Instead of hearing from Suharto himself, the court listened to the head of his eight-man legal team read to the judges a long medical report, rife with references to the “frontal lobe,” “hypertension,” “stroke,” “loss of memory and mental processes.” The report had been submitted by a team of 23 physicians–all hired by Suharto. Their conclusion, according to Suharto’s lawyer, Felix Tampubolon, was that the former president “was too ill to face the court” as a result of two strokes he had suffered last year. Hearing that, Chief Judge Lalu Mariyun suspended the trial for two weeks. Mariyun plans to review the medical report and decide whether to accept it. If he does, there may never be a trial. More likely, the judge will appoint an independent medical team to issue an opinion on Suharto’s health, which could force the former dictator into the dock.
For the wobbly government of current Indonesian President Abdurrahman Wahid, getting Suharto into court–and convicted–has become vital. For one thing, investigators believe that Suharto and his cronies systematically pilfered a huge amount of money from government coffers and state-run companies; estimates run as high as $15 billion. But the case is not just about recovering stolen money. Bringing Suharto to justice has huge symbolic importance for Indonesia. Wahid, who is widely known as Gus Dur, has made the case the symbol of his drive against endemic corruption. His public pledge: no one is above the law. Failure to follow through, though, could endanger the country’s fledgling democracy, kill investor confidence in Indonesia’s anemic economy–and spell the political end for Wahid, who has already squandered most of his political capital during his tumultuous 11 months as president. “If Suharto slips away from justice,” says one Western diplomat in Jakarta, “then Gus Dur is in deep, deep trouble.”
Wahid has already been humbled politically. Last month the People’s Consultative Assembly, or MPR, Indonesia’s supreme legislative body, came close to starting impeachment proceedings to throw him out of office. The lawmakers are tired of the nearly blind Muslim cleric’s erratic behavior and sloppy managerial habits. Wahid is outspoken (he once called the Parliament a “kindergarten”), he cannot read the bills he’s signing and he often doesn’t know who is present during meetings at which key affairs of state are being discussed. His amateurish style may be at the root of two financial scandals that have rocked the administration: the theft of $4 million from Bulog, the national food-distribution agency, allegedly by Wahid’s former masseur and business partner, and the whereabouts of a purported $2 million “gift” to Wahid by the sultan of Brunei, which is about to become the subject of an investigation. Wahid has denied any involvement. He survived a parliamentary revolt last month by promising to restructure his large and quarrelsome cabinet–and to turn over the running of cabinet meetings and the day-to-day implementation of policy to his popular vice president, Megawati Sukarnoputri.
But those moves won’t keep the wolves at bay for long. Putting Suharto on trial is what everybody in the country wants–students, the middle class and the vast majority of the country’s legislators. But his family and close associates seem determined to keep him out of court. That’s crucial: under Indonesian law, if he is never physically present in court to hear the charges, he cannot be tried and convicted. That, say prosecutors, is why Suharto’s camp has adopted the “Pinochet defense”–that he is too sick to stand trial. The dictator’s defense team claims that Suharto’s brain was so addled by the strokes that he can neither understand the charges against him, nor physically respond to the accusations. “He cannot comprehend,” says Tampubolon. “He can’t put his own thoughts into words.”
Marzuki and investigators think differently. They say that Suharto has adequately understood questions during the several interrogation sessions they had with him at his central Jakarta villa, where he is under house arrest. They admit that Suharto seems befuddled at times, and that his speech is slurred. But, they assert, that does not make him medically unfit to stand trial. “He understands fully if you ask questions in a simplified form,” Marzuki told NEWSWEEK. “He can respond. He just needs more time to express himself.” Marzuki does not believe there has been a fundamental change in his condition since he was examined by an independent medical team and declared fit to stand trial one month ago. If the judge rules in two weeks that Suharto must be re-examined by an independent team of physicians, and if he passes that examination and then still refuses to appear in court, Marzuki says that “forcible measures” might be used to bring the former strongman to court.
The stakes are that high. Prosecutors believe Suharto clearly violated the law when, over many years, according to them, he withdrew more than $550 million from his seven tax-free charitable foundations. They charge that, rather than using the money to build mosques, schools or hospitals, he channeled it into businesses run by his children and cronies. That was clearly against Indonesian law, Marzuki says: “All money collected through government facilities is by definition state money and cannot be used for private purposes.” According to prosecutors, Suharto issued decrees ordering state banks, private corporations and even employee pension funds to pay a percentage of their income into his foundations. The money was then illegally siphoned off to fund various companies–airlines, banks, paper and plywood factories among them–many of which are now in financial trouble. According to Marzuki, only 20 percent of the money in the foundations went to charitable causes. The other 80 percent was funneled to Suharto Inc.
Last week’s courtroom no-show left many Indonesians angry–convinced that nothing much has changed in a country where outside influence and bribery have long tainted the justice system. “If Suharto doesn’t appear in court,” said legislator A. M. Fatwa on leaving the courtroom, “Marzuki and the president will have to answer.” Militant students are raising the specter of street violence. “If Suharto doesn’t appear,” said Bambang Dwi, a 23-year-old technology student, “the people will drag him to court.”
Wahid is not only under pressure to convict Suharto. Many members of Parliament want him to strengthen his shaky administration. Legislators are peeved because they don’t think Wahid has lived up to what they thought he’d promised them last month: to appoint a respected coalition cabinet–and to transfer some significant administrative powers to Megawati, the childhood friend whom he calls his “sister.” The new cabinet is so stacked with Wahid’s people that the local press has dubbed it “All the President’s Men.” There is nothing multiparty about it. “Many politicians feel they’ve been had,” says one Western diplomat in Jakarta. But analysts say that the legislators may be guilty of reading too much into Wahid’s carefully phrased commitments about his cabinet. “Gus Dur is a masterful politician,” says Wimar Witoelar, an Indonesian political analyst. “He turned back Parliament’s political attack with humor and humility and some clever tricks.”
Then there is the Megawati mystery. Despite being the country’s most popular politician, she still acts like a political novice. A 53-year-old former housewife and daughter of Indonesia’s first president, Sukarno, Megawati didn’t move forcefully to take advantage of the political opening presented by Wahid’s apparent concessions to Parliament. According to sources close to Wahid, she never even asked for policymaking responsibilities, nor did she push on the president a list of potential cabinet ministers that her staff had drawn up–despite the fact that her Indonesian Democratic Party-Struggle is the largest in the Parliament. A new presidential decree tightly circumscribes Megawati’s new role. She will continue chairing cabinet meetings, she will “execute the daily technical tasks” of government and she’ll sign presidential decrees. But she cannot appoint officials nor formulate policy, which remain the president’s prerogative. In effect, she has become Wahid’s chief of staff.
Wahid can’t afford to alienate Megawati. The president’s political support is modest, and large blocks of the Parliament still mumble about impeaching him. Legislators struck another blow last week when they voted to investigate the so-called Buloggate and Bruneigate scandals. While Wahid hasn’t said where the sultan’s $2 million was deposited, no one believes he profited from it. “Gus Dur may be clumsy, but he is not a crook,” says Witoelar. Indonesians don’t say the same about Suharto–and Wahid’s problems will only increase if he can’t get the former president into court.
