Ginandjar - Managing Indonesia's Transformation, An Oral History

Managing Indonesia’s
Transformation
An Oral History
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b1435 Managing Indonesia’s Transformation: An Oral History By Ginandjar Kartasasmita
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NEW JERSEY • LONDON • SINGAPORE • BEIJING • SHANGHAI • HONG KONG • TAIPEI • CHENNAI
World Scientific
GINANDJAR KARTASASMITA
Managing Indonesia’s
Transformation
An Oral History
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Published by
World Scientific Publishing Co. Pte. Ltd.
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
MANAGING INDONESIA’S TRANSFORMATION
An Oral History
Copyright © 2013 by World Scientific Publishing Co. Pte. Ltd.
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1

v
Foreword
The idea of working on an oral history of Dr. Ginandjar Kartasasmita’s
life and career occurred to me in Tokyo on a winter evening in 2006, over
dinner at a restaurant near Waseda University, where Pak Ginandjar was
then a visiting professor. Since 2001, when Pak Ginandjar started teaching
at Waseda every winter term, we met regularly in Tokyo. Conversations
with him were always enlightening because he had an insider’s view of
Indonesian politics and economy, while being able to maintain a critical
perspective on both himself and his friends, colleagues, and co-workers.
In our meetings, I always asked questions about what had happened in
Indonesia in the past. After all, he had served as minister and coordinating
minister for more than 25 years under President Suharto’s1
New Order. He
had played a crucial role in the fall of President Suharto, the management
of the 1997–1998 crisis, governance reform and democratization under
President B.J. Habibie, and constitutional reform. And he had served as a
leading member of the newly empowered legislatures, both as Vice
Chairman of the People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR), Indonesia’s
highest decision-making body, and later as Chairman of the Regional
1
The Dutch oe (u) at times creates an inconsistent spelling of Indonesian names. We follow
international conventions such as “Sukarno” instead of “Soekarno” or “Suharto” instead
of “Soeharto.”
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vi Managing Indonesia’s Transformation
Representative Council or House of Regional Representatives (DPD),
Indonesia’s “Upper House.”
Over the last two decades, political scientists and economists have been
interviewing people who served in important positions in government as
part of their oral history projects. These interviews are normally kept con-
fidential. But a number of them have been published in book form. Many
of them have become important primary sources for contemporary histo-
rians. I have found books of this kind, such as the Japanese Prime Minister
Nakasone’s Chief Cabinet Secretary Masaharu Gotoda’s Jo to Ri (Emotion
and Reason) and Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa’s Miyazawa Kiichi
Kaiso-roku (Memoirs), very useful for understanding the politics and
policy making during their time.
In one of my meetings with Pak Ginandjar over dinner, I explained what
kind of contribution an oral history project can make and how such inter-
views are conducted. I was interested to know whether Pak Ginandjar
would agree to be interviewed, but without expecting myself to interview
him, because I believed that this oral history project would be best done by
Indonesian scholars. But Pak Ginandjar told me that he was willing to be
part of such a project, and furthermore, that he wanted to do the interviews
in English, and specified that I should be in charge of the project.
I invited Dr. Jun Honna, professor of international relations at
Ritsumeikan University; Dr. Masaaki Okamoto, associate professor of
Southeast Asian studies at Kyoto University; Dr. Aizawa Nobuhiro,
researcher at the Institute of Developing Economies–Japan External Trade
Organization (IDE–JETRO); and Dr. Wahyu Prasetyawan, primary
researcher at the Indonesian Survey Institute (LSI), to join the team. We
interviewed Pak Ginandjar on five different occasions, in Jakarta and in
Tokyo, for a total of a little more than 25 hours. It was agreed in advance
that we were free to ask any question we wanted to ask. We followed the
rough chronological order of Pak Ginandjar’s life and career when we did
the interviews, although the conversations often took us back and forth
across time. The interviews were conducted in English, with occasional
exchanges in Indonesian and Japanese (a language in which Pak Ginandjar
is fluent). All of the interviews were taped and then transcribed, after
which I edited the entire text with the help of a professional copyeditor to
make sure that the narrative was chronological. The edited version was
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Foreword vii
read carefully by all the team members, who then came up with additional
questions. Both the transcription and the edited text, along with the
follow-up questions, were sent to Pak Ginandjar who answered practically
all of the additional questions while elaborating on and updating some
other points he had raised. A second round of follow-up questions was
followed by yet another round. All in all, there were three cycles of edit-
ing, questioning, answering, and updating over a five-year period. By the
spring of 2011, the manuscript with which all of us were reasonably happy
was in place. When World Scientific Publishing accepted the manuscript
in the fall of 2011, we did the final round of editing, questions, answers,
and updates. Because of my work schedule, I edited the first five chapters
while Dr. Honna edited the remaining four chapters.
This book offers one of the most extensive and detailed accounts of
Indonesian politics and policy making, and Pak Ginandjar’s role in them.
It is not an as-told-to biography, let alone a hagiography. This book is
based on frank discussions between a long-time Indonesian politician/
policy maker and Indonesianists with extensive fieldwork experiences.
The people in the oral history project team are students and scholars of
Indonesian history, politics, and economy. Over the last 10 years or more
(in my case, over four decades), we have done our own research and inves-
tigation on the inner workings of the Suharto government, military politics
under Suharto and in the post-Suharto era, democratization and decen-
tralization, evolving local politics, business politics, and technocracy. Pak
Ginandjar’s insider account sheds light on aspects of these topics that
most scholars are not privy to. More importantly, it explains the kind of
thinking that informed the policies and political decisions that were made
at crucial junctures in Indonesian contemporary history. It is always useful
for Indonesianists to have a sense of the personalities behind the govern-
ment, the networks that link one player to another, and their respective
backgrounds. We often think of the state as an abstraction, an entity “out
there.” Oral histories such as Pak Ginandjar’s show a different picture of
the state, one in which human agency as well as organizational politics are
crucial in determining how a state “acts” (or does not act or fails to act).
The project was funded over the last five years by a series of Japan
Ministry of Education and Science Research Grants under the following
titles: “The Development and Changing Role of the Technocracy under
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viii Managing Indonesia’s Transformation
the Democratic Regime in the East Asian Nations” (Takashi Torii, repre-
sentative; Research Topic Number: 18330027, 2006–2008); “The Rise of
China and the Transformation of Southeast Asia: International,
Transnational, and National” (Caroline Sy Hau, representative; Research
Topic Number: 21401011, 2009–2011); and “East Asian Regional Order
in Transition: Southeast Asian Grand Strategies” (Takashi Shiraishi, rep-
resentative; Research Topic Number: 23330052, 2011–2013).
Takashi Shiraishi
President, IDE–JETRO
President, National Graduate Institute for Policy Studies
Japan
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ix
Contents
Foreword v
Introduction 1
Chapter 1 Early Years 5
Chapter 2 Rising with Sudharmono: 1965–1983 29
Chapter 3 The Year of 1988 93
Chapter 4 Toward the MPR in 1998: Indonesia in Crisis 165
Chapter 5 The Habibie Presidency 213
Chapter 6 From Habibie to Wahid 275
Chapter 7 Megawati’s Presidency and the 2004 Elections:
Towards Consociational Democracy? 333
Chapter 8 SBY and the Dilemma of a Multiparty Presidential
System 371
Chapter 9 Challenges Ahead, International Footprints,
and If . . . 427
Index 481
About the Author 489
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1
Introduction
Turning Points in My Life
Q: Pak Ginandjar, looking back on your life from the vantage point
of today, what do you see as the major turning points in your career?
GK: Joining KOTI [Komando Operasi Tertinggi, the Supreme Opera-
tions Command] was a turning point. Joining the military service, of
course, helped. If I had remained a civilian in a military setting, I would
not have risen as fast as I did. From the 1960s to the 1980s, the military
played an important role in Indonesia. I am proud I belonged to the ser-
vice. There were people seconded to civilian organizations neglected by
the service in their military careers, but I was not. I got promoted every
four years regularly, and sometimes earlier than expected. I reached the
highest rank I could reach: three stars. The fourth star is reserved only
for the Chiefs of Staff and the Commanders-in-Chief. My career took
another turn when the President decided to appoint young professionals
as Junior Ministers.
My career in the government service just rode the waves and culminated
when I was appointed as the Economic Coordinating Minister in 1998.
The President was my only boss. I had the freedom to make decisions and
shape economic policies. I served two Presidents, in the cabinets of Su-
harto and Habibie. And then another turning point came when I decided to
quit Habibie’s government and run for elected political office.
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2 Managing Indonesia’s Transformation
Q: You studied in Japan for some years. What happened after you
returned to Indonesia? We understand it was just after the coup
attempt in 1965.
GK: I returned from Japan on the 15th
of October, 1965. The move of
the PKI [Partai Komunis Indonesia, the Indonesian Communist Party],
supported by some elements in the military on the 30th
of September, hap-
pened when I was still in Japan. The situation was very confusing. We
did not really know what was happening in Indonesia. Indonesian stu-
dents in Japan were split on the issue. One group supported the position of
Dewan Revolusi, or the Revolutionary Council [headed by Lt. Col. Untung].
Another group was supporting the military.Yet another group was waiting
for the then-President Sukarno to say something. But he just disappeared.
He did not come out for some time. I belonged to the second and the third
group. We were waiting for what Sukarno had to say. But I was more or
less sympathetic with the military.
I went home with the first batch of students who had come to Japan
under the Reparations Agreement and finished their studies. Things were
so confusing that we were not sure where to go. Ostensibly we should
have gone to the Department of Education that had sent us and given us
the scholarship to study in Japan, but the Minister of Education was sus-
pected to be sympathetic to the 30th
September Movement [G30S]. So my
friends and I decided to see Pak Nas [General Abdul Haris Nasution], who
was Commander-in-Chief of the Indonesian Armed Forces [ABRI]. He
was still on crutches, having escaped the kidnapping attempt in his home
by the insurgents. I asked him what the situation was. He said it was a
communist coup and that the military had managed to take Bung Karno
to safety. I asked him, “What can we do to help?” He said, “Why don’t
you go and see G-5 KOTI while things are still uncertain? Then you can
decide where you want to go.” KOTI was nominally led by the President
to fight for Irian Jaya, the Trikora, and later to fight against Malaysia, the
Dwikora. The name KOTI was later changed to KOGAM [Komando Gan-
yang Malaysia, or the Crush Malaysia Command].
So I went to G-5 KOTI. G-1 was for intelligence, G-2 for operations,
G-3 for personnel, G-4 for logistics, and G-5 for socio-politics. It was
located on Jalan Merdeka Barat. Now it is the office of Menko Polhukam,
the Coordinating Minister for Political, Legal, and Security Affairs. It was
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Introduction 3
next to the military headquarters. I tried to meet Major General Sutjipto,
head of G-5 [who was later appointed as Minister of Agriculture]. But he
was busy. So I was referred to his deputy, Brigadier General Sunarso. He
then referred me to Colonel Sudharmono, who was one of the assistants to
General Sutjipto. Sudharmono briefed me about the situation, the aborted
communist coup d’état, and what the military was doing. At the end of the
session I asked, “What can we do?” He said, “Why don’t you stay here
and help us?” So I stayed there in KOTI and was attached to Lieutenant
Colonel Sukisman, who was in charge of research and analyses.
Q: So you owed your rise in the government service to joining KOTI
early in your career?
GK:Yes, that was the beginning. In retrospect, meeting with Pak Dharmo-
no turned out to be also decisive in my life. In daily conversation, Colonel
Sudharmono was referred to as Pak Dharmono or just Pak Dhar. He was
the one to whom I have to be forever thankful for my rise in the govern-
ment up until I became a member of the cabinet. He was a very serious
person. Many people never saw him laugh. He seldom smiled. The only
person that could make him laugh was his other assistant, Murdiono, who
at that time held the rank of captain in the Army. Pak Dharmono respected
him, although he was very much his junior.
At the beginning, there was no particular chemistry between Pak
Dhar and me. But he was a hardworking person. And he liked people
who also worked hard. We came from very different backgrounds. He
was from Central Java. He was an orphan. He was raised by his uncle.
He grew up very poor. At the onset of the independence revolution, in
Semarang, where he went to school, he organized his schoolmates and
joined a paramilitary student unit [Tentara Pelajar]. He then joined the
regular army, and his paramilitary student unit was incorporated into the
army. He was appointed as a company commander in Pasukan Rong-
golawe, under Brigadier General Djatikusumo. Ismail Saleh and Ali
Said were among the prominent persons who served under him. Sudhar-
mono and many of his subordinates in his unit went to PTHM [Pergu-
ruan Tinggi Hukum Militer, the Military College of Law]. I became very
fond of him, of his integrity and honesty, of his loyalty to his superiors
as well as to his subordinates. He was an example of a dedicated and
highly idealistic person.
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Q: When did you become a minister in Suharto’s cabinet? How
did Suharto pick you? Did he or any member of his family or close
associates know you, or were any of them acquainted with your family
before?
GK: Not at all. I started really from below. When I joined KOTI and later
moved to Sekneg [Sekretariat Negara, the State Secretariat] in the late
1960s to early 1970s, I was still very junior. When Pak Dharmono became
Sekretaris Negara, the State Secretary, in 1973, I was appointed as his
assistant. In this position I was at the level of Director, that is, Eselon II
[second echelon]. Because of that, I got promoted to lieutenant colonel.
Although I was attached to civilian organizations, I rose through the military
ranks regularly from first lieutenant. When in 1978 in Development Cabinet
III the State Secretary was given the rank of minister, I rose in rank to
become assistant minister. It was an Eselon I [first echelon] job, like Sec-
retary General or Director General in a department. After that, I got my
promotion to full colonel. I was 37 years old.
In 1983 with the establishment of Development Cabinet IV, in Sekneg
three junior ministers were appointed: Murdiono, me, and Sukarton. All
three of us, Sudharmono’s closest assistants, became Junior Ministers.
At the time of the appointment, I was still a colonel. I was promoted to
general officer, later in my position as Junior Minister for the Promotion of
Domestic Products and concurrently as Chairman of BKPM [Badan Koor-
dinasi Penanaman Modal, the Investment Coordinating Board]. I served as
Pak Harto’s minister for 15 years from 1983 to 1998.
I was never close to him personally, or to his family. But I felt very
strongly about Pak Harto as a leader. He sincerely cared about the people,
especially the farmers and the poor people, because he used to be poor
himself. Like Pak Dharmono, he had lost his parents early in his child-
hood and had been brought up by his relatives. Pak Harto was a very good
leader. He of course had weaknesses, but who doesn’t? He made mistakes
like everybody else. I think, sincerely, he deserved a better place in history.
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5
Chapter 1
Early Years
Family Background
Q: Could you tell us about your family background? We understand
you come from Sundanese aristocracy.
GK: Sundanese aristocracy is different from Javanese aristocracy. In Cen-
tral Java, the Dutch maintained small kingdoms. There were four of them,
which were related to each other in the sense that they shared a common
ancestry, going back to the first Islamic kingdom in Java, Demak. This of
course emerged after the fall of the last Hindu kingdom in East Java, Maj-
apahit. In West Java, however, they abolished all the royalties, although in
Cirebon some form of aristocracy was allowed to exist by the colonial rul-
ers. But in West Java there were descendants from earlier aristocracies. My
mother came from Sumedang and my father from Ciamis, the area where
the old Sundanese Kingdom of Galuh was located. Most old families in
West Java trace their ancestry back to the Kingdom of Pajajaran, the last
Hindu kingdom in West Java, in which Siliwangi was the most famous and
most revered king. He was the last Hindu King of Pajajaran.
Although we belong to the so-called priyayi [aristocracy] class, both
sides of my family mostly chose the teaching profession. My father and
grandfathers were teachers. My mother, Ratjih Natawidjaja, was born in
1917, and she was also a teacher; so was her father. She became the princi-
pal of a primary school. Her father established the school for her. It was in
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Tanjung Sari near Sumedang. My father, Husein Kartasasmita, was born in
1907 in Parigi, Ciamis area. My father was a teacher at a sekolah dagang
[trade school], which later became SMEP [Sekolah Menengah Ekonomi
Pertama, or Junior Middle School of Economy]. He taught in Tasikma-
laya, in a school run by Paguyuban Pasundan. Paguyuban Pasundan was
established in 1913, so it is one of the oldest organizations still remain-
ing in Indonesia. Like Muhammadiyah and Taman Siswa in Central Java,
Paguyuban Pasundan had from the beginning focused on enlightening the
people in West Java through education. And later it became involved in
politics, with leaders like Otto Iskandar Dinata and Djuanda. Continuing
the legacy of my father, I became Chairman of the Board [Dewan Pan-
gaping] of Paguyuban Pasundan, and I am still teaching a postgraduate
class at Pasundan University. Paguyuban Pasundan now runs hundreds of
schools from elementary to university level in various parts of West Java
and Banten, the two ethnically Sundanese provinces. My grandfather from
my father’s side was also a teacher and became a Mantri Guru, some kind
of school inspector during the colonial era.
My father married my mother after his first wife died. When he mar-
ried my mother, he already had three children. Eventually my mother and
father got divorced, as they were both very independent. Both of them
were very much involved in politics. In the 1955 democratic election, my
mother was elected to Jakarta’s City Council. My father also became a
Member of Parliament in 1955. But they went their separate ways. Af-
ter the divorce, my father remarried again. My mother had six children
with my father and never remarried. We gained another brother from our
stepmother. But my father did not practice polygamy.
My uncle, Pak Didi [Kartasasmita], chose the military profession.
My uncle was sent to Breda in Holland to study at the Dutch Military
Academy. In those days, to be sent to Breda, you had to qualify for it and
you had to have a correct family lineage. Not everybody could go there.
He returned home to become an officer in the Dutch [East Indies] army
in Indonesia. And when the Japanese came, he just disappeared. He hid
himself. Nobody knew his activities, or what he was doing. And then, after
the Japanese surrendered, together with other officers he founded an army
unit based in West Java, the famous Siliwangi Division [Divisi Siliwangi].
During the war of independence, he was Commander of the Java Regional
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Early Years 7
Military Command [Komandemen Jawa] of the fledgling Indonesian
Army. My eldest brother Sabana also studied in Holland in the 1950s. But
when our relationship with the Dutch became bad, he moved to Germany
and graduated there. He earned a doctorate in economics from Aachen
University. That is the university where [future President] Bacharuddin
Jusuf Habibie also studied. So he went to the same school as Habibie.
They were friends there.
My number two sister, Halimah, is an ordinary housewife. My number
three sister, Hasanah, also studied in Germany. She later married a pros-
ecutor in the Attorney General’s Office. I was the fourth child, the first
son for my mother. The fifth sibling, who is my younger brother, studied
engineering in Czechoslovakia. This is Agus Gurlaya. He rose to become
one of the Chairmen of KADIN, the Indonesian Chamber of Commerce
and Industry. He also served as Chairman of GAPENSI, the Indonesian
Contractors Association. He was in Czechoslovakia in the 1960s. While
I was sent to Japan, he went to Czechoslovakia. My younger sister Resa,
number six, also studied in Czechoslovakia. She got her master’s degree
in mineral science and later worked for the Ministry of Mines and Energy
in the research division. Another sister, number seven, Gunariah, studied
in Japan. I think she is also well known among the Japanese. She served as
a Member of Parliament for 12 years and speaks fluent Japanese. She went
to Japan after I left for home. Another sister, Etna, studied dentistry at the
University of Indonesia. Etna also got a master’s degree in dental physiol-
ogy. My youngest sister, Yayang, is also just an ordinary housewife. And
the youngest, my stepbrother, Dadang, was trained as a lawyer. He also
graduated from the University of Indonesia. We thank our parents for giv-
ing us sufficient education.
Going back to Sabana, my eldest brother, after graduation he joined
PT Timah, the Indonesian state-owned tin company, which was very im-
portant in those days. He rose to become one of the directors in PT Timah.
And then Habibie recruited him to become one of his assistants in the
Ministry of Research and Technology. He was later appointed as a member
of Dewan Pertimbangan Agung, the Supreme Advisory Council. He also
served as the first Secretary General of Indonesia’s Academy of Sciences
for five years, with Widjojo [Nitisastro] who served as its first Chairman.
Subsequently he was sent as Ambassador to Belgium. He retired as an
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ambassador, but he was always a scientist at heart. Afterwards he was ap-
pointed as a member of the Board of Commissioners of Bank Mandiri, the
state bank that was a merger of four state banks.
My cousin Indra, the son of Pak Didi, is very active in PERSADA,
the Association of Indonesian Alumni from Japan. He studied at Doshi-
sha University, in one of its graduate schools, in Kyoto, and through my
father received a scholarship from Pertamina, the Indonesian national oil
company. He returned home earlier than me, worked for Pertamina, and
rose to become the Director of Shipping. He then met his future wife, and
she introduced me to my future wife. Both of them were working as flight
attendants with Garuda. We got married in 1966. I was a first lieutenant
in the Air Force then. We dated for only nine months, less than a year. She
also comes from a nationalist family. Her family is associated with the
Bandung aristocracy. Her aunt was married to Male Wiranatakusumah,
the son of the Bupati [Regent] of Bandung who would later join Sukarno’s
revolutionary government as a minister. He was the last Wiranatakusumah
who served as Bupati of Bandung. So my wife is from Bandung, and I am
from Sumedang and Ciamis. We are both true-blooded Sundanese, and to
be very frank we are very proud of it.
I have four children. The eldest is Gita. She studied in Boston. She got
her college degree there, and her husband also studied in Boston. Her hus-
band Riza got a scholarship from Freeport, so after graduation he worked
for Freeport. My daughter Gita has her own small enterprises. Her younger
brother,Agus Gumiwang, also studied in Boston. He later took his master’s
degree at Pasundan University and his doctorate from Padjadjaran Univer-
sity, both located in Bandung. He is a Member of Parliament representing
the Bandung District [kabupaten] and one of the Vice Chairmen of Golkar.
He is currently the Vice Chairman of Parliamentary Committee I, responsi-
ble for foreign affairs, defense, intelligence, and communication. My third
son, Galih, also studied in Boston. After graduation he worked for a while
for the Bakrie & Brothers company, before joining a group of companies
run by his father-in-law mostly involved in resource-based businesses such
as coal mining and food industry. Besides that, he is also working on his
own environmentally related projects, such as waste disposal and green en-
ergy. My family tries to stay away from government projects, because we
know how potentially corrupt such businesses are. My fourth child, Gaya,
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Early Years 9
at present is studying at Ritsumeikan Asia Pacific University, in Beppu,
Kyushu. She is the only one among my children to have studied in Japan;
the others studied in the US. My family uses the letter “G” to denote that
we came from Galuh. As I mentioned, Galuh was the name of an old king-
dom in the eastern part of West Java. So I am Ginandjar, and my brother
and sisters are Gurlaya and Garnasih, Gunariah, Giatna, and Gilang. And
my children also have names beginning with “G”: Gita, Gumiwang, Galih,
and Gaya. It is a tradition that we maintain. My grandfather’s name was
Gurbana.
My mother used to tell me stories about patriotism and idealism. She
once told me that when she was young she heard stories about the lady
fighter who was exiled to Sumedang. It was Cut Nyak Dien, who was blind
and who was exiled by the Dutch to Sumedang from Aceh. She was cared
for by my mother’s extended family. She taught Koranic reading. She was
buried in the cemetery in Sumedang reserved for local aristocracy and
dignitaries. Acehnese people come to visit the place a lot, so our relation-
ship with Acehnese people is quite close. My great-grandfather was also
buried there, as were a lot of our other relatives. But the direct family from
my mother’s side has their own family cemetery in another part of the city
of Sumedang. On my father’s side, we also have a family cemetery in the
city of Banjar, which used to be part of the regency of Ciamis, next to the
Heroes’ Cemetery [Makam Pahlawan]. My family has always been very
political, very idealistic. There is a nationalist strain in us all, but we are
also religious in the sense that we practice and value Islam in our daily
lives, even though we do not belong to any religious group.
Q: Could you tell us more about the history of your family?
GK: I do not know much about what happened during the Dutch colonial
time, except that my grandfather from my mother’s side was barred from
teaching because he was accused of imbuing his students with nationalis-
tic ideas. It was regarded as a crime of sedition at that time. Luckily he was
not put in jail. But during the Japanese occupation, my father was arrested
by the Japanese military police, the much-feared Kempeitai. Three Kem-
peitai officers came to our house, and ransacked the house to find some se-
cret documents and an illegal radio that my father was accused of keeping.
It was a wartime crime carrying capital punishment. I do not remember the
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incident very clearly because when it happened I was barely three years
old. My father was held in prison for almost three years. He was freed five
days after Indonesia’s proclamation of independence on August 17, 1945.
He was spared from execution thanks to independence.
It was a very difficult time for our family. The Japanese occupation
brought hardship to all of Indonesia and Indonesian people, but to our
family it was more painful because of my father’s arrest. My mother had
to earn a living for herself and her two sons, while taking care of her
pregnancy for the third child. She was a tough lady. She survived the three
years of hardship on her own. I not only love my mother, but admire and
worship her.
After independence, my father and mother were involved in the strug-
gle against the returning Dutch occupation army, supported by the vic-
torious allies. My father worked at the Ministry of Defense as a civilian
official. From independence until 1959, the military was under civilian
authority. My mother was very much occupied with the Indonesian Red
Cross. The Minister of Defense at that time was Aruji Kartawinata, an-
other Sundanese and an old friend of the family. He was also one of the
early leading figures in Divisi Siliwangi. We had to move from one place
to another during the years of the war of independence. So when the capi-
tal of the young Republic moved to Yogyakarta in 1946, our family also
moved there. We experienced the Dutch military strikes against Yogya-
karta, known as Clash I in 1947 and Clash II in 1948. When the Dutch
occupied Yogyakarta, our family had to leave the city together with the
Indonesian military units who were ordered to evacuate the city and to
wage guerilla warfare from the countryside. On the way out of the city, I
watched the Dutch Air Force flying over our sky, bombarding the Maguwo
[Yogyakarta] military airfield. At that moment, I decided that I wanted to
become an Air Force pilot. My brother Sabana took up arms and joined the
students’ paramilitary unit, Tentara Pelajar.
At this juncture, I need to tell you about a painful experience I had to
go through. When my father first arrived in Yogyakarta, he had no accom-
modation for his family, so the children were left behind with his rela-
tives. Because there were six of us, we were split between two families,
in Situbatu and Banjar, in the southeastern part of kabupaten [regency]
Ciamis. The children from my mother were entrusted to the family in
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Early Years 11
Situbatu. My mother divided her time between us and my father in Yog-
yakarta. One day, when I was five years old, I broke my leg while playing
with other children. It was a serious injury which needed to be addressed
properly, and the nearest hospital was in Tasikmalaya, a hub town for that
area 60 kilometers away. So I was transported by a horse cart there. You
can imagine how long it took for the horse cart to cover the distance. You
can also imagine how painful it was. It was during wartime, so every-
thing was in shortage including medical supplies. They had to bore my
leg and put pins there and hang my leg up for three whole weeks. And
then because I had to continuously lie on my back, it became infected. It
was an excruciatingly painful and uncomfortable time. My morale was
raised when my mother came from Yogyakarta and stayed with me until
I recovered. The accident left a lasting mark on me, a slight limp. Luckily
I was still young, so over time my bones corrected themselves. So al-
though I have a limp, and my right leg is shorter than my left leg by about
two to three centimeters, it is not that visible. After my father had secured
a house in Yogyakarta, we all went to join him there.
While we were in Yogyakarta, the Siliwangi Division from West Java
was ordered to leave the province and moved to Yogyakarta, in the fa-
mous “long march.” During their stay in the provisional capital city of
the Republic, our house became a home away from home for the young
men from the Division. Officers and soldiers who had not found accom-
modation in the city often stayed at our house. I remember names like
Mokoginta, Hidayat, Ahmad Sukarmadijaja, and many others who used
to be guests in our house. There was a time when there were around 30
people staying at our house. Just imagine the logistics that my mother had
to prepare for them. During those days, there were these “public kitch-
ens” [dapur umum] where people provided food for the soldiers. It was an
exciting time for me, because I had the chance to hear stories about their
exploits on the front line. I was awed by their heroism. These were young
men who had to leave their homes because they had been ordered to empty
the resistance pockets as part of the ceasefire agreement with the Dutch.
They were not happy, but they accepted it as a military order. But actually,
their presence in Yogyakarta at that fateful moment was a blessing for the
Republic. It was the Siliwangi Division who saved the nation when the
communists staged a rebellion in Madiun in 1948. I heard a lot of talk
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about the atrocities inflicted by the communists on the population and wit-
nessed the move of the Siliwangi troops to quell the rebellion in Madiun.
Eventually, the Siliwangi Division was ordered to return to West Java.
Upon arriving at their home province, they had to face a new enemy: the
Islamist extremists that had filled the vacuum left by their absence. They
had declared the Indonesian Islamic State, Negara Islam Indonesia or Da-
rul Islam [State of Islam], with their own Islamic Army, Tentara Islam In-
donesia. Three regions in Indonesia were most inflicted by this rebellion:
West Java, South Sulawesi, and Aceh. In West Java, their strongholds were
in the mountainous area of East Priangan, which was where our family
came from. This conflict affected our family very much. We knew some
relatives who belonged to this movement, but most of our family remained
loyal to the Republic. Thus began another conflict which would take a long
time to resolve and with tremendous loss of lives and property.
In Yogyakarta, I started to attend primary school which was often in-
terrupted by the continuing conflicts. And then, following the Siliwangi
Division, we returned to West Java in 1949. Although the war was still go-
ing on, it was gradually subsiding, culminating in the Round Table Confer-
ence held in the capital city of the Netherlands, The Hague, in December
1949, whereby the Dutch government recognized our independence. We
returned to West Java via Semarang, flying on an airplane courtesy of the
military. That was the first time I had flown on an airplane. After returning
to West Java, we still moved from one place to another before eventually
settling down, and my family made permanent residence in Jakarta.
Q: How about your education?
GK: Because my family had to move from place to place, I also had
to move from one school to another. Even in Jakarta we moved from a
temporary accommodation, a pension — it was like an extended-stay
hotel — on Jalan [Street] Majapahit, to a temporary house on Jalan
Tamansari in the eastern part of Jakarta, before finally settling down in a
more permanent house. As they were already separated, my parents each
had their own house — my mother had a house on Jalan Tanah Tinggi and
my father on Jalan Telukbetung, in the central Menteng area. So even in
Jakarta I still had to move from one school to another before finally fin-
ishing my primary education at a Catholic school, Van Lith. And then my
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Early Years 13
parents sent me to another Catholic school for my secondary education.
I spent six years in Junior [Sekolah Menengah Pertama (SMP)] and Senior
[Sekolah Menengah Atas (SMA)] High School in Canisius College run by
the Jesuits. They also had boarding facilities. I spent the first year living
in the dormitory.
It was a male-only school. When I entered the school in 1953, it was
still managed by Dutch pastors and there were still even some Dutch
teachers. Most students, many of them of Chinese origin, spoke Dutch. So
in the beginning, I, having just come in from the front line where people
were talking about atrocities by the Dutch colonial army, had difficulties
adjusting to this environment. I protested to my parents about sending me
to this “colonial” school. My father told me that it was a good school with
a high standard of education, and that the war was over and the Dutch were
no longer our enemy.
At that time all students, regardless of their religion, had to study the
basics of Catholicism. We had to study the Catechism, and had to pass a
test. When I was living in the dorm, I had to go to the chapel every day
for early morning prayers. So I complained again to my father about it,
because I had been brought up in a religious family. But again my fa-
ther reminded me that not all Indonesians were like us; we were a diverse
people — in ethnicity as well as religion — but we were one as a nation.
So we needed to know and tolerate each other. In this school, I would learn
to tolerate those who were culturally different from us. It turned out to be
a good experience and the first socio-political education for me. When I
started to live in the dorm, sometimes for breakfast they only served pork
bacon, so I could not eat. This time when I complained to my father about
it, he came to the school and had a talk with the headmaster, Pater Krikel-
berg, and from then on whenever they served pork I and other Muslim
students got eggs instead. I still remember the late Rahardian Yamin, the
son of Mr. MuhammadYamin, a noted scholar and a famous revolutionary
leader and ideologue, being also sent to the school. To compensate for the
distance from the religious environment, I was required by my mother to
study Islam at home. So a teacher, an Ustad, came to my mother’s house
twice a week to give me and my brother private lessons on Islam. My
brother Agus attended the same school, but only for the first three years;
he later moved to a public high school.
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Q: Is there anything else you remember vividly from your school days?
GK: I remember the school used to organize an annual event called the
“Rector’s Party” in November, including various events like sports com-
petitions and most interestingly theatrical dramas. We played Hamlet once
during one of those festivities. I still remember the school had good sports
facilities and also a good library. I spent a lot of my free time there. I fin-
ished reading almost all of Shakespeare’s books while I was still in junior
high school. There were many interesting books, in Indonesian, Dutch,
and English. In this school, we studied English early and had good teach-
ers, and before I got into senior high school I was already reading books
in English. My mother sometimes used to give me books in English for
my birthday. I remember among my favorite readings in junior high school
were books about adventures by Karl May. I also read Homer’s Iliad and
other Greek mythology.
As it was an all-male school, naturally I got into a lot of fights. I was
well known for it. But we did not fight each other on campus, because
we would have been severely punished for it and even expelled from the
school. So we met outside to settle the score. But most of the time my fights
were with boys from outside the school. During those days as youngsters
we had gangs — not criminal gangs, but party gangs. I belonged to a gang
called Gipsy Kids. One member of the gang was Nasrul Tanjung, the elder
brother of Akbar Tanjung, who I assume we will be talking about a lot
later. He attended a different school, but we spent our out-of-school time
together a lot. So unavoidably we got into gang fights, mostly about girls
but also about other trivial things. But our fights at that time were quite
fair. We did not use weapons and the fights were one-on-one; we called it
a “duel.” And it stopped when one party was injured or decided to give up.
Of course there were also more vicious mass gang fights, sometimes using
weapons such as knives and metal knuckles, but we always tried to avoid
them. Besides being dangerous, they bordered on criminal acts. I avoided
those kinds of gang brawls because they were ungentlemanly and devoid
of sportsmanship.
There were some parks in the central part of Jakarta, the Menteng
area, that were popularly designated for our kind of fair fights. But
there were also times when someone was too impatient to make the
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Early Years 15
“appointment” for a fight and just came and waited in front of the school
to engage me in a fight, because of some previous slight or other reasons
that I cannot even remember now. And of course it created a traffic jam in
front of our school. So one day I was called to the headmaster’s office to
account for it. I was told that I had given the school a bad name and was
given a warning. But I managed to stay on at the school until I graduated.
And despite those pranks and juvenile antics, I think I did quite well aca-
demically, for I was accepted into the Bandung Institute of Technology
[Institut Teknologi Bandung (ITB)] and later got several offers of scholar-
ship to study abroad, and I chose Japan. I was so notorious, even years
after I had left school, as the unruly student who liked to get himself into
arguments and fights. Many years later, when my son applied to my alma
mater, someone remarked, “Ah, this is the son of Johnny.” I was known by
that nickname in my school days, “Johnny.”
I attended ITB for a year before I left for Japan. In Bandung, I joined
a non-campus student organization, the Bandung Students Association
[Perhimpunan Mahasiswa Bandung (PMB)], which was famous for their
girls and student parties. I met many students there who later in life would
be my associates, friends, and allies.
Q: Could you tell us more about your family’s politics?
GK: In Jakarta, both my father and mother became active in politics. My
father established the Jakarta Chapter of Partai Nasional Indonesia [PNI],
the nationalist party of Sukarno. My mother was active in the women’s
arm of the party, Wanita [Women] Demokrat. She was also active in the
cooperative movement, becoming the founder and chairperson of the In-
donesian Women’s Cooperative. We discussed politics a lot; it was always
the main topic of conversation in our house.
While we are discussing my family’s political background, I would
like to note that my uncle, Major General Didi Kartasasmita, became very
critical of the central government. He was one of the leaders of Gerakan
[Movement] Sunda. He disliked Sukarno because he saw him as too close
to PKI [Indonesian Communist Party]. And he also fell out with General
Nasution. He accused Pak Nas of selling Indonesia to the Dutch by agree-
ing to ceasefire agreements during the revolutionary war. During dinners,
my father and my uncle often argued because my father always defended
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Bung Karno. Eventually, Bung Karno jailed my uncle, accusing him of
separatist activities. He was jailed in Madiun for three years together with
other “anti-Sukarnoists.” My uncle was released only after the fall of Su-
karno and the rise of the New Order. My father was jailed by the Japanese
and my uncle was jailed by Sukarno. It is part of our family history, full
of stories of political prisoners. You know, later on my cousin Gurmilang,
the son of Pak Didi, was jailed by Suharto because of the Malari incident.
And Abdurrahman Wahid had me arrested because he saw me as a politi-
cal opponent.
Q: What is the political significance of family? Did your family
background matter for your political career?
GK: I cannot say yes or no for sure; it may be yes, maybe no.Yes, because
we were a very political family, both from my father’s and my mother’s
heritage. We were directly or indirectly related to other political families,
of course. But sentimentally, I felt close to Sukarno, as my mother was
close to Ibu [Mrs.] Fatmawati [Sukarno] and my father was close to Bung
Karno. But my mother was opposed to the second marriage of Bung Karno
while he was in office [Sukarno had already been married three times be-
fore he became President]. Having said that, I should also say that we have
never had a political marriage in our family. Maybe in the old days, yes,
but in the modern days, young people became very independent. When I
married my wife, I did not know she came from a prominent Sundanese
family. We just met. It just happened. There was no arranged marriage in
our family. Maybe in other families at that time there were still remnants
of the old tradition, but not in our family.
For instance, my elder brother Sabana married a Sundanese, but they
met in Holland. His wife had been living in exile since our independence
because, although her mother was Sundanese, her father was Dutch. But
her mother came from a very old and aristocratic family.
My daughter Gita is married to an orang Padang [Padang people],
Riza. Interestingly, his father was a classmate of mine at Canisius Junior
High School. In fact we sat next to each other. So after more than three de-
cades we would meet again, this time to be bonded in family ties. So who
says that fate is nonsense? My son Agus is married to Lumongga, who
is from a Batak family, the Nasutions. Her grandfather was killed by the
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Early Years 17
Dutch during the revolution and he was buried in Taman Makam Pahlawan
[Heroes’ Cemetery] in Yogyakarta. The father-in-law of Galih, my third
son, is a Javanese. My wife and I do not have any special preference for
our children’s spouses, as long as they come from an Islamic family. In
fact I have given up hope, in a sense, that I will have Sundanese in-laws,
although Galih’s mother-in-law is a Sundanese. Actually it is not impor-
tant, because we believe marriage, birth, and death are determined by fate.
Q: We are trying to figure out the importance of family and ethnicity
in Indonesian politics. We are aware that in creating a cabinet, for
instance, people talk about ethnicity — who is orang Batak, who is
orang Padang, who is Sundanese, and so on. Ethnicity is important.
We are also aware that Indonesians always talk about who is connected
with whom, who is married to whom.
GK: Yes, we still talk about it. People are still curious about family back-
ground, because there is still a widespread belief in family trees. Bad trees
do not produce good fruits. In Javanese there is a saying: “Bibit, bebet,
bobot [family background matters].” However, in modern Indonesia, who
belongs to what family is not that important anymore. Although there are
some who still want to know who is married to whom because of rank,
position, or wealth, I think young Indonesians are not very much influ-
enced by this anymore. Most Indonesians now marry partners of their own
choice.
But you are right in saying that ethnicity and religion play some role
in politics, and by implication in the makeup of a cabinet. People did ask
questions like why there were only a few Sundanese there, why there were
so many Christians there, why many were Bataks, etc. Suharto tried to
maintain a balance, although Javanese always dominated cabinets. Habi-
bie also talked about who would represent this or that part of Indonesia,
that too many Christians were in government, and so on. And much later
Susilo BambangYudhoyono [SBY] went to great lengths to have an ethnic
balance in his cabinet at the cost, some would say, of competence. And as
I said earlier, we also like to know the background of a person to be trusted
to hold public office. A person who comes from a good family — which
means a family with a certain level of social status or education, or a cer-
tain religious background, or the right political affiliation — will have a
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better chance of advancing. So I would not dismiss outright that family
ties matter, both in politics and in business. Business people, especially
the Chinese, like their offsprings to marry other business scions. But in
my family it is not that relevant; none of my in-laws are politically or eco-
nomically prominent. But they come from good and respectable families,
not by any design but I think we are just lucky.
But in the military, the story is a bit different. The Indonesian mili-
tary is probably the only organization where ethnicity and religion play a
very small role, if at all. Many positions in the Indonesian military during
the New Order were held by non-Muslims, for instance, Christian Bataks.
Sons of military families have some priority in application, of course, but
otherwise the military is probably the only really non-sectarian organiza-
tion in Indonesia.
PDIP [Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle] can also be said to be
another secular organization in which ethnicity and religion are not very
important. But the party has a reputation for having a disproportionately
large number of Christians. Even West Java has a number of PDIP Chris-
tian parliamentarians. This was made possible because, until very recently,
people did not vote for candidates; they voted for the party. PDIP was
an offshoot of PDI [Indonesian Democratic Party], a “fused” party which
included Catholic and Christian parties. The nationalist parties, notably
PNI, were dominant, and therefore the party is often accused of nepotism
because Sukarno scions hold positions of power by birthright regardless of
their past experience or performance. But it is not the only political party
that shows such a tendency.
But in general, in other political parties such as Golkar, there are
three elements which decide appointments: political loyalty, ethnicity,
and religion. However, the process is not as complicated as before. Where
you come from and from which family are no longer that relevant. If
you pursue that matter in modern Indonesia, I think you will not find a
fixed pattern. But in the old Indonesia, you are right — marriage between
houses, among those of the aristocracy, both feudal as well as religious
aristocracy, was quite important. Personal competence in the profession
is what is important now. People are now thinking more about how much
work a person can do, and whether a person can be responsible in bring-
ing up his or her family.
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Early Years 19
My family is connected with other families in West Java, of course.
We are related to Djuanda, Iwa Kusuma Sumantri, Aruji Kartawinata, Ali
Sadikin — all prominent politicians in their own time. Most of the elite
families in West Java are related to each other. If they are not, they will try
to see how they are related. They call it panca kaki, which means, in Sun-
danese, “Let’s see how we are related.” So they sit together, talk it over,
and finally they will say, “Oh, we are related.” It’s the culture.
Q: So family and ethnic connections are of no political significance?
GK: I cannot say that with full confidence. I can only say that in my own
house it is not that important. I can only say that in Suharto’s time, I man-
aged to influence some cabinet appointments, like Muslimin [Nasution],
Rahardi [Ramelan], Kuntoro [Mangkusubroto], and Theo [Sambuaga].
I managed to get them into the cabinet, including Zuhal who was also a
graduate from Japan. He was my assistant in the Ministry of Mines and
Energy, and I managed to get him appointed as Minister of Research and
Technology in the last Suharto government when I became Coordinating
Minister in charge of the economy. I did it not on the basis of ethnic back-
ground. None of them are Sundanese. I was influenced only by compe-
tence and nationalism. But more recently, under the SBY presidency, I
wrote a letter to the President on behalf of the West Java DPD [Regional
Representative Council] members that we would like to have West Java-
nese [Sundanese] in the cabinet. Jusuf Anwar got appointed as Minister of
Finance and later Ambassador to Japan, and Andung Nitimiharja as Min-
ister of Industry and later Ambassador to Mexico. I did it because in the
DPD I represented West Java. So it was my job to give priority to people
from my constituency. In the past, I had not represented any sectarian,
regional, or political interest.
I tried not to be involved in any ethnic or sectarian politics because it
is rather demeaning. However, I would be dishonest if I did not admit my
concern with the fact that the people of West Java — the province with
the biggest population, 42 million, and the second largest ethnic group
in Indonesia — are disproportionately represented in the cabinet and in
national politics in general. Sometimes I wonder why; it is most prob-
ably because Sundanese are not that keen to be involved in gruesome ma-
neuvering to get ahead in politics. I think bootlicking is not prominent in
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Sundanese general characteristics. Sundanese are proud people, and hav-
ing to say something that you do not mean — a must in politics — is rather
looked down on in our society.
Having said that, I also need to point out that we are observing a rather
interesting phenomenon. There is a growing number of second- and third-
generation politicians in Indonesia. Sukarno’s daughter became our fifth
President, and her husband Taufiq Kiemas is a prominent politician. Her
daughter, Puan Maharani, is also a Member of Parliament and a prominent
PDIP party member. President Susilo BambangYudhoyono’s son Baskoro,
known as Ibas, is a Member of Parliament and Secretary General of the
President’s party, the Democratic Party [Partai Demokrat]. My son Agus
is currently in his second, albeit not consecutive, term in Parliament. Be-
fore him, my sister Gunariah served as a Member of Parliament for almost
three terms. In the case of my family, this was not by design; it just natu-
rally happened that way as we have, as I said earlier, a political tradition in
our family. Nevertheless, I have to acknowledge that, especially recently,
many politicians’ wives, sons, nephews, etc. have become Members of
Parliament or holders of other political offices. Even more glaring, in one
province, Banten, the Governor’s family is so entrenched in local power
that her relatives — husband, son, sister, in-laws — are holding public
offices as well. There have been cases where wives took over from their
husbands’elected office. We are watching a phenomenon that is not unlike
that seen in Japan, or the US for that matter. In the US they have had two
Bushes as President in two decades and in Japan many prime ministers are
second- or third-generation prime ministers, not to mention many second-
or third-generation ministers or just ordinary politicians.
Instead of the old hereditary feudalism, we are now seeing the rise of
political feudalism, or political dynasties. I do not know whether it is a
healthy development or an evil byproduct of Western democracy, where
the strong become stronger. On the other hand, in autocratic regimes
things can be even worse, like in North Korea or Cuba. In North Korea, the
leadership is hereditary, just like a monarchy, and has now passed down
to the third generation of Kim Il-sung. In semi-democracies like Malaysia
and Singapore, this tendency is also very significant. In both countries, the
present prime ministers are sons of previous prime ministers. Also in the
Philippines, the current President is the descendant of a previous President,
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Early Years 21
and so was his predecessor. In Thailand, they now have a Prime Minister
who is the sister of a former — deposed and convicted — Prime Minister.
So it is difficult to pinpoint or blame the rise of political dynasties on any
political system or any culture.
Aside from the neo-feudalism or political dynasties, we are also wit-
nessing the rise of economic or business dynasties, such as the Salims,
Riyadis, Wijayas, and Bakries. I do not know whether we should be wor-
ried about this tendency, the concentration of capital or economic power
in a limited number of families. Do we have to take it for granted, as
something that is unavoidable, or should we regard it as a threat to the
ideals of social justice because it goes against the interests of society? I
do not know the answer.
Studying in Japan
Q: Could you tell us about your Japanese years?
GK: In high school, I saw this American movie about the American oc-
cupation of Japan and it was a very nice movie about Japan. The title of
the movie was “Teahouse of the August Moon” [1956]. After seeing it,
I thought it would be nice to go there. Actually, one might consider the
feeling as rather diabolical because, as I already mentioned, my father was
arrested by the Japanese military police, the much-feared Kempeitai, and
he was going to be executed. But he was saved by the bombing of Hiroshi-
ma. My mother sometimes took me to visit him at the prison in Bandung,
the famous Banceuy Prison. She was pregnant at the time with my sister,
Resa. As a postscript, the prison has since been moved to another location
and that area has become a business center. My father should have naturally
hated the Japanese. But he did not; on the contrary, he later on became the
Chairman of the Japan–Indonesia Friendship Association. And he was the
one who suggested that I go to Japan. I asked him why. He said, “Forget
about the past. These things happen. It’s part of history already. You have
to look into the future and Japan is our future.” This was true for the next
50 years. Our economy was very much dependent on Japan for aid,
trade, technology, and investment. I applied for a scholarship to Japan and
I got it. I then canceled my scholarship to Europe.
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I went to Japan in 1960 with the first batch of students under the Japan
War Reparations Agreement [baisho ryugakusei]. I could have joined my
brother in Germany or my cousin Gurbana, the eldest son of Pak Didi, in
the United States. Gurbana studied and got his PhD in mathematics from
the University of Illinois at Chicago. But by the 1960s our relationship
with the West was already shaky, and there were more scholarships avail-
able in Eastern Europe than in the West. So my father was instrumental in
my going to Japan. He traveled to Japan a lot. He had business relations
with some Japanese companies.
When we first arrived, in April 1960, we first studied the Japanese
language. For a year, we lived at Nihon Seinen-kan, very near to the Meiji
Jingu [Shrine]. And then, on the basis of our examination, we were told
which universities to go to. I was sent to a state university in Tokyo, To-
kyo Noko Daigaku [Tokyo University of Agriculture and Technology],
because in the beginning I wanted to study agriculture. The only state uni-
versity with an agriculture faculty that was available in Tokyo was Tokyo
Noko Daigaku. I was assigned there based on my grade. Although I had
studied engineering at ITB before I came to Japan, at that time I thought
that the future of Indonesia would be in agriculture. I wanted to do some
agricultural research, something useful. And no less importantly, I wanted
to stay in Tokyo. Many people studying agriculture were sent to regional
universities like Shizuoka University or Sendai University. Tokyo Noko
Daigaku was the only state university in Tokyo with an agriculture faculty.
So I considered myself to be lucky.
After one year’s study at the university, I decided to move to Kogaku-
bu, the engineering school, because I then realized that industrialization
was the future for a developing country. Agriculture was important, but
to become an advanced country we needed to industrialize our economy.
So I studied in Japan for more than five years. I got an engineering degree
while in Japan. I was active in student associations, both Indonesian and
foreign student associations in Japan. I developed a long-lasting friendship
with a Filipino student, Domingo [Jun] Siazon. He was studying nuclear
physics at Tokyo University and married a Japanese. He would later rise to
become Foreign Minister of the Philippines and subsequently Ambassador
to Japan. He was also appointed as Director General of UNIDO [United
Nations Industrial Development Organization], with its headquarters in
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Early Years 23
Vienna, Austria. So when I became Minister of Mines and Energy, we met
a lot during the OPEC [Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries]
meetings held at its headquarters, also in Vienna.
I met many people who came from different regions of Indonesia. In
the beginning, the lifestyle of an ordinary student was rather difficult for
me because I had limited money. My father came to Japan from time to
time for business or other purposes, and he would give me some extra
money. Aside from being active in politics, as a Member of Parliament as
well as a special assistant to Chairul Saleh, one of the coordinating min-
isters at that time, my father was also a businessman. I ran out of money
very fast, you know. At that time our stipend, US$100, was around 36,000
yen. As a matter of fact, that was quite a lot then, considering that Japanese
university graduates earned 20,000 yen [a month] for their first-year pay.
But I have to admit that being thrifty was not my strong point. I lived in a
Japanese family’s house and I socialized a lot with Japanese friends, and I
even had a few Japanese girlfriends.
In Japan, as an activist in the student organization, I had many chances
to see Sukarno and other Indonesian leaders. It was common for Indo-
nesian students to meet senior leaders. But as students at that time were
very much politicized, we met only people of the same political color. So
I avoided meeting leading figures from the communist party or Islamic
extremists. My father was a PNI activist. He used to be the party chair-
man of the Jakarta branch. But when the split within the PNI happened,
my father became uncomfortable with the domination of the party by the
leftists. We were a very nationalistic family and we were also religious. So
we were suspicious of anything leftist, but also of religious and right-wing
extremism.
In any event, I was active in politics as a student. I attended an in-
ternational youth conference in Helsinki, Finland, in 1963, where youth
groups from all over the world gathered. I went from Japan to Khabarovsk,
then by train to Moscow, Leningrad, and then to Helsinki. It was actu-
ally a left-leaning youth conference, but for me the experience was very
interesting and enlightening. I got exposed to student movements from all
over the world. During that occasion, I met representatives of Indonesian
students from Indonesia as well as those studying in foreign countries,
mostly in Europe. Among the leading members of the Indonesian delega-
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tion was the Secretary General of Gerakan Mahasiswa Kristen Indonesia
[GMKI, the Indonesian Christian Student Movement], Sabam Sirait. We
would meet again much later, when he became a leading figure in Partai
Demokrasi Indonesia [PDI, the Indonesian Democratic Party], one of the
two parties allowed to exist under the New Order. We worked together in
the ad hoc committee on the GBHN [Broad Outlines of State Policy] of
the MPR [People’s Consultative Assembly], in which I was the chairman
and Sabam represented the PDI faction; we will discuss this in a later part
of this book. He then joined the Megawati faction within the party, and
became one of the founders of PDIP.
To be active in the student organization was meaningful because I
realized I had more capacity than just studying. I also became the editor of
Dinamika, the journal of the Indonesian Students Association [Perhimpu-
nan Pelajar Indonesia] in Japan. So I did all these things besides studying.
Japanese students were very active when I was in Tokyo. I remember
under the All-Japan Students Organization or Zengakuren, students dem-
onstrated to oppose US President Eisenhower’s visit to Japan. I think it
was in 1960. Eventually the visit was canceled. I was there among the Jap-
anese students. We, Indonesian students in Japan, also organized political
rallies supporting our country’s fight to regain West Irian. When the Dutch
naval carrier, the Karel Doorman, visited Japan, we held demonstrations.
We were joined by other foreign students and some Japanese students. So
besides being an ordinary student, I was socially and politically active.
This was also the reason I came to know many Indonesian national leaders
at that time.
In 1963, returning graduates from Japan — my senpai [seniors] — es-
tablished PERSADA, the Association of Indonesian Alumni from Japan.
When we got home, we continued this and we made it even bigger. And
in 1986 we established a university, Universitas Darma Persada [UNSA-
DA]. It started as Nippon Bunka Gakuin, a Japanese-language academy.
It started small and then we developed it into a university. Now we have
a faculty of economics, a faculty of engineering, a faculty of maritime
engineering, and a faculty of arts and letters. It is the first university in
the world that was established by graduates returning home after study-
ing in a foreign country. I understand that, later in Thailand, former Thai
students in Japan also established the Thai-Nichi Institute of Technology
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Early Years 25
with the support of Japanese companies operating in Thailand. But not
only were we the first to do it; we also did it totally on our own without
any outside help. It was a way for us to return the favor to our people, our
country.
When President Sukarno came to Japan, I met him many times. I met
Ibu [Mrs.] Dewi [Sukarno] and became quite acquainted with her. General
Nasution also came to Japan sometimes. So I knew him then. Regardless
of what my uncle thought of him, he was one of my heroes during those
student days. I also knew Pak [Ruslan] Abdul Gani, the leading figure in
the nationalist camp. So when they came to Japan, they met us Indonesian
student leaders. In those days, Indonesian leaders paid very close atten-
tion to students. I visited them a lot at the Imperial Hotel, where most of
them stayed, to meet and talk with them. My father also always stayed in
that hotel when he came to Japan. It was a very interesting time for me. I
learned politics from them. At least we got free lunch and dinner. When
many years later I came to Japan in my various capacities, I often stayed
in that hotel.
I traveled all over Japan, with Japanese or other Indonesian students.
In particular, I got very much involved with martial arts.
Q: We understand that you are an expert in Japanese martial arts.
GK: In the university, we had to take one sports subject. During my time
there, it was compulsory. I took Kendo. But as an extracurricular activity,
I also tried other martial arts such as Judo, then Karate, then Aikido. After
two years, I was introduced to Shorinji Kempo by a friend and I decided
it was what I liked. I practiced it seriously and eventually got a black belt.
When President Sukarno came to Tokyo, we demonstrated it for him. He
was impressed, and we were really very proud of it.
Shorinji Kempo became an important part of my life while I was in
Japan. I went for gasshuku [training camp] at its headquarters in Tadotsu,
in the island of Shikoku, many times. The last time was to get my black
belt. Shorinji Kempo is originally from China. The founder So Doshin,
also known as Sihan, was a Japanese soldier who became disillusioned
with the Japanese occupation army. So he deserted and hid in a Buddhist
monastery, the famous Siaw Liem Sie. He studied the Chinese [Shaolin]
martial art [Kungfu], which had been centered in the temple for more
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than a millennium. He then developed a Japanese version called “Shorinji
Kempo,” which is the Japanese translation of “Siaw Liem Sie Kungfu.”
Now his daughter, So Yuuki, is the head of the World Shorinji Kempo
Organization. I was also introduced to many politicians in Japan who prac-
ticed Shorinji Kempo in their student days.
After I returned to Indonesia, with my cousin Indra we established a
Shorinji Kempo brotherhood in Jakarta. It is now the biggest one outside of
Japan. We have about 200,000 active kenshi in Indonesia. The first group
of 20 practitioners was established and practiced in my father’s house, in
the garage. Later on, when the number of practitioners of Shorinji Kempo
became bigger, we moved to the BAKIN [State Intelligence Coordinat-
ing Agency] complex in the Tebet area. General Yoga Sugomo, the head
of BAKIN, was very supportive of Shorinji Kempo, so we asked him to
become President of the Indonesian Shorinji Kempo Brotherhood. I would
like to make a note about him. PakYoga was among the batch of Indonesian
youth who studied in Japan before the war. Upon returning home, after the
war, he joined the army, and made a career in the army military police and
military intelligence. Later he also became preeminent in KOPKAMTIB
[Operational Command for the Restoration of Security and Order]. He was
active among the Japanese alumni, becoming the Chairman of PERSADA
and Rector of UNSADA.
Now we have a dojo, a large one, and we also organize gasshuku.
Every year, we organize national tournaments and also hold student
championships. Shorinji Kempo is also included in our national sports
competition [Pekan Olahraga Nasional]. Our kenshi have participated in
international tournaments mostly held in Japan but also in other countries,
many of them winning in the various events. In November 2011, Shorinji
Kempo was included for the first time in the Southeast Asian Games [SEA
Games], held in Palembang and Jakarta. Indonesian kenshi won half of the
gold medals on offer in Shorinji Kempo events.
Q: Are you still in contact with your Shorinji Kempo brothers in
Japan?
GK: Oh yes. Whenever I come to Japan, I attend alumni meetings [Doso-
kai]. Komura-san [of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP)], the former
Foreign Minister, is also a kenshi, ever since his student days at Chuo
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Early Years 27
University. I had a very close friend, the late Hino-san, who was the first
instructor of Shorinji Kempo for Indonesian students. He came from a
business family, but developed his own business and became very success-
ful. His business was mostly in entertainment, like Pachinko, karaoke, and
restaurants. But he also made some investments in real estate. Whenever
I came to Japan, I always met with him. He also helped and provided
accommodation for Indonesian kenshi on the way to the Shorinji Kempo
headquarters [honbu] in Tadotsu. Unfortunately, he passed away a few
years back.
Q: How would you describe Japan then, from the eyes of a foreign
student?
GK: It was during the time I was there, between 1960 and 1965, that Ja-
pan accelerated its rise from a defeated nation, the only country that had
experienced the fearsome impact of an atomic weapon, from the ashes of
war, to become an economic powerhouse, the number two economy in the
world. When I first came, you could still see some scars of the war. But
already lots of construction efforts were underway: highways, high-speed
trains, subways, new office buildings, and factories.
Compared to our leisurely way of life [alon-alon asal kelakon],
the Japanese worked hard and intensely. They still ate a lot of whale
[kujira] meat steak instead of beef steak. I have to admit that I used to
buy American-made daily sundry like Camay soap, toothpaste, and even
cigarettes on the black market, probably pilfered or smuggled or sold by
cash-strapped soldiers from the American bases.
But when I left in 1965, after the 1964 Tokyo Olympic Games,
Japan had been transformed. There was an income-doubling scheme
launched by the government, which really worked. By the time I left,
Japanese average income had substantially increased. Japan was well
on its way to becoming the leading industrial and exporting nation in
the world. I saw it all happening. I witnessed this awesome transforma-
tion. I became so accustomed to the Japanese way of life that when I
returned home I continued to walk fast, leaving my wife way behind
and being nagged for it of course, and I was used to staying for long
hours in the office, which may or may not explain why I got a head start
in the career ladder.
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Q: Your family was close to the Sukarno family. What was your
reaction to the fall of Sukarno in 1966–1967?
GK: Of course, we — my family and I — were very sad. We were close to
Sukarno and his family, and I regarded myself as a Sukarnoist.
I would like to add a note here. Upon returning from Japan, I visited
Bung Karno after he was “exiled” to Wisma Yaso, the house where Dewi
Sukarno lived [WismaYaso was later converted to become part of a military
museum]. While people who claimed to be loyal to him stayed away from
him, I visited him twice there. The first time I brought my colleagues —
former students in Japan — just to show our respect and sympathy, and the
second time around I went alone. I knew that I was being monitored. I was
already in KOTI [Supreme Operations Command] when I visited Bung
Karno, but I took the risk out of loyalty, to him and to his ideals.
To be really objective about it, Bung Karno did make some mistakes
during the final days of his presidency. He neglected the economy. He
pursued unnecessary ventures against Malaysia and the Western countries.
He gave too much credit to the communists and this clouded his judgment.
But he was an exceptionally good leader, a very strong nationalist, the
father of our nation. Not only did he lead us to independence, but he also
managed to keep the country together amidst the communist, Islamic
extremist, and regional rebellions. And all the time he had to face foreign
enemies.
But by the mid-1960s, his time was up. I mean, every leader — even
an authoritarian one — has only so much time; Fidel Castro may be the
only exception. I think by the early 1960s, Sukarno should have left power
or at least lessened his grip on power. The same can be said of Suharto.
Suharto was also a very good leader, but again he should have left power
by the early 1990s. To be exact, he should have refused to be re-elected in
1993, at the height of Indonesia’s economic performance, when Indonesia
was internationally praised and recognized as one of the Asian economic
tigers. It was a good time for him to have resigned, and probably he would
still be remembered well. Sukarno and Suharto both outlived their time.
People make mistakes when they stay too long in power. It was a lesson
that has remained with me and it influenced my political decisions later.
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29
Chapter 2
Rising with Sudharmono: 1965–1983
G-5 KOTI
Q: Let us go back to KOTI [Supreme Operations Command]. You
mentioned that it was just a transit, while waiting for the situation to
clear up.
GK: Yes, that was originally my intention. As mentioned, I returned home
from Japan on October 15, 1965, two weeks after the September 30 Move-
ment [G30S] had been crushed by the military. The situation was still very
uncertain. I belonged to a group of students who were waiting for Sukarno
to say something, but I was also sympathetic with the military. However,
many Indonesian students sent to Japan came from the leftist movement.
I went home with a group of 16 students, the first batch of finishing
students who had come to Japan under the Reparations Agreement. Things
were very confusing. We did not know where to go. So I decided to see
Pak Nas [General A.H. Nasution]. He was still on crutches after his injury,
sustained while escaping the attempt to kidnap him by the coup perpetra-
tors, but tragically he had lost his daughter in the ensuing firefight. Pak Nas
was still speaking very loyally about Bung Karno. So I asked him, “What
should we do, Pak? What can we do to help?You know I was trained as an
engineer, and I don’t know what I should do in such a situation.”
I have already mentioned that my uncle, Pak Didi Kartasasmita, and
Pak Nas were among the founders of Siliwangi Division in West Java.
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Unfortunately, Pak Nas and my uncle had a fallout and became political
enemies. My father was also quite close with Pak Nas in the National
Front in the 1960s. Front Nasional was originally established as a political
front of Sukarno to fight perceived enemies inside and outside the country.
Later it turned into an anti-communist front.
It was because of Pak Nas’ advice that I joined KOTI — specifically
G-5, the socio-political branch of KOTI — while things were still uncer-
tain. I was referred to see Colonel Sudharmono, one of the assistants in
G-5 KOTI, who gave us a briefing about the situation and invited us to join
KOTI. In the G-5 hierarchy, Colonel Sudharmono reported to Major Gen-
eral Sutjipto, head of G-5 KOTI, and his deputy Brigadier General Sunarso.
From among the first group of former students in Japan, two of us joined
KOTI: I myself and another alumnus, Wirawan. He and his younger brother
Sidharta were high school friends of mine, and we belonged to the same
youth gang before we all went to school in Japan. Wirawan studied eco-
nomics at Waseda Daigaku in Tokyo and Sidharta studied shipbuilding at
Kyushu Daigaku in Fukuoka. Sidharta also joined me in practicing Shorinji
Kempo; so did my cousin Indra, who joined later but became the most ar-
dent and prominent among us Shorinji Kempo disciples in Indonesia. Indra
came home earlier than me, but Sidharta three years after me.
Coming back to our discussion on KOTI, we both stayed there in KOTI
and we were attached to Lieutenant Colonel Sukisman. Like Pak Yoga, he
was also a former student in Japan during the war years, and a Sinologist
or Chinese expert. As a side note, he would become one of the deputies in
BAKIN [State Intelligence Coordinating Agency] and later on served as
our Consul General in Hong Kong. I was told that one of his main tasks
in Hong Kong was to “watch” China, as at that time our relationship with
China was badly damaged. China was perceived to have abetted the G30S
coup attempt, so there was a strong anti-China sentiment during the early
days of the New Order, culminating in the freezing of diplomatic rela-
tions on October 1, 1967. Sukisman later became the Rector of UNSADA
[Universitas Darma Persada], succeeding Pak Yoga.
Going back, Sukisman was in charge of research and analysis in KOTI
at that time, which was mostly on the political situation. He also asked
us — Wirawan and I — once in a while to write papers for the top brass
who were there. At that time, we were both civilians.
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Rising with Sudharmono: 1965–1983 31
Q: How did you go about doing political analysis? Did you get
intelligence reports from KOPKAMTIB [Operational Command for
the Restoration of Security and Order]?
GK: There were all kinds of reports coming in from the field —
international reports, newspaper reports, intelligence reports, etc. There
was another person there, Captain Murdiono [who would later become
State Secretary]. He was directly attached to Sudharmono as a special as-
sistant, but actually he was the main speech writer for the generals at the
top. And there was another Murdiono, Major Murdiono. There was also
a major in the Air Force, a military lawyer, Tranggono. There were many
people working in the G-5 KOTI offices, but there were not very many of
us who were close to Pak Dharmono and worked together often. All in all,
there were Col. Sudradjat, Lt. Col. Sukisman, Major Tranggono, Major
Murdiono, Capt. Murdiono, Wirawan, and myself. The last four of us later
followed Pak Dhar to Sekneg [Sekretariat Negara].
I remember after Supersemar on the 11th
of March, G-5 KOTI drafted
a decree banning the PKI [Indonesian Communist Party]. It was dated
on the 12th
of March. Many follow-up orders of the Supersemar, includ-
ing Pak Harto using the power to ban the communist party, were done by
KOTI. I was not an important member of the hierarchy, but they asked
me to do some analyses, write position papers, and such. Luckily when
I was in Japan, as I said earlier, I had the experience of running an In-
donesian student journal, so I got accustomed to writing about politics.
Iwas also active in student associations in Japan, and I got involved in an
international youth movement. I also met many Indonesian leaders from
whom I learned a lot about politics. So even though I was trained as an
engineer, I was interested in political things. Again, one might say that it
came naturally to me perhaps because my family was very political. It was
part of our everyday conversations at home.
Q: So you were in KOTI when Sukarno handed over Supersemar to
Suharto. It was the start of the New Order. How was the situation the
way you saw it then?
GK: In those days, there were moves against communists or suspected com-
munists or communist sympathizers all over the country. The military com-
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mand initially thought that G30S had been an abortive coup against Su-
karno. But it became clear that Sukarno knew there was going to be a coup.
There was a lot of discussion about it. The military suspected him of giving
some encouragement [to the coup group], but they still wanted to maintain
his authority. However, the military demanded Sukarno to come out and say
that G30S had been a communist movement, and ban PKI. But Bung Karno
refused to ban the communist party. So those supporting him started to make
moves to regain their position.
The conflict between Sukarno and the military, supported by the
students, came to a head in January 1966 with the Tritura or the “Three
Demands of the People,” among which was the banning of the PKI [the
other demands were to purge the cabinet of G30S/PKI elements and re-
duce prices or restore the economy]. It was the Tritura that actually gave
birth to Supersemar. There was of course alot that happened between Jan-
uary and March 1966, when Sukarno handed day-to-day power to Major
General Suharto, Commander of Kostrad [Army Strategic Reserve Com-
mand]. Suharto had escaped the kidnapping of the army generals by the
coup perpetrators because on that fateful morning he was out fishing, so
the story goes. Anyway, he consolidated the army after the Commander
of the Army, General Ahmad Yani, and other senior generals in the Army
General Staff went missing. It turned out that they had been kidnapped
and killed. Their bodies had been dumped in an old well in a place called
Lubang Buaya [literally, “Crocodile Hole”], near the Air Force base in
Halim Perdanakusumah. He then organized and led the military move to
crush the rebellion. So in the aftermath of G30S, Suharto was the central
figure in the military camp at that time. Interestingly, although General Na-
sution was later elected as Chairman of MPRS [Majelis Permusyawaratan
Rakyat Sementara, or the Provisional People’s Consultative Assembly],
he had receded into the background. There was talk of some differences
between Nasution and Suharto, with the Suharto camp ending up having
the upper hand.
Students had their own idealism, but the military was using students
as their political arm, and students in turn got protection and support from
the military. I remember the military providing food, shelter, and even
arms to students. In fact, one student from the University of Indonesia,
Arif Rahman Hakim, was killed during a student demonstration near the
presidential palace. He became a hero and his death galvanized the student
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movement against Sukarno. In the meantime, all over the country there
were large-scale conflicts among the masses. As described to me by a stu-
dent activist who took part in the move against the communists and their
alleged sympathizers, the situation was like a war, a civil war, the feel-
ing of “you either kill or be killed.” It was crucial for the military to win
the war. They had lost their generals and they did not know how deep
the communists had infiltrated the army at that time. Only a few units were
definitely loyal to Generals Nasution and Suharto. Some units, such as the
Siliwangi Division, were loyal to Bung Karno. They were against the com-
munists, but they were still very much in support of Bung Karno. Other
units such as the Diponegoro Division in Central Java were suspected to
have been heavily infiltrated by the communists.
We in KOTI were there in the middle of everything. I saw people com-
ing and going, not only people in uniform but also civilians who stood be-
hind the military in the ensuing conflicts.Aside from student leaders, mostly
from the University of Indonesia [UI] and Bandung Institute of Technol-
ogy [ITB], I met people from political parties and mass organizations that
were united against PKI and G30S. I remember meeting a young Catholic
intellectual, Jacob Utama, who would later become a prominent journal-
ist and successful businessman [head of the Kompas Gramedia Group]. In
the meantime, a special command was established as a follow-up to the
Supersemar: Komando Operasi Pemulihan Keamanan dan Ketertiban or
KOPKAMTIB [Operational Command for the Restoration of Security and
Order]. And then TEPERPU [Tim Pemeriksa Pusat, or the Central Investi-
gation Team] was established, which processed suspected communists, the
captives. It had its headquarters in our office. Trials and detention camps
sprouted up all over the country. One of the senior officers in KOTI, Colonel
Sudradjat, originally from the Military Police, was working on communist
suspects and their sympathizers.
The concepts to deal with the political prisoners were worked out there
in the KOTI offices. There were three categories: Those in category A, sus-
pected important figures with enough evidence of their complicity, were sent
to trial; those in category B, suspected to be involved but without sufficient
evidence, were sent to Buru Island and other detention camps; and those
in category C, suspected communists and sympathizers but not directly
involved in the coup movement, were released on the condition that they re-
ported regularly to KORAMIL, the local military post. Their ID cards were
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stamped to denote their status as PKI sympathizers in the C category. It was
a cruel treatment, and would leave long-lasting trauma on them and their
families and a deep scar on the psyche of the nation. Many were actually
innocent victims of personal grudges or heresy. Some of their offsprings
many years later became activists and formed the vanguard of the opposition
against Suharto.
PKI leaders suspected to be directly linked to the G30S movement
were put on trial, and most of them were sentenced to death. People who
were not members of PKI but were suspected to be involved were also
put on trial, like former Foreign Minister Subandrio and Omar Dhani, the
former Air Force Chief of Staff. They were sentenced to life or long jail
terms. One of the prosecutors was Major Tranggono, who was a military
lawyer in the Air Force and a staff member of G-5 KOTI. He convinced
me that the Air Force needed young staff officers because many officers
had been involved in the communist coup. He suggested to me, “Join the
Air Force.” I thought, “Well, why not?” I was working in a military orga-
nization but I was a civilian, so naturally there was some discrimination
against civilians working in a military organization. I might as well join
the military. But Wirawan decided to remain a civilian.
Joining the Air Force
Q: Was that when you decided to join the Air Force?
GK: Yes. I had always wanted to join the Air Force and become a pilot. But
because of my childhood injury and as my eyes needed spectacles, I could
not apply to the Air Force Academy. Therefore, after graduation from high
school, I applied to ITB instead. So I joined theAir Force and they sent me in
November 1966 for training at Panasan, an Air Force base in Solo. It was an
officer-candidate school. I belonged to MILSUK [Militer Sukarela], the vol-
unteer force, unlike those college graduates who joined the compulsory ser-
vice or WAMIL [Wajib Militer]. They only had two years of military service,
although it could be extended for another year. But Iapplied for the voluntary
service, which meant that I would be just like any other regular officer.
I trained for six months there in Solo. Even then, the Air Force psyche
was still wary about the Army. There were not very many leftist people
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anymore in the Air Force, but still they were suspicious about the Army
moving against the Air Force. Our guard was always up and directed at
RPKAD [Army Special Forces], whose base was located near the air
base in Solo. I found it strange because I had just come from a military
establishment dominated by the Army, KOTI.
After I graduated from there as a first lieutenant, I did not return to
KOTI. I was sent to Bandung to join a research facility of the Air Force.
I should put a note here that I got married in November 1966, just before
I left for the military training at Panasan. So I lived in Bandung for some
time. I worked in the logistical unit called Depot Logistic [DP]-51, which
was actually a research unit, located at the Husein Sastranegara [formerly
Andir] Air Force Base. Many of the personnel there were engineers. We
did research on propulsion and mechanical systems for rockets, although
most of the missiles were just bought from Eastern countries, mostly from
Russia. This unit formed a nucleus for the future Directorate General for
Research and Development of the Air Force.
There were not very many research projects we could undertake at
the time because the situation was uncertain and there were no financial
resources. Some of us taught in schools in the surrounding areas, or did
some interesting things like making and selling fireworks, which was not
much different from making ammunitions.
As a note, before the coup there was a space project in which some
of the former students who had studied in Japan joined. The space project
was in Pameungpeuk, south of West Java. It was a LAPAN [Lembaga Pen-
erbangan dan Antariksa Nasional, our version of NASA] project. It is now
for peaceful purposes, but at the time it was for weapons development.
Joining the State Secretariat
Q: When did you rejoin Sudharmono again?
GK: After a while serving in DP-51 in the Air Force in Bandung, I started
to get restless as I felt that I was not being fully utilized there. So on one
occasion in early 1967, I went to Jakarta and paid a courtesy visit to Pak
Dharmono. He asked me how I was doing. I said, “Well, I’m okay, but
I don’t think I’ve got much to do there.” You know, when I was in KOTI,
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Ginandjar - Managing Indonesia's Transformation, An Oral History

Ginandjar - Managing Indonesia's Transformation, An Oral History

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