14
All about the Poor: An alternative Explanation of the Violence in Poso
Arianto Sangadji
In December 1998, a violent conflict thought by some to be “ethno-religious” in nature erupted in the kabupaten (regency or district) of Poso in Central Sulawesi province, an eastern part of the archipelago of Indonesia.1 Unlike most other regencies in the country, Muslims and Christians each formed about half of Poso’s population of 400,000 prior to the violence. The two groups fought along religious lines. Murder and the burning of property (houses, mosques, churches, public buildings, and vehicles) were common. As a result, around 1,000 people were killed and hundreds were wounded during the first three years of hostilities (1998–2001). Some 79,000 Christians and Muslims were displaced from their villages and around 8,000 houses burned.
In 2001, a government-led reconciliation process began, at which point the violence took on new forms. Until 2006, it took the form of sporadic deadly attacks on mostly Christian targets. Kidnappings, shootings, and bombings were common during this time. Since 2007, Poso has been engulfed in deadly tensions between the Indonesian security forces and Islamic militia groups; both sides have suffered losses. The militias are officially reported to have links with global or regional terrorist groups such as Jemaah Islamiyah, al Qaeda, and the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS).
Why has Poso suffered violence? This chapter lays the groundwork for an alternative to mainstream interpretations that highlight ethno-religious affiliation as the major feature of the conflict. I argue that in order to gain a better understanding of the violence, we need a class analysis. For this reason I will look at the violence in the wider context of the historical development of capitalism.
The Context: Capitalism, its Crisis, and the Fall of the Suharto Regime
Like other outbreaks of communal violence across Indonesia in the past decade, the violence in Poso should be situated alongside the historical development of capitalism in the country. This is important because the vast majority of studies have ignored the link between violence and this modern system of exploitation.
First, I would argue that a major characteristic of capitalism’s growth in the archipelago is its unevenness. Historically speaking, this unevenness means that some regions have more highly developed capitalist social relations than others. Java, for instance, was well developed under Dutch colonialism compared to the outer Indonesian islands. This unevenness can also be considered from the view of the comparative development of economic sectors. For example, the vast majority of the population remains engaged in agriculture, with manufacturing and other modern service sectors lagging behind. This implies that the bulk of the population is best characterized as part of a reserve army of labour, since the agricultural sector is mostly associated with a subsistence economy and low productivity. The “reserve army of labour” simply means people who are working outside capitalist social relations but who are subordinated to the capitalist system. The active working population is limited. However, under the law of uneven and combined development, despite the fact that there is unevenness, capitalism determines the shape of any given society as a whole, regardless of the uneven development within it.
A second context is the development of the economy under the Suharto regime (1966–98). After the deaths of between 500,000 and 1 million alleged members and sympathizers of the Indonesian Communist Party in the 1960s, Western support for Suharto accelerated, generating the country’s state-led capitalist development. During his thirty-year tenure, Suharto was successful in promoting capitalist development measured by national economic growth. However, this system created victims. Its rapid growth relied on ruthless exploitation of low-wage workers, involuntary displacement of poor farmers, and forced eviction of the urban poor. For the sake of this capitalist development, the regime employed an effective control over entire segments of society, especially workers and farmers. The class politics of the pre-Suharto period was effectively undermined. This was the necessary condition that underpinned the accumulation of capital during the Suharto dictatorship.
Since the system is prone to crisis, the depression in East and Southeast Asia at the end of the 1990s damaged the Suharto regime’s legitimacy. The value of the Indonesian rupiah against the US dollar sunk to 18,000 to 1 in January 1998 (compared to 2,400 to 1 six months before). The country’s GDP dropped by 13.6 per cent in 1998, compared to its average 5 per cent annual growth prior to the crisis. The government statistical bureau reported that the poverty rate skyrocketed from 11.3 per cent in 1996 to 39.1 per cent in 1998. International Labour Office projections pegged the poverty rate in December 1999 at 66.3 per cent.2 This economic downfall caused a deterioration of the living conditions of the working class as a whole. The World Bank estimates that 20 million people were unemployed in 1998. The capitalist business cycle thus created a reservoir of people whose labour was idle.
Third, the worsening economic crisis in this, the most populous country in the region, led to political crisis. The authoritarian Suharto regime, one of the West’s major Asian allies during the Cold War, was under pressure. Student protesters spread across the country demanding political reform. Unaware that the internal contradictions of the system were the underlying root of the crisis, various segments of the urban poor, such as the unemployed, the informal working class, and the lumpenproletariat, spontaneously turned to anti-Chinese rioting, which served as an outlet for resentment in multiple cities, including Jakarta. Suharto then stepped down in May 1998, leaving the country with economic, political, and social vulnerabilities. The so-called ethno-religious violence that followed in regions like Ambon, Kalimantan, and Poso,3 is best understood from this viewpoint.
The Class Features of Violence in Poso
Capitalism’s presence in the country can be traced back to Dutch colonialism—a system to which Central Sulawesi (including Poso) was marginal. The Dutch arrived in Poso and asserted territorial claims by the early decades of the nineteenth century as a part of the “pacification” of the outer Indonesian islands. After successful wars against the locals, the Dutch replaced traditional slash-and-burn techniques with permanent cultivation, as happened on the shore of Lake Poso. Although the Dutch were also interested in resources, there was no capital investment during colonialism. Since then, the population in Poso has been predominantly engaged in an agriculture-based economy. However, this society was not homogenous at all, and as Albert Schrauwers notes, there was differentiation among peasants. One of the historical achievements of the Dutch was the conversion of upland people from paganism to Christianity.4
After Indonesian independence, Poso remained one of the less-developed regions of the country. The vast majority of the population remains engaged in subsistence agricultural production on small holdings. In the countryside the old structure of tribal relations of production has merely been replaced by new forms. It includes the presence of independent agricultural producers with small-scale plots who rely on the labour of family members. There are also relatively rich peasants who either employ daily wage workers or contract their land out to landless sharecroppers. Since forest products like rattan and resin have been commoditized, this also constitutes class-based relations of production between forest-product collectors and intermediary merchants. For poor peasants who live around forest areas, the collection of forest products is an important way of generating cash. Since most of the poor are in debt, merchants can generate significant profits after paying peasants low prices. In addition, although incoming migration is not a new phenomenon, the growing of export-based commodities—cocoa, for example—during the last two decades has enhanced inter-province migration to Poso. This has led to the significant transfer of land in the countryside, where new migrants have been able to buy land from the local population.5 In short, it can be concluded that rural society around Poso clearly has a class character. What needs to be stressed is that the existing class relations in the countryside are characterized by peasant differentiation: not all rural people are equal.
It also needs to be stressed that the development of a modern capitalist sector in the region is associated with resource-based industries. Logging companies operated around Poso from the 1960s onward, before the government banned the export of unprocessed logs in the 1980s and ‘90s. Since the early 1990s, palm oil plantations have started to operate. These include PT Tamaco Graha Krida (TGK), owned by Indonesian magnate Liem Sioe Liong, and the state-owned company PT PN XIV. This industry has recently expanded to include the subsidiaries of the major palm oil giants such as Sinar Mas and Astra Agro Lestari. These companies generate significant profit by employing cheap labour, mostly from casual employees working in precarious conditions. This kind of cheap labour is semi-proletarian in character since the workers also work in their own fields during breaks. In addition, since 2010, the nickel mining industry has significantly expanded, especially in the countryside throughout Morowali Regency and North Morowali Regency. It is true that a modern working class is forming in this sector. However, since this industry requires labour-saving technology, only a handful of the rural population has become mineworkers. Furthermore, because many skilled mineworkers come from other provinces, the vast majority of local people remain as an under-employed labour reserve.
In the town of Poso, since large-scale manufacturing has never been present, the vast majority of the working population comprises a non-industrial working class. The most interesting and the most permanent jobs belong to civil servants, while the remaining jobs are in small-scale commercial and service enterprises. The informal sector dominates and, as a result, there is a sizeable informal proletariat. In short, the active working population is tiny, while most people form the reserve army of labour. In the latter I include the informal working class, the unemployed, and preman (petty criminals). Of course, the reserve army of labour as a whole also includes traditional or subsistence peasants (i.e., small-holder producers and seasonal wage earners). The sheer size of this working population underpins the specific way in which capitalism developed in Poso and in Indonesia as a whole.
The Series of Violent Conflicts
The nearly two decades of violence in Poso can be described on three levels: clashes among people, sporadic attacks by militias, and clashes between the militias and security forces.
First, clashes among people erupted in December 1998 following the economic crisis and the collapse of the Suharto dictatorship. After escalating in the following years, especially up to mid-2000, a local conflict led to the killing of around 246 people.6 “Revenge” for these killings later became the principal justification for the presence of Muslim militias in Poso. Despite widespread battles among local people, the major factor that contributed to the death toll was the Indonesian security forces: the Indonesian National Army (TNI) and the Indonesian National Police (PNI) each tolerated the war; indeed strong evidence indicates that they did nothing to prevent widespread mass mobilization. A massacre in Sintuvulemba village, in which hundreds of peasants were killed, provides a striking example. Instead of preventing the violence, members of the security forces tolerated the clashes and supported parties to conflict.7 As a result, the scale of violence escalated, both in terms of the geographical distribution of violent attacks and the number of victims. Following the Deklarasi Malino (Malino Accord), the government-led ceasefire established in 2001, and the subsequent deployment of huge numbers of security forces (both police and army), direct clashes among the people drastically declined.
On the face of it this was a success. Yet the violence soon entered a second phase in which sporadic but deadly attacks by well-organized militias became common. In spite of their sporadic nature, however, these attacks showed a marked increase of violence in terms of methods used and targets chosen. Among the militias, it was Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) that was officially believed to have been clandestinely involved in bloody assaults. These targeted attacks took the form of mysterious shootings or killings, bombings, and bus attacks. One major strike orchestrated by this group was the bombing of a traditional market in Tentena District on 28 May 2005 that killed twenty-two people, including a three-year old boy, and wounded more than fifty others. The assaults also included the beheading of three Christian schoolgirls in October 2005 in Poso. Attacks were not confined to Poso, though, but were extended to Palu, Central Sulawesi’s capital city. By the end of December 2005, a bombing at a traditional pork market in Palu killed seven people and wounded several others. Later, Indonesian authorities charged and sentenced to jail some local members of the militias for these organized assaults. The most common interpretation, derived from official police investigations, is that the perpetrators were members of terrorist networks, especially JI.8
It is important to note that the scale of violence in Poso has significantly changed, with the growing presence of what have been characterized, in the context of the US government’s “war on terror,” as terrorist organizations. Poso has frequently been described as a base for transnational terrorist groups like JI and al Qaeda. Some claimed that these organizations set up military training camps not just for locals but also for people from other parts of Indonesia. Several key figures in the organizations are believed to have entered Poso in 2000–2005. Many who have been involved in terrorist attacks in Indonesia since the early years of the century spent time in Poso either as military trainers or trainees. This tells us that the violence in Poso cannot be isolated from national and global debates on terrorism.
A third phase has seen intensified clashes between the Indonesian security forces and the militias, mostly since 2006. One of the major gunfights between Indonesian police and militia groups took place in January 2007 in the heart of the town of Poso and resulted in the defeat of a group that was officially believed to have close ties to JI. Some members of the group were killed and others arrested, while one police officer was killed. Recently, a new group called Mujahidin Indonesia Timur (Eastern Indonesia Mujahedeen, or MIT) has arrived in the area. Santoso, or Abu Wardah, is listed as the leader of this militia. The MIT is also represented as an Islamic State–linked terrorist cell believed to have engaged in various attacks since 2011.9 In May 2011, this group was responsible for shooting dead two police officers and injuring another officer in front of the Bank Central Asia office in Palu. On 20 December 2012, the group shot and killed four soldiers of the Indonesian police’s Mobile Brigade (Brimob) and injured three others in the village of Kalora. This armed group is also reportedly responsible for the brutal killing of two low-ranking police officers in Tamanjeka village in October 2012. In mid-2013, in a six-minute propaganda video posted to YouTube, Santoso called on Indonesian Muslims to wage war against the police’s anti-terror unit (Densus 88). In March and April 2015, the Indonesian military mobilized thousands of troops for a two-week incursion into the jungles of Poso in an attempt to surround Santoso’s base. After evacuating hundreds of poor peasant families, troops employing missile launchers, fighter jets, and attack helicopters struck targets in the jungle and announced that MIT was no longer present in the area. On 3 April 2015, one of the militia’s most prominent leaders, Daeng Koro, was killed during a forty-five minute battle with Densus 88 in Parigi Regency, close to Poso. The anti-terror unit also found an M-16 rifle owned by this militia.10 However, Santoso’s group immediately returned to the jungle following the military’s withdrawal. On 19 August 2015, a Brimob officer was killed in a battle with the militia. In another battle in a mountainous area called Auma, one of Santoso’s members was also killed.11 In early February 2016, a gunfight between the police and MIT in Sangginora village left three dead, including one Brimob officer and two jihadists.12 Since the group has employed guerilla tactics in the jungles of Poso, the Indonesian authorities have repeatedly deployed combat troops against Santoso. Indonesian authorities ordered renewed troop deployments in 2016, mobilizing twenty-five hundred police and army personnel, including the Special Forces Command (Kopassus), under the name Operation Tinombala.13
All about the Poor
Whatever the causes and effects of the violence since 2000, the dominant view holds that it was an ethno-religious contest. Most, if not all, religious organizations use this language, as do pundits and media personalities. According to this view the fighters on the street are being divided along religious and ethnic lines. Most importantly, the Indonesian government and security forces believe the violence was the direct result of inter-religious conflict. Therefore attempts to resolve the violence have relied on ethno-religious approaches. The 2001 Malino Accord was a striking example of the view that violence can only be ended through a peace agreement between religious and ethnic parties. In short, there is a widely accepted consensus that the violence is a matter of identity.
This explanation is not sufficient. Acts of violence cannot be understood as mere voluntary human action. Rather, they should be viewed within the prism of material conditions. As Marx rightly asserts, “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past.”14 In this regard, we should not underestimate the class features of local society that dialectically determine human actions in violence. In this respect, when we take the example of those who were the victims and perpetrators, the class nature of the violence is immediately evident. Despite their ethno-religious divisions, to some extent the people who fought each other in the early phase of the violence came from the same class background. They were the unemployed, poor peasants, precarious seasonal workers, the informal proletariat, and the lumpenproletariat. They were all relative-surplus populations displaced under the objective conditions of capitalism’s uneven development.
The members of this reserve army of labour had one thing in common: poverty. Because of the economic crisis some lost their jobs and, under current conditions, are constrained to enter certain jobs. What they do not have in common is a class consciousness that could potentially enable them to overcome the unequal conditions created by capitalism. Only from this view is it possible to properly analyze the principal factors that have generated violence in Poso.
In this light, I will elaborate by looking at the subjects who either took part in violent attacks or who became victims. Most people who died by the middle of 2000 were traditional peasants. Around two hundred peasants died in an event related to the massacre at the Javanese transmigration village of Sintivulemba, approximately nine kilometres from Poso. The people accused of masterminding the killing were Fabianus Tibo, Dominggus Da Silva, and Marinus Riwu, all characterized as poor. In spite of pressure from human rights organizations, Indonesian authorities executed the trio in 2006.15 The three Catholics were basically semi-proletarians who owned small plots and were engaged as seasonal workers in rubber estates. They came from Nusa Tenggara Timur, one of the poorest provinces in the archipelago. Tibo arrived in the Regency of Banggai, Central Sulawesi, in 1973, where he worked for a logging company for some years. In 1978 he moved to Beteleme village in Poso (now Morowali) and became a seasonal rubber tapper for a state-owned company, PTPN XIV, in Beteleme. Dominggus arrived in 1991 and lived in Beteleme. He was an ex-worker (a driver for heavy equipment) for (probably a subcontractor of) PT Inco, a subsidiary of the Canadian nickel mining company Inco (itself now owned by Brazilian conglomerate Vale). He then worked for PTPN XIV until the outbreak of violent conflict. Lastly, Marinus arrived in Poso through the transmigration program by which the Suharto regime sought to relocate surplus populations to other areas with a need for labour. He lived in Molores village and worked as a seasonal worker in PTPN XIV as well. Considering their backgrounds, it is inaccurate to blame these poor men for being the masterminds of the violence. They were victimized.
The same logic can be applied to the Muslim side. What followed from the outbreak of the Sintuvulemba massacre was the increased attention of people outside Poso. Later, this killing became the principal pretext for the presence of Muslim militias in Poso. The groups included local and national organizations such as Laskar Jundullah and Laskar Jihad. They also included the supranational group JI, which has operated in Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, and Thailand. Moreover, JI is also identified as a “regional” partner of al Qaeda.16 All these groups came to Poso and recruited local young people. Unlike other groups that seemed to operate on a clandestine basis, Laskar Jihad operated in the open. It recruited young people mostly from the informal proletariat, the unemployed, and from poor families. Some members of this group who came to Poso in the name of defending local Muslims, whom I interviewed in 2002, were unemployed. Some lost their jobs in the manufacturing industry during the crisis and then joined the jihadists, leaving their families behind in Java. Other groups mostly recruited their members from local people. The locals were basically from the reserve army of labour or poor families whose already difficult existence was exacerbated by the ongoing violence. Losing jobs, property, and even family members pushed these people to join jihadist organizations.
While the class feature of the violence is ignored by most studies, the present analysis suggests the need for a special attention to class. Like the trio discussed above, the perpetrators of violence after the Malino Accord were mostly local young men who were initially unemployed, and some who lost family members during the violence. Basri, for example, who was characterized as the commander of Tanah Runtuh in the fight against the police in January 2007, came from a poor family. He stated that he lost around twenty members of his extended family during the clashes in 2000. He did not complete secondary school and, prior to 1998, he might be best characterized as a member of the lumpenproletariat since he was involved in petty criminal activity in the town. He has covered his body in tattoos and since getting married in 2000 he has become a farmer, working in his parents’ small plot. He and his friends were recruited into local militia groups after the outbreak of violence. They were well trained in using machine guns and in making homemade bombs, learning from jihadist trainers who were mostly from outside Poso.
Santoso, the MIT leader who subsequently proclaimed himself commander of the Islamic State group’s forces in Indonesia, had a similar background. His parents arrived in the village of Lembontonara, an upland region of Poso (now a part of the Regency of North Morowali), in 1967 under the Indonesian government’s transmigration program. Finding only wasteland unfit for cultivation, his parents then moved to Mayakeli village, near Lake Poso, where the family found more fertile agricultural soil. In order to attend secondary school, his parents sent their young boy to live with an acquaintance in Poso. Between 1995 and 1998, Santoso was a street vendor. Since the outbreak of violence in Poso the family has moved to Tambarana village in the coastal area of Poso.17 The former police chief of Central Sulawesi (2006–8), Badrodin Haiti, who is currently the chief of the Indonesian National Police, stated that at that time Santoso was not involved in a terrorist network, adding that Santoso had a kiosk in Tambarana.18 These stories show that the subjects are, in short, marginalized in various ways under the existing system of exclusion that is the capitalist order.
One should not isolate the subjects who have taken part in the violence in Poso from the global context of violence related to capitalism. Some jihadist trainers in Poso had experience during the Soviet-Afghan War, where they joined the US-backed Mujahedeen. For instance, Natsir Abas, a Malaysian citizen, was a veteran of the Afghan Mujahedeen who spent some years around 2000 in Poso, training locals and setting up the JI cell known as Mantiqi III. In addition, it should be stressed that the US invasion of Iraq immediately generated a growing negative sentiment in Poso’s Muslim community. They characterized the invasion as a war against Islam and argued that it was therefore necessary to take action against the West. Although this was a misrepresentation, the global face of class tension contributed to violence in remote regions like Poso.
Violence in Poso and Reconciliation
The notion of ethno-religious clashes has dominated the mainstream narrative of violence in Poso. Rather than ignoring this ethno-religious investigation, the approach employed here seeks to tie the subject of ethno-religious violence to the objective conditions of capitalism and their role in the violence in Poso. It is important to consider the more than seventeen years of violence in Poso under the prism of systemic social exclusion deriving from the existing capitalist order in Indonesia. This lens permits a better understanding of the violence, which is best viewed as a war of the poor. The failure to understand the underlying face of capitalist contradiction brings the poor to act against one another. They do not fight against the capitalist system of exclusion, but against the victims of the system. They strike against themselves.
Given the failure to understand this context, efforts to end the violence that has occurred since the implementation of the Malino Accord have failed. The state-led reconciliation process has ignored the key issues described above, leading to ceaseless violence. The Malino initiative itself reflected an elite-based strategy, which is also widely criticized among the population of the region. Many complaints come from the grass roots. This is illustrated by a local joke: “the failure of the Malino Accord was due to the approach based on toko-toko (shops or retailers) without inviting kios-kios (small kiosks) to take part.” The words toko-toko sound similar to tokoh-tokoh (leaders) and refer to the elites in a community, while kios-kios means all grassroots members of the community. The joke indicates that the reconciliation initiative excluded the voices of the “street fighters” or the poor from the process. The fact that Poso has been balkanized based on the division of Muslim and Christian settlements reflects the difficulties in bridging these two communities.
The fact that the escalation of violence is in a state of qualitative flux, with more recent violence associated with the war between militias and security forces, leaves us to question what kind of reconciliation should be endorsed. Since Indonesia has no experience at the national level in exercising a model of reconciliation that deals fairly with state violence (e.g., the 1965 pogrom) it is also necessary to speak of the state as one party rather than a mediator for the other parties in reconciliation.
Notes
1 See Lorraine V. Aragon, “Communal Violence in Poso, Central Sulawesi: Where People Eat Fish and Fish Eat People,” Indonesia 72 (2001): 45–79, and Aragon, “Elite Competition in Central Sulawesi,” in Renegotiating Boundaries: Local Politics in Post-Suharto Indonesia, ed. Henk Schulte Nordholt and Gerry van Klinken (Leiden, NL: KITLV, 2007), 39–89. By “Poso violence,” I mean the violence that took place in the original regency of Poso, which has since been divided into four regencies: Poso, Morowali (created in 1999), Tojo Una-Una (2013), and North Morowali (2013).
2 Hal Hill, The Indonesian Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000).
3 See Gerry Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars (London: Routledge Contemporary Southeast Asia Series, 2009).
4 Albert Schrauwers, “ ‘Let’s Party’: State Intervention, Discursive Traditionalism and the Labour Process of Highland Rice Cultivators in Central Sulawesi, Indonesia,” Journal of Peasant Studies 25, no. 3 (1998): 112–30.
5 Tania Murray Li, “Local Histories, Global Markets: Cocoa and Class in Upland Sulawesi,” Development and Change 33, no. 3 (2002): 415–37.
6 Dave McRae, A Few Poorly Organized Men: Interreligious Violence in Poso, Indonesia (Leiden, NL: Brill, 2013), 6.
7 Arianto Sangaji, “The Security Forces and Regional Violence in Poso,” in Renegotiating Boundaries: Local Politics in Post-Suharto Indonesia, ed. Henk Schulte Nordholt and Gerry van Klinken (Leiden, KL: KITLV, 2007), 255–80.
8 International Crisis Group, Jihadism in Indonesia: Poso on the Edge (Jakarta/Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2007) and Indonesia: Jemaah Islamiyah’s Current Status (Jakarta/Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2007).
9 Devina Heriyanto, “Q&A: Introducing Santoso,” Jakarta Post, 8 April 2016, http://www.thejakartapost.com/academia/2016/04/08/qa-introducing-santoso.html (accessed 28 June 2017); Marguerite Afra Sapiie, “The Hunting Party,” Jakarta Post, 1 April 2016, http://www.thejakartapost.com/longform/2016/04/01/the-hunting-party.html (accessed 28 June 2017).
10 Ruslan Sangadji, “Wife confirms dead terrorist is Daeng Koro,” Jakarta Post, 5 April 2015, http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2015/04/05/wife-confirms-dead-terrorist-daeng-koro.html (accessed 10 March 2016).
11 Ruslan Sangadji and Ina Parlina, “Police Officer Killed in Shootout with Terrorists,” Jakarta Post, 21 August 2015.
12 Ruslan Sangadji, “Two suspected terrorists, police officer killed in Poso shootout,” Jakarta Post, 9 February 2016, http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2016/02/09/two-suspected-terrorists-police-officer-killed-poso-shootout.html (accessed 10 March 2016).
13 Ruslan Sangadji, “High hopes for police generals to capture most-wanted Santoso,” the Jakarta Post, 18 March 2016, http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2016/03/18/high-hopes-police-generals-capture-most-wanted-santoso.html (accessed 30 March 2016).
14 Karl Marx. The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, 1852, https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1852/18th-brumaire/ch01.htm (accessed 28 June 2017).
15 McRae, A Few Poorly Organized Men.
16 International Crisis Group, Jemaah Islamiyah in South East Asia: Damaged but Still Dangerous (Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2003).
17 Nur Soima Ulfa, “Memburu Santoso di Gunung Biru,” Beritagar (Jakarta), 14 February 2016, https://beritagar.id/artikel/laporan-khas/memburu-santoso-di-gunung-biru (accessed 10 March 2016).
18 Juwita Trisna Rahayu, “Badrodin akui pernah dekat dengan teroris Santoso,” Antaranews, 9 March 2014, http://www.antaranews.com/berita/423032/badrodin-akui-pernah-dekat-dengan-teroris-santoso (accessed 10 March 2016).