This article discusses the questions of representativeness and legitimacy within the context of the Majelis Rakyat Papua (Papuan People’s Assembly) as an integral part of the Indonesian government’s asymmetrical-decentralization scheme to reduce separatist tendencies in Papua. We find that the MRP has generally failed in its representation and its claim to legitimacy.

1. HARYANTO, CORNELIS LAY, AND BAMBANG PURWOKO
Asymmetrical Decentralization, Representation,
and Legitimacy in Indonesia
A Case Study of the Majelis Rakyat Papua
ABSTRACT
This article discusses the questions of representativeness and legitimacy within the
context of the Majelis Rakyat Papua (Papuan People’s Assembly) as an integral part
of the Indonesian government’s asymmetrical-decentralization scheme to reduce
separatist tendencies in Papua. We find that the MRP has generally failed in its
representation and its claim to legitimacy.
KEYWORDS: asymmetrical decentralization, representation, legitimacy, Majelis
Rakyat Papua, Papuan People’s Assembly, Indonesia
INTRODUCTION
This article focuses on the broad question of how states try to mitigate sepa-
ratist tendencies through asymmetrical decentralization. It focuses on the Ma-
jelis Rakyat Papua (Papuan People’s Assembly, MRP) as a case study. This
research examines the representativeness and legitimacy of the MRP, an insti-
tution intended to represent adat interests before other representative institu-
tions in Papua, Indonesia.1
These are both formal (the Provincial Parliaments
HARYANTO is Head of the Master’s Program in the Department of Politics and Government,
Universitas Gadjah Mada, Yogyakarta, Indonesia. CORNELIS LAY is Head of the Research Centre for
Politics and Government (PolGov), Department of Politics and Government, Universitas Gadjah
Mada. BAMBANG PURWOKO is Chairman of the Universitas Gadjah Mada Working Group on
Papua. The authors wish to thank the Faculty of Social and Political Sciences; the Power, Welfare
and Democracy Project, Department of Politics and Government; Professor Richard Chauvel,
Wawan Mas’udi, and Josef Riwu Kaho for their valuable comments; the anonymous reviewers for
their rigorous feedback; and Umi Lestari for her assistance. Email: <haryantojpp@ugm.ac.id>,
<conny@ugm.ac.id>, <bbpurwoko@ugm.ac.id>.
1. In The Revival of Tradition in Indonesian Politics: The Deployment of Adat from Colonialism to
Indigenism (New York: Routledge, 2007), Jimmie S. Davidson and David Henley described adat as
partly a specific body of locally inherited tradition, linking history, land, and law, and partly a political
Asian Survey, Vol. 58, Number 2, pp. 365–386. ISSN 0004-4687, electronic ISSN 1533-838X. © 2018 by
The Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Please direct all requests for permission
to photocopy or reproduce article content through the University of California Press’s Reprints and
Permissions web page, http://www.ucpress.edu/journals.php?p¼reprints. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1525/
AS.2018.58.2.365.
365

2. of Papua and West Papua, or municipality/regency [kabupaten]-level parlia-
ments) and informal (churches, adat groups, and women’s groups).
We use the MRP as a case study of representativeness and legitimacy for
several reasons. First, it is the only provincial-level second chamber in In-
donesia, as well as the only provincial-level institution that represents indig-
enous communities to the exclusion of other Indonesians, a fact that has
received little attention from scholars studying Indonesia’s decentralization
and regional autonomy. Second, the MRP was designed to bridge represen-
tativeness and legitimacy, two crucial issues not only in the relations between
the national government and the people of Papua, but also for contemporary
politics in Indonesia and many other countries.2
It is particularly important
to examine these issues in a Papuan context given that in part because of the
conflict, Papuan leaders have several competing sources of legitimacy.
Because of the exclusion of pro-independence groups from official represen-
tative institutions and the marginalization of churches and human rights
NGOs, elected Papuan politicians must compete for legitimacy in their own
communities. To date, studies of these two issues have been limited to the
specific and exclusive relations between parties and constituents, or between
representatives and represented, in electoral politics at the national level.3
This article is intended to expand discussion of these issues, thereby provid-
ing a perspective through which the power relations between central and
regional governments can be explained.4
-
ideology, more nebulous but with popular appeal, which identifies adat with authenticity, community,
order, and justice (19). Early colonial and anthropological sources translated adat as ‘‘custom,’’ ‘‘cus-
tomary rights,’’ ‘‘customary law of indigeneous people,’’ or ‘‘tradition.’’ See also Jelle Miedema and Ger
Reesink, One Head, Many Faces: New Perspectives on the Bird’s Head Peninsula of New Guinea (Leiden:
KITLV Press, 2004): 139. Recently it has been hijacked and its meaning narrowed down. It has been
used in naming local people’s organizations, such as the Discussion Forum of Papuan Adat (Lembaga
Musyawarah Adat Papua) and the Papua Adat Council (Dewan Adat Papua). As indicated in note 37,
adat has also has been used in naming the territory of Papuan tribes.
2. Olle To¨rnquist, Neil Webster, and Kristian Stokke (eds.), Rethinking Popular Representation
(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009); Adeline Koh and Yu-Mei Balasingamchow, Women and the
Politics of Representation in Southeast Asia (New York: Routledge, 2015); Michael Keating, ‘‘What’s
Wrong with Asymmetrical Government?’’ Regional & Federal Studies 8:1 (1998): 195–281.
3. Herbert Kitschelt, ‘‘Linkages between Citizen and Politician in Democratic Polities,’’ Com-
parative Political Studies 33:6–7 (2000): 845–79; Cornelis Lay, ‘‘Political Linkages between CSOs and
Parliament in Indonesia: A Case Study of Political Linkages in Drafting the Aceh Governance Law,’’
Asian Journal of Political Science 25:1 (2017): 130–50.
4. This article was completed as part of a research project conducted by the Department of Politics
and Government, Universitas Gadjah Mada, over a period of 10 years, reinforced by additional research
366 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

3. ASYMMETRICAL DECENTRALIZATION: AN OVERVIEW
The MRP is not unique, but is part of a broad practice of asymmetrical-
decentralization policies practiced in many states and variously termed asym-
metrical devolution, asymmetrical federalism, or asymmetrical intergovern-
mental arrangements. Asymmetrical decentralization is a form of political
regulation that emphasizes the asymmetrical distribution and setting of
power between two regions, or between a region and the national govern-
ment.5
Safran describes it as ‘‘ethnic institutional accommodations and
positive ethnopluralistic policies’’ used to ‘‘mitigate separatist tendencies,’’6
or, to borrow from Bakke, ‘‘to contain intrastate conflict.’’7
In principle, the various forms of asymmetrical power distribution and
setting are policy instruments used to respond to the fundamental challenges
faced by nations. One of the most prominent is the conflictual relations
between national (central) governments and local or regional ones. However,
there are both optimism and pessimism in scholars’ considerations of such
policies’ ability to resolve conflict between national governments and local
actors. The optimistic perspective holds that asymmetrical-decentralization
policies are used to maintain basic boundaries between a state’s political
units, that is, to reduce the threat of armed separatist or secessionist move-
ments. Such policies are widely promoted as democratic mechanisms for
‘‘peace preserving’’ and perceived as ‘‘a potential cure for internal conflict.’’8
Furthermore, both Saideman et al. and Brancati find a correlation between
the granting of regional autonomy and a lower intensity of violent conflict
over the short and medium term.9
This view understands asymmetrical
-
conducted between February and June 2017. The authors were involved in planning and conducting
research when debate on asymmetrical decentralization reached a fervor following the granting of
special autonomous status to Papua (2001), Aceh (2006), Jakarta (2007), and Yogyakarta (2012).
5. Joachim Wehner, ‘‘Asymmetrical Devolution,’’ Development Southern Africa 17:2 (2000),
249–62; Roger D. Congleton, Asymmetric Federalism and the Political Economy of Decentralization
(Virginia: George Mason University, January 5, 2006), http://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/
download?doi¼10.1.1.572.4861rep¼rep1type¼pdf.
6. William Safran, ‘‘Non-separatist Policies Regarding Ethnic Minorities: Positive Approaches
and Ambiguous Consequences,’’ International Political Science Review 15:1 (1994): 61–80.
7. Kristin M. Bakke, Decentralization and Intrastate Struggles: Chechnya, Punjab, Quebec (New
York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 4.
8. Nancy Bermeo, ‘‘A New Look at Federalism: The Import of Institutions,’’ Journal of
Democracy 13:2 (2002): 96–110.
9. Stephen M. Saideman, David J. Lanoe, Michael Campenni, and Samuel Stanton, ‘‘Democ-
ratization, Political Institution, and Ethnic Conflict: A Pooled Time Series Analysis from 1985–1998,’’
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 367

4. decentralization as a combination of the principles of ‘‘shared rule’’ and ‘‘self-
rule,’’ one which is expected to reduce tensions between ‘‘regional minority
groups seeking greater autonomy and the central government of the state,
which is unlikely to give up territory or power,’’ as mentioned by Bakke.10
Experiences in numerous states indicate that minority representation at
the sub-national level and the granting of special status to regions can reduce
the violence of groups demanding these regions’ independence, thus main-
taining national unity. As Safran states, ‘‘None of the ethnic institutional
accommodations and positive ethnopluralistic policies . . . have led of them-
selves to an escalation of ethnic mobilization culminating in separatism; on
the contrary, such accommodations and policies, if pursued in good faith,
have tended to make separatism unnecessary.’’11
This optimism has empirical roots in a number of cases. For example, since
1978 Spain has recognized ‘‘historical rights’’ and granted special autonomy to
several regions, particularly the Basque Country.12
Although recently Spain
has been faced with serious questions following the unilateral referendum in
Catalonia, this has not in itself eroded the confidence in asymmetrical decen-
tralization’s ability to manage conflict. Canada’s experience with Quebec and
its position within the Canadian Federation is another important example of
asymmetrical decentralization leading to stable relations between central and
provincial governments.13
Social policy reform since the 1995 referendum has
led to Quebec’s becoming central to efforts to promote more egalitarian and
progressive social policy. The Philippines, which has faced armed rebellion in
Mindanao since the 1960s, also decided to implement asymmetrical decen-
tralization to overcome conflict. This policy, to which Indonesia contributed
through the Davao Consensus (1996), promised special treatment of the
southern regions of the country, where most residents are Muslim. Although
-
Comparative Political Studies 35:1 (2002), 103–129; Dawn Brancati, ‘‘Decentralization: Fueling the Fire
or Dampening the Flames of Ethnic Conflict or Seccesionism,’’ International Organization 60:3
(2006): 651–85, http://www.dawnbrancati.com/Brancati_IO_Decentralization.pdf, accessed Sep-
tember 28, 2017.
10. Bakke, Decentralization and Intrastate Struggles, 8.
11. Safran, ‘‘Non-separatist Policies,’’ 63.
12. Thomas Benedikter, ‘‘The Working Autonomies in Europe: Territorial Autonomy as a Means
of Minority Protection and Conflict Solution in the European Experience: An Overview and
Schematic Comparison,’’ Gesellschaft fu¨r bedrohte Vo¨lker, June 19, 2006, http://www.gfbv.it/
3dossier/eu-min/autonomy.html; Jule Goikoetxea, ‘‘Nationalism and Democracy in the Basque
Country (1979–2012),’’ Ethnopolitics 12:3 (2013): 268–89.
13. Bakke, Decentralization and Intrastate Struggles, 184–239.
368 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

5. the Philippines continues to struggle with discord and volatility in its south-
ern regions, the implementation of asymmetrical decentralization, together
with a ceasefire, was nevertheless sufficient to prevent a more severe human-
itarian crisis.14
Asymmetrical decentralization is often intended as a positive policy
instrument for accommodating a region’s unique culture and history. In
general, such policies are intended predominantly to protect minorities and
manage conflict, as explored in a European context by Benedikter.15
S´apmi
(Lapland) and its position in Norway, Finland, Sweden, and Russia is
a classic example. Although it has seen no secessionist movements seeking
independence, S´apmi has received special treatment as a social and cultural
entity because of its unique culture and its wealth of natural resources.16
Asymmetrical decentralization can also be found in Finland and its treat-
ment of A˚land, a small group of islands between Finland and Sweden.
These islands and their population of almost 30,000 are entirely within
the Swedish cultural sphere.17
A˚land’s political interactions have also been
conducted in the shadow of Sweden. It is one of Europe’s main trading
ports, and three major shipping companies have their headquarters there.
Owing to these factors, A˚land has received special status within Finland,
which extends to its representation in the legislative institution (Lagtinget),
relations with the national parliament in Helsinki, and the influential
A˚ land Commission, which has continued to promote the interests of
A˚land residents.18
Meanwhile, the pessimistic view of asymmetrical decentralization holds
that such policies may ultimately be detrimental to interstate peace and
stability. Horowitz, Brancati, and Eaton have argued that such policies have
enabled minority groups to collectively mobilize their resources and
14. Nathan Gilbert Quimpo, ‘‘Mindanao: Nationalism, Jihadism and Frustrated Peace,’’ Journal
of Asian Security and International Affairs 3:1 (2016): 64–89; Miriam Coronel Ferrer, ‘‘To Share or
Divide Power? Minorities in Autonomies Region: The Case of the Autonomous Region in Muslim
Mindanao,’’ Ethnic and Racial Studies 35:12 (2012): 2097–2115.
15. Benedikter, ‘‘Working Autonomies.’’
16. Regnor Jernsletten, The Sami Movement in Norway: Ideology and Practice 1900–1940
(Tromsø: Universitet I Tromsø, 1998).
17. ‘‘A˚land Islands Population,’’ Population.city, http://population.city/finland/adm/aland-
islands/, accessed June 1, 2017.
18. Pertti Joenniemi, ‘‘The A˚land Islands: Neither Local nor Fully Sovereign,’’ Cooperation and
Conflict 49:1 (2014), 80–97.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 369

6. institutional networks.19
Eaton notes, for example, that in Colombia,
asymmetrical-decentralization policies have enabled armed and paramilitary
groups to use decentralized resources to destabilize the state, monopolize the
use of force, and create their own ‘‘parallel states.’’ As argued by Cornell,
‘‘When subnational groups obtain territorial autonomy, they gain many
attributes of a state, including executive and legislative institutions, borders
as well as symbols and sometimes flags. With all the attributes of sovereignty,
it is only a small step to ask for their own state.’’20
Thus, asymmetrical-
decentralization policies may serve as incubators for new states and the
collapse of old ones.21
Such a perspective is also evident among policymakers
in the Indonesian national government; we consider this crucial to under-
standing the failure of the MRP.
In Indonesia, asymmetrical decentralization is far from unknown, having
strong roots in the Indonesian constitution and in a spirit inherent in decen-
tralization practices since independence. Article 18 of Indonesia’s first consti-
tution, the Undang-Undang Dasar 1945, which outlines the relationship
between national and regional governments, states, ‘‘The State recognizes
and respects regional government units that are unique or special.’’ This was
reinforced in 2000 by the second constitutional amendment, which made the
above explication integral to the body of Articles 18 (a) and (b). The inclusion
of asymmetrical decentralization in the Indonesian constitution allowed its
use in accommodating and protecting the diverse political and governance
systems in Indonesian society,22
a rational choice for reducing tensions or
conflicts between different forms of governance, including the mature sulta-
nates and local kingdoms spread throughout the archipelago. During
the New Order regime (1966–98) under President Suharto, in the face of
centralization and standardization policies, this concept essentially disappeared
from practice. Nevertheless, the use of the highly centralistic Law No. 5 of 1974
19. Donald Horowitz, ‘‘Patterns of Ethnic Separatism,’’ Comparative Studies in Society and History
23:2 (1981), 165–95; Brancati, ‘‘Decentralization’’; Kent Eaton, ‘‘The Downside of Decentralization:
Armed Clientelism in Colombia,’’ Security Studies 14:4 (2006), 533–62.
20. Svante E. Cornell, ‘‘Autonomy as a Source of Conflict: Caucasian Conflict in Theoretical
Perspective,’’ World Politics 54:2 (2002): 245–76.
21. Ronald Grigor Suny, The Revenge of the Past: Nationalism, Revolution, and the Collapse of the
Soviet Union (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1993).
22. Cornelis Lay et al., ‘‘Keistimewaan Yogyakarta: Naskah Akademik dan Rancangan Undang-
Undang Keistimewaan’’ [Special autonomy of Yogyakarta: Academic paper and special autonomy
bill], in Monograph on Politics and Government 2:1 (Yogyakarta: PolGov, 2008).
370 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

7. regarding the Basics of Regional Governance as the legal foundation for decen-
tralization indicates that even the 32 years of New Order governance offered
legal space for the concept of asymmetrical decentralization.23
Empirically, Indonesia has implemented asymmetrical decentralization
since the early phases of its independence. This began with the granting of
special status to Yogyakarta, a sultanate in central Java, to honor its sultan’s
dedication to joining and protecting the nascent Indonesian republic. The
special status of Yogyakarta received legal recognition in Law No. 3 of 1950,
which was revised by Law No. 13 of 2012. After Yogyakarta, Aceh received
special status through Decree of the Prime Minister of Indonesia No. 1/Missi/
1959, which was revised by Law No. 44 of 1999 and Law No. 18 of 2001 and
ultimately replaced by Law No. 11 of 2006 after the signing of the Helsinki
Accord. Jakarta, owing to its status as the capital of Indonesia, received special
status through Law No. 29 of 2007 regarding the Governance of the Jakarta
Special Capital Region as the Capital of Indonesia. In the early phase of
reform following the fall of the authoritarian New Order in 1998, several
regions demanded or proposed ‘‘special’’ status, including seven archipelagic
provinces, Bali, and regions with extensive natural resources, including Riau
(2000) and East Kalimantan (2008).24
To date, none of these regions has
received special status, but their demands have been effective in forcing the
national government to accommodate provinces through specific policy
schemes. For instance, fiscal policy has been fundamentally transformed to
consider the nature of a region; in principle, this is a form of recognition of
asymmetrical decentralization. Indonesia’s archipelagic provinces have thus
enjoyed significant increases in funding.
23. Josef Riwu Kaho, Prospek Otonomi Daerah di Negara Republik Indonesia: Identifikasi Faktor-
Faktor yang Mempengaruhi Penyelenggaraan Otonomi Daerah [Prospect of regional autonomies
within the Republic of Indonesia: Identifying factors that influence regional autonomy im-
plementations] (Jakarta: Rajawali Press, 1988). Debate on the interpretation of Law No. 5 of 1974
surfaced in a series of discussions held in Yogyakarta by UGM’s master’s program in local politics and
regional autonomy in collaboration with USAID: Expert Meeting, June 23–24, 2008; first and
second CSO Forum Workshop (September 18–20, 2008, and October 23–25, 2008); and Workshop
for Formulating Policy Papers, April 20–21, 2009.
24. ‘‘Naskah Akademik dan RUU Otonomi Bali’’ [Special autonomy of Bali and academic
paper], Pemerintah Provinsi Bali, http://www.baliprov.go.id/index.php?action¼newstask¼
detailid¼265, accessed May 10, 2017; Heru Cahyono, ‘‘Rasionalitas Tuntutan Provinsi Kali-
mantan Timur untuk Otonomi Khusus’’ [The rationales of East Kalimantan Province’s demand for
special autonomy], Masyarakat Indonesia 39:1 (2013): 75–103, http://ejournal.lipi.go.id/index.php/
jmi/article/viewFile/313/184, accessed May 10, 2017.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 371

8. ESTABLISHMENT OF THE MRP
The MRP was established based on Law No. 21 of 2001 regarding Special
Autonomy for Papua Province, which came into effect January 1, 2002.
Article 5, paragraph (2) of Government Regulation No. 54 of 2004 empha-
sizes that the MRP was established ‘‘to implement special autonomy in Papua
Province.’’ It took three years before this institution was established formally
and effectively through government regulation. The lengthy process behind
its establishment cannot be separated from its psycho-political context,
including the mutual suspicion between national political authorities in Ja-
karta and elements of Papuan society. When first established, the MRP did
not reflect the political desires or thoughts of the Jakarta elites, particularly
their desire to quash the increasing secessionist demands and violence from
Papua. Instead, these elites viewed the institution as a potentially serious
threat to their political futures. Nor was the MRP fully accepted by the
indigenous people of Papua, including those with political power, who
viewed special autonomy as nothing but ‘‘another empty promise from
Jakarta’’ and thus continued to practice ‘‘dual loyalties’’ in their response.25
Special autonomy, including the MRP, further led to ambivalent attitudes
among the people of Papua, as identified by Kivima¨ki and Thorning.
Asymmetrical decentralization thus became a double-edged sword, one that
‘‘creates opportunities for violence, while at the same time reducing griev-
ances.’’26
As argued by Timmer, this had the potential to stimulate various
types of nationalism in Papua, particularly during the early phases of policy
implementation.27
Conversely, the policy led to trauma and phobia among
the elites in Jakarta.
From the beginning, the MRP was intended to provide cultural represen-
tation for indigenous Papuans, and specific authority to protect the rights of
indigenous Papuans based on their respect for adat and culture, as well as
25. Richard Chauvel and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti, ‘‘The Papua Conflict: Jakarta’s Perceptions and
Policies,’’ Policy Studies 5 (2004): 38, 60, East-West Center, Washington, DC, http://www.
eastwestcenter.org/publications/papua-conflict-jakarta%E2%80%99s-perceptions-and-policies,
accessed June 8, 2017.
26. Timo Kivima¨ki and Ruben Thorning, ‘‘Democratization and Regional Power Sharing in
Papua/Irian Jaya: Increased Opportunities and Decreased Motivation for Violence,’’ Asian Survey
42:4 (July/August 2002): 664.
27. Jaap Timmer, ‘‘Decentralisation and Elite Politics in Papua,’’ Discussion Paper 6 (2005), 2,
Australian National University, Canberra, https://openresearch-repository.anu.edu.au/handle/1885/
10137, accessed March 15, 2017.
372 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

9. women’s empowerment and harmony in religious life. This institution was
meant to be ‘‘an important element of special autonomy,’’28
or, as phrased by
Elvis Tabuni, head of the Second Commission of the Papuan Parliament,
‘‘the biological child of Papuan special autonomy . . . born as a direct impli-
cation of the Law on Special Autonomy.’’29
Although the MRP was intended
to represent indigenous adat interests, membership is also open to religious
and women’s groups. It has 42 members: 14 adat/culture representatives, 14
religious representatives (two from Islamic groups, four from Catholic
groups, and eight from Protestant groups), and 14 women’s group represen-
tatives. The total number of MRP members may not exceed three-quarters of
total provincial parliament membership.
As stipulated by Article 3, MRP membership is limited to indigenous
Papuans, defined as ‘‘persons of Melanesian racial heritage, consisting of
indigenous tribes in Papua and/or persons accepted and recognized as indig-
enous Papuans by Papuan adat communities.’’ Members serve a five-year
term and may be re-elected for a second five-year term. The limiting of
membership to indigenous persons is intended to increase the participation
of indigenous Papuans in economic and political policymaking and thus
protect their rights and improve their welfare. This policy is intended as
compensation for the government’s mismanagement and political ignorance
during the New Order, when indigenous Papuans and their aspirations were
not significantly accommodated in formal political institutions. Thus, indig-
enous and women’s groups were essentially locked in marginal positions.
Meanwhile, the decision to position adat, religious, and women’s groups as
sources of recruitment was based on the view that these three groups have
concrete power and have long functioned together within traditional Papuan
society. As underscored by Frans Maniagasi, ‘‘Throughout the New Order,
they served solely as firefighters in cases of conflict,’’ meaning that their role
was limited to sweeping conflicts under the rug, not solving them.30
28. Jaap Timmer, ‘‘Desentralisasi Salah Kaprah dan Politik Elite di Papua’’ [Ill-applied decen-
tralization and Papuan political elite in Indonesian local politics], in Gerry van Klinken and
Henk Schulte Nordholt (eds.), Politik Lokal di Indonesia (Jakarta: KITLV and Obor Foundation,
2014), 605.
29. Interview, Jayapura, June 6, 2017.
30. Interview with Frans Maniagasi, former spokesman of the Team for the Proposed Special
Autonomy Law for Papua, in Jakarta, June 20, 2017. It is not surprising that the first work visit
abroad after the establishment of the MRP was to New Zealand, in November 2006. ‘‘Papuan
People’s Assembly to Study Empowerment Programmes for New Zealand Maori,’’ Radio New
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 373

10. The idea of the MRP, as stated in an interview by Maniagasi, was inspired
by the presence and experiences of Maori cultural institutions in New
Zealand. The Maori community has received protection from the state owing
to its unique history and culture. It is underdeveloped compared to the white
population of New Zealand. The culture and history of the Maori, together
with the affirmative policies implemented by the New Zealand government,
have led to claims of similarities between the Papuan and Maori peoples, as
well as arguments justifying references to the Maori experience. The idea for
the MRP was first voiced in 1999 by Barnabas Suebu, at the time the Indo-
nesian ambassador to Mexico, and later successor to Solossa as governor of
Papua. During the preparation of the draft law, the Team for the Proposed
Special Autonomy Law for Papua was tasked by Governor Solossa with giving
concrete legal expression to the unique culture and history of Papua.31
This
was expected, among other things, to provide a special provincial-level insti-
tution (now known as the MRP), along with an affirmative policy to reduce
non-Papuans’ access to local bureaucracy, except for certain positions, for
which no indigenous Papuans meet the criteria.
THE PROBLEM OF REPRESENTATIVENESS AND LEGITIMACY
It has become apparent that the MRP has not assumed an important role in
representing the indigenous peoples of Papua. It has also failed to assert its
legitimacy in its contestations with other representative bodies, including the
provincial and regency/municipal parliaments, as well as churches and other
adat institutions. This is a manifestation of the general failure of the special
autonomy policy. Bertrand argues that this can be attributed to three
factors.32
First, special autonomy emerged not from negotiations but from
forced enactment by the central government. Second, the peoples of Papua
-
Zealand, November 1, 2006, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/165769/papuan-
people%27s-assembly-to-study-empowerment-programmes-for-new-zealand-maori.
31. This team was established by Solossa, the governor of Irian Jaya. Chair, Frans Wospakrik
(rector of Cendrawasih University); deputy chair, Manase Setya (director of the Otto and Geisler
School of Higher Economic Learning); secretaries, Agus Sumule and Muhammad Musaad (now
head of the Papuan Regional Development Agency); members, Barnabas Suebu, S. P. Morin and
Anthonius Rahael (both members of parliament), Agus Kafiar (former rector of Cendrawasih
University), and Frans Wanggai (rector of the University of West Papua).
32. Jacques Bertrand, ‘‘Autonomy and Stability: The Perils of Implementation and ‘Divide-and-
Rule’ Tactics in Papua, Indonesia,’’ Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 20:2 (2014), 174–99.
374 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

11. have become fragmented, and thus have failed to take advantage of the
opportunities provided by the policy. Third, the central government has
failed to ensure its credibility and leadership in its efforts to deter separatism.
Our research shows that institutions within the central government generally
view special autonomy (and thus the MRP) pessimistically. The MRP is
viewed as destined to become a historical footnote rather than an answer
to questions of representativeness and legitimacy or a solution to the troubled
relationships between Jakarta and (some parts of) Papuan society.
Our research has examined the situation in detail, reinforcing Bertrand’s
argument while simultaneously identifying a number of new variables that
explain the failure of the MRP. First, this institution was inspired by a similar
organization for the Maori in New Zealand. Its establishment being based
on limited information contributed to the volatility of the MRP’s position.
Studies indicate that, despite their lengthy struggle, the Maori still face
problems of underrepresentation; furthermore, the route, institutional
forms, and loci of representation used by the Maori differ fundamentally
from those of the MRP.33
The historical relationship between the Labor Party and the Maori-
representation movement led to the establishment in 1962 of the New Zea-
land Maori Council, a consultative institution intended to coordinate the
conveyance of input from the Maori to the government. It appears that this
council was the template followed by the Team for the Proposed Special
Autonomy Law for Papua: it is intended to guarantee the ‘‘reciprocal flow of
information’’ and the involvement of the Maori in policymaking.34
Unlike
33. The Maori’s long fight for representation in national, rather than local, policymaking can be
traced to the passing of the Maori Representation Act in 1867, which implemented a dual system of
representation in parliament. This law divided New Zealand into four constituencies and granted
Maori men the right to elect one representative from each constituency. This representation scheme
was temporary, lasting just five years before being extended in 1872 and 1876. In 1914, a law was
passed guaranteeing the Maori the right to vote and to be elected, which they first practiced in the
1919 election. Tirikatana, the first Maori to represent the Southern Maori, lost this election, but—
promoted by Ratana, a church-based movement that fought for Maori representation—ultimately
won a seat in 1932. In the 2014 elections, the Maori were able to win 7 of the 64 parliamentary seats, 6
of which were taken through the Labor Party.
34. W. K. Jackson and G. A. Wood, ‘‘The New Zealand Parliament and Maori Representation,’’
Historical Studies: Australia and New Zealand 11:43 (1964): 383–96; Augi Fleras, ‘‘From Social Control
towards Political Self Determination? Maori Seats and the Politics of Separate Maori Representation
in New Zealand,’’ Canadian Journal of Political Science 18:3 (1985): 551–76. The council is not the only
institution acting in the name of the Maori community. Multiple institutions have been established
to promote Maori interests, including the Maori Women’s Welfare League, the National Urban
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 375

12. the Papuan people, who are consolidated in the same political space and
separated from other communities, the Maori population has expanded dra-
matically: as of June 2015, in New Zealand it hhad reached 712,000 (15% of
the national population), spread through various regions.35
c
The second variable is the recruitment basis. Contrary to what is com-
monly claimed and believed among the people of Papua, the nonreligious
elements of the MRP lack historical roots there. The ‘‘adat regions’’ are
actually anthropological constructs mapped during the Dutch colonial era
to ease the introduction of the modern governance structure known as afdel-
ing (departments). Following the Round Table Conference in The Hague in
1949, at which the Netherlands recognized Indonesia’s independence, in June
1950 the Dutch colonial government budgeted for the development of
administration in Papua over a three-year period. At the time, Papua was
known as Netherlands New Guinea and led by a governor, who was ap-
pointed directly by the king of the Netherlands. Jan van Baal served as
governor between 1953 and 1958. He administratively divided Papua into six
afdeling, each led by a ‘‘resident.’’ Comparison of these afdeling and the seven
adat regions shows several similarities. However, this does not indicate that
the seven regions are concrete manifestations of effective and functional adat
organizations, especially given that for many years they received no attention.
Only recently have these regions re-emerged as part of a discourse on
mapping the economic potential of Papua. As stated by Tampubolon, the
deputy head of economics at the National Development Agency, the gov-
ernment has implemented an integrated development strategy using these
adat regions, which will eventually become Economic Development Dis-
tricts. The strategy has been used by the National Development Agency
together with the Papuan government. The head of the Papuan Regional
Development Agency, Musaad, explains that adat regions using this
approach, including Manokwari, Sorong, Raja Ampat, and Bintuni, focus
on developing their fishery, oil and gas, and tourism industries. Meanwhile,
-
Maori Authority, the Federation of Maori Authorities, and the Iwi Chairs Forum. These organiza-
tions work with the state and compete for access, while the state negotiates with them, as they
represent significant populations and resources. Their presence and advocacy of Maori interests
cannot be separated from the distribution of the population.
35. Richard S. Hill, ‘‘New Zealand Maori: The Quest for Indigenous Autonomy,’’ Ethnopolitics
15:1 (2016): 144–65; ‘‘How Is Our M¯aori Population Changing?’’ Statistics New Zealand, http://
www.stats.govt.nz/browse_for_stats/people_and_communities/maori/maori-population-article-
2015.aspx, accessed May 23, 2017.
376 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

13. the Lapago adat region focuses on developing its coffee, fruit, tuber, pork,
and horticulture industries.36
At present, as administrative units have
become increasingly numerous and diverse in the face of administrative
division, colonial-era divisions are causing serious representativeness and
legitimacy problems.
The indigenous people of Papua are distributed across seven distinct adat
regions, spread unevenly through three areas with different geographical
conditions—mountains, lowlands, and islands—and across different regen-
cies/municipalities.37
Each area covers diverse sub-ethnic adat communities,
as noted by Suryawan: ‘‘Papua is divided into seven Papuan Customary
Councils based on seven ‘traditional regions’: Mamta (87 ethnic groups),
Saireri (31 ethnic groups), Bomberai (19 ethnic groups), Domberai (52 ethnic
groups), Ha-Anim (29 ethnic groups), La-Pago (19 ethnic groups) and Mi-
Pago (11 ethnic groups).’’38
This has had serious consequences for the legit-
imacy of the MRP and the elements shaping it—and thus for the MRP itself.
Another variable, the problem of legitimacy, is exacerbated by the fact that
the institutions with the formal right to recommend MRP candidates lack
sufficient historical roots in Papuan society; all were established relatively
recently. Formally, the recruitment of MRP candidates requires the recom-
mendation of an adat institution. As mentioned by Bolodadi, the dominant
adat institutions today are the Papua Adat Council (Dewan Adat Papua,
36. Victor Mambor, ‘‘Papua Dibangun Melalui Pendekatan Wilayah Adat’’ [Papua is developed
through adat areas approachment], Benar News, February 2, 2016, http://www.benarnews.org/
indonesian/berita/pembangunan-papua-pendekatan-adat-06022016163508.html. See also ‘‘Pemer-
intah Siapkan Strategi Pembangunan di 7 Wilayah Adat Papua’’ [Government is preparing devel-
opment strategies in seven Papuan adat areas], Kompas, June 17, 2016, http://regional.kompas.com/
read/2016/06/17/09360541/pemerintah.siapkan.strategi.pembangunan.di.7.wilayah.adat.papua.
37. The adat regions are (1) Mamta, in northeast Papua, consisting of Jayapura, Sentani, Genyem,
Depapre, Demta, Sarmi, Bonggo, and Memberamo; (2) Saereri, in North Papua/Cenderawasih Bay,
consisting of Biak Numfor, Supiori, Yapen, Waropen, and coastal Nabire; (3) Domberai, in
northwest Papua near Sorong Manokwari, consisting of Manokwari, Bintuni, Babo, Wondama,
Wasi, Sorong, Raja Ampat, Teminabuan, Inawatan, Ayamaru, Aifat, and Aitinyo; (4) Bomberai, in
western Papua, consisting of Fakfak, Kaimana, Kokonao, and coastal Mimika; (5) Ha Anim, in
southern Papua, consisting of Merauke, Digul, Muyu, Asmat, and Mandobo; (6) La Pago, in the
eastern central mountains, consisting of Bintang Mountains, Wamna, Puncak Jaya, Puncak, Nduga,
Yahukimo, Yalimo, Tolikara, and Central Memberamo; and (7) Me Pago, in the central mountains,
consisting of Intan Jaya, Paniai, Deiyai, Dogiyai, mountainous Nabire, and mountainous Mimika.
38. I Ngurah Suryawan, ‘‘Singing for Unity: Mambesak and the Making of Papuan Heritage,’’ in
Susan Legene, Bambang Purwanto, and Henk Schulte Nordholt (eds.), Sites, Bodies and Stories:
Imagining Indonesian History (Singapore: NUS Press, 2015): 199–209.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 377

14. DAP), the Discussion Forum of Papuan Adat (Lembaga Musyawarah Adat
Papua), and the Institution for Papuan Society and Adat (Lembaga Masyar-
akat Adat Papua), as well as the Tribal Council (Dewan Anak Suku, DAS)
and adat chiefs called ondoafi.39
Of these, DAP has the broadest operational
scope; it is institutionalized at the provincial level. However, owing to its
‘‘closeness’’ to pro-Papuan independence forces, it has had difficulty gaining
the trust of the Indonesian authorities, particularly after symbolic special
autonomy was granted in 2005.
To be considered ‘‘worthy’’ to give recommendations, institutions must
undergo a verification process involving a special provincial/regency/munici-
pal agency that focuses on ‘‘security and intelligence’’: the Agency for National
and Political Unity. However, the ‘‘official state recognition’’ granted through
this ‘‘clearance’’ cannot address the anxieties that limit the MRP’s legitimacy.
First, current adat institutions are recent establishments of the regional gov-
ernment that lack historical roots in society. Second, in many cases, current
adat institutions are not involved in the MRP’s recruitment and working
processes.40
Third, existing processes have led to a multitude of regional adat
authorities claiming the right to MRP membership, as well as the right to
represent the indigenous peoples of Papua, an authority legally granted to the
MRP. It is not uncommon for competing claims to lead to conflict, as in the
Mee Pago and La Pago adat regions. Consequently, in the eyes of the people
of Papua, the MRP faces multi-layered questions of legitimacy.
Owing to this lack of a strong and clear basis for legitimacy, MRP processes
are fluid and vulnerable to penetration and manipulation by outside interests.
As explained by Bolodadi in an interview, the MRP should ideally foster the
cultural representation of the indigenous peoples of Papua. However, in
practice it is also (and often most prominently) an arena for the competing
political interests of legislators—party administrators, failed candidates, and
candidates whose terms have expired—as well as the governor, particularly
through his selection committee. Several current MRP members are party
administrators or former members of parliament.41
This has drawn protest
39. Interview, Thomas Bolodadi, deputy head of special autonomy for Papua and West Papua,
Ministry of Domestic Affairs, Jayapura, June 6, 2017.
40. Interview, Hengky Gogoba, head of the Imeko Discussion Forum of Papuan Adat, Sorong,
June 2, 2017.
41. Before serving as head of the Papua MRP (2011–2016), Timotius Murib was head of the
Puncak Jaya Parliament (2004–2009), representing adat interests. Costan Oktemta, previously
378 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

15. from the ondoafi and tribal chiefs, who perceive their cultural rights as being
hijacked by members of parliament and party politicians.42
Fourth, the constituent elements of the MRP use different recruitment
mechanisms. Adat groups are based on a combination of adat regions and
regencies/municipalities, women’s groups are based on regencies/municipal-
ities, and religious groups are based on provincial affiliations. These varying
mechanisms and recruitment bases have not caused problems among the
religious groups, as their criteria (the population of each religious group at
the provincial level) and authority (the religious organizations) are clear. For
the other two constituent elements, however, this diversity has led to serious
problems. The MRP members representing women must ‘‘contest’’ roles in
the regencies/municipalities, in which 29 regencies/municipalities compete
for the 14 seats allotted for women’s representation. This has led to friction
between women and women’s groups in different regions, becoming an
incentive for consolidating women through a shared regional identity and
thereby undermining the initial concept of representing all women. More
complicated issues are faced by the adat groups, as their selection is based on
both adat regions and government administrative districts (regency/munic-
ipality). The MRP members representing adat groups are spread through the
seven adat regions, as identified above. Between the MRP’s establishment
(2004) and the formation of West Papua Province (2008), each adat region
was represented by six members. Since 2008, West Papua, which consists of
only two adat regions, has enjoyed greater representation, as it has its own
separate MRP. Meanwhile, representation in Papua Province remains
a problem, because in the five adat regions there is great competition for
seats in the MRP.
To represent an adat region at the regency/municipality level, MRP mem-
bers must undergo an administrative selection process handled by a team
-
a member of regional parliament, is now the regent of Bintang Mountains. Penitina Lani Cesia
Kogoya, deputy head of the Papua MRP (2011–2016), was a member of regional parliament for
Bintang Mountains; Mery Lantipo, member of the women’s work unit, was a member of regional
parliament for Yahukimo. Andy Khutbah, Directory MRP (Majelis Rakyat Papua) 2016 (Abepura
Jayapura: Papuan Department of Politics and Government, 2016), 39–93.
42. Bolodadi interview, Jayapura, June 6, 2017. See also Eveerth Joumilena, ‘‘Disesalkan Mantan
Pejabat Jadi Calon Tetap Anggota MRP Unsur Agama’’ [Reproachable, ex-officials became candi-
dates for MRP’s permanent member from religious elements], Tabloidjubi.com, February 15, 2011,
http://tabloidjubi.com/arch/2011/02/15/disesalkan-mantan-pejabat-jadi-calon-tetap-anggota-mrp-
unsur-agama/.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 379

16. established by the regent/mayor—often, according to informants, members
of the regent/mayor’s campaign team—before being recommended to the
provincial government. Consequently, the selection process at the regency/
municipality level focuses on expanding particular individuals’ political
spheres rather than truly representing the interests of Papua’s indigenous
population. At the provincial level, potential MRP members must undergo
a series of examinations (physical and psychological health, report writing,
and interviews) before being appointed. These are administered by the
five-person gubernatorial selection team, consisting of societal leaders and
academics. At this point, the process—aside from being vulnerable to guber-
natorial penetration—faces a serious problem that has yet to be solved: the
dilemma of representation and capability, particularly as related to adat.
Generally, holders of adat authority, most of whom are poorly educated, lack
the capacity to fulfill their duties: to give consideration to the draft special
regional regulation (Peraturan Daerah Khusus, or Perdasus) proposed by the
lower house (Papua House of Representatives, Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat
Papua) with the governor, consideration and approval of the plan of coop-
eration agreement made by the government with third parties. The difficulty
of finding well-educated people capable of representing adat interests is
exacerbated by younger, formally educated Papuans’ inability to join the
MRP: members must be at least 30 years of age. Owing to their lack of
education, MRP members face considerable difficulty in fulfilling their
duties, and they are often exploited by the provincial parliament, governor,
and other members of the executive branch, who use the MRP to promote
their own policies’ legitimacy.
Serious problems have also emerged as a consequence of the areas covered
by the various adat regions, including their geography (lowlands, mountains,
and islands) as well as their regencies and populations. This has led to increased
competition in mountainous regions, as well as jealousy: mountain residents
often feel they are not proportionately represented compared to those in
lowland and archipelagic ones, which has in turn affected internal tribal rela-
tions.43
The problem is exacerbated by contradictions within the adat regions
themselves. They cover more than one regency/municipality; meanwhile,
more than one adat authority represents the (sub)tribal groups found in
43. Aris Ananta, Dwi Retno Wilujeng Wahyu Utami, and Nur Budi Handayani, ‘‘Statistics on
Ethnic Diversity in the Land of Papua, Indonesia,’’ Asia and the Pacific Policy Studies 3:3 (2016): 458–74.
380 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

17. different/several districts (sub-regency administrative units). This has further
complicated issues of representativeness and legitimacy at the societal level.
Fifth, the different allocation systems used for recruitment have led to
serious problems within the MRP itself. They have promoted strict compart-
mentalization within the institution, with each constitutional element work-
ing separately. The MRP has thus failed to make itself an institution that
represents the interests of the indigenous peoples of Papua. It has instead
acted more as a loose confederation of elements, all wrapped up in their own
worlds. Furthermore, there is a capacity gap between these constituent ele-
ments, with MRP members from religious groups more capable than those
from the other groups.
Sixth, the MRP and its experiences with asymmetrical decentralization can
be contrasted with other countries, as well as Indonesia’s often-troubled
province of Aceh, Sumatra, where decentralization was intended to provide
inclusive facilities for all elements of separatist movements.44
The MRP was
established to exclude separatist movements, particularly the Free Papua
Organization (OPM), and consolidate pro-Indonesian groups. This is clear
from Article 4 of Presidential Regulation No. 54 of 2004, which sets criteria
for MRP membership, specifically point (f), which requires candidates to
have ‘‘never been involved in treason against the Unitary Republic of Indo-
nesia.’’ Enforcement of this criterion involves a regional government institu-
tion, the Agency for National and Political Unity, although its screening
process (known as ‘‘special research’’) is not as strict as under the New Order
government. Thus, the apparently ‘‘controlling’’ selection criteria lead to
persons promoting Papuan independence being marginalized.
Seventh, as an institution carrying the burden of representation, the MRP
lacks a clear political position in the institutional politics of Papua. The Law
on Special Authority and the Government Regulation on the MRP fail to
specify its function, role, and position within Papuan governance. These
laws only specify its authority, right, and obligation to promote the funda-
mental rights of indigenous Papuans. The MRP is ineffective in the political
process because it lacks a position in the executive/legislative branch.45
The
44. Cornelis Lay, ‘‘From Bullet to Ballot: Indonesia’s Asymmetrical Decentralization Policy:
Case Studies of Nanggroe Darussalam and Papua,’’ paper presented at the 10th International
Convention of Asia Scholars, Chiang Mai, Thailand, July 20–23, 2017.
45. Article 5, paragraph 1, states that the Regional Government of Papua Province consists of the
Papua Parliament as legislative body and the provincial government as executive body.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 381

18. MRP is positioned as an ‘‘indigenous upper house’’ that represents the
culture of indigenous Papuan people, but it fails to follow the logic of a
bicameral system.46
Initially, the MRP may appear to enjoy significant institutional power,
given its function. How could it not? Article 20, paragraph (1) of Law No. 21
of 2001 emphasizes that the MRP functions to advise and approve potential
governors and deputy governors, as well as candidates for the Papuan
delegates to the People’s Consultative Assembly—the highest decision-
making body in Indonesia—selected by the Papuan parliament. This
situation changed less than a year after the MRP was established. Beginning
in 2005, the power to select governors and deputy governors was no longer
held by the Papuan parliament; instead, governors were elected directly by
the populace. Meanwhile, the ‘‘regional delegation’’ to the People’s Consul-
tative Assembly was eliminated even before the MRP was formally estab-
lished; the third amendment to the Indonesian constitution, in 2002,
eliminated the two elements that formed the assembly: regional and orga-
nizational delegations. As a result, the function and authority of the MRP
was drastically reduced. It can only provide guidance to the governor and
deputy governor and approve regional bylaws. And even these powers,
according to our sources, are purely pro forma.47
In reality, the MRP is
readily ignored during all political processes.
The MRP is also intended to provide recommendations, considerations,
and approval of agreements between the national/provincial government and
third parties, accords that are implemented in Papua Province to protect the
rights of indigenous Papuans. However, this has never been realized in
practice. The relationship between the MRP and national political authorities
is informal and incidental, realized through mechanisms such as audiences
with officials or focus-group discussions. Public audiences are incidental, as
stated by Jaleswari Pramodhawardhani, the fifth deputy of the Presidential
Office of Indonesia, who is responsible for security issues (including in
Papua); she emphasizes that there are no formal mechanisms for this.48
46. Richard Chauvel, ‘‘Electoral Politics and Democratic Freedoms in Papua,’’ in Edward
Aspinal and Marcus Mietner (eds.), Problems of Democratisation in Indonesia: Elections, Institutions
and Society (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2008): 310.
47. Interview, Wolas, member of West Papua MRP (2011–2016), Sorong, May 16, 2017; inter-
view, Joram Wambrauw, member of Papua MRP (2011–2016), Jayapura, June 6, 2017.
48. Interview, Jakarta, June 9, 2017.
382 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

19. Furthermore, MRP members frequently complain that audiences are gener-
ally limited to bridging communication gaps between central government
ministries/institutions (i.e. political authorities in the capital) and the MRP.
Ultimately, as stated by Bolodadi, ‘‘in giving its considerations and
approval of regional bylaws, the MRP is nothing but a rubber stamp.’’ Thus,
as stated by Willem Wandik, the regent of Puncak, its decisions ‘‘are ignored
by the government.’’49
Meanwhile, the public perceives the MRP as an
institution that has been co-opted by the regional executive branch, thereby
losing its capacity to criticize government policies and any semblance of
public trust.50
Owing to the lack of significant involvement of adat leaders
in its recruitment process and its work, as stated by Gogoba, ‘‘The MRP has
no command of adat issues.’’51
The MRP functions to draw attention to and convey the aspirations and
complaints of adat, religious, and women’s groups, as well as those of the
general public that involve the rights of indigenous Papuans. It also facilitates
the resolution of complaints, and advises the governor, Papuan parliament,
and regency/municipality parliaments regarding the rights of indigenous Pa-
puans. However, as at the national level, at the provincial and regency/munic-
ipality level it has no forum to improve its effectiveness in carrying out its
duties. Interviews with Father Hofni Simbiak and Joram Wambrau, members
of Papua MRP 2011–16, indicate that the MRP has recommended changes to
several regional bylaws—related to finance, adat, religion, and parliamentary
elections—as well as population control (particularly migration), aid for reli-
gious and migrant workers, and land control.52
However, these recommenda-
tions were not heeded by the executive or legislative branches. Rather, the
MRP has been viewed as ‘‘unable to understand the problem,’’ and thus the
government considers it ‘‘pointless to involve the MRP.’’
The situation is exacerbated by the social expectation that the MRP would
execute and enforce policy. Because of its failure to do this, it has been
branded ‘‘incapable of helping resolve concrete problems,’’53
as shown, for
49. Interview, Jayapura, June 7, 2017.
50. Suroso, former head of the Regional Development Agency for South Sorong and now part of
the regent’s staff, interviewed by the first author, May 23, 2017.
51. Interview, Sorong, May 25, 2017.
52. Father Hofni Simbiak interview, November 10, 2017; Wambrauw interview, November
10, 2017.
53. Suroso interview, Sorong, May 23, 2017; Agustinus Makamur interview, Sorong, May 26, 2017.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 383

20. example, in its failure to resolve land disputes in South Sorong Regency.
This, together with its limited budget and dependence on outside funds,54
has made the institution incapable of fulfilling its representational duties. It
has no legal channels into formal policymaking bodies at the national or local
level, and is thus unable to convey the aspirations and concerns of the
indigenous Papuan people. It is also isolated from decision-making processes
in the local government.
Owing to its limited capacity, the MRP spends much of its energy pro-
moting its institutional interests—or even the interests of its individual
members. Since its establishment, much of the MRP’s time has been spent
debating the extension of members’ terms,55
as well as the facilities used by
members. Much of its energy has been spent calling for an increase in the
number of parliamentary seats available through appointment. The MRP has
used Articles 6 and 28, paragraph (3), of Law No. 21 of 2001, which stipulates
the possibility of appointing (rather than electing) indigenous people of
Papua as members of parliament. Recently, this has gained the support of
other groups, who consider it an important instrument for ensuring the
continued representation of indigenous peoples in increased heterogeneity
in parliament.56
Recognizing the composition of the regency/ municipality-
level parliaments in coastal areas, which are increasingly dominated by mi-
grants,57
these groups fear that indigenous peoples will become marginalized
in the Papuan provincial parliament. This can be attributed to the changing
demographic composition of Papua, with migrants increasingly involved in
party management and nominating the candidates who might benefit them
54. Interviews with Wolas, Sorong, May 16, 2017, and Simbiak, MRP member representing
religious interests, Jayapura, June 8, 2017. An interview with Thomas Bolodadi indicates that the
determination of financial allocations and management within the MRP are handled by the secre-
tariat, whose staff are under gubernatorial control.
55. Interviews with Bolodadi, Jakarta, April 21, 2017, and Budi Arman, Ministry of Domestic
Affairs staff member responsible for special autonomy in Papua, Jayapura, June 6, 2017, emphasize
that the Ministry of Domestic Affairs has twice extended the period served by MRP members in
Papua and West Papua. They recently dismissed existing MRP members to force elections after more
than a year’s delay.
56. Wolas interview, Sorong, May 17, 2017.
57. This can be seen in the experiences of Kerom Regency: of the 20 members in the regional
parliament in 2011, only 6 were indigenous Papuan. Presently, only three of Kerom’s members of
regional parliament are indigenous Papuans. Yarid, ‘‘95 Persen Anggota DPRD Keerom, Non-
Papua’’ [95 percent of parliament members of Keerom are non-Papuans], Tabloidjubi.com, May 9,
2011, http://tabloidjubi.com/arch/2011/05/09/95-persen-anggota-dprd-keerom-non-papua/.
384 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2

21. most. This is why the MRP has involved itself in seeking additional parlia-
mentary appointments,58
despite such advocacy not being part of its man-
date. On the surface, increasing the number of parliamentary appointments is
intended to improve indigenous representation in local parliaments (Papua
and West Papua). Unspoken is the MRP members’ subjective motive of
minimizing competition among themselves, as increasing the number of
parliamentary seats will likewise increase the number of available MRP seats
(as in West Papua), because MRP membership must be two-thirds that of the
Papuan parliament. Currently, appointed members of parliament hold 11
seats in the Papuan parliament and 9 in the West Papuan parliament—
a quarter of all available parliamentary seats (45 in Papua and 35 in West
Papua), per Article 23, paragraph (1) of Law No. 10 of 2008. The implication
is clear: the MRP has increasingly been stigmatized as a self-serving institu-
tion far removed from its initial conception as a valid representative of
indigenous Papuan peoples. The MRP has also received sharp criticism, and
some have demanded its dissolution.59
REPRESENTATIVENESS AND LEGITIMACY: UNSOLVED PUZZLES
The MRP is part of an asymmetrical-decentralization scheme intended to
promote the interests of indigenous Papuans. But the seeds of the MRP’s
failure were sown beginning with its establishment. More specifically, the
MRP’s establishment, design, working mechanisms, and relations with
formal decision-making institutions have created problems of representa-
tiveness and legitimacy. This has been exacerbated by the MRP’s lack of any
historical claim or credibility in its representation of the indigenous peoples
of Papua, as well as by the mutual lack of trust between political authorities
in Jakarta and some of the people of Papua. The MRP’s complicated
recruitment basis and processes, as well as its institutional design, which
excludes pro-independence forces, have also contributed to its institutional
58. The MRP proposes members of regional parliament based on a list of candidates submitted by
adat institutions. Another controversy has thus emerged: mountainous regions have demanded more
parliamentary seats in recognition of their numerous adat regions, which are dispersed among dif-
ferent regencies, leading them to be underrepresented.
59. Arie Ruhyanto, ‘‘The Perils of Prosperity Approach in Papua,’’ Peace Review 28:4 (2016):
490–98.
HARYANTO, LAY, AND PURWOKO / LEGITIMACY AND PAPUA’S MAJELIS 385

22. failure. As mentioned by Gogoba, it has been perceived as an ‘‘Indonesian-
made puppet’’ without the moral authority to represent the indigenous
peoples of Papua.
Consequently, rather than being viewed as the valid representative of
indigenous Papuan peoples, the MRP appears to lack roots or reach. It is
instead understood as an extension of regional executive power, or even as an
extension of the power of the governor, regents, or mayors. Furthermore, the
MRP has become an alternative political arena for party politicians who have
run unsuccessfully for office. Thus, it has faced extraordinary difficulties in
carrying out its duties of interest aggregation and articulation, policy advo-
cacy, and facilitation of reciprocal information exchange between adat com-
munities and policymakers.
386 ASIAN SURVEY 58:2