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Local Responses to Decentralization Policy in Indonesia
CHRISTOPHER BJORK
Introduction
After years of informal discussion about the prospect of decentralizing control
over the curriculum, in 1994 the Indonesian Ministry of Education and Culture (MOEC) required all elementary and junior high schools in the country
to allocate 20 percent of total instructional hours to locally designed subject
matter.1 Considering the highly centralized, top-down nature of Indonesian
government, the Local Content Curriculum (LCC) program represented a
significant departure from previous education policy in Indonesia not only
in terms of curricular content but also in the roles and responsibilities assigned to educators. For the first time, schools would not implement a standard curriculum constructed entirely by a team of experts in Jakarta. In
addition, the MOEC encouraged teachers to experiment with innovative
pedagogies designed to enliven instruction. Finally, LCC documents identified strategies for managing the new program that foster more democratic
authority structures and expand the circle of actors involved in decision
making.
With the LCC, control over the curriculum devolved to the provinces,
districts, and schools. That realignment recast the roles that individuals located at all levels of the system would play. But the people whose job definitions were most directly affected were teachers. As numerous MOEC officials stressed to me, LCC success hinged on the efforts of classroom teachers.
Instructors, who had previously been expected to function as loyal agents of
policy directives, were suddenly asked to act as “independent artisans,” to
use Michael Huberman’s term, in their schools.2 Yet it was unclear how those
educators would respond to the challenges delivered to them. Were teachers
interested in amplifying their autonomy and influence in the schools? Were
they equipped with the skills and attitudes required to accomplish the professional transformation the MOEC was encouraging? How would Indonesia’s
tradition of firmly concentrating power at the center shape local responses
1
The ministry was recently renamed the Ministry of National Education (MONE). However, because the ministry was still referred to as MOEC when I conducted the field work in Indonesia, I will
use MOEC throughout this article.
2
Michael Huberman, “The Model of the Independent Artisan in Teachers’ Professional Relations,”
in Teachers’ Work: Individuals, Colleagues, and Contexts, ed. Judith Little and Milbrey McLaughlin (New
York: Teachers College Press, 1993).
Comparative Education Review, vol. 47, no. 2.
! 2003 by the Comparative and International Education Society. All rights reserved.
0010-4086/2003/4702-0003$05.00
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DECENTRALIZATION POLICY IN INDONESIA
to the LCC? What type of support would teachers receive from the upperlevel officials who were volunteering to share power?
In this article, I address those questions, exploring the process of educational reform in Indonesia with attention to teachers’ responses to policy
directives. The overwhelming majority of studies of educational decentralization focus on the actions of government officials and policy makers. In
Indonesia, public employees and international consultants who have worked
for the MOEC produce almost all research about education. Those perspectives may provide insight into the process of policy formation and the
exercise of power at upper levels, but they often neglect to consider the vital
role that individuals working at the ground level play in policy implementation. This research project, in contrast, details the attitudes, accomplishments, and difficulties of the individuals charged with the responsibility of
translating policy into practice at the school level. The ethnographic approach underlines the importance of considering local perspectives when
making assessments and policy decisions about decentralization measures.
Interviews and observations conducted in actual school settings call into
question many of the conclusions articulated in official documents, field
reports, and public statements made by government officials. More specifically, I observe that teachers who have been conditioned to act as loyal
implementers of directives passed down from above may resist opportunities
to increase their autonomy, even when operating in a context that does not
appear to be politically charged.
Conceptual Framework
In recent years, international funding organizations have thrown their
weight behind the decentralization of education systems around the globe,
often making decentralization a precondition for financial assistance.3 Arguments in favor of the devolution of control over schools to local levels are
typically premised on the idea that decentralization will lead to one or more
of the following outcomes: a redistribution of power, increased efficiency, or
greater sensitivity to local culture.4 Although dissonant voices have occasion3
Diana Conyers, “Decentralization and Development: A Review of the Literature,” Public Administration and Development 4 (1984): 186–97; R. Govinda, Decentralization of Educational Management: Experiences from South Asia (Paris: International Institute for International Planning, 1997); Diana Rhoten,
“Education Decentralization in Argentina: A ‘Global-Local Conditions of Possibility’ Approach to State,
Market, and Society Change,” Journal of Education Policy 15, no. 6 (2000): 593–619; Dennis A. Rondinelli,
“Government Decentralization in Comparative Perspective: Theory and Practice in Developing Countries,” International Review of Administrative Sciences 47, no. 2 (1981): 133–45.
4
Hans Weiler contends that although the three arguments for localization listed above are theoretically tenable, when examined in the context of actual political systems, they fail to account fully
for the prevalence of decentralization policies. A more plausible explanation for the recent wave of
support for educational decentralization, he asserts, is to obtain “compensatory legitimacy” (“Education
and Power: The Politics of Educational Decentralization in Comparative Perspective,” Educational Policy
3, no. 1 [1989]: 31–43).
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ally expressed contrary views, discussion on the issue is currently characterized
by a “relative unanimity” among policy makers in favor of decentralization
measures.5
How do theories about educational decentralization translate into practice? Although small in number, case studies of decentralization underline
the risks that often accompany the shift to more localized management of
schools. Evidence from the field raises doubts about the validity of the arguments commonly used to advocate for dispersion of authority. Studies of
specific efforts to decentralize control of education systems provide abundant
examples of the hazards of encouraging developing countries to distribute
authority to peripheral units.6 The most common explanation for difficulties
in devolving control over schools is political wrangling. Case studies of educational decentralization measures suggest the following: building partnerships between individuals and agencies located at different positions in an
administrative hierarchy may be an unrealistic goal in settings where the
center has traditionally dominated, decentralization initiatives often result in
the penetration of central authority into local systems, and such actions can
serve to increase rather than weaken the state’s role in decision making. One
conspicuous theme that emerges from the case studies is that power struggles
often accompany the implementation of decentralization measures. Emphasis on the political dimensions of this process is not surprising given the
methodology employed in most case studies. Researchers commonly locate
themselves in the capitals of the countries they study and base their conclusions on assessments of decentralization programs and statistics provided by
central authorities. Investigators who do speak with local actors usually spend
a few hours or days in the locations where those educators work.
Case-specific analyses provide a much needed balance to more theoretical
treatments of decentralization and reports produced by funding organizations. As Cathy Gaynor observes, “While the view of decentralization of education continues to attract considerable interest and support, there is an
increasing demand to extract lessons from experience and to critically chal5
See, e.g., Cathy Gaynor, Decentralization of Education: Teacher Management (Washington, D.C.: World
Bank, 1998); Govinda, quote on p. 3; Romy Prud’homme, “The Dangers of Decentralization,” World
Bank Research Observer 10, no. 2 (August 1995): 201–20.
6
See Mark Bray, Educational Planning in a Decentralised System: The Papua New Guinea Experience
(Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1984); Harry J. Friedman, “Decentralized Development in Asia: Local
Political Alternatives,” in Decentralization and Development, ed. G. Shabbir Cheema and Dennis A. Rondinelli (Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage, 1983), pp. 35–57; Richard Maclure, “School Reform in Burkina Faso,”
Canadian and International Education 22, no. 2 (1993): 69–87; Kuldeep Mathur, “Administrative Decentralization in Asia,” in Cheema and Rondinelli, eds., pp. 59–76; John R. Nellis, “Decentralization in
North Africa: Problems of Policy Implementation,” in Cheema and Rondinelli, eds., pp. 127–182; Juan
Prawda, “Educational Decentralization in Latin America: Lessons Learned,” International Journal of Educational Development 13, no. 3 (1993): 254–64; Magdalena Rivarola and Bruce Fuller, “Nicaragua’s
Experiment to Decentralize Schools: Contrasting Views of Parents, Teachers, and Directors,” Comparative
Education Review 43, no. 4 (November 1999): 489–521; and Maria Teresa Tatto, “Education Reform and
State Power in Mexico,” Comparative Education Review 43, no. 3 (August 1999): 251–82.
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DECENTRALIZATION POLICY IN INDONESIA
lenge assumptions about decentralization.”7 Portraits of what actually occurs
as governments and education systems enact policy enhance our understanding of the process of policy implementation. That is particularly true in the
area of devolution of authority over curricula. Fernanda Astiz, Alexander
Wiseman, and David Baker write, “Given the centrality of curricular control
in educational spheres, it is interesting that the connection between centralization of curricular governance and curricular implementation has been
generally underresearched. While there is much useful scholarship on the
politics of decentralization, there is relatively little on its empirical
consequences.”8
Jeffrey Puryear notes in his study of international educational statistics
that elements crucial to the process of evaluating educational change in
developing countries are often ignored because of the dominance of a “traditional counting mentality.”9 Bruce Fuller and Prema Clarke underline Puryear’s view, calling for studies that move from a “search for universal effects
of specific teaching tools and teaching behavior—to specifying the local conditions” that shape students’ experiences.10 Without filling in the connections
between policy, teaching practices, school cultures, and student achievement,
they argue, quantitative data are of little value to policy makers. Yet only one
published study has attempted to study the process of decentralization from
the viewpoint of the educators depended on to implement policy in the
schools.11
In this study, I examine local responses to an educational reform initiated
to devolve authority over the curriculum to the schools. By focusing on the
actions and attitudes of classroom teachers, I highlight the critical influence
that school culture and sociopolitical context may have on the success or
failure of efforts to decentralize schools systems. This perspective provides
invaluable insight into links between policy and practice, yet is notably absent
from most reports on educational reform in developing countries such as
Indonesia.
Research Methodology
The evidence described in this article is drawn from 17 months of ethnographic fieldwork conducted in Indonesia between 1996 and 1998. For 3
7
Gaynor, p. 4.
M. Fernanda Astiz, Alexandar Wiseman, and David Baker, “Slouching toward Decentralization:
Consequences of Globalization for Curricular Control in National Education Systems,” Comparative
Education Review 46, no. 1 (2002): 71–72.
9
Jeffrey Puryear, “International Education Statistics and Research: Status and Problems,” International Journal of Educational Development 15, no. 1 (1995): 60–91.
10
Bruce Fuller and Prema Clarke, “Raising School Effects While Ignoring Culture? Local Conditions and the Influence of Classroom Tools, Rules, and Pedagogy,” Review of Educational Research 64, no.
1 (1994): 119–57, quote on p. 121.
11
Rivarola and Fuller.
8
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months in 1996 I carried out a preliminary study of educational reform in
Indonesia, interviewing teachers, MOEC officials, international consultants,
and university faculty. After that visit I concluded that any true understanding
of educational decentralization would need to consider local responses to
ministry directives.
With that goal in mind, from October 1997 to November 1998 I immersed
myself in the cultures of six junior high schools located in the province of
East Java. Employing ethnographic methods, I attempted to gain an understanding of the historical, political, social, economic, and religious factors
that shaped teachers’ responses to the LCC reform. During that time, I
interviewed 24 MOEC officials and more than 200 instructors, observed 271
class periods, sat in on numerous staff meetings, and attended national LCC
conferences and training workshops offered to teachers and administrators.
In addition, I studied MOEC documents and reports prepared by international consultants. Student and teacher questionnaires also yielded data for
this study.
I conducted all of the observations and interviews myself, in Indonesian.
Although teachers occasionally chatted in the local Javanese dialect, which
I do not understand, the vast majority of the time they used Indonesian. On
the rare occasions when I was unable to follow a discussion carried on in
Javanese, I asked a teacher to summarize the thrust of the comments in
Indonesian. As a result, I did not feel that language posed any barriers to
my data collection. I did rely on bilingual Indonesian teachers to assist me
in two areas: (1) after developing questionnaires to be distributed to students
and faculty, I asked a handful of teachers to edit my writing to avoid any
errors in grammar or usage; (2) toward the end of my period of fieldwork,
in the interest of time I paid a graduate student to translate a series of
government documents into English for me. I completed all coding and
analysis of notes and interviews myself, in English, so as to ensure consistency.
The decision to focus on a small section of the country limited the
generalizability of my findings. Only a handful of the nation’s hundreds of
ethnic groups can be found in large numbers in the area where I lived and
worked. The LCC might provoke a distinctly different response from teachers
working in other settings. The schools that I studied, however, provided a
diverse mix of schools located in close proximity to one another. The six
junior high schools in my sample included a combination of public and
private, religious and secular, highly selective and lowly regarded institutions.
I spent between 5 and 8 weeks in each of the six schools talking with faculty,
watching classes, observing assemblies, mingling with students, and interviewing administrators. That approach allowed me to grasp the complexities
of East Javanese LCC teachers’ behavior, to locate their actions within the
broader culture of teaching in Indonesia, and to find answers to questions
such as, What does the LCC mean to junior secondary teachers, and how is
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DECENTRALIZATION POLICY IN INDONESIA
the Indonesian context influencing their responses to the prospect of increased autonomy? How are the demands placed on an LCC teacher the
same or different from those that core subject teachers experience? Do the
norms that all teachers are expected to follow support or conflict with the
roles and responsibilities outlined in LCC policy guides?
Chronology of LCC Development
In the years after independence, expanding access to education topped
the list of priorities at the MOEC. Between 1945 and 1984, primary school
attendance increased from 2,523,000 to 26,567,688.12 Having achieved nearly
universal primary attendance and orchestrated dramatic gains in the number
of students who advanced to the secondary level, the MOEC began to shift
its attention to improving the quality of instruction provided in Indonesian
schools.
After years of steady growth, signs of growing pains accompanying the
system’s rapid expansion soon began to surface. Transition rates from primary
to lower secondary schools (grades 7–9) mysteriously began to decline in
1981. By 1986, that rate had fallen to 64.9 percent, from a peak of 73.8
percent in 1980.13 Furthermore, approximately 7.8 percent of all junior secondary students were dropping out of school each year.14 Government officials began to search for strategies that could be used to reverse those trends.
More specifically, education planners attempted to make junior secondary
education more relevant to the interests and needs of Indonesian youth.
Tailoring the curriculum to local conditions was viewed as having the potential to increase the appeal of junior secondary education and to raise net
enrollment rates. That notion spurred the creation of the LCC.
The MOEC’s decision to disperse power to the localities was not made
in isolation. The LCC was one of a long list of decentralization projects
embraced by the Indonesian government in the 1980s and 1990s.15 All sectors
of government were affected by this push for decentralization, which the
World Bank labeled a “make or break issue” for the country.16 The Indonesian
government went so far as to hire an international consultant to work full
time coordinating all of the decentralization projects being undertaken by
12
World Bank, Indonesia Basic Education Study (Washington, D.C.: World Bank, 1989).
Ibid.
14
Evalina M. Vicencio, Kurikulum Muatan Lokal: Challenges toward Institutionalization ( Jakarta: Indonesian Ministry of Education and Culture, 1996).
15
For a description of the extent of the Indonesian government’s ambitious attempts to decentralize its authority, see Manasee Malo, Social Sector Decentralization: The Case of Indonesia (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre, 1995), or Gabriele Ferrazzi, “Criteria for Transferring Functions
to Subnational Governments: Selection and Application in Indonesian Decentralization Initiatives” (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Guelph, Ontario, 1998).
16
Adam Schwarz, “Devolving Jakarta’s Hold on Power,” Asian Wall Street Journal (October 10, 2000),
p. 10.
13
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various government ministries and to explore strategies for enhancing local
implementation efforts. Clearly, there was a strong political impetus for promoting educational decentralization in Indonesia.
During that period, a slate of legislation that aimed to delegate authority
to the provinces, towns, and villages was enacted.17 Although the government
sometimes had trouble following through on its promise to devolve authority
to autonomous regions, its support for decentralization projects did not
wane.18 The culmination of this trend was the passage of Laws 22 and 25 in
1999 granting sweeping political power and revenue-collecting rights to Indonesia’s districts and municipalities beginning in January of 2001.19 By the
end of the twentieth century, the question was no longer whether or not
Indonesia would embrace decentralization, but the speed of change and the
impact of the reforms promulgated by the government.
Connecting Teacher Behavior to Indonesia’s Past
Indonesia’s remarkable cultural, linguistic, ethnic, and religious diversity
has long challenged the individuals responsible for governing the archipelago. Created in 1945, the country is composed of more than 13,000 islands,
200 million people, 50 ethnic groups, and 200 regional languages. Since
independence, politicians have confronted the dilemma of how to capitalize
on that diversity without undermining national cohesion. Over the past 60
years, the government has experimented with various degrees of centralized
versus decentralized authority. On several occasions, national leaders signaled
that power would be shared with the regions, only to reconcentrate power
in Jakarta. At the end of the twentieth century, Indonesia was more centralized than at any point in the nation’s history. Yet during that very period,
the government was publicly endorsing decentralization measures to be implemented in all sectors of government. That contradiction is representative
of a tension between official rhetoric and action that is rooted in the role
of government and its relationship to Indonesian society.
Initially, Indonesia appeared to be headed toward a dispersed authority
structure. The nation’s first decentralization law, the Basic Law on Regional
Government, was enacted in 1948. Two years later, the Constitution of 1945,
a document that concentrated powers in the hands of the president, was
17
The most significant apsect of this legislation was Government Regulation 45 of 1992, which
specified that regencies and municipalities should assume responsibility for all aspects of government
not reserved for the central and provincial governments. In addition, in 1995, a District Autonomy Pilot
Project required activities in 19 sectors to be transferred to subprovincial levels in 26 pilot districts.
18
Malo observes that during this period “the policy of decentralization continuously swung back
and forth between granting more power and retrieving granted power to autonomous regions” (Malo,
chap. 3, p. 6).
19
At the time of this writing, the results of those legislative efforts have yet to be seen. Most
politicians voice their support for the laws, but academics and political observers are generally skeptical
of the likelihood that such an ambitious plan can be implemented as scheduled.
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DECENTRALIZATION POLICY IN INDONESIA
replaced by a new constitution that protected the freedoms of individual
citizens and created a popularly elected parliament designed to serve as a
check to the authority of the president. The Constitution of 1950 called for
the “division of Indonesia into large and small regions with the right to govern
their own affairs. . . . These divisions shall be given the largest possible
measure of autonomy to manage their own affairs.”20 According to Michael
Malley, at that point “Indonesia’s constitutional democracy had resolved, at
least in law and partly in practice, the friction between the unitary pretensions
of the center and the actual autonomy of the regions.”21 Legislation adopted
during the mid-1950s continued the trend of dispersing power throughout
the archipelago. One law called for the creation of popularly elected provincial and district assemblies; another required the central government to
allocate a certain percentage of its fiscal resources to regional governments.
Indonesia’s experiment with parliamentary democracy, however, was
short-lived. Political instability and increasingly bleak economic conditions
bred criticism of the parliament and President Sukarno. Disputes between
political parties posed an additional threat to the nascent government. In
the midst of the upheaval, several factions of the military displayed a confrontational stance toward the central government, refusing to follow directives issued by the president. Threatened by the mounting unrest, President
Sukarno declared martial law, replaced the 1950 Constitution with the version
drafted in 1945, and instituted an approach to governance that he termed
“Guided Democracy.” With a wave of his wand, the president ended Indonesia’s experiment with parliamentary democracy and reconcentrated power
in his own hands.
Those events marked a fundamental shift in the trajectory of center-local
relations in Indonesia. After Sukarno instituted martial law in 1959, concerns
about national cohesion led politicians to augment the authority accorded
to central authorities and to reinforce top-down authority frameworks, trends
that continued until the end of the century. The New Order government
that replaced Sukarno’s Guided Democracy was intent on creating stability
and uniting a fragmented populace. Suharto, the new president, quickly
mounted a campaign to resurrect the strength of the state. Learning from
the mistakes of his predecessor, he set out to rebuild the economy and create
a sense of discipline within the ranks of the bureaucracy. Suharto strategically
replaced politicians and bureaucrats who presented threats to his own authority with individuals with proven records of loyalty. Public employees were
required to pledge “monoloyalty” to the state and to abstain from joining
political organizations. Individuals who refused to acquiesce to such pressures
20
Indonesian Constitution of 1950, Art. 131.
Michael Malley, “Regions: Centralization and Resistance,” in Indonesia beyond Suharto, ed. Donald
K. Emmerson (Armonk, N.Y.: Sharpe, 1999), p. 74.
21
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were heavily penalized.22 One consequence of this overhaul of the government was that public employees—including teachers—became “transmitters”
of directives from their superiors rather than representatives of
communities.23
Convincing citizens with tenuous connections to the central government
to conform to New Order plans for change presented a formidable challenge
to national leaders. One tool utilized to secure the allegiance of the polity
was legislation that aimed to bolster national unity. For example, an AntiSubversion Law, which carried a maximum penalty of death, made it illegal
to commit any acts that “distort, undermine, or deviate from” the ideal outlined in pancasila, the national ideology.24 The vagueness of the law provided
government officials with great latitude to apply it as they saw fit, which they
did.25 Beginning in the late 1970s, soldiers, teachers, politicians, doctors, and
college students were all required to attend training seminars that emphasized the importance of acting as loyal pancasila citizens.26 The continuous
adoption of such policies succeeded in stifling critical voices and encouraging
citizens to self-censor their behavior.27 During Suharto’s tenure, the government also steadily narrowed the limits of politically accepted cultural expression and manipulated local rituals, customs, and art forms to foster support for the “national culture” that it was developing.28
The largest and most captive audience available to New Order leaders,
however, was located in the nation’s schools. Following the dramatic expansion of the public system that occurred in the years following Indonesian
independence, the nation’s classrooms provided an opportune setting for
communicating a uniform national ideology, view of history, and set of values
to Indonesian youth. Regarding schools as crucial links to national integration, the New Order administration went to great lengths to ensure that
members of school communities recognized their identities as Indonesians
22
Jamie Mackie and Andrew MacIntyre, “Politics,” in Indonesia’s New Order, ed. Hal Hill (Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, 1994).
23
Donald K. Emmerson, “The Bureaucracy in Political Context: Weakness in Strength,” in Political
Power and Communications in Indonesia, ed. Karl D. Jackson and Lucien W. Pye (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1978).
24
For more detailed analyses of the nature of pancasila and its effects on the nation, see Robert
Cribb, “Nation: Making Indonesia,” in Emmerson, ed.; and Eka Darmaputera, Pancasila and the Search
for Identity and Modernity in Indonesian Society (Leiden: Brill, 1988).
25
Adam Schwarz, A Nation in Waiting: Indonesia’s Search for Stability, 2d ed. (Boulder, Colo.: Westview,
2000). The dismissal in 1971 of 600 civil servants who refused to join Golkar (the party created to
represent the army, bureaucracy, and other smaller “functional groups”) indicated that the government
was not making idle threats.
26
Virginia Matheson Hooker, “Expression: Creativity Despite Constraint,” in Emmerson, ed.
27
Mackie and MacIntyre (n. 22 above).
28
For examples of specific strategies employed by the New Order government to limit cultural
expression, see John R. Bowen, Sumatran Politics and Poetics (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press,
1991); Barbara Hatley, “Cultural Expression,” in Hill, ed.; Hooker.
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DECENTRALIZATION POLICY IN INDONESIA
and respected their ties to the nation.29 Rita Smith Kipp observes that during
the New Order schools became a “powerful means to forge nationalistic
loyalties and identities over ethnic, religious, and class divisions.”30 Teachers
were expected to faithfully deliver the national curriculum and to transmit
the values endorsed by New Order government. Most of the educators currently working in the schools, including those interviewed for this study,
entered the teaching force during that period and were socialized to respect
those values.
By the end of the twentieth century, Indonesia was among the most highly
centralized nations in the world. That centralization of authority “enforced
the dependence of regional leaders on Jakarta, orienting them away from
their local constituencies, and toward the national capital. . . . Politically,
administratively, and financially, regional governments in the 1990s enjoyed
less autonomy than any time since independence.”31 Why did the Indonesian
people accede to Suharto’s authoritarian rule and the curtailment of individual liberties? Did they display any resistance toward the New Order’s moves
to diminish the autonomy of local actors? The answers to these questions
provide valuable insights into the behavior of the junior high school teachers
that I observed in East Java.
Although groups of Indonesians dissatisfied with New Order policies and
actions did stage protests to express their disapproval of the national government on several occasions, in each instance Suharto managed to quell
the demonstrations and reassert his authority. Interestingly, most citizens
accepted the gradual tightening of central control that took place during
the New Order without protest. There are a number of explanations for that
acquiescence, two of which I will highlight here. First, the rapid economic
growth that took place during the New Order period muted voices that might
otherwise have expressed criticism. After experiencing the chaos of the 1950s,
most citizens willingly sacrificed freedom and autonomy in exchange for
stability and a more comfortable standard of living. R. William Liddle observes
that Suharto “fostered regime-legitimating economic growth and used its
material benefits to win friends and coopt potential enemies within the state
and, more broadly, in society.”32 Second, Indonesian culture has historically
embraced the notion that “everything should be in its place, and ‘place’ is
defined as a special relationship to things above and below.”33 In Javanese
29
For a description of some of the mechanisms the New Order government relied on to underscore
students’ and teachers’ obligations to the state, see Christopher Bjork, “Reconstructing Rituals: Expressions of Autonomy and Resistance in a Sino-Indonesian School,” Anthropology and Education Quarterly
33, no. 4 (2002): 465–91.
30
Rita Smith Kipp, Dissociated Identities: Ethnicity, Religion, and Class in an Indonesian Society (Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1993), p. 73.
31
Malley, “Regions” (n. 21 above), pp. 74–75.
32
R. William Liddle, “Regime: The New Order,” in Emmerson, ed., p. 48.
33
Shelly Errington, Meaning and Power in a Southeast Asian Realm (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1989), p. 63.
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society, both before and after independence, the state has been defined
hierarchically, with power firmly resting at the top.34 According to established
patterns of interaction, “model citizens” are expected to obey, not question,
their superiors.
How, then, can we explain the adoption of a policy like the Local Content
Curriculum? If New Order leaders were so concerned with minimizing threats
to their own authority, why would they support a program designed to decentralize control over the schools? Donald Emmerson posits that Suharto’s
failure to institute political reform to accompany economic modernization
bred unrest among the citizenry. For decades most Indonesians accepted
authoritarian rule as a necessary by-product of development.35 But by the
1990s Indonesian youth had grown up assuming economic growth, and felt
less beholden to the New Order leadership. The chorus of voices pressing
for democratic reform gradually increased in volume throughout the 1990s.
Matching that push from below was pressure from outside Indonesia. The
government’s embrace of decentralization followed an international groundswell of support for the idea.
Those conditions shed light on the apparent dissonance between the
concomitant push for greater local autonomy and Suharto’s assertion of
central authority and the curtailment of individual rights. The president’s
instincts may have led him to guard the power accorded to the center, but
global trends made that a risky strategy. As one official at the MOEC told
me, Indonesia has “entered what is called globalization, the free market. So
we need to have every level of society active. . . . Because Indonesia will be
joining the AFTA, APEC, and the WTO. Decentralization is part of the process
of preparing for membership in these organizations.”36 Despite official proclamations suggesting otherwise, the Indonesian government seems to have
included decentralization on its agenda for political reform to appease potential critics within and beyond the country rather than out of a firm commitment to empowering the polity. Indonesia may be on the road to democracy, but it is also possible that the nation is experiencing another
flirtation with power sharing that will prove transitory.
History and Goals of the LCC
In the education sector, the process of devolving responsibility over the
curriculum out of Jakarta began in earnest in the 1980s. A minister of education at the time, a big fan of the “link and match” concept, advocated
34
Benedict R. O’G. Anderson, Language and Power: Exploring Political Cultures in Indonesia (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1990).
35
Emmerson, “Bureaucracy in Political Context” (n. 23 above).
36
Interview held at the MOEC, Jakarta, October 22, 1997.
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the shift to more locally designed curricula.37 After years of informal discussions about the prospects of integrating a local component into the national
curriculum, the MOEC conducted a feasibility study of this topic in 1986. A
program outline was prepared and piloted in three provinces. The following
year, a second phase of piloting was conducted in three additional provinces.
In 1994, after much tinkering and revising, the LCC finally became a distinct
subsection of the national curriculum and was implemented in schools across
the country.
All elementary and junior high schools, public and private, were instructed to develop locally relevant courses that would “provide students with
an understanding of . . . their local culture, basic life skills and an introduction to income producing skills.”38 The MOEC encouraged schools to
create LCC courses that fit the unique conditions of the communities they
served. For example, a school in Bali might decide to offer instruction in
tourism, while an institution located in a rural area of Java could create a
course in agriculture. According to the official MOEC curriculum outline,
LCC instruction was to total six periods per week. The LCC was phased into
junior secondary schools 1 year at a time, beginning with first-year students
in 1994. By 1996, all classes in all Indonesian junior secondary schools were
required to follow a curriculum that included locally determined, designed,
and implemented subject matter.
Clearly, the LCC is an ambitious reform. The government is looking to
the LCC to remedy a plethora of problems currently facing the education
system. Top-level officials, international consultants, program assistants, bureaucrats working in the provinces, and local educators have all had opportunities to leave their imprint on the reform. As the number of hands touching the LCC has increased, so has the breadth of what it is designed to
accomplish. Three goals, however, have remained salient:
1. Delegate Authority to the Localities
Although the MOEC has not ceded complete control to local offices (a
“centrally coordinated management plan” continues to guide the program),
individuals in the provinces and cities have been granted powers not previously entrusted to them. The redistribution of authority is being felt most
directly at two levels of the system: provincial offices of education and local
schools.
In each of Indonesia’s provinces, a 35-person “curriculum coordinating
37
In his history of Indonesian education, former Minister of Education Wardiman Djojonegoro
lists “the link and match policy” as one of the four priorities of national development (Fifty Years’
Development of Indonesian Education [Jakarta: Indonesian Ministry of Education and Culture, 1997], p.
481). He explains that the goal of this policy is to develop curricula that are “appropriately matched
with the demands of employment and development” (ibid., p. 467).
38
UNDP/UNESCO/ILO, The Management and Delivery of the 1994 Junior Secondary Local Content
Curriculum ( Jakarta: UNDP/UNESCO/ILO,1994), p. 6.
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group” (CCG) has been conferred the authority to oversee implementation
of the reform. These handpicked committees of teachers, administrators,
and bureaucrats are responsible for coordinating LCC curriculum, devising
assessment tools, and training teachers in their districts. Prior to the introduction of the LCC, the MOEC held two intensive CCG training sessions in
every province. After the reform was launched nationally, the ministry reduced its level of support to the coordinating groups. As an education official
involved in LCC policy explained, “We are moving from development to
stabilization” of local LCC direction.39 Representatives of the MOEC currently
meet with the CCGs approximately once a year to check on the groups’
progress. No definite timetable has been set, but the expectation in Jakarta
is that the CCGs will eventually assume complete responsibility for coordinating LCC programs throughout the country.
Authority over the actual design and implementation of the new curriculum, however, is concentrated at the school level. As a result, classroom
teachers are being delegated powers previously unheard of in Indonesia. In
the past, curriculum specialists in Jakarta wrote the curriculum followed in
all schools; an instructor’s primary responsibility was to disseminate the information outlined in textbooks. The LCC was designed to spur a major
change in that model. Suddenly, teachers were portrayed as “active partners
in curriculum design and planning, not mere tools of implementation anymore.”40 In contrast with their previous role as information conduits, teachers
were given the “responsibility to act as educational leaders and decision
makers in the selection and shaping of LCC activities and programs.”41 According to MOEC policy, LCC teachers should now determine subject matter,
create curricula that reflect local conditions, and communicate with the
community about program design and implementation.
Neither the provincial offices nor the local schools receive any funds
designated specifically for LCC programs. If special materials, equipment, or
books are required, moneys must be drawn from an institution’s general
operating budget or additional funds must be raised. Because those costs
cannot usually be covered by the general budget, most schools ask parents
to make special contributions to pay for LCC materials. On some occasions,
the funds are taken out of the “donations” that parents remit to the schools
each month. In addition, students are asked to bring supplies from home
or to pay activity fees for LCC lessons. A portion of the national budget has,
however, been set aside to cover the costs of LCC seminars, conferences, and
teacher training workshops. The rationale that MOEC employees provide for
39
Pak Murdiono, interview, Jakarta, August 26, 1998, conducted and transcribed in English. The
names of all informants and schools used in this article are pseudonyms. “Bu” is the informal term
placed in front of an Indonesian woman’s name, similar to the title Mrs. in English. Men are usually
revered to as “Pak.” The more formal versions of these words are “Ibu” and “Bapak.”
40
UNDP/UNESCO/ILO, p. 26.
41
Ibid., p. 36.
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TABLE 1
Reported Unemployment Rates by Educational Attainment
Educational Attainment
Never attended school
Did not complete primary school
Completed primary school
Completed lower secondary (general)
Completed upper secondary (general)
%
.3
.7
1.5
4.6
15.0
Source.—Government of Indonesia, Central Bureau of Statistics, 1985 Intercensal Population Survey (SUPAS), table 4.39
this approach to fiscal management is that the workshops they sponsor will
prepare local actors to oversee all LCC activities—educational and financial—so that the central office can gradually reduce its management role.
2. Reduce the Percentage of Students Exiting the System
At the time that the LCC was created, an immediate concern for policy
makers in Jakarta was the declining transition rate from primary to junior
secondary schools. Following the lead of more developed nations, the Indonesian government hoped to keep students in school longer and to provide
them with an education more tightly linked to local economic and cultural
conditions. Determined to increase the percentage of students who complete
their junior secondary education, the MOEC set a target of reducing the
number of junior secondary school ( JSS) students outside the formal education system by approximately 11 percent each year.
Officials of MOEC were convinced that the percentage of students remaining in school would rise only if revisions were made in the national
curriculum. Survey data indicated that most Indonesian parents who withdrew their children from school prior to junior high school graduation did
so as a result of economic hardship.42 It appeared that large numbers of
students were unconvinced that the acquisition of a junior high school diploma justified their delayed entry into the labor market. Statistics compiled
by the Indonesian government suggest that individuals would not be misguided in drawing such conclusions (see table 1). Although the long-term
earning potential of high school graduates actually tends to exceed that of
other workers,43 it is easy to see why parents anxious about paying their bills
would choose to withdraw their children from school before they complete
a junior secondary education.
Students more concerned about employment than intellectual development had few schooling options after 1988, when the MOEC decided to
close all vocational junior secondary schools. That decision was based on a
body of international research asserting that vocational education tends to
42
43
World Bank (n. 12 above).
Ibid., p. 37.
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be an expensive and ineffective solution to unemployment when implemented at the junior high level.44 However, despite shifting to a more comprehensive approach to junior secondary education, MOEC leaders were not
ready to completely abandon employment-related instruction. Concerned
that the elimination of vocational schools would spur large numbers of students to prematurely exit the formal education system, officials searched for
strategies that could be utilized to enhance the appeal of junior secondary
education. The LCC was created with that goal in mind. As the following
quotation illustrates, the MOEC has high expectations for the LCC: “The
implementation of LCC is a critical element of the basic education policy.
It is, to a large extent, regarded by the government as the primary mechanism
by which JSE [junior secondary education] can be made more attractive to
parents and students. By developing individual locally relevant skills-based
programs schools will be able to provide students with a sense of understanding of aspects of their local culture, basic life skills and values, and an introduction to income producing skills.”45
The government is depending on the LCC to prevent students who in
the past would have opted for vocational education from dropping out prior
to junior high school graduation. According to MOEC forecasts, students
who do not excel in core academic subjects would be stimulated by the prevocational courses included under the LCC umbrella and decide that junior
secondary education is an attractive option for them. In addition, parents
would be persuaded that the potential benefits of keeping their children in
school offset any costs they may incur as they are waiting for them to complete
the ninth grade and begin working full time. If these conditions are met, it
is hoped the primary–junior secondary transition rate will begin to climb
again.
3. Create Tighter Links between Curricula and Local Conditions
When asked their opinion about what the LCC is designed to accomplish,
teachers and principals do not mention transition rates or gross enrollment
figures. Educators working in the schools highlight the importance of matching the curriculum to local conditions. Some focus on culture while others
stress the importance of supplying students with employment-related skills.
Individuals may differ in their interpretations of how curriculum can best
match the local context, but there is consensus that the LCC should mesh
with local realities.
Officials of the MOEC concede that previous national curricula did not
adequately consider Indonesia’s remarkable diversity. In many locations,
schools were alienated from their communities.46 With the LCC, the ministry
44
Djojonegoro.
World Bank (n. 12 above), p. 20.
46
Vicencio (n. 14 above), p. 12.
45
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encouraged schools to link and match course offerings to the unique contours of their surrounding communities. It created and pilot tested a number
of instruments designed to support local educators as they undertook that
challenge: questionnaires designed to gauge student interest in various subjects, models for conducting roundtable discussions with community leaders,
and guidelines for including parents in LCC activities. The MOEC hoped
that such tools would be utilized by schools to make learning more relevant
to junior secondary students and their families.
Response to the Reform in the Schools
Policy documents, field reports, and public statements by MOEC officials
all emphasize the positive accomplishments that have resulted from the introduction of the LCC. The LCC “looks forward to a bright future,” trumpets
one such report, “steered by all those concerned with its development—the
policy-makers, developers, and adopters.”47 An international consultant stationed in Jakarta told me that he thought the program was one of the best
plans for reform that he had ever seen.48 Based on such accounts, one might
conclude that with LCC the Indonesian government successfully orchestrated
a fundamental restructuring of the junior secondary school curriculum. It
looks as if local actors are enjoying degrees of autonomy previously denied
them, teachers are enlivening instruction with innovative pedagogies, and
the curriculum is being revised to more closely match students’ needs and
interests.
In actuality, alterations instigated by LCC policy have been minor. During
the 14 months I spent observing local implementation of the LCC, I was
struck by the constancy rather than the changes the reform has provoked
in schools. I discovered that most instructors have not responded to newly
created chances to modify the curriculum and experiment with new instructional techniques. Although they describe the goals of the LCC in language
that is remarkably similar to that used by officials in Jakarta, teachers rarely
revise their behavior to fall in line with such statements. Neither curriculum
nor pedagogy is being transformed according to MOEC plans. None of the
schools I studied has made a concerted effort to shape the LCC curriculum
to fit the unique needs or interests of its students. As a result, what is billed
as a major reconfiguration of the education system has yet to induce any
significant changes in the schools.
The introduction of the LCC has not produced a redistribution of authority from central to local levels. In East Java, the mismatch between central
expectations and local realities is producing a state of paralysis at all levels
of the education system. The actors expected to assume leadership over the
47
48
Ibid., p. xiii.
Mr. Edward Torres, interview, Jakarta, June 23, 1998, conducted and transcribed in English.
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LCC continue to wait for direction from the capital. Members of the CCG
in East Java meet only when instructed to do so by MOEC officials, and then
obediently follow the directions conveyed to them. In the meantime, the
team entrusted to oversee LCC implementation in the province remains
dormant. One committee member told me, “In the last two years the group
has not been very active. Don’t be surprised if you meet our members and
they aren’t doing anything. In 1997 and 1998 we met only once a year. Now
we are waiting for instructions for another meeting. We haven’t been given
permission yet.”49 Another representative remarked, “We have not made plans
for our next meeting yet. We need more money, which we haven’t received
yet. We didn’t get enough information from [the Center for Curriculum
Development in Jakarta] so we don’t know what to do next.”50
That stasis is particularly evident when observing and talking with LCC
instructors. With no history of exercising leadership, Indonesian educators
are continuing to follow the practices that provided security in the past.
Socialized to respect the verticality of the of the system’s authority hierarchy,
they are averting opportunities to display leadership. Ignoring pressure to
change is the safest, least demanding course of action for an LCC instructor.
Blending in with the background is more likely to bring a teacher the ends
he seeks than distinguishing himself from his peers or taking on extra duties.
For many teachers, the LCC requires investments of time and effort they
are either unprepared for or uninterested in making. In most instances,
instructors assigned to teach LCC courses do so without complaint, but make
no effort to follow MOEC guidelines. Instead, they continue to teach the
way have in the past, but use words and phrases from LCC documents to
describe that work. In other cases, individuals protest when asked to teach
LCC subjects. At one school I observed, a woman asked to teach sewing for
a second year complained that “I was forced to teach sewing, but I don’t feel
confident teaching this curriculum. I don’t have proper training. I want to
focus on my math classes, but I can’t do that if I have to teach sewing.” The
principal responded to that and other similar protests by noting that teachers
could be “super flexible” in their approaches to LCC, and were free to select
new topics for LCC courses if that would make their jobs easier.51
In all of the schools I studied, the pre- and post-1994 curriculum shows
remarkable consistency. In most cases, course titles have been changed or
skill subjects (such as sewing or electronics) reclassified to fall under the
LCC umbrella, but the substance of what students study has remained constant. In reviewing the new LCC curriculum at his school, for example, one
teacher noted that all of the topics currently categorized as LCC were taught
49
Bu Hartas, interview, Surabaya, October 28, 1998, conducted and transcribed in English.
Pak Achmad Latief, interview, Surabaya, July 22, 1998, conducted and transcribed in Indonesian.
51
Discussion observed at Junior High School C, suburb of Malang, June 17, 1998, conducted and
transcribed in Indonesian.
50
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TABLE 2
Curriculum at Junior High School A
Subject
Prior to 1994:
Javanese
Accounting
Auto
Electronics
PKK
Current:
Javanese
Accounting
Auto
Electronics
Cooking
Category
Academic curriculum
Skills curriculum
Skills curriculum
Skills curriculum
Skills curriculum
LCC
LCC
LCC
LCC
LCC
prior to 1994. No revisions were instituted to “link and match” curriculum
to local conditions. Table 2 illustrates this point.
It looks like cooking and sewing are new subjects created in response to
the LCC program. But both topics were taught in the past, the teacher
explained to me, as a single course, which was titled Pendidikan Kesejahteraan Keluarga (PKK), or Family Welfare Education.52
That pattern repeated itself in all of the schools I visited. Instructors
could often verbalize the benefits of offering certain LCC subjects, but they
rarely provided evidence that those courses were selected based on the unique
needs or interests of their students. None of the schools in my sample surveyed students about their curricular interests or employment goals; parents
have not been invited to participate in the planning or management of the
program. When linkages between LCC topics and students’ needs can be
found, they appear to have occurred fortuitously rather than as a result of
careful planning. As a result, in some locations there is a good fit between
the curriculum and local needs, while in others it is hard to justify the slate
of LCC courses offered in the schools.
The most significant changes exist in print only. Relabeling or reconfiguring courses without actually redesigning them to mesh with local needs
allows schools to demonstrate compliance with LCC policy while investing
minimal effort in restructuring instructional programs, as the comments below illustrate:
Q: How have things changed since the LCC was introduced?
Cooking teacher: The curriculum is the same as before. Before it was part of the
vocational curriculum and now it is more focused on globalization. . . . Almost
everything is the same except that the units are organized differently. The teaching
materials are the same, the materials, and so on. Just the organization of the
52
Pak Santoso, interview, Junior High School B, Malang, April 9, 1998, conducted and transcribed
in Indonesian.
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curriculum is different. In the past the year was divided into two semesters and
now there are three terms.53
A principal at a faculty meeting: A problem with LCC is that before last year this
material was labeled PKK. The current subjects are actually the same as PKK. The
only difference is now you have to teach with “packets.” One packet should be
covered each term. There are many more packets than are needed, so you should
pick the packets that are appropriate to your particular conditions.54
Q: Are the teaching methods that you use with the new curriculum different or
the same, compared with the past?
Javanese language teacher: They are the same. The stories we use are slightly different,
but the general themes of the stories are the same. Even the sequence is the same.
The material is the same, but now there are more review exercises.
Q: If I watched a class of yours 10 years ago and one today, would the feeling in
the room be the same or different?
Javanese language teacher: The same. Just the same.55
In response to LCC policy, schools have reorganized the curriculum into a
new set of boxes. In some cases teachers are paying increased attention to
connections between the subject matter they disseminate to students and the
world outside, but the basic curricular foundation anchoring instruction in
Indonesian junior high schools has remained essentially the same. What has
been billed as a major revision of the national curriculum and a restructuring
of the authority structure in schools has, in actuality, produced only surfacelevel change.
Explanations for the Lack of Response
After a long history of being denied opportunities to participate in the
direction of schooling, instructors have finally been granted the chance to
shape the form and content of Indonesian education—but they are not taking
advantage of new opportunities to increase their autonomy. How can we
explain the less than enthusiastic response to the LCC policy? What institutional structures encourage or discourage them from taking a more active
role in their schools? And how is the Indonesian social and political context
influencing teachers’ responses to the reform? My research indicates that
three factors are primarily responsible for inactivity at local levels: civil service
culture, incentives and rewards, and center-local relations.
53
Ibu Basuki, interview, Junior High School B, Malang, February 12, 1998, conducted and transcribed in Indonesian.
54
Observed meeting at Junior High School C, suburb of Malang, June 17, 1998, conducted and
transcribed in Indonesian.
55
Pak Santoso, interview, Junior High School B, Malang, March 24, 1998, conducted and transcribed in Indonesian.
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Civil Service Culture
Educational literature produced in the West reveals portraits of teacher
motivation that assume the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of
children will provide a strong incentive to school employees.56 Teachers often
endure unpleasant work conditions, low pay, and feelings of isolation in
exchange for the psychic rewards they derive from their interactions with
students.57 In the United States, discussions about the achievements and
shortcomings of schools are generally premised on the idea that teachers
will utilize all available mechanisms to help their students succeed in the
classroom. Difficulties experienced by students are often regarded as obstacles that can be overcome with the support and guidance of a caring teacher.
This conception of teaching is so ingrained in U.S. culture that educators
who fail to subscribe to this vision of teaching are often considered uncommitted or unprofessional.
In Indonesia, no such expectations are projected onto teachers. As civil
servants, Indonesian teachers answer to the government, not students, parents, or local school boards. The government rewards educators for behaviors
not highly valued in most U.S., European, or Anglo-Saxon institutions. Loyalty
and obedience, not creativity or initiative, bring Indonesian teachers the most
tangible rewards. The government locates teachers within the same category
as all other public employees. Official documents and occupation surveys
rarely include teacher among the list of occupations an individual can select;
instead, teachers are expected to check the civil servant box.58 Teachers and
other public employees wear the same uniforms, are required to attend many
of the same meetings, and are labeled using the same terms as other members
of the government family. Interestingly, when asked about their occupation,
educators almost always respond that they are civil servants rather than
teachers.
Indonesian schools are replete with reminders of teachers’ connections
to the state. In all of the faculty rooms I visited, the walls were adorned with
framed documents such as “The Seven Promises of the Republic of Indonesia’s Employee Corps,” “The Teacher’s Code of Conduct,” and “Guidelines
for National Discipline at the School.” Faculty meetings were dominated by
official pronouncements from the central government and descriptions of
upcoming events. Issues related to teaching and learning were not raised at
any of the meetings I attended. At the conclusion of one such gathering, I
56
See, e.g., Susan Moore Johnson, Teachers at Work (New York: Basic, 1990); Marilyn M. Cohn
and Robert B. Kottkamp, Teachers: The Missing Voice in Education (New York: State University of New
York Press, 1993); Andy Hargreaves and Michael Fullan, What’s Worth Fighting for Out There (New York:
Teachers College Press, 1998).
57
Dan Lortie, Schoolteacher (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975).
58
One might make the case that in a bureaucracy as large as Indonesia’s, streamlining of this type
is unavoidable. But patterns of monitoring and classifying public employees suggest that the choices
are more deliberate than this. Members of the military, for example, are provided an occupational
category separate from “civil servant,” despite their ties to the central government.
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asked a teacher about his impressions of faculty meetings. He replied, “The
same things are repeated again and again at the meetings. The school is a
branch of the government and they must emphasize that schools serve the
government and the country. The meetings usually focus on messages from
the government offices. I don’t find them interesting.”59
Another device the government has utilized to underscore the teacher’s
allegiance to the national government is its system of performance evaluations. Each instructor is rated in the following areas: loyalty (kesetian), work
performance (prestasi kerja), responsibility (tanggung jawab), obedience (ketautan), honesty (kejujuran), cooperation (kerjasama), and initiative (prakarsa).
None of the criteria used to evaluate teachers is directly tied to instructional
competence, a most telling omission. This is not surprising, however, when
we consider that all civil servants, regardless of position, are rated using a
single standardized performance evaluation form. The performance evaluations reinforce the notion that teachers are valued for their willingness to
serve the government, not their skills as educators.
My interview transcripts indicate that many people working in the public
schools do not support that framing of professional responsibility. As one
retired educator observed, “I was a teacher in the public schools, but I quit
because I didn’t agree with many of the government’s goals. The government
didn’t want teachers or students to think for themselves. I quit and started
working at a private school. The government wants people to act like a train,
following the engine on the tracks but not moving in their own path. People
have to follow the government and be quiet. The structure of the Indonesian
school system is like America’s but the thinking is different. That is a
problem.”60 However, although in private many of my informants described
the negative consequences of the heavy emphasis on obedience and loyalty
in the public schools, very few were willing to publicly express any criticism
of government policy or practice. Most of the teachers I observed camouflaged any such feelings of disapproval and carried out their professional
duties as inconspicuously as possible.
The emphasis on teacher as government employee rather than educator
has important implications for the people who are playing a part in LCC
implementation. With the reform, the MOEC is pressing teachers to more
readily display the autonomous educator aspect of their jobs, but is failing
to recognize the competing forces acting upon them. Throughout their careers, public school employees have been conditioned to repress any inclinations they might have to approach their work with a sense of independence.
Individuals who veered from the narrow path laid out for them by the MOEC
59
Pak Diharto, interview, Junior High School A, Malang, February 26, 1998, conducted and transcribed in Indonesian.
60
Pak Sasono, interview, researcher’s home, November 3, 1998, conducted and transcribed in
Indonesian.
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entered risky territory.61 In 1994, the government indicated that it expected
educators to follow a new set of norms. Instead of loyally following plans
drafted by national experts, they were encouraged to devise original curricula
and experiment with student-centered instructional methods. Yet Indonesian
teachers are still defined as civil servants, their salaries continue to be paid
by the national government, and they are evaluated using the same behavioral
checklist used to rate all government employees prior to 1994. Not surprisingly, instructors are clinging to behaviors that served them well in the past
rather than following the unproven plans for them outlined in LCC policy
documents.
Indonesian civil service culture, in sum, promotes values and behaviors
that are fundamentally at odds with the new role of the teacher that the
MOEC is currently promoting. The civil service system is structured to reward
individuals who display loyalty and obedience, and those are the qualities
most readily embraced by the teachers I observed. Teachers, like other civil
servants, rarely question the party line communicated from Jakarta. They
have learned that the most dependable response is to follow directions and
avoid drawing attention to themselves. This helps to explain their unenthusiastic response to a reform designed to expand their authority.
Incentives and Rewards
The new responsibilities prescribed for teachers in LCC documents demand that educators develop new curricula, design original lesson plans,
familiarize themselves with innovative instructional strategies, and meet regularly with members of the community. All of those duties require additional
investments of time—a requirement not applied to their colleagues who teach
other subjects. Many of the instructors I interviewed told me that they prefer
not to teach LCC subjects for precisely this reason. One cooking teacher
complained, “I was told to teach the LCC, but I don’t feel comfortable
teaching this subject. I want to focus on chemistry, but I can’t because I have
to teach cooking. I don’t have enough time.”62
The primary incentive offered to individuals who agree to participate in
the LCC is an increase in authority. But few of the teachers I observed showed
any desire to augment their degree of influence. As I state above, Indonesian
teachers tend to value the security of their jobs more than opportunities to
influence school policy or make a difference in the lives of their students.
They do, however, appreciate additional pay opportunities. School employees
61
For detailed examples of legislation that served to depoliticize the civil service or to tighten the
national government’s grip on the activities of public employees, see the following: Harold Crouch, The
Army and Politics in Indonesia (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1978); Emmerson, “Bureaucracy in
Political Context” (n. 23 above); Michael Malley, “Resource Distribution, State Coherence, and Political
Centralization in Indonesia, 1950–1997” (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Wisconsin—Madison, 1999).
62
Ibu Pramono, interview, Junior High School C, suburb of Malang, May 2, 1998, conducted and
transcribed in Indonesian.
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typically receive financial bonuses for correcting end-of-term examinations,
serving as homeroom teachers, supervising extracurricular activities, and
most other duties that extend beyond the act of delivering lessons. They
tend not to devote their time to tasks that do not bring them monetary
rewards. In all of the schools I studied, the incentive most likely to motivate
educators to carry out their professional responsibilities is the promise of
financial compensation. One principal I met at a national LCC conference
acknowledged this reality and devised an unusual system in an attempt to
motivate the teachers on his campus to work harder. When asked how he
responds when teachers do not spend time at school or do not put enough
effort into their lessons, he replied, “I set up a system of financial incentives
designed to improve teacher commitment. For example, I give teachers RP
1,250 transportation money for every hour they spend on campus after school
and RP 100 for each daily test they correct. This system works at my school.”
Yet instructors asked to participate in the LCC do not receive any extra pay
for their efforts. No special status or title is conferred upon them.
This situation reveals the danger of applying Western models of teacher
management to school systems whose development has been shaped by
unique values and conditions and expecting similar results. The MOEC leaders are relying on teacher initiative to drive implementation of the LCC.
Policy guides suggest that LCC teachers will embrace opportunities to demonstrate independence and initiative, but the culture of teaching that developed during the New Order period promotes a contrary set of behaviors.
Local educators do not feel compelled to support the reform out of a sense
of duty to their profession or their communities. Although instructors may
express their agreement with the basic goals of the program, they rarely
devote nonteaching time to LCC programs. Like teachers of other subjects,
LCC instructors view unassigned hours as their own time and do not feel
obliged to work on school-related matters during those periods.63 Budget
constraints, however, prevent the MOEC from providing financial rewards
to teachers who agree to take on the additional responsibilities related to
LCC development and implementation.
Center-Local Relations
Although this study focuses on local responses to the LCC, it is helpful
to examine views about the reform held by officials at the MOEC insofar as
their actions affect the information and support provided to administrators
and LCC instructors based in the schools. Case studies of educational de63
One factor that accounts for this situation is the poor salary paid to public school teachers in
Indonesia. A survey conducted by the World Bank found that 39 percent of Indonesian junior secondary
school teachers supplement their income through additional part-time employment (World Bank). In
many cases, a teacher’s secondary work takes priority over his responsibilities at school. Administrators,
sympathetic to teachers’ financial burdens, generally overlook staff absenteeism, tardiness, and lack of
preparation.
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centralization frequently point to resistance from the central government as
a primary roadblock to policy implementation.64 McGinn and Street, for
example, assert that “decentralization reforms fail not so much because they
are not implemented but because they are actively resisted, often by groups
within the government.”65 Is it possible that upper-level opposition to the
LCC is actually responsible for teachers’ tepid response to the reform? Are
education officials in any way interfering with local implementation of the
program? Could instructors be withholding support for the LCC due to their
awareness that the MOEC does not want the reform to succeed, despite its
public declarations of support?
During my interviews at the MOEC, I was struck by the desire to empower
local educators articulated by members of the LCC management team. I met
with these officials on numerous occasions throughout my period of fieldwork
and each time I came away with the impression that they were genuinely
committed to the goals of the reform. In office after office, highly placed
government employees voiced support for increasing the autonomy of local
educators. One official commented, “We have a mission to empower local
personnel to plan and develop the curriculum, because in the past our
government was always centralized.”66 Another explained that “the intention
of the government in general is to make local people more active in determining their conditions. It is a general trend in many areas of government,
even economics.”67 Some MOEC employees stationed in Jakarta pointed out
problems in LCC implementation practices, but no one expressed any opposition to the concept of granting local actors more authority. In private
conversations, many of these people would be risking little by criticizing the
goals of the LCC or indicating skepticism about the wisdom of the program,
but no one did so.
That sense of enthusiasm within the walls of the MOEC is understandable.
The team of officials assigned to manage Indonesia’s national curriculum is
overworked and understaffed. The LCC is just one of many substantial responsibilities assigned to them. Ceding authority over 20 percent of the
curriculum to local levels would reduce the burden of responsibilities bearing
down on them. Furthermore, most of those leaders were educated abroad
and are aware of the current support on the international stage for educational decentralization.
The individuals directly involved in management of the LCC shared with
me their belief that the MOEC has taken the steps necessary to build a solid
foundation for change. When asked to describe how they have supported
64
See case studies listed in n. 5 above.
Noel McGinn and Susan Street, “Educational Decentralization: Weak State or Strong State?”
Comparative Education Review 30 (November 1986): 471–90, quote on p. 474.
66
Pak Murdiono, interview, Jakarta, October 27, 1997, conducted and transcribed in English.
67
Pak Rudini, interview, Jakarta, October 22, 1997, conducted and transcribed in English.
65
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implementation of the LCC, program managers articulated a series of steps
designed to lead to smooth enactment of the program. On paper, their plans
indicated a firm commitment to the reform: lengthy training sessions offered
to LCC teachers and school administrators, regularly scheduled visits by
MOEC employees to the provinces to meet with school representatives, and
production of guidebooks designed to assist educators with implementation
of the LCC. One official explained as follows:
The CDC [Center for Curriculum Development] has a team that goes into the
provinces and holds trainings. But that isn’t always necessary anymore. Now we
sometimes use e-mail rather than visit the kanwil [provincial office of education]
offices. We don’t have to go to each province so often anymore. We spent 3 years
running workshops in the provinces. The first year we gave them knowledge and
information about research; then curriculum evaluation and curriculum development. It’s no longer necessary to go there so often, because we have already trained
people in the provinces. We can send documents through the computer. . . . We
view the CCGs as curriculum developers in the field. They have the same responsibilities as us, but at the provincial level. . . . We have already offered the LCC to
the kanwil people. Now it is up to the CCG people to take charge because we cannot
do anything else.68
Such statements indicate that MOEC employees are convinced that they have
provided local actors with sufficient support to assume leadership over the
LCC and that their commitment extends deeper than a rhetorical level. I
believe that the MOEC leadership truly wants the LCC to succeed.
Yet the situation is not as straightforward as the transcripts from my
interviews would suggest. Members of the LCC leadership team may believe
they are encouraging the delegation of authority to local educators, but in
many instances they fail to back up their words with appropriate assistance.
The concept of decentralization intellectually appeals to many bureaucrats
who at the same time have trouble relinquishing power. The traditional
dominance of the central government has left the individuals asked to implement the LCC unprepared for their new roles. In theory, they want to
increase local autonomy; in practice, they often undermine that very
objective.
The clearest examples of that ambiguity surfaced at LCC conferences
and training seminars. At one workshop conducted at a national LCC conference, a team of MOEC officials led a group of approximately 40 schoolbased educators in a discussion of instructional techniques appropriate for
LCC lessons. After announcing that they would structure the discussion to
fit the interests of the teachers in attendance, workshop leaders proceeded
to ignore suggestions offered by members of the audience; instead, they
passed around a list of previously prepared questions to be discussed, and
gradually monopolized the conversation. Fifteen minutes into the session,
68
Pak Wahono, interview, Jakarta, August 26, 1998, conducted and transcribed in English.
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the teachers in the audience had become silent and were being lectured by
three MOEC representatives about how LCC classes should be organized.
Yet in postworkshop interviews, the facilitators of the session told me that
they thought the meeting had been quite productive. They were unaware of
the impact their strategies for running the meeting had on participants.
The tendency to reinforce status and power differentials, rather than
promote the delegation of power, repeated itself at a week-long training
workshop for LCC teachers in East Java that I attended. According to the
person who organized the event, the goal of the training was to “teach participants how to make the LCC fit their local conditions.” I had difficulty
finding evidence of support for that plan. In all of the sessions I attended,
workshop leaders spent the majority of their time instructing participants on
how to properly fill out an array of forms (such as an outline of the year’s
educational program, a weekly time allocation sheet, and an outline of an
academic term). Based on the information presented at the training, one
might conclude that the skill most highly valued by the government is the
ability to complete standardized accountability forms. None of the sessions
prepared teachers to display leadership or to create the types of lessons
described in the LCC planning manuals produced by the MOEC.
Teachers who attended either of the seminars described above were no
more prepared to manage LCC programs in their schools than when they
first arrived at those meetings. Not surprisingly, most of the teachers I spoke
with were critical of the seminars they attended. During a break in one of
the sessions at the workshop held in East Java, a group of teachers expressed
their frustrations about the seminar:
Q: What are your impressions of the training?
Teacher 1: There is too much wasted time. I don’t think the presenters are prepared.
They’re trying things out as they go.
Teacher 2: I haven’t been writing any of this information down because I learned
it all in university. Most of it is a repeat of things we already know. There isn’t
much new. None of the forms are new—only the allocation of time is different.
Teacher 3: I think the material being presented here is too simple for the teachers.
This training would be more appropriate for people working in a school office
than for teachers.
Teacher 4: I was hoping this training would build a sense of community among
teachers, but I am disappointed. I thought it would develop the knowledge and
experience I already have, but this is just like an orientation and the information
is not new.
Teacher 5: Well, I am a new teacher, so this information is helpful to me.69
69
Ibu Kartini, Ibu Idris, Ibu Hartinah, and Ibu Hadayat, interview, provincial training workshop,
Jombang, September 18, 1998, conducted and transcribed in Indonesian.
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As the above comments suggest, very few participants developed new skills
during the training sessions. Only the novice teacher expressed satisfaction
with the workshop.
The individuals responsible for orienting lower-level employees to their
new positions may embrace the goals of the LCC, but they do not seem to
have sufficiently contemplated the implications for their own behavior. Education officials are not opposed to the idea of devolving authority to local
levels; no battles over the transfer of power have taken place. Yet they are
having trouble abandoning the strict hierarchical model of central-local interactions they have always followed. These experts do not even seem aware
that their actions are in conflict with the goals of the reform.
This points to one of the dilemmas currently impeding smooth LCC
implementation: discord between the philosophies that undergird the reform
and firmly established government practices. Indonesian culture has traditionally accepted hierarchy as a necessary facet of social interaction. Relationships between members of the education sector have long been guided
by the system’s vertical organization. With the LCC, the MOEC is attempting
to locate members of the education system in new places, but is failing to
recognize conflict between the new organizational grid it is promoting and
the rigid hierarchy that has traditionally anchored the education system.
Summary of LCC Changes
Clearly, the LCC is not producing its intended results. Despite calls for
a redistribution of authority over the curriculum, few substantive changes
are occurring at local levels. My research at six junior high schools in East
Java indicates that the introduction of the LCC has not led to the types of
changes forecast by MOEC officials. Neither teachers nor students are benefiting from the reform. A review of the three goals outlined earlier in this
article confirms this conclusion.
1. Delegate Authority to the Localities
The education system’s authority structure has retained its basic shape.
Upper-level officials express their support for devolving authority to local
levels, but their actions often undermine that goal. Local educators continue
to wait for direction from above, ignoring opportunities to broaden their
authority. Neither their words nor their actions indicate that instructors have
revised their view of the role of the teacher so as to align with MOEC designs.
2. Reduce the Percentage of Students Exiting the System
Statistics published by the Indonesian government indicate that the number of students entering and graduating from junior high schools increased
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steadily during the 1990s, but the specific figures cited vary dramatically.70
In addition, if greater numbers of students are indeed choosing to complete
junior high school, it is difficult to pinpoint their reasons for doing so. My
interviews with students suggest that they do not find LCC courses particularly
stimulating and do not believe that the skills they acquire in those classes
will improve their chances of securing employment in the future. For these
reasons, I am reluctant to draw any conclusions about the LCC’s impact on
junior secondary retention and graduation rates.
3. Create Tighter Links between Curricula and Local Conditions
None of the schools I studied has made a concerted effort to shape the
LCC curriculum to fit the unique needs or interests of students. Courses may
have new titles or be organized according to different schedules, but the
current skills curriculum shares an uncanny resemblance to its pre-1994
predecessor. Course offerings in the junior high schools I observed are no
more carefully aligned with local conditions than was the case prior to the
introduction of the LCC.
Broader Questions about Decentralization in Indonesia
The consistency in the curriculum delivered to junior secondary school
students before and after the introduction of the LCC highlights the intertwined relationship between school culture, historical precedent, and teacher
behavior. Despite MOEC reports that suggest otherwise, local educators are
resisting opportunities to augment their autonomy in the schools. According
to my observations, that lack of action is more tightly connected to deepseated views about the role of the teacher within the school, the government,
and society than to any technical factor. The reform is stalling primarily
because instructors are reluctant to modify their behavior to fit the recommendations outlined in LCC planning documents. Policy planners have underestimated the degree of change necessary to convert a cadre of obedient
civil servants into a collection of autonomous, independent-minded
educators.
Indonesia, like many other Asian countries, seems to have embraced
educational decentralization out of a sense of hopefulness rather than a
careful study of the concept and the ways it has played out in other settings.
As is often the case with decentralization initiatives, the LCC was designed
with scant attention to the nation’s social or political terrain. The educational
theory cited by LCC advocates was produced almost entirely by Western
70
For example, one report published by the MOEC states that the primary-secondary continuation
rate for 1997/1997 was 77.56 percent (MOEC, Determinants of Repetition, Drop-Out, and Transition in
Primary and Junior Secondary Schools [Jakarta: MOEC, 1998]), while a table on the MOEC web site lists
a figure of 55 percent for the same year. Such discrepancies raise questions about the validity of the
figures relied on to assess the results of programs like the LCC.
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academics and conducted in settings that share few commonalities with Indonesian institutions. Reports from the MOEC rarely address challenges that
might arise as a result of Indonesia’s cultural landscape. None of the planning
documents I studied mention the possibility that Indonesian teachers might
decline opportunities to increase their degree of influence in the schools.
Instead, MOEC reports examine in great detail budgetary considerations,
scheduling, and issues related to the provision of books and materials. Those
factors are important, but larger issues related to the nation’s sociopolitical
history and its effects on the culture of teaching also demand attention.
Donald Emmerson has written that “democratizing Indonesia [means]
trying to dismantle a system of fear and favor, deference and influence, talent
and venality, by turning its own elements against it—elements that for three
decades have been used to entrench it.”71 Though Emmerson was not writing
about the education sector, his comments are relevant to this discussion of
the LCC program. Educational decentralization is embedded in broader
issues related to participatory democracy and the distribution of power. As
Emmerson notes, Indonesia’s sociopolitical context does not provide a fertile
setting for reforms that aim to enlarge the circle of actors involved in the
management of public services. There are inherent tensions between decentralization measures like the LCC, whose success depends on the active
participation of local educators, and the norms and values that have traditionally ordered Indonesian civil service culture. For decades, the primary
responsibility assigned to educators was promoting national integration. The
individuals who staff Indonesia’s learning institutions have been socialized
to respect authority and to suppress any inclinations they may have to act
with a spirit of independence. Clearly, the behavioral expectations for LCC
teachers clash with the values that have guided those actors for their entire
professional lives. That dissonance partially explains teachers’ reluctance to
embrace the role of autonomous educator that MOEC officials are asking
them to play.
Economic and political instability have also impeded smooth implementation of the LCC. As I explain above, since independence the archipelago
has been plagued by periods of great volatility, including a particularly chaotic
time during the 1950s when the national government nearly collapsed. Both
Sukarno and Suharto experimented with democratic reform, but each such
venture was followed be a reassertion of central authority and curtailing of
individual liberties. In several instances in the past, politicians publicly voiced
their intention to foster a more open and democratic society, only to tighten
the leash connecting regions to the center when such openness undercut
their own authority. Based on patterns of extension and retraction of authority over the past 50 years, teachers are likely to question the depth of
71
Donald K. Emmerson, “Exit and Aftermath: The Crisis of 1997–98,” in Emmerson, ed. (n. 21
above), pp. 295–343, at p. 342.
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the government’s current commitment to decentralization reforms such as
the LCC. Furthermore, Indonesia’s periods of greatest stability have occurred
when authority has been more firmly ensconced in the capital. Public employees might logically conclude that the current push for decentralization
will not endure for long. If there is a chance that the government will ultimately withdraw its support for the LCC, why should teachers invest themselves in the program? A more prudent response to the policy would be to
voice their support for reform, continue to approach their work the way they
have in the past, and wait for a return to previous practices.
Redistributing authority to local institutions necessitates a degree of
change in the way educators think and act that has yet to be acknowledged
by the actors who oversee the LCC. Politicians, MOEC officials, and international consultants eagerly describe the substantial benefits that will flow
from decentralization but fail to back up such endorsements with appropriate
support to teachers in the localities. The government may publicly declare
that it wants to empower local actors, but education officials have not demonstrated through their actions that they are truly committed to facilitating
the devolution of authority to subnational levels. Even when individuals involved in the implementation of the LCC intellectually embrace the concept
of sharing authority with subordinates, they often have difficulty adjusting
their behavior to fall in line with their words.
Politicians and policy planners in Indonesia are relying on decentralization initiatives to drive democratization in the archipelago, but case studies
from other parts of the world raise questions about the wisdom of that
approach. In most cases, attempts to devolve power to local government
organs produced only minor modifications to authority frameworks, or ultimately led to an increase in the power enjoyed by central authorities.72 The
most successful examples of educational decentralization have occurred in
locations where the push for local autonomy resonated with the values and
experiences of the people relied on to actualize plans for reform. In settings
like Norway and some regions of India, public participation in civic affairs
is woven into the fabric of social activity; familiar with the benefits of bottomup policy making, citizens are often eager to increase their influence over
government activities.73 That is not the case in Indonesia, where teachers and
72
Spain is the only nation with a history of authoritarian, centralized government that has successfully made the transition to a decentralized education system (see E. Mark Hanson, “Democratization
and Educational Decentralization in Spain: A Twenty Year Struggle for Reform,” Country Studies: Education
Reform and Management Publication Series 1, no. 3 [2000]: 1–62). A number of nations are currently
attempting to decentralize after long periods of authoritarian rule, but it is not yet clear whether or
not those efforts will succeed. El Salvador, Nicaragua, Chile, Argentina, and China are examples of such
countries that have recently undertaken decentralization reforms.
73
For more detailed descriptions of these settings, see the cases of Norway (Gustav E. Karlsen,
“Decentralized Centralism: Framework for a Better Understanding of Governance in the Field of Education,” Journal of Education Policy 15, no. 5 [2000]: 525–38), and Kerala, India (Richard W. Franke
and Barbara H. Chasin, Kerala: Radical Reform in an Indian State, 2d ed. [San Francisco: Institute for
Food and Development Policy, 1994]).
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school administrators are not likely to have firsthand experience with democratically managed public institutions. Like other public employees, educators have long been rewarded for conforming to central directives, not for
displaying independence of thought. Educational decentralization presses
teachers and administrators to conceptualize and support a system of school
management that is almost entirely unfamiliar to them.
Outside observers might posit that uncertainty and hardship are costs
that must be paid to advance along the pathway leading to democracy and
freedom. But many of the public school teachers that I spoke with were more
focused on paying their bills than on the long-term picture. Those educators
could not justify the time or effort required to support the implementation
of the LCC, a reform with an uncertain future. The incentives that have been
offered to teachers are not enticing enough to impel changes in their professional behavior. Teachers’ influence over school policy and practice may
be relatively weak, but their work is secure and relatively stress free. As one
informant explained, “As long as there are no serious problems, I will not
be fired. . . . Most teachers are safe here.”74 Unlike many of their relatives
and friends, they know they will be paid every month and will receive retirement benefits at the conclusion of their careers. Very few of the Indonesian teachers I interviewed covet the autonomy that the MOEC is offering
to them.
One issue that is rarely addressed in the literature on educational decentralization is the influence of economic conditions on local actors. Numerous studies have explored the effects that devolving authority over schools
may have on the distribution of wealth among regions or school districts.75
One salient theme of that work is that decentralization often exacerbates
disparities between those subdivisions. This research extends that work in
highlighting microlevel economic effects of a decentralization initiative. As
I note, the Indonesian teachers depended on to translate decentralization
measures into practice make decisions about their level of commitment to
reform partially based on monetary considerations. They tend to be more
strongly influenced by financial incentives than by opportunities to increase
their level of influence. Based on my fieldwork, school-level actors may need
to be convinced that they will attain concrete gains before they will change
their behavior, especially when such changes conflict with the way they have
organized their professional lives in the past.
74
Ibu Yani, interview, Junior High School A, Malang, January 20, 1998, conducted and transcribed
in Indonesian.
75
See, e.g., M. Bray, “Control of Education: Issues and Tensions in Centralization and Decentralization,” in Comparative Education: The Dialectic of the Global and the Local, ed. Robert Arnove and Carlos
Alberto Torres (Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999); Joshua Ka-Ho Mok, “From State Control
to Governance: Decentralization and Higher Education in Guangdong China,” International Review of
Education 47, nos. 1–2 (2001): 123–49; Prawda (n. 6 above); Prud’homme (n. 5 above).
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Conclusion
The goals of the LCC are substantial and multiple. When I conducted
my field research, only 4 years had passed since the reform was enacted.
Could it be that I am too hastily drawing conclusions about the fate of the
LCC? Is it possible that 10 or 20 years will pass before the benefits of the
reform begin to surface? I leave open the possibility that the LCC will meet
program goals in the future, but I am not convinced that is likely to occur.
The difficulties that Indonesian educators have experienced as they respond
to LCC directives stem from friction between the ideological foundation of
educational decentralization and the culture of teaching and government
that shapes the behavior of teachers as public employees. The LCC teachers
have been socialized to accept a set of values and to display behaviors that
clash with the philosophical underpinnings of decentralization.
The Indonesian government is encouraging local educators to revise their
roles and attitudes—without modifying the foundation that anchors the education system. After decades of being conditioned to believe otherwise,
instructors need to be convinced that current efforts to democratize the
government will be supported in the future, and that the benefits they will
derive from investing in the implementation of a reform like the LCC will
exceed potential costs. My research indicates that the MOEC has not yet
commenced rebuilding the culture of education to fit the new vision of
teaching and learning it is promoting. Instead, it is attempting to append
the LCC reform to an existing core with only minor modifications. Training
workshops provided to teachers, center-local interactions, and incentive
schemes all continue to reflect entrenched practices that often clash with
new education goals. As a result of that discord, the LCC has succeeded in
reforming discourse but not practice.
Previous assessments of the LCC do not discuss the mismatch between
stated objectives for the reform and its implementation at local levels. The
bulk of that work was conducted by MOEC employees and international
consultants who could not spend extended periods of time outside of Jakarta.
As a result, they drew their conclusions primarily from survey data and short,
usually single-day, visits to schools. This study underlines the incomplete—and
sometimes inaccurate—view of the reform efforts that may emerge from
research that fails to explore local responses to decentralization initiatives.
Official reports profess that the LCC is transforming curricula and instruction
in Indonesian junior secondary schools; the fieldwork I conducted in those
schools suggests otherwise. Indonesian teachers may voice their support for
the LCC and claim to have modified their practice to fit policy goals, but
their actions rarely match their words. That disjuncture and the erroneous
reports that have been generated as a result underscore the need for more
studies that examine the reform initiatives’ impact on actors and organizations far removed from the offices of ministries of education. Only by interComparative Education Review
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viewing and observing the individuals who implement reforms in actual
school settings can we gain a true understanding of the effects of educational
decentralization on school practice.
This ethnographic study of the translation and implementation of the
LCC reveals a lack of action by local actors, and connects that stasis to
ingrained views about the role of the Indonesian teacher within the school
and the government. Friction between the objectives of decentralization and
a sociopolitical context that has traditionally defined teachers as dutiful civil
servants have led to a maintenance of the status quo. Deeply rooted ideas
about authority and hierarchy, failed experiments with democratic rule in
the past, economic uncertainty, and a history of emphasizing the schools’
obligation to buttress national integration are preventing individuals at all
levels of the Indonesian education system from altering their behavior. Teachers, in particular, are choosing not to adopt the role of the autonomous
educator that government officials have designed for them. Those influences,
more than the technical factors highlighted in macroassessments of the LCC,
are preventing a redistribution of authority to the school level.
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