Giving Batik A Hand?

On October 2, UNESCO officially acknowledged that batik originates from Indonesia, not from that country across the strait. To celebrate the occasion, Indonesians proudly wore their best batik everywhere they were for whatever they did. The president’s call to wear batik together on that day took the celebration to another height. Government offices, schools, and private companies also urged their guys and girls to wear batik. On personal level, in a break from my typical polo shirt and non-blue jeans attire, I joined the fashion festival of the people by wearing my batik uniform from the days of high school. Congratulate me, because I proudly appreciated one of my country’s treasures – and because it took a lot of guts to wear a shocking green batik in public.

Celebrations aside, there are several questions that UNESCO’s acknowledgement, and its protection, has not yet answered about the fate of batik. I heard some of these questions from the news, and I formulated some myself based on a class on batik I took in my first semester.

First off, does the UNESCO protect the processes of making a traditional batik? Batik has a very unique production process, traditionally called mbatik, which takes a lot of time, effort, and skill. While similar processes exist in other places, I am quite certain that Indonesia’s batik production has its defining characteristics that we need to preserve. When people try to visualize the making of a batik, they will see a kind old Javanese lady in kebaya sitting with a sheet of fabric (the batik-to-be) in one hand and a canthing (the wax applier) in the other. If their imagination is animated, she will be delicately tracing the batik patterns she made earlier on the fabric with melted wax. Ask me to describe the scene, and I will answer “powerfully serene”.

This question is related to the booming of factory-made batiks, an awful lot of them coming from China. You see, there are at least three types of batik production. (1) Fully handmade; the product is labeled batik tulis, which literally means written batik. This method means no two batik is the same. (2) Stamp batik or batik cap, in which stamps are used to make blocks of patterns to speed up the process. (3) Factory-made batik, in which batik is just another insignificant stuff made in a factory.. That brings us to question number two, Will this UNESCO mumbo-jumbo help traditional batik makers survive the storm of mass-produced batik?

Despite the fact that it can take months, or years, to make a sheet of batik, people refuse to pay a fair price for a real batik tulis. I don’t know what factor to blame for this: cheap batik from China, lack of appreciation, or well, just too expensive for a piece of cloth. If this goes on, even an acknowledgement from a world body cannot help prevent batik workshops from closing and potential batik makers from choosing another profession.

Third question, because when I say batik you will think of exquisite complicated patterns, it is very appropriate to ask, Are our batik patterns properly protected? There are numerous examples of batik motifs: parang, parang rusak, parang kusumo, garuda, naga, and a broad range of images – not to mention endless combinations of geometric patterns. And we have not talked about new designs that emerged after batik reclaimed the spotlight. We need some kind of a registry of batik patterns to make sure that they are not lost through the time. After all, we cannot expect the masses to care about what kind of batik they are wearing and to know its details, let alone the deep philosophy contained within.

The last sentence popped up another question, How can we safeguard and disseminate the rich philosophy in batik and mbatik? You will have a hard time looking for someone knowledgeable enough about this issue. I don’t really know what means what in the mesmerizing details of batik, but I'd love to enrich my knowledge. Furthermore, understanding the priceless values hidden in each batik cloth will make people appreciate the art even more, especially batik tulis.

Finally, How will we actually help preserve batik as a whole? I honestly don’t think that simply wearing batik everyday or every hour does any good for batik. Most people are contributing to the income of made-in-China batik businessmen without even thinking to at least scrutinize batik the patterns. If traditional batik makers are thrown out of business by the endless tornado of cheap batik, are we still protecting our heritage? If we don’t know anything about the batik that we wear, are we guarding the art of batik?

Bu, Tell Your Husband to Zip It

Why bother dumbening yourselves through ridiculous sinetrons when you can do it more intellectually by following the flow of Indonesian politics? SBY’s definitive victory in the presidential election was not the end of nonsensical selling-out by greedy politicians. Golkar, who ditched the big guy and fielded the veep as its own candidate, then lost, ended up choosing SBY’s minister as its chairman. As expected, they kissed and made up. What was the nation’s biggest political machine became another passenger in SBY’s coalition train. In effect, the incoming government is supported by 75% of House members.

Another party to watch is PDI-P, who has played the lonely role of opposition in the House for 5 years. Members from PDI-P did have their shortcomings, but let’s remember that they courageously turned down the controversial Porn Law and the ridiculous Halal Bill. In this year’s election, the party made use of that title, promising voters a stronger check and balance function. PDI-P came third in the legislative election with roughly the same votes as second-place Golkar; PDI-P chief Megawati lost to SBY in the presidential election but came out firmly ahead of Golkar’s Jusuf Kalla. Indonesians, especially PDI-P voters, were sure that the party will continue and refine its role as opposition in the 2009-2014 House of Representatives. Ibu Mega has also reiterated this stance in more than one occasion.

But she forgot to tell her husband Taufiq Kiemas (TK) to shut up and stop fraternizing with the enemy.  Through a delicate dance of power, TK was elected Speaker of the Parliament with the support of Partai Demokrat and its allies. People started to question what was happening in there. Why did the almost-absolute winner give such an important post to its opponent? And why did PDI-P accept it? Various analysts signaled warnings that if things keep on going this way, SBY will gain an enormous power with the House, well at least 90% of it, at his feet.

However, TK maintained his tryst with SBY. As the president-elect tries to assemble a new cabinet, a couple of names from PDI-P was thrown into the mix: Puan Maharani, Ibu Mega’s daughter and probably her successor, and Pramono Anung, another PDI-P bigshot. We don’t know who conjured up this disastrous plan, but TK is surely drooling at the offer.

While his wife as PDI-P chief continues to emphasize that her party will once again be the opposition, TK’s actions and words show the opposite. He has said the often-repeated words of “it’s all up to Ibu Mega”, yet he never stops his quest for power even if he has to stoop so low. What’s worse is that he goes against the grassroots movement who is not satisfied by SBY’s performance. The people and experts have frequently asked PDI-P to be strong and resist the temptation. PDI-P’s strong opposition is essential to make sure that the government cannot run so wildly. Moreover, if the party succumbs to the offer, it will seal its own fate and will face what Golkar had.

Now let me be so bold to offer a piece of advice to Ibu Mega. Have faith and stay the course. If your husband keeps toying with the idea of joining the government and shows off his aspirations to the world, shove your socks into his mouth and tape it in place. Then hospitalize him for as long as possible or send him in a wooden crate to Madagascar. He can love to move it, move it to his heart’s content there. PDI-P would be better off without him.

Getting It Right From the Start

Medical school has never been a real inspiration for this blog, although I admit it is somewhat hard to get inspired while dozing in class. For this time, however, school sparked a decent thought about what I could write for Blog Action Day 2009.

Every week, we have a plenary session where all discussion groups share the results of their exploration of a certain topic. Students are expected to discuss the basic sciences to discover the underlying processes of a condition. Yet, we kept delving more into clinical science than into the basic science such as physiology and biochemistry, to the dismay of our lecturers. Finally in the last plenary session, a lecturer sternly warned us about the danger of not grasping the basic concepts and skipping to the seemingly cooler stuffs.

Doctors are different from shamans because doctors need to understand how things work in the normal condition, how they go awry, and what causes the problems. Only after that doctors can make a diagnosis and set up a treatment plan. They don’t randomly stick syringes your arms or tell you to take a truckload of pills just because they like it – even if it is empirically proven to cure you.

That is exactly what hit me. In Indonesia, the issue of climate change has gone from tree-hugging obscurity to mainstream then to celebrity. It has become a must-chant mantra for politicians, a hot issue for gossiping moms, and a publicity mine for the stars. On the brighter side, it has engendered active movements from the people who are now aware of the problem. Green is definitely the new black.

This is irrefutably good. Blessed are those who reduce electricity use and print on both sides of a paper. Praise be to you who use public transportation and plant CO2-absorbing trees. Nevertheless, we don’t really know what is behind all these behavioral changes. Do people have the right idea about global warming or are they simply following the leader (or the star, whoever suits you better)? We can only see that people are practicing the “clinical science” of climate change, but have no idea whether their “basic science” foundation is firm enough.

I have heard of public figures claiming that the greenhouse effect is caused by the increasing amount of glass in our buildings. The fact that greenhouse is translated as rumah kaca – glass house- doesn’t help correct this mistake. Moreover, we never know if the green generation actually understands the “pharmacodynamics” of its Earth-saving methods. Do they know what good they are doing when they halve their paper usage? Do they realize why getting on the TransJakarta can help prevent islands from sinking? No survey has investigated into this matter.  Additionally, another frequent error is the hybridization global warming and the ozone hole, which can only grow out of an incorrect understanding of global warming’s “pathophysiology”.

It is very important to know whether people have got the right concept of climate change. The awareness and attention for this issue is a precious asset in the fight against global warming. On the other hand, it is very regrettable if that awareness and attention is built on unsteady ground, which makes the people an easy target of climate change skeptics.

Walk Our Gold-paved Streets

My family is very privileged to have mbak Tuti as our domestic helper. She has been with us for more than 10 years and seen my younger brother grow from a teeny-weeny disgusting baby into an aspiring teenage musician. My mom hired her when she was just another newcomer to the Big Durian from a village near Wonogiri, East Java. (Interestingly, my mom also has a helper who had worked for my grandparents since my mom was a baby). She is diligent, smart, and trustworthy; we had no qualms leaving her alone at our home. She can do almost anything my mom didn’t have time to do. During the years, every time my family moved houses, she came along. Every lebaran she goes mudik, and faithfully came back.

During those years too, we witnessed her marriage and first child. In fact, I clearly remember the times I used to spy on her flirting sessions with her then-boyfriend now-husband who was, and still is, a driver. Then they got married and the young family was quickly blessed by the birth of a baby boy. The three of them lives with us and my mom supports the boy’s education. We often eat out together, go for leisure trips, and went to the movies once, where the boy slept through Madagascar 2.

Good help is hard to find, let alone trustworthy ones, so we are determined to maintain our mutualistic relationship. Additional information: the husband developed a small business selling mobile phone credits and snacks on his motorbike. If I may be so bold to coin a new term, I would say she and her husband achieved the Javanese dream, if not Indonesian, of escaping one’s monotonous village and making it –relatively- big in the capital city. In mbak Tuti’s case, she just bought a house in one of Jakarta’s newer suburbs and sends a steady flow of money to her hometown.

It is exactly stories like this that brings throngs of people in the end of the annual mudik season. “Pioneers” share stories of how modern things are here, how everything is bigger and better, and how the streets are paved with gold – which is not true; all we have is a gold-plated eternal flame. Never mind their omitting the sadistic parts such as the life-sucking traffic jams and choking air. Their glamorous stories awed the villagers and prodded them to try their luck here. They will, in turn, become the next Big Durian evangelists who pulls in even more people.

Workforce mobility is naturally beneficial, but in this very case it has brought undesirable effects to the city and the village. According to a data from a national newspaper, an overwhelming majority of the newcomers are unskilled labor. They will land a job in either the informal sector or low-paying workplaces. The effect of this influx is real, unless you can deny the existence of dense slum areas in the city and its associated problems like infectious diseases, high crime rate, and flooding. On the other hand, the village is losing a big part of its workforce. Additionally, as more people leave a village, the culture of that village changes more often in the wrong direction.

If life in the city is so hard, why do villagers keep believing that shiny dream of a city life? From my own observation, there are at least two factors playing a part in this phenomenon: the pull from people who had worked in the city and the willingness to be pulled on the villagers’ part.

First, the people who had moved to Jakarta comes back to their villages and, perhaps unknowingly, exudes a signal that tells everyone to brave the city. Let’s put it this way: one who courageously went to the city and didn’t fail so badly would only share the better experiences of his/her time away from home. It is not so strange if domestic helpers take their pictures with their employers’ homes and cars to boast about it back home. Some mudik-goers also dress the part (fancy clothes, tons of jewelry, inches of make-up) to create the impression that they are prospering in the Big Durian. Those with better income usually take home bundles of small changes to give away to the village kids. This kind of performance never fail to engender the urge to urbanize.

Second, there are intrinsic and extrinsic factors that made the villagers themselves want to try their luck in the city. To begin with, life in the village is not so easy. There may not be enough jobs there, and the ones available are not paying so well or too blah for youngsters. The development in some villages are very slow and the facilities for health care and education is not adequate. Villages that rely on farming is not saved either. Even though Indonesia claims to be an agrarian country, farming is never the priority of our government, who seems to be enamored of factories.

To stop this unhealthy migration, there is nothing the government can do but start closing the development gap between urban and rural areas. They cannot restrict anyone’s movements or deny them the right to (look for) a humane occupation and to fulfill their needs. Until villages and small towns are developed enough for its population, the government should just let the newcomers struggle to get by in the city and extend a helping hand when needed. If they have to live in a slum, let’s at least give them proper health care and get the children in school. If they cannot cope anymore, send them back to their villages.

I’m Bringing Ponorogo Here

You might have noticed that I have decided not to participate in an Indonesian Eid tradition: homecoming, or mudik in Bahasa Indonesia. I stopped going to my grandparents’ hometowns of Solo, Central Java, and Ponorogo, East Java, several years ago after my grandpa’s mom had passed away. In fact, the last time I went there was for her funeral.

In the previous years, my family drove all the way from Jakarta to those cities. Since we were not overexcited homecomers who were willing to get trapped in their cars for hours, we carefully chose when to hit the road, avoiding the frustrating traffic in the whole island of Java. That smart choice cut our travel time significantly, which means there were two less cranky kids (my brother and moi) in the car.

Mudik is fun, despite my objections back then. Hello, in the mind of young me, it was just wrong to pluck a kid from his PlayStation and plop him down on a mountainous small town. GameBoy, and later GameBoy Advance, did appease us a bit, but still we were not satisfied. Now, imagine kidnapping someone away from his/her FaceBook access. It is not only technologically impossible, but also morally deplorable.

Anyway, since my hometown is not graced by a visit by yours truly this year, I decided to do it a favor and bring it here on my blog. Here are some of the best things I love about Ponorogo. As it is based on my own experiences, some stuffs aren’t specific for Ponorogo. It’s just that I found these in my visit to Ponorogo.

Ponorogo itself has unique characteristics. Its people –ponorogoers?- is widely known to be very brash, brave, and determined. And I did not just describe only my grandpa. Perhaps it is connected to its cultural product, Reog Ponorogo, and the stories that surround it. I am not an expert on this anthropological matter (if that’s even the appropriate field for this), so I hereby grant you full freedom to research Reog and its star Warok yourself.

source: detik.com 

Before anyone even start to think about going into another round of Malingsia-bashing, I’d better explain my position. Reog Ponorogo, as its name clearly says, comes from Ponorogo, East Java, Indonesia. Malaysia have never “stolen” it; they were just lucky enough that some Ponorogoers migrated there and brought their culture with them.

Next, Ponorogo has that certain Javanese small-to-medium town feeling. It has a real city square, the alun-alun, where fun fairs are occasionally held. It was not the most sophisticated fun I ever had, but hey, who cares? There were daredevil shows, amusement rides, and a sprawling bazaar. While we also have crappy pirated stuffs here in Jakarta, the tiger- and ox-shaped clay coin bank, which were the only stuffs I bought there, are memorable treasures.

There were still many traditional Joglo houses with their distinctive roof – at least they were still there the last time I came. The real old ones were built uniformly to a specific orientation, north-south if I’m not mistaken, to respect Nyi Roro Kidul or some other mystic bigwig of the area. That is why the houses don’t really face the street.

It is inevitable that I must boast Ponorogo’s yummy food. We have sego pecel, sate gule, and the whole traditional lot. One thing that sets the town apart is sate ayam Ponorogo or Ponorogo chicken satay with its special dressing. It is unquestionably a treat for the body and soul, yet deceivingly simple. Near the alun-alun is a es dawet ayu vendor. Es dawet ayu is an example of traditional cold desserts. To tell you the truth, I have never grasped why this one is so special, but because we went there each year, I think it’s worth mentioning here.

On a more personal level, I love staying in my great grandparents’ house. It is locally known as “rumah pak kades” (the village chief’s house), because my great grandpa had served as one…in the early years of this republic. He gladly stepped down when Soeharto and his Golkar party started dominating the nation. I don’t know how he managed it, but his legacy lived on today.

The house is one of those traditional Joglo houses. It has a spacious pendopo (a gathering hall) where the whole family can come together. Like other old houses, it still has a water well working along a typical jet pump. We loved playing with the ropes and getting buckets of water just to pour them back into the well. In the backyard, My great grandma used to have a chicken coop. My brother and I enjoyed attempting to feed the chickens, and the chickens surely had fun freaking out two city boys.

Ponorogo is not such a boring city after all. When I think about it now, it was the trip there and back that really took a toll on us, not the city itself. My family loves to dream up an imaginary trip there, conjuring images of delicious satay and refreshing es dawet. Then we cringe on the thought of locking ourselves in the car between hordes of motorcycles in the mudik trail. No, thank you.

Proud Party Eid-nimals

There is something different about this Eid (locally also called Lebaran) for me. In previous years, my family usually went to an Eid prayer open-air congregation, got prepared back at home, and dashed off to two big family gatherings.

The first would be to my father’s side of the family, and the location always changes each year. I met my grandma and my dad's siblings there; not to mention the familiar faces (their names keep eluding me every year, let alone how they are related to me) and the who-dat-uncles. They are what I call Lebaran relatives: you discover their existence and chat with them in a Lebaran gathering, only to forget about them as you leave.

After that half-fun half-ordeal, we zoomed to my mother’s huge huge family. I did so with great alacrity since there are only so many I’m-trying-to-be-nice-even-though-I-have-no-idea-who-you-are smiles you can give your Lebaran relatives. It was held in my great grandma’s house and I know everyone who comes, even if my family tree knowledge is a little fuzzy. This family gathering, or some sort of a reunion, is reliably refreshing. Apart from the interesting random conversations, in which SBY got frequently bashed, the Lebaran photo-op is never to be missed. Squeezing my mom’s family into a single frame is no easy feat, but being in that very frame gives me a strange sense of being at home.

There’s none of that for this year. I don’t know how events transpired in the higher tiers, but suddenly my mom announced that the -for a lack of better term- “elders” decided to have the Eid festivities in my home. Well, to be more accurate, it is actually my maternal grandma’s home. Because she is the first child, somewhat automatically her house becomes the place of choice. Hassles and persistent mess aside (our helper has gone back to her hometown in East Java earlier), the seemingly simple change created even bigger changes in my Eid experience

First, I could take my time after the Eid prayer. As the feast is at my home, I had to travel nowhere, which saves a lot of time. I helped arrange the meals, move furniture around, and then relax. My mom didn’t have to brandish her whip to make me rush for a shower.

Having the gathering in my house also saved me from going to the other side. I wanted to meet my paternal grandma there, I really do, but the prospect of meeting a crowd of Lebaran relatives deterred me. I’m not that bad a grandson; if it gives any reassurance, I did go to my grandma’s place that night for the Eid.

The annual photography moment took an exciting turn: the house can’t accommodate everyone for the picture. In an almost literal example of thinking outside the box, my dad as the official photographer of the day herded everyone to the street. Everyone was to line up in the roadside in front of the house so we wouldn’t interfere with whatever traffic that comes. However, it appeared that my dad still couldn’t get everyone into a single picture. He didn’t have enough room across the street to fit everyone. As I said before, I have a huge family.

So God wanted us to be a little naughty, and we changed the orientation of the picture. Now the line goes from one side of the road to the other. We effectively blocked the road. If you can’t picture that, I made a rough visual aid.

The yellow dotted line is the former position, and the yellow arrow is the farthest my dad could go. Then we moved to the position of the red line, which is the point where the street splits into two, making it wider - though we we still have to squeeze in. The advantage of that orientation is that my dad (the red arrow) could go backwards all the way. The greenery to the back of the crowd also served as a gorgeous backdrop. The presence of a big old beringin tree made someone comment that the pic was taken in a botanical garden.

Because we aren’t such obnoxious people, we did take the minimal traffic into account. We thought that we wouldn’t be blocking the road too long so the plan was OKed without much debate. Well, we forgot that the traffic obeys Murphy’s law. As we tried to assemble everyone, traffic suddenly increased. At first, when the formation wasn’t quite stable, a car pushed through and we gave way with a “mohon maaf lahir batin”.

But then, after everyone lined up for the camera, cars started to avoid the street. I counted at least three cars -I’m sure I missed a car or two- that had entered the street and turned back to look for another way. We honestly didn’t think we looked so intimidating back there, yet the result from the camera proved us wrong. We looked like a mob ready to charge at anything. Not my fault. Really. If you are wondering: yes, we blocked the road once and we went all the way. We took tens of pictures on the street. Thank God none of us had to be questioned by any policeman for causing unrest.

Last, after everyone went home, we had two things left: the good thing and the bad thing, although the difference isn’t quite clear. The bad thing is rather obvious. The house was, let’s gently say, not as clean and tidy as I would like it. The four of us (my parents, me, and my brother) had to mop the floors multiple times after realizing that it was so sticky that a spider could have trapped us there. The dishwashing department was not hit so hard, thanks to my mom’s preference for disposables. (Sorry trees and hippies). We only had some trays and serving plates to clean. Moreover, the furniture arrangement have not gone back to its original state.

The good thing: leftovers! Ketupats, opor ayam, sambel goreng ati, and cakes abound! Before you have any crazy thoughts, we were not a hopeless family that feeds solely on leftovers. For the sake of our sanity, we (had to) go out for lunch. Only at night we take a bite on the lebaran food, which saves us from endless nights of instant noodles.

Eid 2009

During the Islamic lunar month of Ramadan, Muslims everywhere in the world undergo a period of spiritual rejuvenation through fasting, prayers, and acts of benevolence. It is said that the good deeds done in the holy month is another huge step toward God, so every Muslim is encouraged to take his/her “game” up another level.

However, Ramadan possesses a different side not to be forgotten. As ignorance, intolerance, and violence tighten their vicious grips, it is more important now than ever that Muslims grasp that Ramadan is also a month of transformation. The month demands that its observer be a better person: a person of awareness, tolerance, and compassion. Mankind has witnessed too many evidences of how cruel a man can be to his brothers and sisters just because they look different, think differently, or call God by different names. I genuinely believe that Ramadan is an appropriate moment to reflect upon our actions, whether we really deserve to call ourselves Muslims.

As we celebrate our personal victory after going through the grueling days of fasting, yet another victory awaits to be claimed – together. Ramadan, with its call for Godly characters, must put Muslims in the frontline of establishing peace, fostering open-mindedness, caring for the Earth, defending liberty, and respecting equality. Or more precisely, we have to change ourselves so we may contribute towards a better world for all.

Have a blessed Idul Fitri, 2009.

Can We Move On Now?

While having the world’s largest Muslim population, Indonesia has been somewhat consistently practicing a loose form of Islam. Headscarves on women hasn’t really gone mainstream until recently. At the same time, acceptance for “uncovered” women is not changed at all. Men and women enjoy basically the same freedoms, unlike in Saudi Arabia and Taliban Afghanistan. Segregation of men and women is unheard of, except for doing salat prayers. However, some issues do make some waves in the country’s Muslims: one recurrent issue is Indonesia’s participation in Miss Universe beauty pageant, and its swimwear session.

Organizations claiming to represent Islam continue to protest our Putri Indonesia (PI) for participating in the “sinful” act, asserting that it goes against Islamic teaching. If I’m not mistaken, one organization went further in the past, suing Putri Indonesia and Putri Indonesia Foundation for either making pornographic material or indecent act. Parts of the society also cited “Eastern values” and “Indonesian norms” as reasons to why no Indonesian woman should be photographed in bikinis, or take part in the first place.

Before making fun of those flimsy arguments, I should lay down my own views on this matter: wearing bikinis for the beach is as normal as wearing the mukena for doing salat prayers. The right outfit for the right occasion. (Hopefully on the right person too - Dorce in bikinis is just not healthy.) Frankly, it makes much more sense than those middle-aged women who goes to the beach in full Lebaran attire. Moreover, the PIs donned their bikinis at their own discretion. It is fully their decision. They know that PI winners will be sent to the Miss Universe contest; Miss Universe contestants are required to do the shoot. No one’s rights are being violated here.

Now, let’s move on to the first bite. Islamic figures and organizations reject the event since it flouts their teachings. Even if it does, so what? After all, it is only their views, to which they are entitled and to which we can pay no attention. In a broader scope, as a human, each person has the freedom to practice his/her religion according to his/her faith. If a girl believes that bikinis won’t burn her in hell, it is totally up to her. Even the state cannot interfere, let alone mere figures and groups.

In my point of view of Islam, the last time I checked, there is no such thing as the vicar of Allah on Earth. No Muslim has religious authority over other Muslims, even if his/her name is changed into Arabic staple names and adorned with titles like sheikh, kiai, ustaz, or habib. Similarly, MUI’s or FPI’s or anyone’s fatwa has no real power on anyone. Otherwise, it would violate the freedom to practice one’s religion freely, which Islam itself acknowledges.

Next, the phrases “Eastern values” and/or “Indonesian norms” is as discombobulating to me as Mbah Surip: everybody talks about it, yet it remains a mystery. The real meaning of “Western trends/ideas” is also unclear; it became more of a cliché than an evil, thanks to Ahmadinejad. Those phrases are frequently abused to resist any kind of new stuffs. Victims include more freedom in friendship, better sexual education, and sharper presidential debate. They all had to brave the “Eastern values” storm, before either being widely accepted or being completely rejected. Until now, Putri Indonesia and her bikini are still floating on the raging wave of public opinion.

Instead of delineating what “Eastern values”, “Indonesian norms” are, fans of those phrases are making the impression that they all mean “oppression”. On the other hand, “Western ideas” stands for wild freedom. Yet, they never try to show what “Indonesian norms” do, what good are “Eastern values” for, and what on Earth are included in the “Western ideas” category. On the grounds of fuzziness, I think the phrases –and their users- deserve no attention at all. If you do have some thoughts on “Eastern values”, “Indonesian norms”, and “Western ideas”, do not hesitate to enlighten me.

One last question, “Can’t we just move one, like, now?” Indonesia has been sending delegates to Miss Universe for several years now. When it’s spanking new, I can understand the outrage; but now, I understand that people can be foolish. Let our present and future gorgeous Putri Indonesia’s make her own choices because at the end of the day, you can make your own choices too. Don’t approve of bikinis? Just change the channel. Don’t approve of beauty pageants? Well, stop paying so much attention! It’s so simple, even Tukul can do it.

My 17an Post

July 17, 2009. I was on my vacation in Melbourne, and my main sources of news from home were Facebook and Twitter. Naturally, those two channels gave me mostly personal updates, so the day went as usual. When I was taking a nice stroll in Melbourne’s CBD, I took the free afternoon paper mX, which carried the headline Terror Blast and a mainly grey-black front page. Given the paper’s light-reading quality, I thought it was the usual exaggeration of the trivial, perhaps it was about a new reality show twist or another esoteric Australian show. Exactly because of that, I continued my walk and sat down to enjoy the afternoon at Federation Square. Everything was fine, just normal.

Man, was I terribly wrong! In the first sentence, Jakarta was mentioned, then the words JW Marriott and Ritz-Carlton followed. Apparently, the capital was once again hit by two bombs in the Mega Kuningan area. That would explain the picture in the front page, which I only then realized was a picture of the smoke billowing from one of the hotels. But I told myself to slow down, “hey, it’s mX the paper that scrutinized every bit of Lady GaGa and publishes celeb tweets everyday, it could be wrong. I’ll just check the internet later when I go back.” Simply enough, I looked online and the news started pouring in.

I was flushed by a deluge of reports about the bombings. This channel said this, that newspaper said that, and although it seemed impossible, the internet felt rather chaotic. However, there was one web service the users of which consistently exhibited a different take on the tragedy, and it would keep amassing attention for more than a month, maybe forever. It was Twitter.

Indonesian Twitter users (Twitterers?) ignited another kind of explosion, that instead of spreading fear and killing men, revealed whole new levels of optimism, activism, and nationalism in the generation frequently labeled “lazy” and/or “unpatriotic”. #IndonesiaUnite claimed the trending topics top spot (a feat which would be repeated by Mbah Surip – but that’s really another story). #IndonesiaUnite made an unprecedented impact not only in cyberspace, but also in meatspace. As time progressed, the movement grew and touched more general issues too. In the end, it was about showing off our love for Indonesia.

It would be ironic, not to mention disrespectful, to say that it took two bombs and many lost lives to switch on our nationalism. Yet, it is understandable that only something extraordinary can do so. Then again, the past Dutch colonialism did, in one way or another, force Indonesians of the time to unite. This time, the so-called spoiled Indonesian generation –my generation- suddenly came out in full force, nudging Indonesia into the world’s limelight one tweet at a time. For one thing, I have never expected the archipelago to host so many twitterers. More importantly, we (as in they and I) proved that our nationalism never hit rock bottom. Yes, maybe it’s a little drowned out by the music from our iPods or by the addictive games on Facebook, but we definitely still have nationalism.

The #IndonesiaUnite movement brought a sense of relief that Indonesia is not losing a generation, it just got another precious generation with its own attitude – and advantages, of course. That generation might have been reticent all this time, but when the time comes, as the bombings showed, we are more than ready to contribute in our own ways. If we do our parts right, Indonesians of the next era will regard this point as another milestone in the nation’s history.

The two sides of nationalism: loving your nation, despite its shortcomings; loving your nation, and complain about its shortcomings – for a better future.

A Surprising Discovery in (and about) FKUI

The month of August is always a special day for Indonesians. On August 17, 1945, after centuries of struggle, the people of Indonesia declared their independence from colonial rule. It is celebrated annually with various activities, ranging from the stand-still serious to the let-everything-loose. As the president leads the official ceremony in the Istana Negara, little kids are concentrating on nibbling the kerupuk above their heads and men are playing soccer in their wives’ negligee, all for the good time and eyes set on the prize. This year, I guess things will be even more festive after the #indonesiaunite movement and the wave of nationalism that followed. I am very optimistic on that upcoming event, but a recent personal discovery gave me another direction to look at.

During August 12-14, FKUI (Faculty of Medicine, University of Indonesia) hosted a photo exhibition, organized by the alumni society, about the role of its community during the fight for national independence. It highlighted the contribution of the Salemba community, named after the street in front of the university, in the decades before Soekarno read the declaration.

A short history lesson will do here, although it might get a little fuzzy. FKUI has been around for more than a century, longer than the University of Indonesia itself. It was not named FKUI until the 1950’s. It bore many name, many of which escaped my memory, but I do remember Sekolah Dokter Djawa (Javanese Doctor School), STOVIA (School tot Opleiding van Indische Artsen, 1989), and Geneeskundige Hogeschool (GHS, 1927). The students of STOVIA pioneered and played a prominent role in the national awakening, which later led to the nation’s independence. It is only appropriate that the STOVIA building is now made the National Awakening Museum. After the school, then GHS, moved to its current Salemba site, its defiance grew and its students were deeply involved in the process to freedom.

I visited the exhibition on August 13, and my grandparents tagged along. The lobby of the faculty building was decorated in an antique minimalist setting with sheets of elegant batik cloths hanging from the walls. Historical black-and-white photos were displayed on the support columns and old stands. Those pictures hold more than millions of words and emotions.

There were pictures of dr. Cipto Mangunkusumo, after whom the school’s teaching hospital is named. He founded the Indische Partij and argued for an independent Indonesia. Another well-known figure was dr. Abdulrahman Saleh, also called Pak Karbol. A day after the declaration of independence, radio stations were shut down by the Japanese; in response, Pak Karbol assembled a radio transmitter in the physiology laboratory to spread the good news everywhere. The laboratory is still in use for medical students. Later, he established Radio Republik Indonesia (RRI). He is also a military pilot in AURI (RI Air Force).

Other figures were also featured in the exhibition. There were dr. Leimena, dr. Latumenten, and dr. Kariadi. Several doctors’ name don’t appear often in history books, but their descendants are now holding various positions. My grandparents told me more about them, but I think they will have to repeat that.

The exhibition showed not only graduates, but also people who were admitted into the school but didn’t finish it. Mohammad Roem, of the Roem-Royen Agreement, transferred to the law school. Soedarpo Sastrosatomo was fired from the school because he refused to obey Japanese order to shave his head. He then joined the negotiators in the Linggarjati Agreement. After the country stabilized, he founded Samudra Indonesia, a shipping company that grew powerful.

A couple pictures or two captured the campus itself during the years. The building was astonishingly majestic, and it still is today. My grandma shared a little story of how the students, including her, used to take shortcuts by climbing over a short wall, and at one time was caught by a professor who just laughed at the scene. A picture immortalized the patriotic scene in which students, doctors, and nurses staged a walk-out from the hospital after it was invaded and taken over by the Dutch.

The exhibition was some kind of an epiphany to me. I know that FKUI has a history like no other school, but only yesterday I grasped the whole thing. I would have to thank the organizers who set up the exhibition, and my grandparents, who added so many little bits of interesting information about the people and events in the picture. (It turned out that my grandpa organized a past Dies Natalis, and met several historical figures to enrich a stage play he planned for the occasion). Considering its past, it would be great if FKUI compiles its deep history and the stories of its figures. This exhibition made me a proud Indonesian and a motivated FKUI student; imagine what such book could make us all?

First-time Research Experience

“Publish or perish” sounds scary enough to me and my fellow students in the medical school that we forced ourselves to plunge into the mysterious world of scientific research. After a month of preparation, I did my first data collection today in a dense residential area (also called a kampung) in East Jakarta, and I found out that there’s only a microscopic line between publishing and perishing.

Some background info: Six of us are doing a research on basic immunization in six areas around Jakarta. Per government regulation, basic immunization in Indonesia consists of BCG, DTP, polio, hepatitis B, and measles vaccines; immunization schedule is also set out in the regulation, albeit a little different from the pediatric society’s recommendation since the government has to consider the public health aspects. We want to know the coverage of the immunizations, and find out what factors are correlated to completing the immunization program on time. In theory, we are giving out questionnaires to mothers with toddlers; in practice, we’re dealing with restless young mothers, crying tots, and people who are too eager for a little souvenir.

Even before we planned anything, I had already realized that it is foolish to think that a field research can go smoothly without any hiccups. Anyway, that’s not a reason to let everything go wild; so we contacted the Kampung Melayu posyandu (community health service for toddlers) coordinator and delineated our plans for the research. She was extremely helpful and resourceful, thus lifting a lot of burden from our amateur shoulders. She took care of the location and contacted the research subjects. And in one day, we had the best plan ever. Or so we thought.

D-Day. Curiously enough, our research mentor called it “turun penelitian” a.k.a. getting down –and dirty- with the research. The day started peacefully. We settled in the place, and a couple of mothers with their toddlers came. We happily acted our part as the eager and caring researchers. Those first mothers were very lucky: we recited the whole ethics stuffs, played nice with their tots, helped them fill out the questionnaire attentively, and gave them a proper goodbye. All the time we were totally oblivious to the impending chaos.

Throngs of mothers just appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The new crowd suddenly packed our research spot and bombarded us, if not whined, with requests. “I haven’t got the questionnaire!”, “Can I have a pen, please?”, “I am in a hurry! Help me fill this out!”. Our stock of questionnaire simply flew everywhere into the hands of the overexcited subjects. The niceties were shamelessly replaced by hurried efficiency. Instead of the calm introduction, we had to tell them to complete the questionnaire straight away. (We still paid attention to the consent form, so no ethics problem there.)

Despite the main theme of chaos, there were many bits of interesting insight and experience there. One of the most serious insight is that quite a lot of the mothers lost their child’s immunization record to frequent floods. Only then the fact struck us that Kampung Melayu is dangerously flood prone. Apparently, floods in the area can reach the second floor. Second, their interest in our research should have been expected since the kampung is one of the university’s favorite research areas. They know that there will be souvenirs for them. Hence, they come for the souvenirs. Can’t blame them, and we do need them.

There were several mothers who caught our attention amid the choking crowd. There was this one mother who just stared blankly with a pen in her hand and questionnaire in front of her. My friend expected that, as she helps others with their forms, the mother would have finished hers. My friend was completely shocked to find her spacing out without any ink on her questionnaire. Another mother annoyingly asked my other friend to “serve” her first, because she had to breastfeed her son. That would have been fine, if not for the fact that there are people who got there before her and she could have breastfed her son while waiting for her turn. I don’t know why she insisted that she must fill her forms before breastfeeding. In the end, she did her questionnaire as her son had his milk in tranquility.

Surprisingly, the crowd cleared out as fast as it appeared. We instantly had a stack of filled forms with precious data, and also a chance to look at each others’ freaked out faces. No one dared to think that our first work would soon be over, but fortunately we finished the day in one piece. I wouldn’t bet on our sanity though.

All this stuff, and we still have 5 places to go. Yet, I proudly say that I feel no regret. It is a unique experience, and we won’t be able to avoid it anyway. It is a matter of time, whether we get this now and become prepared or years later when we have more things to stress about and are unprepared. After all, we had a good laugh on our way home, thanks to this research.

Movie Chit-Chat: UP to the Top!

Until last night, I had been preparing a writing to post here soon. Then Up came along, and it floated like a house with balloons to the top of my priority list. It has been a long time since the last “movie chit-chat”, which should give you a clue to how good my movie reviews are. Let’s just say the quality is proportional to the frequency. To be honest, I feel like I’m the Paula Abdul of movie reviews, only less drunk and less clap-happy: I blindly praise almost all movies I’ve seen. My movie chit-chats weren’t as much a review as a personal opinion. So if a proper review is what you’re looking for, you’d better look somewhere else.

I’ve just watched Up Thursday night, a little late considering that it’s been around for a week or so. When its trailer started to show up months ago, I wanted to go see Up simply because it’s another Pixar product. It is too normal to be so eager as Pixar has given us Toy Story, Finding Nemo, and WALL-E, to name a few. Last weekend, Up was already playing everywhere and words start to circulate. What I got from my friend was that the movie is lovely and very touching. Some admitted that Up brought them to tears. They mentioned something about the opening scene and the flashback scenes. And I was like “whaat!?”. And then they said it was funny too. Those cutey-touchy comments could have cancelled my plan right away, yet I resisted. Even if it is that mellow, a Pixar movie must never be missed. I proudly confirm that Up is that amazing and is also a must-watch.

Sitting in the cinema, I braced myself for the said tear-jerking moments. However, I beg to differ even from the start. The movie started exceedingly beautiful, showing the main character Carl Fredricksen’s adventure-crazy childhood and how he met fellow explorer girl Ellie, who later became his wife. The story was accompanied by wonderful music that still echoes in my ears. The couple seemed to have a wonderful time, except for the fact that they were unable to have children. Then, the couple set their goal on visiting the Paradise Falls somewhere in South America, but life keeps getting in the way. When they almost realized that dream, Ellie passed away. Carl was then left alone bitter. I loved how they portray Carl’s life: childhood, wedding, married life, old age, and widower.

One day, after an assault to a construction worker in front of his house, Carl was ordered to move to Shady Oaks retirement home. In one night, Carl inflated thousands of balloons (Wikipedia said 10,000) and in the morning, surprised the caretakers when his house floated off its foundation and flew away. The house itself with the balloons is a festival of color, totally unforgettable. Mid-air, Carl was then joined by Wilderness Explorer kid Russell who was eager to get his “Assisting the Elderly” merit badge. From there, the wacky adventure started.

I cannot stress this enough: Up is a must-watch. It has a unique story, a good balance of emotions, the gorgeous Pixar graphics, and charming music. I would say that the movie is poetic.

Travel Notes #1: Getting Around Melbourne

Here is my first post about the month-long vacation I had in the east coast of Australia. Rather than making a chronological series of the journey, I decided to write one topic each time. This way, I have a broader field to write about so that I am not stuck sharing stories about the amazing time and adventure I had in the land down under *evil grin*. Besides, I will not have to recall what I did on which day; it has become somewhat fuzzy since I did so many exciting activities there *another evil grin*. For this one, I will share a side of Melbourne which made me fell in love with the city: its public transport.

A city’s public transport is very important to me, and my family, because we rarely join packaged tours whenever we are travelling. We value our freedom to choose and move very highly, and using public transport gives a glimpse of life in that city, which is what I like about travelling. In every city we visited, we mainly rely on public transport to go around: London’s Tube, Paris’ Metro, Sydney’s monorail, and many other. On this matter, we can be surprisingly daring. In a trip to St. Petersburg, Russia, a few years ago, my family decided to split from our Indonesian tour group (we can only tolerate so many shopping stops in a day) and rode the underground railway, guided only by some Cyrillic scribbles from the tour guide.

Moreover, I have complained again and again about Jakarta’s public transport. This post will hopefully help people imagine the efficient, convenient, and humane public transport I always wish Jakarta will have soon. And believe me, we have lightyears to go and catch up.

Melbourne’s public transport is one of the best I have ever known - perhaps the familiarity helps a lot too. There are trains, trams, and buses in Melbourne, all of which are integrated into Metlink. This integration means we only need one ticket, the Metcard, to go almost anywhere. The fare is based on the duration, during which ticket holders have complete freedom to travel on trains, trams, and buses. Metlink offers 2-hours, daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly Metcards, along with several special offers like the 10x 2-hours and 5x Daily. Metcards are also based on zones: Greater Melbourne is divided into Zones 1 and 2, with a City Saver zone for Melbourne’s CBD in Zone 1. Almost all the touristy stuffs are in Zone 1, so it is quite cheap to get around.

The main train station is Flinders Street Station; that and the stations on the edges of Melbourne’s CBD make up the City Loop. Another main station in the loop is the renovated Southern Cross Station (formerly Spencer St.) which also serves regional and interstate trains and hosts a coach terminal. Trains are useful to reach the suburbs, like in my case since I lived with my aunt in the south eastern suburbs. I think tourists who stay in the city will not need the trains very much.

On the other hand, the tram network is a great way to explore Melbourne’s city centre and its surroundings, especially because it offers more view than the underground train. Because tram routes are concentrated in the city, a stretch of road may be served by multiple routes; thus, the waiting time is very short. For example, the part of Swanston Street in the CBD is served by nine routes. A free City Circle tram is also available. The tram follows the outer roads of the CBD (Flinders, La Trobe, and Spring Sts) and also goes to the Docklands.

A particularly fun ride is the route 96 tram to St. Kilda Beach. It comes into the city from Nicholson Street in the north, passing Carlton Gardens, where the Melbourne Museum and Royal Exhibition Building are located. Then, it enters Bourke Street, goes through the Bourke Street Mall, and turns south. The tram switches into a light rail train after passing Crown Casino and travels just outside Albert Park until it becomes a tram again in St. Kilda.

Last, the buses are also convenient, although the waiting time is quite long. However, tourists rarely use the bus. I rode the bus to go to Chadstone shopping centre, and occasionally to return to my aunt’s place when I’m too lazy to walk from the nearest –yet not so near- train station.

Metlink has a useful website with all the information one could need: route maps, timetables, zoning, Metcard types, and fares. It also provides a journey planner that gives out detailed plans. I tried the feature several times; apart from the information on which train/tram/bus to take, it also calculates the walking time to get to the stops.

The public transport in Melbourne is not perfect, though. The trains do run late at times, so do the other systems. Nevertheless, compared to what we have here in Jakarta, it is so much better that I began to wonder how on Earth did I survive TransJakarta for a year. While I might come across as a whiney kid too frail for the Indonesian urban jungle, I wrote this to complete what I have written here before about the urgency of a real public transport system to be established in the capital of Indonesia.

Where Are They Now? (Gimme My MP!)

Roughly three months ago, Indonesian cities are deluged in their posters, stickers, and banners. They smiled at us from the side of the road, stared at us from walls, and covered every reachable surface. Their presence is almost Big Brother-esque. Without being asked, they told us their names and flaunted all their academic degrees regardless of where and how they got them. Some went further and photoshopped themselves with Obama, Beckham, and Superman. Others were more clueless. And being the cheeky people that we are, we made fun of them again and again and again.

Now, they are gone as fast as a shady reality show star. But wait, who are they that we are talking about?

No, they are not Tukul or Manohara and her greedy mother or Kangen Band. I will seriously sound a lot happier than this if they are gone. Right now, I am talking about our former legislative candidates - more specifically, the tiny percentage of them who had graduated to become members of our legislatures from the lowest level to the highest.

We can remember their omnipresence in the times before the election. You can find them hung between electricity lines, nailed to the trees, glued to the nooks and crannies of the city, and stuck to bajajs, buses, and hawkers’ stalls. Following worldwide trend, the uniting theme was “change” and “youth”. Virtually all the candidates tried to exploit that theme, even if he/she is -or looks like- a septuagenarian from an old-skool political party.

Let it be the thing of the past, although you can still laugh at the absurdity for years to come. What matters is that we already have our representatives-elect from all the electoral districts. According to the news, KPU is still in hot water after a Supreme Court decision regarding the allocation of DPR seats, not to mention the boiling ocean it has been in for their blatant ineptitude in organizing the elections. Let’s skip that part mostly because I don’t grasp what is actually going on. For now, I want to express an idea involving the elected guys.

For the sake of clarity, I am using the terms MP and lawmakers for members of the MPR, the bicameral parliament which consists of DPR and DPD; representative (rep) for members of DPR; and senator for members of DPD. If you know the official translation for those offices, please let me know. And despite this paragraph, I guess I will accidentally mix those terms up anyway.

I’m no politician or political analyst, fortunately. However, I believe I have more or less grasped the concept of representation in the parliament. In Indonesia, citizens of an electoral district are represented in DPR by several reps from different parties and in the DPD by four senators from each province. In lower levels, there are DPR’s in the provincial and regency level. By definition, to represent someone is to speak and act with authority in his/her behalf. Hence, when a district says it wants to outlaw Kangen Band, its MPs should fight for the noble cause in their respective legislatures. In turn, MPs should do a show-and-tell about what they have done in office to their constituents. A little boasting is also welcomed.

People living in developed democracy can understandably take that for granted. They have access to their MPs and their MPs regularly reach out to them. On the other hand, Indonesian voters do not enjoy the level of transparency and accountability a democracy should provide. I personally felt that when I stayed in my aunt’s house in Melbourne. During the month-long vacation, I found out that she receives letters, brochures, and many other publications from her MPs in both the state and federal legislature. I also happen to pass the offices of MPs in the area. Facebook opened my eyes on this matter as well. Because I am a fan of Barack Obama on the site, I get frequent updates and on those updates, the writer urged people to call or mail their own reps to convey a united message.

Those experiences sparked some thinking and questioning. I have been an Indonesian for more than 18 years and nearly all my family members are Indonesians, yet we never come into contact with any of our representatives. I confidently assume that most Indonesians also feel that way. How can they fight for our causes and believes when they don’t even know it? If we want to tell them, how can we do it? It is not so strange when people have the impression that MPs spend too much time hanging out with the big boys, and too little with the ordinary Anto or Joko or David.

Until now, our reps are almost strictly party-line voters, even when they and their constituents stand for something different from what the party wants. A recent example would be the controversial Porn Law, which got the nod from all but two factions in DPR (PDI-P and PDS). Many members betrayed the wish of their constituents from provinces that strongly rejected the bill simply because their parties wanted them to vote yes. One particular representative from Golkar came clean in a Jakarta Post article. This tragedy must never happen again in Indonesia.

I propose that the next members of our legislatures start making huge waves of change in how political representation works. Scratch that. To make political representation work will be more accurate. First, having offices in the district each one of them represents is a minimal. That way, we can get in touch with them and they can reach us. This office must be able to absorb the district’s general opinion regarding a matter, whether by asking or by listening; then relay that opinion to the MP so that he/she can represent it in the legislature. This office will also be responsible for the dissemination of information concerning what the MP has done.

Second, a strong presence in the cyberspace is needed to top off the presence in meatspace. After Obama’s brilliant online campaign, any politician who has a decent website will be accused of stealing a thing or two from Obama’s recipe book. Just don’t listen to this pointless accusation. Everyone will catch up with the trend, eventually; it’s not like Obama invented the internet. Conquering the internet will be even more crucial for MPs representing urban areas, while MPs from rural areas can always have a head start before the constituent gets into teh interwebs through series of tubes. For starters, an official page on Facebook or regular tweeting is acceptable, but it is certainly better if MPs employ local web designers to set up a dynamic, interactive, and up-to-date website.

Additionally, an MP must be extra sensitive about the goings-on in the net. We have to thank YouTube for making it obscenely easy to exaggerate a problem and amass support for it. A frustrated voter who chooses to let hell loose on YouTube can be the undoing of a representative or two. Apart from nipping troubles in the bud, an MP must be cool and hip. What the what, you say. Obviously I don’t expect my MPs to have a burning love for Miley Cyrus or the Jonas Brothers. Being cool and hip is, in this context, being able to grasp the general mood of the people and know what internet meme is growing fast. It may sound silly, but it won’t be when an MP’s gaffe evolves into a world-famous meme and politicians fail to catch it.

Third, MPs must not be afraid of getting down and dirty. They should hold a town hall meeting (the town hall part is figurative, of course) on a regular basis with the people they claim to represent. Constituents will have a chance to vent out whatever issues they have and to check whether the MP has done his job. MPs will, in return, get an opportunity to expound on the policies he makes and convince the people that it is suitable and beneficial for them.

Making these three changes will bring an unprecedented positive change to our politics. The people will be more properly represented in the legislature and enjoy a sense of being in touch with the extension of their voices. Decisions made in the representative bodies will then reflect what the people want even better. Voters will have an established channel to directly send their messages, lodge a complaint, express their outrage, and show their support to the legislative. For example, I would be able to share my love-hate TransJakarta relationship with the provincial representative from South Jakarta and tell them what I think needs to be fixed.

More importantly, constituents can demand greater accountability from their reps. They will have access to where the lawmakers stand on various issues and how they voted a bill. If the people find out that the lawmaker had voted against their wish, they can ask why after giving him/her the benefit of a doubt and a chance to explain that difference.

For the politician, breaking down the walls that separate them from voters will similarly bring its own benefits. It would be easier for MPs to sense the people’s collective vibe, whether they are satisfied or not with how things are going. Problems can be detected earlier and taken care of before blowing up into pure mess, which would damage a politician’s reputation the same way Simon Cowell ruins an auditioner’s day.

The other way around, an MP can use the channel of communication with his/her constituent to report on what have been done and voted in the legislature. A little self-advertising won’t hurt because an MP does deserve praise if he/she does a great work. “The Hon. Mr. X, MP have argued and voted for more spending on school infrastructure” or “The Hon. Mrs. Y, MP rejected bill on legalizing polygamy” - I personally wouldn’t mind getting updates on the successes of the guys who claim to be my voice in the government. Later, this will be an advantage if the MP is seeking another term in office because the people have known this MP’s performance.

The next members of Indonesia’s legislatures haven’t been sworn-in, but I already have high hopes that the “change” that they boasted to bring since the campaign days are not mere repetition of Obama’s buzzword, but real positive change for a better Indonesia.

Back in My Zone

Yep, I am back in the Big Durian after the month-long vacation. Most importantly for this blog, it means that I can once again assume a semi-vegetative state with my laptop and cable TV. That translates to more time online and thus, more time blogging. As you can see, my good I’m-gonna-post-something-during-vacation intention which I declared in the previous post didn’t work at all. Not my fault, really, that the vacation was sooo much fun.

Anyway, for some of the coming posts I’m planning to share my experiences during the trip to the land Down Under. Dip my toes in the travel writing ocean and see how it will go. Although at one point of childhood I wanted to be Lonely Planet’s Ian Wright-slash-travel writer, I’ve never done any travel writing. Of course I’m not counting those corny elementary school assignments where I have to write about what I did during school holiday. You should know that there are numerous ways to “decorate” a dull staycation into an exciting once-in-a-lifetime stuff on paper. So yeah, it will be a new challenge.

As much as I wanted to write something meaningful (now that would be new!), I’m coming down with mild flu. I hope it’s nothing big; the last place I want to spend the rest of my holiday is some creepy isolation ward for H1N1 patients. Right now, it’s rather hard to keep my mind focused enough to write properly. But fear not, for I usually recover surprisingly fast for this kind of illness. Until then, you can enjoy your life unadulterated by my rants.

What am I writing!?

I'm Still Here

In case you're wondering, I am still alive and well. The last time I posted something was two weeks ago; since then I've been on vacation somewhere in the southern hemisphere where road speed limit means the upper limit rather than the lower and where public transport is meant for human. Moreover, I don't want to brag, but I'll still be on vacation two weeks from now and the next academic year won't even start until September. (Ha!)

I genuinely regret my absence for the last two weeks: I think I haven't done enough bashing prior to the presidential election and I really wanted to rant about the result. (However, as in every democracy, I will have to accept and respect it).

The good news is that, for this second half of my vacation, I'll have more free time so maybe I can drop in and type a post or two. Maybe, just maybe. So...move along with your lives and come again soon.

Stop the Crackdown in Iran

While Indonesia is in the middle of a peaceful presidential campaign season, a country in another part of the world is suffering through a post-election turmoil. The Iranian presidential contest between incumbent Ahmadinejad and opposition figure Mousavi ended in huge demonstrations, after allegations that Ahmadinejad’s victory is a result of an unfair, rigged election. Mousavi’s supporters took to the streets, chanting “where is my vote?”. The government denies any wrongdoing, although it has offered partial recounts. Unsurprisingly, Ahmadinejad have accused that “Western powers” are the cause of the unrest.

In the meantime, the government and the Iranian police have conducted violent crackdown against protesters. Photographs of bloodied Iranian beaten by the police, videos of people shot dead, and the news that Facebook and Twitter have been blocked – these saddening reports have made its way through today’s various channels of communication. I need not delve again into this matter since everybody in the world must have known what happened.

What I would like to express in this post is that I support the demands by Iranians for a fair, democratic election and for measures to ensure that the result is not controlled by anyone but the voters. I would also like to express my condolences, support, thoughts and prayers to Iranians; the citizens of the world, especially its leaders, must urge Iran to respect its people’s human rights.

Not to make the wrong start, it is frankly not our right or business to say who should have won the election: it is an internal matter of Iran and its people. We should not be trapped into mocking Ahmadinejad as the demagogue the media made him, nor should we blindly name Mousavi as a messiah whatsoever. Furthermore, I see this human rights tragedy from my point of view as an Indonesian. My country Indonesia have weathered undemocratic regimes and started a Reformasi, during which lives were lost and buildings burned down. Moreover, Indonesians can relate to Iran as both have predominantly-Muslim population.

We must support efforts by Iranians to address all election concerns democratically, the result of which should be accepted by everyone. More importantly, we have urge the current government to stop assaults and censorship against its own people. In its past “deviances”, Iran still proudly claims that it respects human rights; yet those pictures and videos we see in the news tell otherwise. Shortly, world figures must strongly urge Ahmadinejad to make good on his claims. If he refuses, it is not so bizarre to delay the recognition of any new government Iran assembles. Why would we recognize a state that is built on bloodshed?

On Indonesia’s Reformasi, the military also used violence against demonstrators and several students died. There were reports of rapes and of people being locked in buildings and burned alive inside. The following riot wreaked havoc everywhere. However, at the end of the day the regime that has stood for 32 years fell down and the rule of the people comes back to power. So unless Iranian leaders want to be seen as despots, they should stop abusing their power and halt all violence.

As a Muslim, I also have messages to convey. First, Islam around the world has been working hard to prove that Islam respects and supports democracy. Democracy has always been well-accepted by Indonesian Muslims, and it is growing in many other countries which previously adheres to extreme views of Islam. If Iran insists on continuing the oppression, it will hurt the image Muslims everywhere have fought to build and will only engender more slanders against the religion. Second, to Muslims everywhere in the world, we need to make our stance clear that we condemn such violence and human rights abuse committed by the Iranian government. Islam is a religion that protects human rights, although I admit that some people haven’t practiced that part of the teaching yet. Anyhow, we should be the wave of change and show the world that we cannot tolerate this tragic event.

Last, we need to show our support for our brothers and sisters in Iran who are being oppressed. The Muslim solidarity, or the ukhuwah, should not get stuck in Palestine-Israel only. This solidarity must extend its reach to help the people of Iran, too. All people of various faiths worldwide have shown great support, there’s no reason why Muslims should stay silent.

Support Iran’s path to a fair election and to democracy. Stop all human rights abuse.

A Battle Cry, But No Battle At All

My last post about the TransJakarta was purely unpolitical. It should remain so unless Fauzi Bowo decides to sue me, which would create a deluge of support from our presidential candidates. Then I would reek of politics. However, let’s not waste our time pondering about this hypothetical event and let’s puzzle ourselves with the workings of this presidential election campaign.

According to my personal history, this campaign season features the first real debates among presidential and vice-presidential candidates, organized by the General Elections Committee (KPU). The first of five presidential debates took place on June 18. It was widely considered as a flop: although all went well, the debate itself was tedious and not so enlightening. It mysteriously didn’t have a real debating session, only 90 minutes of one-way blabbity-blab snoozefest and 30 minutes of commercials. Ironically for a “debate”, Indonesians couldn’t see their would-be leader express their thoughts, showcase their critical thinking abilities, argue against each other, and compete for the top spot. In short, they spent 2 hours on something that they could have done on YouTube, like what the Queen has done – and leave Britney alone.

As if that was not horrible enough, the criticism was met with the lamest defense one could construct. Some say that debates in which candidates go for an all-out attack are too “American”; others claim that a heated debate goes against “Indonesian culture” as Indonesians follow “Eastern customs”. Concerned commentators defend the debate format on the grounds that it’s the only way to prevent unruly exchange between the candidates, colloquially known as debat kusir. Nevertheless, SBY was the one who dropped ‘da bomb. He said that debates don’t have to follow the American format because we have our own culture, that attacking other candidates only happens in the US, and that candidates should prioritize substance and solidarity over aggression.

Dear Leader, I beg you to stop right there! The things he -and also the others- said were too wrong on too many levels. In this post, I will attempt to answer those accusations and clear the image of debating. There will be less comedy here, sorry.

For a start, someone could take the article I refer to in the previous paragraph and upload it to FailBlog.org with the title “Debate Concept FAIL”. Wiktionary defines debate as “an argument or discussion, usually in an ordered or formal setting, often with more than two people, generally ending with a vote or other decision”; “an informal and spirited but generally civil discussion of opposing views; “discussion of opposing views”. Basically, there must be arguments for and against something. Additionally, every argument will generate a rebuttal from its opponents. Statistics will be thrown around, so will philosophy and ideology. Why?

For a presidential debate, it means each candidate needs to convince the audience, voters, that she or he is the right person for the job. They must expound on the values they believe in and how those values will translate into concrete action. A debate should be the moment where candidates can clearly differentiate herself/himself from the competition. For example, all three of them could promise accessible and affordable healthcare for all Indonesians. Without a debate, that statement is as essential as JK is tall. Thus, the debate is a chance to elaborate how the candidate is going to achieve accessible and affordable healthcare for all Indonesians. In the process, he/she must also point out what makes their plan better and others’ flawed.

That being said, the dreaded “aggression” is actually nothing to fear. Debaters don’t slap or claw each other, and neither do they gouge each other’s eyes out. In any proper debate, arguments never equates to personal attacks or baseless accusations. Instead, arguments should contain logic, rhetoric, and data. That is where the audience can see the values and beliefs the candidates hold, and decide whether it suits them or not. I admit, nevertheless, that since Indonesia’s democracy is still evolving, some debates will not be so different from debat kusir. Yet, that is a step we all have to take. We must not sacrifice our future by stifling the development of real debates.

Last, I find that the “Indonesian culture”/”Eastern customs” excuse is too clichéd. Which part of the culture are we dealing with? Most Indonesians are expected to be courteous and discreet, and perhaps some people thought that a debate is not so Indonesian. That couldn’t be farther from the truth because as I have described earlier, a debater must boast himself/herself and refute the opponent elegantly. In fact, the Indonesian version of decision making called musyawarah untuk mufakat naturally demands opposing sides to debate what’s good and what’s bad so that they can reach a deal. Looking at the big picture, the “Indonesian culture”/”Eastern customs” argument is ridiculously abstract and overused – people use this to cut off all kinds of progress.

To conclude, I hope that the next presidential debates, not only for 2009 but also for all future elections, will be more like a real, educated debate. A debate is never rude or un-Indonesian. Voters are tired of absurd promises of heaven and we should make our choices according to how we want our beloved country to be run by the next government.

TransJakarta Survival Guide

It was almost a year ago when I initiated my almost-daily adventure on the TransJakarta (TJ) from Salemba to Alpus. Well, not really a year until this September but I’m on holiday now, which means no busway ride for me and I’m not looking forward to any TJ ride in the near future. I’ve experienced the best and the worst it can be, and like it or not, it has colored my life. My mom has taken to calling me “the busway lover”. Eeugh. I'd better get to the point now.

In celebration of my so-called “love of busway”, I’m spreading the mass transport love and joy to the whole world through my very own TransJakarta Survival Guide. It is a reflection of my affair with Sutiyoso and Fauzi Bowo’s pet project. Use this at your own risk – you have been warned.

OK, first and foremost, any potential TJ passenger should realize that TJ operates in its own universe. The buses come and go capriciously, and God alone knows how much time we waste waiting for our bus.  You will have plenty of time to admire the bus stops, called “shelters”. I believe they’re called shelters for a reason – not a good reason, if you’re wondering. Air conditioning in the shelters are all-natural, keeping in mind that “natural” in Jakarta = Mother Nature + her bratty illegitimate offspring, the toxic stuffs floating in the air. Its design is an example of minimalism. It’s basically a box made of corrugated metal and glass with a few benches plopped here and there. Austerity is the word of the shelters. If your trip includes changing corridors, it means you have a chance to enjoy a scenic route from one shelter to another since you will be walking a considerable distance. Hurray!

That said, I recommend that passengers prepare themselves physically, mentally, spiritually, and whatever aspect your body holds. Before hitting the trail, it is always a great thing if you have already known your destination shelter, the corridors you have to take, and where you have to change buses. There are guards/guides in most shelters, but sometimes they’re not there or they may not be the nicest guy around to ask for directions. So do your homework and save yourself from all the fuss. Don’t forget to allocate enough time for your trip. Due to the arbitrary nature of the TJ, trips can take less than 15 minutes or a lifetime. If you are the kind of busy person who has to be at two places at the same time, TJ is definitely not a smart choice.

The moment you enter the shelter you must buy the ticket. It ticket costs Rp3500 and it grants you unlimited ride on the city’s busway system, provided you don’t go out of the shelters. If you have a day to spare, you can try spending it on board these giants. If you really have a day to spare and decide to ride TJ all day long, please get a life. Seriously.

Now that you’re in the waiting area, chances are you must wait for some time. This is where the physical part goes into play. Be a nice guy/girl and stand in line. If someone is being obnoxious, ignore them and don’t be like them; we have enough obnoxious people in the city. In some shelters, the line will fan out from the door and people will pile up from every direction. Queue concept FAIL. You should stick to the real line. Oh yeah, wait for the bus at the right shelter door and don’t go in from the exit door. In case you’re getting the articulated bus, you can enter from the front and back door (the middle’s for the exit). I advise you take the back door.

When the bus approaches, everybody in line will move to the I-have-to-get-on-the-bus formation, i.e. they will start pushing forward. Adapt yourself to the formation, and make sure all your belongings are safe. When the bus door is open before you, proceed carefully to ensure your safety and dignity (tripping over the steps = bad!). There are two scenarios on this point.

Scenario A: there’s no seat available and you have to stand. Unless you’ll be getting off at the next stop, you should make your way to the back of the bus or the front. I generally prefer the back since it is more spacious. Don’t be a jerk by sticking around in front of the door when it’s crowded. Happy standing, and hope that you will get a seat during your lovely trip.

Scenario B: there’s a seat. You should…sit! Yay us! Please be a civilized passenger and give up your seat if someone needs it more. Possible candidates: pregnant women, old people, handicapped, and people with small children. Personally, I don’t give my seat to any woman. If they’re not pregnant, they can stand. In fact, I think its deeply condescending to all women to think that a woman is not strong enough to survive TJ.

There are several things you can do in the bus, apart from eavesdropping on a fellow passenger’s phone call. You can sleep. You can read stuffs. You can listen to music – and if you don’t have your own, some bus drivers turn on the radio on the bus. Most of the time it’s GenFM *blurgh)*; in rare cases, dangdut *double blurgh*. Apparently some people think that they can speak on the phone very very loudly. I don’t think so.

Suppose you reach your destination in one piece…you should get off the bus. Usually you can use all the doors to exit, but if the shelter’s full of people, you should choose the true exit door. ‘Nuff said. Don’t forget to thank God and congratulate yourself.

At all times, keep your belongings safe and your head cool. A TJ ride can be tough – it should be an extreme sport someday.

It is true that TJ can be a great way to get around, but public transportation is not only moving a person from point A to point B but also providing reliable, consistent service. While TJ’s benefits amaze me a couple of times, TJ could also be an inch shy of being a human right violation. Anyway, best wishes to TransJakarta.

PS. Now that I’ve written this potentially libelous writing, I’m going to pray that Fauzi Bowo won’t sue me in court.

A New Dawn

The world’s been spinning wildly these days, especially if you have TV (who doesn’t?) and infotainment programs found a way to infiltrate your brain. Indonesians have kicked off the presidential election(s) campaign season, boohoo-ed with and later boo-ed at Manohara, sympathized with Prita, cursed at Malaysia over Ambalat, and totally forgot about the legislative elections (which were held April 9 this year, if you’re wondering). There are other issues too, apart from Adam Lambert’s official coming-out. Sometimes I wonder whether our drastic advance in communications technology is matched by our own capacity to manage it.

Today, let me be a bit egoistic. I’m going to tediously tell you my recent life stories and you will be so bored that fluid will ooze out of your ears. First, I made a Twitter account. Yay! After months of hesitation and laziness -mostly the latter- a Time magazine article moved my heart to tweet. Core motivation: following Ellen DeGeneres’ twitter. Along the way, Twitter proves to be a great channel for news updates as well as the usual business, i.e. gossips among friends and such.

Second, this is the last day of the Neuroscience module. I predict that I flunked my anatomy lab test. Still, I am a firm believer of “hope for the best, prepare for the worst” so it hasn’t disturbed me that much. I’m too happy for being free from the dreaded module to care about those mumbo-jumbo. And yes, I am entering the beloved phase of med school life: long holiday!

Third, I’m back to blogging…obviously. Do expect temporary increase in blog-fecundity. In fact, I made this post just for the sake of blogging something. Thank you for being my victims.

Last, I am looking forward to my trip down (that’s a clue) to a place I miss so much. I’ll be away from the end of this month but I guess I can access and perhaps drop a line or two during my vacation.

Annoying life storytelling ends here. Go back to your lives, or get one.