法学研究 95 巻 2 号（2022：2）

Peripheral Insiders:1）

Papuans and Indonesian Nationalism

YAMAMOTO Nobuto
Introduction
Peripheral Insiders
Nation in Time and Mind
Papua in Media Discourses
Conclusion

Introduction
The year 2020 was to be remembered as the year that prompted an amplificationof the racial justice movement in the United States as well as many European
countries. The trigger was the killing of George Floyd at the hand (or knee) of apolice officer in the U.S. city of Minneapolis in May. A bystander recorded what
happened to Floyd and placed it on social media for the world to see. Whatfollowed was the racial justice movement spontaneously organized in major
cities in the U.S. The movement was well covered by the media, in particular by
the social media with the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter, sustained by concerned
citizens in the world, and led to a global anti-racist movement.
The #BlackLivesMatter movement started from the U.S. and spread tomany parts of the globe, and appeared to prove that anti-racism has become a1） The original paper was prepared for the online international conference “Risk Society
and the Media in an Uncertain Age” organized by Keio Global Research Institute on 23
February 2021. I would like to thank comments and questions from conference participants that help revise the original version. The research was partially funded by the Sakurada-kai Foundationʼs Political Research (2020).
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global public norm. This is a new milestone in the long struggle against racism,that an anti-racism movement has gone beyond national boundaries. In thehistory of racism, it has often been treated as a national issue because it hashistorical, political, and cultural roots within a national society. The term
systemic racism or structural racism demonstrates how racism or racial
discrimination manifests on a daily basis. In other words, even if anti-racism
may have become a global norm, the reality and practice of racism remain anational matter and has a national character. Racism is a risk that may
destabilize the political and social order in a particular country. It is also a riskthat would violate human rights. It is significant to contextualize racism in acountry to understand the reality and practice of racism.
A variant of #BlackLivesMatter organized in Indonesia in the middle of2020; it is known by the hashtag #PapuanLivesMatter. It was a protest movement
to counter racism against the Papuans and to seek the justice for Papua and the2）

Papuans.

Unlike many #BlackLivesMatter movement in western countries

that dominated the mainstream media, #PapuanLivesMatter movement
scattered in some parts of the globe with much less media coverage. It is amovement to protest against racial discrimination and violence towards the
Papuans, the indigenous population of Indonesiaʼs easternmost island. The
protest movement sprung up inside Indonesia, as well as abroad among overseas
Papuans and activists. Although #PapuanLivesMatter movement may havebeen inspired by #BlackLivesMatter movement (Varagur 2020), it is a matter ofracism specific to Indonesia, which has a history of violence against the
Papuans, both in their mineral-rich island and outside when they reside in otherprovinces in the country. Indonesian authorities tried to contain and suppress
the protest movement, provoking precisely the violence it claimed to prevent.
Racism against the Papuans has escalated and politicized in the last two
decades, in particular from the 2010s onward, roughly coinciding with theadvent of social media in the country.

2） I will use mainly the term “Papua” to refer to both Papua and West Papua. But depending on the context, I may use “West Papua.” Originally, the Dutch claimed the land as New
Guinea in the nineteenth century.
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This essay aims to provide a context of racism against the Papuans inIndonesia and examine how it has transformed in the age of social media andtoday factors as a risk for Indonesia or Indonesian nationalism. To approach
racism in Indonesia, the essay starts with placing Papua and the Papuans in thehistorical context, then explores how Indonesians in general perceive thePapuans, and examines how anti-Papuan racism is reported in the media
discourse.

Peripheral Insiders
Racism or systemic racism in Indonesia has habitually applied to the Chinese,but recently also applies to the Papuans. There are similarities and contrasts
between discriminations against the Chinese and the Papuans. Both the Chinese
and the Papuans have been marginalized and categorized as minorities inIndonesian society. Historically, however, the Chinese are well recognizedminority from the colonial period, whereas the Papuans as minority are a postcolonial invention (Anderson 1998, 321-322). The Chinese are excluded because
they descended from immigrants and considered to be historically, legally, andculturally outsiders. Chirot and Reid refer to them as “essential outsiders”(Chirot and Reid 1997) ; they are “outsiders” because they are “foreigners,”
although since before the Dutch colonial period they have been socially andeconomically integrated in Indonesia, even playing essential roles in a numberof aspects of the countryʼs history. On the contrary, the Papuans are the native
population of the countryʼs easternmost island Papua, which was incorporated
into the countryʼs jurisdiction after independence, and the Papuans continue tooccupy marginalized position in the countryʼs social and cultural history. In thisessay I refer to them as “peripheral insiders”. The Papuans are “insiders” because
they are “native” in the countryʼs territory, and yet they are “peripheral” due totheir geographic location and especially their position in the imagined national
community.
Papua is also the name of one of two provinces in the Indonesian-part ofthe vast island, the other being West Papua. While “Papuan” is a generic term
for the native population of the island, it is also used to distinguish Papuans(3)208Peripheral Insiders

from people of other ethnic groups in Indonesian who migrated to the island in
the last half century or so. Papua has a slightly different history after World War
II than the rest of Indonesia.
During the colonial period, unlike the Chinese who were well integrated
into the fabric of the colonial plural society, the Papuans were basically left out
untouched by civil administration. Administratively speaking, it was only in1936 when the resident of Ambon signed the order to establish a new district inPapua. For much of the nineteenth century a small number of missionaries andtraders as well as low-ranking Dutch officials were the only Europeans residingin the territory. Papua were habitually characterized as from the “Stone Age” or
a “virgin land” (Rutherford 2018, 16). Papua drew public attention from 1927
onwards when the Dutch colonial authorities establish an exile camp for
political prisoners in Boven Digul, Papua. Surrounded by thick jungles, thenatural isolation was to keep political prisoners away from influencing the mass
and it inspired fear in the minds of most colonial subjects. The independence
activist Sukarno, who later became the first president of Indonesia, was exiled
there in the early 1930s.
While Boven Digul figured immensely in the Indonesian nationalist
movement during the colonial period, the movement itself neglected theexistence of the Papuans. When Indonesia declared its independence, Papua was
not included in the emancipated territory. In the discussion at the Committee for
the Preparation of Indonesiaʼs Independence (BPUPKI), Mohammad Hatta, thefuture Vice President of Indonesia, rejected the notion that Papua was a part ofIndonesia. Hatta remarked, “The Papuans are of the Negroid race, theMelanesian Nation; let the Papuans determine their own destiny and future”(Putusan Perkara 2004, 11). When Indonesia declared its independence on 17

August 1945, Papua, then called western New Guinea, was still under Dutch
rule. Even when Indonesiaʼs sovereignty was internationally recognized in
December 1949, Papua was not a part of it and became an overseas territory of
the Netherlands from 1949 to 1962. During this time, the Dutch succeeded tocreate a Papuan ethnic group, or to be precise a Papuan nationalist group by
guiding them onto a separate path towards independence (Penders 2002).
Papua almost gained its independence from the Netherlands in the early207(4)

法学研究 95 巻 2 号（2022：2）[Map of Indonesian provinces: https://depositphotos.com/51886223/stock-illustration-indonesiaadministrative-map.html]

1960s. On 1 December 1961, West Papua established its national anthem and thenational flag, the Morning Star. But in May 1963 Indonesia almost unilaterally
integrated Papua and renamed it “Irian Barat” (West Irian). In 1973 it was
renamed again to Irian Jaya (Victorious Irian). Some Papuans did not accept thispolitical integration to Indonesia. On 1 July 1971, they proclaimed its
independence as the Republic of West Papua. Since then, their struggle to gain
independent status from Indonesia began. In return, Papua became an
important region for the Indonesian military operation to suppress any kind of“separatist” activities (Chauvel 2003; Chauvel and Bhakthi 2004; Mote andRutherford 2001).
After the 32-year-long Suhartoʼs authoritarian regime collapsed in May
1998, the political environment surrounding Papua slightly changed. In 2002,
the province of Irian Jaya has been renamed as Papua. In February 2003 West
Irian Jaya was separated from the province of Papua, and on 7 February 2007changed its name to Papua Barat (West Papua). Many Papuans keep their hopefor either autonomous status in Indonesia or independence.
Under the Suharto regime, the Papuans were an underprivileged minority.
Benedict Anderson once described how Indonesians view the Papuans not as
Indonesian but as “objects,” “possessions,” “servants,” and “obstacles” for thedevelopment of Indonesia. Because, Anderson argues, “Papuans were neverseriously invited to the common project of Indonesian nationalism” (Anderson(5)206

Peripheral Insiders

1999, 5). Papuan political movement for independence and/or an autonomous

status have been perceived as separatism that necessitated military reactions anddiscriminative polices. But why do not Indonesians just let the Papuans go if the
Papuans are “never seriously invited to the common project of Indonesiannationalism”?
This question relates to how the Indonesian government deals with politicalmovement in Papua; why does the Indonesia government try to hold on to
Papua as part of the countryʼs vast territory, or not grant the special
autonomous status to Papua? A brief comparison with two other “separatist”
regions, Aceh and East Timor, illustrates the unique position of Papua(Anderson 1998; 1999). Aceh, located in the western tip of the territory, wasgranted the special autonomous status in 2006, while East Timor located in thesouthernmost region gained its independence in 2002. To most Indonesians,
Aceh has always been a part of Indonesia with a strong and long tradition ofIslam; Acehnese also fought against the Dutch like other fellow Indonesians.
East Timor was a former Portuguese colony and had been included as a part ofIndonesia for a period of only a quarter of the century (1976-2002). Therefore, in
the imagination of most Indonesians, the Acehnese are fellow Indonesians andinvolved the common project of Indonesian nationalism from the beginning, but
the East Timorese did not have the chance to join the project. Then what about
the Papuans? An answer lies in how Indonesians imagine the Papuans as a partof the Indonesian nation.

Nation in Time and Mind
In her study of the creation of Japanese nation, Re-Inventing Japan: Time,Space, Nation, Tessa Morris-Suzuki introduces the idea of linear time (history)
to understand societies at the periphery of the embryonic nation (Morris-Suzuki
1998). She examines two peripheral societies of Japan, the Ainu and the peopleof Ryukyu/Okinawa, and demonstrates how the Japanese government engaged
them in the project of nation-building to create a modern Japan. By introducing
the idea of “civilization” (bunmei), modern Japanese intellectuals reconfiguredthese peripheral societies no longer in terms of their“ foreignness” to the center,205(6)

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but in terms of their “underdevelopment” vis-à-vis the people of Tokyo (MorrisSuzuki 1998, 28). Such a reinterpretation has allowed the Japanese state to engage

with its newly included peripheries, and to reimagine those who resided atperipheries as a part of a homogeneous national community. Their difference is
no longer imagined as due to their distinct cultures, but as a consequence ofunderdevelopment. “The modern transfer of difference from the dimension of
space to the dimension of time was closely linked to the emerging sense ofethnicity as the chief criteria of nationhood” (Morris-Suzuki 1998, 32). The
degree of development and the proximity to modernity have become a criterion
by which ethnic groups within a national jurisdiction are hierarchically
positioned; the dominant ethnicity at the center sits at the top.
Similar criteria and imagination of the nation in relation to ethnic groups
within its border can be applied to how Indonesians in general imagine thePapuans. In this context, Felip Karmaʼs memoir is worth mentioning. Karma(born 15 August 1959) is a Papuan independence activist and former Indonesiancivil servant in Jayapura, Papua. On 1 December 2004, he was arrested fororganizing a ceremony in Abepura, Papua. Several hundred Papuans gathered
to raise the Morning Star flag and celebrate the anniversary of the 1961
declaration of independence from Dutch rule. For this Karma was charged withtreason (Penal Code Article 106) and in May 2005 sentenced to 15 years in prison.
He was released from Abepura Prison, West Papua, on 19 November 2015, four
years before the end of his sentence.
Karma published his memoir in 2014 entitled Seakan Kitorang Setengah
Binatang: Rasialisme Indonesia di Tanah Papua (As If We Were Part Animals:Indonesian Racism in Papua) (Karma 2014). Incidentally, one year before his

release, his memoir was published. It is based on interviews with four of his
friends and supporters, without prior knowledge of his early release. The booktitle, As If We Were Part Animals, sums up the way Papuans were perceived bymost Indonesians ― as backward savages, part animals.
In 1997 to 1998, Karma attended the Asian Institute of Management in
Manila, the Philippines. His experience there changed his way of thinking andhe began to take a critical view toward Indonesia.
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In Manila, I was valued as a human being and I was not harassed,
humiliated or discriminated. Thatʼs what I felt when socializing (dalam
pergaulan). For instance, when I shopped at the supermarket or at themarket. During interaction with the community, I felt valued as a fellow
being. So I was seen as a part of them, or in Javanese term diwongke orhumanized, unlike what I have experienced in Papua or in Java.
During my school years in Java, we Papuans were often treated likepart animals (setengah binatang). We were seen as if we were an evolutionary
stage of the Darwin theory, the process of animals turning into humans.
I felt that from my college friends in Solo. So they were not only fromthe uneducated society, but also from the educated circle. Thatʼs how theytreated us. Often Papuans were taunted “Monkey! Ketek [monkey inJavanese]! Like that.” (Karma 2014, 8, my translation).

Karma looks back in the memoir of his college days in the 1970s Solo, Central
Java, and compares them with the way he was treated in Manila. Two points canbe made from his recollections. First is about the racial slurs. The Indonesian“friends” in college who were educated nonetheless compared Karma and his
fellow Papuans to apes. The fact that the slurs came from an educated circle
were stressed to indicate the prevalence of racism toward Papuans in Indonesia.
The same racial slurs persisted half a century later. Second, as the first pointsuggests, is how Indonesians in general perceive the Papuans in the large
national community. As Karma illustrates, the Papuans are perceived throughthe lens of Charles Darwinʼs theory of evolution and are placed halfway
between apes and humans. They are the peripheral societies stranded inevolutionary terms. In other words, Indonesians imagine the Papuans as aconstituent of the Indonesian nation, but for the contrasting purpose toaccentuate the modernity and civility of the dominant Javanese culture at center.
As such characterizations of Papua and the Papuans as backward,
underdeveloped, primitive, savage, and uncivilized are not random. The Papuans
are in reality an “internal Other” of the Indonesian nation.
The history of colonization in Indonesia also matters. Java was the centerof Dutch colonial expansion since the nineteenth century and Batavia became
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the capital of the colonial administration of the Netherlands Indies. Dutchcolonialism manufactured underdeveloped regions within the territory by
developing particular regions. Papua was among the least developed regions
because it was colonized the last by the Dutch. As mentioned above, the Papua
land was formally administered by the Dutch in 1936. At the turn of thetwentieth century, Papua or the Dutch New Guinea was “still being explored.”In the eyes of Dutch colonialists, Papua was much less known than even theinterior of Sumatra, Borneo, and Celebes (De Kat Angelino 1931, 97), not tomention Java and the coastal areas of major islands. The late colonization haspreserved Papuaʼs “underdeveloped” state.
There is another reason why Indonesians or the Javanese, the dominantethnic group in the country, look down on the Papuans. It has to do with the
Papuanʼs physical appearance. The Javanese look different from the Papuans;
the Papuans have dark complexion and curly hair, which in Indonesia are their
distinguishing characters. It is no doubt that emphasis on skin color and hair
texture is a typical case of racism. Filep Karma however rejects this simple
distinction between Papuans and Indonesians ― claiming that “Papuans are notalways dark skin, curly hair.” (Karma 2014, 25) In a speech on 1 December 2004
in Abepura to commemorate the declaration of Papuan independence , heremarked:
In Java, there is a straight-haired person, a native Javanese, but he cares
about our people. […] Javanese, Manadonese, anyone with a sense of
belonging to the Papuan nation is part of the Papuan nation. On the other
hand, many indigenous Papuans, with black skin and curly hair, theirhearts are more Indonesian (Karma 2014, 25, my translation).
Thus Karma complicates and dismantles the racist definition of Papuans andIndonesians, hinging his own definition on the hearts and solidarity of each
person rather than on exterior appearance. In this regard he echoes manyscholars of nationalism who regard it as an outcome of invented tradition andcultivated sense of belonging than a consequence of biology (Anderson 2006;
Gellner 1983; Hobsbawm 1983).
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Papua in Media Discourses
Primitive, backward, underdeveloped, uncultured, and uncivilized, in addition
to distinguished physical traits, are the shared image of Papuans in theimagination of many Indonesians. These attributes have taken root overapproximately a century and for the entire history of post-colonial Indonesia,
and provided the basis for racism against the Papuans. But on its own this
racialized image does not inspire or provoke violence against the Papuans; it
provides the language by which Papuans are to be discussed and demeaned, but
certain political-social conditions served as the grounds for violence against the
Papuans. In particular, political democratization and social transformation after
the Suharto regime collapsed are a key to understanding why racism against the
Papuans escalated into violence. A particular attention also needs to be paid torapid changing political and social environments in the 2010s when racism
discourse became prominent, and widely reported and shared among citizens inIndonesia.
Keeping the above-mentioned description of the Papuans in mind, you canfind two narratives about Papua and the Papuans in Indonesia. The dominantnarrative is based on the fact that most Indonesians do not care about Papua,
and they do not really know about Papua except for its supposed
underdevelopness and richness in terms of mineral resources. When themainstream media cover the story of Papua, it has to do with violence andseparatist movement, when the police or military, or other government facilities
are attacked by Papuans and/or armed Papuan organizations.
From the 2010s on, when social media and digital media began to take rootin Indonesian media environment, an alternative narrative has emerged. A
representative media is an online media, Suara Papua (The Voice of Papua),which was launched on 10 December 2011. It claims to “priotize the values ofjustice, humanity and religious diversity.”3）

It strives to raise ʻneglectedʼ voices

and it focuses on drawing attention to human rights violations against Papuans.
Since there is little press freedom in Papua, this kind of alternative media and
3） The motto is taken from Suara Papuaʼs website.
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narrative plays a significant role in raising peopleʼs awareness about Papua.
In the 2010s, political conditions also changed. In 2014 President Joko
Widodo took the office, which gave a hope for a Papuan political movement. In
the same year, the United Liberation of Movement for West Papua (ULMWP)
was formed and the West Papuans have unified behind five political leaders who
represent the West Papuansʼ right to self-determination. But the highexpectation was soon diminished, as under the Widodo supposedly more
inclusive administration racism against Papuans have become more politicizedand Papuan students in other parts of Indonesia have become targets of abuseand discriminations. The administration has increasingly been targeting andcriminalizing student movement organizations such as the Alliance of West
Papuan University Student (AMP) and the Movement for University Students
and the Papuan People (Gempar), as well as other political organizations (Dewan
Adat Papua and PASIFIKA 2017, 6).

For instance, on 15 July 2016 in Yogyakarta, Central Java, West Papuan
students were taunted by the police and right-wing mass organizations. They
were members of the West Papuan University Student Alliance (Aliansi
Mahasiswa Papua) under the name of United People for the Liberation of West

Papua (Persatuan Rakyat untuk Pembebasan Papua Barat). They had notified thepolice of their plan to organize a long march on 15 July in support of the
ULMWPʼs application for full membership of the Melanesian Spearhead Groupand the demand for self-determination for the people of West Papua. The
application however was rejected. Instead of publicly protesting, the students
decided to stay in their dormitories and sing songs of praise and liberation. But
the police considered these acts threatening. The news was quickly circulated
among right-wing mass organizations, such as the Sultanʼs Palace (Kraton),
Yogya Paramilitary (Laskar Yogya), Pancasila Youth (Pemuda Pancasila), Forum
Komunikasi Putra Putri Purnawirawan dan Putra Indonesia (Communication
Forum of the Sons and Daughters of Indonesia). The police and right-wing massorganizations gathered around the student dormitory, and when confronted,
taunted Papuan students with racial slurs such as monkey, pigs, dogs, infidels,
stupid and stink, and telling them “go back to Papua” (Dewan Adat Papua and
PASIFIKA 2017, 10). Along with racial slurs, physical violence against Papuan(11)200

Peripheral Insiders

students also took place on the site; members of right-wing mass organization
punched and stepped on Papuan studentʼs face. Many Papuan students were
injured.
While the 2016 incident was a reaction by the police and right-wing massorganizations to the Papuan student planned march, a similar incident in 2019
took place without such a trigger. The 2019 incident took place on 17 August,which is commemorated as the day Indonesia proclaimed independence fromthe Dutch. On the eve of the independence day, a group of mass organizations
gathered in front of a West Papuan studentsʼ dormitory in Surabaya. They had
heard a rumor that the Indonesian national flag had been disposed in the gutter
near the dormitory. The rumor had spread by way of social media and digitalmessenger service. The students were practically held hostage inside the dorm,
as the angry mob outside threatened violence. The following morning, the policecame to the dormitory to search for evidence of the alleged desecration ofnational symbol and took 43 students into custody.
The incident was covered in conventional and social media, and reports ofthreatened and abused Papuan students led to a protest movement in Sorong,West Papua, on 18 and 19 August (Davidson 2019). The backlash protest quickly
escalated into riots in several cities in Papua. When the police searched thedormitory, the police and mass organizations reportedly heaped racial slurs on
the students. It is important to stress here that the incidence was triggered by arumor that spread on social media and thus provoked both the police and rightwing mass organizations to attack the students. It was clear that the Papuan
students were a victim of rumor; but the ensuing backlash protest and riot in
Papua was also attributed to rumor.
In response to the widespread protest in Papua, the police took a different
step. Two days after the police raid of the dormitory, the National Police Chief,
Tito Karnavian, held a press conference. Tito explained, “The [initial] incidents
in Surabaya and Malang were actually small incidents, which have been
localized, and were resolved by the local authorities… But certain individuals
then spread false information or hoax on social media. [Rumor] that there were
profanities directed at Papuan students, and that one Papuan student died in
Surabaya” (CNN Indonesia 2019) . Then he acknowledged that “certain
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individuals took advantage of the incidents to trigger even more riots.” Thenational police chief admitted that the backlash violence had been induced byfalse information on social media. He suggested that the police cyber unit
investigated the case.
Ten days after the press conference, the media revealed the alleged “hoax”
related to the independence day incident. Surprisingly, the plan to spreaddisinformation on social media had started three days earlier or on 14 August. A
WhatsApp chat group organized a meeting to prepare for an “action” at the
Papuan student dormitory. It sought to plant the national flag in front of the
dor mitory ― thus compelling the students to celebrate Indonesiaʼsindependence day. This was followed on 16 August on the WhatsApp chat groupfor sons and daughters of retired police and military officers (INFO KB FKPPI),
where an image was uploaded with the caption “The Red and White Flag wasditched into the gutter by separatist group.” On 17 August, another post on thesame group reads: “Attention please, itʼs urgent, we need assistance with larger
crowd because the Papuan guys are fighting back and ready with sharp weapons,bows and arrows. URGENT URGENT URGENT” (Gunadha 2019).
The police investigation revealed another aspect of the incident, oneconnected to hate speech. Eleven days after the incident, the police named Tri
Susanti as coordinator of the siege at the Papuan student dorm; she became
suspect in a hate speech case. She was then an opposition party functionary as
well as representative in three right-wing mass organizations, FKPPI (Retired
Officers Communication Forum), FPI (Islamic Defenders Front) and PP (Pancasila
Youth). The initiative or involvement of the three right-wing mass organizations

could not be denied. On 21 August, two days after the National Police Chief
implied Susantiʼs involvement of hate speech against the Papuan students,
leaders of the three organizations paid a visit to the Regional Police
Headquarter and publicly apologized to the police if their actions had angered
Papuans (Raharjo 2019). Another two days passed. This time the Surabaya
branch of FKPPI declared that they had severed ties with Tri Susanti due to her
action in relation to the incident at the Papuan student dormitory (Baihaqi 2019).
She was charged with Article 45A paragraph 2 in conjunction with Article 28
paragraph 2 of the Information and Electronic Transaction Law (Gunadha and(13)198

Peripheral Insiders

Pramudita 2019). After the trial a half year later, on 3 February 2020, she wassentenced to 7 months in prison for spreading false information.
The August 2019 incident was organized by “certain individuals” whoplanted a narrative of Papuan studentsʼ treason by desecrating the national flag,thus implying their separatist aspirations. This narrative spread through social
media and successfully mobilized mass organizations. Even the police took theinformation seriously and conducted a search at the student dormitory. For two
consecutive days, mass organizations gathered in front of the dormitoryʼs maingate and shouted racial slurs to the students in threatening manner. A numberof police officers reportedly did the same. When the story turned out to be ahoax, the police cybercrime unit investigated the incident and identified
suspects. The alleged leader was detained, put on trial, and sentenced.
The incident was arguably a product of cyberspace. Information on social
media platforms is easily manipulated. As I mentioned before, online media canprovide a space for an alternative narrative about and for the Papuans. At thesame time, online media can turn out to be phantom media. As of December
2018, there were 18 such media on Papua (Zuhra 2018). They frame news andinformation about Papua. They emphasize that there is no human rights
violation in Papua, that the Indonesian government has done good things for
Papua, that the army and the police have carried out their duties properly, that
Papuan people live peacefully and trouble-free. In such phantom media, it is theFree Papua groups who are the criminals or mere stooges of foreign
governments attempting to colonize Papua and takeover its vast resources. As
alternative voices have emerged in the 2010s, counter-narratives operated by the
military or other sources are not far behind. A kind of media war or
psychological warfare on or about Papua is being fought on the cyberspace. This
media war contributed to nationalistic counter act by right-wing massorganizations and to some extent the law enforcement officers loyal to theIndonesian government.
The media war also escalated racism against Papuans. From the outset of
the 17 August incident, human rights lawyers have accused the action andbehavior by police and mass organizations of racism. The mainstream media,
like CNN Indonesia, reported the incident as a case of racism (Ariefana 2019a).
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In the interview, Papuan human rights lawyer, Emanuel Gobay, sighed, “at theend of 74 years of Indonesian independence, the disease of racism is still livingin the body of the state apparatus and Indonesian citizens” (Ariefana 2019b).
Nevertheless, the discourse about racism that emerged on social media in
Indonesia has also given Papuans new and more ways to talk about theirexperience in Indonesia. While discrimination against the Papuans is not new,the media framing of it as “racism” is. As much as disinformation and hoax canbe credited to the new media landscape, the tool with which to counter it is alsoavailable there, making possible the hashtag #PapuanLivesMatter.

Conclusion
In June 2020, it became clear that social media connected Papua to a global
movement. It connected Papuans with a much broader audience, experience,and movement for justice and solidarity. Hashtag #PapuanLivesMatter was
adopted alongside #BlackLivesMatter. The people now “speak up against the
racial discrimination and violence that Papuans have long endured” (Sutrisno2020). On 18 August 2020, a gathering was held in Surabaya, the city where theindependence day incident against Papuan students took place, but this time tocommemorate the one-year anniversary of the incident. The gathering wasorganized by Papuan students who more or less have been victims of systemic
racism in Indonesia. Some posters read “Commemorating one-year anniversaryof ʻMonkeyʼ Racism,” and “End Racial Discrimination against the people of
Papua” (CNN Indonesia 2020). In this way, awareness of racism and humanrights has arguably been mediated by social media. It gives people new language
to discuss and counter instances of racism and discrimination.
The discourse on racism cannot but compel Indonesians to reimagine theirnational community. More than two decades ago, this national potential risk
was suggested. In his speech entitled “Indonesian Nationalism Today and in the
Future” delivered in Jakarta, Indonesia, on 4 March 1999, Benedict Anderson
reminded Indonesians of what Indonesian nationalism is and what Indonesianhuman rights can be ― and how the two are intertwined:(15)196

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What I mean is the right of those people, all of them, fated to be born on
Indonesian soil in the time of the Republic, to participate voluntarily,
enthusiastically, equally, and without fear in the common project ofIndonesian nationalism. Put conversely, their right not to be treated asanimals, devils, serfs, or the property of other Indonesians. These“Indonesian human rights” can only be struggle for and realized byIndonesians themselves (Anderson 1999, 9).
As the Papuan case indicated, the Indonesian human rights is still far frombecoming a reality.

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