Interethnic Violence,Separatism and Political Reconciliation in Turkey and Indonesia

Turkey: Interethnic Conflict, Separatism and Fragile Political Reconciliation

Writing in mid-1990s, Morton Abramowitz, an American diplomat and former US ambassador to Turkey, said that the ‘Kurdish issue is Turkey’s most difficult and painful problem’ that presents an immense moral predicament for the country (Barkey and Fuller 1998, xi). It was more than a decade ago when Abramowitz, who was also a former President of Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, wrote this statement. However, the ‘Kurdish question’ ¹ is still in issue today, and the Turkish authorities are still struggling resolving Turkish–Kurdish conflict that has highlighted the world’s mass media. Whereas the Turkish government claims that the ‘Kurdish question’ is about ‘underdevelopment’, ‘insurgency’ or ‘terrorism’, in reality, it is a multi-level multifaceted ethnic conflict involving political, economic and cultural dimensions. The ‘Kurdish problem’, it should be noted, is not the only problem in Turkey. The country has no doubt been facing and struggling with a number of ethno-religious minority issues, including those of Armenians, Alevis, Christians and various Sufi groups, such as, Naqshabandi and Bektashi (see, e.g., van Bruinessen 1996, 1994). But the ‘Kurdish issue’ is distinct in its depth and complexity.

It is imperative to note that Turkey’s Kurdish ethnic conflict has existed since the very early years of the Turkish Republic (founded in 1923). Beginning with the local uprisings between 1925 and 1938, to the PKK incident, Turkish–Kurdish violence has resulted in tens of thousands of deaths and injuries, most of them were Kurds. Other hundreds of thousands of people were displaced and properties worth millions of dollars were destroyed. ² In addition to these physical damages, the conflict has made the country’s millions of inhabitants traumatise which is potential to create future renewed violence and terrorism. Although the Kurdish issue and uprisings occurred since the beginning of Turkish Republic, ironically, millions of Kurds in the country—the numbers vary ranging from 12 million to over 20 million—had been ‘mummified’ at the corner of Turkey’s history, or had been buried ‘on the sidelines of history’ (White 2000), or had ‘slipped off the pages of history’ (Fuller 1993) for more than half a century. It was not until the PKK-sponsored massive deadly violence that the ‘Kurdish problem’ has been considered to be a serious problem for the Turkish state officials. Due to these rebellions, PKK, also known by the nickname Apocus (the follower of Abdullah “Apo” Ocalan, PKK’s founder), compared to other country’s Kurdish nationalist movements, has received world’s greatest attention, in part because this leftist group is the most violent, brutal and radical Kurdish faction.

Indeed, since its founding in the late 1970s, PKK, initially espousing Marxist–Leninist creed and philosophy, engaged in Vietcong ³ -style terrorist tactics and violence designed to weaken Turkish authorities and terrify local population. By launching a guerrilla war and organising mass mobilisations, PKK had mounted its largest challenge for the Turkish state. PKK’s first insurgency broke out in 1984 which was considered to be the largest and most severe insurgence against Turkish Republic. In that year PKK attacked Turkish security forces, government personnel and facilities, as well as Kurdish feudal elites that supported Ankara. Since the outbreak of the first rebellion, the conflict between Turkish government and PKK has persisted in the form of guerrilla movements and limited warfare (see Marcus 2007).

Having blended violence with the fielding of a political and military cadre dedicated to winning over the population, over time, PKK has become more politically sophisticated. However, PKK’s political aspirations remain unclear and ambiguous since its messages vary: from separatism, federalism, a better cultural and political life for Turkey’s Kurds, to Kurdish movement that would integrate all Kurds living on both sides of the borders with Turkey. The party’s message is blurred and confused because, as Brown has aptly remarked, it is attempting to represent all Turkey’s Kurds’ points of view ranging from ‘secessionists to those seeking a peaceful political solution to the conflict’ (Brown 1995, 118–119; cf. Gunter 1990).

Much effort has been made to resolve conflict and reconcile the relationships between Turks and Kurds in general and Turkish state and PKK in particular. However, so far, attempts at conflict resolution and peacebuilding remains uncertain and fragile, albeit PKK’s long-time leader Abdullah Ocalan had been captured (and jailed) as an outcome of the ‘Great International Conspiracy’ (Ozcan 2006, 12). Although some analysts (e.g., Gunter 2000) argue that the sudden arrest of Ocalan in Kenya on 16 February 1999 signalled a total new beginning in the attempt to resolve Turkey’s ongoing Kurdish problem and to end the bloody conflict between Turkish state and PKK, in fact, the relationships between Turks and Kurds remain weak. Up to now, parties involved in the fighting have not yet found ‘best formula’ to end violence and establish peaceful relations between them. Although Ocalan is in prison, violence persists. ⁴ To give an example, in 2007, as reported by Today’s Zaman (10 June 2008), a group of the outlawed PKK militants, reportedly made up of 350 terrorists, re-attacked the military outpost in Aktutun in the Semdili district of Hakkari, ⁵ a tragedy that makes attempts of conflict resolution even harder.

The effort of political reconciliation, moreover, has become much more difficult to achieve since the interests and agenda of Turks and Kurds vary from group to group. ⁶ There is no single blueprint of peacebuilding that is able to satisfy and meet each group’s interests, either within Turkish or Kurdish side. From Turkish standpoints, it should be noted, there have been different interests, perspectives and concerns between state—or in Gunter’s (2008) words, ‘Deep State’ whose key elements are military and security forces—civilian governments, and Turkish societies in general with regard to the ‘Kurdish question’. The state’s (and government) position has been that the maintenance of the unity and the territorial integrity of the country cannot be jeopardised, whereas the Kurdish and PKK’s objectives range from the demands of economic developments in the southeast, cultural and political rights as an identity group, to federalism and separate statehood. After the arrest of Ocalan, PKK supporters have demanded the Turkish authorities to release him. They insist that without his freedom, ‘there can be no solution to the Kurdish problem’ (Marcus 2007, 296). It is also central to bear in mind that PKK’s interests do not represent those of Kurdish ethnic groups as a whole. Even though in the beginning many Kurds supported the PKK’s struggle and agenda, a sustained PKK policy of massacring the families of Kurds, including women and children, who sided with the security forces, has weakened support for PKK in Turkey’s predominantly Kurdish southeast.

Turkish armed forces, furthermore, have considered a struggle against PKK, along with its supporters and sympathisers, as a fight against a terrorist group who wants to destabilise and weaken Turkey’s political, economic and territorial integrity. The armed forces resemble the current situation the Turkish War of Independence (1919–1923), and desire to show the similar courage and heroism against foreign foes. From these military’s points of view, thus, opening communication channels with PKK guerrillas (e.g., diplomacy) are automatically considered to be a sort of ‘harassment’ of Turkish army institution. Attempts to build a dialogue or advocate a political solution for PKK members in particular or Kurdish in general, from Turkish military’s standpoints, will hinder their efforts to forcibly defeat them. Additionally, according to the army, the use of Kurdish language in private and on national television is viewed to be a violation towards the existing Turkish constitution which only grants Turkish as the language of Turkish citizens. Granting any such constitutional right means give PKK a path to separatism. Constitutional rights, the army believes, will lead first to claims for autonomy and then federation, and finally separation (Beriker-Etiyas 1997, 442–443). Hence, to avoid the possibility of the creation of separate nationhood in the southeast, Turkish armed forces believe that the military solution is the only and the best solution for the ‘Kurdish question’. This military approach has been one of the main barriers in efforts of restoring Turkish–Kurdish relations.

Turkish government’s responses, moreover, are slightly different from those of the military as well as the Kemalists and ultranationalists. Although both government and military have shared same interests, that is, denial of the creation of an independent Kurdish state in the southeast, their approaches of peacebuilding and reconciliation are quite distinct. It was Turgut Ozal (prime minister, 1983–1989; president, 1989–1993) who initiated a dialog and peaceful, nonviolent approaches towards the Kurdish issue. Regrettably, Ozal’s successors had neither the stature nor leadership to bolster reforms and promote reintegration between Turks and Kurds that he set off to end sectarian strife (Romano 2006). Indeed, Ozal deserves credits for his endeavour in restoring the relationships between Turks and Kurds.

Having considered being a ‘half-Kurdish’, Ozal broke a number of Kemalist taboos towards the end of his term in office. Prior to his sudden and suspicious death in 1993, he began to symbolise a genuine division within the Turkish elite towards the Kurdish question, and his actions opened the possibility for dialogue between Ankara and Kurdish nationalists. He seems to believe that some essential changes are needed to bring Turkey’s Kurds back into the fold. At a meeting of the Turkish Industrialists’ and Businessmen Association held in April 1991, for instance, he said that the government was ‘engaged in a quest for a serious model for solving the Kurdish problem in a manner that goes beyond police measures’ (quoted from Brown 1995, 120). Towards the end of 1991, Ozal succeeded in annulling Law 2932, thereby permitting the public use of Kurdish language, especially in everyday conversation and folklore music recordings. ⁷ He also regarded Turkey’s past policy of repression whose main objective was to assimilate Kurdish communities as a mistake.

In 1992, Ozal, again, moved forward by advocating and granting an amnesty for Turkish Kurds, such as the former mayor of Diyarbakir, Mehdi Zana, as well as dealing with PKK through more formal negotiations within the institutionalised political system, a policy in which hardliners and Turkish military would not permit (Brown 1995; Romano 2006). Apart from the military refutation, he was held in high esteem by Turkey’s Kurds, including Ocalan, and appeared to be ‘the only Turkish politician able to counterbalance the role of the military as well as its National Security Council “advisory” body (the MGK)’ (Romano 2006, 55). In response to the Ozal’s initiatives, PKK leader Ocalan, since the early 1990s, reacted positively. In an interview, for instance, he stated, ‘Let us declare a ceasefire and sit at the negotiating table. If Turkey abandons its oppressive policy in the region, then we will refrain from violence. Our people need Turkey and we cannot separate’ (Brown 1995, 120). Further, Ocalan considered Ozal’s initiatives a ‘significant step’ and declared that PKK ‘might opt for a diplomatic-political solution’ and no longer sought independence and the creation of separate state for Turkey’s Kurds (Brown 1995, 121). Sadly, the positive signals of both Ozal and Ocalan had been destroyed by the ‘1992 Nevruz incident’ that took hundreds of casualties.

At the time, Turkish authorities considered Nevruz (lit. the ‘New Day’) celebrations held by Kurds a sign of separatist sentiments; accordingly they prohibited the celebrations. As a result, clashes between Kurds and Turkish security forces inevitably ensued. Instead of a celebration, then, it turned into awful bloodshed (Pope 2009). In response to this renewed violence, Ocalan declared that attempts by the new administration under the Damirel and Inonu coalition to implement moderate measures with regard to the ‘Kurdish question’ have not achieved anything, albeit Damirel depicted the Kurdish situation as ‘Turkey’s top problem’ and promised to address this issue justly and peacefully through democratic means. He also accused Turkish governments’ recognition ⁸ towards Kurdish culture, history and language, as well as their pledge on achieving Turkish–Kurdish reconciliation was only in words.

After some serious losses on the battleground, in 1993, PKK declared a unilateral ceasefire, which many people believed President Ozal had played a central role in procuring. PKK’s offer to Turkish government included: ‘a declaration in favour of a negotiated solution and willingness to allow Kurdish deputies, rather than the PKK, to negotiate with Ankara on behalf of Kurdish people; a commitment to the unity of Turkey and rejection of separatism and a commitment to the legal democratic process’ (Romano 2006, 56; cf. McDowall 1997, 437). One month later Ocalan and PKK renewed the ceasefire indefinitely. During the time, Ocalan came to believe that both Turks and Kurds would be better off living together in a Turkey that has become fully democratic. When he declared a unilateral ceasefire in March 1993, for instance, he stated, ‘Turkish–Kurdish brotherhood is about 1000 years old, and we do not accept separation from Turkey; rather, the Kurds in Turkey want peace, dialog, and free political action within the framework of a democratic Turkish state’ (Gunter 2000, 853; cf. Gunter 2008).

Given that Ocalan had stopped mentioning autonomy, self-determination, or separation, and given many of Ozal’s earlier pronouncements on the issue, President Ozal might well have opened the way for a political solution to the Kurdish issue and have accepted PKK demands of cultural freedom, the rights to broadcast in Kurdish, the abolition of village guard system, the lift of the emergency legislation, and the recognition of the Kurdish organisation’s political rights. When a new wind of hope for reconciliation between the Turks and the Kurds began to blow, Ozal suddenly and ‘mysteriously’ died just in the day after Ocalan’s new truce had been offered. Rumours emerged that Ozal was killed by the Turkish military that opposed his peacebuilding initiatives towards the Kurdish ethnic groups.

The Turkish political leaders who followed in the wake of Ozal’s death, such as, Suleyman Demirel, Tansu Ciller, Mesut Yilmaz, Necmettin Erbakan, Bulent Ecevit and Recep Erdogan, ‘lacked either Ozal’s independence, influence, imagination, or willingness to pursue anything but the military’s solution to the PKK insurgency’ (Romano (2006, 57). The Turkish security and military forces, moreover, saw the PKK ceasefire as a sign of weakness; hence they continued its counter-insurgency operations. In 1994, Tansu Ciller, Turkey’s first woman prime minister, reportedly spent US$ 8 billion on military operations in the southeast. At the same time more moderate Kurdish representatives were expelled from Ankara’s National Assembly. This official state repression was followed by killings and abductions of Kurdish political party officials, intellectuals and journalists reporting on the Kurdish issue. By 1995, Ankara’s military attempts appeared to have achieved some degree of ‘success’ since they were able to pressure the Iraq-based Kurdistan Democratic Party to join forces against PKK’s bases of operations in northern Iraq. As a result, the northern Iraq-based PKK’s bases had severely been damaged by the Turkish–Iraqi military coalition and special contra-guerrilla forces. Violence continues, however, albeit PKK’s centres of operations had been harshly destroyed.

In addition to shooting down PKK insurgents and detaining its members, post-Ozal Turkish authorities continued to arrest and prison anyone supported Turkish–Kurdish reconciliation and Ocalan’s points of view. In 1999, for instance, the leading Turkish journalist Oral Calislar was sentenced to prison as a terrorist because of critical interview with Ocalan he had published. Turkey’s president of the Human Rights Association named Akin Birdal was also jailed in 1998 for calling for a peaceful solution to the Kurdish issue. The Turkish officials accused him of ‘inciting people to hatred on the basis of class, race, and regional differences’. Meanwhile, interestingly, instead of issuing a hard-line appeal for renewed fighting during his trial, Ocalan re-issued a significant statement that calls for the ‘implementation of true democracy to solve the Kurdish question within the existing borders of a unitary Turkey’ (Gunter 2008, 7). The democratic option, Ocalan has said, is the only alternative in solving the Kurdish problem. Separation is neither possible nor necessary (Gunter 2000, 854–857). To demonstrate his sincerity and seriousness, moreover, Ocalan ordered his guerrillas to evacuate Turkey. Thus, Ocalan’s capture opened the door a process of implicit bargaining between the state and many of its citizens of Kurdish ethnic heritage as represented by PKK and HADEP ⁹ (Peoples Democratic Party) that holds out the hope of a ‘win-win solution’ for all the parties involved in conflict (Ayse, 2009).

At its remarkable 7th party congress held 2–23 January 2000, PKK adopted a ‘Peace Project’ which incorporated several important points as a ‘compensation’ for not demanding a separate Kurdish state. These points included the recognition of the Kurdish identity, practising cultural rights, the right to have education in Kurdish, and the lifting of Emergency Rule and the village guard system. Other primary points announced by the PKK included securing the life and freedom of Ocalan, increased investment in the southeast, and the maintenance of historic and environmental treasures threatened by the Ilisu Dam ¹⁰ in the southeast of Turkey (cf. Gunter 2008, 2000). Of course, Turkish government pursued its own agenda. As Turkish parliament elected Ahmet Necdet Sezar as the new president of Turkey in May 2000, there was a new hope to Turkish–Kurdish peaceful solution. A former president of the Turkish Constitutional Court, Sezar had come to the attention of the Turkish public due to his criticism towards the country’s constitution which restricts fundamental freedoms, including the usage of the Kurdish language. He also advocated greater constitutionally protected freedom of thought and expression.

Unfortunately, there are still powerful forces in Turkey, especially the military, the Kemalists and the ultra-nationalists, which are not interested in seeking further peaceful, democratic solution, nor even an end to what they called a ‘gainful war’ against the terrorists, because they fear it would threaten their privileged positions as well as Turkey’s territorial integrity. In 2000, for instance, they detained three main HADEP mayors and accused them of supporting PKK. They also continued to arrest those who are accused of being ‘pro-Kurdish struggle’. Despite PKK’s abandonment of the guerrilla warfare, Emergency Rule persisted and the village guards have not been disbanded. Rather than recognising the Kurdish language as part of Turkey’s languages, the Prime Minister Ecevit even argued that Kurdish was only a dialect, not a language; consequently, he argued, there was no Turkey’s Kurdish ethnic problem, only a matter of economic poverty and underdevelopment in the east and southeast of Turkey.

It was new Prime Minister Recep Erdogan, who in August 2005 became the first Turkish leader to acknowledge publicly that Turkey had a ‘Kurdish problem’. In a dramatic speech in Diyarbakir in the southeastern region, he added that Turkey had made ‘great mistakes’ in the past and called for more democracy to solve the problem (Gunter 2008). Violent riots and social disturbances broke out across many parts of Turkey in March 2006, however, have dampened further movement on the Kurdish issue. In addition, although Erdogan admitted the ‘Kurdish question’ and the legacy of Turkey’s past faults, he seems to be unwilling to cooperate and negotiate with PKK. On the contrary, Erdogan, as Turkey’s military forces, denounced Ocalan and PKK as the terrorist group, and urged pro-Kurdish Democratic Society Party (DTP) to take the same thing unless the DTP unwanted to ‘talk’ with him. As a Kurdish politician, Aysel Tugluk (2012) has correctly said, denouncing the PKK as the terrorists would not solve the Kurdish question, a statement that led her to a prison, regrettably. ¹¹

Situations a bit change since the last years. In 2012, for instance, Turkey started negotiations with the imprisoned PKK leader, Abdullah Ocalan. As part of settlement talks, PKK declared a ceasefire in March 2013 and started its withdrawal from Turkey towards its camps in northern Iraq in May. The founding director of The Middle East Institute’s Center for Turkish Studies, Gonul Tol, said that the latest round of peace talks with PKK remains the ‘Turkish government’s best bet not just to solve the country’s 29-year old “Kurdish problem” but also to feed its energy-hungry population and wean it off costly and politically risky Russian and Iranian energy imports’ (Tol 2013). Gonul Tol argues that the recent peace talks between Turkey and PKK were part of the Turkish government’s strategy to assure a pipeline security and investment confidence. Indeed, since the last years, Turkey has been scrambling to find alternative energy resources aiming at fuelling its growing economy and reducing its account deficit driven by high prices of oil and gas. To that end, Gonul Tol (2013) said, the Turkish rule has quietly been building up its energy presence in the Kurdistan Regional Government’s (KRG) oil and gas industry. Recep Tayyip Erdogan had met with KRG Prime Minister Nechirvan Barzani to negotiate a framework deal that included Turkish stakes in exploration blocks and terms for the direct pipeline export of oil and gas from the KRG. However, the success of the Turkey-KRG energy partnership hinges on the peaceful resolution of Turkey’s Kurdish problem since PKK has used pipeline attacks as a means of targeting Turkey’s strategic assets. This is the background of the latest (2012) peace talks between Turkey and PKK.

It is true that in an attempt to meet European Union norms and political standards, besides as part of Turkey’s efforts to boost the rights of the Kurds, Turkish government has implemented a number of significant programmes of conflict resolution and political reconciliation, including translation of the Qur’an into the Kurdish language, a state-run Kurdish television station (TRT 6), public use of Kurdish language in certain areas, the recognition of the Nevruz, an investigation of unearthed some of the crimes committed in the southeast by security forces ¹² and so forth. Last year the Turkish government also unveiled a reform package that allows the use of Kurdish language in election campaigns, lifts restrictions on the use of the Kurdish language in private schools, abolishes the requirement to recite the pledge of allegiance that forced schoolchildren to declare that ‘I am a Turk’, and allows Kurdish towns to use their Kurdish names (Tol 2013).

For most Kurds, however, the reform package seems to only move forward halfway. Many Kurds also consider such state-run programmes ‘a glass half-full’, to borrow Mustafa Akyol’s phrase. ¹³ Kurds have long asked for the right to public education in Kurdish, and the package only applies to private schools. The democratisation package also does not offer concrete steps to address the Kurdish demand to lower the 10 per cent electoral threshold, which has mainly been used to keep pro-Kurdish parties out of parliament. As a result in late 2013, PKK leader, Abdullah Ocalan, warned that the breakdown to fulfil all Kurdish demands may end the unilateral ceasefire. However, for the Turkish administration there is no easy way forward. Accordingly Turkish–Kurdish tensions are still on air. This means that the future prospects of Turkish–Kurdish cooperation and peace are still uncertain and frail. As Gareth Jenkins reminds us that Turkey faces the danger of civil war, although most Kurds and Turks in the country do not desire it. Such danger exists, Jenkins has argued, because some people from both sides want to provoke it. ¹⁴ In brief, much work needs to be done on the part of Turkish government if this country wants to join European Union, smooth Turkey-KRG energy partnership, and, above all, create the peaceful solution of the Kurdish issue.

Aceh, Indonesia: Political Violence, Separatism and Peace Agreement

Unlike Turkey’s PKK, Indonesia’s Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, GAM) has a slightly different story, albeit both parties once shared the same history, that is, the history of conflict, violence and separatism. On 15 August 2005, the Government of Indonesian and GAM signed a historic peace accord in Helsinki, Finland; thereby it is called the ‘Helsinki Peace Agreement’. Signed under the supervision of former Finnish president, Martti Ahtisaari, the Helsinki peace deal marked the end of a 30-year-old violence between GAM and Jakarta, one of Asia’s most enduring and bloody armed separatist conflicts. Anyone studying peacebuilding in protracted conflict areas will know that a process of conflict transformation from violence to peace, from disintegration to integration, and from denial to cooperation is not an easy journey. This Helsinki peace pact was also the fruit of a ‘longue duree’ process of negotiation involving various political agents and civil society actors, including woman groups, from Jakarta, Aceh, and other parts of the world. How did Aceh’s GAM and Jakarta, which was preceded by a series of failed negotiations between these two conflicting parties, finally come to a peace agreement and promised to end the violence?

It is significant to notice that the violence between GAM and Jakarta is not the only violence in Aceh, and GAM was not the only separatist and violent group in the region. A region dubbed ‘The Veranda of Mecca’, Aceh has a wide reputation for the ‘land of conflict and insurgency’, especially since 1873 when the Dutch colonial government declared war on Aceh. ¹⁵ Known as ‘the Aceh war’, Aceh’s anti-colonial rebellions had been the most dramatic and lengthy warfare against the Dutch within Indonesian history and politics. After Indonesia gained its independence in 1945 (effective in 1949 after the Dutch ‘transferred’ its authority to Indonesian state), a new type of resistance emerged, that is, Darul Islam (the ‘Adobe of Islam’), led by Teungku Daud Beureueh (1899–1987), rebelled Jakarta and demanded for an Acehnese Islamic state, separated from Indonesia. Acehnese involvement in the Darul Islam uprising largely stemmed from regionalist anger over the province’s incorporation into Indonesia’s predominantly Christian North Sumatra (cf. Reid 1979).

By 1962, however, Darul Islam had been successfully defeated by central government military campaigns. In the case of Aceh, basically the movement had been politically undermined when Jakarta granted Aceh ‘special region’ (daerah istimewa) status in 1959, providing for local autonomy over religion, customary law (adat), culture and education. Jakarta’s motives in compromising with the Acehnese were complex, but the critical point was that a negotiated solution was possible as long as Jakarta was willing to provide for a degree of special autonomy for the region and to recognise its separate identity based on ethnicity, language and culture. Local ruling groups not only agreed to remain within the Republic of Indonesia, but were happy to be seen as having a special role in the creation of the Republic and in shaping its identity (Reid 2006; Sherlock 2005). To put it differently, the rebellion of Darul Islam was eventually resolved through a combination of military forces and negotiations after President Sukarno responded to Acehnese demands to manage their own affairs in accordance with Islam by conferring in principle Daerah Istimewa (Special Region) status to the re-established province of Aceh (Miller 2009).

Following the end of the Darul Islam movement, Aceh was quite free of open conflict and wicked violence for several years, but new problems emerged on the stage of Indonesian politics when President Suharto’s New Order regime began to intensify centralised rule from Jakarta. General Suharto took the power by the late 1960s through the bloody coup d’état against President Sukarno. As part of the New Order’s consolidation and its political campaigns to get rid of potential centres of opposition, Islamic organisations across Indonesia were subject to suspicion and outright repression. During the Suharto era, there was also tiny room for local political forces in any of the country’s provinces and regions. Military officers were imposed as provincial governors (also regents and mayors in some large parts) throughout the country were mostly from military background. The only possible expression of political opinion was through the ‘symbolic ritual’ of five-year votes for officially sanctioned national-level parties (Sulistiyanto 2001). This growing centralisation of state power under Suharto’s New Order gradually rendered Aceh’s ‘Special Region’ status meaningless and did not accommodate Acehnese aspirations to restore Islam as a dominant sociopolitical force.

Signs of discontent with Suharto’s New Order and the rise of separatist feelings led to the establishment of GAM (initially the Aceh Sumatra National Liberation Front). Founded by a businessman and former self-appointed Darul Islam ‘ambassador’ to the United Nations, Teungku Hasan Muhammad di Tiro (b. 1925), GAM were, at first, set up to express his protest against the central government which he saw too dominant in controlling Aceh’s oil resources. A grandson of Teungku Chik di Tiro, an Indonesian national hero who was murdered fighting the Dutch in 1891, Hasan di Tiro (henceforth di Tiro) applied for a pipeline contract in the new Mobil ¹⁶ oil gas plant to be built in Lhokseumawe area of Aceh in 1974. Reportedly he was outbid by Bechtel ¹⁷ in a tender process in which di Tiro thought Jakarta had too much control. As a result of this loss, added with the death of his brother due to what he considered to be deliberate neglect by a doctor of Javanese ethnicity, di Tiro began organising a separatist movement using his old Darul Islam contacts. No doubt, the discovery of vast oil, gas condensate, and natural gas reserves (all abbreviated to migas in Indonesian) in North Aceh in the early 1970s fuelled regional resentment as most of the profits were funnelled out of the province to Jakarta (Davies 2006, 13–17). Northern Aceh’s gas and oil reserves thus became the war’s ‘vital ground’ of traditional military doctrine.

Declared on 4 December 1976, GAM quickly turned to a separatist movement aiming at pursuing the independence of Aceh from Indonesia. Contrary to the former Darul Islam rebellion which sought to overthrow the secular Indonesia’s Pancasila nasional ideology and create a pan-Indonesian Islamic state based on shari’a, di Tiro, lived in Stockholm, Sweden, since 1980, and was granted a Swedish citizenship, picked up the independence as one of GAM’s objectives due to his focus on Acehnese ethnic-nationalism. However, di Tiro’s GAM shared some common grievances with the Darul Islam rebels about centre–periphery inequities (Miller 2009). Because of focusing on ethnic-chauvinism, GAM’s major activities, particularly since 1989 onwards, mostly consisted of attacking and displacing non-Acehnese ethnic communities, especially the Javanese who composed of 16 per cent of total population, in an attempt to clean up Aceh from non-Acehnese ethnic groups and alien influences (Aspinall 2008). As a response, Indonesia’s military also displaced civilian population, albeit using different argument from GAM. ¹⁸

The GAM ethno-religious political movement, furthermore, can be divided into three stages. At first (around 1976–1979), the guerrilla war of GAM, mainly directed at the local ExxonMobil gas plant, was failed, and by 1977, the Indonesian government appeared to have entirely neutralised the group. The second stage of the GAM movement emerged since 1989. With special training and financial support from Libya and Iran, GAM renewed its activities by attacking police and military installations as well as government facilities. The Suharto government’s response to the resurgence of separatist activities was to repeat the usual formula of repression and launch a military offensive. From 1989 to 1998, Aceh was declared a Military Operations Zone (Daerah Operasi Militer, DOM), an acronym which became synonymous with violence as well as unrestrained and unaccountable military actions.

As a result the DOM policy, special counter-insurgency troops were sent in and Aceh was locked down. Villages suspected of harbouring GAM operatives were destroyed and burnt down and family members of suspected militants of GAM were kidnapped and tortured. Indeed, during the 10 years of the DOM thousands of people were murdered and tortured leading to be one of the most brutal military operations in the country (Davies 2006; Sherlock 2005). By 1996, Jakarta announced the end of GAM as the counter-insurgency operations have damaged the group’s bases and GAM as a guerrilla force. Surviving GAM members were forced to hide in Malaysia and the surrounding regions. It should be bear in mind that during the reign of Suharto, there were no peaceful, democratic solutions for the ‘Aceh problem’. The only solution for the ‘Aceh question’ was the military solution. Indeed, Suharto was also concerned about ‘peace’, but his concept about peace is a sort of ‘negative peace’, to borrow Johan Galtung’s (1996) term and not ‘positive peace’. ‘Negative peace’ is the creation of a peace through security forces and violent means (wars, oppression, etc.), while ‘positive peace’ is the process of achieving peace by non-violent means of peacemaking, including dialog, diplomacy, negotiation, etc., as well as by the implementation of just policies (Cortright 2008). The third phase of the GAM movement appeared since the downfall of Suharto in May 1998. During that time, GAM gained a widespread support across Aceh due to the military brutality during the implementation of the DOM. A large group of potential soldiers who had lost relatives in the previous uprisings joined GAM movement.

When Suharto was forced to step down by the people power in 1998, there was a general surge of sentiment that the abuses of his New Order regime should be exposed and recompense made. Suharto’s successor, President B.J. Habibie, lifted the DOM status in August 1998. President Habibie and Wiranto, head of TNI (Indonesia’s military) and later Minister of Defence, apologised for human rights abuses committed by members of the security forces, especially during the DOM (Miller 2009, 13–40). The new democratically elected president, Abdurrahman Wahid, called for a fresh approach of reconciliation and negotiation. Soon after he came to office in October 1999, Wahid established an independent commission to investigate violence in Aceh and a number of junior officers and soldiers were convicted over some cases of killings of civilians. Indeed, Wahid’s roles and contributions for the peace process in Aceh were undoubtedly instrumental. According to Ahmad Suaedy, Coordinator to Abdurrahman Wahid Center for Interfaith Dialogue and Peace (AW Center) at the University of Indonesia, although President Habibie once declared publicly that he was willing to build a dialogue with GAM, he never conducted or even initiated dialogue with them. It was President Wahid, who began to set up a series of secret meetings and dialogue with Hasan di Tiro in Sweden and Abdullah Syafii, a field commander of GAM in Aceh. President Wahid, Suaedy said, treated them not as political rebels, but partners of dialogue to find fruitful ways for the solution of the “Aceh problems.” It is also vital to note that most international peacebuilding interventions by NGOs and CSOs, including those of The Henri Dunant Center, began to take place during the Wahid presidency. Additionally, Wahid played roles in empowering Aceh’s civil society by (1) holding intensive meetings with local civic leaders, Muslim scholars (ulama), activists, academics, students, and the like, and (2) establishing the Association of Dayah Ulama (Himpunan Ulama Dayah), a body of Muslim scholars throughout Aceh. ¹⁹ Wahid’s successor, Megawati Sukarnoputri, the daughter of former President Sukarno, also made statements suggesting that she strongly supported a new approach to the Aceh problem, once famously declaring that ‘not one drop of the people’s blood’ should be shed in Aceh.

On the Acehnese side, the end of the New Order and the sentiments being expressed by leading figures in Jakarta created expectations not only that they would be freed from the heavy hand of the Indonesian military forces (called TNI) but that they would be given a chance to express their true feelings about the future of their province. In November 1999, spurred by East Timor’s referendum on autonomy or independence held in August, 1999, a huge rally in the Aceh’s capital of Banda Aceh, claimed to comprise over a million people, called for a referendum on autonomy or independence as well as an end to military violence. This freer political environment, after 32-year-old authoritarian rule under Suharto’s New Order, also led to the mushroom of non-government organisations (NGOs) and civil society associations (CSOs) campaigning for a referendum, while others taking up human rights, humanitarian and developmental issues in the region.

In response to the Acehnese demands, President Wahid’s government undertook two significant initiatives: the ‘Humanitarian Pause’ (in June 2000) and the passing of a law for ‘Special Autonomy’ (Otonomi Khusus) for Aceh in July 2001. The ‘Humanitarian Pause’ was a ceasefire, a three-month accord designed to break up the cycle of fighting and allow the distribution of humanitarian assistance to the people of Aceh. This political policy was extended several times in different forms over the next year. The ‘Special Autonomy’ law, furthermore, provided for the introduction of certain elements of shari’a law in local courts, increased oil and gas revenues for the province and direct election of Aceh’s governor as well as district heads in 2004. This ceasefire, along with the Special Autonomy law, created an impression outside the province that progress was being made. The reality on the ground, however, was that most Acehnese concluded that little had changed. Although the Humanitarian Pause initially brought a pause in fighting, TNI and GAM seemed to regard it as little more than an opportunity to re-group and re-arm (ICG 2003).

The Special Autonomy, moreover, garnered little support because the law did not provide for immediate provincial and gubernatorial elections. Instead, it allowed the increased resource revenue to pass into the hands of the corrupt provincial government dominated by pro-Jakarta elements from the old ruling party, Golkar. The law, some critics have argued, also did not clarify how shari’a would be implemented or how Special Autonomy would be applied in tandem with the decentralisation of government and regional autonomy that was occurring across Indonesia since the political reformation opened the door of the country. Equally important, the law did not allow for the establishment of local political parties, thereby providing no incentive for GAM to participate in a legal political process or for new non-GAM elements to emerge on the stage of Aceh’s politics (Davies 2006; Reid 2006). The ban of the creation of local political parties, from Jakarta’s standpoints, was partly because such parties would fan separatist sentiment.

The gradual disintegration of the Humanitarian Pause and the failure of efforts to revitalise the peace process during 2001 and 2002 came about because neither side appeared to be committed to a negotiated settlement. Nonetheless, through the mediation of the Geneva-based Henri Dunant Center for Humanitarian Dialogue (HDC), the warring parties were brought together again for a series of peace talks during 2002. With the assistance of a number of foreign leaders, ²⁰ a Cessation of Hostilities Agreement (COHA) was signed in Geneva on 9 December 2002, whose first goal was to bring about another ceasefire. However, the two parties also agreed to a framework that was designed to lead to disengagement and disarmament as well as to negotiation over the issues of principle at stake. After a two-month confidence-building stage, a series of ‘peace-zones’ was to be established, where GAM would ‘begin a phased placement’ of its arms and from which TNI would be ‘relocated’ (ICG 2003, 8–10).

A team of monitors, elected from the representatives of the Indonesian government, GAM and foreigners chosen by HDC, would oversee the process. In addition, a so-called All-Inclusive Dialogue of all elements of Acehnese society would ‘review’ the Special Autonomy law. The 2004 elections would then lead to a democratically elected provincial assembly and government. Most reports indicate that the COHA was greeted with enthusiasm and relief amongst the population in Aceh. The degree of violence also dropped dramatically. By the end of January 2003, the first ‘peace zone’ was established and more were being planned. Many of the peace monitors had been deployed throughout the province and their reports on violations of the ceasefire placed pressure on both parties to keep to the Agreement.

Despite initial enthusiasm, however, the vagueness of most of the terms of the agreement soon became an obstacle to implementation. The two sides—GAM and Indonesian government—proved to have a different understanding of what was meant by terms, such as ‘placement’ of arms by GAM, ‘relocation’ of TNI (Indonesia’s military) and whether the ‘review’ of the Special Autonomy law could involve discussion about the principles of autonomy or independence, including public debate and campaigning. By February 2003, Indonesian military leaders began accusing GAM of failing to meet the deadline for the ‘placement’ of arms and of using the ceasefire to strengthen their forces. They also accused that rallies in support of independence or a referendum violated the principle of acceptance of the Special Autonomy law. Armed clashes and renewed violence between the groups began to increase again, with each side blaming the other for violations of the ceasefire.

While GAM was accused of recommencing their attacks on government facilities and personnel, TNI was accused of attacking alleged GAM supporters, either directly or indirectly through armed militias. By the end of April 2003, the situation on the ground was reaching a crisis. When talks planned to take place in Geneva on 28 April, 2003, failed to materialise, the Indonesian government gave GAM a two-week deadline to initiate negotiations or faced a renewed military offensive. Additionally, the government announced that peace talks could continue only if GAM accepted the law on Special Autonomy and guaranteed to surrender its weapons. Last minutes talks in Tokyo on 18 May 2003, failed to produce a compromise and the next day, President Megawati, the first female president of Indonesia, signed an emergency decree (a martial law). As a result, TNI began an all-out operation against GAM (Aspinall and Crouch 2003) and renewed bloody violent conflicts broke out on Aceh.

Why did the ceasefire collapse? When progress in the COHA faltered in March 2003 and GAM stuck to its determination to push for independence rather than autonomy, TNI began to undermine the accord by orchestrating demonstrations against the international monitors and by making preparations for renewed military action. In the eyes of most military officers, the COHA was a first step along the road to legitimacy and recognition for GAM and ultimately, to a repetition of the disaster and humiliation of East Timor. For them, the Agreement (the COHA) was implicit recognition of forces which threatened the territorial integrity of Indonesia as well as the political and financial viability of the military in the country. Accordingly they opposed the COHA and offered a forcible solution for the Aceh problem. From GAM’s point of view, furthermore, the COHA relieved the intense pressure of TNI repression, while providing an opportunity to strengthen the movement’s domestic and international legitimacy.

Attempts to find a peaceful solution in Aceh during the Megawati administration failed to get beyond the initial stage of a ceasefire because they did not tackle the larger issues of how to address the grievances of the Acehnese or to reintegrate the province into the mainstream of national political life. In addition, Megawati seemed to reverse her previous stand and premise on safeguarding the spirits of reformation, and allow a return to the old ‘security approach’, because it might boost her image as a strong leader and defender of national unity in the lead-up to the elections, and to ensure continuing TNI support for her presidency. Rather than continuing the ‘demilitarization’ policy set up by former President Wahid, Megawati worked hand-in-hand with ultra-nationalist military elements to back up her administration. Due to her failure to create a national stability and security, as well as to implement the ‘1998 reformation agenda’, some of which were bringing military back to barracks as well as economic and political reforms, she lost support during the 2004 presidential election. Furthermore, the 2004 election, the first direct presidential election within Indonesian history and politics, succeeded in leading Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (nickname: SBY) into the country’s presidency. It was during his administration that the Helsinki Peace Agreement was signed between the Indonesian government and GAM.

The role of SBY and his vice-president Jusuf Kalla (JK) in the implementation of the peace accord was critical. After May 1998, when a national process of democratisation was initiated in Indonesia, the successive administrations of B.J. Habibie, Wahid and Megawati made some attempts to search for a negotiated settlement to the Aceh conflict through different offers of ‘special autonomy’ and limited peace talks with GAM’s exiled political leadership. For the most part, however, as described above, the Indonesian government relied more heavily on ‘security operations’ or ‘military solution’ to deal with Aceh’s separatist insurgency. It was only under the government of SBY that the signing of the Helsinki pact ushered in a new era of peace and reconciliation. ²¹ This historic peace accord marked an end the violence and gave Aceh a high degree of substantial and genuine autonomy.

Prior to the signing of the historic event of the Helsinki Peace Agreement on 15 August 2005, the new Indonesian government and GAM met several times to deal with the Aceh conflict and the region’s post-tsunami reconstruction. On 27 January 2005, GAM and the Indonesian government met for the first time since the collapse of the 2003 Geneva peace process. Held in Helsinki under the auspices of former Finnish president Martti Ahtisaari, the meeting which initially focused upon aiding post-tsunami relief reconstruction efforts turned to become the beginning of a new peace and reconciliation process. After five rounds of peace talks between January and July 2005, a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) was finally signed on 15 August 2005, just two days before Indonesia celebrated its 50-year anniversary of independence. A joint press statement between the Indonesian government and GAM states:

The Government of Indonesia and Free Aceh Movement confirm their commitment to a peaceful, comprehensive and sustainable solution to the conflict in Aceh with dignity for all. The parties are committed to creating conditions within which the government of the Acehnese people can be manifested through a fair and democratic process within the unitary state and constitution of the Republic of Indonesia. The parties are deeply convinced that only the peaceful settlement of the conflict will enable the rebuilding of Aceh after the tsunami disaster on 26 December 2004 to progress and succeed. The parties to the conflict commit themselves to building mutual confidence and trust. (ICG 2005, 6, emphasis added)

The fact that the peace accord was signed just about eight months after the huge disaster of tsunami, ²² it is often assumed that there was a direct cause and effect relationship between the tsunami and the Helsinki peace process—that the sheer magnitude of this natural catastrophe ‘made’ the warring factions see sense and ‘instilled’ in them the desire to end the conflicts. In the Aceh case, however, that view, as Kirsten (2005, 1–30) has convincingly argued, is overly simplistic and tends to neglect the political dynamics and cultural processes already underway which paved the way for a return to the negotiating table. Kirsten examines underlying factors that ‘paved the way for return to the negotiation table’. The factors she highlights included, first, the weakening of GAM’s military and above all civilian capacity as a result of Indonesia’s Integrated Operation (called ‘Operasi Terpadu’) which began on 19 May 2003. During this Operasi Terpadu, GAM was harshly damaged and many members of the group were either killed or captured by the security forces. Second was the change of Indonesia’s government from Megawati to reformist General Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (SBY) in September 2004.

During the Wahid and Megawati presidency, SBY had been involved in the previous negotiations from 2000 to 2003 and did not believed that there was a military solution for any conflict, including the Aceh conflict, albeit he was a military general. It meant that there would be a renewed dialog. Indeed, during his election campaign, SBY declared that he would prioritise the peaceful resolution of the Aceh conflict. His choice of running mate, Jusuf Kalla (JK), was also equally important. JK had been the architect of the Malino peace accords (the Malino I and II) which brought together the warring factions of Christians and Muslims in Central Sulawesi and the Moluccas into a negotiation table that ended the violent conflicts in these two fragile regions. The third factor Kirsten underlines was the secret back-channel talks between the exiled GAM leadership (mostly in Finland and Malaysia) and the Indonesian government, which started after the election of SBY. Not long after the SBY-JK ticket was elected, JK called his closest advisors together to work in secret on a plan for peace in Aceh; thereby it was called ‘the Kalla Initiative’ (ICG 2005). Finally, the fourth factor contributed to the Helsinki peace pact was GAM was lack of international community’s support (Miller 2009). Aware that the main impediment to peace talks, thereby a potential peaceful resolution for the Aceh question, appeared to be the TNI, President SBY began to recruit reformist military elements into his administration.

Although Jakarta’s role was crucial in the peace process, it does not mean that GAM contributed nothing. As Damien Kingsbury, ²³ a political advisor to GAM for the Helsinki peace talks who assisted in drafting and negotiating key elements of the peace agreement, has pointed out that GAM also made a major contribution to the peace talks by announcing early that it was prepared to negotiate an outcome other than complete independence. The Jakarta side, meanwhile, under pressure from the military and the ‘ultra-nationalists’ pressed for GAM to accept a ‘minor reworking of the status quo’. However, in the end, Jakarta compromised, and the two parties reached a peace deal that was intended to end the fighting and to address many GAM’s outstanding claims (excluding independence) such as the establishment of local political parties, direct free elections at the provincial and district levels, substantial shared of financial and economic resources between Jakarta and Aceh, the release of GAM prisoners and so forth. In spite of antagonism to the peace process, and to compromise, the result of the concord was increasingly seen as a ‘win-win solution’, and as a further important stage in Indonesia’s continuing process of reform and democratisation (Kingsbury 2006).

As part of the Helsinki Agreement, on 11 December 2006, the citizens of Indonesia’s Aceh voted in their first ever direct democratic local elections, and continued in the elections in the following years. This was also the first time in Indonesian history that Jakarta had allowed independent candidates who were not affiliated with any registered political party to compete in local elections, making Aceh’s electoral system the most participatory, equitable and inclusive anywhere in Indonesia. The Acehnese people used their ‘newborn’ political freedom to elect a former GAM rebel and a tsunami survivor by the name of Irwandi Yusuf as Aceh’s new governor. These Aceh’s first direct democratic local elections were described by observers as a milestone in Indonesia’s political development.

Turkey’s Failure and Indonesia’s Success in Conflict Resolution: Concluding Remarks

Based on the earlier description and analysis of PKK and GAM, several conclusions with regard to conflict resolution and peacebuilding process underlying Turkey’s failure and Indonesia’s success in addressing their ethnic problem can be drawn as follows.

First and foremost is the role of military and security forces. As described earlier, the role of military and security forces, either in Turkey or Indonesia, were central in a conflict zone and conflict resolution process. It is commonly known that one of the main barriers for Turkish–Kurdish peacemaking is military forces. While Turkey’s ultranationalist military forces seem still powerful holding political power, Indonesia’s military have gradually undergone a process of demilitarisation since the downfall of Suharto in May 1998. It was former President Wahid (r. 1999–2002) who began to implement a series of demilitarisation policy and pushed the military back to barracks. Wahid also replaced anti-reformist military personnel to the reformist ones who were concerned about the ‘1998 reformation agenda’. Although during the Megawati presidency (2002–2004), ultranationalist military elements desired for the military solution towards the Aceh conflict came back to power, they were forced back again by Megawati’s successor: SBY.

Second, the role of the third party functioned as a go-between of the two warring groups. It is obvious that Indonesia’s success in bringing GAM and Indonesian government into a peace deal cannot be separated from the role of the third party that mediate the warring groups in order to come into a negotiation table to talk peacebuilding processes. The third party deserves credits for their peacebuilding efforts for Indonesia’s Aceh included The Henri Dunant Center (1999–2003) and the Crisis Management Initiative (CMI) under the chairmanship of Martti Ahtisaari (from January to August 2005). Ahtisaari’s CMI team was particularly successful in mediating Government of Indonesia (GoI) and GAM to sign the Helsinki Peace Concord. Ahtisaari fruitfully managed to break deadlocks and forge consensus at critical points. Likewise his CMI team did its homework, studying the 2002–2003 failed peace talks, consulting with individuals involved in that process, and trying at every stage to avoid the ambiguities and weaknesses that scuttled the Cessation of Hostilities Agreement (COHA). Turkey, by contrast, there is no respected, neutral, and trusted third party so far that could play to mediate and negotiate between Ankara and PKK. Indeed, it is uneasy to find the ‘right and effective bridger’ (mediator) since it requires cultural sensitivity, language skills, and trust between the mediators and the affected communities (Cortright 2008, 231).

Third is the role of people power and civil society elements. After the collapse of Suharto in 1998, Indonesia underwent a process of rapid transition from authoritarianism to a sort of ‘liberal democracy’ marked by free elections, the emergence of hundreds of political parties, freedom of press, civil liberties, decentralisation, demilitarisation and so forth. The political transition was also marked by the appearance of countless powerful civil society associations and non-governmental organisations functioned as a ‘watchdog’ for the new government. As a result, the new regimes, either national or regional levels, had to implement the ‘1998 reformation agenda’ unless they want to be forcibly stepped down by the surge of people power. During this period of transition, civil society elements and people power urged the government to realise the ‘total reformation’ built on the basis of citizenship culture in which all Indonesian citizens, regardless of their ethnicity and religious beliefs, have equal opportunity to express their political rights and freedom. Equally important, they also consistently demanded for the government to quickly resolve the ‘Aceh conflict’ through negotiations and peace talks and not by ‘security approaches’. Unlike in the case of Turkey’s Kurds in which most Turks denounced PKK as terrorists, there were great reservoirs of support from Indonesia’s non-Acehnese societies for peacebuilding efforts and democratic solutions towards the Aceh problem. This public support might be due to Aceh and the rest of Indonesia, especially Java as the heart of the country, have shared the same religious identity: Islam. In this sense, religion functions as a sort of what Peter Berger’s (1969) calls ‘sacred canopy’, cultural bond, or ‘social cohesion’ to borrow Durkheim’s term (cf. Berger 1998). It is interesting to note that although Papua, predominantly Christian area in the eastern part of Indonesia, has the same issue with Aceh (i.e., separatism), this region has lack of public support from non-Papuan communities, contrast to the case of Aceh. Here we can see that while Indonesia’s Islam, especially in the Aceh case, functions as a ‘uniting element’, Turkey’s Islam has become, to some degree, a sort of ‘dividing factor’ among the country’s Muslim inhabitants.

Fourth is the ‘political will’ from both sides to resolve the conflict peacefully, justly and democratically. Indonesia’s success in resolving the Aceh conflict, lies, among other things, in the willingness of the conflicting parties to lower their ‘egoism’ and compromise their demands in order to ‘satisfy’ both sides. It is common to know that the initial demand for GAM was independence, while Indonesian government rejected such demand, because of this violates the country’s constitution (known UUD 1945). Indonesia’s initial offer of the ‘Special Autonomy’ was also refused by GAM since it was seen as a sort of ‘political lipsticks’ to muffle tensions and violence. In short, seen from the ‘carrot and stick’ framework, the ‘carrot’ given to Aceh was too small in comparison with Jakarta’s ‘stick’. By 2005, however, as Kingsbury (2006) has noted, both parties achieved a substantial agreement in which GAM no longer demanded for Aceh’s independence and were willing to live within the unitary state and constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, while the Indonesian government committed to provide ‘real autonomy’ and other GAM’s concerns including the implementation of shari’at Islam in the region as well as the change of the name from Aceh to Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam. Indeed, as described earlier, Turkey’s PKK and Ocalan no longer demanded for ‘Kurdish independence’ and agreed to establish peace within the framework of a ‘democratic Turkish state’ (Gunter 2000, 853). Unfortunately, however, rather than seeing the statement as an opportunity to resolve the ‘Kurdish problem’ peacefully and democratically, the Turkish state and government looked at it as a sign of weakness on the part of Ocalan and PKK, thereby provides a great chance to defeat them forcibly. As long as Turkey’s conflicting groups do not lower their egoism and are willing to compromise their demands, the violent conflicts seem to reappear in the years to come.

Apart from the earlier factors, the degree and ‘nature’ of conflict between Turks–PKK and Indonesia–GAM are quite different. While the Aceh issue was more ‘structural violence’ caused by the state’s repression, political discrimination, and economic marginalisation, the ‘Kurdish problem’, by contrast, is a sort of combination of cultural, symbolic and structural violence (cf. Galtung 1996). As a result, Turkey’s conflict resolution and peacebuilding processes are far more complicated and difficult to achieve than that of Indonesia’s Aceh. It is central to notice, for instance, there was no ‘assimilation policy’ ²⁴ in Indonesia that forced local cultures, traditions, and languages into the framework of Indonesian language and culture. Indeed, Indonesian language has become a national language, but the government did not prohibit local (ethnic) languages (Acehnese included) which consisted of some 550 ethnic languages (cf. Sneddon 2004). The central government’s approach is a form of ‘pluralism’ in the sense that it let local ethnics and societies to speak their ethnic languages and express their cultural heritages and identities.

In the case of Turkey, by contrast, the policy of ‘Turkification’ and ‘forced assimilation’ since the founding of the modern Turkish state has resulted in great cultural damages on the part of non-Turkish ethnic groups, including the Kurds. In this regard, moreover, the Kurdish problem is a sort of ‘deep-rooted conflicts’ in the sense that it was grounded on multiple factors, not only socio-economic underdevelopment of Turkey’s southeast region as Heper (2007) once asserted, but also Kurdish ethnic identity-related issues (see, e.g., van Bruinessen 1984, 1994, 1996). Using a theoretical framework developed by Duygu and Romine (2008, 1–43), within the Kurdish problem lies ‘instrumental’ (e.g., economic factors, the elite role, modernisation, etc.) and ‘symbolic’ problems (e.g., ethnic symbols, identities, shared cultural and historical values, etc.).

Due to the nature of Turkey’s Kurdish conflict is far more deep and complicated than that of Indonesia’s Aceh, the conflict resolution processes and peacemaking efforts will be far more difficult to accomplish. However, it does not mean that there is no hope for the future Turkish–Kurdish cooperation. As long as both parties are committed to end violence and to resolve their problems through peaceful, democratic means, there is a hope for future civic peace in the country. To accomplish such hope, Barkey and Fuller (1998, vii–viii) have offered a series of ‘democratic policies’ that is, I think, very helpful for establishing future peace with Kurds. These policies are: (a) the effective establishment of a legal Kurdish identity; (b) the reduction and alteration of the current military approaches in the southeast; (c) protection, rather than harassment or ban, of Kurdish political parties; (d) allowance of Kurds education in their own language; and (e) decentralisation of the administration of the state. In addition to policies-related issues, Barkey and Fuller suggest the need for a dialogue ‘as inclusive as possible’ [or ‘the politics of engagement’, to borrow Turam’s (2007) phrase] with Kurds of differing political views and from various backgrounds as a way of bridging the gap between the two competing ethnic groups and a means of conflict transformation.

Such policies and suggestions or let’s say political and cultural solution, I believe, will help to reconstruct a possible creation of a ‘civic culture’ or ‘public culture of citizenship’ for future Turkey that remains uncertain, particularly in dealing with the Kurdish rights. Moreover, the need for the political and cultural solution is simply because, as Mustafa Akyol has aptly remarked, all other options—the ‘military solution’ and the AKP’s ‘half-glass strategy’ do not seem to have worked.