By: Budi Setiyono & Ross H. McLeod
Soeharto era concern about corruption was deflected by the establishment of toothless anti-corruption committees, and by suppression of anti-corruption activism and media comment. With Soeharto’s demise, activists began to publicise their concerns more openly — at first speaking in general terms but later making increasingly specific accusations. The sporadic activism of the Soeharto years was consolidated first through cooperative action among similarly motivated informal groups and later through establishment of formal civil society organisations (CSOs) intent on rolling back corruption. The CSOs have played a key role in pushing for new laws and institutions to help eradicate corruption, and many corrupt officials have been imprisoned. This paper finds little evidence, however, that corruption has declined significantly. Further progress depends, it argues, on CSOs gaining a better understanding of the underlying causes of corruption, and these are to be found in public sector personnel management practices.
The utopian view of bureaucrats, politicians and parliaments is as a collection of individuals who serve to represent the best interests of society at large through policy formulation and implementation. The reality is that these individuals can also misuse the coercive power of the state to benefit particular interests and themselves. Thus, for example, police, prosecutors and judges are expected to protect the public from theft, fraud and violence, but can just as easily misuse their powers to shield the perpetrators of such crimes, and to extort payment from citizens and firms by way of unwarranted accusations of criminal behaviour. Likewise, politicians and bureaucrats may spend large amounts of taxpayers’ funds to create new infrastructure, regardless of whether it is socially beneficial, because they are able to manage the procurement process so as to enrich their business cronies and themselves. Entrusting the coercive power of the state to morally flawed individuals brings with it the need to devise means for monitoring and controlling the deployment of that power. Civil society organisations (CSOs) that focus on the struggle against corruption in the public sector are one means by which society tries to protect itself against abuse of the power it has entrusted to governments and their officials.
This paper traces the evolution of the anti-corruption movement in Indonesia since the beginning of the Soeharto era in the mid-1960s, and of the role of CSOs in that movement. It then attempts to evaluate the movement’s success. It is not possible to determine the extent to which progress on the anti-corruption front can be attributed specifically to CSOs, given that various other forces have been at work simultaneously. Nevertheless, it is of interest to review how these specialist CSOs have grown out of the less institutionalised anti-corruption activism that emerged during the Soeharto era, and the directions in which their efforts have been deployed. Of interest also is an evaluation of the validity of these organisations’ perceptions of their own success in fighting corruption. ‘Success’ needs to be measured by reductions in the prevalence of corruption, rather than by the number of new anti-corruption laws enacted and new institutions used to detect, prosecute and punish officials for corrupt behaviour. It is argued here that there is relatively little solid evidence that corruption is significantly less prevalent now than it was towards the end of the New Order period — despite, for example, the establishment of a Corruption Eradication Commission that has successfully prosecuted and imprisoned many high-level officials over the last several years. Seen from this perspective, the anti-corruption CSOs have been much less successful than may seem to be the case, despite their entirely laudable motives. This suggests a need for them to change the way they think about how to achieve their objectives.
A Brief History of the Anti-corruption Movement in the Soeharto Era
From as early as the 1970s a number of organisations tried to respond to the increasingly apparent corruption that began to characterise governments under Soeharto. In response to student demonstrations and press criticism, in January 1970 the president appointed an anti-corruption committee — ‘The Commission of Four’ — consisting of ‘generally respected’ academic and military representatives (Wilopo, I.J. Kasimo, Herman Johannes and Anwar Tjokroaminoto), along with Indonesia’s founding vice president, Mohammad Hatta, as an adviser and Major General Sutopo Yuwono as secretary (Mackie 1970). The committee functioned merely as an advisory body to the president, with no authority to take any other action. After presenting some seven reports on various public sector organisations in the next few months, it was dissolved in July 1970. The efforts of the committee had no discernible impact on the incidence of corruption.
In August 1970 the student council of the University of Indonesia organised a seminar to analyse the government’s failure to deal with corruption. Following the seminar, student activists such as Nono Anwar Makarim, Arief Budiman, Subchan, Emil Salim and Adnan Buyung Nasution repeatedly voiced concern about the flourishing of corruption in government agencies (Aspinall 2005: 118; Hamzah 2005: 78–82). These protests led the government in August 1970 to establish a new anti-corruption committee that included a number of student activists (Hamzah 2005: 79). However, the government’s commitment to the objectives of this body too was illusory. The committee proved dysfunctional, with no clear mandate and no budget. In short, the student activists’ interventions were sporadic and had no significant impact on the operations of government.
In the early 1980s a group of retired generals and politicians signed a petition criticising the government, and drawing attention to the spread of corruption within the public sector and the role of Soeharto’s family in this (Jenkins 1984: 134–73; Kingsbury 2005: 74–5). The group, which became known as the Petition of Fifty (Petisi 50), persistently criticised corruption in government, thus becoming a pioneer of the Soeharto era anti-corruption movement. Heavy-handed repression from the government succeeded in marginalising the group within Indonesian politics, however. Indeed, at that time the authoritarian regime was highly successful in either destroying or co-opting any group that threatened its grip on power, including those that wanted merely to maintain social control over the government and minimise public sector mismanagement and corruption, without necessarily having any desire to change the leadership (Aspinall 2005: 24–5).
From the early 1990s there was some softening of repression, and various elements of civil society again began to organise criticism of corruption within the government. These organisations, including Pijar (Pusat Informasi dan Jaringan Aksi untuk Reformasi, the Information Centre and Reform Action Network), Aldera (Aliansi Demokrasi Rakyat, the People’s Democratic Alliance), and SMID (Solidaritas Mahasiswa Indonesia untuk Demokrasi, Indonesian Student Solidarity for Democracy) voiced concern about corruption and political leadership at the national level (Aspinall 2005: 122–44). In the mid-1990s Professor Amien Rais, a high-profile academic from Gadjah Mada University and chair of the mass Islamic organisation Muhammadiyah began to appeal publicly for an end to the abuse of power. He introduced the famous reformasi (reform) slogan: ‘abolish KKN’ (korupsi, kolisu dan nepotisme, corruption, collusion and nepotism). Amien Rais was concerned mainly about Soeharto family business monopolies and dubious contracts for certain very large mining investments. Many student organisations were also expressing concern about the KKN problem at that time, so he was invited to speak about corruption at numerous universities.
The anti-corruption movement in the late 1990s and beyond
The movement intensified in the late 1990s, with an upsurge of calls for reformasi as the Asian financial crisis loosened Soeharto’s grip. Actions against KKN took place at many major cities in 1997–98, as people started to organise themselves into innumerable informal groups intent on attacking corruption in government. Typically such groups were established by student activists and supported by artists, NGO workers and academics. Yogyakarta, in particular — the city where Amien Rais started his anti-KKN campaign — witnessed a proliferation of these groups. Together with older student organisations such as HMI (the Islamic Students Association), GMNI (the Indonesian Nationalist Students Movement), PMKRI (the Indonesian Catholic Students Association), and PMII (the Indonesian Islamic Student Movement), they demonstrated to demand political reform and the eradication of KKN. Although the demonstrations addressed various issues, the general concern with KKN was always central. Nevertheless, these groups usually avoided pinpointing particular institutions or focusing on individual cases of corruption. The basic objective of activists at the time was to bring the current regime to an end and to halt corrupt behaviour by public sector officials.
After the Soeharto regime collapsed in May 1998, however, these groups began to highlight particular cases of corruption. In Jakarta on 15 June 1998, for example, hundreds of people demonstrated outside the attorney general’s office, demanding investigation of the sources of Soeharto’s wealth and that of his family and business cronies (Republika, 16/6/1998). On the same day student demonstrations took place in various other locations, focusing on specific cases of corruption by government officials. For example, in Tegal, Central Java, students demanded investigation of corruption allegations involving the mayor (Suara Merdeka, 16/6/1998). Similarly in Cianjur, thousands of people demanded the resignation of the bupati (district head) because of alleged corruption related to various local government projects, while in Bekasi, thousands more attended a public gathering demanding an end to illegal charges for the provision of public services (Kompas, 16/6/1998). Similar demonstrations continued almost every day for several months thereafter in a wide variety of locations, protesting about corruption in government procurement, illegal levies imposed by officials, and corrupt behaviour by members of parliament.
Student activism inspired other elements within the community to become involved in the anti-corruption movement. Demonstrations against KKN took place at state-owned enterprises, at private sector institutions and even in professional associations. For example, on 10 and 15 June 1998 employees of the state-owned international airport in Jakarta, PT Angkasa Pura II, went on strike and organised a demonstration at the airport, demanding an end to corrupt practices within the company (Kompas, 11 and 16/6/1998). On 1 July 1998, employees of the Mental Rehabilitation Public Hospital in Bogor demonstrated to demand the eradication of KKN within the management of the hospital; on the same day hundreds of employees of the State Electricity Company (PLN) gathered for a mass demonstration in Jakarta, likewise calling for the eradication of KKN in the company (Kompas, 2/7/1998). In October 1998, several members of the Association of Indonesian Journalists (PWI) signed a petition and conducted demonstrations calling on the head and secretary of the association to resign because of suspected involvement in corruption; these actions resulted in the establishment of ‘PWI Reformasi’ (Kompas, 20/10/1998). On 22 June 1998 hundreds of teachers in Bandung held a demonstration at the regional parliament (DPRD), demanding an end to 15 forms of illicit levies on their salaries (Pikiran Rakyat, 23/6/1998).
Demonstrations demanding the eradication of KKN took place not only at the national and provincial levels but also at local government and village levels. On 30 June 1998, for example, 100 people from Parbuluan I and Parbuluan II villages in the Dairi district of North Sumatra province demonstrated in opposition to the sale of village land to a private company, believing the transaction to be based on corrupt interaction between government officials and the company in question (Kompas, 1/7/1998). On the same day around 300 people from the village of Lidah Kulon in East Java province held a demonstration at the office of the provincial public prosecutor, demanding investigation of the allegedly corrupt sale of land belonging to the village for the construction a golf course (Jawa Pos, 1/7/1998).
Although the anti-corruption movement had begun to highlight particular cases of corruption, at this phase of its evolution demonstrations were typically spontaneous. The demonstrators lacked sufficient evidence to substantiate allegations of corruption and thus to support calls for the resignation of the officials in question. Many of the actions therefore ended without any legal action against those under suspicion. Nevertheless, the protests attracted sympathy from a wider range of elements of society. By the end of 1999, numerous professional associations, labour organisations, women’s organisations, lawyers and academics began to participate in the movement, not only providing moral and logistical support for the students, but also assisting them with more substantive ideas and analysis. As a result, the movement became not only broader and more active but also more sophisticated and tactical in its approach. Nevertheless it remained fragmented, lacking effective coordination and a common vision. Some of the informal associations disbanded once corruption cases had been dealt with in the courts, while others disappeared without achieving any significant outcome.
The remaining associations continued their struggle, however. In the next phase they developed more formal organisations, and set up networks for sharing experiences, strategies and information, and for promoting solidarity. CSOs such as ICW (Indonesian Corruption Watch), MTI (Indonesian Society for Transparency), and IPW (Indonesian Procurement Watch) became central to the fight against corruption in the turbulent democratic transition that followed Soeharto’s demise.
Consolidation in the Post-Soeharto Era
The downfall of Soeharto provided an opportunity for civil society to consolidate its anti-corruption efforts and to function largely free of constraints. In order to confront the evident continuation of corrupt practices within the public sector, and in anticipation of a possible resurgence of undemocratic government, student activists took this opportunity to transform their informal associations into more formal and professional anti-corruption CSOs. These were established in an attempt to preserve the victory that had been achieved with the dislodgement of Soeharto, and to ensure that further developments would reflect the aspirations articulated during that battle. On 5 June 2000, for example, informal associations from a number of cities — including Yogyakarta, Malang, Surabaya, Bandung and Jakarta — came together in Jakarta to establish the Indonesian Youth Struggle Front (FPPI). FPPI formalised its existence by officially registering itself, adopting a manifesto and constitution that called for regular rotation of its board members and the ongoing recruitment of new members, and establishing a concrete organisational structure. Following this it has been energetic in addressing corruption issues, focusing especially on corruption cases that affect the interests of people such as farmers, fishers and labourers.
Some CSOs grew out of a single informal association that had previously addressed corruption issues through spontaneous action. MTI is an example of this kind of CSO. Originally it was an informal discussion forum consisting of student activists, retired senior government officials, journalists, bankers, private organisation leaders and academics, who expressed concern about the direction of reformasi in late 1997. The group used to meet regularly during this period to talk about national problems, releasing joint statements on various issues, especially governance reform and corruption. In mid-1998 the group formed itself into a permanent organisation and adopted a more systematic and strategic approach to addressing corruption and other social and political issues.
The most common approach, however, was the federation of a number of formal and informal organisations, including street demonstrator groups, NGOs, university organisations and academics, professional associations and even some political parties. For example, KP2KKN (Committee for Investigation and Examination of Corruption Collusion and Nepotism), a high-profile anti-corruption CSO in Central Java, was formed by 11 organisations from various sectors. The organisations did not necessarily fuse themselves into one new institution, but contributed to its establishment by providing representatives, facilities or funds.
Apart from newly emerging anti-corruption CSOs, a number of existing CSOs formed for other purposes began to take part in the battle against corruption. Muhammadiyah, NU (Nahdlatul Ulama, Indonesia’s other pre-eminent mass Islamic organisation) and YLBHI (Yayasan Lembaga Bantuan Hukum Indonesia, the Indonesian Legal Aid Institute Foundation, usually referred to simply as LBH, the Legal Aid Foundation) are significant examples. As the number of corruption cases mounted at both national and local levels during the democratic transition that began in 1998, these organisations refocused their attention so as to address anti-corruption issues, to which they had given little emphasis previously. Besides undertaking anti-corruption programs themselves, these CSOs also created new anti-corruption organisations in various provinces and districts. NU and Muhammadiyah became active in undertaking anti-corruption training, workshops and research, and engaging in related outreach through the print media, radio talk-shows and seminars. CSOs also sponsored the establishment of various watchdog and policy advocacy organisations in several cities. LBH has been a strong supporter of anti-corruption activists, providing free legal consultation and advocacy, as well as legal assistance when anti-corruption activists initiated legal actions against, or received threats from, allegedly corrupt individuals. On a number of occasions LBH publicly urged the acceleration of legal processes related to corruption cases, and repeatedly called on the government to confiscate assets of corrupt officials and distribute them to the poor (Tempointeraktif, 16/2/2007). By collaborating with other parties such as journalists, academics and political parties, LBH also gave support to the establishment of anti-corruption CSOs such as FPSB (the Concerned Forum of West Sumatra) in Padang, and BCW (Bali Corruption Watch) in Bali.
The exact number of anti-corruption CSOs is unknown, but some suggest that there is currently at least one such organisation in every district and province; this would imply a total of more than 500 (personal communication with Lucky Djani, ICW activist, 16 July 2008). The total tends to fluctuate, however, as CSOs are often short-lived. In many places, CSOs are born and die following changes in socio-political circumstances and in line with the availability of funding.
Currently, apart from generalist anti-corruption organisations, there are also several CSOs that focus on corruption in specific sectors only. For example, IPW (Indonesia Police Watch) works in the law and order sector; Formappi (Forum Masyarakat Peduli Parlemen Indonesia, Indonesian Forum for Community Concern about Parliaments) and MP (Mitra Parlemen, Partners of Parliament) focus on the legislatures; ICM (Indonesia Court Monitoring) and LeIP (Lembaga Kajian dan Advokasi untuk Independensi Peradilan, Institute for Analysis and Advocacy for Independent Courts) work in the judicial sector; and BUMN Watch is concerned with corruption in state enterprises. This specialisation not only enables each CSO to develop a strong knowledge of the corruption issues that characterise its area of focus, but also helps the anti-corruption movement to move forward in a more systematic way, since almost every state institution now has a CSO counterpart that monitors its performance and insists on accountability.
The CSOs have also tried to consolidate their actions by forming alliances and networks. In June 2000, for example, a nationwide meeting to synchronise anti-corruption efforts and to foster networking among CSOs was held in Yogyakarta, followed by a similar meeting in Bogor in August. This resulted in the formation of a network called GeRAK (Gerakan Rakyat Anti Korupsi, People’s Movement against Corruption). Following the establishment of GeRAK, other similar anti-corruption networks also emerged at both national and local levels.
Assistance from Foreign Donor Agencies
Assistance from donor agencies was significant in helping to transform informal anti-corruption organisations into formal ones. During the first decade of the democratic transition era, many international donor agencies rushed to Indonesia to provide considerable funding for good governance and anti-corruption programs, thus helping and stimulating informal associations to institutionalise their activities. Donor institutions such as the World Bank, the Asian Development Bank, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), the US Agency for International Development (USAID), the German Society for Technical Cooperation, the Canadian International Development Agency, the Australian Agency for International Development and the Japan International Cooperation Agency, in particular, provided many millions of dollars to support governance reform programs through various means, including strengthening CSOs with an anti-corruption focus. The donors’ approach differed significantly from that during the Soeharto period, when donors avoided politically sensitive issues such as corruption and accountability. In the democratisation years, by contrast, the lower level of government restriction allowed donors to formulate programs that emphasised anti-corruption, accountability and good governance. Donor support generally has been a significant factor in enabling CSOs to undertake their chosen mission. For example, a goal of USAID’s Local Governance Support Program was ‘to achieve more effective civil society and media participation in local governance’, and one of its sub-goals was ‘to improve citizen and CSO ability to demand better services and hold regional governments accountable’ (<http://www.lgsp.or.id/>).
Donor assistance to anti-corruption programs was also channelled through the Partnership for Governance Reform in Indonesia (PGRI). The Partnership was initiated by a group of reform-minded Indonesians, with initial support from UNDP, to serve as a platform for governance reform efforts supporting Indonesia’s transition toward democracy — including endorsement of the need to eradicate corruption. In supporting the anti-corruption movement, PGRI sponsored CSO projects in various provinces and districts nation-wide. By mid-2008 the organisation had spent over $5 million on more than 60 anti-corruption projects. For example, in Aceh, PGRI supported two CSO projects advocating sound financial management in local governments. This led to the first conviction for corruption involving a provincial governor (see below). In West Sumatra the organisation supported FPSB‘s exposure of irregularities in the 2002 provincial budget, making it possible for KPK to obtain convictions of the governor and a number of DPRD members.
Although it is difficult to assess empirically the extent of its contribution, it seems clear that foreign aid has played a significant role in helping to make CSOs effective. Anti-corruption activism is costly, especially when it involves investigations into sophisticated forms of corruption. CSOs need to gather information, find evidence of malfeasance, conduct legal analyses and, not infrequently, pressure law enforcement agencies tirelessly through demonstrations and media exposure. The cost is even higher when CSOs want to initiate or advocate the introduction of new regulations and policies. As a consequence, many CSO activities would be unaffordable in the absence of donor funding.
Such funding has not always been a pre-condition for CSOs to institutionalise their operations, however. At the local level, when donor funds were not available, the institutionalisation of the anti-corruption movement relied on the civil society tradition of generating revenue through levies on members and public donations. In Trenggalek, East Java, for instance, the CSO Duta Sumbreng was established by the people of Sumberagung village, who had suffered bureaucratic extortion in relation to the supply of electricity, and embezzlement of government subsidies intended for their village. The residents collected small donations in order to form a team to deal with these irregularities, and later established a CSO to recoup the funds stolen by government officials (personal communication with Dardiri, Leader of Duta Sumbreng, 1 December 2007; Duta Sumbreng, no date).
The development of some CSOs was stimulated in part by political rivalries in local elections. Candidates needed the support of anti-corruption CSOs to make them look respectable. They were prepared to contribute financially to the cost of CSO investigations into corruption allegedly committed by rival candidates, and to fund demonstrations against the latter. Funding for CSOs was also obtained in some cases from local businesses disadvantaged by corruption connected to government procurement and the issue of licences.
ACTIVITIES AT THE STRATEGIC LEVEL
Commonsense suggests, and history confirms, that there is no reason to expect corrupt officials and political leaders to reform themselves; rather, the anti-corruption reform agenda derives mostly from civil society demanding change (Landell-Mills 2006: 3). In Indonesia, too, relying upon elites and political parties to carry out thorough-going anti-corruption programs has as yet proven largely fruitless. Without strong demands and pressures from below, top-down reform is unlikely. In this respect, CSOs have played a leading role in pressing the government to establish a strong institutional and legal framework to combat corruption.
CSOs in Indonesia organise their activities as a combination of antagonism toward, and cooperation with, decision makers. Sometimes they attack politicians and bureaucrats by way of harsh public criticism and vigorous street demonstrations, but not infrequently they also work hand-in-hand with policy makers to establish the legal and institutional frameworks and programs believed necessary to curb corruption. This encompasses actions ranging from the formulation of regulations to the establishment of anti-corruption bodies. Such actions are typically preceded by an examination of existing governance systems and regulations to detect aspects that help sustain the practice of corruption, and by the preparation of recommendations. The recommendations are then injected into public forums in the hope of attracting support. With input and support from the public, CSOs are then in a position to deliver their proposals to parliaments and other institutions for further deliberation. Important strategic activities include those discussed below
Amendment of the Constitution
The 1945 Constitution permitted the accumulation of immense power in the hands of the president, partly by not imposing any limit on the number of terms an individual could serve, and partly by not specifying how members of the People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR) were to be appointed. The MPR consisted of all members of the House of Representatives (DPR) plus an equal number of representatives of unspecified ‘regions’ and ‘groups’. Its main function was to elect a new president and vice president every five years. During the New Order period, President Soeharto gained control of the process of appointing non-DPR members to the MPR. In addition, a number of DPR seats were reserved to the military, over which Soeharto eventually gained almost complete control. Finally, Soeharto limited the number of political parties permitted to contest elections for seats in the DPR to just two other than his own electoral vehicle, Golkar, and a variety of means ensured that the latter always secured a clear majority of the vote. With the membership of the MPR thus largely beholden to Soeharto, it is hardly surprising that he was elected unopposed for seven five-year presidential terms from 1968 to 1998.
In view of all this, amendment of the Constitution was considered vital to strengthening accountability in government and reducing corruption. Soon after Soeharto resigned in May 1998, a number of CSOs demanded that the MPR amend the Constitution, and then began actively trying to influence this process. In early 1999 they established an ad hoc coalition called KOKB (Coalition of NGOs for a New Constitution), which engaged in a prolonged series of activities intended to shape the content of the desired amendments (Sinar Harapan, 6/4/1999, 4/9/2002). It produced a working paper to analyse the weaknesses of the existing Constitution and provide input to a new one. This paper argued that the amendments should be comprehensive and not merely a partial modification to accommodate short-term political interests (KOKB 2001). The coalition also demanded that the MPR form a Constitutional Commission, consisting of independent academics, to formulate a draft new Constitution and to conduct a series of public discussions before its adoption.
To maximise the likelihood of their ideas being incorporated in the amended Constitution, activists from the coalition attended every meeting of the MPR and its working committee. To the extent possible, they tried to contact MPR members directly before and after such meetings to inform them of their aspirations. The coalition evaluated the progress of the amendment process each month, and encouraged the press to publicise its views. It also tried to generate public awareness of the process by organising campaigns through the media, public discussion forums and street demonstrations. The campaign encouraged public participation in determining the content of the new Constitution, so that the process would not be monopolised by political elites and the ruling parties. After the MPR finally agreed to form a Constitutional Commission in August 2002, CSO elements worked closely with members of the commission to reshape the Constitution.
Establishment of the United Team for Corruption Eradication
The first strategic success of the CSOs in strengthening the anti-corruption movement was the establishment by President Abdurrahman Wahid (through Government Regulation 19/2000, issued on 23 May) of the United Team for Corruption Eradication (Tim Gabungan Pemberantasan Tindak Pidana Korupsi, TGPTPK) — the first anti-corruption task force of the post-democratisation era. This team was assigned to deal with corruption cases that required investigation at a level of sophistication thought to be beyond the capability of existing law enforcement agencies. Although many activists considered TGPTPK less than ideal as an institution for combating corruption, they viewed its existence as better than nothing. Accordingly, civil society elements made a significant contribution to the team’s establishment by working on its design with officials from the Department of Law and Human Rights. Eight CSO representatives were among the 25 members of the TGPTPK once it was established. However, a number of corruption suspects brought a legal suit against the TGPTPK in the Supreme Court, and on 8 August 2001 it was closed down (Kompas, 9/8/2001).
Formation of the Corruption Eradication Commission and the Special Court for Corruption
Following the demise of the TGPTPK, anti-corruption activists urged the government and the parliament to establish a more permanent anti-corruption institution. This would later materialise as the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK). The CSOs focused initially on the legal foundation for the commission and an associated Special Corruption Court, before moving on to support the establishment of these institutions. ICW, MTI and PGRI played a leading role, voicing the need for an anti-corruption institution and later contributing to its formation. These three CSOs conducted public campaigns advocating corruption eradication as a starting point for achieving good governance, and highlighted the success stories of similar bodies in other countries, such as Hong Kong’s Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) and Thailand’s National Counter Corruption Commission (NCCC).
At that stage, however, policy makers showed little interest in creating an independent body to combat corruption, preferring to rely on existing government-controlled institutions. This was not surprising: many politicians and senior officials were under suspicion of corruption at the time, and creating a new anti-corruption agency would directly have threatened their interests. Nevertheless, under persistent strong pressure from civil society, the DPR eventually agreed to establish the KPK. Most DPR members wanted the commission to have only limited authority, focusing mainly on the prosecution of suspects, but not able to investigate allegations of corruption. Responding to this possibility, the CSOs organised public discussions to challenge the DPR’s approach. To strengthen their voice, the CSOs in late 2001 formed an alliance called Advocacy for a Corruption Eradication Commission (AKAK). The objective was to ensure not only that such an institution would be established as soon as possible but also that it would have comprehensive authority to combat corruption, including the right to carry out investigations, examinations and prosecutions. The possession of such comprehensive authority was considered crucial since, as one of AKAK’s founders, Teten Masduki, put it, the legal system had been very much contaminated by the culture of corruption, so ‘if we rely on the police and public prosecutors, we will never be able to cut the chain of corruption’ (Koran Tempo, 1/6/2002).
The alliance established a working group composed of representatives from its member bodies. This group focused initially on practical activities. It lobbied DPR members on the law that would provide the legal basis for the anti-corruption agency. It carried out a national survey of public perceptions of corruption, and forwarded the results to the DPR as an input supporting the enactment of such a law. The survey revealed a number of important findings (AKAK 2002). First, 94% of respondents believed the government should establish a new institution to combat corruption. Second, 69% felt that the institution should be given full authority to investigate, examine and prosecute corruption cases. Third, 96% thought the work of the anti-corruption institution should be overseen by a supervisory body. Fourth, 87% wanted members of the institution to be selected by an independent committee, free from government intervention. Finally, 77% saw the need for a special court to handle corruption cases. A series of meetings was held with members of the DPR and officials of the Supreme Court, the attorney general’s office, the police, the Ministry of Justice and the State Secretariat, to discuss the scope of authority of, and funding for, the proposed KPK. Eventually the DPR accommodated the broad thrust of the inputs from the CSOs, enacting Law 30/2002 establishing the KPK in December 2002.
Selection of KPK members
Although the law had been enacted, it took some time for the government to create these institutions. There was speculation in the media that the delay was due to concerns in the Megawati administration that the establishment of the KPK might damage her political interests, given that a number of then current corruption allegations involved Megawati’s inner circle. Politicians from her party (PDI-P) were suspected of key roles in various corruption cases, especially those involving IBRA (the Indonesian Bank Restructuring Agency) and the privatisation of certain state-owned enterprises (SOEs). For example, Laksamana Sukardi, the Minister of State-Owned Enterprises, who was seen as having helped to finance Megawati’s campaign in the 2004 presidential election, was suspected of involvement in irregularities relating to the privatisation of several SOEs (Sinar Harapan, 14/4/2005, 16/3/2006). Other Megawati ministers such as Said Agil Al Munawar (Minister of Religious Affairs), Rokhmin Dahuri (Minister of Maritime Affairs and Fisheries) and Widjanarko Puspoyo (Director of Bulog, the national logistics agency) were indeed later convicted of involvement in several cases of corruption (detiknews.com, 29/4/2007).
In 2002 and 2003, therefore, CSOs were active in generating the necessary political commitment to get the institution off the ground and then in supporting the start-up of the commission and the selection of its members in 2004. A number of CSOs were involved in this process, including the members of the GeRAK network (which had 30 CSO members at the time) and CSOs within the Judicial Watch Coalition (which had 10 members). On 21 September 2003, after continuous pressure from CSOs for almost a year, President Megawati issued Presidential Decree (Keppres) 73/2003 concerning the formation of a selection committee for the KPK. Following this, the CSOs closely monitored the selection of members of the commission, aiming to ensure that the process was transparent and allowed for public participation. They were especially dubious about the objectivity of the selection committee, given that a majority of its members represented the government rather than the public. Despite these concerns, CSO representatives (from PGRI, GeRAK, ICW, MTI and TI), together with various professional consultants, assisted the selection committee by becoming members of a technical support team. This team was charged with overseeing administrative documentation, verifying the track records of KPK candidates, evaluating candidates through written tests and interviews, and collecting input from the public. Involvement in this team thus provided an opportunity for elements of civil society to offset possible political intervention in the selection process.
After the KPK had been established, the CSOs assisted it in setting up its organisation and formulating its operating principles, and helped to introduce the new commission to the public. Since then the CSOs — especially MTI and PGRI — have continued to provide strategic support. For example, PGRI supported a joint project with international donor agencies to organise training for KPK staff, to arrange coordination meetings with other law enforcement agencies and to assist the development of KPK’s strategic planning and action plans.
Advocating the establishment of other anti-corruption institutions
Apart from fighting for the establishment of the KPK, CSOs advocated the formation of other anti-corruption institutions, using methods similar to those employed in relation to the KPK. They argued the need for such institutions, conveyed their proposals to the parliament and government departments, lobbied policy makers and undertook media campaigns to generate public support. By 2009, five other institutions concerned to some extent with anti-corruption objectives had been established, including the Centre for Financial Transactions Reporting and Analysis, the National Ombudsman’s Commission, the Judicial Commission, the Attorney General’s Commission and the Indonesian Police Commission.
Participating in formulation of the Witness and Victim Protection Act
In the absence of meaningful legal protection, some of those who reported corruption cases to the authorities in the past had met with violence and even death. Existing regulations had nominally afforded protection, but were ineffective because they did not clearly specify the mechanisms for providing it, or the rights of witnesses and victims. Besides intimidation from groups associated with corrupt individuals, retaliation also took the form of allegations of ‘slandering’ or ‘damaging the personal reputation’ of those they had alleged to be corrupt. The newspaper Republika reported (16/3/2005) that between 1998 and 2005 dozens of witnesses had been terrorised, tortured, sexually abused, or penalised by the courts for reporting corruption in various government agencies. Protection for witnesses and victims therefore came to be seen as an important issue in corruption eradication, because witnesses — including public sector whistle-blowers — and victims are key actors in exposing abuse.
Anti-corruption CSOs relied on the same kind of approach as previously, forming an Alliance for Witness Protection, and organising multi-stakeholder discussion forums to direct and manage the drafting of a witness and victim protection law. The Alliance produced a draft in 2005 and presented it to the parliament. The urgency of having such a law became particularly apparent when an auditor from the Supreme Audit Agency (BPK), Khairiansyah Salman, disclosed a case of corruption involving the Elections Commission (KPU). Salman trapped a KPU member who offered him a bribe in exchange for concealing corrupt kickbacks in relation to a particular KPU project. While some CSOs supported Salman, he was criticised by the chair of BPK for his actions and threatened with punishment (detiknews.com, 29/11/2005). This episode was largely responsible for a number of CSOs intensifying their campaign for a law to provide witness and victim protection. Following several negotiation meetings, Law 13/2006 on Witness and Victim Protection was enacted on 18 July 2006.
The government again proved reluctant to implement its legislation, however. Some six months after the enactment of Law 13/2006, it had yet to take action — in particular, failing to appoint members of the new Witness and Victim Protection Agency (Lembaga Perlindungan Saksi dan Korban, LPSK). The CSOs again took it upon themselves to force the issue. Lobbying and public campaigns were organised to put pressure on the president, the DPR and related government institutions to do what was necessary to make the law effective. Eventually the government began to act, forming a committee to select LPSK members in April 2007, finalising presidential decrees for implementation of the law in August 2007, and presenting its list of 14 nominees to the DPR in February 2008. The DPR selected the required seven LPSK members from this list on 15 July 2008, and the LPSK started full operations in October of that year.
Endorsing ratification of UN Convention Against Corruption
Apart from their efforts to build domestic support, CSOs have also tried to strengthen the anti-corruption movement through transnational links. In particular, they urged the government to ratify the United Nations Convention Against Corruption (UNCAC), arguing that this would demonstrate moral responsibility on Indonesia’s part within the international community, but also oblige the government to comply with the contents of the convention and become part of the international cooperative effort to fight corruption (ICW 2008: 4–5). On several occasions CSO activists, especially those from ICW and MTI, met with policy makers in the DPR and relevant government agencies to discuss this issue. At the same time, to generate public concern and support, activists contributed opinion pieces to newspapers on the importance of ratifying the UNCAC. Eventually the DPR ratified the convention on 19 September 2006 through the enactment of Law 7/2006.
Following Indonesia’s ratification of UNCAC, the CSOs shifted their attention to monitoring the implementation of the convention within government policies and programs. A number of them undertook an assessment of the compliance of Indonesian laws with UNCAC principles, and presented their report (ICW 2008) to the second conference of the State Parties to UNCAC, hosted by Indonesia in Bali from 28 January to 1 February 2008.
ACTIONS AT THE PRACTICAL LEVEL
CSOs in Indonesia have also put considerable effort into combating corruption at the practical level. Overall, this effort aims to achieve at least four objectives: first, to raise awareness among the general public about the dangers of corruption and create a grassroots movement to reduce its prevalence; second, to detect corruption and punish those involved in it; third, to prevent the continued loss of state assets; and fourth, to recover state assets captured by corrupt officials. Despite the difficulty of measuring progress in relation to these objectives, efforts to achieve them appear to have had some success in spreading the ‘anti-corruption virus’ throughout Indonesian society and in recapturing illegally appropriated assets. The following section discusses the work of CSOs in this arena.
Bringing corrupt figures to justice
During the last 10 years, CSOs have been key actors in bringing abusers of public office to justice. According to Doni Muhardiasyah, head of research and development at KPK, most of the corruption cases prosecuted successfully have been the subject of corruption allegations reported by CSOs to law enforcement agencies such as the police, the public prosecutor and the KPK (table 1) (Muhardiasyah 2008). Without the CSOs’ contribution, he added, it is unlikely that efforts to eradicate corruption would have made as much as progress as they have.
One of the most popular achievements of the anti-corruption movement in bringing corrupt officials to justice was the sentencing of the former governor of Aceh, Abdullah Puteh, to 10 years gaol in March 2005. A CSO in Aceh, Anti-corruption People’s Solidarity (SAMAK), became aware of allegations that the governor had received a kickback on the purchase of an Mi-2 helicopter from Russia (the purchase having been undertaken without any competitive tender). SAMAK reported its suspicions in early 2003 by way of letters to the offices of the Aceh provincial prosecutor and the national attorney general. Neither of these law enforcement agencies appeared to act on the allegations. After a year with no significant progress another CSO, the Aceh People’s Solidarity for Anti-corruption (SoRAK), reported the case to the KPK in January 2004, when some KPK commissioners were visiting the province. The matter was investigated and the governor was sent for trial in the Special Corruption Court, which found him guilty of corruption. This was the first time the KPK had acted on a report of alleged corruption from the public. The episode highlighted the ability of CSO activists to bring ‘big fish’ to justice, and boosted their confidence in doing so.
Following this widely reported anti-corruption success in Aceh, similar actions began to take place all over Indonesia, involving all levels of government (table 2). At the national level, for example, Government Watch (GoWA) reported corruption involving the Department of Religious Affairs, and the Indonesian Forum for Budget Transparency (FITRA) exposed corruption involving the General Elections Commission. In many provinces and districts, CSO reports of budgetary irregularities were instrumental in bringing DPRD members, provincial governors, mayors and district heads before the courts. Many of these success stories have been documented in books (for example, PGRI 2006 and Stephens, Farouk and Rinaldi 2006), research reports and the media.
Not all CSO efforts to uphold justice have met with success, however. Despite trying in numerous ways to make their voices heard, their work is often ignored by the bureaucracy and law enforcement agencies. Many cases of corruption that CSOs have brought to the attention of the authorities simply disappear without any resolution because law enforcement agencies fail to act. Furthermore, several guilty verdicts at district court level have later been overturned by provincial courts following appeals by those convicted. Similarly, several court decisions at provincial level have later been overturned on appeal to the Supreme Court. Nevertheless, the work of CSO activists has become a serious threat to corrupt officials in various state institutions — including the legislatures — with thousands of individuals investigated or under investigation.
Providing anti-corruption awards
In order to promote anti-corruption sentiment within the community, a number of CSOs have made anti-corruption awards to people who work conscientiously against corruption and contribute to increased transparency in government. In November 2005, Transparency International Indonesia (TII) made an ‘Integrity Award’ to Khairiansyah Salman, the government auditor who exposed the KPU corruption case mentioned above. In August 2001, Government Watch presented the ‘GoWA Award’ posthumously to the late Baharuddin Lopa, a former attorney general who was respected as a prosecutor of the highest integrity. In December 2007 the Madani Professional Society presented anti-corruption awards to three DPR members from different parties for their role in initiating a parliamentary enquiry into various cases of corruption. The processes for making such awards vary across CSOs, but a typical approach is for a committee to select winners from among public nominees. The Bung Hatta Anti-corruption Award is perhaps the most prestigious of these honours. It is named after Indonesia’s first vice president, Mohammad Hatta, whose anti-corruption stance was legendary. A committee of prominent CSO activists has presented this award biennially since 2003. Nominations for the award come from CSOs and the general public.
Organising anti-corruption training and promoting public awareness
A further aspect of strengthening the anti-corruption movement is the provision of training by CSOs. Training for individuals usually aims, perhaps somewhat naively, to provide an understanding of corruption and how to avoid it, while training for organisations usually deals with building capacity to fight corruption externally and internally. Major anti-corruption CSOs such as MTI, ICW, TII and FITRA also provide ‘training of trainers’ (ToT) services for CSO activists. MTI and FITRA conduct ToT in cities Indonesia-wide, with a particular focus on regional government budget monitoring. Participants in such training include NGO staff, student activists, civil servants and professionals engaged in anti-corruption activities. The training not only imparts an understanding of corruption but also encourages participants to become involved in the anti-corruption struggle: some participants go on to monitor implementation of their own regional governments’ budgets, and this has led to the disclosure of a number of corruption cases in various districts.
Almost all CSOs involved in anti-corruption work also organise seminars, competitions and workshops designed to raise public awareness of corruption issues. They target quite diverse groups of people, including civil servants, journalists, workers, teachers and even school children.
MEASURING ‘SUCCESS’ IN THE FIGHT AGAINST CORRUPTION
The goal of the anti-corruption movement is to eradicate or significantly reduce corruption in the public sector. Actions such as setting up new corruption-fighting institutions and bringing corrupt individuals to justice must be recognised merely as instruments for achieving this desired outcome. They should not be confused with the outcome itself.
By way of analogy, consider the attempt, common to most highly developed countries, to eradicate the use of recreational drugs such as marijuana, cocaine and heroin by making their supply illegal. Specialist institutions such as the Drug Enforcement Agency in the US have been established, and there are frequent reports of seizures of illegal shipments of illicit drugs. But the reality is that the supply of drugs never ceases because the incentives to engage in this activity remain in place, so that for every dealer or drug lord imprisoned there is another ready to take his place. Much the same is true of corruption in Indonesia. Enforcement institutions have been established, and they have succeeded in imprisoning many officials convicted of corruption. Yet corruption persists at a high level and, although there is some evidence that it is in decline, this is not entirely persuasive.
Figure 1 presents indices of three aspects of governance in Indonesia, two (‘rule of law’ and ‘control of corruption’) drawn from the World Bank’s Governance Matters database and the third (the corruption perceptions index) from that of Transparency International. Possible values for the first two indices range from –2.5 to +2.5, while the value for the third ranges from 0 to 10. On all three indices Indonesia’s performance has been improving noticeably since about 2000–02. Its absolute score in all three cases remains very low, however – negative in the first two and below 3 in a range of 0–10 in the third. This is reflected in figure 2, which presents the ranking by corruption perceptions index scores of some 180 countries in 2009: Indonesia was ranked at 111, slightly above Vietnam and the Philippines but well below most of the other important economies in Asia.
Indonesia also compares poorly with most Asian countries on one of the key aspects of Transparency International’s Global Corruption Barometer (table 3). Of respondents to the survey question, ‘In the past 12 months, have you or anyone living in your household paid a bribe in any form?’, some 29% answered in the affirmative — a much higher proportion than for any country in the Asia Pacific region other than Cambodia. Moreover, the proportion reporting having paid bribes had increased from just 13% and 18% in 2004 and 2006, respectively. On this evidence, the prevalence of corruption on what is a very direct indicator is not only high but increasing, not decreasing. This raises the question whether surveys of corruption perceptions in Indonesia in recent years may have been distorted by the heavy emphasis given to the government’s anti-corruption rhetoric, and by the imprisonment of large numbers of officials for corruption — something that virtually never happened during the Soeharto era. In other words, it seems likely that there is an entirely understandable increase in the perception that something is being done about corruption, but this is not the same as a finding that the incidence of corruption is declining.
There were those who naively believed that Soeharto was the cause of corruption, and that removing him from office would therefore bring corruption to an end. It is equally naive to imagine that establishing mechanisms by which scores or even hundreds of officials can be imprisoned for corruption will end corruption. In this sense, what appear at first glance to be considerable achievements on the part of the anti-corruption movement in general, and the specialised anti-corruption CSOs in particular, seem less substantial’. Regardless of the numerous battles won, there seems to have been little or no progress in the war itself.
This raises the question whether thinking about corruption hitherto has missed the point. CSOs and other protagonists have failed to put forward any meaningful analysis of the underlying causes of corruption. They attribute corrupt behaviour, implicitly, to moral weakness on the part of the individuals concerned, and the solution to the problem is formulated in terms of punishing corrupt behaviour. The underlying reasoning is that if a sufficient number of corrupt officials can be imprisoned, corruption will begin to disappear. However, when corrupt behaviour is endemic — which is clearly the case throughout most of Indonesia’s public sector — this approach is very likely to threaten the interests of the very people given responsibility for implementing it. The more successful the effort to punish corrupt officials, the stronger the backlash from institutions whose members face the possibility of a significant decline in their overall incomes at best, and of imprisonment at worst. Recent changes in the legislation relating to the KPK (Patunru and von Luebke 2010: 9–10), and the attempt by certain police officials to emasculate the commission by bringing bogus charges of corruption against two of its commissioners, must be seen in this light (Baird and Wihardja 2010: 145).
CAUSES OF CORRUPTION
McLeod (forthcoming) argues that corrupt behaviour is an inevitable consequence of human resource management practices in the public sector. First, there is almost no competition for appointment to positions within this sector (in sharp contrast with the private sector, where the success of firms depends on appointing the best available person to the job). Not only is there no recruitment from the private sector — even when particular skills (in fields such as accounting, law and information technology) are so lacking in the public sector as to prevent key tasks from being undertaken. There is also almost no recruitment from within the public sector but outside the government agency in question. In other words, virtually every position must be filled from the lower ranks within that agency — and even then there is such a heavy emphasis on seniority that it is very rare for obviously competent but relatively junior individuals to be selected.
Second, there is little attempt to ensure that the total remuneration of public sector officials is broadly comparable with that of their peers in the private sector (that is, individuals with similar training and working experience). At the higher levels of the bureaucracy, formal remuneration (basic salary plus allowances) is a small fraction of private sector remuneration rates. On the face of it, to seek employment in the public sector under these circumstances would be economically irrational. In reality, however, the number of new graduates seeking recruitment into the public sector vastly exceeds the number of positions available, and it is common for bribes to be paid, or family connections to be called on, to ensure recruitment. The only obvious explanation for this phenomenon is that applicants expect that their career incomes will significantly exceed their formal entitlements. While many of them may not envisage direct involvement in corrupt interactions in the future, they would still be well aware of the wide variety of informal mechanisms that exist for distributing some of the proceeds of such interactions throughout the bureaucracy. To the extent that acceptance of various kinds of income supplements results simply in total remuneration comparable with that of private sector peers, this is typically not even regarded as corrupt behaviour. Indeed, it could reasonably be argued that this amounts to nothing more than ‘economic self-defence’, given the government’s failure to observe its own legal obligation to provide its employees with ‘a fair and reasonable salary commensurate with their work and responsibilities’ (Law 43/1999 on the Civil Service, article 7).
If the operating budgets of government agencies are insufficient to provide fair and reasonable salaries, the only way to overcome this is through the very corruption that is the focus of the CSOs under discussion here. And it is obvious that government officials capable of finding corrupt ways to generate additional funds are unlikely to stop at the point where the sum of their formal and informal incomes matches private sector levels. Accordingly, it is widely known that many high-level officials have become fabulously wealthy over the course of their careers (Synnerstrom 2007: 169). Though the benefits from corruption presumably flow disproportionately to those best practised in this art, many other officials depend on informal supplementation of their meagre formal remuneration. This means that they, too, are threatened by an anti-corruption approach that focuses almost exclusively on punitive action against those guilty of transgressing the rules.
Over the last several decades, the concern of civil society to protect itself against predation by its elected representatives and government officials has given rise to an increasingly sophisticated and organised anti-corruption movement. The informal activism that was easily repressed during the Soeharto era has now evolved into an active collection of anti-corruption CSOs, which have become an influential part of the democratic process that has emerged in Indonesia since the late 1990s. These organisations, strongly assisted by foreign donor agencies, have taken the lead in attempts to improve the integrity of government through both strategic and more practical, day-to-day activities. At the strategic level they have involved themselves deeply in institutional reform, contributing to the process of amending the Constitution; to the establishment of a Corruption Eradication Commission and the selection of its commissioners; to the enactment of a law that, among other things, aims to protect public sector whistle-blowers; and to the ratification by Indonesia of the UN Convention Against Corruption. At the practical level they have been active in reporting cases of alleged corruption to law enforcement agencies; in ensuring that the work of anti-corruption champions is publicly acknowledged; in raising public awareness of, and concern about, corruption; and in training officials and other individuals with responsibility for, or an interest in, participating in the struggle against corruption.
At a superficial level, much appears to have been achieved. New anti-corruption institutions have been created, and numerous government officials have been imprisoned for corrupt behaviour. But the true measure of success in this field is the extent to which the prevalence of corruption has been reduced. Unfortunately, available measures of the extent of corruption do not present a convincing case that it has declined significantly in the last decade. They suggest that the CSOs have in fact made relatively little progress toward achieving their basic objective. The explanation for this would appear to be a failure to understand the causes of corruption. Without such an understanding, there is little hope of dealing with it effectively.
It has been argued here that endemic corruption in the public sector is the consequence of two key aspects of human resource management policy: the lack of competition when making appointments to vacant positions, and the vast gap between private sector and public sector remuneration at managerial levels. While it is important to have mechanisms to investigate allegations of corruption and to punish those proven to be involved in it, these mechanisms are incapable of eradicating corruption when it is endemic. If Indonesia’s CSOs want to bring about any significant reduction in the prevalence of corruption, they will need to shift their emphasis toward insisting, first, that the government meet its legal obligation to provide its employees with fair and reasonable salaries commensurate with their work and responsibilities, and second, that the government permit outsiders to apply for jobs in public sector agencies.
AKAK (Advokasi Komisi Anti-Korupsi [Advocacy for an Anti-Corruption Commission] (2002) Hasil survey Kelompok Kerja Advokasi Komisi Anti-Korupsi [Results of a survey by the Working Group on Advocacy for an Anti-Corruption Commission], Unpublished research report, Jakarta.
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Baird, Mark and Wihardja, Maria Monica (2010) ‘Survey of recent developments’, Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies 46 (2): 143–70.
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McLeod, Ross H. (forthcoming) ‘Institutionalized public sector corruption: a legacy of the Soeharto franchise’, in The State and Illegality in Indonesia, eds Edward Aspinall and Gerry van Klinken, KITLV, Leiden.
Muhardiasyah, Doni (2008) Strategi, upaya, dan tantangan TPK dalam perspektif KPK [Strategies, efforts and challenges of the Corruption Eradication Team from the perspective of the Anti-Corruption Commission], Presentation at discussion forum on ‘Nationalism and Corruption Eradication’, Semarang, 28 August.
Patunru, Arianto A., and Von Luebke, Christian (2010): ‘Survey of recent developments’, Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies 46 (1): 7–31.
PGRI (Partnership for Governance Reform in Indonesia) (2006) Fighting Corruption from Aceh to Papua: 10 Stories on Corruption Eradication in Indonesia, PGRI, Jakarta.
Stephens, Matt, Farouk, Peri Umar and Rinaldi, Taufik (eds) (2006) Keadilan Tak Bisa Menunggu: Studi Kasus Masyarakat Desa Mendorong Tegaknya Keadilan [Justice Cannot Wait: Case Study of Village Communities Encouraging Upholding Justice], World Bank Justice for the Poor Project, Jakarta.
Synnerstrom, Staffan (2007) ‘The civil service: towards efficiency, effectiveness and honesty’, in Indonesia: Democracy and the Promise of Good Governance, eds Ross H. McLeod and Andrew MacIntyre, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore: 159–77.
Sources: Rule of Law and Control of Corruption: Governance Matters; Corruption Perceptions Index: Transparency International, available at http://info.worldbank.org/governance/wgi/index.asp and http://www.transparency.org/, respectively.
Source: Transparency International, available at http://www.transparency.org/.
Note: Korea and Taiwan had the same score as each other, as did India and Thailand; for clarity they are labelled in pairs. Indonesia’s rank was 111, with a score of 2.8. The chart depicts scores for 180 countries.