their association with privileged sources was that Australian journalists were seen as ‘allied’ to CSIS officials, which led them to question their own professional objectivity.
6.4. Conclusion: moving beyond hierarchical sources
This chapter has shown that Australian journalists in Indonesia have striven to be part of the inner sanctum of the Jakarta elite. Historically, the most common sources used were English-speaking diplomats, or official sources from the Indonesian Government or military. This is not to say that Australian journalists have used high-ranking officials exclusively, but rather, that official sources such as the Presidential Palace, or CSIS, were often the foreign correspondent's first port of call when a story broke.149 This supports Sigal’s argument, as it shows Australian journalists coped with uncertainty, confusion, and unfamiliar conditions by relying on authoritative sources when reporting from Indonesia. When analysing the work of foreign correspondents, their first contact is often their closest contact, and for many Australian journalists in Indonesia their first contact was the Jakarta elite. If there was a ‘hierarchy of sources’ as Sigal suggests, for Australian journalists in Indonesia, the president was number one, and CSIS number two because it was as close to the seat of power as one could get during the New Order.
This hierarchy was not as definitive in the last twenty years. As the New Order regime reached its final stages in the late 1990s, there was decreasing reliance on official sources to obtain information. CSIS, the masters of relaying information from behind the New Order curtain, were less important once the curtain came down. Louise Williams, Herald correspondent in Jakarta during the lead up and fall of Suharto in the late 1990s, argued that by her time the role of CSIS as a source for Australian journalists had dissipated. The 1970s and 1980s was a time when people were reading the mood and predicting what was going to happen next regarding the Indonesian
149 Peter Barnett, for example, had very good contacts with students when they started demonstrating against Sukarno in 1964 (although, ironically, this was partly through his brother, who worked with the Australian Embassy). 224
leadership. 150 How was the New Order regime holding up? When would Suharto step down? Who would take his place? By 1997-8 the New Order was falling apart, and there was little need for predictions from intellectuals in Jakarta. As Williams stated, “the story wrote itself.”151 Greg Earl, AFR correspondent from 1994-1999, said, “By the mid-1990’s Suharto and his children’s interests were not that secret.”152 Furthermore, The Australian’s Patrick Walters said the political elite wanted “the status quo rather than replacing Suharto”, but his 'journalistic instinct' told him they were unlikely to have their way.153 Thus, towards the end of the New Order, there was no longer such a reliance on being nestled with the elite of Jakarta to gather information. As David Hill and Krishna Sen have shown, the Indonesian media had changed enormously, with “global technological changes widening contradictions within the New Order’s political principles” which meant the media was less controlled by the Government.154 Australian journalists could use details from the Indonesian press more confidently. As it became clear the New Order was coming to an end, it was important that journalists established contacts that were not official government sources, as the story became much more focused on public opinion and social movements, especially amongst students and human rights groups.155
However, it could also be argued that journalists reduced their emphasis on CSIS not because they thought it was tied too closely to the Government, nor because they saw the problems of being associated with one source, as illustrated by the ‘Jenkins Affair’. CSIS decreased in importance for Australian journalists because it was no longer of use to them for contacts and access to restricted areas, and could not help them gain access to the post-New Order inner circle. Evan Williams stated that military
150 For example, see three articles in 1988 from The Sydney Morning Herald, ‘But who will succeed Suharto?’ February 13, 1988, p. 18, ‘The future without Suharto’, May 17, 1988, p. 19. ‘Suharto’s successor not yet in limelight, says Murdani’, 23 December, 1988, p. 6. 151 Louise Williams, personal interview, Wollongong, June, 2006. 152 Greg Earl, personal interview, Sydney, October, 2007. 153 Ida Mursyidah Palaloi, Indonesia in the Australian Press (a case study of the Soeharto Resignation, 21 May 1998), Science Resaerch Foundation, Sydney-Jakarta, 2005, p. 29. See also Andrew Jacubowicz and Rod Palmer, ‘Framing Suharto: Australian media accounts of the fall from power’, Gazette, Volume 64, Issue 2, April 2002 pp. 199-114. 154 David T. Hill and Krishna Sen, The Internet in Indonesia’s New Democracy, Routledge, 2005, p. 17. 155 See Jeffrey A. Winters, “The political impact of new information sources and technologies in Indonesia.” Gazette, Volume 64, Issue 2, April 2002, pp. 109-111. See also Menayang, Victor, Bimo Nugroho, and Dina Listiorini. “Indonesia's underground press: the media as social movements.” Gazette Volume 64, issue 2, April 2002, pp. 141-157, and Andreas Harsono, “Journalists' Use of the Internet Bubbled Up From Underground.” Nieman Reports Volume 54, Issue 4,Winter 2000, p. 74. 225
figures after the fall of the New Order were still sought after by the Western press, and that when given access they were still supposed to ‘play by the rules’. He wrote, “No one got to General Wiranto - not foreign journalists anyway - yet he was the man everyone wanted to hear from.” When Williams finally got an interview, Wiranto’s ‘minder’ said, “pleeease no interrogation”. “I kept getting the feeling they thought the questions should be nice and polite, like saying 'how's the weather?’ ‘Oh I do love what you've done with the trophy case’,” Williams quipped.156 Chapter VII will examine in greater detail modern day reporting of Indonesia, and in particular, the use of newswires and the internet as sources for foreign correspondents. It will argue that modern day information overload and a greater access to a wide variety of sources does not necessarily make reporting easier, or better.
The reporter and source are accomplices, perhaps unintentionally, in determining the content of the news. Rod Tiffen argued: “What foreign diplomats, businessmen, the Indonesian intelligentsia and parts of its bureaucracy and so on are saying about the government is filtered into news reports and judgements, and plays a direct role in shaping journalists’ attitudes.”157 This chapter adds an Indonesian historical study to the field of research that journalism scholars frequently write about – the use and misuse of sources. While it may be a prerequisite in the system of journalism to talk to the official, get the quote, and find inside information on government decision making processes, this chapter has shown there are problems if Australian correspondents report Indonesia predominantly through elite sources. Too much emphasis on one source or not enough on another can lead to a misreading of the political situation in various regions, and the consequences could be limited and distorted reports, as was the case with the 1965-66 killings. Foreign correspondents must be wary of reporting Indonesia through elite sources, even if it does adhere to accepted conventions of the reporting process. Seymour Topping, who had reported the Indonesian killings as the New York Times Jakarta correspondent, perhaps learnt from the experience of reporting Indonesia through the elite in Jakarta. As Times foreign editor in 1968, he expressed in a confidential memo to his correspondents:
156 Evan Williams, ‘Gus Dur: The Man who Would’, p. 55. 157 Rod Tiffen, ‘New Order Regime Style and the Australian Media’, in Kingsbury, Payne and Loo (ed.), Foreign Devils and other journalists, 2000, p. 48. 226
We can be less preoccupied with the daily official rhetoric of the capitals. We should report more about how the people live, what they and their societies look like, how their institutions and systems operate. Our reports should reflect more fully the social, cultural, intellectual, scientific and technological revolutions which, more than political, are transforming world society.158
In Indonesia, this type of reporting means finding alternative sources to the Jakarta elite, and requires the news process to change, to the extent that the idea of a ‘hierarchy of sources’ is seen not only as outdated, but as problematic. It also requires foreign correspondents operating from Indonesia to move away from their determination to be part of the inner sanctum of Jakarta politics, and to use the sources available to them in the wider community. This expansion of sources may reflect a broadening idea of ‘Indonesia’ for their audience at home. As the Australian media’s obsession with the palace shows, too often it inclines foreign correspondents to focus on elite politics at the expense of stories that help Australians understand more about who Indonesians are and how they live. This contributes to a narrow and distorted coverage of Indonesia in the Australian media.
This chapter has shown that while the availability and selection of sources does depend on government controls, it is worth emphasising that the problems here are largely due to the institutionalised processes of the news system which requires journalists to find elite sources – especially in political journalism – and follow the hierarchical system of source selection that dominates Western reporting practice. It is this process that needs to be questioned, and improved upon. While the previous two chapters have discussed government controls as hindering journalists’ professional practice, and therefore, impinging on the freedom of the press, journalists’ professional practices are also hindered if they are forced, either by editors or through their own volition, to limit their reporting process to an elite inner sanctum because the unwritten expectations and values of ‘news’ demand contacts with the elite. Thus, this chapter expands on the argument from previous chapters that Australian journalists’ agency to report in Indonesia has been inhibited and repressed. While the previous chapters argued this was largely due to government influences and their lack of freedom from oppression, this chapter has shown it was also due to the internal forces of the news system, which inhibits journalists’ freedom to report Indonesia on a broader scope. The
158 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 217. 227
final chapter will continue this argument, looking particularly at contemporary Australian reporting from Indonesia.
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CHAPTER VII
NEW TECHNOLOGIES AND REPORTING
The previous chapter showed there were limitations and restrictions on Australian journalists’ freedoms in Indonesia other than government controls outlined in chapters IV and V. This chapter will build on this argument by examining the limitations on Australian journalists’ professional practice in Indonesia due to technological and editorial shaping of contemporary newsgathering. Although some restrictions from the Indonesian Government have continued post-Suharto1, Australian reporters are operating in an era of press freedom that many of their predecessors could only imagine. This chapter will argue that the increasing speed of technology has become a major impediment for contemporary Australian correspondents to Indonesia. Faster and more reliable communications have led to an increase in greater editorial direction from Australia, and a change in reporting practice to encompass a rolling news story. Michael Maher, ABC Jakarta correspondent, 1997-99, summed up the changing professional practice of Australian journalists to Indonesia when he wrote: “The lot of the foreign correspondent today is to feed rather than be fed – to feed a voracious beast with an insatiable, twenty-four hour appetite.”2 This has implications for the way we receive news about Indonesia, and the way Australian foreign correspondents operate from the archipelago. This chapter will examine the reporting of Indonesia and the impact of improving technology and increased editorial direction. It will conclude with the Schapelle Corby ‘megaspectacle’, and argue that the sensationalist and misleading reporting of this event was largely a result of contemporary reporting practices outlined in this chapter.
1 As Chapter IV has shown, Indonesian Government controls post-New Order have continued. In particular, the banning of Herald correspondent Lindsay Murdoch, and the continual lack of access of foreign journalists to travel to West Papua are of concern to those advocating for press freedom in Indonesia once Suharto fell. 2 Michael Maher, ‘Vietnam: Between deadlines’, in Trevor Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ tales: Stories from the ABC’s foreign correspondents, ABC books, 2001, p. 169. 229
Journalism is a competitive business, and Australian media agencies pride themselves on achieving high ratings and staying one step ahead of their competitors. Barring mistakes, the ‘winner’ is, and always has been, the journalist who gets to the story and gets their material to the relay point first.3 Therefore, the logistics involved in reporting - travel, communications and general resourcefulness - are important aspects of a journalists’ professional practice. This is as true for reporting Indonesia as it is for anywhere in the world. The improvements in communications technology during the twentieth century led to remarkable changes in the news process.4 This chapter will focus on the impact of particular new technologies and how they affect Australian reporting from Indonesia. It will show that new technologies mean reporting can be rich and timely, but there are concerns when the immediacy of news determines its content. This chapter will argue that these new technologies have contributed to a new model of reporting news. The news report or ‘item’ has become absorbed into a pattern of news ‘flows’. Correspondents are expected to take advantage of the almost instantaneous communication speeds of the internet, satellite and mobile phone, and build a news story with ongoing, brief ‘bites’ described here as a ‘rolling news story’. While journalists may be able to distribute the news to Australia much faster than ever before, these new technologies have not necessarily made reporting easier, nor are reports likely to be more accurate.
This chapter will focus on the foreign correspondent’s ability to ‘get the story out’ of Indonesia and onto news desks in Australia. Earlier correspondents’ greatest hindrance to ‘getting the story out’ (apart from Government censorship)5 was the limited technology slowing down the process of newsgathering and reporting. Improvements in communications technology have enabled many of these limitations to be overcome. While earlier correspondents talked of ‘primitive’ technologies taking considerable time to file a story, contemporary correspondents realise that improvements in communications technology means taking considerable time to report a story is a rarely affordable luxury.
3 Mort Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes; Reporting the world to America, Harper Colophon Books, 1979, p. 78. 4 Denis Cryle and Jean Hiller (eds.), Consent and consensus: politics, media and governance in twentieth century Australia, Perth, API Network, 2005. 5 Chapter IV has shown that while there were considerable pressures placed on journalists by the Indonesian Government, censorship by the Indonesian Government of actual copy was largely limited and perfunctory, and for the most part the government pressured journalists to self-censor, or face expulsion. 230
7.1. Early technology and editorial direction
This section outlines the technology used by Australian journalists from 1945-1975. It will show that compared with today’s technology, the mechanical operations journalists used to communicate with Australia to ‘get the story out’ were unreliable, painstaking and slow. This section will conclude by examining the consequences of this to the reporting process. It will argue that stories were slow to reach Australia, and journalists spent hours simply trying to ‘get the story out’. However, because of this ‘primitive’ technology, Australian journalists to Indonesia had only limited contact with editors from Australia, and thus were more likely to shape, analyse and contextualise stories with little direction from home. Thus, it is argued Australian journalists of this era had a significant amount of freedom to travel, analyse and report the news from Indonesia.
7.1.1. Early ‘primitive’ technology
Correspondents of the 1960s, upon reflection today, described their technology as ‘primitive’. This opinion, of course, would be based largely upon knowing the types of technology used today by foreign correspondents, which makes the technology used in the 1960s seem more time-consuming and frustrating. Due to the nature of technology at the time, one of the most common difficulties for these correspondents was dealing with the logistics of actually ‘getting the story out’ of Indonesia. During Sukarno’s Guided Democracy period, telegraph communications in Indonesia were unreliable. This was due to problems such as damage to equipment and theft of wire, propagation disturbance, and a shortage of petrol for the operation of generators.6 Disturbances to communication also came from fighting in certain areas of Indonesia, when ordinarily slow operation procedures became even more difficult and delayed. Correspondents reporting on the Sumatra rebellion in 1958, for example, were unable to use the cable links from Sumatra to Jakarta because the cables were damaged by the fighting.7
6 Anne Parapak, History of Posts and Telecommunications in Indonesia; Guided Democracy Period, Directorate General of Posts and Telecommunications, 1982, p. 97. 7 Ibid. They were reopened in 1960. 231
Instead, nightly reports were sent by radio, tapped out arduously by signallers and picked up by press agencies in Singapore, before finally finding their way to Australia.8 Denis Warner, who entered Sumatra after being refused a visa, found himself under arrest for using a rebel radio to transmit despatches through to Singapore, as his transmission were being monitored in Jakarta.9 Such was the danger of ‘getting the story out’ through the wrong channels.
In Jakarta during the 1960s, there was no satellite transmission, editing facilities were poor, and all film was transported out by air.10 Journalists used the technique of ‘pigeoning’ their film and audiotape. ‘Pigeoning’ involved hand carrying the film bag to Jakarta airport and asking a passenger to carry the package to its destination. This was usually Singapore, where Australian news organizations, such as the ABC, maintained their Southeast Asian bureaus. This technique was designed to avoid Indonesian censorship, but the process was painstaking and slow. The ABC’s Tim Bowden recalled being in Singapore waiting for Philip Koch’s package to arrive via ‘pigeon’ from Jakarta. “The problem in Singapore was we didn't know which flight Philip's material might be on,” Bowden wrote, “We had a roster, going to the airport and importuning arriving passengers from Jakarta once they had passed through customs.”11 Passengers were usually quite obliging, despite not knowing the contents of the package.12 Mike Carlton used to tell the passenger to hold the bag in the air and wait for someone to come along to take it. He reflected on this nearly 40 years later: “You wouldn’t do it these days in a million years! It was all terribly primitive, but it invariably worked.”13 Bowden agreed that this method was “time consuming, tedious, but essential.”14 This was the length correspondents went to during the 1960s to get the story out of Indonesia, and to avoid film falling into the Indonesian Government’s hands.
8 James Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, Jonathan Cape, London, 1961, p. 77. When rebel radio was used to transmit despatches, they were received by rebel representatives in Singapore and then passed on to Cable and Wireless. 9 Denis Warner, Wake me if there's trouble: An Australian correspondent at the front line- Asia at war and at peace 1944-1964, Penguin Books, 1995, p. 269. 10 Ibid., p. 274. Satellites over the U.S. began service in the 1970s. The Palapa satellite system was launched in 1976, making Indonesia only the third country in the world to own a satellite, but was under the control of the Indonesian Government’s telecommunications agency, Perumtel, until 1993. See Mark Crawford, ‘Information Revolution’, Inside Indonesia, Issue 48, October-December, 1996. See also Philip Kitley, Television, Nation and Culture in Indonesia, Ohio University Center for Interntional Studies, 2000, pp. 54-56. 11 Tim Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 2003, p. 235. 12 Ibid. 13 Mike Carlton, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 14 Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, p. 235. 232
Print journalists in the 1960s were still filing their copy by Morse code.15 Before the arrival of telex facilities, print reporters used telegram cables to transmit their dispatches. Conversing through cables was a distinct language all on its own that foreign correspondents had to learn. They were taught that no unnecessary word should be in the copy, as pricing was charged by the word. In 1958, to send one word via cable from Jakarta to Australia cost 10 pence.16 Here is an example of a cable sent to Jakarta correspondent, Frank Palmos, at his room in Hotel Indonesia, Jakarta, in 1965. The cable read:
GOOD WORK SATURDAYS SUN AIRLINE HARASSMENT CLAIM SATURDAYS HERALD NEFOS SITUATIONER MONDAY SUN FOREIGN INVESTMENT TAKEOVER FRONT PAGE LEAD MONDAYS HERALD CONEFO VERSUS PAGE THREE CHEERS HOFFMAN.17
With this type of language, there was little ability for correspondents to converse extensively with their editors in Australia. Further to the limited technology, radio journalists had to agree with their superiors in advance when transmission times would be (regardless of the timing or nature of events taking place), or had to exchange a flurry of cables establishing particular broadcast times for breaking stories.18
Journalists would compose a story in their offices or homes on a typewriter. Hamish McDonald, whose digitally reproduced portrait today appears above his by-line in Sydney Morning Herald articles, was not always so well positioned in his early days in Jakarta. McDonald owned a portable Olivetti typewriter, which he bought for $50. As a freelance correspondent without a steady income, that was the extent of his technology.19 Once a story was written, journalists would take the written copy to the
15 David Edgerton, The shock of the old: Technology and global history since 1900, Profile Books, 2006, p. 7. 16 Newspaper News, January 10, 1958, in W. Sprague Holden, Australia Goes to Press, Wayne State University Press, 1961, p. 128. It stated: “charges of this kind can discourage even the strongest newspapers. For others they make direct reporting of events in some Pacific countries impossible.” 17 Telegram, J.E. Hoffman, Melbourne Herald, editor, 26 April, 1965. No. 21600. In the possession of Frank Palmos. 18 Alan Morris, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2007. 19 Hamish McDonald, personal interview, Sydney, June, 2006. 233
Jakarta Perumtel Public Telecom (PPT) office, located near the Palace.20 It would then be sent off via Morse code. Like ‘pigeoning’, this was also time consuming and tedious. The Telecom office often had a long list of material to be sent, so journalists waited as the story sat on the desk. Australian journalists would often stay in case the cable operator did not understand any of the words, and to make sure the copy went through.21 David Jenkins recalled the process of reporting: “Communications were very primitive. You'd telex things off and race of to the PPT office. Telephone was too expensive or unreliable or full of static.”22 On ‘big story’ occasions, it was not uncommon for Australian journalists to bribe the operator to relay the material straight away, such was their imperative to ‘get the story out’ as quickly as possible. 23
The ABC’s Colin Mason recalled that in the 1960’s: “Even from one suburb in Jakarta it was difficult to get a phone call through to another suburb, much less another city.”24 By the 1970s, journalists would occasionally use the telephone from the Telecom office and dictate their copy directly to Australia. This was done only on important stories, to justify the expense. Correspondents talked of telephone lines that crackled and hissed and were incredibly noisy. Sometimes it could take hours for the call to come through due to overburdened exchanges.25 It was also problematic, as the call was usually received at night in Australia, most often by the night editor or junior copywriter staffing the desk. McDonald commented that these night editors had “often just finished copywriting the trots or Dapto dogs and then have to struggle with Indonesian names.”26 From 1960-1975, the technology used by Australian journalists reporting from Indonesia remained largely similar.27 The main communications technologies were telex
20 The PTT Department and later PN Postel had the responsibility of “guarding the good name of Indonesia” through providing telecommunications facilities for “State guests”. See Parapak, History of Posts and Telecommunications in Indonesia, p. 106. 21 Many former correspondents commented in their personal interviews with me that they needed a reasonable working relationship with the staff operating the cables, as they often asked to get stories out quickly. 22 David Jenkins, personal interview, Sydney, April, 2006. 23 Carlton, personal interview. 24 Colin Mason, in the ABC’s online history, ‘ABC Around the World: On the job with ABC foreign correspondents - Indonesia’, http://www.abc.net.au/aroundtheworld/content/temp_indonesia.htm. (accessed 20 January, 2007). 25 See also Parapak, A History of Posts and Telecommunications in Indonesia, p. 121. 26 McDonald, personal interview. 27 Frances Caircross notes that although the telephone was invented in 1876, the first TV transmission in 1926, and the electronic computer was invented in the mid 1940s, change had been slow. But, he argues, 234
machines, non-digital telephones, switch operators, typewriters, and short-wave radios. These were not very different from the technology used by correspondents during WWII.28 Furthermore, the uncertain economic state of Indonesia meant development plans in technology were not implemented quickly.29 In the mid-1960’s, after the fall of Sukarno, the Australian Telecommunications Mission helped Indonesia to improve its automatic telephone exchanges and long-distance microwave links.30 There was, of course, progress in the field of telecommunications during this time, but before 1970 journalism was a ‘low technology’ occupation.31
Technological changes in news reporting was further developed as television was introduced to Australia in 1956.32 While war correspondent Tony Rafty’s sketches were some of the first images of Indonesia relayed to Australia, through portable television cameras used on location, Australians could receive moving pictures of life in Indonesia direct to their living rooms. However, new technology created for television had numerous mechanical problems. The original cameras were bulky, heavy, and could usually hold only about fourteen minutes worth of film.33 They could break down in intense heat and downpours (very much the climate of Indonesia) so that tape, and the mechanical parts of cameras, could easily be ruined. Television used images recorded on tape, but cost-conscious companies encouraged their cameramen to ‘edit inside the camera’ - that is, to provide an entire news story by showing only the essentials on one hundred feet of tape.34 As Australian foreign correspondents were initially trained only in radio and print, it did take considerable time to develop a sense of how to in each case, a revolution has taken place since the late 1980s. See Frances Cairncross, The Death of Distance, How the Communications Revolution Will Change Our Lives, Boston, 1997, pp. 4-12. 28 Philip Knightley, The First Casualty; The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-Maker from the Crimea to Iraq, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004. 29 Anne Parapak, History of Posts and Telecommunications in Indonesia; Volume V - New Order Era, Directorate General of Posts and Telecommunications Department of Transport, Communications and Tourism, pp. 141-143. 30 Ibid. 31 So argues Rosslyn Reed in ‘Journalism and Technology Practice Since the Second World War’, in Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, University of Queensland Press, 1999, pp. 218-228. 32 See Terry Flew and Callum Gilmour, ‘Television and pay TV’, in S. Cunningham & G. Turner (eds.) The Media & Communications in Australia, Allen and Unwin, 2006, p. 177. 33 See Tim Bowden, One Crowded Hour; Neil Davis, Combat Cameraman, 1934-1985, Collins, Sydney, 1987. 34 Neil Davis became a master of this in Vietnam, while working for Visnews, but he honed these skills in Indonesia beforehand. Bowden, One Crowded Hour. See also David H. Cohen, ‘St Louis pioneered advances in technology, enable news to be “up-to-date” and “live”’, St. Louis Journalism Review, volume 25, number 179, September 1995, pp. 16. Television news was gathered on film in 1970 and film had to be properly exposed, processed, physically cut to be edited, and projected. 235
communicate through the medium of television. Viewers today would regard the original television news reports as dull, disorganised and difficult to follow.35 Mike Carlton was the ABC Jakarta correspondent from 1967-70. He said, “If you go back to the TV of the 60's and 70's there is an awful lot of news reading and not much pictures.”36 As Carlton suggests, the emphasis was not necessarily on finding live and dramatic images, and the ABC did not have full time resident camera operators during these years. Indonesian television did not begin until 1962, and even then, from 1962- 1989 there was only one state-run channel37, so Australian news organistions had few experienced Indonesian camera operators to draw on.
This section has described the difficulties journalists faced in 'getting the story out' of Indonesia from 1950-1970 due to the primitive technology, in which methods were time-consuming, tedious and painstaking. Reaching Australia, or even Singapore, was incredibly difficult for the Indonesia correspondents as they began to establish news bureaus in Jakarta in the 1960s. It meant a considerable amount of time and energy of the correspondents' professional practice was taken up in simply overcoming difficulties of the archaic technology and undeveloped distribution networks. However, there were benefits to these limitations.
7.1.2. Contact with Australia
As well as difficulties in getting the story ‘out’ of Indonesia, this ‘primitive’ technology meant it was also difficult for editors to get their information ‘in’ to their correspondents. The result of this ‘primitive’ technology meant the earlier band of journalists (particularly the Asia Hands) were not regularly contacted by editors in Australia, and received only limited instructions as to how to pursue a story. Herald correspondent James Mossman received instructions from his Sydney editor in 1958 as he was reporting insurgency in Sumatra. The cable simply stated:
THINK YOU SHOULD GO NORTH CELEBES AND COVER WAR THERE TOO38
35 Daniel Hallin, We Keep America on Top of the World; Television Journalism and the Public Sphere, Routledge, London and New York, 1994, p. 140. 36 Carlton, personal interview. 37 See Kitley, Television, Nation and Culture in Indonesia, pp. 21-69. 38 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 187. 236
Neil Davis went to Indonesia in 1963 on the similar simple cable instruction from his editor, which stated:
PROCEED BORNEO39
Davis wrote in a letter to his aunt at the time that, “Everything else is left to me – where I go, how I travel, how long I stay, what film I take, how many films I shoot and what time (if any) I have off.”40 This is consistent with how many earlier correspondents explain their travels outside of Jakarta. Comparatively speaking, the earlier correspondents were relatively autonomous in choice and framing of stories. Correspondents in the 1950s could and did go on assignment for a number of weeks without regular contact from their news desk.41 Mossman was in Sulawesi for so long that a newspaper in Jakarta, on the advice from Western embassies concerned about his whereabouts, had reported him missing, feared dead.42 Denis Bloodworth, who reported from Indonesia from 1954, believed an essential part of being a foreign correspondent was to “opt out” of every day stories on Jakarta politics, leaving it, “to the TV cameraman to record the inch-by-inch progress of prince or premier, and go overland.”43 Many of the earlier correspondents believed part of being a journalist in Asia was to ‘get off the beaten track’.44
Freedom to be isolated from the newsroom in Australia for a period of time meant stories were guided less by the Australian domestic agenda. Mossman admitted it was easy to place too much emphasis on the story he was covering, as he did not have much information from other parts of the world. “When you are on the story you lose you sense of perspective a bit”, he said, “you forget that there are other things
39 Bowden, One Crowded Hour, p. 83. 40 Ibid., p. 87. 41 Most memoirs from Australian journalists to Indonesia have evidence of long trips with little contact with Australia. Specifically Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, Denis Warner, Wake me if there’s trouble, Peter Hastings, The Road to Lembang, Frank Palmos, Ridding the Devils, Tim Bowden’s biography of Neil Davis, One Crowded Hour, and Peter Polomka, Indonesia Since Sukarno, are a number of examples. These have also been discussed in Chapter I. 42 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 223. 43 Denis Bloodworth, An Eye for the Dragon: Southeast Asia Observed, 1954-1986, Singapore, Times Book International, 1987, p. 70. 44 Chapter I has discussed this as a romantic notion of the foreign correspondent venturing to far away lands, avoiding danger, deceit and destruction to somehow make sense of it all to the reader at home. While this research is not adding to this mythical perception of the journalist in history, it does seem that for the earlier correspondents, they believed leaving the desk for a number of weeks without contact from editors was not only possible, but essential to the reporting process. 237
happening in other places which could upstage your own little epic.”45 Scholars have also argued that the relative autonomy of the correspondents led to a greater freedom to choose ‘their’ Indonesia to report to Australia.46 This was discussed in chapter II in greater detail, with the Asia Hands having particular goals for the way they wanted to represent Indonesia to Australians. There was a concern that especially during the 1950s and 1960s, some journalists had an ideological commitment towards reporting the dangers of Indonesian communism to Australia.47 Denis Bloodworth, who wrote for the Observer in London, complained in 1963 that to the West, Indonesia represented more than a hundred-million potential anti-communists, and that especially during the Cold War, the victory over communism was “all the arithmetic the U.S. wants to know.”48 Mossman claimed those correspondents that ignored this were journalists who “took Indonesians at their own evaluation. They saw them, not as pawns in some global chess game between East and West, but as seventy-eight million people divided into scores of different clans and tribes and living on over eight thousand islands.”49 Thus, it can be argued that while journalists had much freedom to write about the ‘bigger picture’ of Indonesian life, there was a danger they would do so predominantly through larger contexts of global battles between world powers. But ideally, the freedom to travel, report and analyse without significant interference from Australian editors meant reporting was informed by the journalist’s first hand knowledge and contact with sources on the ground, a key component of newsgathering.
Interaction between resident journalists and editors in the early 1960s was all done through cables, which, as we have seen, were restricted in words because of the cost. While this method may have cut expenses, it meant correspondents received limited information and instructions, and much nuance in the communication to correspondents was lost. Frank Palmos received a cable from his news desk in Sydney:
45 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 102. 46 Alan Knight, ‘Reporting the “Orient”; Australian foreign correspondents in Southeast Asia’, PhD thesis, Faculty of Creative Arts, The University of Wollongong, 1997. This has been discussed in greater detail in Chapter I, but Knight discusses this as foreign journalists who travelled to Asia and reported without much editorial control. See also Stephen Mackinnon and Freison Oris, China Reporting; An Oral History of American Journalism in the 1930s and 40s, University of California, 1987. They wrote about American correspondents in the 1930s and 1940s who chose ‘their’ China, and were more empathetic and romantic in their reporting of China than journalists at home. 47 See Knight, ‘Reporting the “Orient”’, and Richard Tanter, ‘After Fear, Before Justice’, Inside Indonesia, No 61, January-March, 2000. 48 Bloodworth, An Eye for the Dragon, p. 70. 49 Mossman, Rebels in Paradise, p. 254. 238
I THINK ALL YOUR PUBLISHED STORIES HAVE BEEN VERY GOOD PICTURES SPLENDID BEST WISHES ARCHER THOMAS.50
The ABC’s Mike Carlton explained the consequences of this limited dialogue with editors in the 1960s. He said, “It made life very easy. Communications were so primitive you didn't work too hard, the editor couldn't get back to you.”51 Because of the difficulties in telephoning Jakarta from Australia,52 and the reliance on cables, editors could not place immediate demands upon their correspondents. David Jenkins, who could not recall using the telephone in Jakarta in the 1967-70 period, said all communication with his foreign editor in Melbourne was done through cables, which led to greater agency in selecting and reporting stories. He said, “The correspondent was out there on their own. I was free to do my own thing. If there wasn’t much breaking news I could go off and do features. I enjoyed the freedom of it.”53 Carlton agreed: “You were mercifully free of interference”, he said.54
As Chapter VI has shown, there were still pressures from editors for correspondents to remain in Jakarta and cover the politics and movements of the President. Furthermore, in the 1960s correspondents often still preferred to gather together rather than travel out on their own, with the grandiose Hotel Indonesia housing many foreign correspondents.55 In addition, the lack of regular contact also meant it was customary for editors to make an occasional personal visit to the Jakarta bureau. Foreign correspondents would joke this was a ‘state visit’. They would often introduce their editors to highly ranked officials in Jakarta, both Indonesian and foreign, in accordance with the ‘state visit’ principles of treating the editor much like a visiting
50 Cable to Frank Palmos, Room 229, Hotel Indonesia, Jakarta, from Archer Thomas No, 61719. in the possession of Frank Palmos. 51 Carlton, personal interview. 52 Journalists recall the Australian Ambassadors number in Jakarta being double digits. See also Parapak, A History of Posts and Telecommunications in Indonesia, p. 54. 53 Jenkins, personal interview. 54 Carlton, personal interview. 55 The lavish Hotel Indonesia was built in 1962 in the new centre of Jakarta as Sukarno insisted on building a five star hotel in conjunction with the Asian Games of the same year. See Herb Feith ‘Indonesia’s Political Symbols and Their Wielders’, World Politics, Volume 16, 1963, pp. 79-97. Hotel Indonesia became the place where all foreign tourists, businessmen and correspondents would stay. Bowden in One Crowded Hour, p. 100, Hotel Indonesia was an “oasis amongst the chaos”, from a city of rising inflation, chaos, searing heat and humidity, and was one of the few air-conditioned, multi-storey buildings in Jakarta. Unsurprisingly for foreign correspondents, the hotel bar was a constant avenue for escape for correspondents. This is depicted by C.J Koch in the novel, The Year of Living Dangerously, where much of the press corps ‘escapes’ to the hotel, mingling mostly with other Westerners, eating and drinking imported goods, and discussing stories over a gin and tonic. 239
dignitary. If subjected to a ‘state visit’ from an editor, the journalist would make sure they worked long and hard to maintain, at least in appearance, a professional attitude, and remind the editor of the imperative nature of the Jakarta bureau.56 Once the editor (or, for the ABC, the ‘Controller of News’) had gone, Carlton recalled: “By and large you were left to your own devices.”57 Thus, while journalists were under the watchful eye of superiors when they visited Jakarta, for the most part the dialogue with editors on a regular basis was limited due to the lack of technology to support fast and accurate information exchanges. Even when communication with editors did improve slightly with the telephone in the 1970s, it mostly meant journalists would ring editors either in Singapore or Australia only a few times a week.58 Correspondents talked of having ‘freedom’ to operate as they wished, with deadlines limited, at most, to daily dispatches. In his 1978 study, Rod Tiffen found that Australian foreign correspondents to Asia enjoyed considerable autonomy in the field.59 When Australian correspondents did travel outside Jakarta, the poor communication technology meant they were often completely unable to receive instructions or directions from Australia, or even Singapore. It is against this context that contemporary newsgathering needs to be juxtaposed, to analyse how improvements in technology by the end of the twentieth century have meant greater limitations and restrictions on journalists today.
7.2. Contemporary newsgathering
This section will outline the improvements in communications technology by the late 1990s, with particular reference to satellite and the Internet. It will show that these improvements have meant the news is received at record speed, enabling Australians to hear ‘breaking news’ instantaneously, or ‘news as it happens’ from Indonesia. This section will show how this has changed journalists’ professional practice, whereby correspondents now report a ‘rolling news story’ with deadlines and updates increased
56 This seemed especially important in the 1960s for the ABC, whose ‘Controller of News’, Talbot Duckmanton, would occasionally visit Jakarta. See Bowden, Spooling through an irreverent memoir, and Peter Barnett, Foreign Correspondence: A Journalists Biography, 2001. Neil Davis also jokes at editors’ desire to be seen as an important official who mingled in elite circles, in Bowden, One Crowded Hour, 1987, pp. 65-66, 69-70, 79-80. 57 Carlton, personal interview. 58 McDonald, personal interview. 59 Rod Tiffen, The News from Southeast Asia, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 1978, pp. 75-8. 240
from daily, to sometimes hourly, reports. Live reporting and updated news has to some extent always existed, especially for radio journalists (although stories were compiled over a greater period of time), but the concept of a ‘rolling news story’ is defined here as a new practice whereby live, ‘as it happens’ reporting and hourly updates significantly change the professional practice of foreign correspondents, so they have less time to travel, analyse, report and put stories in greater context.60 This section will argue that the improvements in technology have meant editors in Australia have more contact with journalists in Indonesia, which leads to increased editorial direction and stories determined by domestic consumption in Australia, restricting the ‘freedom’ or agency of the correspondent, as was described by earlier generations in the previous section. The speed of technology, editorial demands and increasing competition have meant many Australian journalists to Indonesia feel they cannot look beyond the next, seemingly immediate, deadline, and the ‘bigger picture’ of Indonesia in all in complexity recedes with every digital transmission.
7.2.1. Live television and radio reporting
With the advent of satellite technology in the mid-1970s, a television news report could be broadcast the same day the event happened. The launch of the Satcom I satellite in 1975 in the United States was soon developed to incorporate network news ventures such as CNN, which emphasised live programming, in part to fill time and keep costs low.61 It had a stunning capacity to provide instant news of breaking events, from political crises to erupting volcanoes, to religious riots. The advent of colour television news broadcasts in Australia in 1975 furthered the rise of the medium.62
Television’s ability to bring to the rest of the world extraordinary footage signalled the power of images, and ‘actuality’ in newsgathering.63 Although from a
60 See Stephe Quinn and Vincent F. Filak, Convergent journalism: an introduction, Focal Press, 2005, and also Celia Friend and Jane B. Singer, Online journalism ethics: traditions and transitions, Armonk, 2007. 61See Lewis A. Friedland, Covering the World: International Television News Services, Twentieth Century Fund Press, 1992, p. 14. 62 Barbara Alysen, The Electronic Reporter: Broadcast journalism in Australia, UNSW Press, 2006, p. 37. 63 See Roland Barthes, ‘The photographic message’, in S. Sontag (ed.) A Roland Barthes Reader, Vintage, London, 1993, pp. 194-210. Scholars have written about news and its ‘actuality’ and objectivity 241
much later period, the most famous example of this in Indonesia was British filmmaker Max Stahl’s video footage of the Santa Cruz cemetery massacre in Dili, East Timor, on November 12, 1991.64 Stahl’s footage was broadcast widely around Australia and became a catalyst for greater international condemnation of Indonesian involvement in East Timor.65 The story was a remarkable testament not only to his bravery in recovering the footage66, but to the power of television images. Ten years after Peter Rodgers won a Walkely for his story and photographs of starving children in East Timor, many print journalists complained that they previously reported about Indonesian military control in East Timor, yet Stahl’s footage received international recognition because it was caught on video.67 John Birmingham argued that Stahl’s footage was the “spin doctor’s nightmare that Jakarta and its Western backers never really had to face before.”68
Nothing Indonesian officials might say or do could wipe out those images, which were sent around the world and replayed time and again, exposing to international audiences the graphic evidence of the harshness of Indonesia’s occupation of East Timor.69 Furthermore, the images meant Australian print reporters had more
and neutrality, especially with regards to Television images. See John Langer Tabloid Television: Popular Journalism and ‘Other News’, Routledge, 1998, and Hall, ‘The determination of news photographs’, in S, Cohen and J.Young (eds.) The Manufacture of News, London: Constable, 1973. See also Charlotte Brundson & David Morley, Everyday Television: ‘Nationwide’, London, British Film Institute, 1978. 64 See the documentary, Cold Blood: The Massacre of East Timor, Produced by Peter Gordon, Yorkshire Television, Maxwell’s Collection, Avalon, NSW Australia, 1992. 65 John Martinkus, A Dirty Little War, Random House, Millers Point, NSW, 2001, p. xi. 66 Stahl, a freelance reporter in East Timor, buried the footage under a tombstone in the cemetery. He was interrogated by Indonesia TNI, and later exhumed the tapes and sent them off to news organizations all around the world. The next day, Dutch reporter Saskia Kouwenberg smuggled the tapes out of East Timor and then out of Indonesia. The footage was originally screened in the Netherlands, then Britain and other countries. See Errol Hodge’s chapter ‘The Indonesian Massacre 1991-93’ in Radio Wars: Truth, Propaganda and the struggle for Radio Australia, Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 206-226. 67 Don Greenlees and Robert Garran, Deliverance: The Inside Story of East Timor’s Fight for Freedom, Allen and Unwin, 2002, p. 22. Sometimes Australian journalists in the 1980s fell back on this method to avoid Indonesian censors. Peter Rodgers won a Walkely for getting pictures of starving children in East Timor out. He was able to send these pictures by ‘pigeoning’ through, ironically, Indonesia’s national airline, Garuda. See Peter Rogers, ‘The Domestic and International Press in Indonesia; Free but Responsible?’ CSSAR, 1981, p. 27. Stahl’s footage was also smuggled out after being buried in a cemetary grave for a period time. This was ‘pigeoning’ of a different kind – to hide from censors and to ensure this footage got out to international news agencies. 68 John Birmingham, ‘Appeasing Jakarta’ in Quarterly Essay, Birmingham also notes the eyewitness testimony of American reporters Allen Nairn and Amy Goodman. Also present was Australian journalist Russell Anderson, who tells his story in ‘The massacre of 12 November, 1991’, in Jim Aubrey, Sydney, Random House, 1998, Free East Timor: Australia’s Culpability in East Timor’s Genocide, pp. 145-52. 69 Louise Williams, On the wire; An Australian Journalist on the Frontline in Asia, Simon and Schuster, 1992, p. 209. 242
leeway, and they wrote powerfully of the event.70 Many journalists and editors claimed Stahl’s film inspired them to continue the coverage of Indonesia’s occupation.71 Although the images were not broadcast live, this was clearly an example where recording news for television ‘as it happened’ led to greater awareness and international recognition of an important and newsworthy event.
However, scholars have previously shown that the importance in obtaining images for television news reduces the ability of the medium to tell the whole story. The footage can become the key to the story, so that television newsgathering quickly becomes enslaved to finding images. If an idea cannot be recorded in the form of an image, it will rarely, if ever, be given extensive time on a nightly network newscast.72 Neil Henry has shown that television may be an excellent transmitter of images, but is often a poor transmitter of facts, context and background.73 While faster than any medium in describing scenes vividly, television reporting is also the slowest of all in gathering and editing analytical material. While this gave greater impact and immediacy to the news film, it also meant that television crews had less time to prepare their reports. Jim Lederman has shown with American television coverage of the Infitada that television technology requires so much time for the gathering and editing of images, the time available for cogent thought is compressed.74 Furthermore, the people who manage television news are not, and rarely have been, reporters themselves. As one foreign correspondent put it, “it’s like having an airforce where the pilots are barred from command.”75 The visual images, already powerful in their own right, eventually came to dominate the content and substance of television news reports totally.76 Lederman called this form of television news, “moving hieroglyphics”, where the images themselves
70 Hodge argues in ‘Constraints in Reporting Indonesia’, in Anton Lucas, Half a Century of Indonesian- Ausrtalian Interaction, p. 52, that MacIntosh was able to report freely about this event despite being the re-establishment of the Jakarta office only a month after the ABC had been frozen out from Indonesia for 11 years. Hodge argued that to expel Macintosh would have only intensified the world-wide attention focused on the massacre. However, Macintosh and Radio Australia were criticised both by some Australians and by Indonesian officials for their reporting of the massacre. See also Hodge, Radio Wars, pp. 220-224. 71 See Brian Martin, Justice Ignited: The Dynamics of Backfire, Bowman and Littlefield, 2007, pp. 23-33. 72 Ivor Yorke, Television News, 4th edition, Focal Press, 2000, p. 10. 73 Neil Henry, American Carnival: Journalism Under Siege in the Age of New Media, University of California Press, 2007, p. 44. 74 Jim Lederman, Battle Lines: The American Media and the Intifada, Henry Holt & Co., New York, 1992, p. 122. This work has been discussed in detail in Chapter I. 75 Matt MacGregor, Live, Direct and Biased? Making Television News in the Satellite Age, Arnold, 1997, p. 199. 76 Lederman, Battle Lines, p. 122. 243
speak as the story instead of words, and television is subliminally able to form and shape public perceptions about events and personalities through “imagespeak”.77 Thus the repetition of images can and do take on a symbolic, not just literal, meaning. This means that images can be strung together like words to form phrases, sentences, or full paragraphs. Television news longs for the visual impact of images, such as bombs, natural disasters, and violent political protests, and with the decline in current affairs programs,78 and the demise of many evening newspapers, television has increasingly been harnessed as a medium for quick, image-driven sound-bytes.
This style of newsgathering leads to a process where information is fed to the foreign correspondent from Australia, while the correspondent is more concerned with ‘getting the shot’ on the scene. Mike Carlton laments this in today’s television reporting, as it lessens the role of the journalist in the process of gathering information, rather than providing appropriate images. “There is a voracious demand for pictures,” he said, “a lot of what you see on TV these days isn’t foreign correspondent stuff at all, it's people standing in front of the appropriate scenery, reading stuff that has already been sent from their Sydney TV.”79 As television gained a more powerful hold over audiences, ABC foreign correspondents now spent the majority of their time on television stories, knowing these, not radio, would enhance (or destroy) their career.80 Contemporary ABC correspondents explained that the role of camera operators has become more crucial to the reporting of Indonesia. As stated earlier, fifty years ago there was little emphasis on images in the news reports, and few resident Australian camera operators were hired during the 1960-1975 period. However, over twenty years later, during the Timor crisis of 1999, the ABC had two cameramen, one of whom, Terry McDonald, was described as “organizing the daily running of operations…quartermaster, sargeant-major and cameraman all at once”, as he was fluent in Indonesian, and was responsible for hiring translators and drivers, and purchasing vehicles, accommodation and equipment.81
77 Ibid., p. 175. 78 See Graeme Turner, Ending the Affair: the decline of television current affairs in Australia, UNSW Press, 2005. 79 Carlton, personal interview. 80 Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 145. 81 Mark Bowling, Running Amok, Hodder, 2006, p. 156. The ABC had a reporting team that consisted of David Anderson and Terry McDonald as camermen, plus Geoff Thompson, Tim Lester, Di Martin, Hidayat Djajamihardja and Mark Bowling. 244
Peter Lloyd wrote of reporting the Bali bombing that “being a television reporter means never being alone. There’s always someone with you…to follow the ‘recipe’ of making TV. It’s just like baking a cake. Put together the basic ingredients of pictures and people”.82 Yet ‘baking the cake’ for television is not always easy. Lloyd recalled he and his cameraman having a “simultaneous professional frustration” when they realized it was too dark to film any night time pictures as they arrived in Bali on October 12, 2002, hours after the bomb had exploded in the Sari club. He pleaded with nursing staff in the local Denpasar hospital that television cameras be allowed inside to film, as “the story needed to be documented”, confirming the problem stated earlier that if there is no footage, there is no story.83 Television journalists now quip that if you have time to research a story, consider yourself lucky.84 The problems of live reporting are exemplified in the recent history of war reporting. While there are numerous increases in war correspondents covering modern day wars, the increasing reliance on ‘live’ reporting has led to a lack of analysis and context placed over the images and events broadcast.85 This was particularly the case for television and radio reporters. Kimina Lyall, South-East Asia correspondent for The Australian during an overlapping period with Lloyd, wrote: “Whereas I generally had one deadline a day, Peter would have three or four major ones and then be constantly taking calls from dozens of ABC local radio stations wanting to do ‘live crosses’ with him.”86
The power of ‘live’ reporting was furthered by the arrival of satellite and cellular telephones, which meant radio broadcasts could now be instantaneous. These telephones were often better quality than land-line phones operating from Indonesia, and direct international dials meant journalists could report the story to Australia and avoid the interference from Indonesian officials, as the immediacy of satellite phones meant it was very hard for transmissions to be halted. Two important historical examples are given here. From East Timor in 1999, Ric Curnow, an Australian freelance cameraman, organised a satellite up-link in Dili. He did everything from
82 Peter Lloyd, ‘Two weeks in Bali’, in Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ Tales, pp. 207-208. 83 Ibid., pp. 212-213. 84 See Bob Arya, Thirty Seconds to Air: A Field Reporter’s Guide to Live Television Reporting, Iowa State University Press, 1999, p. 2. 85 See Knightley, The First Casualty, pp. 483-500, 527-549. The documentary film by Mark Daniels, Enemy Image, The Cutting Edge, 2005, shows one particularly good example of footage of war correspondents covering the bombing of Baghdad. The correspondent, dressed in flack jacket and helmet, comments on the bombings taking place behind him, “In a minute we are going to see a big ‘boom’.” 86 ‘Why I took drugs: a reporter’s war with his demons’, The Sydney Morning Herald, November 8, 2008. 245
filming to editing to transmitting live crosses for the first time ever from East Timor.87 When other major media agencies left, Curnow used the ABC phone inside the UN compound to relay information back to Australian newsrooms.88 Curnow managed to break down a satellite dish into pieces, smuggling it into Timor before the referendum so that no matter what happened there would be an uplink to broadcast out of Timor, thus circumventing censorship.89 Australian journalists Don Greenlees and Robert Garran observed that changes in communications were a significant factor influencing Indonesia to open up East Timor.90 It should also be said that despite Curnow's ability to transmit the story through this technology, he still faced difficulties operating the satellite link due to civil unrest in the capital.91 This suggests, as many scholars have argued, that these faster technologies have not resulted in less harassment or fewer murders of journalists worldwide.92
The immediacy of radio and television news reporting changed journalists’ professional practice. The aim often becomes to report the story immediately, with more descriptive accounts of what the journalist is witnessing in front of them, rather than stories placed in greater context or background.93 Mark Bowling and Hidayat Djajamihardja recalled one moment when they were attacked by militia in Timor, and used satellite phones to report their story live to Australia on ABC’s Radio National.94 Bowling explained that the conversation with his producer in Australia was focused on him ‘getting the story out’ as quickly as possible:
‘Has anything new happened?’ The producer asked. ‘Yes, we’ve just been hit by militiamen, ourselves.’
87 Martinkus, A Dirty Little War, p. 156. 88 Ric Curnow, personal telephone interview, 25 August, 2008. This continued the tradition of Australian journalists maintaining radio contact from East Timor. After the invasion in 1975, supporters in Northern Australia used shortwave radio contact with Fretilin to support their cause, despite Australian Government attempts to shut down the link. See Robert Wesley Smith, ‘Radio Maubere and Links to East Timor’, in Jim Aubrey (ed.), Free East Timor: Australia’s Culpability in East Timor’s Genocide, Random House, 1998. 89 Curnow, telephone interview. 90 Don Greenlees and Robert Garran, Deliverance: The inside story of East Timor’s fight for Freedom, Allen and Unwin, p. 333. 91 Martinkus, A Dirty Little War, p. 263. 92 Mark D. Alleyne, News Revolution: Political and Economic Decisions about Global Information, St Martins Press, New York, 1997, p. 35. 93 Philip Seib, Going Live: getting the news right in a real-time, online world, Rowman and Littlefields, 2002. 94 Hidayat Djajamihardja, personal interview, Melbourne, September, 2007. Hidayat’s account of this situation was explained in Chapter III. 246
‘Oh yeah? Are you all right? ‘Yes, but – ‘ ‘Stand by…We’re coming to you in thirty seconds. Just tell us what you saw…’95
And so the professional practice of instantaneous reporting for radio and television has increased to the extent that the journalist simply tells its audience what they are witnessing in front of them. This is news ‘as it happens’; immediate accounts of history in the making.96 It could be argued that this has benefited the objectivity of the correspondent, as the less room there is for analysis by the correspondent, the less chance there is of any biases coming through. Reporters are simply telling Australians what is in front of them. The ABC’s Indonesia Correspondent Tim Palmer won a Gold Walkely for his reporting of Indonesia in 2005. One of the awards, ‘Best Use of Medium’ went to his story ‘Aceh Tsunami/Sea King Crash’.97 His report was compelling because the story was immediately conveyed to Australians as it was happening in Indonesia.98 The full horror of the tsunami unfolded directly to listeners at home as satellite phones provided an immediate news item straight to Australia distributed through ABC Radio National.
But there are also concerns with the nature of ‘live’, instantaneous reporting. The ABC’s Geoff Thompson found himself in a difficult situation in Timor in 1999 as the militia were nearby the ABC office, and recalled being quite alarmed at the time. However, as he wrote in 2004: “I was of course to learn later that nearly all the militia conscripts were village men and boys…many would have been more frightened and
95 Bowling, Running Amok, p. 163. 96 Peter Job, Chief executive of Reuters, wrote that Reuters journalists, by being ‘where the action is’ also lacked any “particular prejudice” as they reported events. See Frontlines, Snapshots of History, Reuters, 2001, p. xi. 97 Tim Palmer won a Gold Logie for Coverage of the Asia Pacific Region, “A Year in Indonesia”, and was nominated for a number of Walkely Awards including Radio News Reporting for “Jakarta Bomb”, Television News Reporting, “Aceh Tsunami”, Television Current Affairs Reporting (Less than Twenty Minutes) “Aceh Tsunami and Aceh Ark”. AAP, “Walkely Award Finalists”, 12 October, 2005. 98 An excerpt of the story by Palmer shows the powerful nature of explaining the situation while being on the scene, even without images here. Tim Palmer (archival audio): “The surf crashes in on the beaches of the west coast of Aceh but the town of Lhoknga, behind the beach, has disappeared. (Sound of woman speaking) Iwasiti (phonetic) is here looking for her brother and most of her husband's family, but there's nothing and no one to be found here. This beach faced the earthquake and took the full force of the biggest of the waves across the region. In an age where the term 'ground zero' is sprinkled around lightly, this really does look like the site of a nuclear explosion.” From AM Report Transcript, ABC, Tony Eastley, December 2, 2005, www.abc.net.au/am/content/2005/s1521381.htm. (accessed 30 June, 2007). 247
confused than I was that day. I didn’t know that then, though.”99 Thus, instantaneous reporting can mean that journalists have little or no time to analyse, assess, or evaluate events in front of them. They are limited to reporting only what they see and think at the time, without further investigation. This means the professional practice of the correspondent changes somewhat, with greater demand to be ‘on the scene’ and less time to place events in greater context. While the examples of the Santa Cruz massacre and reporting of the tsunami show the benefit of this type of reporting, as the situation is relayed directly to Australian television screens, instantaneous broadcasts have also limited the practice for contemporary Australian journalists in Indonesia.
7.2.2. The Internet
The communication technology that has significantly altered the professional practice of journalists, especially those working in print journalism, has been the Internet. As David Hill and Krishna Sen have found, the Internet’s ability to collate data and provide greater access to sources has changed the way journalists operate in Indonesia. The Indonesian Government found it difficult to monitor Internet usage, or officially restrict particular sites. Improvements in communications technology meant it was becoming almost impossible for the New Order State to control.100 One of the outstanding characteristics of the new digital age is the increased dissemination of public awareness and online advocacy which can be acquired with the help of technology and the foreign press.101 One of the prime lessons of the student rebellion and the sudden arrival of demands for democracy in Indonesia is that the video camera, the VCR, the satellite dish, and the fax machine are no less powerful in their own way than tanks and guns, because both types of weapons have the ability to shape public perceptions.102 In this sense, because foreign news stories can be accessed by local Indonesians, foreign
99 Geoff Thompson, ‘First Day Out: East Timor’, in Bormann (ed.), , Travellers’ Tales, p. 77. 100 See David T. Hill and Krishna Sen, The Internet in Indonesia’s New Democracy, Routledge, London and New York, 2005, pp. 50-51. 101 Sandor Vegh, ‘Classifying Forms of Online Activism: The Case of Cyberprotests against the World Bank’, in McGaughey and Ayers (eds) Cyberactivism: Online Activism in Theory and Practice, Routledge, New York and London, 2003, p. 73. 102 See Hill and Sen, The Internet in Indonesia’s New Democracy, p. 142, state that while new technologies and electronic media certainly facilitated in the movement to oust the New Order Government in Indonesia, they are wary of arguing that new technologies alone that caused such a change in the political spectrum in 1997. 248
journalists become not just observers and reporters of instability and change, but facilitators, as the Internet has made their stories more accessible to the local population.103
Foreign correspondents now have easy access to all wire services, plus all the Indonesian media that produces hundreds of stories everyday for journalists to survey.104 Speeches from high-level officials are relayed through news services that stream live broadcasts and online news.105 These services are growing rapidly in Indonesia. Internet newswire service JOYO was set up to assist newsgatherers in 1996.106 JOYO became a business developed to scan all the sources of English language Indonesian news each day and pass it on through emails. It became a quick and easy way of knowing what was reported in Indonesia translated into English.107 The service was so successful its mailing list grew from six in 1996 to 4,000 recipients in 1998.108 During the fall of Suharto JOYO became an important source for foreign journalists. Louise Williams claimed, “The JOYO service as an underground service, would circulate critical stuff to us.”109 Matthew Moore explained these services had the best information because “they had a network of people who they would interview, for example, the Police Commissioner. You can't interview him himself because his phone is off.”110 Thus while the Australian journalist may not be able to get a personal comment from the source, they can find details and quotes almost instantly through these Internet newscasts.
This new technology changes journalists’ professional practice due to the challenges that arise in producing faster, earlier, and more regular news reports. Foreign
103 Lederman, Battle Lines, p. 223. 104 See also www.detiknews.com as an example of an Indonesian internet newswire service. 105 See www.elshinta.com for Indonesian news, information and live streaming online. 106 Indonesia Alert, ‘Gordon Bishop, Founder of Joyo Indonesian News, loses battle with Cancer’, Volume 5, Issue 1, 2005, www.Indonesiaalert.org/article.php?id=100, (accessed 28 August, 2008). 107 Moore, personal interview. 108 J. Winters, ‘Dampak Politis dari Sumber dan Teknologi Informasi Baru di Indonesia’, in D.N. Hidayat, E. Gazali, H Suwardi and S.K. Ishadi (eds) Pers dalam ‘Revolusi Mei’ Runtuhnya Sebuah Hegemoni, Gamiedia Pustaka Utama Jakarta, 2000, pp. 259-74: p. 270 in David T. Hill and K. Sen, The Internet in Indonesia’s New Democracy, p. 44. 109 Louise Williams, personal interview, Wollongong, June 2006. 110 Moore, personal interview. 249
correspondents can be tempted to focus on sources of easily obtainable, easily digestible information.111 Bambang Harymurti (Tempo) stated:
The Internet can be a way out for lazy journalists, instead of checking themselves they can go through other media, and find stories through other media…The thing is there are so many false allegations around, that the public can be confused.112
Louise Williams (SMH) claimed that false allegations mediated by the Internet were a concern during her time of reporting in Indonesia:
The internet is important but the downside is that every activist and his dog gets on the internet and claims 'thousands of bodies' here and there…Activists are sending out information and journalists are just printing it without checking the story.113
AFP’s Bhimanto, a twenty-year veteran of foreign news wire services in Indonesia explained the change for foreign news journalists in Indonesia in this way:
Now the problem is choice, there is a lot available – everybody can speak. Before, it was limited. Before, you had to build relations with sources, now you can call anybody on the telephone and get a reaction. It’s just as hard now because you have to sift through the comments and pick the correct one. Nowadays you can get two conflicting accounts – which one do you take? It’s up to you. It’s just as hard working now.114
Today’s foreign correspondent needs to be more aware of the amount of sources and information they receive from this new technology, but it is argued that contemporary journalists are limited in their ability to check sources and analyse stories due to the speed in which they are expected to gather information and file stories.
7.2.3. Sabotaged by our own technology?
It is argued here that the improvements in technology have influenced the professional practice of contemporary Australian correspondents in Indonesia. The aim of this
111 Angela Romano, ‘Foreign correspondents and knowledge broking in Indonesia’, in Kingsbury, Loo and Payne, (eds.), Foreign Devils and other journalists, Monash Asia Institute, Clayton, 2000, p. 63. 112 Bambang Harymurti, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 113 Williams, personal interview. 114 Bhimanto, personal interview. 250
discussion is to examine how the journalist views contact with their editor, and how these views have changed, especially since the digital revolution. It does not ask editors their story, so as to stay within the boundaries of the research project of Australian journalism in Indonesia.115 Thus, in this discussion we will not explain in detail how the final story reaches the reader, or cite examples as to how editors select or discard stories. Further research conducted on Australian foreign news editors would contribute to this understanding. This section will raise questions as to the role of editorial directions towards journalistic professional practice. To what extent has it changed from giving guidance to exerting pressure? This section will argue the improvements in technology have resulted in contemporary foreign correspondents being directed more frequently by editors because of their ability to contact Australian journalists in Indonesia on a regular basis.
This chapter has shown some of the benefits of improved communications technology, and made clear that satellite communications and the Internet have changed the way reporters operate, and how news stories are produced. Despite the benefits to journalism through the advancement in technology and communication, the greater flow of information and access to sources also have problematic consequences for journalists. Jim Lederman wrote of contemporary news: “In the media news marketplace, information is the currency, and news reports are the product.”116 Thus, reporters are encouraged, through faster technology, to produce more reports than ever before. The result may be a greater amount of news to Australia, but the focus is largely on quantity rather than quality. MacGregor has shown in his study there was a universal plea from reporters he surveyed to use new technologies properly and not to get seduced by being ‘first’, ‘live’ or having something no competitor has, at the expense of factual details and depth of coverage.117 The increasing ‘speed’ of news means the attention span of a news event moves more quickly, and journalists have less time to spend on a story. Peter Job, Chief Executive of Reuters, wrote in 2001: “Foreign correspondents love to write in-depth pieces to put things in perspective. Indeed, they often write their best copy when they have leisure to study their subject properly, but by then the spotlight
115 This has been explained earlier in Chapter I. 116 Lederman, Battle Lines, p. 141. 117 MacGregor, Live, Direct and Biased? p. 203. 251
has often moved on. They may not be published.”118 The attention span of news audiences has shortened immensely, so there is little time for in-depth analysis or extended, thoughtful pieces.119 The evening news has changed substantially since the original television broadcasts of the 1960s. The pace of news has come to resemble more closely the pace of commercial television, with ten second sound bites and tightly packaged stories.120 In recent years there has been a switch to even shorter scenes and shots. Whereas in the 1970s a single shot might last as long as twelve seconds and a statement from a source might be given one minute, today a shot rarely exceeds five seconds and a sound bite is considered long if it goes on for more than 12 seconds.121 The result is less in-depth analysis from reporters, as the length of news reports has shortened.
Perhaps surprisingly considering the footage’s contribution to evidence of the massacres, Stahl still argued there were concerns with the idea that instant news provides access to ‘the truth’:
If you set up this requirement that news must be instant, that news is defined as something that happened a moment ago, there is a kind of illusion that if you get it now then you get the truth. If you want to understand what happened, you need to understand what goes on behind it, underneath it. For that you need time.122
This is, of course, the same with photographs. Reality is accessed or constructed in a certain way by the capturing and reproduction of images. Images can construct reality, but are not necessarily any closer in reporting the ‘truth’.123 Context and analysis is needed alongside the images, and this can take considerable time. As Stahl suggests, time is a luxury the modern day journalist cannot afford. News demands faster work from the correspondents due partly to the increasing competitive nature of journalism,
118 Job, ‘Forward’ in Frontlines: Snapshots of History, Reuters, 2001, p. xi. 119 See Howard Rosenberg and Charles S. Feldman, No Time to Think: The Menace of Media Speed and the 24-hour News Cycle, Continuum, 2008. The prologue, p. x., states that “we have…news and faux news travelling faster than the speed of thought.” 120 Hallin, ‘We Keep America on Top of the World’, p. 177. 121 Lederman, Battle Lines, p. 312. 122 Denise Leith, Bearing Witness; The Lives of War Correspondents and Photojournalists, Random House, 2004, p. 158. 123 For two relevant examples of images and wartime, see E.T. Linethal, ‘Iwo Jima: Monuments, Memories and the American Hero’, Reviews in American History, volume 21, number 1, March 1993, and J. Scott. ‘Photography and Forgiveness (Nik Ut’s Vietnam Napalm)’, Queen’s Quarterly, Volume 113, Issue 4, Winter, 2006. 252
but also because of the unthinking deployment of technical resources. Being ‘first’ to the story is often the key. Getting the story ‘out’ involves getting it to Australia before your competitors. As international satellite news networks grow, Australian news networks will have to compete with their ability to produce ‘instant’ news. With the advent of satellite transmission, many Australian agencies have been supplemented by Visnews, CNN and to a lesser extent the BBC and NBC.124 Compared to the previous generation of foreign correspondents, there is almost no personal voice in the writing that would make one story of one aspect or a report stand out above the hundreds of other filed from around the world.125
Contemporary Australian journalists to Indonesia explained the problems of the increased pressure to regularly compile and produce stories so that their professional practice changed to report a ‘rolling news story’. Matthew Moore explained that the speed of news through satellites meant stories became shorter, with little time between each production. “You’ve got basically mobile phone coverage to most parts of Indonesia,” he said, “you tend not to write such long and analytical pieces. It's [now] a rolling news story.”126 The nature of news has become dominated by its instancy. While this immediacy of news clearly has benefits127, Australian foreign correspondents to Indonesia have expressed concerns with contemporary practice. Rob Taylor (AAP) said:
The technology means you are constantly feeding information into a voracious environment, which is getting bigger and people are asking, ‘Who is going to fill this hole?’ The media is evolving into a wires environment, and all of the problems that occur [with it] in researching, accuracy and time.128
The nature of reporting Indonesia as a ‘rolling news story’ means reporters have little time to learn. That is not to say that technology has produced a body of reporters who are less skilled or less intelligent than before. It does mean, however, that the more we come to rely on technology to report Indonesia to Australians, the more we must think
124 Damien Kingsbury, 'Covering the world: Australian foreign reporting and McNews', in Hilary Ericksen (ed.), The Media’s Australia, University of Melbourne, 1996, p. 114. 125 Lederman, Battle Lines, p. 221. 126 Matthew Moore, personal interview, Sydney, July, 2006. 127 Kari Huus, ‘Two Years of Living Electronically: Covering Breaking News for the Internet’, Nieman Reports, 52.4 (Winter 1998), p. 63 wrote that new technology was a “blessing and a curse” as she reported the fall of Suharto for the Internet site MNSBC-Interactive or MSNBC.com. 128 Taylor, personal interview. 253
beyond the immediate benefits it provides.
Today’s foreign correspondents can, and often do, spend much of their time working from the office. As we have seen, technological improvements such as the telephone and Internet have allowed for information to be more accessible. But the speed of finding information has also meant employers demand speedier outlay so that the process of news reporting has become, as Moore explained previously, ‘a rolling news story’. This means leaving the telephone, the Internet and the office can mean leaving the story altogether. Louise Williams explained: “You have to write more and cover more and file every day. You can’t go to Aceh for a week.”129 Rob Taylor (AAP) complained: “The availability of satellite phones meant I was recalled from vacations about seven times [during his three year posting]. The technology has made wandering around almost impossible.”130 The contemporary Indonesia correspondent is increasingly tied to the desk. When they do travel, they are expected to cover the story in only a few days. Many yearn for the time described earlier in this chapter when correspondents like James Mossman literally ‘went missing’ while on assignment. The ABC’s Michael Maher, who covered the frantic final days of President Suharto’s fall from power in 1997, responded to reading Graeme Greene’s The Quiet American, where the protagonist is a British journalist covering the Indochina war in 1954:
I was transported back to a less frantic era; an era in which the time between deadlines could be measured in days – even weeks - instead of minutes and hours…In Greene’s day, of course, there were no mobile phones let alone phones of the satellite and video varieties. Back then lumbering telex machine was the medium of communication, and it had a calming, even civilising influence on the pace and temper of journalistic endeavour. The concept of ‘on the hour, every hour’ deadlines or ‘live crosses’ would have had Greene and his colleagues choking on their sundowners in bars across the Orient. 131
No doubt Maher is romanticising about the earlier time of foreign reporting, but there is still an element of truth to his despondency.132 The foreign correspondent is certainly operating in a more frantic era of newsgathering than the era portrayed by Greene. This
129 Williams, personal interview. 130 Taylor, personal interview. 131 Michael Maher, ‘Vietnam: Between Deadlines’, in Borrman (ed), Travellers’ Tales: Stories from the ABC’s Foreign Correspondents, ABC Books, 2001, pp. 168, 176. Greene’s novel, The Quiet American, is considered compulsory reading for all journalists and the prototype of journalism novels such as The Year of Living Dangerously. 132 As indeed, many journalism history texts have done. See Chapter I for a detailed literature review. 254
research has shown that instructions from editors were part of earlier reporters’ working lives, but the technology meant these instructions were extremely limited. Improvements in technology have meant today’s Indonesia correspondent is in constant contact with the editors at home, and thus receive instructions on a daily basis. The upside is that contemporary correspondents receive more background information about their tasks than the line: ‘Proceed Borneo’.133 The downside is that the contact is a two way street, or a ‘mutli-laned highway’134 where the correspondent is expected to report back to Australia on a regular basis. This chapter has shown that when communications were ‘primitive’, correspondents mostly told their editors what was news from Indonesia. With satellite phones, editors now have the ability to talk back more regularly. They see events unfold on television screens above their desks, and send out journalists to report form the scene as quickly as possible.
The result can be a tendency by reporters to not look beyond the immediate situation, and to have time to examine only one or two aspects of the story. Mark Bowling, ABC Jakarta correspondent, wrote of reporting the Timor crisis: “As more journalists arrived from Australia there was growing competition for stories, and I was simply too busy to think far beyond the next deadline…Radio and TV producers were demanding updated news stories day and night.”135 Veteran Asian correspondent Kate Webb said that in her assessment of journalism today, the journalist’s role remains
to record the facts – document them. Documentation and sourcing, I feel it’s so important for the opinion makers, especially in this day and age when people scream for instant analysis five minutes after something has happened.136
Closer contact with editors has meant faster instructions from Australia, and less time to follow the basic journalistic principles described by Webb. Hamish McDonald, now foreign editor for the Sydney Morning Herald, claimed improvements in technology led
133 Mossman, for example, was forced to get out his ‘tattered Geographical Society map’ to find out where North Celebes (now Sulawesi) was in Indonesia. But unlike today’s modern parachute journalist, who ‘goes in cold’ from Australia, these journalists were trained and specialised in reporting Asian affairs. Davis also commented on ‘going in cold’ to a destination, where the correspondents received little background information to the story and gives a good account of his methods when he did so - methods which required knowledge and experience in Asian life and customs. See Bowden, One Crowded Hour, p. 127. 134 John Schauble, ‘Information Exchange in the Asia Pacific: The role of the mass media’, Australian Journalism Review, Volume 14, issue 2, 1992, p. 32. 135 Bowling, Running Amok, pp. 158-159. 136 Kate Webb, Verbatim, Interview, ABC Radio, 2002. 255
reporters in Indonesia to “become much more attuned to the Australian domestic agenda, much more part of the domestic team.”137 Stories reflect more what the Australian audience, or the editor’s judgments on what the Australian audience demands.
Newsgathering through public opinion inevitably produces more of a ‘herd’ or ‘pack’ mentality, especially around big events such as a visit from the Australian Prime Minister, or the natural disasters that occur in the archipelago, or Australians arrested in Bali on drug trafficking charges. Louise Williams stated that correspondents are “tied to the desk much more” and “stories become more uniform” when they are in regular contact with editors in Australia.138 Perhaps as a backlash to the Cold War era of reporting, or perhaps due to the ‘herd’ mentality of contemporary reporting, or both, scholars argue there is almost no personal voice in the writing that would make one story, or one aspect of a report stand out above the hundreds of other filed from around the world.139
Journalism has become a highly competitive industry to stay ahead of, or even stay with, ‘the pack' when a major story breaks. During the fall of Suharto in 1998 the ABC flew a team of fifteen reporters, producers and camera operators to Jakarta.140 Maher explained, “The major hurdle now facing us was competing with all the other agencies for space on the ‘bird’.”141 On one occasion during the fall of Suharto, with the Mandarin Hotel bar packed with foreign journalists, a cameraman with a wicked sense of humour rushed out of the Jakarta bar lugging all his equipment. Fearing being ‘scooped’, about twenty nervous reporters raced out as a pack, on their way to a story that didn’t exist.142 While foreign correspondents of an earlier generation might be more inclined to set off with just one or two colleagues, or even alone, today’s correspondent is more attuned to the domestic agenda, which can lead to a fear of being left behind on a major story which the rest of the news agencies pick up. The rolling news story means journalists have to be constantly aware of what each other are doing, as the story can
137 McDonald, personal interview. 138 Williams, personal interview. 139 Mackinnon and Oris, China Reporting, p. 245. 140 Michael Maher, Indonesia: An Eyewitness Account, Ringwood, Viking, 2000, p. 161. 141 Ibid. 142 Ibid. 256
break much more quickly. Reporting in packs has often been a feature of twenty –first century reporting, in particular, for parachute journalists.
7.3. Parachute journalism and the Schapelle Corby phenomenon
This section will give further insight into the consequences of faster technologies and greater editorial direction, which has been shown to be a feature of contemporary reporting. What are the consequences of Australian correspondents to Indonesia being more attuned to the domestic agenda? What ramifications occur due to parachute journalism and an increasing competitiveness in ‘getting the story out’ faster than your colleagues? What of the correspondent’s professional practice becoming a ‘rolling news story’ from the archipelago? This section will examine some of the problematic consequences of contemporary reporting of Indonesia through an investigation of the Schapelle Corby media phenomenon of 2005.
The result of changes in technology, travel and editorial pressures has led to an increase in the amount of Australian parachute journalists to Indonesia. Indonesia’s proximity to Australia means news organisations can fly journalists directly from Eastern states’ capital cities if a major story breaks, as it is now only a seven hour flight to Jakarta from most major capital cities, and less to Bali or East Timor. Increasing the number of reporters does not mean the reporting of an event becomes better. In fact, there are many examples in journalism history where the reporting becomes less accurate and more sensationalist due to the increased competition for headlines and audience attention.143
Parachute journalism means reporters are flown from Australia when a major story breaks, often with little knowledge of the situation. Chapter II has discussed the dangers of flying journalists into conflict zones when they are unprepared for the events
143 Knightley illustrates this in his history of war reporting, especially with regard to Kosovo, where 2,700 media people accompanied NATO forces when they entered the region – “more war correspondents than ever before”, yet the story being seen at home and watching television images and listening to the newscasts about reports of mass killings were found to be overstated due to thousands of media people searching for mass killings. Knightley, The First Casualty, pp. 501-506. 257
they are ‘parachuted’ into, and made particular reference to the Balibo Five.144 The danger of parachuting journalists into a major story from Australia is exemplified in Geoff Thompson’s account of his first posting to East Timor from Darwin.145 Two days before his arrival, Thompson was compiling radio features about indigenous music in Aboriginal communities. After receiving a phone message from Sydney he was in East Timor within 48 hours.146 Thompson and his cameraman landed in the middle of a day of civil unrest in Dili, on April 17, 1999, and soldiers were ordering journalists out of the area at gunpoint.147 Hannerz argues there were many cases of parachute journalism in East Timor, in 1999, whereby journalists “arrived from everywhere, crowding into a handful of hotels in Dili.”148 As most were unprepared for the violence, situation and destruction, it became an even more dangerous assignment.149 Eventually, deciding that the risks were too great, many of them left on a chartered plane for Australia.
The key factor promoting parachute journalism is financial150, but as ABC Tel Aviv Bureau chief, Bill Seamans stated, it is “the most dangerous component of foreign press coverage,” because journalists “come with preconceived notions of a story and report stories that fit those preconceptions. They are not here long enough to give them a real perception of events. The flavour of their story, for the most part, is biased and inaccurate.”151 The parachute journalist has little time to prepare or research beforehand the story to which they are being sent. They often fly in with a preconceived notion of what the story will be, mostly from their editors at home who are keeping them regularly updated with the domestic agenda.152 They also tend to work in packs, so as to not miss the major story of the day. In Chapters II and III correspondents and Indonesian staff argued how it can take a foreign reporter at least six months to find his
144 In particular, the example that only two of the five had brief experience of war reporting, see Knightley, The First Casualty, p. 475, and Palmos’ recollection that one of the Balibo Five had accepted the job, and then later asked him to point out East Timor on the map. Palmos, personal interview. 145 Chapter II has already discussed Thompson’s account of his first posting being to East Timor and the effect it had on him as a journalist and of his impressions of Indonesia. 146 See Geoff Thompson, ‘First Day Out: East Timor’, in Trevor Bormann (ed.) Travellers’ Tales: Stories from ABC’s Foreign Correspondents, ABC Books, 2001, p. 74. 147 Ibid. See also Martinkus, A Dirty Little War, p. 288. 148 Ulf Hannertz, Foreign News: Exploring the World of Foreign Correspondents, University of Chicago Press, 2000. 149 See also Bowling, Running Amok. 150 It is cheaper to send journalists from Australia when a major story breaks rather than maintain foreign bureaus in Jakarta, for example. Rosenblum, Coups and Earthquakes, p. 65 comments on the decline of foreign bureaus around the world. 151 Lederman, Battle Lines, p. 281. 152 Sharyn Wisda, ‘Parachute Journalism (feature articles that stereotype communities)’, American Journalism Review, Volume 19, Number 6, August, 1997, pp. 40-45. 258
or her way about Indonesia comfortably, and that it takes about eighteen months of hard work before he or she can begin to decipher some of the nuances of Indonesian society. Often the parachute journalist has never been to Indonesia before, and has no knowledge of the language, customs or background to the story they are covering. Australian journalist Graeme Dobell described the lack of cultural understanding of the parachute journalist as one who “marches into the region, stomps around as though covering a quick police rounds story back home, upsets the locals with boorish, insensitive and ignorant questions, and flies out in a flurry of misleading images and wild headlines, all tinged by Western stereotypes and a lingering racist arrogance.”153 As parachute journalism (or simply flying Australian journalists to Indonesia when a major story breaks) is cheaper than employing resident correspondents, and is more market-driven in that it can be attuned to domestic audience demands, it has become an increasingly popular way of covering Indonesia.
A famous example of Australian parachute journalism to Indonesia was the reporting of the arrest and trial of Australian drug-trafficker Schapelle Corby.154 The story contributed to Indonesia being the country that received most coverage on Australian television in 2005, as 18.42% of all foreign news reports were about the Indonesia.155 A total of 1.7 million viewers tuned to the live coverage of the verdict on the Nine and Seven networks.156 The commercial media’s fascination with the Corby case encouraged public outrage which came after the guilty verdict was announced, including protests at the Indonesian Embassy in Canberra and public denouncements of Indonesia’s legal system, which soured Australia's diplomatic relations with Indonesia.157 As Chapter IV showed, under Suharto the Indonesian Government could restrict foreign journalists from entering Indonesia, but in this new era of improved press freedom, the Indonesian Government did not attempt to control the number of foreign press reporters, nor any individual Australian journalist, as they requested a visa
153 Graeme Dobell, 'Laying to rest the "drongo-journo" myth’, 24 Hours, April, 1993, p. 38. 154 See also Schapelle Corby and Kathryn Bonella, Schapelle Corby: My Story, Pan Macmillan Australia, Sydney, 2006. 155 Gail Phillips and Suellen Tapsall, ‘Australian Journalism News Trends: First Results from a Longitudinal Study’, Australian Journalism Monographs, Number 9, August 2007, p. 14. 156 See ‘The circus comes to Bali’, The Australian, 30 May, 2005, and ‘Bali Verdict a winner for Nine’, The Age, 30 May, 2005. And ‘TV viewers declare Schapelle innocent’, The Daily Telegraph, 19 May, 2005. 157 See John Schwartz, ‘Pot and Prejudice: Australian Coverage of the Corby Saga’, Metro Magazine, Volume 145, 2005 pp. 138-143, and Adrian Vickers, ‘Jemaah Korbyah: another low in Australia- Indonesia relations, Asian Currents, The Asian Studies Association of Australia’s e-bulletin, June, 2005. 259
to report from Denpasar. As a result, a throng of reporters, journalists, writers, camera- crews and producers entered Bali to cover what was increasingly becoming the main story in Australia, and in which the mainstream media portrayed Corby as innocent and mounted a vast media campaign to this end.158
Like the O.J. Simpson trial in America, the Corby case in Denpasar soon became a media ‘megaspectacle’159, where all mainstream Australian news organisations sent reporters to Bali to cover what was described as a “media circus”, where “the tents were for satellite television equipment and the media were the clowns.”160 The Australian media’s behaviour at the courtroom left many Indonesian journalists bemused. I Nyoman Darma Putra, local staff for ABC and Balinese resident, recalled cameramen removing the glass from the courtroom windows to provide room for their cameras, and said journalists wore inappropriate attire of board shorts, and saw evidence of chequebook journalism where Australian journalists had paid members of the Corby family for exclusive interviews.161 “There has never been such a media scrum by foreign journalists in the history of Denpasar District Court,” Darma Putra wrote.162 Heru, local staff for AAP during the Corby trial, stated, “There were dedicated journalists there for a few months but for the verdict many journalists flew in. You could tell the difference. People who have been here for a long time observe local culture. I can just tell.”163 The attention the Australian media was giving to the Corby trial was seen in Indonesia as “a phenomenon that is symptomatic of a widespread lack of knowledge about Indonesia”, and “revived suspicions that Australians are racist.”164
158 See Schwartz, ‘Pot and Prejudice’, and Paul Kelly, ‘A fair trial, but not in our media’, The Australian, 1 June, 2005. See also Michelle Grattan, ‘Public support for Corby and Canberra’s response’, The Age, 7 June, 2005, where in a poll conducted by the Age only 47% of people thought she was innocent and 51% thought she had not received a fair trial. Similarly, Mike Seccombe, ‘Corby aroused our sense of injustice, but we’re not sure if she did it’, The Sydney Morning Herald, 7 June, 2005, where the first line states: “The court of public opinion finds the Indonesian justice system unfair”. 159 Douglas Kellner, ‘Megaspectacle : the O.J. Simpson murder trial’, in Media Spectacle, Routledge, London, pp. 93-125. 160 ‘The circus comes to Bali’, The Australian, 30 May, 2005. 161 I Nyoman Darma Putra was local staff for ABC’s Tim Palmer. See I Nyoman Darma Putra, ‘Who is Corby? And other bewildering questions’, in ‘The Schapelle Corby Show: drugs, media and society’, The Australian Journal of Anthropology, Volume 17, Issue 1, April, 2006, pp. 70-86. Some of his ‘bewildering questions’ were: “Why didn’t [Australian journalists] wear appropriate clothes to these official places? Did they think they were sightseeing or visiting the beach? It’s not hotter in Bali than it is in an Australian summer, so why would they wear so little clothing?” 162 Ibid. 163 Heru, personal interview, Jakarta, September, 2005. 164 Dewi Anggraeni, Australian correspondent for Indonesia’s Tempo magazine, ‘Behind the Corby frenzy – ignorance and a vocal minority’, The Australian, 31 May, 2005, p. 15. 260
Endy Bayuni, now the Editor-in-Chief of The Jakarta Post, was “surprised” the Australian media worked up public sentiment in the Schapelle Corby case, and played on the emotions of the Australian people. Bayuni said, “I would have expected them to be much more rational and not getting so worked up in emotions”, and he argued that the Australian media “had already made up their mind” about the story before the trial.165 This was a criticism that Australian parachute journalists, with little time to get background detail on court reporting and laws of Indonesia, had decided on the angle of the story before they arrived in Bali. The angle was consistently that Corby was innocent. In one example, the Balinese judges were portrayed as monkeys.166 Academic Greg Fealy suggested the Corby case showed our media’s alarming faults, which in turn influence public opinion. He said after the verdict: “For a country that casts itself as knowledgeable about Indonesia we have displayed ignorance and misunderstanding. There is a sense in the popular sentiment that our approach is right and that Indonesia reflects a less civilised country.”167
While much of the commercial media sent parachute journalists from Australia, resident correspondents from Jakarta were also sent to Bali to cover the trial. Many of these resident correspondents could see the Corby story was not giving an overall representation of Indonesia. Jakarta correspondent Matthew Moore, whose news organisation, Fairfax, had three journalists on deck for Corby’s conviction,168 explained:
The big change in my time was that the story became a police rounds story with Schapelle Corby and the ‘Bali Nine’. For most Indonesians that amounted to nothing. We [correspondents] didn't get to talk about the vast problems that were occurring in Indonesia. The Yogjakarta earthquake lasted about two days here [in the Australian news] and so many people died.169
The Australian correspondent during the Corby trial was Sian Powell, but The Australian published articles from over eighteen other journalists or commentators from
165 Endy Bayuni, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 166 Schwartz, ‘Pot and Prejudice’. Malcolm T. Elliot on 2GB said of the judges, “The do look like the three wise monkeys. They show us absolutely no respect, those judges”, and later, “The judges don’t even speak English, they’re straight out of the trees, if you’ll excuse my expression”. See Eric Ellis, ‘The whingers of Oz’, Spectator, June 11, 2005. 167 Greg Fealy, in Paul Kelly, ‘A fair trial, but not in our media’, The Australian, 1 June, 2005. 168 Fairfax sent Matthew Moore, Lindsay Murdoch and Neil McMahan, in addition to local Indonesian staff from Jakarta. 169 Moore, personal interview. 261
May and June, 2005.170 Powell’s predecessor, Stephen Fitzpatrick, reported on subsequent court cases in Bali such as the Michelle Leslie trial and the arrest of the Bali Nine. He stated that there were problems with journalists from Australia ‘parachuting’ in and reporting in Denpasar:
Reporters pitching up at Denpasar local court can be a problem because it is physically so easy to do, just a few hours flight, and you’ve been court reporting for the past five years in Sydney, except the rules have all changed and if you don’t know that everything is slightly different, you will get it all wrong. That happens regularly. Court reporting here is just so different to court reporting in Australia.171
In the case of the Corby trial, the attention it received at home witnessed the ability of the commercial media to employ parachute journalists who operated under strict instructions from editors to play an active role in setting agendas, rather than the resident Jakarta correspondents.172 This was to the detriment of resident correspondents who believe the Corby story was sensationalised for an Australian audience but they had little choice but to join in the ‘circus’. The majority of reporting about the Corby trial was a detriment to Australian journalists’ integrity, professionalism, objectivity and truth as they reported from Indonesia.
The consequences of ‘live’ reporting for television meant correspondents who work with the medium are enslaved to images, which results in Lederman’s concept of “moving hieroglyphics” and “imagespeak”, where the repetition of images take on a symbolic, and not just literal, meaning. Journalists sat outside Denpasar jail, hoping for a shot or quote from Corby or one of her relatives. The images of a white “beauty queen”173 crying, fainting, and claiming innocence were captured in the mainstream
170 A brief content analysis has shown that while Powell was the Indonesia correspondent reporting from Bali, and featured a by-line in over 20 of the stories, also involved in his stories or separately were Simon Kearney, Cath Hart, Olivia Rondonuwu, Natasha Robinson, Tom Richardson, Jonathan Porter, Martin Chulov, Greg Roberts, James Jeffrey, Elizabeth Colman, Jeniffer Sexton, Kevin Meade, Annabelle McDonald, David King, Tony Koch, Samantha Maiden, and Denis Shanahan. The Australian also sent former Indonesia correspondent Patrick Walters to assist Powell. 171 Stephen Fitzpatrick, personal interview, Jakarta, November, 2006. 172 Schwartz, ‘Pot and Prejudice’, p. 143. 173 Meaghan Shaw, ‘How a beauty school student became an obsession’, The Age, Insight, 4 June, 2005. One of the more ‘entertaining’ attempts to prove Corby’s innocence came from The Sun Herald in Sydney on May1, 2005, ‘She’s a person of good character, says handwriting expert’, by Catherine Munro. The first line stated, “Schapelle Corby appears to be an honest, logical and unsophisticated person living in a state of fear, says a handwriting expert.” 262
television news.174 Stories and pictures of terrible jail conditions, of an incompetent and shonky defence lawyer175, and of disinterested judges176, sell a story of someone suffering a great injustice.177 This was sensationalist and misleading. In the example of the judge reading the book, the mainstream media reported that when Corby was delivering her final plea on 28 April, he was represented as not listening, and uninterested in Corby’s side of the story.178 However, as Krishna Sen noted as she translated the book title while watching the news, the book title was ‘pidana seumur hidup’ (life sentencing), so the judge was consulting something relevant to the case, not “a Mills and Boons novel”.179 This “imagespeak”, rather than detailed facts and analysis, led to a belief among many in Australia that Corby was innocent. Yet, the agenda of the story was largely overplayed. Krishna Sen noted that while many Australians felt passionately about the Corby verdict and tuned in to watch, few turned up to a rally on 3 June, 2005, to protest against her 20-year sentence. In fact, the 21 representatives from the media far outnumbered the pro-Corby protesters. “One had to question, if indeed, the Australian ‘people’ were quite as passionate about Corby’s trials as the media claimed” wrote Sen, before adding perceptively, “Is it possible that the so- called pro-Corby frenzy…was just a popular television beat up?”180
Kate Webb, veteran war journalist to Asia, commented earlier of the importance of documentation and sourcing in a time when “people scream for instant analysis.” Many reports of the Corby situation were poorly sourced. A more extensive content
174 Miranda Devine, ‘Grace under fire moves nation’, The Sun Herald, 29 May, 2005. Cindy Wockner, ‘Corby in tears as drug trial extended’, and ‘Corby tearful last plea falls on deaf ears’, The Courier-Mail, 7 April, and 15 April, 2005. 175 Corby’s lawyer, as the Daily Telegraph reported him, “the diamond encrusted Hotman Paris Hutapea”, with gold bracelets and slicked black jet black hair, was consistently portrayed as unprepared and seeking more money out of the Corby family. ‘How I’ll save Schapelle: Hotman’s bag of legal tricks’, 15 June, 2005. For example, Matthew Moore, ‘Corby Lawyer Hotman admits he’s ‘not clean’, The Sydney Morning Herald, 28 June, 2005. Steve Pennel and Matthew Moore, ‘Perth QC attacks Corby’s legal team as unprepared’, The Age, 14 June, 2005. See also Nick Butterly, ‘Corby team wanted $500 000 to save her’, 23 June, 2005. 176 For one example amongst many, Cindy Wockner and Luke McIlveen, ‘Bribery claimed in Corby case’, The Courier-Mail, 15 April, 2005. Even Miranda Devine admitted the media’s attack on the Indonesia legal system as being “corrupt, biased or even primitive…nor does it judge a defendant being guilty until proven innocent, as is being said” was all unfounded and plain wrong. See Miranda Devine, ‘Contempt for Indonesian Law Unfounded’, The Sun Herald, 22 May, 2005. 177 Cindy Wockner, ‘Police admit Corby ‘gaps’’, The Daily Telegraph, 9 May, 2005, and ‘Air trafficking ignored’, 12 May, 2005. 178 ‘Corby Pleads for Freedom’, SBS News, 28 April, 2005. 179 Krishna Sen, ‘The Trials of Schapelle Corby’, in ‘The Schapelle Corby Show: drugs media and society’, The Australian Journal of Anthropology, Volume 17, Issue 1, April, 2006, pp. 70-86. 180 Ibid. 263
analysis project on the number of stories and their sources is required to fully document Australian coverage of the Corby saga, and that is beyond the scope of this thesis. However, some examples are provided here. Firstly, the Australian media had emphasised that Corby faced the death sentence181, but as the Jakarta Post explained, no one in Indonesia, either foreign or local, had ever been sentenced to death for trafficking marijuana.182 Secondly, stories focused on the popular perception of Kerokoban jail as dilapidated, and the belief that Corby should receive a prisoner exchange program, as she was suffering badly under the reprehensible conditions.183 Only on a few occasions did journalists investigate this common assumption further, and find that there were benefits to being in a prison in Bali, as opposed to one in Australia.184
The intense competition in contemporary reporting caused many incorrect reports, as journalists rushed to ‘get the story out’. Geoff Thompson told a story which exemplified contemporary journalists’ frustration with the demand for instantaneous news, with editors at home ‘getting the story out’ by wire service reports, rather than waiting for the documentation and sourcing from the resident correspondent. He said:
Now it’s a phone call away and you’re filing, and this [speed of technology] becomes really problematic when someone on your own news desk will watch SKY news or another wire service, and report ‘Corby got life’, and it’s not right, it hadn’t happened. The judge was reading out what the prosecutor’s request was, and they were interpreting that as the judgement. But they
181 Peter Lloyd, ‘Judge warns Corby could still face death penalty’, ABC News, 21 April, 2005. The next day the prosecutors did not ask for the death penalty. Matthew Moore and Miranda Devine, ‘Appeal and risk death: Schapelle’s Gamble’, The Sun Herald, 29 May, 2005. ‘PM to fight execution if Corby guilty’, The Courier-Mail, 4 April, 2005. 182 Sen, ‘The Trials of Schapelle Corby’, see The Jakarta Post online, 30 June, 2005. Similarly, only on occasion were Australian experts on Indonesian law consulted. Tim Lindsey, in particular, was clear that if Corby was tried in Australia, she would have been found guilty, and despite the anger in the Australian public for the seemingly ‘harsh’ sentence, Corby received a generous sentence for the amount of marijuana found in her bag. See ‘Sentence ‘light’ for Indonesia’, The Age, 28 May, 2005. 183 For example, Luke McIlveen, Cindy Wockner and Nick Butterly, ‘Schapelle could do her time at home – Downer’s exit strategy for Corby: a prison cell on the beautiful Gold Coast’, The Daily Telegraph, 18 May, 2005, where it stated, “Conditions would be an improvement on the tiny cell in Denpasar she has been in since last October”. Eamon Duff, ‘Corby suicide fears force sick father to rush to Bali’, The Sun Herald, 3 April, 2005. The U.S. based magazine The Economist noted that most of the media portrayed Corby as “a plucky young woman fighting for survival in an unfamiliar land.” See ‘Busted: Australia and Indonesia’, The Economist, June 4, 2005. 184 See Matthew Moore, ‘On the inside life’s not that bad, if you have money’, The Sydney Morning Herald, 28 May, 2005. Prisoners can have food brought in, can ‘buy’ private rooms, and even pay for a supervised trip to the beach. 264
reported this and put it out, but it was just wrong, and you think: ‘What the fuck am I doing here?185
As journalists and editors testified earlier, contemporary reporters sent on assignment to Indonesia are more attuned to the domestic agenda, and much of the analysis is done from Australia. The objective for correspondents was increasingly to obtain images of Schapelle, and report ‘live’. One such example comes from SBS news where the anchor Mary Kostakidis told viewers the chief judge is unwell and the verdict may be postponed. She then crossed live to the correspondent in Bali (flown especially for the Corby case), Vesna Nazor. Nazor duly and redundantly reported: “Corby was described today as very emotional by visitors to her jail cell. The strain of her ordeal is obviously taking its toll. But now there may be a further agonising wait if the verdict is delayed.”186 As the first lines of this report suggest, the correspondent gave little to the audience by way of analysis or context. Television producers continual yearning for footage of Corby herself meant there was increasing dissatisfaction with the Indonesia posting which was becoming “a police rounds story”, as journalists were instructed to be pitched outside Kerokoban jail or Denpasar District court, filing reports similar to the one described by Nazor.
While the Corby case was a phenomenon in Australian media ‘megaspectacle’ reporting of Indonesia, there was evidence to suggest that this style of parachute reporting of court cases from Denpasar would continue. Underwear model Michelle Leslie’s arrest and conviction, the trial and eventual execution of the Bali bombers, and the Bali Nine arrests and death penalty sentences were the popular stories to come out of Indonesia throughout 2005 and 2006, and will be examples for media scholars and historians to analyse further. Rob Taylor, AAP Jakarta correspondent who was often sent to Denpasar to cover these stories, summed up the mood of his fellow Australian correspondents at that time. He said:
None of us Jakarta correspondents particularly enjoyed the Bali Court cases of the past few years. I would think they are not particularly focused on Indonesia. There is less appetite for stories with cultural aspects, as the web is changing things. People expect their news faster. Fast news and accurate news doesn’t necessarily mean they are compatible. Tabloid news is easier to
185 G. Thompson, personal interview. 186 SBS world news, 25 May, 2005. 265
do and it’s faster to do, so there is a rise in that. You see [with the Corby story] where the appetite lies.187
This chapter has raised questions about the nature of contemporary Australian reporting from Indonesia. It can be argued that the earlier generation of Australian correspondents to Indonesia received guidance from editors as to where they should go and what stories they should write. However, due to the limited amount of technology available to facilitate dialogue, editor’s roles in the decision-making process of foreign correspondents was restricted, and as such, journalists believed they were reporting with significant agency. The improvements in communications technology in the past twenty years have led to more guidance from editors tuned to the domestic agenda. The concern from journalists is that rather than being guided by editors, they are under increasing pressure to produce to the speed at which technology allows. When a major story breaks, news agencies send dozens of parachute journalists and cameramen to report ‘a rolling news story’ in which the gathering of images and live reporting dominates the professional practice of correspondents. This leaves little time for documentation, sourcing, context and analysis, key practices for any journalist. The goal should always be to provide Australia with the most complete information on a news story as possible. As the Schapelle Corby megaspectacle illustrated, the nature of contemporary reporting does not always lead to a complete gathering of information, quality journalism, nor a greater understanding of Indonesia for Australians, and may strain diplomatic relations between the two countries. Contemporary Australian journalists’ agency and freedom to report Indonesia in a broad and analytical manner is limited by the increasing demand to ‘get the story out’ faster than ever before. The priority is on quick, sensationalised news designed purely to sell to a domestic audience, rather than reports assembled to educate Australians more broadly on the issues confronting the majority of Indonesians in the twenty-first century.
187 Taylor, personal interview. AAP also had Mike Hedge and Geoff Spencer reporting from Denpasar during the Corby trial. 266
CHAPTER VIII
CONCLUSION
This thesis has examined the changing professional practice of Australian journalists from 1945-2005. Much of the existing literature suggests journalists have significant autonomy to operate effectively and shape stories. Much of the previous historical accounts of journalists focus on the foreign correspondent as ‘hero and myth-maker’. Journalists are portrayed as being able to overcome danger, deceit and obstruction to somehow make sense of it all to news consumers at home. This literature implies that journalists have considerable autonomy and power, yet in this case the power is not in causing diplomatic incidents, but in overcoming natural and human obstacles. Furthermore, a consistent argument from Government officials and academics has been that the greatest cause of disruption to Australia-Indonesia relations has been the Australian media. The Australian foreign correspondent to Indonesia has often been held responsible on the grounds that they often go to Indonesia with preconceived ideas and biases, and have unnecessarily caused diplomatic incidents as they operate from the archipelago. This claim implies that Australian foreign correspondents have considerable autonomy in their professional practice, and have such power that they can, and deliberately do, disrupt otherwise positive bilateral relations. Put another way, the assumption is that journalists are an inherently disruptive force with considerable power and freedom. This thesis has shown, however, that in the case of Australian journalists to Indonesia, this implied power is overstated.
Through an extended historical analysis this thesis has led us to a greater understanding of Australian journalism and foreign news reporting from Indonesia. By examining a range of influences on journalists’ professional practice, rather than limiting responses to culture ‘per se’, or a single event such as the deaths of the Balibo Five, a much clearer understanding of the Australian media in Indonesia was provided and a richer history explained. It has shown there are complex power plays at work in the flow of Australian news from Indonesia. While Australian foreign correspondents have some agency, autonomy and freedom in their professional practice, they are often 267
restricted by internal and external forces. Their freedom to operate from Indonesia has been hindered by constraints and pressures from respective governments, but also by the news system and hierarchical procedures in the newsgathering process. These forces have constrained the professional practice of Australian correspondents, reducing their power and limiting their autonomy as they report Indonesia to Australians.
Australian journalists discussed in this research may not always have had enough power to overcome the difficulties they face, but this research has shown they largely attempted to seek the ‘truth’ as they reported from the archipelago. Peter Lloyd encapsulated the thoughts of many Australian journalists to Indonesia when he wrote that his profession was “the high minded, vocational pursuit of the holy grail of truth and meaning.”1 This history has shown that Australian journalists believed in the importance of their own autonomy to report what they perceived as the ‘truth’. As Chapter II showed, this depended on the historical timeframe and political circumstances in which they reported, but overall they operated within a structure of ideals inherent in the libertarian theory of the media, which was “to help discover the truth.”2 These goals, and the very realistic presumption that the resident correspondents who stayed for an extensive period of time in Indonesia were a roll call of the best Australia has produced3, suggests that any culpability that might be attached to the role of the media in Australian-Indonesian relations lies not with the cultural preconditions and backgrounds of individual journalists, but rather a difficulty in overcoming the constraints and power plays described in this thesis. The knowledge, skills, ideals and practices of Australian correspondents are significant in this story, and this investigation has shown that Australian journalists were hardly troublesome or inherently opposed to stronger bilateral ties with Indonesia.
1 Peter Lloyd, ‘Two weeks in Bali’, in Trevor Bormann (ed.), Travellers’ Tales: Stories from the ABC’s Foreign Correspondents, ABC Books, 2001, p. 201. An extended version of this quotation was supplied and discussed in greater detail in Chapter II. 2 Fred S. Siebert, ‘The Libertarian Theory of the Press’, Four Theories of the Press, N. Schram (ed.), 1963, p. 51. 3 Graeme Dobell (as noted in Chapter I) argued that few of the resident correspondents to Asia signify the ‘drongo-journo’ mould of cultural insensitivity and were a “roll call of the best we have” and are “careful, experienced reporters...none fits the drongo mould of cultural insensitivity or ignorance.” Graeme Dobell, 1993, in Kingsbury, Issues in Australian Journalism on Indonesia, p. 134. Indeed, most those interviewed for this research had spent a number of years in Indonesia and continued a long career in both journalism and in providing Australians with greater understanding of Indonesia. Almost all mentioned they had been back to Indonesia since their posting ended, either for future reporting or to visit friends they made during their time as correspondent. 268
This research has examined the journalists’ autonomy in their professional practice and how this autonomy has changed over time. The idealised Western model of a press free from the interests of government, capital and the pressures of commercial practice has been investigated thoroughly in previous chapters of this research. By examining constraints from government and the news system, this thesis has contributed to a broader idea of the concept of press freedom. Isaiah Berlin’s distinction between positive and negative liberty is heuristically useful in understanding the scope of journalists’ autonomy in their professional practice. Negative liberty is freedom from oppression or obstruction by others, or the power to operate without interference from another. Australian journalists in Indonesia and scholars writing about press freedom in Asia have emphasised the constraints and restrictions placed upon journalists, noting bans and blacklists, visa restrictions and military abuses. These have been outlined in this thesis in detail, and this research has shown that press freedom has been constrained not just by the actions and policies of the Indonesian Government, but also by actions of Australian Government officials. This discussion has documented deliberate and specific constraints placed upon Australian journalists’ autonomy which have limited their power to operate in a certain way as they reported from Indonesia.
It was duly explained that the Indonesian Government has often historically disengaged with the Western concept of a free press, seeing restrictions and controls on journalists as essential in an endeavour to promote nationalism and development. But Indonesian journalists often pushed the limits of their government’s ideological project, and they often bravely stood up for press freedoms despite government repercussions. Thus, the lingering problem is how to account for the regime’s interest in trying to control the power play of journalism and the representation of the Indonesian nation. Although regimes changed, and at times were briefly tolerant of critical reporting from both the domestic and international press, it is in this context that Indonesian Government constraints can be understood. This does not mean their controls should be unconditionally supported. As this thesis has shown, restrictions on press freedoms and Australian journalists’ autonomy were often implemented by the New Order to benefit its corrupt and oppressive regime. The Australian media has been placed under great scrutiny in Indonesia because the Indonesian Government has historically seen the media as a tool in nation-building and development, rather than a critical voice necessary for society. Even domestically, Indonesian officials have been overly 269
sensitive when the media criticised policy or politicians. In addition, the self-interested, ideologically unsure New Order regime has been a feature of Indonesian governance until 1998, and there was a belief media scrutiny needed to be limited in order to maintain the regime. The Australian Government, which supposedly supports the virtues of press freedom, has often disregarded these principles, and placed constraints and limitations upon journalists in the hope to gain greater control over bilateral relations with Indonesia. The increasing strategies put in place to limit the relationship between journalists and Australian Government officials suggests they have not found a way to work with news from Indonesia that might cause the bilateral relationship to stall. This comes from a proven fear that one ill-conceived or irresponsible media report could end any dialogue between the two governments, which is above all a reflection of Australian Governments’ insecure hold of the relationship with Indonesia.
As this thesis has shown, constraints and limitations placed upon journalists were not solely the work of governments, and it is in this context that journalists’ autonomy or agency was examined further. Berlin associated ‘positive liberty’ with the idea of self-mastery, or the capacity to be in control of one’s destiny, without interference. In short, this was freedom to operate in a certain way as a “thinking, willing, acting being, bearing responsibility for my choices and able to explain them by references to my own ideas and purposes.”4 Australian journalists’ freedom to report within a reasonable timeframe, engage with a wide range of sources, and use local staff more effectively, was often hindered due to news system pressures and hierarchical procedures in foreign news practice. Yet, these constraints are rarely discussed as hindrances to press freedom.
This thesis has shown that the hierarchical nature of sources and news which is entrenched in the news system placed constraints over journalists’ professional practice. This was exemplified alarmingly in the Australian reporting of the Indonesian killings of 1965-66, where journalists were unable or unwilling to leave Jakarta and report on the killings of approximately 500 000 people. When the killings were reported, figures were unreliable and not from authoritative sources, and thus the reports were limited. Some Australian journalists lamented this as a failure due to incomplete coverage on
4 Sidney Morgenbesser and Jonathan Lieberson, ‘Isaiah Berlin’, in Avishai (ed.) Isaiah Berlin: A Celebration, p. 20. 270
their part, but much blame must also go to the hierarchical system of sources that dominates Western reporting practice. This places constraints on journalists and limits the coverage of Indonesia to the political elite of Jakarta. As former Indonesia correspondent Bruce Grant explained so eloquently, for a correspondent filing reports under these constraints: “It is hard to find a national meaning in a beautiful face in the street, in the bejak bells at night, the sombre colours of a batik sarong, yet they are as much the mark of a country as the insignia of politics.”5 In Australian news coverage of Indonesia, bejak bells and batik sarongs are no match for Bali bombers and the Balibo Five, yet to disregard the former gives a narrow and distorted impression of the country. As Grant implies, the subtle signs are an important part of understanding Indonesia, yet news values prioritise other issues.
Contemporary limitations on journalists’ professional practice are largely due to the improvements in communications technology. The speed of news can limit the correspondents ‘positive liberty’, as their capacity to move from their desk is hindered, and they are sabotaged by their own technology. They face constraints in reporting with analysis and context, due mostly to the development of instantaneous live coverage, or rolling news stories, and editorial demands that encourage a greater focus on domestic agendas. According to many of the correspondents interviewed, the speed of disseminating live images comes at the cost of well-informed contextualisation and backgrounding of stories. One of the paradoxes of the issue of ‘freedom’ and ‘control’ is that the technology that frees journalists from one set of controls creates another potentially more limiting structure.
Since Australian journalists began reporting from Indonesia in 1945, they have been subjected to numerous constraints. However, this thesis has shown that journalists’ autonomy and professional agency has shifted over time. Throughout the 1980s, the Suharto Government had banned all Australian journalists from Indonesia, as they drastically tried to control the news process. Since the fall of the New Order, this power has shifted.6 Reforms to incorporate greater freedom of the press in Indonesia were
5 Bruce Grant, Indonesia, Melbourne University Press, 1964, p. 3. 6 Press Law number 40, implemented in September, 1999, was a law that guaranteed freedom of the press as stipulated in Article 19 of the United Nations Human rights Declaration. Of crucial importance was that the Indonesian Government could no longer ban publications. See the UNESCO web site for full details: http://www.unesco.or.id/prog/cii/com-index/law.pdf. 271
undertaken, and freedom for journalists to operate and write openly has improved dramatically. Contemporary Australian journalists are, for the most part, reporting in an era of press freedom that their predecessors could only dream of, giving them greater autonomy from Indonesian Government restrictions and regulations. Power is also shifting in hegemonic work relations in foreign newsgathering. Indonesian local staff are now beginning to receive a by-line in reports, leading to greater recognition of their role as legitimate and essential players in the news process. This will assist in negating the long entrenched hierarchy of foreign news reporting whereby local staff are seen as useful only as translators or assistants. The increasing variety of sources available for contemporary foreign correspondents has meant that sources are not limited to the Jakarta elite. CSIS in particular does not hold as much power over Australian journalists as it did during the New Order. A wider variety of sources will lead to greater autonomy for journalists to shape stories, rather than be limited in their accounts due to hierarchical procedures and institutionalised filtering and restrictions based on commercial news gathering practices.
The shift in power over Australian journalists’ autonomy is evident. While the Indonesian Government lessened its controls over journalists by the turn of the century, many Australian correspondents stated that at the same time, the Australian Government was less willing to engage with the media and had actually increased its constraints on correspondents’ access to official functions. This shows a greater attempt by the Australian Government to control the news process. In addition, contemporary Australian correspondents’ capacity to determine their professional practice is becoming increasingly constrained by the speed of technology and editorial direction. This was exemplified in the recent reporting of the Schapelle Corby megaspectacle, in which resident correspondents were forced to compete with fast, yet sensationalist and inaccurate accounts from parachute journalists and a domestic agenda for the story guided largely through the ‘moving hieroglyphics’ of television images. The importance of fast, immediate news from Indonesia has meant the power lies more at the hands of editors shaping rolling news stories and the parachute journalists than well informed resident correspondents. As Australian reporting of Indonesia reaches over 50 years, it is lamentable that the power shifts have led to greater sensationalism, distortion and spectacle in the reporting of our neighbours.
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It remains to assess the significance of these constraints. This thesis has traced the professional practice of Australian journalists in Indonesia since 1945, and shown the pressures, influences and controls they faced while attempting to report from the archipelago. This thesis concludes by arguing that government attempts to constrain journalists in their professional practice is not productive. As previously stated, governments appear to be operating under the false assumption that journalists are an inherently disruptive force with considerable power, and their assumption that journalists are inherently troublesome and opposed to stronger bilateral ties is too simplistic. As Chapter IV and V showed, the various mechanisms the Indonesian and Australian Governments applied in the interests of their own and the bilateral relationship did not work. Governments believed they could control what they saw as a simple system of news flows by limiting journalists’ professional practice, yet this research has shown that the process of shaping reports is more complex. The nature of journalism cannot be controlled by simple methods of thuggery from Indonesian military officials nor crude tactics by the Indonesian Government, who were not able to justify effectively their position on these controls. Even within Indonesia, it is obvious that domestic journalists did not sign up to developmental journalism ideals all of the time. The Indonesian Government was forced into heavy handed and coercive tactics on many occasions in its endeavours to control its own domestic media. There is no evidence to suggest these measures undertaken by Australian Government officials succeeded in their aims. In contrast, the argument here is that hindering journalists’ professional practice limits the breadth of knowledge available for foreign correspondents. This seems in complete contradiction to the better of understanding our neighbours.
Ian Macintosh, who reported for the ABC upon its return to Indonesia in 1991, said his aim was “to report accurately and as comprehensively as the circumstances and our resources permitted.”7 This thesis has shown that the circumstance and resources often made Australian journalists’ professional practice difficult. It has also shown that Australian journalists’ lack of agency or autonomy has meant it has been difficult report Indonesia effectively to Australians. This may suggest that the task of these correspondents has been enormous. As veteran Indonesian journalist Peter Hastings
7 Errol Hodge, Radio Wars: Truth, Propaganda and the struggle for Radio Australia, p. 224. 273
observed: “I pondered the difficulties of reporting Indonesia to Australians, concluding that the best of a bad job was all one could really hope for.”8 To ask these correspondents to report Indonesia effectively under these conditions, all the while supporting Australian-Indonesian relations, is perhaps unfair and unrealistic. In this regard, politicians have moved away from believing that negative media representations can be overcome. In recent bilateral conferences, the emphasis has been on people-to- people relations and greatly increased public affairs activity by diplomatic missions.9 This may indeed be a more realistic, and successful path to follow in developing Australia-Indonesia relations.
However, this thesis has shown that Australian journalists have provided significant and important details of the Indonesian archipelago that has furthered our understanding of our neighbours, despite the outlined limitations and constraints. As Bruce Grant editorialised as early as 1963 in The Age: “While we can never be a mediator, we can at least provide a channel of communication.”10 Thus, we should aspire towards overcoming constraints on Australian journalists’ professional practice in Indonesia to give this channel of communication greater depth. It is argued here that for a broader and more effective Australian reporting of Indonesia in the future, these constraints need to be lessened. The more limitations placed upon correspondents, the greater chance the reports from Indonesia will be narrow and distorted. Greater interaction will help, such as exchange programs whereby Australian journalists have greater exposure to Indonesia, thereby negating the common trend of parachute journalists arriving without any context or experience in Indonesian language, culture or customs.11
8 Peter Hastings, The Road to Lembang: A Retrospect, 1938-1966, Australians in Asia Series No. 5, Griffith University, 1990, p. 38. 9 Daniel Flitton, diplomatic editor to The Australian and delegate at the recent conference, ‘Australia and Indonesia: Partners in a new era’, wrote, “Driving the summit was an effort to improve links between everyday citizens, to limit the battering each country takes in the public mind whenever a Schapelle Corby or Bali bombers-type circus unfolds and all the old stereotypes play out about ‘backward’ Indonesians or ‘arrogant’ Australians.” ‘An important step to a better neighbourhood’, The Australian, February 25, 2009. See also Stephen Smith’s opening address to the conference, in which he spoke at length about people-to-people links. http://www.foreignminister.gov.au/speeches/2009/090220_australia_indonesia_conference.html. See also David T. Hill, ‘Encouraging signs on the Asia front’, The Australian, 25 February, 2009, and Hamish McDonald, ‘Talking to our neighbours means learning the language’, The Sydney Morning Herald, February 21, 2009, where they place the importance of language studies at universities. 10 Bruce Grant, editorial, The Age, 22 October, 1963, p. 7. 11 The ACICIS Journalism Professional Practicum is worth a particular mention, as it gives students and young journalists two months in Jakarta to develop background knowledge and theoretical insights 274
This thesis has shown that throughout the history of Australian reporting of Indonesia, there have always been some forms of constraints placed upon journalists’ professional practice. No doubt some are inevitable. The idea that Australian correspondents should report on Australians and Australian interests abroad means stories will be more geared towards this aim. This is to be anticipated, otherwise sub- editors would simply assemble newspapers and bulletins from international news agency copy; generic news produced from within the Western intellectual framework. In any case, the defender of Berlin’s concepts of liberty does not have to deny that some self-control is required of a free agent.12 Commercial networks will continue to push for stories that sell. Governments will continue to limit information through public relations managers to lessen diplomatic incidents. For correspondents, it will always be difficult to convey the reality of life in Indonesia, without over-simplifying it, in a way that suits the taste of the reader in Australia, but the challenge for Australian correspondents is to do this in a way that reflects broader issues confronting the lives of Indonesians.
Journalists, editors, news chiefs and governments can work towards negating constraints and limitations on journalists to establish a greater understanding of Indonesia. They may not always be successful, but striving to achieve greater agency for journalists is crucial to the future of reporting Indonesia. As ANU academic Jamie Mackie wrote:
Closer engagement with Indonesia may still be little more than a dream, but it is a dream worth cherishing – and even proclaiming forthrightly as the goal towards which we should be advancing. It does not greatly matter that the goal will probably remain forever just beyond our grasp. It is the direction that the dream provides that is crucial.13
This thesis has shown the external and internal forces that have affected the process of reporting for Australian journalists in Indonesia, and how these forces have changed over time. Thus, this research contributes to the literature on Australian understanding required to work as a correspondent in Indonesia. See http://www.acicis.murdoch.edu.au/hi/journalist.html 12 Alan Ryan (ed.), The idea of freedom: essays in honour of Isaiah Berlin, Oxford University Press, 1979, p. 5. 13 Jamie Mackie, ‘Reflections on the Bilateral relationship – and beyond’, in John Monfries (ed.) Different Societies, Shared Futures: Australia, Indonesia and the Region, Indonesia Update Series, research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, ANU, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 2006, p. 183. 275
of Indonesia, as the constraints on the reporting process have led to a limited and distorted coverage of Indonesian affairs in the Australian news. It is hoped that by striving towards negating these influences over press freedoms, future Australian coverage of Indonesian affairs will have greater scope, depth and diversity.
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