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The Coup May Have Failed, But Jordan’s Troubles Are Far From Over

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King Abdullah delivers the Speech from the Throne opening the second ordinary session of the 18th Parliament. Amman, 12 November 2017, Royal Hashemite Archive, public domain.

When news of political turmoil comes out of the Middle East, there are a variety of states that you would expect to be involved, but one that you would not expect is the quiet kingdom of Jordan. For a number of decades now the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan has stood as a reliable, stabilising force within a region that too often descends into crisis and chaos. However in April, King Abdullah II announced that a number of individuals, including former Crown Prince Hamzah had been arrested on suspicion of plotting a coup against the Crown and government. Intercepts of phone conversations appeared to show Hamzah’s staff seeking pledges of allegiance from various tribal leaders and military officers. This was the first time in Abdullah’s twenty-two year reign that there had been a serious threat to his rule. The former Crown Prince was imprisoned in the Royal Family’s compound, before it was announced that Hamzah had re-pledged his loyalty to the king . So, what does this mean for Jordan’s future? This new opposition has exposed significant faults within the country’s governance, with its population experiencing a third wave of the COVID-19 Pandemic and the economy in serious peril. There have also been rumours that foreign governments, including Jordan’s allies, were involved in the failed conspiracy. So, can the Royal Family maintain its position over the country and international backing or are there further crises to come?

It is important to understand the key position that Jordan holds within the Middle East policy of the US and its western allies. The US maintains a military presence in the country at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base, which has been used extensively in the bombing campaigns against the former so-called Islamic State. The Jordanian Crown also holds the position of the custodian of the Muslim and Christian Holy Sites of Jerusalem and so along with its accommodation of large numbers of refugees, plays an important role in the Israeli-Palestine conflict. Moreover, the country , as of 2019, hosts the third highest population of Syrian refugees. Historically, the support offered to Jordan by the US and the West has invested in the personage of the Royal Family, who have since the independence of Transjordan in 1946 effectuated a pro-western foreign policy. During the attempted coup, US support for Jordan was reaffirmed in a telephone call between President Biden and the King. But it is worth noting that this support was given once the coup was over, not in the midst of the crisis. US support for the Jordanian Crown is not infinite and is based on the monarchy’s continual ability to provide stable leadership over the kingdom, capable of adaptation and reform.

One of the great strengths of the Jordanian regime has been its ability to adapt to demands for liberalisation. It is why the monarchy came out of the Arab Spring of 2011 largely unscathed. The use of a parliamentary model, albeit with a powerful monarchical head of state, has allowed Jordan to liberalise where necessary, without descending into the civil wars or counter-revolutions that other parts of the region have experienced. To this end, Jordan has been a good choice for a US ally, as it allows them to promote a reformist agenda, that could spread to the rest of the region. But despite this obvious strength, years of regional turmoil have taken their toll on the Jordanian people and Crown. Since before independence was granted, the supremacy of the Hashemite family had been based on two aspects: the support of foreign powers and the consent and fealty of tribal factions within the country. As long as the country and its parliamentary system prospers, the monarchy can be confident of this support. But recent years have exposed underlining flaws in the Jordanian economy and political system. It’s worth noting that the leader of the failed coup, the former Crown Prince Hamzah, has been a vocal critic of government policy, particularly over the issues of corruption and social policy. Jordan is not a resource rich country and often relies on foreign tourism and investment to sustain its economy, but the huge cost of supporting its refugee population and the current pandemic have taken their toll. In 2013 alone, the housing and supporting its refugee population cost the Jordanian government more than 620 million dollars. All this has robbed the country of vital revenues from tourism and as of this time last year, unemployment stood at a staggering 23%. Even before the pandemic took hold, Jordanian unemployment was still very high. The bleak economic picture has also led to a significant increase in negative attitudes within Jordan towards the refugee population. The combination of the refugee crisis, an already weak economy and the current pandemic has resulted in a situation in which at least 1 million Jordanians live below the poverty line, out of a population of 10 million. But this domestic fragility has been further exacerbated with the failed coup and increased tensions in recent years with Israel over small areas of disputed territory, thus presenting a risk that the monarchy’s international position may become as precarious as its domestic one.

It is easy to offer to support to someone who has just claimed a victory. The Biden Administration can offer such friendship to the Hashemite Monarchy as it will cost them little in political capital at present. But what of those crises to come? King Abdullah may have been able to keep his government and family together through sheer will on this occasion, but that there is no guarantee this will continue. For years now, Jordan has been a convenient ally for the West, as governments may use its military bases and provide it with assistance, without most of the moral questions that come attached with other Middle Eastern states. While the rumours of foreign backing of the coup may prove to be false, if true they would suggest that the strong diplomatic position that Jordan has enjoyed within the region may not be as strong as it once was. The Hashemite Monarchy, for better or worse plays an important role in the Middle East, as a fairly neutral neighbour of Israel and with a relative independence that allows it to mediate in regional disputes. But as the country declines further, this role could be over and uncertainty about the future could become even greater.

Has Myanmar’s military overplayed its hand?

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An example of military propaganda. The Tatmadaw has long portrayed itself as the sole protector of Myanmar’s interests. Photo Credit: Immu, Licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

On 27th March, Myanmar’s powerful military (commonly known as the Tatmadaw), killed over 100 civilians protesting its 1st February overthrow of Aung San Suu Kyi’s democratically elected government. The Tatmadaw has reacted forcefully against demonstrators since the start of the protests, and this was not the first time it had killed civilians. However, the crackdown was unprecedented in its brutality. Despite the bloodshed, protestors defied the military by returning to the streets the very next day, and over a month later the protests show no sign of fading away.

The foundations of the chaos in Burma run deep. During colonial rule, the British governed the minority dominated periphery regions as self-governing frontier areas, separate from Burma proper. This divide and rule strategy saw ethnic minorities heavily recruited into the colonial army while the Bamar majority was excluded. The legacy of ethnic division was compounded by the founding of the modern Burmese state, which was largely built around the Bamar dominated army of the Burmese nationalists. The Rohingya crisis of 2015, which saw Suu Kyi, the symbol of Myanmar’s democracy, taking a nationalist line in defence of the Tatmadaw’s campaign of ethnic cleansing, emphasises just how deep ethnic divisions lie in Myanmar. Successive military regimes have exploited this ethnic dimension to remain in power, casting themselves as the defenders of the Bamar majority and promoting ethnic nationalism. Following decades of military rule, the military generals came to see themselves as the only ones who knew what was good for the country. However, the question remains, what prompted the Tatmadaw to seize power this time, and given the widespread public opposition to the coup, has it overplayed its hand?

Why did Myanmar’s military believe a coup was necessary?

The military has denied it carried out a coup and has instead claimed that it acted in defence of democracy, citing fraud and discrepancies in the 2020 general election, although the extent to which it genuinely believes this is debateable. Consequently, there are other theories as to why the Tatmadaw seized power. Its support for the democratic transition has always been contingent upon its ability to retain a high degree of influence in the country’s political system, Myanmar’s constitution reserves 25% of seats in parliament for the military and has a threshold of 75% for any constitutional changes. However, the landslide 2020 election result for Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy was seen as providing a mandate for constitutional reform and increased the pressure on the military not to stand in the way. It is no coincidence that the coup occurred the day the new parliament was due to be sworn in. It has also been suggested that powerful military chief General Min Aung Hlaing was acting to protect his personal interests. The General was due to retire in 2021 and, faced with the potential threat of international prosecution for genocide against the Rohingya, may well have acted to extend his immunity.

Why has the coup faced such resistance?

Myanmar has changed since being put on the path back to civilian rule. Reform has been slow, but Myanmar’s large young population has experienced greater personal freedoms and better access to education, information, and the rest of the world. After experiencing these freedoms, this new generation has little desire to live under the restrictive military rule of previous decades. This attitude can be seen in the prominence of the three-finger salute in images of the protests. The symbolic gesture has been widely used by young activists across South East Asia as a sign of defiance against authoritarianism. Believing it can reimpose military rule as if nothing has changed represents a significant gamble by the Tatmadaw. It is an even greater gamble to do so having just removed a popular democratic government. Aung San Suu Kyi holds a revered status in Myanmar, and further endeared herself to the people by risking her international reputation to defend Myanmar (and by extension the Tatmadaw) against accusations of genocide at the International Court of Justice. This despite her previous long imprisonment at their hands. Suu Kyi’s landslide election victory not only demonstrated her and the NLD’s enduring popularity amongst the people, but also highlighted Myanmar’s growing rejection of the Tatmadaw. The military’s proxy party won only 33 of 476 seats. Even those activists who turned away from the NLD as a result of their inaction over the Rohingya crisis have proven willing to stand alongside them in opposition to the coup.

What does this mean for Myanmar?

In the short term, the Tatmadaw is under increasing pressure from both inside and out. The regime’s initial support from Russia and China, who blocked condemnation of the coup at the UN, has waned as the crackdown has grown increasingly bloody. On 10th March both countries backed a unanimous statement from the UN Security Council denouncing the Tatmadaw’s violent response to protests. ASEAN, the regional group of Myanmar’s neighbours, is divided over the issue. However, Malaysia and Indonesia have been heavily critical, and the group has pressed Min Aung Hlaing to commit to an end to the violence. With the regime increasingly isolated internationally, Western powers have been ratcheting up the pressure. In the days before the recent crackdown, the US and UK imposed economic sanctions on Myanmar’s two vast military conglomerates. These sanctions will hurt, but it is domestically where the military faces a greater reckoning. The coup and the brutal crackdown that followed has tarnished the Tatmadaw’s image. If anger towards the military continues to rise then a growing number of people in Myanmar may begin to aspire to a future without it. Nevertheless, the Tatmadaw is unlikely to change course. For all the pressure it faces, the military has shown itself ready to use force to put down protests, and likely knows that China, although displeased, will not go as far as to abandon it internationally. Therefore, there is a good chance the military can ride out the protests and succeed in its initial objectives. Min Aung Hlaing could delay his retirement and the Tatmadaw avoid the prospect of major constitutional reform which curtails its power.

However, the generals do not appear to have considered the long-term consequences of their actions. For one, by gambling on a coup to improve its position the military has thrown away a political situation which remained immensely favourable to it, and once it reaches its self-imposed deadline for new elections in 2022, it is difficult to envisage a scenario in which it benefits. If it holds a free election, it will almost certainly lose, and face an NLD or unity government which will be empowered and unlikely to compromise following the events of the coup. On the other hand, if it attempts to retain power, it will erode what little respect and legitimacy it has left.

More significantly, by choosing to overthrow Suu Kyi’s popular and increasingly nationalistic government, the Tatmadaw has set itself at odds with its core constituency, Myanmar’s Bamar majority. For an institution which derives a large degree of legitimacy from its role as the protector of the Bamar ethnicity, the brutal suppression of the predominantly Bamar protestors makes such a mantra ring increasingly hollow. The chaos of the protests and widespread disaffection with the military unleashed by the coup has also emboldened and reenergised the country’s various ethnic militias, several of whom have stepped up their offensives, with increasing success. This is not the only way in which the Tatmadaw’s grip on power has been weakened by the effects of the coup. The military takeover and accompanying crackdown have revealed to many Bamar the true extent of the Tatmadaw’s brutality, which has had the effect of facilitating a growing understanding of the plight faced by Myanmar’s minorities. The consequence has been tentative cooperation between the Bamar dominated anti-coup movement and several of the ethnic groups fighting the military. Any reconciliation, even if limited for now, will serve to diminish the Tatmadaw’s ability to divide and rule.

In short, the February coup may well have preserved the Tatmadaw’s immediate political interests, but it has also had several major consequences for the military’s long-term prospects of retaining its entrenched position within Myanmar’s state and society. In fact, by prioritising short-term gain over long-term strategy, the coup has significantly undermined several of the key aspects which make up the Tatmadaw’s claim to legitimacy, and as a result could end up costing it far more than it stood to lose in the first place.

Bankrolling Tyranny: The Tatmadaw’s Military-Run Business Empire

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by Farley Sweatman

Tatmadaw propaganda sign outside Mandalay Palace
Source: Adam Jones/CC Search

In the early morning of February 1, 2021, the Tatmadaw (the official name for the armed forces of Myanmar) staged a coup to reclaim its status as the sole source of political power in the country by arresting dozens of key civilian politicians, including de facto head of state Aung San Suu Kyi. The Tatmadaw declared a year-long state of emergency and transferred power to its commander-in-chief, Min Aung Hlaing, effectively ending the country’s decade-old experiment with democracy. Pro-democracy protests have sprung up across the country, prompting harsh countermeasures that have led to thousands of arrests and over 700 civilian deaths. In pursing this risky course, the Tatmadaw must now contend with international condemnation alongside growing protest movements that have paralysed the economy and endangered Chinese business interests.

The military takeover took place following a general election in which the Tatmadaw-backed opposition were soundly defeated by Aung San Suu Kyi’s ruling National League for Democracy (NLD) party. Claims of widespread voter fraud and a demand for a rerun of the election have been cited by the military as the official reasoning behind the coup. As negotiated under the 2008 constitution during Myanmar’s democratic transition, the military is guaranteed control over three government ministries (including defence) and 25 percent of seats in parliament (enough to theoretically block NLD lawmakers from amending the constitution to restrict the military’s power in the future). The NLD’s electoral victory would have solidified further civilian control over the political arena and thus threatened the military’s guaranteed hold.

There are, however, deeper motives behind the Tatmadaw’s actions. Its military leadership has long nurtured a form of “crony capitalism,” an economic system in which individuals and firms with political connections and influence are given unfair advantages. In Myanmar, senior generals and officers, operating through two giant military-run conglomerates – Myanmar Economic Corporation (MEC) and Myanmar Economic Holdings Limited (MEHL) – have been able to leverage the military’s coercive power to secure preferential access to key sectors of the economy, such as the lucrative jade mining industry. This vast network of commercial interests and holdings is essentially a mechanism to project military influence across the economy and reward members for their loyalty. In 2019, these military-connected entities came under threat when the NLD secured control over the general administrative department and began to introduce laws regulating the jade and gemstone industry. The elaborate patron-client system used by the regime to maintain power hinges upon the ability to accumulate and protect sources of wealth. This is the Tatmadaw’s bottom-line.

Stationary banditry

The military’s involvement in business first began after the socialist coup of 1962 as General Ne Win moved to nationalise the economy. During this time, Tatmadaw forces were required to be self-sufficient by developing interests in local enterprises to fund their operations. This practice was gradually phased out as the Tatmadaw abandoned the planned economy – only to be replaced with military-run, “crony capitalism” as the ruling junta began privatising state industries in the early 1990s.

MEHL was established by the Ministry of Defense in 1990. In its declared objectives, the stated aims are to provide economic welfare to military personnel, war veterans, and the general public. However, in reality, most of these profits are siphoned off to secure control and generate profit for the Tatmadaw’s senior leadership and allies. According to a leaked report by activist groups Justice for Burma and Amnesty International, MEHL paid its shareholders – all of whom are active or former Tatmadaw personnel – USD 16.6 billion worth of dividends between 1990 and 2011. Similar to its counterpart, MEC was established in 1997 with the declared objectives of contributing to Myanmar’s economy, reducing defence spending, and ensuring the welfare of military personnel. Today, both MEHL and MEC operate as holding companies with business in important sectors of the national economy, including mining, banking, manufacturing, and telecommunications, tourism, and transport.

Information on the revenues of MEHL and MEC is scarce and obscure. Neither company has made its financial reports available to the public, although both were exempt from income and commercial tax between 1998 and 2011. Much of MEHL and MEC revenue bypasses formal government channels, with billions of USD unaccounted for in the mining, forestry, and oil and gas industries. In the jade sector, for instance, investigations have determined that only a small fraction of jade is officially sold through the government-run Myanmar Gems Emporium – the rest, worth tens of billions of USD, being smuggled into China each year. Tatmadaw-owned resource companies and government revenue collecting agencies also publicly disagree on the tax figures paid by MEHL and MEC and their subsidiaries. This lack of transparency suggests that much of the revenue generated by military businesses in Myanmar is not captured by the State, and instead is funneled to subsidise military operations and enrich senior Tatmadaw officials.

Follow the money

The Tatmadaw’s commercial interests were present during the country’s democratic reforms. As Myanmar transitioned towards democracy and began to open its economy in 2011, the military junta quietly began the largest sell-off of state assets in the country’s history. The assets being sold included government buildings, port facilities, mines, factories, farmland, fuel import and distribution networks, and a large share in the national airline. The vast majority of these assets fell into the hands of senior generals and their families or businessmen allied with the Tatmadaw, cementing the position of a military-oligarchic ruling class in a supposedly progressive Myanmar.

Their arrangement with the newly installed civilian government proved ideal at first. Free rein over its business empire insulated the Tatmadaw from the accountability and oversight that would normally arise from civilian control over military defense budgets. At the same time, the Tatmadaw were content to let Aung San Suu Kyi and her civilian government, as the official head of state, take international criticism for the military’s human rights abuses against ethnic minorities like the Karen and Rohingya.

In 2019, this relationship changed when the NLD gained control of the general administrative department that oversees key bureaucratic appointments. The civilian government introduced a law intended to regulate the multi-billion-dollar gemstone and jade industry, which would directly affect hidden Chinese business interests and the country’s military-linked elite. They suspended the issuing of new or extension of existing gemstone licences pending a governance review designed to tackle corruption in the sector.

In doing so, the NLD crossed a line. Civilian oversight in the jade and gemstone sector would not, on its own, have broken the military’s web of commercial interests, but would have perhaps signalled a new wave of reforms targeting the military’s wealth. Forced to relinquish control over some of its lucrative businesses, the military would have struggled to maintain its system of patronage and retain its grip over the government administration. Thus, it comes as no surprise that the Tatmadaw decided to pursue the perilous course of staging a coup against a popular elected government. The NLD’s landslide victory over the opposition likely spooked many in upper echelons of the military, including Senior General Min Aung Hlaing. It appears that, to the Tatmadaw, it is worth putting its entire fortune on the line in order to protect its sources of wealth from potential reforms by the government.

Tatmadaw coup leader General Min Aung Hlaing (front) in 2015
Source: Prachatai/CC Search

A clash of ethics and money

Revenue generated by the MEHL and MEC serves to strengthen the Tatmadaw’s autonomy from elected civilian oversight, while providing financial support that sustains Tatmadaw operations. Weakening the Tatmadaw’s grip on Myanmar’s economy has so far entailed the following approach typically employed by Western governments: economic isolation by way of sanctions against Tatmadaw entities and individuals. However, this strategy proves challenging given the expansive Chinese and Russian business interests in the country. As the Tatmadaw’s two largest arms suppliers, China and Russia have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo in Myanmar and have consequently rebuffed efforts to condemn the Tatmadaw by other members on the UN Security Council.

A new approach is needed, one that espouses disengagement from Tatmadaw associated companies. Firms in Japan, Singapore, South Korea, and other countries still maintain commercial partnerships with MEHL and MEC. These links need to be targeted and severed by their respective governments through expanded sanctions. Moreover, Western governments must promote economic ties and engagement with non-Tatmadaw companies and businesses in order to strengthen the non-Tatmadaw sector of the economy.

As the current crisis deepens in Myanmar, uncertainties remain. Effective policy against the Tatmadaw may be difficult to implement in the short term so long as martial law continues across the country. If the military does indeed pull back and release the civilian government, this may embolden ethnic rebel groups on the periphery to rise up, thereby threatening the territorial integrity of the country and its status as a union.

Understanding the 1965 Indonesian Coup

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By George Loh

Image credit: Kawan Kawan Media

The 12th DMZ International Documentary Film Festival screened Director Fanny Chotimah’s debut film, “You and I”. It features the story of two elderly women, Kaminah and Ksdalini who have grown old since their ordeals following their jail term in 1965 (The film later won the Asian Perspective Award in the same Festival). The decision to feature a documentary outlining the effects of the 1965-1966 period, according to Fanny, was to educate the audience on the continued significance of this period to Indonesian history. Until Fanny’s expose on this issue, this controversial piece of history had been arguably blindsided amongst Indonesian media sources, despite the horrific death tolls and the curious rise of President Suharto, whose role throughout the period will be examined.

Context

Kaminah and Ksdalini were the victims of a failed coup, also termed the “September 30 movement”, which occurred after leftist leaders and Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) youth members abducted and killed 6 out of 7 Indonesian generals en route to Halim Air Base. The junior officers argued that they did so to forestall a military coup planned for 5th October, but upon carrying out the killings, they proceeded to seize power in Jakarta in the name of a Revolutionary Council. The movement was very poorly planned, and was quickly stopped, according to official accounts of the story, by General Soeharto who assumed command of the military. Under Soeharto’s control, the soldiers attacked Halim Air Base, where the movement leaders were based. Meanwhile, President Sukarno moved from Halim to Bogor Palace. Soeharto’s swift response sent the coup leaders to flight early on 2nd October, and the coup attempt was over in less than two days. This led to a pogrom (mass riots targeted towards an ethnic/religious group) against the PKI, where mass roundups of PKI members and sympathisers took place. The two women featured in the film are falsely accused of their involvement with the Communists, and the documentary recounts how the sequence of events set in stone the overthrow of the Sukarno regime and the eventual installation of Soeharto into power. This ushered in the famed “New Order” which lasted for decades. More importantly, the subsequent purge of the PKI between 1965-1966 resulted in the deaths of approximately more than 500,000 people (with many more unreported killings).

The coup took place during a precarious time in Indonesian politics. By 1965, the only significant powers at the centre of Indonesian politics were the President, the PKI and the military. Under Sukarno’s “Guided Democracy,” presidential authority was supreme, but his ailing health meant increasing tussles for power between these three forces. Furthermore, President Sukarno’s increasingly anti-American foreign policy rhetoric, and warm ties with China had also led to American concerns that Indonesia may become a communist state. According to a memo released on 29 September 1965 (one day prior to the coup), the CIA had received intelligence that Indonesia was looking to attain nuclear weapons from China, a significant Communist threat. This accentuated the CIA’s involvement with the September 30 movement, given that they were already involved in previous regional rebellions around Indonesia in 1958.

Lingering controversies

Today, the motivations behind the 1965 coup remain a mystery, with several different popular interpretations of why the coup came about. The first version, the official version maintained by the Government and taught in Indonesian history textbooks, is that the coup was used by the PKI as an institution to seize state power. Declassified CIA documents have shown that the US Embassy supplied the army with a list of thousands of PKI cadres for targeting following the attack, which made convenient the narrative that the PKI as an institution was responsible, much like their involvement in Madiun in 1949. The second, proposed by the likes of Anderson and McVey, argued that it was an internal army push by junior officers who were disgruntled with the corruption and mismanagement by top military officials (Anderson and McVey, 2009). The third version, according to Crouch, was that the coup was the work of different discontented military officials but that the PKI played a key supporting role (A movement where PKI, Sukarno and Soeharto became entangled.) More recently, the fourth version, according to W.F. Wertheim was that Soeharto and other anti-communist army officials organised the movement through double agents in order to provide a pretext for attacking the PKI and overthrowing Sukarno (Wertheim, 1966).

As the differing accounts show, there are obvious loopholes in the way the coup materialised. The leftist soldiers and PKI youth members had not kidnapped Soeharto, despite his prominence in the military leadership. Soeharto was also exceptionally quick with his counter-measures and assumption of Army demand. It was these curious loopholes that led Kammen & McGregor to argue that September 30th “was a complex process that lacked a simple schema or linear development.” (Kammen and McGregor, 2012)

Wertheim, meanwhile, argued Soeharto was likely to be in charge of the coup. He had significant implications with the coup leaders, being a friend of both movement’s leaders, Lieutenant Colonel Untung and Colonel Latief. Wertheim highlights that Soeharto was not targeted despite being a key commander of troops in Jakarta and a potential threat to any mutiny or coup attempt. The movement’s troops did not blockade the Army Strategic Reserve Command’s (KOSTRAD’s) headquarters, although it was not far from their position in front of the palace. Emotionally, Soeharto had also reacted with “uncanny efficiency in extremely confusing circumstances.” While most military officials were unsure of what to do, Soeharto seemed to know exactly how to defeat the movement. Finally, the identity of Sjam, who Soeharto claimed was a confidante of PKI leader Aidit, was also suspicious. Wertheim believes he was a double agent, but it remains to be seen if he was really Aidit’s subordinate, or in charge of the movement to forestall the military coup.

However, even this narrative is difficult to believe. Werthiem’s conjecture makes Soeharto out to be a figure of superhuman genius and foresight. Besides, a plan that involved the removal of top generals would significantly weaken the KOSTRAD, and there is no indication amongst the archival material available that Soeharto had fallen out of favour with his comrades. His goal of crushing the PKI could have been carried out in a more straightforward manner, such as having Untung declare they were working for the PKI. After the coup, the movement leaders did not demand Sukarno appoint Soeharto as Yani’s replacement. While CIA involvement did make it easier for Soeharto to coordinate the process that ultimately resulted in his overthrow of Sukarno, and later the communist killings, the forced confessions of some conspirators cloud narratives that they were not acting on Soeharto’s behalf.

Despite the different accounts available, it is clear that Soeharto was aware of the internal conflict between the PKI and the Army, and that the CIA had supported him in the PKI pogrom that came after. However, the true intentions of the movement leaders remain contested, and continue to cast doubt over the validity of these different accounts put forth. What we also know is that a communist Indonesia, given the state of the Indonesian economy then, as well as deep schisms between it and the majority Muslim groups in the country, was never likely. However, not only did this movement become a pretext for the mutual suspicion and indiscriminate killings of hundreds of thousands of people, it also affected Indonesian life profoundly, with old wounds that have not healed despite the passage of time.

 

George is a Masters’s student at the Department of Methodology at The London School of Economics (LSE). He received his double bachelors in Political Science and International Relations from The Australian National University, before furthering his studies at the LSE. His interests include examining the phenomenon of democratic backsliding across Southeast Asian states, and the study of the political systems of Southeast Asian states from a comparative perspective. Prior to the commencement of his graduate studies, George held roles in various research capacities, notably an internship stint at Control Risks’ Global Risks Analysis (GRA) team as well as AKE International’s, covering the broader Asia Pacific region.

Feature — Putsch-ed Out of Power: After Sudan’s Coup d’Etat Set the Board, Where will the Pieces Move?

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By Stephen Jones

7 May 2019

Part 1, with Analysis as of 13 April 2019

Omar al-Bashir during a 2011 visit to Juba (Al Jazeera English)

Following months of protests demanding the resignation of long-time Sudanese dictator Omar al-Bashir, he was removed from power by a military coup on Thursday, 11 April 2019. The coup, led by former allies of the President, is far from a complete regime change and Sudan is by no means on a certain and steady road to democratic governance. Complicated further by territorial disputes with Egypt, an unstable peace agreement with South Sudan which may yet collapse into fresh civil war, and the legacy of ethnic cleansing and genocide in Darfur, the country has a difficult course to chart if the democratic vision of tens of thousands of protestors is to be realised. Amidst the ever-changing aftermath of the coup, this article will attempt the fool’s errand of predicting how the situation may develop in the medium- to long-term with regards to Sudan’s main players: former-President al-Bashir, the coup leaders, and the civilian protestors.

Who Mourns For al-Bashir?

So far, it seems, no-one. al-Bashir’s closest allies took part in the coup against him, led by the multi-tasking Defence Minister and Vice-President Ibn Auf, previously al-Bashir’s presumed successor. Even the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), the paramilitary force formerly loyal to the President has issued statements apologising for its role in the regime and pledging itself to “the protection of the Sudanese people”. As it is highly unlikely that any military or paramilitary faction will begin a civil war to return al-Bashir to power, his time as President is without a doubt over.

If no-one will champion al-Bashir against the coup, what lies in store for the former dictator? Indicted for war crimes and crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Court (ICC) since 2009 for the ethnic cleansing and genocide that he oversaw in the western region of Darfur during 2003 and 2004, many civil rights activists around the world had hoped he would be extradited to face justice in the Netherlands. However, the coup leaders have made it clear that they do not wish to extradite him. This is likely because the coup leaders themselves are implicated in the same crimes through their roles in senior military leadership at the time, such as Ibn Auf’s position as head of Military Intelligence during the oppressive campaign. To set a precedent of holding those responsible to account would leave the coup leaders vulnerable to prosecution themselves. This reluctance to see justice administered through internationally recognised institutions and processes does not paint an encouraging picture for those hoping to see Sudan transition to a law and norm-abiding democratic nation.

Instead, al-Bashir faces two possible futures. For the same reasons as above, it is likely Sudan’s new leaders will refuse to prosecute him domestically, and instead exile him to a regional ally or neighbour such as Saudi Arabia or Egypt. It is a realistic possibility that al-Bashir struck a deal with military leaders, not calling on his paramilitary supporters to resist the coup in return for avoiding prosecution and retaining a comfortable life in exile. This would again avoid setting a precedent of accountability for the crimes against humanity committed fifteen years ago. Alternatively, it is also likely that coup leaders will use al-Bashir as a scapegoat, prosecuting him in an unfair trial with a forgone conclusion, likely ending with his execution in an attempt to gain favour with the anti-Bashir protestors. Either way, it is highly unlikely that the former President will receive a free and fair trial; not a good start for those hoping that strong, independent judicial institutions would flourish to form the backbone of a new democracy.

You Say You Want A Revolution? Keep Waiting, says the Army.

Ever since soldiers stepped in to protect protestors from Government-aligned militias on 8 April, a military coup seemed inevitable. Announcing the coup on state TV on 11 April, Defence Minister and putsch leader Ibn Auf declared a three-month state of emergency and a two-year transitional period before any democratic formation of civilian government could be held. A concern for many Sudanese protestors, who continue to sit-in at army headquarters, is that the coup will end up as a mere rebranding rather than a revolution, with one dictator simply replaced by another.

The initial indications, however, are reasonably promising for the protestors demanding democratic, civilian government. Ibn Auf, the coup leader and former close ally of al-Bashir, stepped down on Friday, 12 April after less than twenty-four hours in charge of the country, declaring veteran soldier General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan his successor. Similarly, another close ally of al-Bashir and leader of the coup, head of Sudan’s intelligence service the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS), Salih Ghosh resigned on Saturday, 13 April. Having orchestrated violent crackdowns on protestors since December, Ghosh was deeply unpopular with protestors despite his recent role in removing al-Bashir. In most military coups, the coup leaders declare themselves the new heads of government, usually after a brief power struggle between themselves. However, in Sudan we have seen former allies of the President first oust him, then — apparently voluntarily, although under large pressure from protestors — step down. It is unclear whether the resignations were driven by personal values, internal power politics, or fear of what angry protestors would do were they not placated. So far, no actor appears desperate to cling to power. While this is encouraging, protest movements should not drop their vigilance until their demands for democracy are enshrined in stable state institutions.

With a smaller public profile, little involvement in the Darfur genocide, and few direct links with al-Bashir, Sudan’s subsequently appointed leader al-Burhan was a less controversial figure than Ibn Auf; the military likely hoped his appointment would calm protestors’ demands for civilian governance, but the gambit did not worked and the sit-ins continued. A relatively unknown character, he had the support of the paramilitary RSF after fighting alongside them in Yemen against Houthi rebels, and it is likely that this support was a primary reason for his appointment over other candidates. Should the RSF yield significant influence over al-Burhan, many in Darfur will rightly become nervous, as the RSF is a direct descendant of the Janjaweed militias that committed the bulk of atrocities in 2003 and 2004.

Overall, following the coup, Sudan’s new leaders have attempted to placate protestors with resignations and promises of democracy after a two-year transition, rather than resorting to oppressive measures. While encouraging, there is a realistic possibility that military leaders are simply playing for time, waiting for international interest and attention to fade before reneging on promises of democracy and returning to violent oppression of protestors. The international community, particularly democratic nations and liberal bodies such as the United Nations (UN), must continue advocating for democratic reform. Coup leaders must be prevented from using this two-year transitional period as a chance to consolidate their personal power.

At Present, The Revolution Must Remain Televised

Protestors continue to sit-in at army headquarters in Khartoum demanding democratic civilian government. To get even this far since December, ordinary civilians, mobilised and organised by the Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA), have endured brutal oppressive measures from NISS forces and government-aligned militia groups. As discussed above, that oppression has largely been put on hold for now, although isolated incidents of protestors killed by stray bullets or attacked by NISS forces continue to be reported. It is highly unlikely that the protestors will end their calls for democracy until a civilian government has been formed; therefore, if Sudan’s new leader al-Burhan decides to hold onto power, he will need another way of dispersing these protestors. al-Burhan reportedly already enjoys the support of the RSF, Sudan’s largest paramilitary group, and he will likely have the loyalty of the military due to his rank of Lieutenant General and his reputation as a professional soldier. With the resignation of NISS head Ghosh, al-Burhan is now likely able to appoint a loyalist to lead the intelligence service. With all branches of Sudan’s security apparatus loyal to him, al-Burhan will easily be able to oppress and disperse the unarmed protestors should he so wish.

The most effective protection the protestors currently have from such oppression is the eyes of the world. With global media fixated on the developing situation, international bodies racing to help support a transition to democracy, and writers tripping over their editors to publish op-eds on each new event, the SPA-led protests have a rapt global audience. With the world watching, it is unlikely that al-Burhan will resort to oppressive measures for fear of international isolation, and even UN intervention as in Darfur. However, should news cycles move on, and international advocates for democracy be placated by vague promises of a transitional period, the protestors will lose their watchful shield. International actors must therefore not turn away from Sudan until a peaceful transition to democratic governance has been realised.

Protestors One, Dictators Nil; But It Is Only Half-Time

Overall, al-Bashir is gone for good, although he is unlikely to face justice for his oppressive policies in government and crimes against humanity in Darfur. The generals who replaced him have, so far, appeared to resist the temptations of seizing personal power and continuing al-Bashir’s brutal measures. The restraint, however, is likely due more to the intense pressure generated by the SPA-led protest movements that tirelessly continue to demand civilian governance. Should international attention waver or the protests falter, there is a realistic possibility this revolution will stumble in the second-half of this dramatic Sudanese tale, succumbing to yet another medalled dictator in uniform.

Stephen Jones is a Master’s student at Kings’ War Studies Department, following an MA in Psychology from the University of Edinburgh. His main research interests involve the psychological causes of inter-group conflict and violence, as well as the cognitive processes that allow disinformation campaigns and terror recruitment strategies to succeed. Before joining King’s, he worked for the UN in New York, observing the positive effects of diplomacy and international collaboration in conflicts large and small around the world.