Please fix blunders, Mr President! Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani  ;  Director of the Center for Regulation, Policy and Governance in Jakarta

JAKARTA POST, 29 Januari 2015

                                                                                                                                     

                                                

The arrest of Bambang Widjojanto, a deputy of the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) on Friday, was not the first time the police have moved against the commission. In October 2009, under then president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, two KPK deputies were arrested in a saga known as the “gecko versus crocodile” dispute. This move sparked a public outcry that eventually led to the release of the KPK leaders. One difference stands out between these seemingly similar incidents — the reasons behind them. Back in 2009, the dispute was caused by rivalry between the two institutions, with Yudhoyono playing a mediating role. This time around, however, the hostilities were sparked when President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo nominated as a candidate for the position of police chief Comr. Gen. Budi Gunawan, who had been red-flagged by the KPK and the Financial Transaction Reports and Analysis Center (PPATK) when he was on the short list for Cabinet posts last year. Nevertheless, the President insisted on Budi’s nomination and this is presumably what led the KPK to declare the candidate a graft suspect. Within 10 days, KPK deputy Bambang was arrested on charges of instructing witnesses to provide false testimony at the Constitutional Court, in a case of a disputed result in a local election. Netizens speculated that President Jokowi might have deliberately nominated a sole, problematic candidate for the top police post in order that he be rejected by the legislature. This was thought to be a smart move by some, since the President would then not need to directly challenge the PDI-P politicians who supported the candidate’s nomination. Yet if this was the President’s intention, then it was not a smart move at all, as the House of Representatives was not certain to throw out Budi’s nomination — and, indeed, in the end all House factions did endorse the tainted candidate. If the President had not nominated a person who had been red-flagged by the KPK and PPATK, this whole debacle could have been avoided. That was President Jokowi’s gravest mistake. When the candidate was declared a suspect by the KPK, the President’s response was that he would postpone — but not cancel — his nomination. By doing so, he risked prolonging the rivalry between the institutions. What if the candidate was detained by the KPK after he was inaugurated? Would his status as police chief make it more difficult for the KPK to continue its investigation and collect evidence? It is beyond belief that the President chose to assume these risks. Had he cancelled Budi’s nomination, then we wouldn’t have had to go this far. That was the President’s second blunder. The President then decided to relieve National Police chief Gen. Sutarman of his duties and ordered his deputy, Comr. Gen. Badrodin Haiti, to carry out Sutarman’s duties. Technically, the National Police, at the moment, has no chief. The Presidential Decree that transfers the tasks and authorities to the deputy police chief may stipulate that the deputy has the same functions and authorities as the police chief, but the police law clearly limits such tasks and authorities to the chief, not his deputy. The only task of a deputy chief is to help the police chief to carry out his daily tasks. In effect, the deputy has little authority. Thus the legality of his actions is also subject to question. The KPK, then, is not the only one affected by the nomination scandal; the National Police are adversely affected too. What was the President thinking? Every breakthrough he accomplished during the early days of his presidency has been eclipsed by these scandals. Why would he risk the integrity of two law enforcement institutions – the KPK and the police– over a nomination to hastily replace Sutarman, whose retirement was due in October anyway? Why would he risk his own legitimacy and the trust of his voters and volunteers who helped his campaign over this? I voted for Jokowi and I am utterly dismayed by his blunders. When the KPK vs. National Police dispute occurred back in 2009, Yudhoyono’s response — after a public outcry — was the appointment of an independent team tasked with verifying facts and recommending a solution; they ended by recommending to the Attorney General’s Office that the case against the KPK deputies be closed. It is doubtful if President Jokowi will have the courage and will to take decisive action. Unlike Yudhoyono, Jokowi does not control the coalition that supports him, nor does he control the coalition’s representatives in the House — almost all of who insist that the problematic nomination of the police chief candidate must continue. Those parties are all under the control of an oligarchy outside the bureaucracy. This was reflected in the President’s response to Bambang’s arrest. The President remarked only that he had asked the police and the KPK not to let friction occur and to ensure the proceedings be objective and in line with regulations. This was a very disappointing remark in the wake of a blatant display of legal procedures themselves being used as a tool to impede corruption eradication efforts. The public trust in law enforcement is at its lowest ebb now. The President started this series of blunders and thus it is his responsibility to fix the situation. The longer he prolongs this problem, the more bitter the relationship between the KPK and the police will become, and the less legitimacy Jokowi will have. Demonstrations have already been organized in several regions in support of the antigraft body. There appears to be a glimpse of hope with Sunday’s announcement by Jokowi that he had consulted with independent public figures. However, even if they were officially installed as an “independent team”, they would be limited to providing recommendations to the President as to how this problem can be settled. At the end of the day, it is up to Jokowi to carry out the recommendations. When the time comes, the President will have to make a swift and brave decision. Until that time comes, the public needs to safeguard the process and ensure that the anticorruption and police reform agendas remain on track. ●

Dua Kubu Transparansi

Dua Kubu Transparansi Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani ;  Anggota dari Koalisi Keterbukaan Informasi Indonesia, PhD Ilmu Hukum dari Universitas Dundee, Inggris REPUBLIKA, 28 September 2013

Hari Hak untuk Tahu Internasional (International Right to Know Day) akan dirayakan tanggal 28 September nanti. Mayoritas negara di dunia saat ini sudah memiliki Undang-Undang Kebebasan Memperoleh Informasi. Di Indonesia sendiri Undang-Undang Tentang Keterbukaan Informasi Publik sudah berlaku sejak 2010. 

Hampir semua pihak mendukung trans paransi. Institusi donor seperti Bank Dunia sudah sejak tahun 1991-- dalam dokumen yang membahas tentang tata kelola (governance)--memandang perlu adanya transparansi dan akses informasi publik terhadap pemerintahan. Tiga orang ekonom terkemuka, George Akerlof, Michael Spence, dan Joseph E Stiglitz, memenangkan nobel ekonomi pada 2001 atas karyanya mengenai informasi asimetris dalam pasar. 

Kalangan masyarakat sipil serta organisasi nonpemerintah juga sangat mendukung gerakan transparansi. Transparansi dan kebebasan informasi dianggap sebagai bagian dari hak asasi manusia dan dipercaya mutlak diperlukan dalam suatu negara demokratis. Transparansi juga dianggap diperlukan untuk membasmi korupsi. 

Menarik untuk diamati bahwa gerakan masyarakat sipil--yang biasanya kritis terhadap program-program "neo liberal" dari lembaga donor internasional--justru tampak selaras dan seiringan dalam isu transparansi. Apakah hal ini disebabkan karena adanya kesamaan agenda antara lembaga donor internasional dan aktivis masyarakat sipil lokal? Lebih penting lagi, apakah lembaga donor internasional seperti Bank Dunia memiliki ide dan visi yang sama dengan masyarakat sipil lokal perihal transparansi?

Sebenarnya, terdapat dua ide dasar yang sama sekali berbeda dalam gerakan transparansi. Ide yang pertama memandang transparansi dan akses informasi diperlukan agar pasar dapat bekerja secara baik. Contoh dari penjabaran ide ini adalah dalam regulasi perlindungan konsumen yang mewajibkan produsen atau penjual untuk mengungkapkan isi kandungan, spesifikasi, atau kondisi dari suatu produk. Tujuannya tidak lain agar konsumen (dengan asumsi mereka rasional) atau calon pembeli dapat memiliki informasi yang cukup. 

Contoh lain dari ide transparansi untuk pasar banyak ditemukan dalam peraturan lelang atau peraturan mengenai lowongan pekerjaan. Tujuan dari transparansi ini adalah agar setiap pihak yang ingin melamar pekerjaan atau mengikuti lelang dapat berkompetisi secara adil dengan mengondisikan aturan main yang rata dan sama bagi setiap orang. Dari contoh-contoh di atas dapat disimpulkan bahwa transparansi untuk pasar memiliki satu tujuan, yakni `efisiensi'. 

Berbeda dengan ide transparansi untuk pasar, ide transparansi untuk demokrasi menjadikan akses informasi sebagai hak dasar manusia yang wajib dipenuhi--terlepas dari pertimbangan efisiensi. Perbedaan ide dasar ini memiliki akibat praktis di lapangan. Karena efisiensi menjadi tujuan dari ide transparansi pasar, sejauh efisiensi itu sudah dicapai, transparansi tidak diperlukan.

Ide transparansi pasar juga tidak menyetujui transparansi apabila prosesnya mengakibatkan ketidakefisienan. Oleh karena itu, dalam banyak peraturan lelang dan pengadaan barang dan jasa di beberapa negara di dunia, kita menemukan adanya jaminan transparansi bagi peserta lelang, tapi tidak ditemukan jaminan transparansi perihal urgensi dan/atau konsekuensinya bagi masyarakat. Bahkan, dalam banyak kontrak pengadaan barang dan jasa ditemukan klausul-klausul kerahasiaan yang hanya boleh diketahui pemerintah dan kontraktor.

Klausul-klausul kerahasiaan juga banyak ditemukan dalam kontrak eksploitasi sumber daya alam, seperti kontrak konsesi air atau kontrak bagi hasil migas. Mereka yang menganut transparansi pasar menilai bahwa informasi seperti itu tidak perlu dibuka karena dapat berakibat pada ketidakefisienan dan gangguan pada iklim investasi. 

Sebaliknya, mereka yang menganut transparansi demokrasi berkeyakinan bahwa informasi tersebut perlu untuk dibuka sebagai salah satu bentuk pertanggungjawaban pemerintah kepada rakyat. Para penganut transparansi pasar juga menganggap perlunya perlindungan terhadap kerahasiaan perusahaan, rahasia dagang dan hak atas kekayaan intelektual lainnya. Sementara, pengikut transparansi demokrasi beranggapan bahwa perlindungan tersebut tidak diperlukan apabila membahayakan akuntabilitas publik. 

Undang-Undang Keterbukaan Informasi Publik 14/2008 (UU KIP) sebenarnya memberikan dua macam tes berjenjang untuk menguji apakah informasi dapat dibuka ke publik: uji konsekuensi kerugian dan uji kepentingan publik. Uji konsekuensi kerugian menilai apakah pembukaan informasi tersebut mengakibatkan kerugian tertentu. Apabila memang terdapat kerugian (misalnya kepada perusahaan, pemerintah, atau individu), maka tidak secara otomatis informasinya dinyatakan tertutup karena masih harus diuji di tahap kedua perihal apakah kepentingan publik menghen- daki informasi tersebut untuk dibuka.

Tidak terdapat solusi mudah ketika terjadi pertentangan nilai antara kedua kubu transparansi ini. Metodologi pembuktian biasanya akan cenderung berpihak kepada penganut transparansi pasar.

Bagaimanakah cara menilai bahwa suatu kepentingan itu "lebih besar"?

Cara yang umum diterima adalah dengan menjustifikasikannya secara ekonomi dan moneter. Dalam hal ini, penganut transparansi pasar sangat diuntungkan. Dengan mewajibkan perbandingan besar-kecilnya kepentingan akibat membuka dan menutup informasi, uji kepentingan publik dalam UU KIP memegang prinsip utilitarian. 

Dalam beberapa kasus keterbukaan informasi di Inggris, "kepentingan" dalam frasa "kepentingan publik" dapat ditafsirkan mencakup kepentingan atas persaingan usaha sedangkan "publik" dapat ditafsirkan mencakup para pemegang saham dan investor. Dalam hal ini, bukan mustahil bahwa di Indonesia iklim investasi, persaingan usaha, pertumbuhan ekonomi, penyerapan tenaga kerja, dan banyak hal lainnya yang terkait dengan berfungsinya pasar ditafsirkan sebagai "kepentingan publik" yang "lebih besar". 

Dari paparan di atas dapat disimpulkan bahwa asal muasal gerakan transparansi didasarkan atas dua ide yang berbeda. Aktivis dan masyarakat sipil berkolaborasi dengan organisasi donor internasional dengan asumsi bahwa dua ide tersebut dapat berjalan seiringan. Asumsi ini tidak sepenuhnya benar karena dalam hal-hal tertentu pertentangan akan muncul. ●

FoI commission need strengthening

FoI commission need strengthening Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani  ;   A Member of the Indonesian FoI Network; His PhD in Law from the University of Dundee, UK

JAKARTA POST, 16 Juli 2013

The House of Representatives has elected seven members to the National Freedom of Information (FoI) Commission who will serve for the next four years. 

The role of the commission is crucial in the reform process as it is mandated by the Freedom of Information Law No. 14/2008 to preside over disputes between the public and public bodies concerning access to information. 

After four years, what have we learned so far from the commission? 

First of all, the commission still lacks structural independence. Although Law No. 14/2008 stipulates that the commission is an “independent” body, it financially relies on the Communications and Information Ministry. In practice, the commission is a “task force” under the ministry, because it can only propose a budget through the Ministry’s secretariat-general. 

Worse, the commission has no liberty to appoint and recruit its own administrative officers. The commission staff members are employees of the ministry. These disadvantages will adversely impact on the performance of the commission’s employees.

In regulation theories, budgetary and employment issues are the two key determinants of independence. A regulatory body is said to be truly independent from the executive if its budget and human resources administration are not dependent on executive entities. 

The rationale for promoting the commission’s independence is because it hears disputes between the public and the government. 

Thus, the commission is expected to be neutral, fair and able to resist any pressure from the government side. But due to the lack of independence on budgetary and employment matters, the commission is prone to influence and pressure from the executive. 

The pressure may not be in the form of repression, but snail-paced approval of budgets or limited manpower support. The issue of independence is becoming more important with the 2014 elections drawing near. It is very likely that public requests for information related to political parties’ budget and election disputes will rise. 

Second, there is a need to uphold the personal integrity of the FoI commissioners. The commission has enacted a “code of ethics” but it short stops of regulating conflicts of interest. In advanced jurisdictions, conflicts of interest are not only regulated but also made transparent. 

Independent bodies in advanced jurisdictions publish a register of their members’ past, present and potential conflicts of interest and include a list of past employment, political-party affiliation, share ownership, directorship and 
consulting projects. 

This register of interest is then published on the institution’s website. This sort of transparency mechanism will prevent conflicts of interest from occurring as disputants will know beforehand and can raise objections to the composition of a dispute panel.

Third, there has to be value for money in bureaucracy. We need to be constantly reminded that transparency comes at a price despite the benefits it provides. FoI in the UK costs around £35.5 million (US$53.4) per year (2005) while in the US it costs US$382 million per year (2009). Such expenditure includes both the cost of compliance by public bodies and the operational cost of the FoI commission.

Just as the efficiency of courts is evaluated, a FoI commission can be evaluated in terms of its case-handling. The part of the case-flow where adjudication and deliberation takes places is not a subject for evaluation since judges and arbitrators can take a long time to deliberate a single case and the length of deliberation is oftentimes not an indication of a measure of justice. 

Nevertheless, this can still be used as an indicator or an estimate of efficiency in case handling. 

However, the genuinely administrative part of a dispute-settlement body can always be subjected to efficiency scrutiny. 

This includes, among other things, the process of filing or case registration, notifications to disputants, determination of panel members and inter-institutional cooperation for execution. A justice system can be said to be efficient if these administrative processes are not time consuming. 

It is possible to benchmark and rate quasi-judicial bodies such as the FoI commission (including the election commission, or the competition commission in this respect) in terms of their administrative efficiency. We can then see — on average — how much time is required by each of these commissions for each case, notwithstanding the complexity and differences in the nature of the disputes settled by them.

Fourth and finally, there is a need to enhance the quality of decisions or recommendations rendered by the commission. 

While dispute resolution is the primary duty of the commission, promotion and other forms of public relations activities are only secondary to this. One essential skill imperative for the fulfillment of this core duty is the skill of case analysis and writing judgments. 

FoI commissioners must have strong analytical abilities and be conversant in the art of legal hermeneutics. They must be able to interpret abstract legal notions such as “the public interest” in concrete cases. Such skills are not easy because case-law has not really developed in our legal system. 

Thus, the commissioner may not find a lot on “public interest” through case-law and as a consequence they may be required to develop their own interpretations.

What is important for a commissioner is not to render politically correct judgments, such as those that are in favor of transparency merely because it is more popular in civil society. What needs to be done is to arrive at the right and just decision. 

When internal capacity is lacking, a FoI commissioner should then hire experts in order to carry out the research in difficult cases in which precedence is lacking. There is a developing discipline of “comparative FoI” which looks at the norms, policies and practices of FoI in other jurisdictions that could be used as an approach to settle difficult cases. ● 

Toward community water supply

Toward community water supply Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani ;  The writer, who obtained a PhD from the University of Dundee, lectures at Ibn Khaldun University’s school of law in Bogor, West Java; In 2010, he was involved in the “Review of Legal Framework for Community Water Services” in cooperation with UNICEF and AMPL, East Nusa Tenggara

JAKARTA POST, 22 Maret 2013

  

Under a government policy issued in 2003, the Indonesian water system is divided into “institutional” and “community-based” water services. The institutional category is meant to denote water services provided by ordinary water utilities (PDAM) whereas the “community-based” category is meant to denote water services provided by local community associations. The community category is predominantly found in rural Indonesia, although in some cases it is also applicable in urban settings untouched by PDAM services. According to some sources, while the majority of PDAM are currently ailing and in financial trouble, the community category has been very successful and now constitutes more than half of Indonesia’s total water services.  In many ways, the community category — supported by the 2003 policy — has been a successful endeavour of the government, local communities and donors. Nevertheless, there are problems with both the concept and implementation of the community-based system that threatens its sustainability.  Although cited in various documents by donor institutions, the typology made by the 2003 policy, which categorizes water services into “institutional” and “community” categories, is flawed.  This is because the community is also a form of institution and delivers water services through formal organisations.  The second problem is the term “community” itself. What do we mean by it? Perhaps the term community is used to distinguish from other entities such as corporations. But what if, for example, a particular local community owned shares in a water corporation? Could we not say that the corporation was community-based?  The third problem is the notion of community ownership. Many donors and water activists assume that community ownership is self-explanatory in practice.  The assumption is that when a donor institution disburses funds to build water service infrastructure in remote villages, the community will “own” that infrastructure. This is incorrect.  The truth is that the so called “community” in the context of water services cannot be legally identified. Therefore, water services assets can only be owned by a legal entity and not directly by the individuals of  the community.  For example, an individual in a village does not directly own a communal toilet. He or she can “own” a toilet via the entity that owns it, such as a cooperative, a foundation or an association that has been accorded legal entity status, or even a corporation.  Thus, the notion of community ownership is flawed, for it is not the community that owns water services assets, but the legal entity in which the individuals of the community can be members.  In this respect, the key issue is whether the legal entity owning the water assets is sufficiently democratic in terms of its decision making process.  The questions that donor institutions should ask are whether women are adequately represented and whether marginal groups’ access to water is guaranteed.  Activists need to be wary of power politics and whether patriarchal relations are embodied into legal entities. This is done by evaluating the entity’s articles of association and its application. The fourth problem is with respect to its assets. I said earlier that a community can only “own” water services assets through a legal entity. Under the Indonesian legal system, the process of forming a legal entity is very cumbersome and can take up to more than a year.  Village communities often do not have means at their disposal to handle this. In one research project, I found no clarity as to who owned the infrastructure assets built by donor funds.  The fifth problem relates to the fourth, namely, its operation and maintenance. Without clarity on asset ownership, no one is responsible for maintenance.  In turn, assets will be abandoned by the population due to a lack of maintenance. Ownerless assets also mean that they are vulnerable to confiscation or expropriation from third parties, like developers or powerful village figures. The sixth problem relates to incoherencies in the national legal framework. Due to (unproductive) debates on water privatization, the government prioritises PDAM to provide water services in Indonesia and leaves the community and private sector only a secondary role. As a result, there is a lack of recognition and standards for non-PDAM services in national law.  The trend now is for some regions to enact regional bylaws on community-based water services and due to problems number three and four above, resort to village government to own and maintain assets.  However, the bylaw is often inconsistent with national legislation and often there are areas of overlap and even clashes between PDAM and community-based water services.  Furthermore, resorting to villages — which in a way, are state instruments — means that we are moving away from community-based water and back toward traditional state provision. The community-based water system has (so far) been a tremendous success in improving access to water in Indonesia and the credit goes partially to donor funds.  But without a clear conceptual framework, without clarity on who owns and who is able to own assets and without support from national legislation, the sustainability of community-based water services is of great concern. ●

The elements of ‘state control’

The elements of ‘state control’ Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani ;  The writer lectures in Law at Ibn Khaldun University, Bogor, West Java

JAKARTA POST, 14 Januari 2013

In November, the Constitutional Court invalidated the upstream oil and gas regulatory body (BPMigas). A few years earlier, the court declared the Electricity Law, several provisions in the Oil and Gas Law and the Water Law “conditionally unconstitutional”.  A number of mass organizations have threatened to file a judicial review against other laws governing natural resources in the near future. Judging by the court’s verdicts, there is no certainty as to whether laws which are currently in force are constitutional. Many perceive Article 33 of the Constitution, which mandates the state’s control over natural resources for the good of the people, as the driving force behind the judicial reviews. However, I am of the opinion that the problem lies not in Article 33, but the Constitutional Court’s interpretation and perception of state functions. Article 33 is not particularly clear on what it really means. Thus, in the judicial review of the 2003 law on electricity, the court revived the 1960 debate about the state’s right to control. In order to implement interpretation of Article 33, the court created an analytical framework of state control that consisted of five cumulative elements: policy making (beleid), administrative (bestuursdaad), managerial (beheersdaad), supervisory (toezichthoudensdaad) and regulation (regelendaad).  The court provided examples of how this would work in practice. In terms of administrative functions, the Court suggested that the government would issue permits, licenses and concessions. Whereas, to exercise its regulatory function, the House of Representatives and the government enact laws and the government create rules. The managerial function, according to the court, is exercised through shareholding or direct involvement in the management of state-owned enterprises or state-owned legal entities.  Ever since the court granted the judicial review against the electricity law, these five elements have become a doctrine that has been practiced by the Court in its later decisions and is well-accepted by legal academics. Where do these elements come from? Certainly not from the Constitution, but rather they are constructed by the court as a tool to interpret Article 33.  Partially, the debate on “state control” emerged in the 1960s during the drafting of the Agrarian Law. I suspect the five-element construction is heavily influenced by the writings of Wolfgang Friedmann, a celebrated German jurist and an émigré to the United States. The late Professor Friedmann wrote several books in the 1970s to defend the welfare state and mixed economies.  In his defense of mixed economies, Friedmann stated four primary state functions: as a provider, umpire, entrepreneur and a regulator. One could easily see the link between Friedmann’s idea of the welfare state and the five-element construction developed by the court. If these assumptions are correct, the question then becomes, whether Friedmann’s construction of the welfare state, which was written in the 1970s and now practiced by Indonesian jurists, is still relevant to the present-day situation?  Two decades after Friedmann’s influential books were published, the welfare state was in crisis and neoliberalism was on the rise, followed by a divestiture of state assets, privatization and deregulation. However, total deregulation was not possible. Privatization was unwillingly accompanied by heavy regulation. Europe and many other parts of the world then moved to the phase of the “regulatory state”. The court’s perception of regulation is somewhat different than the mainstream contemporary academic view found in “regulatory state” debates. As discussed previously, regulation is viewed by the court narrowly, as only one part of the five-element construction used by the court in its judicial reviews, the regelendaad.  In the recent judicial review of the Oil and Gas Law which dissolved BPMigas, the court rejected the idea that the state function in the sector was “only” in regulating, and asserted that the other four elements must also be applied. This narrow understanding of regulation by the court differs from contemporary mainstream academic understanding of regulation which also includes supervisory activities, as well as license-granting, standard-setting, in addition to the traditional understanding of enacting rules.  Of all the five elements, the beheersdaad function, according to the court in its judicial review of the Oil and Gas Law, should be considered the primary and the first in hierarchy of the expression of “state control”.  The court said BPMigas was unconstitutional because it restricted the state from expressing its managerial functions. Because of the Oil and Gas Law, the state, the court said, no longer held the authority to directly appoint state agencies or corporations in exploiting oil and resources as they had to go through the proper competition and market mechanism.  This is a very important issue, because when it is applied to oil, it must also be applicable to other natural resources and other “vital branches” of the production sector. We will see an increase in resource nationalism.  In practical terms, the court decision means two things: First, the involvement of state-owned enterprises in the natural-resources sector should increase and second, they may be protected from competition. If these two prerequisites are not met, then a law may not be constitutional. The challenge for Indonesian scholars now is to deconstruct and reinterpret the meaning of Article 33 by proposing an alternative framework. As I have said, the five elements of state control are nowhere to be found in the Constitution. They are the court’s own invention, influenced heavily by Friedmann’s idea of state functions in the context of the welfare state and then reformulated by the court and applied to interpret Article 33 of the Constitution in its review of the 2003 Electricity Law. The Court then refined its formulation in the 2012 oil and gas ruling so that the element of beheersdaad became the first and primary element in determining state control. This too, is another construction which can be debated by the legal community. One way to do this is by drawing on Hatta’s interpretation. One of the founding vice president’s interpretations of Article 33 was that “state control” “[…] does not mean that the state functions as entrepreneur, instead it means that the state enacts rules to support the economy, the rules of which should also forbid exploitation of the weak by the economically powerful”.  Hatta’s interpretation is much more in tune with the contemporary debate on the “regulatory state”, which emphasizes “state control” as a public service obligation, protection of vulnerable groups, transparency, accountability and participation, rather than on share ownership. Furthermore, it is naïve to suggest that state control can be exercised through ownership alone. State-owned companies are not free from corruption, nepotism, capture by political elites or various forms of inefficiencies. As Judge Harjono said in his dissenting opinion of the Oil and Gas Law judicial review last November, the state could still be dragged into investment arbitration which in turn limits the state’s control.  Indeed, private companies are not free from those problems either. Thus, the real “state control” lies in regulatory mechanisms which guarantee human rights and create transparency in extractive industries. Unfortunately, these have not been the main concern of the court or the government as they both continue to wrestle in the never-ending debate over whether ownership and private sector participation can limit state control. ●

Perda Air Jakarta yang Bertentangan dengan HAM

Perda Air Jakarta yang Bertentangan dengan HAM Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani ; Kandidat Doktor Hukum Air, UNESCO Centre for Water Law, Policy and Science, University of Dundee, Skotlandia

SINDO, 01 Desember 2012

Diskursus publik atas sektor air Jakarta sering diramaikan oleh persoalan privatisasi PAM Jaya pada 1997 melalui mekanisme kontrak konsesi.Namun, sebenarnya ada persoalan yang lebih mendasar ketimbang permasalahan privatisasi semata, yakni permasalahan tata-kelola air Jakarta yang diatur lewat berbagai peraturan daerah (perda) yang secara prinsip bertentangan dengan hak asasi manusia (HAM).  Banyak yang tidak tahu bahwa Jakarta sampai saat ini diatur oleh dua Perda Air yang dari sejak ditetapkan pada zaman Soeharto belum pernah diubah, walau sudah sangat ketinggalan zaman.Perda Nomor 13/92 tentang Perusahaan Daerah Air Minum DKI Jakarta (PAM Jaya) dan Perda Nomor 11/93 tentang Pelayanan Air Minum. Apabila tidak segera diubah, peraturan-peraturan ini akan menjadi ganjalan bagi Gubernur Jakarta Jokowi dalam melaksanakan programprogramnya bagi masyarakat miskin.  Bayangkan, dalam Perda Nomor 11/93 Pasal 21, pelanggan air minum yang telat 5 hari dalam melakukan pembayaran rekeningnya akan dikenai denda. Apabila dalam hari keenam belum juga melakukan pembayaran,maka akan dikenai pencabutan sementara. Berdasarkan pasal yang sama, apabila pelanggan menunggak dalam waktu sebulan, sambungannya akan diputus permanen. Dalam judicial review Mahkamah Konstitusi terhadap UU Air Nomor 7/2004, dan menurut General Comment 15 dari Kovenan Hak-Hak Ekonomi dan Sosial, jelas dinyatakan bahwa air merupakan HAM yang pemenuhannya wajib dilindungi oleh negara.  Alih-alih melindungi, lewat peraturan-peraturan tersebut negara bahkan secara aktif memutus hubungan warga negaranya dengan bahan dasar kehidupan tersebut hanya karena mereka tidak mampu membayar. Bahkan di negara-negara seperti Inggris, yang aset perusahaan airnya dijual penuh kepada swasta (di Jakarta aset masih dimiliki oleh PAM Jaya), terdapat perlindungan memadai terhadap golongan lemah seperti pensiunan, kaum difabel, serta golongan ekonomi tidak mampu. Water Industry Act Inggris melarang perusahaan air swasta memutus sambungan air karena ketidakmampuan membayar para pelanggannya. Mengapa persoalan perda air yang tidak manusiawi ini tidak pernah mencuat ke permukaan, sementara kontroversi perihal air di Jakarta selalu berkisar pada persoalan privatisasi? Hal ini adalah karena persoalan tata kelola air secara umum dianggap kurang menarik perhatian publik, sementara persoalan privatisasi dianggap seksi dan kontroversial.  Hal yang juga jarang diketahui oleh publik adalah fakta bahwa sebenarnya Perda Nomor 13/92 tentang PAM Jaya bertanggung jawab terhadap privatisasi air Jakarta. Memang benar bahwa pada 1997 Soeharto membagi dua Jakarta berdasarkan sungai Ciliwung kepada kroni-kroninya untuk menjadi penerima konsesi air dari PAM Jaya.Namun, Perda Nomor 13/92 yang memungkinkan hal tersebut terjadi. Dalam Pasal 15 (1) Perda Nomor 13/92 disebutkan, untuk melakukan “kerja sama” dengan pihak ketiga selama lebih dari satu tahun, direksi hanya perlu persetujuan dari gubernur.  Pasal ini kemudian dijadikan celah untuk melaksanakan perjanjian konsesi air antara PAM Jaya dengan pihak swasta selama 25 tahun. Padahal, menurut laporan Special Rapporteur PBB untuk HAM Atas Air Catarina de Albuquerque, keputusan-keputusan strategis seperti dalam melakukan privatisasi air tidak cukup hanya diputuskan oleh pihak eksekutif (seperti gubernur), melainkan memerlukan pelibatan publik dan proses politik.  Hal ini dikarenakan sifat air sebagai sumber daya yang tidak mungkin dilepaskan dari politik dan keterhubungannya dengan kewarganegaraan (citizenship). Dengan demikian, setidaktidaknya ada dua hal yang harus dilakukan oleh Gubernur Jokowi untuk mereformasi tata kelola air di Jakarta. Pertama, kewenangan PAM Jaya vis a vis operator swasta dalam memutus koneksi air karena ketidakmampuan membayar harus dievaluasi. Kedua, aturan melakukan kerja sama dengan pihak swasta harus diperbaiki sehingga melibatkan publik. Kebijakan pemutusan air sepihak ini tidak menguntungkan siapa-siapa.Sebab apabila layanan diputus—terdesak oleh kebutuhan dasarnya—beberapa pelanggan mencuri air dengan membolongi pipa air. Hal ini berkontribusi pada kebocoran, berkurangnya tekanan air, selain juga tidak adanya pemasukan dari iuran air.  Menurut penelitian yang dilakukan Bakker dan Kooy (2008), penduduk miskin Jakarta sebenarnya bukannya tidak mampu membayar. Hal yang mereka perlukan hanyalah fleksibilitas dalam membayar, misalnya pembayaran di belakang atau pembayaran dengan cicilan dan keberadaan outlet pembayaran yang dekat rumah sehingga mereka tidak perlu bolos kerja. Hal kedua adalah Jokowi harus mengamandemen Perda Air sehingga keputusan strategis yang berkaitan dengan privatisasi harus ditempuh dengan melibatkan seluruh pemangku kepentingan.  Dengan adanya ketentuan ini maka apabila kontrak konsesi selesai nanti, publik dan DPRD DKI harus sepenuhnya dilibatkan apabila terdapat rencana untuk melakukan privatisasi atau kerja sama skala besar dengan pihak swasta. Apabila Jokowi gagal melakukan kedua hal di atas, sistem pengawasan pelaksanaan HAM atas air PBB memungkinkan warga Jakarta maupun pemangku kepentingan lain untuk menyampaikan keluhan kepada Dewan HAM PBB. Keluhan dapat disampaikan langsung kepada Special Rapporteur masalah Air PBB dengan alamat email srwatsan@ohchr.org. ●

The new governor and Jakarta’s drinking water problem

The new governor and Jakarta’s drinking water problem Mohamad Mova Al’Afghani ;  A Senior Water Law Consultant at a Melbourne-Based Company

JAKARTA POST, 20 Oktober 2012

During the recent Jakarta gubernatorial election, observers and opponents argued that the scale and complexities of the capital city’s urban problems were in no way equivalent to small cities such as Surakarta, where newly installed Governor Joko “Jokowi” Widodo used to serve as a mayor.  When Jokowi later has to deal with Jakarta’s drinking water situation, he will realize that there is a grain of truth in this argument.  While his predecessor Fauzi Bowo seemed to be focused more on technocratic “grand strategies” to solve the overall water problem, to my knowledge, Jokowi does not have any sophisticated plan. From media interviews we can tell that Jokowi’s emphasis on Jakarta’s drinking water problem will be on quality and affordability i.e. a pro-poor approach. One of Jokowi’s promises during his campaign was to provide access to water for low-income citizens of North Jakarta, either at an affordable rate, or even for free.  But, how can he deliver on such a promise? I shall explain the complexities below. First, water provision is a natural-legal-monopoly. What this means is that people cannot just extend pipes to a community outside the existing network because the cost of duplicating networks is high. As a result, there are usually only one or two companies serving a particular region. The monopoly is not only in terms of economics, but also a legal one. Every new entrant or operation may have to gain permission from incumbent companies.  Second, there is a trade-off between service levels and network expansion. Suppose that the companies agree to expand the network, with constraints on bulkwater sources, pressure and continuity of supply other areas might be affected. Thus, a part of Jakarta that is currently well-served might become compromised unless the government finds a new bulkwater source. Third, there are significant costs associated with network expansion to the poor. In addition to capital expenditure on long-term assets, collection rates will become a major issue. Expanding services to low-income citizens means risking either non-payment or increased debt for suppliers. Various researches indicate that the poor have both the willingness and capacity to pay for water services. However, low-income consumers require flexibility in the form of payment-in-arrears or in installments.  Aside from the above points, unless appropriately addressed, the current governance structure of Jakarta’s water services could impede Jokowi’s pro-poor water plan. As we are aware, there are at least three main regulatory actors in Jakarta’s drinking water services: the city-owned waterworks company PAM Jaya, the concessionaires (Palyja and Aetra) and the governor. The concession works in such a way that PAM Jaya must purchase the volume of water sold by the concessionaire to the consumer. Thus, from the concessionaire’s point of view, aside from constraints on bulkwater sources, they have no objection at all to serving the poor since they will be paid no matter what.  However, PAM Jaya may have objections to expanding the network to the poor, because if the revenue from tariff collection is not enough to cover the cost, then PAM Jaya will have to borrow money to pay the concessionaire. This means that if the poor cannot pay or can only pay in arrears, PAM Jaya will be in debt to the private sector. It is worth noting that at the moment, PAM Jaya already has huge debts with the private sector.  Another consequence of the above system is that PAM Jaya’s debt would reflect upon the concessionaire’s balance sheet and affect its overall financial health. Put simply: connecting to the poor may affect the collection rates, low collection rates means that PAM Jaya would be in debt to the concessionaire and in turn PAM Jaya’s debt to the concessionaire means higher account receivables in the concessionaire balance sheet. If the concessionaires only have high account receivables but lack cash, how can they have enough funds to invest in further network expansion and finance the existing operations and maintenance? What the above shows is that there are structural disincentives in connecting to the poor. The concessionaire might be able to resort to outside financing for cash that would support a pro-poor program but for PAM Jaya this could be perceived as a liability that put strains on its balance sheet. A direct interventionist approach will also not work in Jakarta because it is legally impossible. Jokowi will soon find out that the governance of Jakarta water services is a complex web of various actors and interests, not only local and national, but also international. The nature of private sector participation with foreign investment means that the corporations investing in water services are backed by international treaties.  Any disputes could provoke intervention not only from the central government, but could also take place through diplomatic channels. This has already occurred in the past.  All of these challenges should not discourage Jokowi from his initial plan to provide services to the poor. There are several things that Jokowi could do to advance his water-for-the-poor program.  He should first address the lack of incentives from regulatory actors in connecting to the poor. Next, he should consult the poor on how they want to be connected to the network. The poor, together with companies and other actors should sit together to discuss the issue. Finally, Jokowi should try to reform the existing legislation which penalizes the poor for late payments.  As I have said, low-income citizens require flexibility in payments but the current legislation restricts this. In order to achieve all this, of course, he needs sufficient support from the Jakarta City Council. ●

Anti-blasphemy tool a diplomatic blunder

Anti-blasphemy tool a diplomatic blunder Mohamad Mova Al’ Afghani ;  A Lecturer of Law

JAKARTA POST, 10 Oktober 2012

At the 67th session of the United Nations General Assembly, President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (SBY) called on world leaders to “enact an international instrument to effectively prevent incitement to hostility or violence based on religions or beliefs”. These words are a verbatim citation of SBY’s speech.

Thus, SBY – in his official United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) speech — did not state that he demanded the international community enforce an international blasphemy law. The term “blasphemy” is found nowhere in his speech. What he officially pushed for is the enactment of an international instrument that could prevent incitement to hostility or violence.

This is where the move constitutes a blunder. First, there is a big difference between a blasphemy law and a law that punishes incitement of hostility. Second, laws which restrict incitement and hate speech are actually part of international law and have been practiced in by international courts. Third, the Innocence of Muslims movie, which SBY also referred to in his speech, may not necessarily qualify as an “incitement to hostility or violence”.

Let us now discuss the first blunder. The media have quoted statements from ministers and other government officials who hinted at Indonesia’s quest for an international blasphemy law, which contradicts SBY’s remarks at the UNGA forum. So what exactly is Indonesia’s diplomatic position concerning blasphemy? Does it seek to restrict free speech which incites hostility or violence or does it aim to enact a blasphemy law?

A blasphemy law protects religion, although in practice this usually translates into the “dominant” religion and its symbols. Thus, irrespective of whether something is intended to provoke violence or not, to the extent that it is considered denigrating of religion and religious symbols it can be restricted and punished.

Such an international blasphemy law would be absurd and inconceivable. Every founder of a new religion has been accused of blasphemy by the society they served. Thus blasphemy is required for a religion to exist. The Indonesian Shiite cleric Tajul Muluk, for example, has been convicted of blasphemy and jailed for it.

It would thus be unthinkable for diplomats from predominantly Shiite Iran to sit together with their Indonesian counterparts and agree on an international blasphemy provision as it would mean that they approve of persecution of Shia followers.

The second blunder is that SBY’s call for a restriction of free speech that incites violence is already part of the existing international law. The Civil and Political Covenant provides clauses that restrict freedom of expression on the grounds of public health, public order and morality. Now, why would SBY say that we need such a law when we already have one?

Third, SBY relating the international uproar surrounding Innocence of Muslims to the requirement for “an international instrument” to effectively prevent incitement to hostility or violence based on religion shows a level of disconnect. The movie does not directly incite hostility or provoke violence. Rather, hostility and violence are an indirect result of the movie.

There is a clear line separating these concepts. In order for an act of expression to incite violence, it must provoke people to commit violence. In the famous case of Radio-Télévision Libre des Milles Collines (RTLM) in Rwanda, it is clear that the radio incited Hutus to kill the Tutsis. Thus, the RTLM was held responsible for its role in the genocide. The Tutsis were therefore the direct victims of RTLM hate speech.

The RTLM case is different from the Innocence of Muslims movie. The latter does not contain any incitement for people to physically hurt Muslims and indeed no Muslims have been killed or hurt as a result of the movie’s provocation. What happened is rather the contrary. Some people — who happen to be Muslims — got angry and then killed others or got themselves killed in the process.

Undoubtedly, the movie is indeed disparaging and could lead to wrong perceptions about Islam and Muslims. However, to argue that such incorrect perceptions cause physical violence to Muslims would be too far-fetched. Because of this, SBY’s argument linking the recent uproar caused by the movie to his proposal for an international instrument to prevent incitement to hostility is unsound. Recently reports have abounded that Indonesia will lead the formulation of a roadmap towards a so-called international anti-blasphemy protocol. Whosoever gets involved in the process of drafting such roadmap will have to deal with these blunders.

Perhaps Indonesia is trying to play its card as the world’s largest predominantly Muslim nation to gain sympathy from the Organization of Islamic Conference countries. Or perhaps, this is a maneuver to send a signal to the UN Human Rights Council that Indonesia’s bad marks on the freedom of religion have some “roots” in the international arena.

Nevertheless, this whole anti-blasphemy protocol, instruments and road map is a waste of Indonesia’s diplomatic resources. This manuevering does not present a good image to the world of Indonesia as a moderate Muslim nation that succeeds in reconciling democracy and human rights with Islam. It also does not send a good signal to the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) countries because there are inconsistencies in Indonesia’s diplomatic stance. It appears to me that Indonesia doesn’t really know what it wants. ●