Equinox Publishing
 



ISBN : 979-3780-08-8
Size : 15 x 22 x 2.5 cm
Weight : 600 g
Pages : 320
Format : Softcover
Price : USD 16.95


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Wars Within:
The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine
in Soeharto’s Indonesia

By Janet Steele

For the 23 years prior to its banning on June 21, 1994, Tempo magazine was Indonesia’s most important news weekly, and its chief editor, Goenawan Mohamad, one of Indonesia’s leading poets and intellectuals. Yet despite its influence, the history of Tempo magazine is not widely known. All aspects of Tempo’s history, including its roots in the literary and cultural milieu of the 1960s, its economic organization and management, its internal culture and system of deciding what’s news, and its strategies for survival within a repressive press system, provide a window into the political and cultural history of Indonesia’s New Order.

Tempo occupied an ambiguous position in Indonesia’s New Order,
and Wars Within: The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Soeharto’s Indonesia explores these contradictions and paradoxes. Clearly a product of the New Order, Tempo nevertheless presented independent points of view, often at considerable risk. Soeharto’s government was never monolithic, and the story of how Tempo managed to survive 23 years of autocratic rule sheds light on the culture and politics of modern Indonesia. It also sheds light on broader questions concerning the role of the press in developing countries – and on the kinds of negotiation that must go on for an essentially democratic institution to exist in an authoritarian space.

Written in a narrative style, Wars Within utilizes a variety of
methods and sources, including participant observation, a content
analysis of Tempos National section, close reading of Tempos coverage of key episodes including the 1984 incident at Tanjung Priok, previously unpublished archival materials, and over one hundred interviews with the magazine’s founders, writers, and contributors. Wars Within is an ideal supplemental text in courses on Southeast Asian history, politics, and culture, as well as in courses on international communication and media studies.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Janet Steele is an Associate Professor in the School of Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University. She received her Ph.D. in American Cultural History from the Johns Hopkins University in 1985. Her book The Sun Shines for All: Journalism and Ideology in the Life of Charles A. Dana, was published in 1993 by Syracuse University Press. She has published articles on media history and criticism in journals such as Indonesia, Journalism and Mass Communication Quarterly, Political Communication, Columbia Journalism Review, and The American Journalism Review. Her most recent work is on the press in modern Indonesia, and she is a frequent visitor to Jakarta, where she lectures on topics ranging from the role of the press in a democratic society to more specialized courses on narrative journalism. In 2003 she was awarded a Fulbright Senior Specialist grant in communication and journalism at the Institute for the Study of the Free Flow of Information in Jakarta.

 
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The Jakarta Post
June 26, 2005


Tempo' chronicle shows words more powerful than bullets

History of Tempo magazine, told in new book, detailsTempo's journalists in a turbulent time
By Chris Holm

"Why should the army fear us, when they are the ones with the guns?" Janet Steele quotes Tempo magazine's former chief editor Goenawan Mohamad at the start of Wars Within: A story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Soeharto's Indonesia . Reading Steele's book, the reader quickly realizes this question is less innocent than it appears.

Of course, by the time Goenawan uttered these words in 1997, Tempo magazine had been established as a public institution in Indonesia for more than 20 years, and Goenawan was a public figure, a media personality, admired and respected by many and, no doubt, feared and perhaps hated by others in equal measure. It was also a time when an admiring colleague called him "the most dangerous man in Indonesia".

Wars Within starts three years after the banning of Tempo, when an inflammatory article drew the ire of Soeharto's feuding generals and technocrats, and the magazine, a suddenly ill-fitting pillar of the Pancasila state ideology, was summarily shut down.

While other journalists might have given up the fight and found less-stressful desk jobs, the Tempo staff resisted, melting into the city, guerrilla-style.

Armed only with computers, printers and a newfangled invention called the Internet, they were difficult targets as they typed furtively from Jakarta's "rat roads", becoming even more potent emailing and pamphleteering underground than it was above ground.

But as Wars Within shows, Tempo had been engaged in a subversive war for years, long before its writers had to take refuge in safe houses. And it seems we have history, and perhaps a bit of procrastination, to thank for the scope of Steele's work.

Initially planning to write an article about Tempo as the magazine that didn't exist, Steele's solid story idea got eclipsed, as often happens, by events, which have an annoying habit of ignoring journalists' and academics' deadlines.

The tumultuous months in 1998 that led to Soeharto's downfall meant that, by the time the American media studies professor had returned to Indonesia as an honorary Fulbright scholar, Tempo was no longer banned.

But every story-gone-cold has a silver lining, and Steele realized she now had a bigger tale to tell, and she was bold enough to tell it, embarking on an ambitious overview of the magazine's 30 years.

She has thus ended up covering the life of what some have called the most important literary achievement of modern Indonesia -- Goenawan and company's "prose poem" of epic proportions, which, Steele finds, continues to influence speech-patterns and writing in Indonesia today.

As the book's title suggests, Wars Within is about a series of conflicts, and it is often more about cold wars than hot ones.

With unfettered access to Tempo staff, Steele's clear-eyed chronicle spans the magazine's emergence from the ashes of the first reformasi, a product and initial champion of the New Order regime in the early 1970s, to a more questioning, financially successful magazine by the 1980s. Continuing to the 1994 banning and the magazine's reformation in the post-New Order era, Steele even takes a look at Tempo's still-unresolved libel feud with tycoon Tomy Winata in the epilogue.

An exhaustively researched academic study that reads like a feature story, full of colorful quotes and anecdotes and free from unnecessary media-lit jargon, Steele also spends time examining the daily workings of the magazine, putting into context the training and strategies of the Tempo journalists -- who, for most of the book, push the limits of New Order censorship.

In one sense, Tempo's war through the written word is recognizable to any writer or editor who struggles to make their prose elegant, or at worst, simply make sense.

But as Steele shows, for most of Tempo's history, writing for the magazine was also a war of code. Lyricism, mock-heroics and innuendo were all ways of getting the truth out under the government's radar without getting shut down or making unnecessary martyrs of reporters or sources. In this war, "fair and balanced" meant running the official line first, and then subtly undermining it with an eyewitness account or a well-placed phrase -- which meant no one was arrested by the secret police.

Of course, to survive, Tempo's war was also an underhand campaign of influence and infiltration from early on -- of "sucking up" to those in power. This form of real politik meant journalists won over important figures face-to-face so that they didn't have to toady to them in print. Flattery was also far more preferable to bribe-taking, and Steele finds that Tempo still leads the war against amplop , or "envelope" journalism, wherein newsmakers pay reporters to give them favorable coverage and, invariably, end up owning them.

Inevitably, however, these dalliances with power meant some of the dirt stuck. As Steele shows, Tempo editors' perceived closeness with members of the elite likely played a part in its banning.

But even being shut down, in the end, proved to be a blessing. Now free to write what they wanted, journalists working for the "underground" Tempo ended up far better prepared than their competitors for the post-Soeharto environment, and the re-formed magazine has become arguably the sharpest critic of the government in the reformasi era.

By the end of Steele's book, Goenawan's initial question seems far more rhetorical. Wars Within shows us that words and ideas, with all their shifting meanings, can be difficult targets, and, in the right hands, can be far more dangerous than a carbine full of bullets.

 

 
 Wars Within
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Sinar Harapan
July 16, 2005


Belajar dari "Tempo"

Oleh Kristanto Hartadi

JAKARTA - Ketika kita pertama kali melihat sampul muka buku Wars Within karya Janet Steele, sudah terpampang ilustrasi yang menarik, yakni foto potongan muka Goenawan Mohamad, wartawan senior salah satu pendiri majalah Tempo di sebelah atas dan foto The Smiling General, Soeharto, di bawah. Di situ memang ada pengantar, The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Soeharto’s Indonesia.

Memang buku terbitan Equinox ini berkisah tentang majalah itu mulai awal penerbitannya di tahun 1971, pergumulan di dalamnya, perpecahan-perpecahan, manajemennya, sampai ditutup oleh Soeharto, dan terbit kembali hingga hari ini. Banyak hal menarik yang dapat ditarik dari buku ini, dan sebagian terkait dengan perjalanan sejarah pers kita.

Salah satunya adalah aspek bagaimana Tempo mengembangkan manajemen modern. Ketika memulai Tempo, Goenawan datang kepada HG Rorimpandey, salah satu pendiri Sinar Harapan, dan bertanya aspek apa yang harus sangat diperhatikannya.
Saran Rorimpandey adalah organisasi. ”Dan dia benar,” kata Goenawan (hal 226), yang kemudian belajar dari kesalahan-kesalahan yang dialami harian yang telah 10 tahun lebih tua itu, dan dibreidel juga pada 1986. Dia juga belajar dari Kompas, pada cara bagaimana Jacob Oetama membagikan bonus kepada wartawan yang berdasarkan penilaiannya sendiri. Yang kemudian dilakukannya dengan baik adalah menyusun rencana karir bagi para wartawan Tempo mulai dari masa percobaan, beberapa tahun menjadi reporter, naik menjadi staf editorial atau penulis, dan kalau periode ini dilewati akan ada pelatihan lebih lanjut menjadi redaktur penyunting (desk editor).

Kalau itu dilalui dengan baik, wartawan tersebut dapat dipromosikan menjadi redaktur pelaksana (managing editor) yang membawahi sejumlah desk editor, posisi-posisi seperti pemimpin redaksi, redaktur eksekutif, dan asisten redaktur eksekutif dipilih dari para wartawan yang ada dalam jajaran managing editors.

Para wartawan senior yang tidak punya jabatan diberi posisi sebagai ”senior editor” yang berarti mereka bebas mengembangkan sendiri gagasan-gagasan cerita. Dan pada setiap tahapan itu ada proses magangnya, di mana para kandidat harus menyelesaikan sejumlah penugasan guna membuktikan kemampuannya.
Kedisiplinan, keterbukaan, dan pelatihan yang dikembangkan di Tempo membuat Janet membandingkannya dengan TNI (hal 227). Bahkan dituturkan bagaimana Goenawan mengembangkan berita ”yang layak Tempo”.

Namun, itu semua tetap saja tidak mampu menahan 32 wartawan Tempo eksodus mendirikan Editor. Eksodus ini pun dikisahkan dengan menarik oleh Janet Steel.

Rencana eksodus itu bermula dari ketidakpuasan yang terakumulasi di kalangan para wartawan. Termasuk di situ adalah Syu’bah Asa, Saur Hutabarat, Eddy Harwanto dll. Dalam pandangan mereka, Tempo sudah kehilangan idealisme, sudah merupakan industri.
Janet melihat bahwa para pendiri Tempo, yang sebagian adalah sastrawan atau seniman, pada satu sisi, tidak dapat menyesuaikan diri dengan sistem manajemen modern yang diterapkan oleh para senior di Tempo. Dalam manajeman redaksi diterapkan kode etik, in house training, rapat untuk memutuskan berita dll. Sementara itu dalam pengelolaan SDM diterapkan sistem yang transparan menyangkut promosi dan pengelolaan, perekrutan reporter baru hanya dari universitas-universitas ternama dll. Manajemen modern ini pada akhirnya menyebabkan hilangnya keakraban antara para manajer dan wartawan. Menurut Saur Hutabarat, manajemen tidak lagi melihat wartawan sebagai aset.

Namun akhirnya terungkap bahwa perpecahan ini juga ada motif ekonomi, yakni ketika Tempo mulai menjadi besar dan kaya, lalu muncul masalah-masalah mengenai siapa yang menguasai saham, menjadi pimpinan dst.

Meneliti Enam Tahun
Janet Steele adalah Associate Professor di School of Media and Public Affairs di George Washington University. Gelar PhD diraihnya dari John Hopkins University. Dia ahli dalam bidang mengomunikasikan budaya melalui media massa. Indonesia bukan tempat baru baginya, dia kerap mengajar berbagai topik yang terkait dengan penulisan dan jurnalisme sastrawi di Universitas Indonesia (1997-1998) dibiayai oleh beasiswa Fullbright, dan untuk kedua kalinya dia mendapat beasiswa yang sama (2005-2006).

Di Tempo, dia sudah dianggap bukan siapa-siapa lagi, karena selama enam tahun dia meneliti majalah ini, bahkan menurut Toriq Hadad, Wakil Pemimpin Redaksi Tempo, Janet kerap hadir dalam rapat-rapat redaksi, mengikuti berbagai pembicaraan dan perdebatan, mulai dari tidak mengerti bahasa Indonesia, sampai dapat berbahasa Indonesia dengan cukup fasih. Buku yang ditulisnya ini sudah mirip dengan laporan jurnalistik dengan gaya penulisan jurnalistik sastrawi. Artinya, dari sisi bahasa, paragraf demi paragraf yang dituliskannya sangat enak dibaca dan sedapat mungkin menerapkan prinsip-prinsip penulisan jurnalistik yang baik seperti: berimbang.

Buku yang ditulis Janet ini sangat jelas menggambarkan bahwa Tempo adalah Goenawan Mohammad, sebagai orang yang paling banyak memberi warna kepada majalah berita ini. Sebagai sebuah buku yang mengupas Tempo, Janet sukses menggambarkan berbagai dinamika, pergumulan dan pergulatan yang terjadi di majalah itu, selama 23 tahun berjaya sampai penutupannya oleh rezim Soeharto pada 21 Juni 1994. Kita seperti menikmati sebuah cerita fiksi kehidupan di sebuah majalah, lengkap dengan berbagai konflik dan dinamika.

Bagi mereka yang berminat mempelajari manajemen media massa, buku ini banyak memberi prinsip-prinsip dan contoh-contoh yang baik, misalnya, semangat Goenawan yang ingin menerapkan prinsip-prinsip manajemen modern, meski itu harus berbuah perpecahan dan konflik dengan sesama rekannya. Atau bagaimana dia menekankan agar saham perusahaan tidak dikuasai oleh pribadi-pribadi ketika Tempo akan diterbitkan kembali tahun 1998. Satu hal yang menjadi kekuatan Tempo dan Goenawan adalah perpecahan yang dialami Tempo, dan perpecahan yang juga dialami oleh majalah-majalah sempalannya, ternyata banyak membuahkan hadirnya gaya jurnalisme baru di Indonesia dan itu mewarnai dunia pers kita. Tempo memang sekolah yang baik bagi para wartawan.
Ada catatan Janet ketika meluncurkan buku ini beberapa waktu lalu di Jakarta, bahwa ketika Tempo dibreidel oleh Soeharto kebebasan pers begitu terkendali, dan ketika dia boleh terbit kembali, ternyata ancaman kebebasan pers itu tetap ada dengan banyaknya kasus pemidanaan terhadap pers.

 

 
 Wars Within
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  » Review: Kompas
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  » Review: Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies

Kompas
September 17, 2005


Enak Dibaca, tetapi Ini Sejarah dari Atas

Oleh Ignatius Haryanto

Ketika menulis buku berjudul The Sun Shines for All: Journalism and Ideology in the Life of Charles A Dana, Janet Steele menyatakan bahwa sejarawan pers Amerika tak banyak menulis tentang koran yang partisan. Pandangan para sejarawan Amerika lebih tertuju pada sosok Pulitzer atau Adolph Ochs, pengusung sukses The New York Times. Buku itu sendiri berkisah tentang Charles Dana dan koran The New York Sun di mana Dana sebagai chief editornya.

Nama Charles Dana mungkin kurang dikenal orang di Indonesia. Tetapi, kalau kita ingat salah satu definisi berita yang berbunyi ”anjing menggigit orang itu bukan berita, tetapi kalau orang menggigit anjing, itu baru berita”, rumusan demikian keluar dari koran yang dikelola oleh Charles Dana tadi, The New York Sun, yang terbit pada masa abad 19. Dalam pengantar buku Charles Dana ini, Janet Steele menulis bahwa di kalangan sejarawan pers Amerika boleh dibilang sosok Dana ini marjinal.

Tahun ini, buku kedua Janet Steele terbit dengan judul Wars Within: The Story of Tempo, an Independent Magazine in Soeharto’s Indonesia. Buku ini mengungkap tentang sejarah majalah Tempo pada masa Orde Baru. Pertanyaannya, apakah dengan semangat yang sama pula Steele menulis tentang majalah Tempo dan personifikasinya dengan sosok Goenawan Mohamad?

Tempo dan Orde Baru

Dalam pengantar buku ini, Steele yang tak asing lagi bagi wartawan di Indonesia karena kerap datang dan mengajar jurnalisme sastra mengaku sangat terkesan dengan roh majalah yang walaupun telah ditutup, tetapi terus hidup di kalangan mereka yang mempertahankan semangatnya dan menjadi cara untuk terus berjuang guna meniadakan lupa. Sampai sekarang, komunitas Tempo masih terus memperingati hari di mana mereka ditutup, 21 Juni 1994, dengan berbagai acara mulai dari yang sederhana hingga cukup wah. Tetapi, yang pasti, tiap acara itu selalu diisi dengan tuangan wine karena sebagaimana juga berhasil diidentifikasi Janet, di Tempo ada kelompok santri, tetapi ada pula kubu ”para peminum”.

Janet Steele—yang kini menjadi Associate Professor School of Media and Public Affairs di George Washington University serta mengajar di Indonesia untuk periode 2005-2006 atas biaya Fulbright ini—menulis sejarah Tempo ini dengan sangat baik, komprehensif, dan enak dibaca. Dalam buku setebal 328 halaman ini, ia memadu beberapa metode untuk menulis kisah tentang Tempo. Ia menggunakan analisis deskriptif untuk menaruh Tempo dalam konteks sejarah di mana ia hidup, mengidentifikasi asal muasal kelompok wartawan serta seniman yang kemudian membentuk Tempo, lalu menggambarkan bagaimana Orde Baru dan Tempo saling berhubungan. Tempo lahir dan besar pada zaman Orde Baru, disokong oleh pengusaha yang juga dibesarkan Orde Baru, tetapi Orde Baru pula yang mematikannya.

Di samping analisis deskriptif, Janet juga menganalisis secara khusus rubrik Nasional dalam majalah Tempo, sebagai salah satu rubrik terpenting dan paling diminati para pembacanya. Ia melakukan analisis atas unsur pemberitaan yang ada: 5 W 1 H, lalu ia juga menganalisis iklan-iklan majalah Tempo lewat metode discourse. Tesisnya mungkin sederhana, Tempo menciptakan kelas menengah Indonesia dan Tempo pun adalah bagian dari kelas menengah Indonesia.

Harus diberi catatan di sini, bahwa Janet hanya menulis sejarah hingga pada saat Tempo kemudian dibredel tahun 1994 dan periode di mana Tempo hendak kembali terbit. Janet banyak sekali mengambil penjelasan terhadap berbagai hal lewat kacamata Goenawan Mohamad atau GM, sebagaimana banyak orang memanggilnya. Ia banyak mewawancarai para awak Tempo, atau orang-orang penting di sekitar Tempo, tetapi terdapat kesan bahwa Janet lebih banyak menggunakan kacamata GM dalam menjelaskan sejumlah persoalan penting di Tempo. Apakah ini karena karyanya merupakan bagian dari kekaguman terhadap sang tokoh sehingga agak kurang kritis terhadap keterangan dari GM?

Tetapi, pertanyaan yang menggelitik adalah judul buku ini, Wars Within. Muncul pertanyaan: What War? Whose War? Which War? War Between Who and Whom...? Dalam paparan buku ini diungkapkan ada banyak perang di dalam diri Tempo, dalam diri GM sendiri, dan juga antara Tempo dan institusi lain di luar dirinya. Perang itu menyangkut komunitas para seniman dengan para organizer atau para manajer di Tempo, antara para karyawan (baca: buruh) dengan pemodal Tempo, yaitu PT Jaya Raya, yang dipimpin oleh raja properti, Ciputra. Perang lain adalah ketika terjadi peristiwa Tanjung Priok, peristiwa kerusuhan saat kampanye pemilu 1982, peristiwa Timor Timur tahun 1991, hingga ke pemberitaan soal pembelian kapal laut bekas Jerman Timur yang membawa Tempo pada pembredelan keduanya.

Dunia media sangatlah dinamis karena ia juga mewakili dinamika dalam masyarakat secara mikro. Kantor Tempo pertama di Senen banyak menyimpan memori. Kehangatan ruang seperti bedeng justru menimbulkan suasana egaliter; pintu penghubung ruangan yang mirip pintu bar di film-film koboi; perilaku para kolumnis yang kocak-kocak, seperti misalnya: tulisan Ong Hok Ham yang sulit diedit karena satu halaman ketik ketinggalan di rumahnya, atau Abdurrachman Wahid yang bisa menghabiskan dua nasi bungkus sebelum mulai mengetik kolomnya di Kantor Tempo; dan perilaku para wartawannya sendiri yang memang jahil, menyiasati waktu-waktu krisis saat deadline. Situasi ini bergeser ketika kemudian Tempo pindah dari suasana pasar ke situasi perkantoran modern di kawasan Kuningan.

Tempo lahir dan mati di zaman Orde Baru. Beberapa pendiri Tempo adalah para aktivis mahasiswa tahun 1965/1966 yang ikut menggulingkan Soekarno dan kemudian menempuh jalan masing-masing untuk ”mengisi” zaman Orde Baru. Beberapa di antaranya lalu mendirikan Tempo, setelah gagal berkongsi dengan pengusaha pers kala itu, BM Diah, untuk majalah Ekspres-nya. Tempo luput dari pembredelan dua kali pada masa Orde Baru, tahun 1974 dan 1978, tetapi tak bisa mengelak ketika pemberitaannya pada 1982 saat terjadi insiden Lapangan Banteng menjelang Pemilu 1982 dianggap pemerintah mengganggu keamanan. Untuk itu, GM harus menandatangani kesepakatan dengan Departemen Penerangan untuk tidak meliput isu-isu yang sensitif, termasuk yang menyangkut keluarga ”Cendana”.

Didera oleh ketidakpastian selama beberapa minggu, menyadarkan para awak Tempo tentang posisi mereka yang rentan terhadap intervensi kekuasaan. Memang sejak lama telah terjadi pembagian tugas di kalangan petinggi Tempo untuk ”menempel” sejumlah pejabat penting di era Orde Baru, seperti misalnya: Jendral Benny Moerdani, Moerdiono, Soedharmono, dan lain-lain.

Tempo merupakan bagian dari kelas menengah Orde Baru, dan Tempo pun yang menghasilkan kelas menengah tersebut. Untuk itu Tempo merupakan bagian dari fondasi ekonomi yang menyokong Orde Baru. Jika kita cermati, periode ketika Tempo berjaya pada dekade 1980-an, anggaran belanja iklan perusahaan-perusahaan banyak masuk ke media cetak. Jumlahnya minimal mencapai 50 persen dari total belanja iklan tersebut. Sejak tahun 1982 itu, televisi yang ada kala itu, TVRI, tak lagi boleh beriklan. Maka, kue iklan itu pun lari ke media-media cetak. Inilah yang membuat majalah Tempo menjadi cukup kaya untuk pindah kantor ke wilayah elite di daerah Kuningan. Gaji para wartawan Tempo pun mencapai puncaknya saat itu.

Setelah perpindahan Tempo ke Kuningan pada tahun 1986, setahun kemudian terjadi eksodus puluhan wartawannya. Mereka keluar dari Tempo untuk mendirikan majalah Editor. Beberapa wartawan yang turut keluar menyatakan bahwa Tempo telah berubah, tidak lagi merupakan institusi perjuangan melainkan institusi bisnis; dalam banyak hal manajemen sering kali membela pemilik dan tidak lagi menganggap wartawan sebagai aset berharga. Daniel Dhakidae dalam disertasinya menyatakan bahwa eksodus itu bukan semata-mata indikasi kegagalan manajemen dalam organisasi, juga bukan semata-mata masalah hak asasi manusia, tetapi yang lebih signifikan adalah masalah kompetisi antara para jurnalis dengan modal (kapital).

Masuk ke awal 1990-an perlahan-lahan iklan di televisi swasta muncul, dan perlahan tapi pasti, kue iklan yang tadinya didominasi media cetak pun mulai terenggut oleh media televisi. Di sinilah letak pergeseran strukturalnya dan kondisi ini terus bertahan hingga sekarang. Industri media cetak saat ini hanya memiliki porsi 20-30 persen dari total belanja iklan yang ada, sementara untuk media televisi jumlahnya bisa mencapai 50 persen walau harus dibagi dengan semakin banyak stasiun televisi. Dalam arti ini pula, Daniel Dhakidae dalam sebuah artikel berjudul Membunuh Modal, Membunuh Kebudayaan menyebut bahwa penutupan terhadap tiga mingguan tersebut sama dengan pembunuhan terhadap modal, pembunuhan terhadap daya cipta dan keindahan jurnalistik, serta pembunuhan terhadap sumber ekonomi ratusan ribu orang.

Janet Steele tidak setajam Dhakidae dalam melihat fenomena Tempo dan Orde Baru. Orde Baru sebagaimana ia gambarkan di buku ini, ada dalam relasi yang ”klasik”, sebentuk hubungan antara pers dan pemerintah yang selalu ada dalam kutub antara represi dan kebebasan. Juga, Janet lebih menekankan pada peran sejumlah orang dalam Orde Baru yang berhubungan dengan Tempo. Faksi-faksi politik dalam pemerintahan awal Orde Baru lebih ditonjolkan oleh Janet tanpa melihat dalam relasi yang lebih struktural seperti digambarkan Dhakidae.

Menarik pula memerhatikan hasil penelitian analisis isi terhadap rubrik Nasional di majalah Tempo, di mana pada masa sebelum terjadi pembredelan, tokoh utama (Who) dalam rubrik tersebut didominasi narasumber pemerintah (hal 292-293) dengan locus peristiwa yang dominan (47 persen) terjadi di Jakarta (hal 290-291). Pergeseran terjadi ketika Tempo terbit lagi akhir 1998 di mana pemberitaan tidak lagi berpusat pada pejabat pemerintah, tetapi justru di luar pemerintahan (41 persen berbanding 44 persen, hal 306).

GM dan ”Tempo

Coba Anda bayangkan sekumpulan calon reporter baru ”dikerjai” oleh para seniornya pada hari pertama mereka masuk Kantor Tempo. Calon reporter masih hijau ini ”diberi tugas” pertama untuk menulis Catatan Pinggir minggu itu karena menurut para senioren minggu itu GM berhalangan menulis. Tak terbayangkan betapa sibuk dan bersemangatnya para reporter baru ini merancang tulisan Catatan Pinggir dan juga sibuk membolak-balik sejumlah buku referensi yang biasa dikutip-kutip oleh GM dalam Catatan Pinggirnya. Mereka membaca Kahlil Gibran, Bertold Brecht, Milan Kundera, membaca New York Times Review of Books, dan lain-lain. Setelah para wartawan baru menyelesaikan ”tugas” mereka, barulah mereka paham bahwa tengah ”dikerjai” karena minggu berikut Catatan Pinggir tetap keluar dengan GM sebagai penulisnya. Begitulah salah satu bentuk inisiasi para senior kepada juniornya.

Posisi GM memang tak tergantikan. Tak mungkin mencari ganti penulis Catatan Pinggir yang sudah khas milik Goenawan Mohamad—sama dengan Kompasiana-nya PK Ojong— apalagi kalau itu diserahkan ”hanya” pada para calon reporter. Posisi GM yang memang unik di Tempo ini tak tergantikan. Sampul buku ini saja telah menunjukkan seakan GM adalah lakon utama dalam buku ini. Lepas dari itu, GM sendiri mengalami evolusi tersendiri. GM yang seniman, mahasiswa psikologi yang tak menyelesaikan skripsi, negosiator dengan pemodal, ”terpaksa” jadi manager, penulis tetap kolom Catatan Pinggir, editor pemberitaan setiap minggu, lobbyist dengan sejumlah pejabat, menjadi aktivis jalanan, hingga akhirnya memilih untuk tidak lagi menduduki jabatan puncak sebagai Pemimpin Redaksi dan posisinya digantikan Bambang Harymurti. Kalau buku ini mau dibilang setengah biografi GM bisa saja karena dalam masa hidup GM dalam periode Tempo, informasi yang ada dalam buku ini sangat padat.

Buku ini ditulis dengan semangat sejarah dari atas (dalam diri majalah Tempo) sehingga GM menjadi sentral di dalamnya. Belasan kali wawancara Janet dilakukan dengan GM. Kalau saja ada buku yang ditulis dengan model penulisan sejarah dari bawah, hasilnya pasti lain. Kalau saja buku ini ditulis tidak dengan semangat kagum terhadap ”roh” majalah yang tak mau mati ini, hasilnya mungkin bisa lain. Di luar GM, misalnya, masih banyak orang yang punya peran penting dalam perkembangan Tempo, yang kurang proporsional diberi ruang. Di masa awal, orang seperti Bur Rasuanto, Christianto Wibisono, dan Salim Said, adalah nama yang tak boleh dikesampingkan dalam sejarah Tempo. Kedekatan GM dengan Salim Said memang legendaris. Ketika Salim mengambil program doktor di Amerika, Salim kerap berkirim buku kepada GM dengan ucapan: ”untuk GM, dari Salim Said”. Tetapi, sepulang Salim dari Amerika, tak ada lagi posisi untuk Salim di sana dan kala itu Tempo sudah pindah ke kantor Kuningan.

Penulis Gay Talese, mantan wartawan New York Times, pernah menulis salah satu buku tentang sejarah koran tertua di Amerika yang berjudul The Kingdom and The Power (New York: Ivy Books, 1981, edisi keenam). Kalau kita membaca buku ini, kita akan melihat di luar sejarah New York Times yang penuh puja-puji, buku ini juga menunjukkan sisi-sisi manusia biasa dari orang-orang penting di Times. Ia juga menggambarkan dengan cukup detail dan dengan independensi penuh untuk menulis tanpa sungkan beragam sisi orang-orang yang terlibat dalam Times, baik sisi terang maupun sisi gelapnya. Mungkin tidak fair meminta independensi penuh semacam itu dilakukan oleh Janet Steele, tetapi harapan itu muncul karena Janet berasal dari luar komunitas Tempo. Seharusnya ia punya cukup keberanian mengorek beberapa hal yang tak selalu merupakan sisi terang ataupun informasi dari tokoh-tokoh penting di Tempo.

Tinggal sejarah

Harus diakui bahwa Tempo adalah sebuah sekolah jurnalisme dalam praktik di Indonesia yang alumninya diakui di mana-mana. Sebutlah nama-nama petinggi media di Indonesia saat ini, banyak di antaranya adalah alumni Tempo. Kalau menyebut majalah berita, sukar menyebut media mana pun yang tak ada alumni Tempo di dalamnya. Suka atau tidak, tetapi inilah kenyataannya. Karena buku ini hanya memotret kisah Tempo di masa Orde Baru, kita akan melihat sosok Tempo yang kelihatan heroik dan nyaris tanpa cela.

Padahal, tantangan sesungguhnya datang ketika Tempo masuk dalam periode hidup antara tahun 1998 hingga hari ini. Tantangannya jauh lebih kompleks dan dalam deru industri media yang makin menyodorkan dunia yang makin ”flat” (mengambil istilah buku terbaru Thomas Friedman), tak lagi mungkin mengejar jumlah oplah hingga ratusan ribu eksemplar seperti pada masa sebelumnya. Dalam sebuah landscape yang berubah—walau mereka ”hanya” absen selama 4 tahun—Tempo menjadi terbata-bata untuk bisa terus eksis di periode berikut. Logika pasar punya cara berpikir sendiri untuk terus hidup, dan kalau formula lama mau terus dikembangkan, ada persoalan dengan audience yang juga berubah.

Secara berkelakar di antara sejumlah orang eks majalah Tempo yang memperbincangkan buku ini, satu di antaranya menilai buku ini sebagai, ”Ini buku tentang sejarah Tempo, tetapi memang semangat awal Tempo itu kini tinggal sejarah....”

Bagi sebuah majalah yang terus berjuang untuk eksis dan mengedepankan mutu jurnalistik serta suatu model perusahaan media yang sehat dan modern, Tempo masih harus membuktikan bahwa kedalaman pemberitaan yang ditulisnya serta cara penulisan yang ”enak dibaca dan perlu” itu memang masih dibutuhkan oleh publik. Konservasi macam begini makin sempit lahannya, tetapi harus terus dipelihara sembari memberi ruang lebih luas bagi sumber daya manusia yang hidup di dalamnya.

Kalau nilai seperti ini yang hendak dianut, kecepatan penyampaian informasi dari media mana pun, tak akan bisa mengalahkan kedalaman dan kejelasan penyampaian informasi yang jadi tujuan Tempo. Dalam era informasi serba instan, kedalaman informasi dan makna pentingnya bagi pengembangan masyarakat lebih luas harus terus dipelihara dan dikembangkan mati-matian.

 

 
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Jawa Pos
October 2, 2005


Tempo Melawan dengan Kata

Oleh Muhammad Al-Fayyadl

21 Juni 1994 adalah tanggal bersejarah bagi pers Indonesia. Pada hari itu turun perintah pencabutan SIUPP terhadap majalah Tempo, yang disusul kemudian dengan pembredelan Detik dan Editor. "Surat sakti" pembredelan itu diumumkan langsung oleh Menteri Penerangan Harmoko, yang waktu itu dikenal luas sebagai "tangan kanan" rezim Soeharto.

Pembredelan Tempo menorehkan noda hitam dalam sejarah pers Indonesia, setelah sebelumnya nasib serupa juga menimpa harian Indonesia Raya asuhan Mochtar Lubis. Harus diakui, Tempo saat itu memang menjadi momok buat rezim. Majalah ini bukan saja populer dengan independensinya yang tinggi, tetapi juga keberaniannya mengungkap fakta di lapangan. Ketika banyak media memilih bungkam mengenai peristiwa tertentu, Tempo berbicara.

Agaknya, keberanian Tempo itulah yang membikin kepincut Janet Steele, profesor media dari George Washington University. Jauh-jauh dari Amerika ia datang untuk mewawancari para awak Tempo. Hasilnya adalah buku setebal 328 halaman ini, yang boleh dibilang merupakan dokumentasi terlengkap tentang sejarah majalah terkemuka itu sepanjang tiga puluh tahun terakhir.

Tempo didirikan pada 1971 oleh sejumlah intelektual muda yang waktu itu gelisah melihat situasi sosial politik kian tak menentu. Salah satu gejala yang mencolok adalah politisasi pers untuk mendukung ideologi kelompok. Melihat gejala yang tak sehat itu, beberapa intelektual muda seperti Goenawan Mohamad, Nono Anwar Makarim, dan Fikri Jufri tergerak untuk mendirikan media yang bebas dari politik dan menyuarakan informasi yang objektif.

Mei 1970, mereka menerbitkan majalah Ekspres. Tapi eksperimen itu gagal karena intervensi penguasa. Goenawan keluar dari Ekspres, diikuti oleh kawan-kawannya, Fikri Jufri, dan Christanto Wibisono. Setelah menunggu hampir setahun, mereka akhirnya sepakat menerbitkan Tempo.

Menurut Steele, Tempo adalah anak kandung Orde Baru. Ia muncul berbarengan dengan naiknya pamor Soeharto sebagai penguasa rezim. Tapi, walaupun lahir dari rahim Orde Baru, Tempo menempuh jalan yang berbeda. Tempo tetap menjaga integritasnya dengan mengambil jarak dari pusat-pusat kekuasaan.

Satu ilustrasi menarik dari adanya "jarak" ini tergambar dari pertemuan Jenderal Soemitro dengan sejumlah redaktur koran di Jakarta pada 19 Januari 1972. Pertemuan yang politis ini tampaknya dimaksudkan untuk mengawasi kinerja jurnalisme agar tak terlalu kritis terhadap pemerintah. Menanggapi hal itu, Goenawan menulis di Tempo, bahwa kritik adalah bagian dari kerja jurnalisme. Kerja wartawan, kata Goen, adalah "melayani dengan kritik".

Yang mungkin membedakan Tempo dari media lainnya adalah cara mengemas kritik itu. Tempo melontarkan kritik dengan gaya bahasa yang renyah dan nyaman. Motto Tempo yang terkenal, "enak dibaca dan perlu", hingga kini mewarnai pemberitaan Tempo. Gaya jurnalisme yang diusung Tempo ini, menurut Steele, ingin mendobrak kebekuan bahasa pada masa itu, yang terlalu kental dengan slogan dan bombasme.

Namun, usaha Tempo untuk menghadirkan berita secara berimbang dan objektif bukannya tanpa tekanan. Tantangan pertama datang ketika meletus peristiwa 15 Januari 1974 yang dikenal dengan "Malari". Peristiwa ini merupakan goncangan hebat terhadap rezim Orde Baru. Sebanyak 11 orang, konon, tewas, dan ratusan lainnya terluka. Sepanjang Orde Baru, baru kali ini terjadi demonstrasi masal --disertai perusakan-- yang begitu hebat.

Bagaimana Tempo menanggapi Malari? Tempo lagi-lagi mencoba menyajikan porsi berita secara imbang. Kedua belah pihak yang "bermain" di balik peristiwa itu sama-sama dimuat opininya, yaitu antara pihak Widjojo yang pro-Jepang dan Ali Moertopo yang anti-Jepang. Pemberitaan yang relatif objektif ini diakui oleh Steele sebagai faktor yang menyelamatkan Tempo dari bredel rezim kala itu. Berbeda dengan Tempo, 12 koran ibu kota --sebutlah misalnya, Harian Kami, The Jakarta Times, Indonesia Pos-- resmi ditutup.

Perjuangan Tempo tidak berhenti di situ. Dalam hubungannya dengan rezim Soeharto, Tempo memang tak mudah ditundukkan. Karena pemberitaannya yang relatif imbang, rezim tak gampang menuduh Tempo dengan alasan yang masuk akal. Walaupun demikian, di mata sebagian pejabat, Tempo tetaplah "duri dalam daging". Di satu sisi, Tempo diakui kredibilitas pemberitaannya. Di sisi lain, ia tetap perlu diawasi. Pemerintah merasa waswas majalah ini terlalu kritis terhadap rezim.

Tempo sendiri menyadari posisinya. Karena itu, agar tetap survive, ia harus menggunakan trik dan strategi. Steele menyebut beberapa di antaranya, seperti mengganti kalimat aktif menjadi pasif (konon, kabarnya, wallahu a’lam) atau mengutip komentar dari pejabat asing terhadap situasi dalam negeri. Strategi yang kedua ini biasa disebut pinjam mulut. Ini misalnya diterapkan ketika Tempo melaporkan insiden Santa Cruz pada 1991 dengan mengutip ucapan seorang pejabat PBB (hlm. 103).

Semua strategi itu dipakai untuk menjamin kelangsungan Tempo sebagai media yang independen dan terbuka. Tekanan bertubi-tubi dari rezim tidak meluluhkan semangat wartawan Tempo untuk menghadirkan fakta lebih jernih ke hadapan publik. Ditambah lagi kehadiran "Catatan Pinggir" Goenawan Mohamad pada setiap edisi, yang mencoba mengkritik perpolitikan tanah air dengan satir dan ironinya yang khas, memperkaya Tempo menjadi lebih dari sekadar majalah yang "enak dibaca".

Pada akhir Maret 1982, Tempo memang sempat dibekukan karena berani melaporkan situasi Pemilu waktu itu yang ricuh. Tetapi dua minggu kemudian, Tempo kembali diizinkan terbit. Usaha pemerintah untuk menekan Tempo selalu menemui batu sandungan karena keberhasilan strategi Tempo untuk mengambil jarak dengan kekuasaan, sekaligus melobi kekuasaan untuk memberi jaminan.

Istirahat terpanjang Tempo terjadi setelah pembredelan 21 Juni 1994. Sejak itu wartawan Tempo melakukan gerilya, seperti dengan mendirikan Tempo interaktif secara klandestin, atau mendirikan ISAI (Institut Studi Arus Informasi) pada 1995. Perjuangan ini membuktikan komitmen Tempo pada demokratisasi dan kebebasan pers, yang pada zaman Orde Baru dipasung secara sistematis.

Setelah terbit kembali pada 6 Oktober 1998, memang ada keraguan apakah Tempo tetap mampu menjaga aura jurnalistiknya yang khas: kritis, tajam, dan berjarak dengan fakta. Tetapi Steele optimistis Tempo tak mengecewakan harapan pembacanya. "This continues to be challenge for ’Tempo’, to create a forum for the discussion and debate that is essential to true democracy, and by so doing to lead Indonesia into the brightness," ujarnya berbinar-binar.

Akankah optimisme itu berbuah kenyataan?

 

 
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The Australian
October 22, 2005


Moving with the Tempo of the Times

By Dewi Anggraeni

When, on June 21, 1994, Tempo, then the most respected news magazine in Indonesia, was banned by the Suharto government, many of its editors and journalists refused to accept defeat. They began publishing an online version, known as Tempo Interaktif. In Australia, while I started writing for The Jakarta Post and FORUM Keadilan, at social gatherings involving Indonesians and Indonesianists I continued to say I was the Australia correspondent for Tempo. And most people, including those working for the Indonesian government, expressed outrage or at least disappointment at the ban.

Occasionally, I attended events run by the consulate; at one gathering an Australian businessman, told I was a journalist for Tempo, asked, "So you work for the consulate?" I inquired why he'd drawn such an extraordinary conclusion. It transpired that all he knew about Indonesia and its politics was that it was a totalitarian society where the president and his family owned everything. "So this Tempo must be a government newspaper and run from the consulate," he said. I did not know where to start enlightening him on Indonesian politics. Janet Steele's Wars Within, while perfect, would not be published until 10 years after that occasion. This is not to say that Wars Within is not timely for today's readers in Australia, when the tendency for reductionism, instead of diminishing, is gaining prominence at an alarming pace. Steele, who began interviewing Tempo journalists in 1997 "while Tempo was still a ghost", reconstructed a biography of the publication from its founding in 1971 by Goenawan Mohamad, Fikri Jufri and their coterie of friends who shared their idealism and aspirations. Her research uncovers the remarkably complex modus operandi and continuous power play inside Tempo, transcending the period of necrolepsy between 1994 and 1998, the year it again began publishing in hard copy, right until this year. For readers outside Indonesia, what is more intriguing is the revelation of how Tempo editors and senior journalists had to perform dangerous pas de deux with the power wielders during Suharto's rule, all the while maintaining the quality of a news magazine that confronted difficult issues while so many others were driven to swim with the flow. It is worth remembering that Tempo's founders began by supporting Suharto's New Order because during the last years of Sukarno's government, when the communist-leaning cultural organisation LEKRA ruled the roost, they were persecuted, or at least pushed to a corner, for refusing to toe LEKRA's line. But it did not take long before those in Tempo felt let down by the new government and constrained from openly airing criticisms. It was clear that while this government was not averse to adopting free-market economy, it would not embrace liberal democracy.

One strategy was to assign senior editors to lobby different members of the power elite. A kind of symbiotic relationship inevitably developed between the designated senior editor and the powerful man. The editor as Tempo representative needed the man in order to get first exclusive interviews when there were turns in political development. The interviews would then be used as a springboard to a wider coverage, where the man's political opponents would also be quoted. In the meantime, the powerful man needed the prestige derived from being the first quoted by a publication well known to maintain impartiality and commanding more respect than those belonging to a particular interest group or simply mouthing the official propaganda. This strategy often proved slippery, since the constellation of power was never permanent. Suharto kept a vigilant eye on it, making sure that those who became too prominent and too solid for his liking were quickly sidestepped by orchestrating a power struggle where the party he favoured would receive every necessary assistance.

When in 1982 Tempo and several news publications were banned, deputy chief editor Fikri Jufri pursued the then information minister, General Ali Moertopo, who kept avoiding him. Fikri, who had known Moertopo since his student activism days in 1966, finally resorted to some emotional arm-twisting. He approached Moertopo's adjutant and said, "Look, you talk to him. Just tell him: I want to meet the man I knew when he was captain. I want to meet the Ali Moertopo I knew in 1966." And he got through.

That was when Tempo's licence to publish was merely frozen. In 1994 its licence to operate as a company was revoked. That was meant to kill the magazine and it took a change of government to bring the magazine back to life. Aptly, the present deputy chief editor, Toriq Hadad, is quoted recalling Goenawan's words, "We can be afraid but never subjugated".

 

 
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The Asian Review of Books
December 12, 2005


Wars Within by Janet Steele

By John Walsh

The magazine Tempo played a significant part in the social development of modern Indonesian society. As in other Southeast Asian societies, magazines have been a principal source of information and literature for a wide range of people, since the costs are generally low and the small size mean they can be borrowed and read before being returned to those shops which act as private libraries. In societies in which official censorship is to be anticipated, then it is cost-effective for a writer to produce comparatively short pieces rather than full-length manuscripts. The rapid production of a large number of stories, based on truth or fiction, especially when conceived with subtlety, can be used to slip nuggets of truth and dissension past the official red pencil.

In the case of Tempo, the truth largely concerned the governance of Indonesia and the corruption endemic in the ruling classes. Its stories included the mysterious killings, in which hundreds of suspected criminals were found shot to death, presumably by the security services, with their bodies dumped in easily accessible places to ensure the message to the public is plain. Stories also included the possible instances of graft and corruption involved in government purchasing or in the redistribution of government revenues. These were explosive issues -- they still are in many countries in the region -- and Tempo and its staff were continually under threat of official sanction. Not only could such sanctions affect the journalists' and editors' employment, it could also threaten them with imprisonment. There were, in short, big stakes involved.

Wars Within, an Associate Professor in the School of Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University, has told the story of Tempo with clarity and some insight.

From its early days, under the legendary editor Goenawan Mohamad and the other founders, Tempo constantly pushed to the limit what it would and would not be able to publish. Knowing that openly and flagrantly publishing accusations and allegations would be self-defeating and, indeed, possibly disastrous for the junior writers, Goenawan led his team in the search for new ways to imply what is going on without actually stating bald details. Certain conventions arose, such as using the passive tone to indicate that a particular opinion or position had been taken but without naming anyone who had taken it and thereby nominating that individual as a possible target for future action. Inevitably, this led to some of the senior figures in the magazine befriending authority figures, not just to obtain good contacts for stories and sources of quotes but also the better to feel out what will be acceptable and what will not. In due course, these relationships were to attract criticism for representing too close a partnership with authority figures or, at least, the perception of too close a partnership, which is an accusation which it is very difficult for a writer or magazine to deny.

As the magazine increased in success and sales, tensions among the staff exacerbated. The ethnic and religious differences in Indonesia are well-known but not necessarily divisive and Steele upholds the line of most of the interviewees that relations among the staff were harmonious, even though differences were evident.

Perhaps more divisive was the issue of money. Success, curiously assisted by the censorship imposed by the government which meant that Tempo effectively occupied a monopoly position, led to increased salaries and bonuses and these were distributed unequally among those who worked at the magazine. The ownership of the magazine had, for complicated reasons, become a matter of some contention, not to mention confusion. Those who found themselves less well-rewarded tended towards the opinion that not only should they receive more money but that since the founders had become rich, as everybody agreed, the magazine no longer supported the underdog. As the moment at which Tempo was going to be banned approached, internal divisions seem to have made the place much less of the wonderful experience that so many had professed it to be in the early days.

Wars Within has produced a very interesting and well-researched book and her prose style is unobtrusive and entirely functional. It is possible to quibble with some of the editorial decisions, particularly with respect to the use of the content analysis, for example, but this would be trivial. Nevertheless, it is difficult to see exactly for whom this book is intended. I am not sure that it offers a sufficiently wide context to be of use to all involved in journalism, while seasoned Indonesia-watchers will be aware of most of the material from other sources in any case.

 

 
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International Institute For Asian Studies (IIAS) Newsletter
No. 39, p.25
December 2005


Bringing Indonesian Media History To Life

By David T. Hill

The appearance within the past year of these English-language books about the Indonesian press says a lot about both the vibrant state of the publishing industry in Indonesia and the burgeoning international interest in - and increasing quality of research about - that country's media. From the same innovative English-language publisher in Jakarta, the books focus on different, if overlapping, aspects of the Indonesian press. Importantly, each offers a new and exciting approach to the writing of media history, setting them apart from previous studies.

Steele, a specialist in Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University, came to Indonesia in 1997-8 as a Fulbright professor. While teaching about American mass media at the University of Indonesia during the final assault against the New Order, she was drawn inexorably to that community of activists involved in the Indonesian media's struggle against government constraints, an agglomeration of media workers that gravitated around the memory of Indonesia's most prominent newsweekly, Tempo. When Tempo was banned by the Suharto regime in June 1994 (together with two other weeklies, DeTik and Editor) it spawned waves of protest around the country, and came to symbolise the middle-class' broken hopes for political openness. Ex- Tempo staffers mobilised above and below ground against the New Order, and generated a substantial part of the agitation that was to bring the regime down in May 1998.

Steele's engagement with the spirited staff of Tempo through this period led her to delve more deeply into what made them tick. She pushed back into the history of the magazine's establishment, ranged over its various crises and bans, through to its resurrection after the eventual fall of Suharto. Returning regularly to Indonesia, spending extended periods living, researching and teaching in the capital, Steele acquired a valuable insight into the ethos and camaraderie of these media workers and the principles around which they coalesced. Wars Within opens up this circle of journalists, their motivations, their conflicts, and their commitments.

For Steele, as for a generation of Indonesians, Tempo had come to symbolise the best of Indonesian journalism; it was passionate, probing, innovative, articulate, outfront, and prepared to take the consequences. Yet Tempo was also, in some senses, politically compromised; a product of the early New Order's alliance with the anti-Sukarnoist student movement in eliminating the Left, the magazine enjoyed the backing of figures such as Golkar's treasurer Eric Samola, who became Tempo 's publisher. Steele writes with great sympathy of the complexities of operating a news publication in an authoritarian political environment, in which the cultivation of close relations with power-brokers was part of a necessary balance between idealism and pragmatism.

Wars Within is more than an academic account of the rise, fall, and rise of one Indonesian newsmagazine. Based on thorough research, it is engagingly readable, with characters - both well-known and those behind the scenes - emerging from the pages with the texture of well-crafted fiction. Steele eschews the conventional unfolding of arms-length history to tell the reader of her own interactions with, and attempts to understand, the community and events she unravels for us. Yet the text never lapses into name-dropping. Her insights provide an entrée into the Tempo community, and, through it, a broader understanding of the cultural politics of the New Order.

State terrorism
If one can read Wars Within for all the pleasure of a tale well-told, The Invisible Palace takes us a step further to a re-telling of history as 'faction'. Steele's account of Tempo is one of uplifting spirit and determination in the face of a repressive state; Tesoro's subject matter is the gruesome underbelly of state terrorism. He lays bare the circumstances surrounding the murder of Indonesian journalist Fuad Muhammad Syafruddin in August 1996, and the cover-up of the state's involvement.

Syafruddin, known commonly as Udin, was a journalist with the local Jogjakarta daily paper Bernas . He had stirred the ire of local political figures including the regent (bupati) Colonel Sri Roso Sudarmo with his forthright exposure of corruption and malfeasance. After the more routine forms of verbal intimidation failed to silence him, this unassuming small-town reporter was beaten to death one evening at the door of his modest home. Government investigations ignored evidence pointing to the involvement of political figures and instead framed a scapegoat in an attempt to deflect public criticism and close the case. Despite tireless efforts by journalist colleagues and press organisations to focus evidence upon more credible culprits and to press for their conviction, no one has been found guilty of the murder, nor have any officials been jailed for the miscarriage of justice which accompanied the state cover-up.

Tesoro's goal was to examine 'how injustice functions: What happens when, in the wake of a crime, the authorities seek not to punish the perpetrator but to hide him and not to discover the truth but to bury it' (p.25). Despite the separation of the Indonesian Police Service from the Armed Forces after the fall of Suharto, Tesoro's account of the botched police investigation, including the failure to protect evidence, may be of added interest given heightened curiosity about the conduct of recent high profile arrests in Indonesia.

Informed scrutiny
A Philippines-born journalist and Yale-graduate, Tesoro was based in Indonesia for Asiaweek from 1997 to 2000, when he resigned to write The Invisible Palace. In it, he has attempted to unravel hundreds of pages of court transcripts, legal memoranda, witness testimony, police reports, and personal interviews, to present these to the reader as creative non-fiction - an account of the events prior to and after the murder, more in the genre of novel than of history or reportage. He begins, 'This is a work of non-fiction. But, like all true stories, not everything found within is fact.' While this treatment may seem a touch strained in places - such as when he recounts mystic encounters with Javanese dukun (seers) - the technique is vividly successful as a general strategy to bring the complexities of the case to life. The Invisible Palace opens up the New Order's media and system of 'justice' to informed scrutiny, and the tale is a powerful one.
There is much common ground in these two books: the split between the official journalists' association PWI and the activist Alliance of Independent Journalists (AJI); the forms of intimidation used against Indonesian journalists, and their strategies for resisting; the craven behaviour of authorities bowing to the dictates of the regime. Though the analytical approach, style and focus of the books vary greatly, together they flesh out, in the lives (and deaths) of the journalists they feature, the fate of the profession in an authoritarian state. In making such history so readable, the authors - and their publisher - are to be congratulated.
 
David T. Hill is Professor of Southeast Asian Studies and Fellow of the Asia Research Centre at Murdoch University, Western Australia. He was a Visiting Fellow at IIAS in November 2004, researching local media in post-Suharto Indonesia. You can reach him at dthill@murdoch.edu.au

 

 
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Columbia Journalism Review
December 2005


Shadow Plays
A dark time in Indonesia, seen through two complementary prisms

By Lawrence Pintak

In 1997, as Indonesia's economy was crumbling, I moved my family from Jakarta to Bali, putting some distance between my children and the gathering storm clouds in the capital. We settled on a house in a village near the island's spiritual heart, Ubud, built by a well-known documentary-maker who had been killed in a freak accident. Just before we moved in, my wife visited a dukun , or traditional seer. The spirit of the land on which the house was built, the dukun warned, took a human life every few years. It intended to take a female life next.

For my wife, whose own bloodline extends back to Indonesia's other mystical power center, the royal kraton (palace) of Solo on the island of Java, there was no question. We had two daughters; we would find another house. I did not object. I had been in Indonesia long enough to know one did not challenge the unseen forces. "There is light and there is darkness" the village headman had told me a few days before the warning. "They must always be kept in balance."

It was near there that the British journalist Richard Lloyd Parry first experienced the blurred line between light and dark, between dream and reality, that is woven through In the Time of Madness , his intensely personal account of covering Indonesia during the final years of President Suharto's rule. "After I had fallen asleep with the jungle in my ears, I dreamed of knives and faces," he recalls in the prologue. "Of a mobile telephone that would not stop ringing and of endless conversations with a man named Colonel Mehmet." Over the next three years, the mysterious colonel would continue to haunt Parry's dreams, as the young journalist explored the dark side of Indonesia in the late 1990s as "one power was dying; another was fighting to get born."

In the tradition of the best literary journalism, In the Time of Madness reads like a novel, offering both a unique perspective on Indonesia's reformasi revolution of 1998 and an uncomfortably honest portrayal of a journalist at work. Parry writes in a voice at times reminiscent of Joseph Conrad, who also probed the archipelago's heart of darkness. At first, like most young reporters, Parry believed he wore an emotional armor that insulated him from the horror as civilization's rules began to fray: "I encountered death, but remained untouched." Headhunters eating human flesh in Borneo; mob justice in the capital; the Timor revolt. But like so many foreign correspondents before him, Parry eventually "discovered that such experience is never externalized, only absorbed, and that it builds up inside one, like a toxin."

While most journalistic accounts of the end of Suharto's three decades at the helm focus on the collapse of the economy, the corruption of the president's clan and cronies, and the political machinations of rival heirs to the political throne, Parry examines events through a much darker prism; a world of ritual, spells, and seers.

This is not just a book about mysticism or Indonesia. It is also a compelling look at the realities of life as a foreign correspondent. Journalists often walk a fine line between the roles of reporter and voyeur, willing participants in the pornography of violence. Parry is not shy about offering uncomfortable glimpses of this reality, as when he manages to buy photos proving that Dayak warriors, engaged in communal violence in Borneo, had reverted to the ancient art of headhunting: "We shook hands on the deal with big awful grins on our faces. In the car, I caught myself giggling, a strange cold kind of giggling, as I fingered the envelope of prints."

As someone who has covered far too many wars, I sometimes found myself wincing at Parry's willingness to lay bare the swirl of emotion and rush of adrenaline that keeps so many reporters coming back for more. Approaching the site of a massacre, Parry realizes that "I had never before felt simultaneously such extremes of eagerness and reluctance. My body felt light, as if I might float away from the earth."

Parry also offers telling insights into the complex mix of motives that drive foreign correspondents, as when he finds himself inside Indonesia's parliament building after it was taken over by students: "Such events are flattering to those who witness them; you feel that just by being there you are courageous."

At times, Parry's forays into hyperbole and his fixation with the bloodier aspects of those years threaten to undermine an otherwise fine book. It would be easy for a reader who knows little about Indonesia to come away from it with the impression that chaos reigned throughout the late '90s. The bloodshed witnessed by Parry was certainly personally traumatic for the reporter and its victims, but most Indonesians were untouched by the pockets of violence. There was no repeat of Indonesia's so-called "Year of Living Dangerously," the 1965 convulsion of bloodshed that claimed at least a half-million lives, no military coup, no collapse of central authority, no Balkanization of the archipelago. One almost senses a faint disappointment on Parry's part that none of this came to pass.

As a glimpse into the life of a foreign correspondent, or as a nonfiction companion to Conrad's Lord Jim , In the Time of Madness is a very good read. As a history of a period through the prism of journalism, it should be paired with another recently published book about reporters and Indonesia, Wars Within: The Story of Tempo , an Independent Magazine in Soeharto's Indonesia , by the media historian Janet Steele.

By his own admission, Parry -- like most Western reporters -- only discovered Indonesia on the eve of the revolution; Tempo helped to bring that revolution about. Wars Within should be required reading for the armies of Western media trainers currently descending on newsrooms from Morocco to Indonesia in the hope of bolstering media freedom -- as well as those who fund them. Steele, an associate professor at the School of Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University, provides a deft and highly readable account of how Tempo pushed the envelope under an authoritarian regime and emerged as the country's most influential news organization.

Then a Fulbright scholar in Indonesia, Steele first began studying the magazine in 1997, "while Tempo was still a ghost," three years after it was banned for a second time by the Suharto regime. The eternal cliché about Indonesia is that, as in the country's famous shadow puppet plays, there is always more going on behind the scenes than is apparent to the audience. Tempo is the journalistic embodiment of this truth. Its print edition banned, the magazine began publishing an Internet version, but only as a cover for the real journalistic product, a set of e-mailed and photocopied newsletters produced by a clandestine unit of reporters organized in a system of cells, using aliases and operating from a location even its founder, Goenawan Mohamad, claims he did not know. The Asia Foundation provided a secure server with the most up-to-date encryption to foil government efforts to trace its output. Other aspects of the operation were funded by USAID in a don't ask, don't tell relationship.

Within weeks of Suharto's downfall, Tempo 's publishing license had been restored. A few months later, the revived magazine was once more on the streets (by 2001 it was also producing Koran Tempo , now one of Indonesia's most popular newspapers). Back in the States, Steele was amazed at the alacrity with which former Tempo reporters quit their jobs to return to the fold.

 "I had initially intended to write about Tempo as 'the magazine that doesn't exist,'" she recalls, "but obviously that was no longer possible." So Steele returned to Indonesia in 1999 "to examine Tempo as a window into the history of the New Order."

The story she produced is invaluable for anyone trying to understand the workings of the media in a controlled society. It is a world in which black-and-white gives way to shades of gray. "National news in Tempo became part of an elaborate process of negotiating and signaling among elites," reports Steele.

Nor did Western notions of objectivity always apply. "Being 'balanced' in a [political] system that was inherently unbalanced was not enough," Steele writes. That did not mean Tempo always challenged the government head-on. In fact, some critics of the magazine accused it of collaboration. That, Goenawan and his colleagues contend, was all part of the delicate balancing act in which the "hidden message" of resistance was written between the lines.

The ultimate goal of Tempo , as the journalist Arief Budiman told Steele, was "to supply [its readers] with the moral courage to at least not to betray their conscience." But to do that, it needed to stay alive.

Vast amounts of government and foundation money is being spent these days on gatherings at five-star hotels in places like Barcelona and Dubai at which journalists from the West and the Muslim world engage in group therapy over their joint role in facilitating the violence of recent years. "How do we avoid making the same mistake again?" is the common theme.

Each time I am asked to speak at such events, I close by stating the obvious: a little balance goes a long way. And then I read from a definition of good journalism authored not in the newsroom of The New York Times or Le Monde , but at a news organization deep in the "third world," whose publications have a combined circulation of a few hundred thousand. A news organization that most of the audience has never heard of -- Tempo :

Our journalism will not be one-sided, or based on the politics of a single group. We believe that neither virtue nor the lack of virtue is the monopoly of any one side. We believe that the duty of the press is not to spread prejudice, but rather to wipe it out, not to sow the seeds of hatred, but rather to communicate mutual understanding...

Suharto is gone, retired to the modest house on a tree-lined Jakarta street where, according to confidants, he spends his days in meditation and prayer. The draconian press laws that once governed the Indonesian media have been scrapped. But that does not mean that Tempo 's struggle -- or that of Indonesian journalism -- is over.

At this writing, Goenawan Mohamad's hand-picked successor as editor-in-chief, Bambang Harymurti, is appealing a one-year prison sentence on a criminal libel conviction for a story that a judge ruled was not "balanced." Goenawan himself has had his home confiscated as part of a civil libel suit by the same businessman. They are among dozens of Indonesian journalists who have been dragged into courts as legal harassment has replaced government repression.

It is a scenario being played out in countries moving toward media independence across the developing world. And as in Indonesia, reporters in many of those countries also face a host of other challenges, from lack of training and poor salaries to threats and enticements from militant Islamists and powerful economic forces.

"Remember, the overall majority [of Indonesian journalists] were recruited trained, indoctrinated under a very effective New Order (military) regime. Many are disoriented," Aristides Katoppo, another veteran editor whose newspaper was banned in the Suharto years, said in a recent e-mail. "You know how difficult it is to unlearn old habits. Militarism or commercialism are equally seducing; for the first you bow to the bayonet, for the other you bow for the money."

Suharto is gone, but the darkness he helped to create lives on.

The veteran journalist Lawrence Pintak is director of the Adham Center for Electronic Journalism at The American University in Cairo. His latest book, Reflections in a Bloodshot Lens: America, Islam & the War of Ideas , is due out in January from Pluto Press.

 

 
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  » Review: The Jakarta Post
  » Review: Sinar Harapan
  » Review: Kompas
  » Review: Jawa Pos
  » Review: The Australian
  » Review: The Asian Review of Books
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  » Review: Columbia Journalism Review
  » Review: Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies

Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies


Shadow Plays
A dark time in Indonesia, seen through two complementary prisms

By Lawrence Pintak

In 1997, as Indonesia's economy was crumbling, I moved my family from Jakarta to Bali, putting some distance between my children and the gathering storm clouds in the capital. We settled on a house in a village near the island's spiritual heart, Ubud, built by a well-known documentary-maker who had been killed in a freak accident. Just before we moved in, my wife visited a dukun , or traditional seer. The spirit of the land on which the house was built, the dukun warned, took a human life every few years. It intended to take a female life next.

For my wife, whose own bloodline extends back to Indonesia's other mystical power center, the royal kraton (palace) of Solo on the island of Java, there was no question. We had two daughters; we would find another house. I did not object. I had been in Indonesia long enough to know one did not challenge the unseen forces. "There is light and there is darkness" the village headman had told me a few days before the warning. "They must always be kept in balance."

It was near there that the British journalist Richard Lloyd Parry first experienced the blurred line between light and dark, between dream and reality, that is woven through In the Time of Madness , his intensely personal account of covering Indonesia during the final years of President Suharto's rule. "After I had fallen asleep with the jungle in my ears, I dreamed of knives and faces," he recalls in the prologue. "Of a mobile telephone that would not stop ringing and of endless conversations with a man named Colonel Mehmet." Over the next three years, the mysterious colonel would continue to haunt Parry's dreams, as the young journalist explored the dark side of Indonesia in the late 1990s as "one power was dying; another was fighting to get born."

In the tradition of the best literary journalism, In the Time of Madness reads like a novel, offering both a unique perspective on Indonesia's reformasi revolution of 1998 and an uncomfortably honest portrayal of a journalist at work. Parry writes in a voice at times reminiscent of Joseph Conrad, who also probed the archipelago's heart of darkness. At first, like most young reporters, Parry believed he wore an emotional armor that insulated him from the horror as civilization's rules began to fray: "I encountered death, but remained untouched." Headhunters eating human flesh in Borneo; mob justice in the capital; the Timor revolt. But like so many foreign correspondents before him, Parry eventually "discovered that such experience is never externalized, only absorbed, and that it builds up inside one, like a toxin."

While most journalistic accounts of the end of Suharto's three decades at the helm focus on the collapse of the economy, the corruption of the president's clan and cronies, and the political machinations of rival heirs to the political throne, Parry examines events through a much darker prism; a world of ritual, spells, and seers.

This is not just a book about mysticism or Indonesia. It is also a compelling look at the realities of life as a foreign correspondent. Journalists often walk a fine line between the roles of reporter and voyeur, willing participants in the pornography of violence. Parry is not shy about offering uncomfortable glimpses of this reality, as when he manages to buy photos proving that Dayak warriors, engaged in communal violence in Borneo, had reverted to the ancient art of headhunting: "We shook hands on the deal with big awful grins on our faces. In the car, I caught myself giggling, a strange cold kind of giggling, as I fingered the envelope of prints."

As someone who has covered far too many wars, I sometimes found myself wincing at Parry's willingness to lay bare the swirl of emotion and rush of adrenaline that keeps so many reporters coming back for more. Approaching the site of a massacre, Parry realizes that "I had never before felt simultaneously such extremes of eagerness and reluctance. My body felt light, as if I might float away from the earth."

Parry also offers telling insights into the complex mix of motives that drive foreign correspondents, as when he finds himself inside Indonesia's parliament building after it was taken over by students: "Such events are flattering to those who witness them; you feel that just by being there you are courageous."

At times, Parry's forays into hyperbole and his fixation with the bloodier aspects of those years threaten to undermine an otherwise fine book. It would be easy for a reader who knows little about Indonesia to come away from it with the impression that chaos reigned throughout the late '90s. The bloodshed witnessed by Parry was certainly personally traumatic for the reporter and its victims, but most Indonesians were untouched by the pockets of violence. There was no repeat of Indonesia's so-called "Year of Living Dangerously," the 1965 convulsion of bloodshed that claimed at least a half-million lives, no military coup, no collapse of central authority, no Balkanization of the archipelago. One almost senses a faint disappointment on Parry's part that none of this came to pass.

As a glimpse into the life of a foreign correspondent, or as a nonfiction companion to Conrad's Lord Jim , In the Time of Madness is a very good read. As a history of a period through the prism of journalism, it should be paired with another recently published book about reporters and Indonesia, Wars Within: The Story of Tempo , an Independent Magazine in Soeharto's Indonesia , by the media historian Janet Steele.

By his own admission, Parry -- like most Western reporters -- only discovered Indonesia on the eve of the revolution; Tempo helped to bring that revolution about. Wars Within should be required reading for the armies of Western media trainers currently descending on newsrooms from Morocco to Indonesia in the hope of bolstering media freedom -- as well as those who fund them. Steele, an associate professor at the School of Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University, provides a deft and highly readable account of how Tempo pushed the envelope under an authoritarian regime and emerged as the country's most influential news organization.

Then a Fulbright scholar in Indonesia, Steele first began studying the magazine in 1997, "while Tempo was still a ghost," three years after it was banned for a second time by the Suharto regime. The eternal cliché about Indonesia is that, as in the country's famous shadow puppet plays, there is always more going on behind the scenes than is apparent to the audience. Tempo is the journalistic embodiment of this truth. Its print edition banned, the magazine began publishing an Internet version, but only as a cover for the real journalistic product, a set of e-mailed and photocopied newsletters produced by a clandestine unit of reporters organized in a system of cells, using aliases and operating from a location even its founder, Goenawan Mohamad, claims he did not know. The Asia Foundation provided a secure server with the most up-to-date encryption to foil government efforts to trace its output. Other aspects of the operation were funded by USAID in a don't ask, don't tell relationship.

Within weeks of Suharto's downfall, Tempo 's publishing license had been restored. A few months later, the revived magazine was once more on the streets (by 2001 it was also producing Koran Tempo , now one of Indonesia's most popular newspapers). Back in the States, Steele was amazed at the alacrity with which former Tempo reporters quit their jobs to return to the fold.

 "I had initially intended to write about Tempo as 'the magazine that doesn't exist,'" she recalls, "but obviously that was no longer possible." So Steele returned to Indonesia in 1999 "to examine Tempo as a window into the history of the New Order."

The story she produced is invaluable for anyone trying to understand the workings of the media in a controlled society. It is a world in which black-and-white gives way to shades of gray. "National news in Tempo became part of an elaborate process of negotiating and signaling among elites," reports Steele.

Nor did Western notions of objectivity always apply. "Being 'balanced' in a [political] system that was inherently unbalanced was not enough," Steele writes. That did not mean Tempo always challenged the government head-on. In fact, some critics of the magazine accused it of collaboration. That, Goenawan and his colleagues contend, was all part of the delicate balancing act in which the "hidden message" of resistance was written between the lines.

The ultimate goal of Tempo , as the journalist Arief Budiman told Steele, was "to supply [its readers] with the moral courage to at least not to betray their conscience." But to do that, it needed to stay alive.

Vast amounts of government and foundation money is being spent these days on gatherings at five-star hotels in places like Barcelona and Dubai at which journalists from the West and the Muslim world engage in group therapy over their joint role in facilitating the violence of recent years. "How do we avoid making the same mistake again?" is the common theme.

Each time I am asked to speak at such events, I close by stating the obvious: a little balance goes a long way. And then I read from a definition of good journalism authored not in the newsroom of The New York Times or Le Monde , but at a news organization deep in the "third world," whose publications have a combined circulation of a few hundred thousand. A news organization that most of the audience has never heard of -- Tempo :

Our journalism will not be one-sided, or based on the politics of a single group. We believe that neither virtue nor the lack of virtue is the monopoly of any one side. We believe that the duty of the press is not to spread prejudice, but rather to wipe it out, not to sow the seeds of hatred, but rather to communicate mutual understanding...

Suharto is gone, retired to the modest house on a tree-lined Jakarta street where, according to confidants, he spends his days in meditation and prayer. The draconian press laws that once governed the Indonesian media have been scrapped. But that does not mean that Tempo 's struggle -- or that of Indonesian journalism -- is over.

At this writing, Goenawan Mohamad's hand-picked successor as editor-in-chief, Bambang Harymurti, is appealing a one-year prison sentence on a criminal libel conviction for a story that a judge ruled was not "balanced." Goenawan himself has had his home confiscated as part of a civil libel suit by the same businessman. They are among dozens of Indonesian journalists who have been dragged into courts as legal harassment has replaced government repression.

It is a scenario being played out in countries moving toward media independence across the developing world. And as in Indonesia, reporters in many of those countries also face a host of other challenges, from lack of training and poor salaries to threats and enticements from militant Islamists and powerful economic forces.

"Remember, the overall majority [of Indonesian journalists] were recruited trained, indoctrinated under a very effective New Order (military) regime. Many are disoriented," Aristides Katoppo, another veteran editor whose newspaper was banned in the Suharto years, said in a recent e-mail. "You know how difficult it is to unlearn old habits. Militarism or commercialism are equally seducing; for the first you bow to the bayonet, for the other you bow for the money."

Suharto is gone, but the darkness he helped to create lives on.

The veteran journalist Lawrence Pintak is director of the Adham Center for Electronic Journalism at The American University in Cairo. His latest book, Reflections in a Bloodshot Lens: America, Islam & the War of Ideas , is due out in January from Pluto Press.

 

 
 Wars Within
  » Review: The Jakarta Post
  » Review: Sinar Harapan
  » Review: Kompas
  » Review: Jawa Pos
  » Review: The Australian
  » Review: The Asian Review of Books
  » Review: International Institute For Asian Studies (IIAS) Newsletter
  » Review: Columbia Journalism Review
  » Review: Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies