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ASIAWEEK INVESTIGATION
TEN DAYS THAT SHOOK INDONESIA
New evidence indicates that the riots that convulsed Jakarta during May were masterminded
BY SUSAN BERFIELD AND DEWI LOVEARD
In the twilight hours of May 12, four student protesters were shot dead at Jakarta's prestigious Trisakti University. Within 24 hours, the killings by security forces had sparked savage riots and an anti-Chinese pogrom that turned Jakarta into a war zone, forced out President Suharto and altered the destiny of a nation. From the moment the first rock was thrown and car set alight, Indonesians suspected the riots were more than a spontaneous uprising against an overstaying president. The nation has a history of violence instigated by shadowy figures who are rarely identified. This time, however, suspects have been charged in connection with the Trisakti shootings. Two police officers are on trial in Jakarta for misconduct - but many Indonesians believe the suspects are scapegoats and that the court martial is part of a larger military cover-up.
A month-long Asiaweek investigation, that included interviews with military officers, lawyers, human-rights activists, victims and witnesses, suggests that the Trisakti shootings, the riots that followed and the rapes of Chinese women were indeed planned. Among the evidence uncovered in the investigation: four police officers and their uniforms disappeared days before the shootings; the bullet retrieved from a Trisakti victim is not police issue; two men, now in hiding, have admitted they were recruited to provoke riots; and military sources have revealed for the first time that they intercepted radio traffic between Jakarta army headquarters and groups of provocateurs on May 14.
If the riots were orchestrated, there had to be a mastermind. His identity may never be fully substantiated, but one man has been consistently linked to the violence: Suharto's son-in-law, Lt.-Gen. Prabowo Subianto, at the time commander of the elite Army Strategic Reserves (Kostrad). Prabowo, a volatile and much-resented officer, is almost too obvious a suspect. Fadli Zon, a Muslim activist close to Prabowo, says the lieutenant general is a victim of "character assassination." Days after the riots, Prabowo himself denied involvement. In June his intermediaries told Asiaweek he might consent to an interview. It hasn't happened yet.
Prabowo is ambitious and he certainly had the means to instigate riots. He had at his call thousands of reckless young men, many of them members of paramilitary organizations known to foment trouble. Hoodlums, gangsters, paramilitaries, youth groups - call them what you will. Some, like Pemuda Pancasila, are well established and led by retired officers. Military sources suspect other organizations involved in the riots are no more than local rackets headed by thugs recruited from the provinces and set loose in the capital.
"Prabowo was obsessed with his belief that the only way to govern Indonesia was by military stratagems," says a senior military officer, "and that he could take power in exactly the same way as his own father-in-law wrested power from Sukarno." The officer claims Prabowo wanted to create such chaos that his rival, armed forces chief Gen. Wiranto, would be unable to restore order. Suharto, in Egypt at the time, would have had to declare martial law. As chief of Kostrad, a key combat-ready unit, Prabowo would have been the only one able to take charge. That's one theory. Others say he wanted to impress Suharto by sowing chaos - and then proving he could control it.
In the end, Prabowo lost his patron and his command. His country lost far more - 1,188 people dead, as many as 468 women raped, and 40 malls, 2,470 shophouses and 1,119 cars looted or destroyed. Ten days that shook Indonesia
MAY 12
STUDENTS BEGAN GATHERING AT Trisakti at about 10:30 a.m., in the parking lot outside the 12-story M Building. This was to be the campus's first big demonstration. The participants were among the elite, the sons and daughters of businessmen, bureaucrats, diplomats and military men. On this hot, steamy day, the parking lot, usually filled with Kijangs, Toyotas and Peugeots, was empty. Just before 11 a.m., the national flag was lowered to half-mast, while students and faculty sang the national anthem. They observed a moment of silence, then called on Suharto to step down. At 12:30 about 6,000 students moved onto the four-lane highway running alongside Trisakti. They planned to hold a "long march" to Parliament. Three Trisakti representatives - Adi Andoyo Sutjipto, dean of the law faculty, Arri Gunarsa, head of campus security, and Julianto Hendro Cahyono, the 24-year-old leader of the student senate - began negotiating with police around 1 p.m. to allow the students to walk the 5 km into central Jakarta. Hendro says he called a university lecturer and member of parliament to see if it was possible for the students to meet with a government representative.
The students, meanwhile, sat on the street in protest, made speeches, sang the national anthem, refused to retreat. With rain falling, some put flowers in the rifles of police officers. Finally Hendro heard from the ruling party, Golkar: No one was prepared to meet them. Standing on a table between students and police, he told the disappointed students not to provoke violence.
At about 3 p.m. the situation seemed calm and Adi Andoyo returned to his office. Half an hour later his assistant called: The police had threatened to use force if the 200 or so students still on the street did not return to campus. By 4:15, an agreement had been reached; students and police were to retreat line by line, five meters at a time. Most students headed back on to campus. Others relaxed on the street or snacked at food stalls alongside the highway. Hendro went to get some bottled water. Some police officers took a break. All seemed quiet. Adi Andoyo headed home.
Around 4:30 p.m., a man standing among the students began yelling at them to abandon the protest. The students labeled him an undercover intelligence agent, and began beating the man as he ran the 50 meters to the first police line. (He was later identified as Masud, a Trisakti drop-out. Neither the police nor military claim him as one of their own.) Arri and Hendro told the students to remain calm and return to campus. Then at about 4:45 a police lieutenant colonel halted the negotiations: The students had 15 minutes to get off the streets.
About 100 students refused to retreat and stood at the police barricades. Three or four police officers began taunting them to cross, says Hendro, and the students moved forward, but no further than their own security line. Police claim crowds on the street turned violent then, but witnesses say the protest seemed to be winding down. At about 5:20 someone fired a gun in the air. The police charged, lobbed tear gas, swung batons and opened fire. The students ran for cover in nearby buildings and under street stall umbrellas. The police chased them to the Trisakti gates and stopped there. Bullets were flying. A rubber one struck Hendro in the back outside the student senate office.
The students fought back from inside campus, hurling bottles and rocks at the police. The students were convinced the bullets aimed at them were all rubber. Soldiers and police, both part of the armed forces, are trained to follow strict procedures at demonstrations. A standard operation includes four lines of forces: the police in front with shields, body protectors and batons; a second line of police with stun guns and tear gas; a third line of soldiers armed with rubber bullets and tear gas; and finally a line of soldiers and police on motorbikes with water cannons.
On that day, two police commanders later testified, officers were not issued live ammunition but carried Steyr AUG and SS-1 rifles loaded with three blanks and 12 rubber bullets, plus SS-1s loaded with five tear gas canisters apiece. But someone did use real bullets. Witnesses say men on police motorcycles drove onto an overpass that runs parallel to the toll road and the university. They were wearing uniforms of the Police Mobile Brigade. (Later, two military officers told the Human Rights Commission that a week before the demonstration, four members of the motorcycle unit went missing, along with their uniforms.)
Whoever the men on the flyover were, they used real bullets and shot to kill; the four were hit in the head, neck, chest and back between 5:30 and 6 p.m.
Most of the victims were facing police, throwing rocks. Arri drove Hendriawan Sie, 20, the first victim, to the nearby Sumber Waras hospital. Hendriawan was shot in the neck just inside the campus gates. He bled to death during the ride.
Elang Mulya Lesmana, 19, was shot in the chest and died on campus; Hafidhin Royan, 21, was shot in the head and died at the hospital; Hery Hartanto, 21, was shot in the back as he stopped to wash tear gas from his eyes and died on campus. The bullet that killed him, according to police and a source close to the military, was a 5.56mm MU5 from a Steyr AUG rifle - police use MU4s. Extracted from Hartanto's exhumed body June 7, the bullet is the only evidence suggesting police were not responsible.
Students heard sporadic shooting from 6 to 7 p.m. Some time after, the last gunshot victim, Sofyan Rachman, fell. (He remains in intensive care recovering from chest and kidney wounds.) At about 8 p.m., Intan, a law student, walked out of the campus waving a white cloth. She yelled to police that people needed medical assistance. Soon after, the shooting ended. Only then were the other 35 wounded taken to hospital; the police had earlier refused to guarantee the ambulances' safety. Moreover, says Arri, the police commander had told him that the wounds would not be life-threatening because the bullets were rubber.
Shortly after the Trisakti shootings, the north Jakarta district of Sunter went on alert. Sunter is a Chinese neighborhood. That evening, Imam Suyitno, a civilian trained to assist the army in emergencies, had been ordered to help organize a security watch. He was standing guard at the local shopping district when he and his colleagues saw an army truck pull up behind the supermarket. Up to 20 "tough-looking" men got off. Suyitno says they received something from a man on the truck before disappearing into the night.
The students, meanwhile, sat on the street in protest, made speeches, sang the national anthem, refused to retreat. With rain falling, some put flowers in the rifles of police officers. Finally Hendro heard from the ruling party, Golkar: No one was prepared to meet them. Standing on a table between students and police, he told the disappointed students not to provoke violence.
At about 3 p.m. the situation seemed calm and Adi Andoyo returned to his office. Half an hour later his assistant called: The police had threatened to use force if the 200 or so students still on the street did not return to campus. By 4:15, an agreement had been reached; students and police were to retreat line by line, five meters at a time. Most students headed back on to campus. Others relaxed on the street or snacked at food stalls alongside the highway. Hendro went to get some bottled water. Some police officers took a break. All seemed quiet. Adi Andoyo headed home.
Around 4:30 p.m., a man standing among the students began yelling at them to abandon the protest. The students labeled him an undercover intelligence agent, and began beating the man as he ran the 50 meters to the first police line. (He was later identified as Masud, a Trisakti drop-out. Neither the police nor military claim him as one of their own.) Arri and Hendro told the students to remain calm and return to campus. Then at about 4:45 a police lieutenant colonel halted the negotiations: The students had 15 minutes to get off the streets.
About 100 students refused to retreat and stood at the police barricades. Three or four police officers began taunting them to cross, says Hendro, and the students moved forward, but no further than their own security line. Police claim crowds on the street turned violent then, but witnesses say the protest seemed to be winding down. At about 5:20 someone fired a gun in the air. The police charged, lobbed tear gas, swung batons and opened fire. The students ran for cover in nearby buildings and under street stall umbrellas. The police chased them to the Trisakti gates and stopped there. Bullets were flying. A rubber one struck Hendro in the back outside the student senate office.
The students fought back from inside campus, hurling bottles and rocks at the police. The students were convinced the bullets aimed at them were all rubber. Soldiers and police, both part of the armed forces, are trained to follow strict procedures at demonstrations. A standard operation includes four lines of forces: the police in front with shields, body protectors and batons; a second line of police with stun guns and tear gas; a third line of soldiers armed with rubber bullets and tear gas; and finally a line of soldiers and police on motorbikes with water cannons.
On that day, two police commanders later testified, officers were not issued live ammunition but carried Steyr AUG and SS-1 rifles loaded with three blanks and 12 rubber bullets, plus SS-1s loaded with five tear gas canisters apiece. But someone did use real bullets. Witnesses say men on police motorcycles drove onto an overpass that runs parallel to the toll road and the university. They were wearing uniforms of the Police Mobile Brigade. (Later, two military officers told the Human Rights Commission that a week before the demonstration, four members of the motorcycle unit went missing, along with their uniforms.)
Whoever the men on the flyover were, they used real bullets and shot to kill; the four were hit in the head, neck, chest and back between 5:30 and 6 p.m.
Most of the victims were facing police, throwing rocks. Arri drove Hendriawan Sie, 20, the first victim, to the nearby Sumber Waras hospital. Hendriawan was shot in the neck just inside the campus gates. He bled to death during the ride.
Elang Mulya Lesmana, 19, was shot in the chest and died on campus; Hafidhin Royan, 21, was shot in the head and died at the hospital; Hery Hartanto, 21, was shot in the back as he stopped to wash tear gas from his eyes and died on campus. The bullet that killed him, according to police and a source close to the military, was a 5.56mm MU5 from a Steyr AUG rifle - police use MU4s. Extracted from Hartanto's exhumed body June 7, the bullet is the only evidence suggesting police were not responsible.
Students heard sporadic shooting from 6 to 7 p.m. Some time after, the last gunshot victim, Sofyan Rachman, fell. (He remains in intensive care recovering from chest and kidney wounds.) At about 8 p.m., Intan, a law student, walked out of the campus waving a white cloth. She yelled to police that people needed medical assistance. Soon after, the shooting ended. Only then were the other 35 wounded taken to hospital; the police had earlier refused to guarantee the ambulances' safety. Moreover, says Arri, the police commander had told him that the wounds would not be life-threatening because the bullets were rubber.
Shortly after the Trisakti shootings, the north Jakarta district of Sunter went on alert. Sunter is a Chinese neighborhood. That evening, Imam Suyitno, a civilian trained to assist the army in emergencies, had been ordered to help organize a security watch. He was standing guard at the local shopping district when he and his colleagues saw an army truck pull up behind the supermarket. Up to 20 "tough-looking" men got off. Suyitno says they received something from a man on the truck before disappearing into the night.
MAY 13
AT 9:15 A.M., SEVERAL thousand students attended a memorial service at Trisakti. A plastic tent marked a blood stain on the pavement near M Building, the flag flew at half-mast, and nearly every one of the government's critics arrived to give a speech. After the commemoration had concluded and Indonesia's new political celebrities had left the scene, witnesses say the mood turned ugly fast. A crowd had earlier gathered outside the campus gates. Now the mob began marching down the road. Sensing trouble, the students refused to leave the university grounds. Those who were there say after that the march quickly disintegrated into mayhem. Rioters vandalized cars parked at the nearby Citraland mall and set two toll booths on fire. The violence spread throughout west Jakarta and then beyond.
As smoke from many fires rose above the buildings, Adnan Buyung Nasution, a prominent lawyer, and Bambang Widjoyanto, chief of the Legal Aid Institute, met Prabowo for about 30 minutes at Kostrad headquarters. They recall asking him about his involvement in the kidnappings of at least a dozen political activists. They brought up the suspected conflict between him and Wiranto. Prabowo swore he knew nothing about the kidnappings and denied any rivalry with Wiranto.
Some time between 4 and 5 p.m., Wiranto ordered Jakarta military commander Maj.-Gen. Syafrie Syamsuddin to send troops to control the spreading violence, says a high-ranking military officer. Syafrie did order some troops on to the streets. But he did not deploy them with dispatch, send them to the areas where they were most needed or give them clear orders. Troops barracked in the western part of the city were commanded to go the east, says the officer, and those in the east to go west.
Prabowo urged Wiranto to allow him to bring his special reserve units into the capital, says a high-ranking military officer, but Wiranto refused. At about 7 p.m., Wiranto checked with Syafrie and was not pleased with the response. It was then that Wiranto asked the Central Java commander to send troops to Jakarta. Their journey took more than a full day. Prabowo and officers loyal to him, such as Syafrie, controlled most of the troops deployed in Jakarta. Before the soldiers from Central Java arrived, insiders suspect that Wiranto did not want to send out the few troops he could rely on, fearing they might encounter armed resistance.
At 6:30 p.m. Susi, a student at a central Jakarta university, was heading home by bus on her usual route, passing by Citraland and Trisakti. As the bus reached the mall, a dozen or more men surrounded it, forcing the driver to stop. They shouted at the passengers to get off, or burn with the vehicle. Eventually all 50 or so people got off the bus. Then the rioters set it aflame.
Susi began her long walk home. On the darkened highway, burning cars and motorcycles lit the way. The crowds were getting wilder. Hundreds of people were on the streets and hundreds more stood at the edges watching the destruction. An unarmed man tried to rob Susi. She refused to hand over her purse and ran. He chased her.
When he was near, Susi grabbed the man closest to her. Wahyu couldn't offer much protection, but he didn't shake her off either. Susi swore the only money she had was what she carried in her pocket, about 10 cents. He took it, she says, and yelled that she was a crazy Chinese girl.
Wahyu gave Susi his hat to help cover her face and, since they were heading in the same direction, they set off together. Along the way Susi saw a car burned with passengers inside. She heard shouts of "Banish the Chinese." Across the highway, she saw a huddled group of girls who had been stripped naked. People stood watching. Susi tried not to.
She and Wahyu left the main road. Around 9 p.m. they stopped for tea at a family-run shop. The owners' son returned from a look at the road ahead. He would say only that "they were doing terrible things to the Chinese." The couple offered to put up Susi. Early the next morning, they arranged for a friend to drive her home and gave her a jilbab (Muslim headscarf) to wear just in case. Susi put on Wahyu's hat instead. By 9:30 a.m. she had arrived home safely.
Stores on the main road of her neighborhood had been burned and looted. Those who had written "Muslim-owned" on their shop gates were largely spared. Susi's mother, who runs a cosmetics store, didn't want to do so. Located on a side street, the store was not touched. For a week afterward, Susi's neighborhood organized night watches. Everyone gathered weapons, from samurai swords to golf clubs.
About the time Susi left her university, a Chinese Indonesian businessman arrived home in Jembatan Lima, a mostly Chinese area. His wife had called him at work, nervous about crowds of people she didn't recognize roaming the street carrying stones.
Nearby, his brother-in-law saw five rough-looking men shattering building windows with rocks to attract attention. When a group had gathered from the surrounding kampungs, the five encouraged them to enter the building (a bottled water warehouse), take what they wanted, burn what they didn't. Then they said: "Let's go damage another place." And the crowds went.
That night the neighborhood bank was looted, cars burned. A gold store was cleaned out, a food market destroyed. Residents phoned the police station and military post for help. No one answered their calls.
At about midnight, says a relief worker named Karyo, a "godfather" asked a young gang member and drug user to meet in the morning for a "street party." According to Karyo, who runs the Volunteer Team for Humanity, the man told him the godfather's request amounted to an order, so he went. He was asked to put on a school uniform, travel to an area called Klender and start a fight. He lost the group, says Karyo, before reaching the destination.
As smoke from many fires rose above the buildings, Adnan Buyung Nasution, a prominent lawyer, and Bambang Widjoyanto, chief of the Legal Aid Institute, met Prabowo for about 30 minutes at Kostrad headquarters. They recall asking him about his involvement in the kidnappings of at least a dozen political activists. They brought up the suspected conflict between him and Wiranto. Prabowo swore he knew nothing about the kidnappings and denied any rivalry with Wiranto.
Some time between 4 and 5 p.m., Wiranto ordered Jakarta military commander Maj.-Gen. Syafrie Syamsuddin to send troops to control the spreading violence, says a high-ranking military officer. Syafrie did order some troops on to the streets. But he did not deploy them with dispatch, send them to the areas where they were most needed or give them clear orders. Troops barracked in the western part of the city were commanded to go the east, says the officer, and those in the east to go west.
Prabowo urged Wiranto to allow him to bring his special reserve units into the capital, says a high-ranking military officer, but Wiranto refused. At about 7 p.m., Wiranto checked with Syafrie and was not pleased with the response. It was then that Wiranto asked the Central Java commander to send troops to Jakarta. Their journey took more than a full day. Prabowo and officers loyal to him, such as Syafrie, controlled most of the troops deployed in Jakarta. Before the soldiers from Central Java arrived, insiders suspect that Wiranto did not want to send out the few troops he could rely on, fearing they might encounter armed resistance.
At 6:30 p.m. Susi, a student at a central Jakarta university, was heading home by bus on her usual route, passing by Citraland and Trisakti. As the bus reached the mall, a dozen or more men surrounded it, forcing the driver to stop. They shouted at the passengers to get off, or burn with the vehicle. Eventually all 50 or so people got off the bus. Then the rioters set it aflame.
Susi began her long walk home. On the darkened highway, burning cars and motorcycles lit the way. The crowds were getting wilder. Hundreds of people were on the streets and hundreds more stood at the edges watching the destruction. An unarmed man tried to rob Susi. She refused to hand over her purse and ran. He chased her.
When he was near, Susi grabbed the man closest to her. Wahyu couldn't offer much protection, but he didn't shake her off either. Susi swore the only money she had was what she carried in her pocket, about 10 cents. He took it, she says, and yelled that she was a crazy Chinese girl.
Wahyu gave Susi his hat to help cover her face and, since they were heading in the same direction, they set off together. Along the way Susi saw a car burned with passengers inside. She heard shouts of "Banish the Chinese." Across the highway, she saw a huddled group of girls who had been stripped naked. People stood watching. Susi tried not to.
She and Wahyu left the main road. Around 9 p.m. they stopped for tea at a family-run shop. The owners' son returned from a look at the road ahead. He would say only that "they were doing terrible things to the Chinese." The couple offered to put up Susi. Early the next morning, they arranged for a friend to drive her home and gave her a jilbab (Muslim headscarf) to wear just in case. Susi put on Wahyu's hat instead. By 9:30 a.m. she had arrived home safely.
Stores on the main road of her neighborhood had been burned and looted. Those who had written "Muslim-owned" on their shop gates were largely spared. Susi's mother, who runs a cosmetics store, didn't want to do so. Located on a side street, the store was not touched. For a week afterward, Susi's neighborhood organized night watches. Everyone gathered weapons, from samurai swords to golf clubs.
About the time Susi left her university, a Chinese Indonesian businessman arrived home in Jembatan Lima, a mostly Chinese area. His wife had called him at work, nervous about crowds of people she didn't recognize roaming the street carrying stones.
Nearby, his brother-in-law saw five rough-looking men shattering building windows with rocks to attract attention. When a group had gathered from the surrounding kampungs, the five encouraged them to enter the building (a bottled water warehouse), take what they wanted, burn what they didn't. Then they said: "Let's go damage another place." And the crowds went.
That night the neighborhood bank was looted, cars burned. A gold store was cleaned out, a food market destroyed. Residents phoned the police station and military post for help. No one answered their calls.
At about midnight, says a relief worker named Karyo, a "godfather" asked a young gang member and drug user to meet in the morning for a "street party." According to Karyo, who runs the Volunteer Team for Humanity, the man told him the godfather's request amounted to an order, so he went. He was asked to put on a school uniform, travel to an area called Klender and start a fight. He lost the group, says Karyo, before reaching the destination.
MAY 14
AT ABOUT 2 A.M., according to a military officer, the regional military command, headed by Prabowo's old friend Syafrie, began issuing radio instructions to groups on the streets. Throughout the day, people in Syafrie's HQ were overheard ordering men where to go next. Eventually the frequency was jammed; only Kopassus special forces and army intelligence can do that. Just after dawn, says another military source, gangsters from Lampung in south Sumatra were escorted into town by Kopassus troops, the force Prabowo commanded from 1995 to February this year. A civilian who works with the military said that in the week before the riots, hundreds of young men trained by Kopassus were brought from East Timor to Jakarta. He says they were flown from Dili to Jogjakarta in chartered planes. They traveled from Jogjakarta to the capital by train. The aircraft company told Asiaweek its policy is not to discuss flights.
Early in the morning, Karyo, the volunteer aid worker, got an anonymous phone call: Jatinegara Plaza, in east Jakarta, would burn that day. Witnesses say eight men arrived in Jatinegara soon after. One set a tire ablaze to attract the attention of people living in the surrounding kampungs. When a crowd had gathered, four of the men led them to the plaza, which had opened for business. They looted, and the security officers watched.
Hours later someone fired tear gas into the plaza's lower floor. Two witnesses say a man splashed gasoline at the entrance and then set the place on fire. On the third floor another man reportedly started a blaze by burning a roll of cloth. He escaped down the drain pipe. Seventy others, including many who worked in the plaza stores, burned to death. The fire department and police did not respond.
Further east in Klender, Yogya Plaza was also under attack. Witnesses say a group of men goaded those gathered on the streets to take what they wanted. The men, short-haired, fit and attired in black jackets, said they were college students. After several hours, one of the men warned looters to get out of the building quickly. Soon after, he and three others soaked a large piece of cloth in kerosene, touched matches to it, tossed it into the plaza and left. About 100 people died there.
In west Jakarta, a crowd gathered in Meruya. They had heard a rumor that the neighborhood market would be burned. Soon, witnesses say, two minibuses dropped off a group of men well past their teenage years but wearing high school uniforms. They used gasoline bombs to start a fire. As residents watched the blaze, the men slipped away.
Later that morning, a few men who looked too old and big for the high school uniforms they were wearing started fighting on the main street of Sunter. Soon they began to burn tires. At least three motorcyclists were seen circling the neighborhood. Suyitno, a community military liaison, says he offered one directions, but the motorcyclist rode away.
Suyitno had been in regular communication with the local military command post for the past two days. He says someone at headquarters told him: "If you are stoned by the rioters, respond with a smile. I order you only to smile, that is all." Soldiers in the area say they received similar commands, or none at all. When some officers provided superiors with details of the spreading violence, they were told to stand by for instructions. Suyitno says an officer told him: "I have noticed that similarly unclear orders have been issued in Jatinegara and Klender."
Meanwhile, police units were ordered to assemble in their compounds but stay put, says a source close to Jakarta police commander, Maj.-Gen. Hamami Nata (who was later replaced). Most police dared not leave, he says, because they were not sure whose orders to follow. Firemen also were told not to report to work.
Glodok Plaza stands at the center of Jakarta's commercial district, Chinatown. Muladi, a security officer, watched as more than 2,000 people walked to the plaza at 4 p.m., some carrying bags of stones, others with tools to pry open the gates. A few carried gasoline bombs. The police fired in the air, but the mob ignored them. Eventually the police stepped aside; Glodok Plaza was ripped open and burned out. People carted off computers, refrigerators and TVs until the fire began around 7 p.m. Nobody arrived to douse the flames. "It was worse than war," Muladi recalls, "because we couldn't call for back-up."
By late afternoon the smoke had thickened in a Chinese businessman's neighborhood, flames were visible and he was nervous. He could not pass through by car so he tried to make his way by foot. A large crowd had gathered, its size daunting the few military men in sight. Then the businessman saw more people running from inside the compound. As they approached a supermarket, a few at the front of the mob broke its metal door and then kept moving. A second group rushed inside, dragged out some clothing and set it on fire. Others encouraged bystanders to loot.
It was the middle of the night before he reached his home. Fire still lapped at what was left of it. It was the next morning before he could enter, accompanied by two military policemen. The first and second floors had been gutted. He made his way to the family apartment on the third floor. The living room had been ransacked and what was left had been singed. In his bedroom he found his wife, burned to death. Under the bed, he found the body of his younger daughter, aged 17. He discovered his eldest daughter, 18, in a wardrobe. She had died with a mobile phone and bible in her hands.
Throughout the day, up to 468 women were attacked by groups of men in over 15 places, says Rosita Noer, a doctor and human-rights activist. In 10 areas, groups of women were assaulted. They were attacked in their shops, homes and cars. Sometimes men were made to undress and watch. Or rape their neighbors. The attackers were strangers to their victims. Most women were Chinese, the others may have been mistaken for Chinese or working for Chinese families. At least 20 were killed or died after being raped; others killed themselves.
According to Ita Nadia, head of the women's center Kalyanamitra, 10 men forced their way into one house, smashing everything they could lay their hands on. Then they raped the mother and daughter in front of the father and son. An elderly woman at home watching her grandchildren was raped with a bottle. Elsewhere, a mother tried to kill herself after her two teenage daughters were attacked in front of her. One father gave his daughter Baygon insecticide to help her commit suicide after she was assaulted. A mother died of a heart attack after hearing her daughter had been raped.
In a 15-floor apartment building in the middle-class area of Pluit, in north Jakarta, several groups of men moved systematically from floor to floor attacking Chinese women. From 9 a.m. to noon, they had control of the building and may have raped more than 40 girls and women.
Three sisters were minding the family shop when seven "dark, strong, not ordinary" men forced their way in around 4 p.m. The girls ran to their apartment on the third floor. The men chased and caught them. They raped the younger two sisters, telling the third that she was too old for them. Then arsonists set fire to the ground floor, and the two girls were pushed to their deaths. The eldest sister was rescued by neighbors. The attackers moved through the community; by 7 p.m. several women had been raped and the district burned.
In three Chinese areas of west Jakarta, between 5 and 8 p.m., dozens of men dragged a hundred or so girls on to the streets, stripped them and forced them to dance before a crowd. Twenty were raped, then some burned alive, says Noer. She examined six other victims attacked in their homes in different areas of Jakarta. The girls were all between the ages of 14 and 20; four of them had been raped by seven men. Their entire genital areas, from vagina to anus, had been torn open. "They can be physically cured," says Noer. "But they will be haunted by this forever."
At about 7:30 p.m., Wiranto appeared on television and said the military could control the situation. But the absence of security forces on the streets prompted many embassies to issue evacuation orders. Thousands of foreigners, as well as many ethnic Chinese, began fleeing Jakarta.
As the rapes and looting continued, Prabowo was at Kostrad headquarters, where he met representatives of a youth group and Muslim organizations. According to someone who was there, Prabowo asked them to help calm the situation and give their support to Syafrie. Prabowo was tense, but calm, says his associate. Those who stayed for dinner ordered food; an armored car was sent to pick it up. At about 1 a.m., Prabowo visited the powerful Muslim leader Gus Dur at his home. Then Prabowo returned to Kostrad, where he would stay almost continuously for the next week.
Early in the morning, Karyo, the volunteer aid worker, got an anonymous phone call: Jatinegara Plaza, in east Jakarta, would burn that day. Witnesses say eight men arrived in Jatinegara soon after. One set a tire ablaze to attract the attention of people living in the surrounding kampungs. When a crowd had gathered, four of the men led them to the plaza, which had opened for business. They looted, and the security officers watched.
Hours later someone fired tear gas into the plaza's lower floor. Two witnesses say a man splashed gasoline at the entrance and then set the place on fire. On the third floor another man reportedly started a blaze by burning a roll of cloth. He escaped down the drain pipe. Seventy others, including many who worked in the plaza stores, burned to death. The fire department and police did not respond.
Further east in Klender, Yogya Plaza was also under attack. Witnesses say a group of men goaded those gathered on the streets to take what they wanted. The men, short-haired, fit and attired in black jackets, said they were college students. After several hours, one of the men warned looters to get out of the building quickly. Soon after, he and three others soaked a large piece of cloth in kerosene, touched matches to it, tossed it into the plaza and left. About 100 people died there.
In west Jakarta, a crowd gathered in Meruya. They had heard a rumor that the neighborhood market would be burned. Soon, witnesses say, two minibuses dropped off a group of men well past their teenage years but wearing high school uniforms. They used gasoline bombs to start a fire. As residents watched the blaze, the men slipped away.
Later that morning, a few men who looked too old and big for the high school uniforms they were wearing started fighting on the main street of Sunter. Soon they began to burn tires. At least three motorcyclists were seen circling the neighborhood. Suyitno, a community military liaison, says he offered one directions, but the motorcyclist rode away.
Suyitno had been in regular communication with the local military command post for the past two days. He says someone at headquarters told him: "If you are stoned by the rioters, respond with a smile. I order you only to smile, that is all." Soldiers in the area say they received similar commands, or none at all. When some officers provided superiors with details of the spreading violence, they were told to stand by for instructions. Suyitno says an officer told him: "I have noticed that similarly unclear orders have been issued in Jatinegara and Klender."
Meanwhile, police units were ordered to assemble in their compounds but stay put, says a source close to Jakarta police commander, Maj.-Gen. Hamami Nata (who was later replaced). Most police dared not leave, he says, because they were not sure whose orders to follow. Firemen also were told not to report to work.
Glodok Plaza stands at the center of Jakarta's commercial district, Chinatown. Muladi, a security officer, watched as more than 2,000 people walked to the plaza at 4 p.m., some carrying bags of stones, others with tools to pry open the gates. A few carried gasoline bombs. The police fired in the air, but the mob ignored them. Eventually the police stepped aside; Glodok Plaza was ripped open and burned out. People carted off computers, refrigerators and TVs until the fire began around 7 p.m. Nobody arrived to douse the flames. "It was worse than war," Muladi recalls, "because we couldn't call for back-up."
By late afternoon the smoke had thickened in a Chinese businessman's neighborhood, flames were visible and he was nervous. He could not pass through by car so he tried to make his way by foot. A large crowd had gathered, its size daunting the few military men in sight. Then the businessman saw more people running from inside the compound. As they approached a supermarket, a few at the front of the mob broke its metal door and then kept moving. A second group rushed inside, dragged out some clothing and set it on fire. Others encouraged bystanders to loot.
It was the middle of the night before he reached his home. Fire still lapped at what was left of it. It was the next morning before he could enter, accompanied by two military policemen. The first and second floors had been gutted. He made his way to the family apartment on the third floor. The living room had been ransacked and what was left had been singed. In his bedroom he found his wife, burned to death. Under the bed, he found the body of his younger daughter, aged 17. He discovered his eldest daughter, 18, in a wardrobe. She had died with a mobile phone and bible in her hands.
Throughout the day, up to 468 women were attacked by groups of men in over 15 places, says Rosita Noer, a doctor and human-rights activist. In 10 areas, groups of women were assaulted. They were attacked in their shops, homes and cars. Sometimes men were made to undress and watch. Or rape their neighbors. The attackers were strangers to their victims. Most women were Chinese, the others may have been mistaken for Chinese or working for Chinese families. At least 20 were killed or died after being raped; others killed themselves.
According to Ita Nadia, head of the women's center Kalyanamitra, 10 men forced their way into one house, smashing everything they could lay their hands on. Then they raped the mother and daughter in front of the father and son. An elderly woman at home watching her grandchildren was raped with a bottle. Elsewhere, a mother tried to kill herself after her two teenage daughters were attacked in front of her. One father gave his daughter Baygon insecticide to help her commit suicide after she was assaulted. A mother died of a heart attack after hearing her daughter had been raped.
In a 15-floor apartment building in the middle-class area of Pluit, in north Jakarta, several groups of men moved systematically from floor to floor attacking Chinese women. From 9 a.m. to noon, they had control of the building and may have raped more than 40 girls and women.
Three sisters were minding the family shop when seven "dark, strong, not ordinary" men forced their way in around 4 p.m. The girls ran to their apartment on the third floor. The men chased and caught them. They raped the younger two sisters, telling the third that she was too old for them. Then arsonists set fire to the ground floor, and the two girls were pushed to their deaths. The eldest sister was rescued by neighbors. The attackers moved through the community; by 7 p.m. several women had been raped and the district burned.
In three Chinese areas of west Jakarta, between 5 and 8 p.m., dozens of men dragged a hundred or so girls on to the streets, stripped them and forced them to dance before a crowd. Twenty were raped, then some burned alive, says Noer. She examined six other victims attacked in their homes in different areas of Jakarta. The girls were all between the ages of 14 and 20; four of them had been raped by seven men. Their entire genital areas, from vagina to anus, had been torn open. "They can be physically cured," says Noer. "But they will be haunted by this forever."
At about 7:30 p.m., Wiranto appeared on television and said the military could control the situation. But the absence of security forces on the streets prompted many embassies to issue evacuation orders. Thousands of foreigners, as well as many ethnic Chinese, began fleeing Jakarta.
As the rapes and looting continued, Prabowo was at Kostrad headquarters, where he met representatives of a youth group and Muslim organizations. According to someone who was there, Prabowo asked them to help calm the situation and give their support to Syafrie. Prabowo was tense, but calm, says his associate. Those who stayed for dinner ordered food; an armored car was sent to pick it up. At about 1 a.m., Prabowo visited the powerful Muslim leader Gus Dur at his home. Then Prabowo returned to Kostrad, where he would stay almost continuously for the next week.
MAY15-19
OVER THE NEXT FOUR days the violence ebbed and the drama moved off the streets. Suharto returned from Cairo at 4:40 a.m. on May 15, landing at Halim military airport in east Jakarta. A convoy of 100 armored vehicles escorted him to his home in central Jakarta. Soon after, the first Scorpion tanks and battalions rolled into the city center. Shattered glass, blackened cars, smashed televisions and much more littered the streets. Banks, businesses, government offices and schools were closed. Only the international airport was open. As firefighters extinguished blazes at malls, the death toll rose. Fathers looking for their children, wives searching for their husbands arrived at hospitals to identify victims. In most cases the bodies were unrecognizable, and hundreds were buried in mass graves.
Paramedics from the Volunteer Team for Humanity came across a badly injured man outside a military compound in east Jakarta. They brought him to their headquarters to treat his head wounds. There, says the group's founder Father Sandyawan, the man confessed to being recruited, shown how to start trouble, paid an initial two dollars and transported to Jatinegara by men he could not identify or easily describe.
He said he had been part of a group of eight recruits from West Java, who had been given stones and gasoline bombs. He thought he was the only one of the eight to survive the riots. Father Sandyawan said that the young men had been housed and briefed for two weeks in a military compound on the southern outskirts of the city. (He believes the account but cannot say how accurate his information is because the man is suffering a brain injury.)
The exodus gathered pace. Thousands of ethnic Chinese Indonesians and foreigners left by air, by water if they had to. At 5 a.m. on May 17, a foreign woman and her infant were escorted to the airport under diplomatic protection. At every roadblock, the driver gave a prearranged signal. Soldiers hidden behind the barricades appeared to let the car through. Some believe the troops were told not to stand in full view because commanders feared attacks, possibly by other soldiers.
Prabowo visited the Jakarta home of slain student Hery Hartanto at 10 a.m. on May 17. As Hery's parents looked on, Prabowo held a copy of the Koran over his head and swore he did not order the Trisakti killings. Hery's father, Sjahrir Muljo Utomo, a retired army officer, later said he did not know whether to believe him or not.
As Jakarta residents began to clean up, Suharto's former allies started looking for a face-saving way to convince him to resign. Parliamentary leaders talked of impeachment. But this was potentially unconstitutional and threatened to spark a confrontation between the military and Parliament. As it was, a clash was looming between soldiers and activists who planned a million-person demonstration on May 20.
Then Wiranto asserted himself, throwing his support behind Suharto, but urging the president to appoint a new cabinet and launch reforms. Meanwhile, the students, emboldened by Suharto's fading presence, decided to take their protest to the citadel of his power. The first protesters arrived at Parliament by military transport early May 19. They wore their university jackets and showed their identity cards at the gate.
At 11 a.m., Suharto made a rare appearance on national television. Reading from a script, he vowed to leave office as soon as possible. He promised new parliamentary elections under new laws; that neither he nor Habibie would seek another term in office; and that he would set up a council to oversee political reform.
Afterward, the students said they would not leave Parliament until Suharto quit. That night some 3,000 students stayed on the Parliament grounds. They slept in tents or on plastic sheets. Middle-class supporters passed them food and bottled water.
Habibie called on Suharto that night, associates say, fearing his political career had ended prematurely that morning. Suharto had pledged to hold elections rather than hand over to his vice president. Habibie, say colleagues, was hurt. He promised Suharto a dignified retirement, and warned that others might not be so reasonable.
Paramedics from the Volunteer Team for Humanity came across a badly injured man outside a military compound in east Jakarta. They brought him to their headquarters to treat his head wounds. There, says the group's founder Father Sandyawan, the man confessed to being recruited, shown how to start trouble, paid an initial two dollars and transported to Jatinegara by men he could not identify or easily describe.
He said he had been part of a group of eight recruits from West Java, who had been given stones and gasoline bombs. He thought he was the only one of the eight to survive the riots. Father Sandyawan said that the young men had been housed and briefed for two weeks in a military compound on the southern outskirts of the city. (He believes the account but cannot say how accurate his information is because the man is suffering a brain injury.)
The exodus gathered pace. Thousands of ethnic Chinese Indonesians and foreigners left by air, by water if they had to. At 5 a.m. on May 17, a foreign woman and her infant were escorted to the airport under diplomatic protection. At every roadblock, the driver gave a prearranged signal. Soldiers hidden behind the barricades appeared to let the car through. Some believe the troops were told not to stand in full view because commanders feared attacks, possibly by other soldiers.
Prabowo visited the Jakarta home of slain student Hery Hartanto at 10 a.m. on May 17. As Hery's parents looked on, Prabowo held a copy of the Koran over his head and swore he did not order the Trisakti killings. Hery's father, Sjahrir Muljo Utomo, a retired army officer, later said he did not know whether to believe him or not.
As Jakarta residents began to clean up, Suharto's former allies started looking for a face-saving way to convince him to resign. Parliamentary leaders talked of impeachment. But this was potentially unconstitutional and threatened to spark a confrontation between the military and Parliament. As it was, a clash was looming between soldiers and activists who planned a million-person demonstration on May 20.
Then Wiranto asserted himself, throwing his support behind Suharto, but urging the president to appoint a new cabinet and launch reforms. Meanwhile, the students, emboldened by Suharto's fading presence, decided to take their protest to the citadel of his power. The first protesters arrived at Parliament by military transport early May 19. They wore their university jackets and showed their identity cards at the gate.
At 11 a.m., Suharto made a rare appearance on national television. Reading from a script, he vowed to leave office as soon as possible. He promised new parliamentary elections under new laws; that neither he nor Habibie would seek another term in office; and that he would set up a council to oversee political reform.
Afterward, the students said they would not leave Parliament until Suharto quit. That night some 3,000 students stayed on the Parliament grounds. They slept in tents or on plastic sheets. Middle-class supporters passed them food and bottled water.
Habibie called on Suharto that night, associates say, fearing his political career had ended prematurely that morning. Suharto had pledged to hold elections rather than hand over to his vice president. Habibie, say colleagues, was hurt. He promised Suharto a dignified retirement, and warned that others might not be so reasonable.
MAY 20-21
IN THE HOURS BEFORE dawn, the city had been sealed off. Hundreds of troops armed with assault rifles and backed by light tanks and armored personnel carriers patrolled Jakarta. The National Monument, where the million-person protest was to occur, was cordoned off, surrounded by barbed wire and heavily guarded. The march was canceled. That evening Wiranto told Suharto that the only constitutional way to transfer power was to cede the presidency to Habibie. Wiranto made three demands of Habibie: Wiranto would remain armed forces chief, Habibie would commit to reform, Prabowo would be transferred.
But Habibie had come to know Prabowo. They had both lived abroad. They shared an interest in promoting Muslim interests. They needed each other. Prabowo had helped Habibie make friends with senior officers. And, say associates, during the week, he worked with Habibie to encourage Suharto to resign. In turn, they say, Habibie agreed to make Prabowo army chief.
At 9 a.m. on May 21, Suharto resigned on national television and asked for forgiveness. Habibie seemed to hesitate before stepping up to be sworn in as Indonesia's third president since Independence.
Late that night, says a senior military official, Prabowo appeared at the presidential palace in full battle gear, armed with an automatic pistol and accompanied by truckloads of special Kostrad troops who had stripped off their regimental markings. Prabowo wanted to force Habibie to honor his promise that Prabowo would be promoted to army commander.
Habibie's aide-de-camp called Wiranto and Feisal Tanjung, a former armed forces commander, to the palace. Feisal warned Habibie that Prabowo was too dangerous a man to lead the army. Habibie later told people he feared for his life that night.
But Habibie had come to know Prabowo. They had both lived abroad. They shared an interest in promoting Muslim interests. They needed each other. Prabowo had helped Habibie make friends with senior officers. And, say associates, during the week, he worked with Habibie to encourage Suharto to resign. In turn, they say, Habibie agreed to make Prabowo army chief.
At 9 a.m. on May 21, Suharto resigned on national television and asked for forgiveness. Habibie seemed to hesitate before stepping up to be sworn in as Indonesia's third president since Independence.
Late that night, says a senior military official, Prabowo appeared at the presidential palace in full battle gear, armed with an automatic pistol and accompanied by truckloads of special Kostrad troops who had stripped off their regimental markings. Prabowo wanted to force Habibie to honor his promise that Prabowo would be promoted to army commander.
Habibie's aide-de-camp called Wiranto and Feisal Tanjung, a former armed forces commander, to the palace. Feisal warned Habibie that Prabowo was too dangerous a man to lead the army. Habibie later told people he feared for his life that night.
EPILOGUE
Habibie announced his cabinet at 10:30 a.m. on May 22. Students still occupied Parliament, demanding that he step down. Several thousand members of Muslim youth organizations, supporters of Habibie and protected by Prabowo's troops, arrived at the complex that afternoon. The confrontation was tense, but did not turn violent. By midnight soldiers had cleared Parliament.
The military announced on June 6 that it was charging two police commanders from the Mobile Brigade with disobeying orders and not controlling their troops at Trisakti. They face maximum sentences of 28 months in prison. Fifteen other suspects await court martial.
The then-national police chief, Gen. Dibyo Widodo, denied his troops were responsible for the deaths of the four students. He said on June 7: "We have checked with every officer assigned there and found that none of our men used live ammunition." On June 24 Wiranto transferred him, along with other top military commanders, calling it a routine rotation. Insiders say the police chief lost his job because he refused to take the blame for the shootings. After meeting the parents of the four slain students for 30 minutes June 22, Habibie called them "reform heroes."
At police headquarters, three students and a Trisakti security official guard the bullet taken from Hery Hartanto's body June 7. Whenever the bullet is removed from a safe for tests, the team records it on videotape and notes its markings to make sure the bullet has not been switched. The police promised not to open the safe without a university representative there.
Theoretically it is possible to identify which gun fired the bullet that killed Hartanto. But in practice it may not be. The Indonesian military possesses more than 2,000 Steyr rifles (the weapon determined to have been used in the killings) and is resisting an open investigation. Plus it is possible to buy Steyrs on the black market. Authorities have confiscated 21 weapons from officers on duty May 12, but have not handed them over to investigators.
Adnan Buyung Nasution, the lead defense lawyer and a noted human-rights activist, says: "It is far too early to make conclusions about who is responsible, but the military has tried to limit the investigation." He has said, repeatedly, that the trial is "engineered." The military judge closely questions the defendants' testimony, but witnesses for the prosecution are rarely challenged. His displeasure with Buyung is obvious. On at least one occasion the two shouted at each other in court, prompting security guards around the room to snap to. And more than once the judge has threatened to banish Buyung from the trial.
On May 28, the day Prabowo was installed as head of an army staff college in Bandung, he said reports of his attempted coup were "rubbish, rubbish, rubbish." But a senior military officer says Suharto has refused to speak to Prabowo, even when Prabowo visited his father-in-law on June 8, Suharto's 77th birthday.
Syafrie admitted on June 13 that in parts of Jakarta, some riots were "sporadically organized" by groups. The Jakarta military commander, a Prabowo ally, was transferred June 24, after serving in the post for eight months.
Jakarta city police have summoned a Chinese ex-convict-turned-Muslim-preacher for questioning about his role in the riots. Anton Medan was on the streets of Jakarta May 14, to dissuade people from violence, he says. A source close to the military believes Medan was offered money to send boys to start trouble, but refused. That, he says, may be why someone gave Medan's name to the authorities. So far, he is the only suspect that the military has named.
The armed forces has said its own investigation did not find evidence of rapes and that not a single victim had come forward. State Minister for Women's Affairs Tutty Alawiyah also at first denied that women were raped during the riots. But on July 8 she formed an all-woman team to help those assaulted. Clementino dos Reis Amaral, a member of the National Commission on Human Rights, warned July 9 of a possible attempt at a cover-up because some rape victims had been warned to keep quiet. The commission has called for an independent probe into the shootings, riots and rapes and an official apology.
On July 13, Habibie formed a team to probe the riots; it includes Wiranto, the attorney general and the home, foreign and justice ministers. The next day, Military Police Chief Maj.-Gen. Syamsu Djalal said seven Kopassus troops had been arrested for the abduction of pro-democracy activists kidnapped earlier this year. On July 15 Habibie condemned the May violence.
A source close to the military says that, as of early July, 74 Kopassus soldiers were missing from their barracks. He believes they are on Jakarta's streets, collecting information and covering their tracks. Two human-rights activists, Father Sandyawan and Ita Nadia, have been warned (with a live grenade) to end their investigations into the riots and rapes.
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