The Story of Prof. Andi Hakim Nasution: From an Old House to the Legendary Rector of IPB University!

 

In an old, quiet house in the Ciwaringin area of Bogor, Andi Hakim Nasution seemed always to return to the past. In that house, his father, Anwar Nasoetion Gelar Mangaraja Pidoli—a veterinarian during the Dutch colonial era—raised him. Amid rooms filled with memories, Andi never ceased to revisit the teachings of his father, who was also a researcher. One of Anwar’s last messages to him was: devote yourself to agricultural science so that you can quickly find employment. As the eldest of five siblings, Andi faithfully carried out his father’s wish. The result? He not only secured a job soon after graduating, but “agricultural science” also led him to a level of prominence befitting a distinguished scholar.

 

Born on March 30, 1932, he spent his childhood in Bogor. There, he earned a degree in agricultural engineering from IPB in 1958 with cum laude honors. He later obtained his doctoral degree from North Carolina State University, USA, in 1964. A year later, he returned to Indonesia and became a lecturer at IPB at a time when the campus was in turmoil due to ideological conflicts leading up to the bloody events of G30S. In 1965, he was appointed Dean of the Faculty of Agriculture (Faperta) at IPB, a position he held until 1969.

 

The father of three later served as Director of Undergraduate Education (1971) and Director of the Graduate School before becoming Rector of IPB for two terms (1978–1987). As a lecturer, his excellence was unquestionable. However, what elevated his name so prominently was his career as a professor of statistics and quantitative genetics—two fields that constantly occupied his mind and scholarly work.

 

He was among the very few outstanding statisticians and mathematicians in the country. He pioneered and designed the teaching of statistics and mathematics in the way they should be taught: encouraging logical thinking rather than merely performing calculations. His scientific writings appeared in numerous books and articles, including Daun-Daun Berserakan, Reaching the Best, Landasan Matematik, Matrix Algebra, and Statistical Theory. His Statistical Methods was published in both Indonesian and English. Writing was nothing new to him; at the age of 18, he had already authored a fiction book titled Anak-Anak Bintang Pari.

 

At the age of 67, Andi remained highly active. He served as Rector of the Telkom Institute of Technology in Bandung while continuing to teach at IPB. He also continued writing articles and books, including a religious (dakwah) book. One of his notable strengths was his exceptional numerical and cognitive memory. He was IPB’s first extraordinary lecturer in mathematics. It was no surprise that he had chaired the jury of the National Youth Scientific Research Competition for 23 years and mentored members of Indonesia’s Mathematics Olympiad Team.

 

His name is also associated with various innovations in education, such as the stratification of higher education into three levels and university admissions without entrance examinations.

Two weeks earlier, in that old house steeped in memories, Andi Hakim—who appeared healthy and youthful—received TEMPO journalist I Gusti Gede M.S. Adi for a special interview.

 

The following are excerpts:

 

You pioneered admission without entrance exams at IPB in 1976. How did the idea originate?

The idea already existed. However, prospective students were often recommended by various officials, such as governors. This was dangerous because it could foster collusion. At the time, I was appointed head of the 1975 IPB student admissions program. The rector instructed that IPB should admit 1,000 new students.

Why such a drastic increase, when IPB usually admitted only 200 students?

It was a request from the parliament (DPR). They argued that admitting only 200 students was disproportionate to the government subsidy. I told the rector we couldn’t just accept candidates indiscriminately, or we would become a dumping ground. But he insisted: it had to be 1,000. So I proposed a gradual increase—500 in the first year, then rising to 1,000—and requested full authority to manage the process my way.

How did you determine which high schools could recommend their best students?

At every exam, I asked my students to write the name and address of their high school at the bottom of their answer sheets. If by their fourth year they consistently performed well, I would invite those schools to nominate their students to IPB, hoping they would follow in their seniors’ footsteps. This method has continued to develop to this day.

Compared to students admitted through the national entrance system, how did they perform?

At IPB, they generally performed better. Data showed that students admitted without tests often came from sub-district capitals, while female students tended to come from larger cities. It appeared that in smaller towns, educating daughters was not yet a priority.

Did officials ever try to place their children through this program?

Yes. But I evaluated them first. If their grades were good, they were admitted. Frankly, there was an incident at the Ciawi Agricultural Academy that inspired this policy. I once received a letter from a district head in Curup, Bengkulu, recommending a candidate he claimed was the best in the district. The student’s grades turned out to be very poor. The next day, a poorly dressed student came to apply after the deadline. I checked his report card—excellent. He was also from Curup.

So the district head made the wrong recommendation? What did you do?

I told the student to submit his application with a date before the deadline. I even advised him to make the envelope look slightly damaged and noted that it had been received in that condition. Fortunately, he agreed—and was admitted.

So both of you bent the rules?

Yes, I did. And do you know who he became? Professor Mahfuddin Syakhranie, now a professor of marine science at Diponegoro University in Semarang.

Did similar incidents happen often?

Quite often. In another case during the 1974 entrance exam, a student told me he did not intend to enroll because his parents—retired elementary school educators—could not afford it. He only wanted to test whether his intellect met IPB standards. He had paid the application fee from savings earned by writing for a regional-language magazine.

What did you do?

I concluded that since his writings had been published, he must have a logical and structured mind. He turned out to be an outstanding student from West Java. I requested the rector to waive his tuition and wrote to his district head to fund his travel and first three months of expenses. IPB would then secure a scholarship for him.

What was the outcome?

He graduated cum laude in four years, pursued a master’s degree in the United States, and later completed a doctorate. He eventually returned to thank me and is now a top-ranking government official.

Why did you take such shortcuts to help talented students?

It was my way of repaying my professors. One of them, Professor Boudoin, had once been a gardener working for Hugo de Vries, a Nobel laureate in biology. He secretly attended lectures from outside and took meticulous notes. Eventually, de Vries personally trained him to become a professor.

There was also a case involving Mamiek Soeharto…

(Laughs) She might not have completed her quantitative exam problems, but her logical thinking was good. Her thesis compared the leg anatomy of people from Irian, Pengalengan, and Siantar using statistical methods.

Why did you accept the position of rector in 1978?

Initially, I was offered a position as Head of Research and Development at the Ministry of Education. I declined, saying many could fill that role, but not many could be professors of statistics. At that time, I was the only one.

Yet you were elected rector.

Yes, with a significant margin. The campus was in turmoil, and I was chosen during a difficult period when policies like NKK/BKK were depoliticizing campuses.

What was your stance?

I told students they could speak freely—as long as their arguments were logical. Without logic, what was the point?

Why is mathematics important?

Mathematics teaches logical thinking. With logic, people cannot easily be manipulated or turned into political tools.

Why did you choose statistics instead of pure mathematics?

Pure mathematics had limited practical application for me in Bogor. Statistics allowed me to apply mathematical principles in plant breeding and educate others effectively.

Do you still teach?

Yes, especially first-year students. Foundations are critical. Even Nobel laureates teach introductory courses abroad.

What about your life outside academia?

On Sundays, I enjoy walking around Bogor with my wife while photographing plants with my favorite Olympus camera. Spending time with my grandchildren is my greatest joy.

Source: I Gusti Gede M.S. Adi. Interview with Andi Hakim Nasution: “With Mathematics, People Will Not Become Political Surfboards,” Tempo Magazine, Monday, January 3, 2000.