BJ Habibie and the Moral Void in Indonesia’s West Papua Policy

BJ Habibie, Indonesia's third president (1998-1999)

As Indonesia gears up for its 2024 general elections, the question lingers: will the country witness the rise of a truly just leader—one who dares to prioritize humanity over territorial obsession? 

The figure of BJ Habibie, Indonesia’s third president, looms large as a rare moral compass in the country's post-authoritarian history. His legacy stands in stark contrast to the systemic violence and democratic backsliding that has characterized Jakarta’s approach to West Papua in recent years.

Since 2018, under the administration of President Joko Widodo (Jokowi), the Indonesian government has promised to open dialogue with the United Liberation Movement for West Papua (ULMWP) and to allow a long-awaited visit from the UN Human Rights Commission. Yet, these promises remain hollow. On the ground, West Papua continues to be the site of relentless military operations, forced displacement, arbitrary arrests, and repression of peaceful dissent. Rather than fostering peace, Jakarta seems more invested in silencing West Papuan voices and restricting media access to the region.

Against this backdrop, the short presidency of BJ Habibie (1998–1999) appears not only exceptional but also deeply instructive. Appointed as a transitional leader following the fall of Suharto's New Order regime, Habibie governed for merely seventeen months. Yet, within that limited time, he made bold decisions that permanently altered Indonesia's political trajectory.

Habibie was often misunderstood—dismissed by some as an Islamist due to his affiliation with the Indonesian Association of Muslim Intellectuals (ICMI). But history tells a different story: Habibie was a democrat, a technocrat, and above all, a humanist. In a move unthinkable to his predecessors, he allowed East Timor to hold a UN-sponsored referendum in 1999. This decision—controversial and courageous—led to the eventual independence of a territory Indonesia had claimed for over two decades. It was a rare act of political humility in a region where sovereignty is too often enforced at gunpoint.

Even more overlooked is Habibie's outreach to West Papuan leaders. In February 1999, he welcomed a delegation of one hundred Papuan representatives to the Presidential Palace in Jakarta. This meeting, unprecedented in the history of Indonesian rule over West Papua, was a fleeting but powerful gesture of recognition. Unlike subsequent administrations that have relied on development rhetoric and military coercion, Habibie treated the Papuans as political subjects, not insurgents.

Habibie’s inclusive ethos extended beyond political gestures. Towards the end of his life, he was often seen engaging with public intellectuals and figures from marginalized communities. Among them was Father Frans Magnis Suseno, a German Jesuit priest who has lived in Indonesia for over six decades and remains a staunch critic of the government's Papuan policy. In his 2015 book, Nationality, Democracy, Pluralism, Father Magnis denounced the situation in Papua as "ugly, abnormal, uncivilized, and shameful." He likened Papua to "a festering wound on the body of the Indonesian nation," closed off from the eyes of the world to hide the rot beneath.

Father Magnis’s admiration for Habibie was unreserved. He described the late president as one of the most admirable people he had ever encountered—a leader who understood that national unity without justice is a hollow enterprise. Habibie’s technocratic brilliance, honed at Aachen University in Germany, was matched by a moral clarity that is sorely lacking in today’s political landscape.

And so, as Indonesians prepare to elect new leaders, one must ask: is the nation ready to embrace another Habibie? Can Indonesia choose a leader who views dissent not as treason, but as a legitimate expression of democratic will? Can it afford to replace colonial habits with ethical leadership, especially in regions like West Papua?

The legacy of BJ Habibie reminds us that justice in Indonesia is not only possible—it has already been modeled. But it demands courage, compassion, and above all, a willingness to listen to the voices long silenced. Whether that kind of leadership can re-emerge remains an open question—one the 2024 elections may begin to answer.