Discarded Sandals, Nascent Democracy

The reason why I first deal with the Arab Spring and put "Syria" in the mix was because I promised a reader that I'd address the killings in Syria in my next article.

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Discarded Sandals, Nascent Democracy
Yohanes Sulaiman | January 06, 2012

Aktivis perlindungan anak Seto Mulyadi (tengah) dalam acara penggalangan sandal jepit di kantor Komisi Perlindungan Anak Indonesia (KPAI) Jakarta, Selasa (3/1). FOTO: INDRA HARDI/RM

This week marks the first anniversary of the death of Mohamed Bouazizi, the Tunisian street vendor whose self-immolation sparked the Arab Spring and led to the downfall of three Middle East dictators, with two more seemingly on their way out.

Yet the long-term effects of the Arab Spring remain unclear due to the lack of strong legal systems in the region. Democracy and minority rights are in a precarious condition in Egypt, for example, thanks in part to the Egyptian military, which uses kangaroo trials and raids to pressure the opposition.

In Syria, counterrevolution attacks by the ruling regime have left more than 6,000 people dead, tens of thousands wounded and many more imprisoned under dubious accusations. In Bahrain, the Shiites continue to criticize the ruling house for its Saudi-backed repressive policies and a rigged judicial system, which has unfairly sentenced many people to long prison sentences.

It is not a pretty picture. Like Georges Danton, a major figure of the French Revolution, said in his own kangaroo trial, “The revolution is like Saturn, devouring all of its children.”

Many analysts have made a strong case that Middle Eastern countries would do well to learn from Indonesia’s successful transition to democracy. Indonesia does have many lessons to teach, such as the successful withdrawal of the military from the political arena and a relatively stable democracy.

Yet Indonesia has also had its own share of judicial troubles that should serve as a warning, not a guide.

As an example, consider the recent “sandal trial” in Central Sulawesi, where a 17-year-old boy was put in the dock for allegedly stealing a pair of sandals from a police officer.

The trial is fascinating for three reasons, the first being that it was even held at all. The supposedly stolen sandals did not fit the accuser’s feet and were the wrong brand, while the police officer said he knew they belonged to him because he had a “spiritual connection” with them. Given these facts, it seems likely that the prosecutor did not examine the details of the case before sending it to court. In other countries, this kind of conduct would trigger an investigation into the prosecutors’ professional conduct and the police officer’s own mental sanity.

In essence, the sandal case reveals the lack of legal depth of Indonesia’s supposed upholders of law. Had this happened in the United States, the district attorney would have refused to take the case, while the police’s legal affairs team would have told the officer he had no case and would likely face a costly public relations nightmare.

The second reason this trial is interesting is because it shows how mob rule is still present in Indonesia. It is very doubtful that the teenager would have been set free had there not been such a public outrage. As we have seen in other high-profile trials — notably, the killing of Ahmadiyah members in Cikeusik, West Java, and the “Ariel Peterporn” scandal — sentences are often determined not by the severity of the misconduct, but the noise of spectators during the trial, or, in many corruption cases, by the power and connections of the defendants.

Because the judicial system lacks independence and integrity, it is no wonder that many trials look like an audition for “Indonesian Idol,” with interested parties bringing along as many supporters as they can and brawls occasionally erupting outside courthouses. Nobody is convinced of the judicial independence of the court systems in Indonesia, and thus people attribute any negative outcomes to the justices being bribed by the winning parties, regardless of a case’s merit.

The third reason the sandal trial was fascinating is because it shows how the idea of shame has not taken root in the bureaucracy. The National Police, facing a public relations disaster, decided to up the ante. Rather than acknowledging the public’s outrage, which was manifested in the donations of sandals, it declared its intention without shame to donate the sandals to the needy. Ironically, many needy people were among those who donated the sandals in the first place.

The Attorney General’s Office, rather than admitting that the trial was stupid, asked the public to “withhold judgment” and focus on the fact that the “five-year sentence” was still a “possibility.” The trial was all a bad show, but the show had to go on because the actors could not admit it was so bad.

At the same time, instead of dismissing the charge, the judges found the defendant guilty but “decided to be lenient,” surrendering to public pressure by releasing him to his parents’ custody. None were willing to admit that the trial had been a waste of time.

Such institutional pride, fueled by egos the size of battleships, does not bode well for the long-term health of the country’s democracy. With such distrust in the legal system, people believe they have to go to the street to demand justice, turning democracy into anarchy.

The remaining Middle Eastern despots are aware of this fear, namely that they are the last bastions of stability in countries where the judicial system is a mess, and it keeps them from being overthrown by a fed-up population.

For the sake of democracy, Indonesia should also take heed. In exposing a rotten system, a pair of sandals could be the straw that breaks the back of a young democracy.