A slow news day, visualized

Even during the largest of new stories—think Obama getting inaugurated—it is pretty rare for three major papers to manage to reproduce the exact same photo. Which is why this spread struck me as so indicative of the absolute news paralysis currently gripping Jakarta. Here we have three distinct type of paper (from left to right): the political gossip monger, the investigative and interview tabloid, and the broadsheet paper of record. Even more tickling is the content of the photo, which is a completely pedestrian farewell picture featuring the outgoing cabinet, including the ministers who were sacked during the past five years.

“Hey Bang, why don’t you and the wife come down to the palace on Friday for a big send-off photo? It’s been too long. You still remember how to get here?”

What’s really going on here is that everyone—media, corporate world, analysts, political operatives, etc—is waiting for details of the President’s new cabinet to emerge. This may strike Americans as strange, after all our government functioned for months before Obama even managed to get a majority of his appointments confirmed.

Even though Indonesia, like many democracies, has an executive, legislature, and judiciary, the actual mechanics of the government are pretty unique (and often complex). Take the paramount importance of a given cabinet minister. As the executive’s representative on issues from Energy to Law to Cooperatives to Women’s Empowerment, each individual minister is crucial to virtually all policy making within their portfolio.

Why?

Parliamentary rules prevent proposed legislation from advancing in a plenary without a representative from the executive (if not the individual minister then one of their deputies) present. Moreover, once a bill becomes law (which, coincidentally, can occur without the president’s signature, rendering the aforementioned rule the executive’s veto over legislation) the onus falls to the relevant ministries to issue the relevant legal regulations that define and implement the content and meaning of the law. The Constitutional Court takes up any discrepancies that may ensue.

As you can imagine, ministries truly become institutionally defined by the personality who heads them (this is a weakness of Indonesian politics to begin with, but I digress), which in turn has serious implications for policy. Vested interests (such a politicians with business connections) can leverage their power to remarkably obstructionist ends, blocking reforms and introducing damaging policies.

So, the capital waits for the clarity that strangely only a minister can provide. Businesses and political analysts watch this sort of thing with especially heightened interest; any individual minister can literally change the entire outlook for their portfolio. The key debate right now is focused on candidates who are “technocrats” versus those who are “political representatives.” The conventional thinking goes that the former are good for reform whereas the latter are interested in a narrow set of protectionist, market-impeding policies. The president (the same guy who invited the ministers he sacked back for a photo-op) will certainly accommodate both.

But, in the meantime, everyone will keep on whispering, gossiping, and holding their breath.

Over the borderline (borderline)

So I am back in Jakarta, albeit this time—at least for the first week—as an international businessman. Though I almost didn’t get in (to Indonesia, that is), nearly sent trudging back to Norita to complete endless quarantine forms (do you have bacon fever?) and wander amongst the towers of tax-free cartons of Marlboros.

I have always been fascinated by the extra-judicial status of the swath of airport behind customs. Where am I? Sparing the existential trope about being without being, I have always been wary of the uncertainty associated with borders. Do I unwittingly carry the US border with me while I fly halfway around the world, like a stowaway square of toilet paper steadily uncoiling roll of my rights, protections, and obligations?

The approaching border certainly asserts itself: funny hats, automatic weapons, scowling uniformed teenagers, and finally the thump-thump of a fist attuned to much humorless stamping; yet just when the chips are down, the border behind steals away with impunity, and leaves you standing—defenseless—without enough visa pages, in the ether before the concertina wire.

Indonesia to withdraw from OPEC, to continue using clubhouse, steam room

Jakarta – Last week Indonesia’s Minister of Energy and Mineral Resources Purnomo Yusgiantoro announced during lunchtime remarks at the Jakarta Foreign Correspondent’s Club plans to leave the cartel and social committee of oil exporting nations. Purnomo unveiled the move to the gathered jeering and giggling Australian journalists as a footnote in a broader speech concerning recent cuts in fuel price subsidies.

However, the Minister did not give the bombshell short shrift, explaining the arduous process and hours of ministerial (and even sub-ministerial) meetings that undoubtedly vetted the plan. “Indonesia, you see, does not really export so much oil anymore. And, as you may not know, that is an essential part of the acronym. We are an oil-consuming nation and we must embrace out identity. OPEC, the past 45 years have been something special, just a couple of crazy governments trying to make it honest.” The Minister went on to add that the 2 million euro yearly membership fee will represent “a substantial savings to our government.”

Indeed, the membership fee, which also carries access to all of the lush facilities that the cartel’s clubhouse offers—squash courts, mahogany-accented locker room, shuffle board, spa, and a wedding hall—along with two ticket’s to the cartel’s annual “An Evening to Remember: Historical Tyrants in Love” dinner ball, was a sticking point for the Minister. “We all learned when Ecuador [snigger] withdrew from OPEC, that is before they came crawling back, that membership fees are non-refundable, ha ha! What is wrong, did you get tired of only running into Gabon at the prime rib station? They looked so silly! Therefore, though I tell you today that Indonesia will leave OPEC, we will not do so until 2009; in the interim continue make use of the steam room and crude emulsification treatments thrice weekly.”

As a buzz went through the room, the Minister resolutely declared, “Indonesia does not care if things will be awkward in the locker room with Iran and Qatar, we will continue to take full advantage of what is our right to healthy living and a relaxed lifestyle!”

Later, under heavy questioning from the assembled spawn of convicts and profiteers, Purnomo’s assertion of “Who knows all the things we may be able to do with those 2 million euros?” eventually cracked. Instead, the clearly humbled veteran of 3 presidential administrations looked unusually shaken.

“It is true, Indonesia was dared by Venezuela to leave the OPEC, and we all at the Ministry figured that a place with such a crazy name could not really exist. We thought those brigands from Nigeria were trying to have their fun with Indonesia! Venezuela? Who knew? Next you will tell me there is a Timbuktu!”

Reaction within the cartel, notorious for its secrecy, has been muted, however Kuwait noted, “Sure, we all made fun of Indonesia during the turban-tying component of the cartel decathlon, but my heart is saddened to think of entering the three-legged race without Indonesia. Have you ever looked at a map? Try the 16,999-legged race.” Saudi Arabia kept a stiffer lip, pointing out that Indonesia’s production of militant Islamists in recent years was, “nothing to write home about.”

The announcement has sent veteran Indonesia watchers into a tailspin, with many seeing it as part of a new, reverse-jinx foreign policy that seeks to extricate the nation of 270 million from membership in the world’s most influential organizations. With OPEC down, many expect that an announcement concerning the UN, where Indonesia holds a temporary seat on the Security Council, is imminent.

peace!

I was on my way to work Monday morning when I realized that something was different about the day. Even before I was picking my way through the exhaust flecked sunshine, while still in bed I noticed that the call to prayer was somehow mellowed. How could we as a community be such letting down out guard against the demons? Truly, I was concerned. Out on the street, I could swear there were fewer overturned cars lining the street, and when I hired a motorcycle, I was happily handed a sturdy helmet. Something was up.

The gangs of hepatitis-addled stray dogs that roam the streets looking for the next meal had turned into adorable puppies that playfully nipped at my heels and rolled over expectantly when I turned. Even the mosquitoes had changed their stripes and were planning a Roger’s & Hammerstein revival for that afternoon’s siesta.

All through the afternoon the unmistakable buzz was in the air—you could just tell that virtually everyone on the streets had put aside their work to reestablish the caliphate. Men were shaving 20 year old beard, and babies were being baptized in the open sewers. ‘Death to the foreign infidel!’ had become ‘Yo, bro, what’s up?’

Math and science were flourishing, and our neighborhood bombmaker told me, ‘I don’t want to make the bomb, man, ‘cause love is the bomb.’

Honestly, readers, I was stumped. Something out of the ordinary was going on; I felt like society was being perfected before my eyes. But what—or who—could be behind the glorious final plan?

Then, in the evening, I saw a news ticker. The state department, characteristically riding the very crest of the trend, had lifted the Indonesia travel warning. It is true, that just that morning the dark ages had seemingly lifted, terrorism evaporated, and peace and harmony reigned. Indonesia finally was safe! What a fortuitous, fortuitous thing for the state department to be so closely monitoring.

And so, I exhale, after 8 months of living dangerously. I am finally safe.

fair warning..

Jakarta, as a place, drips with contradictions. Take a movie billboard for an Indonesian version of ‘American Pie.’ Besides the surfeit of unusually good-looking youngsters, leather jackets, and fishnet stockings, the bottom of the advertisement comes with a warning, like a pack of cigarettes. It translates: “Warning: Careful with free sex.”

In a country where no one pays any attention to posted warnings, the inclusion of this one bears pause. Not just that there are 10 meter tall, hair revealing (shocking, I know) representations of saucy vixens on the street, but that the cultural gulf between Jakarta and everywhere else is so wide.

If anything, this type of warning is a reminder—‘Hey! You down there! We are still religious and traditionalist!’—more of its own impotence than of society’s underlying piety and conservatism. Outwardly, almost every place in Jakarta bears the markings of Westernization. You can assuage your personal lotioning needs at The Body Shop, buy bathroom fixtures at Ace Hardware, see a movie on the same day it premiers in the United States (I saw Iron Man), and even find the greatest American tradition, the wet t-shirt contest.

Of course, if you duck back into the kampoengs (traditional neighborhoods), you get catapulted back in time. Gas lanterns hang from pushcarts selling porridge and boiled peanuts; old men spend the day leaning against a greasy bench watching luxury cars jockey for space in the confined alleyways. If you ask an ojek (motorcycle for hire) driver to take you to a café with wireless, they stare at you blankly.

Indeed, Indonesia still is very religious and traditionalist and one need not trek to Banda Aceh for evidence. Mosques belonging to the Ahamadiyah sect of Islam are frequently attacked no more than 30 km from the city. The government with announce its decision on the potential banning of the sect on Monday. It may be difficult to perceive from the glossy thoroughfares of Jakarta, but Indonesia remains agrarian, religious and reactionary.

In many ways, Jakarta embodies the stark economic inequalities of Indonesia and in truth, the ‘westernized’ represents a stratus of consumption that few Indonesians can hope to attain. Economic growth in Indonesia was resource-led and these factors of production were concentrated in the hands of very few to whom immense wealth accrued. Jakarta, which over the past decade has managed to evolve a middle class, in large part because of its never ending supply of cheap labor, is an Indonesian exception, both because of its exposure and its middle class.

For most Indonesians, the benefits of growth have been concentrated among the few. The majority of the agrarian base has very little purchasing power, access to credit only through government-run pawnshops (a laughable concept I may blog about at some point), and are enslaved by a narrow and cyclic menu of consumer goods (satellite tv and motor scooters on long-term leases). These people are under-exposed, nominally Muslim, superstitious and, except for satellite tv and motor bikes, unchanging. I was talking with an ojek driver who asked me how many women I lived with back home. When I explained none, he seemed genuinely stumped. He was kind enough to explain to me that in the movies—satellite TV, and HBO no less, strikes again—bules are sexually involved with many women at once, so why was not I? That I was not trying to land an Indonesian girlfriend he called a downright lie.

So, I saw a funny movie poster; what any of this mean?

I cannot say I know for sure, but Indonesia is two countries, on the same billboard, even on the same boulevard, but sometimes they seem irreconcilably far adrift.

help wanted: kids!

Eating sweets that come in a banana leaf sealed with a traditional staple, I was in a coffee shop Sunday morning, the TV blasting away with its usual omnipresence, when I was winged back to childhood memories of watching weekend cartoons. That and being forced to dig my parents sprinkler system when I was in second grade. All that digging and sweating and pvc cement might seem like a strange association to make, but as you might expect, Indonesia TV is rarely what you expect (and frequently hazardous to the health of young ones).

However, instead of cartoons, the children of Indonesia can look forward to a tabloid-style program, loosely translated to ‘Kid World,’ that mostly seems to extol the virtues of working.

The first segment was a tight little piece about a family of brothers and sisters who go wading around some of the ‘rivers’ in Jakarta to collect a certain type of water-growing plant. The best word to describe Jakarta would probably be swamp so I feel obligated to scare quote. These stalks, nourished at the bosom of Jakarta’s runoff, when dry are used to weave mats, something I am sure these lucky kids get to play blindman’s bluff for the privilege of doing.

I would get bogged down here, but why waste time when the next segment is coming, right, at, you!

The next piece is about a special place that all Indonesian children dream, bi-nightly, of being magically transported to. Undoubtedly a land of dreams, in this town the local elders have decided to sink their community activity funding into building child-sized becaks to be peddled around a child-sized course. I think somewhere between the shot of the local welder fashioning mini becaks and a 7 year old negotiating hard with a fare, you could really see how lucky these kids are. I should be clear, becak-driving is one of the lower rungs of the Indonesia employment ladder. Any life as a becak driver categorically involves poor dental hygiene, one of those really long-term sunburns, emphysema (though this issuance extends to much of the populace), several traffic accidents; and all this in only the base package!

Though, when I take a step back from the fact that children’s TV programming is openly plugging child labor, I realize how much I just cannot wait to have kids of my own, so they can love life in their highly-competitive, by-admission nursery platform (for when the word ‘school’ is a scosh too traditional).

fighting the socialists, in my ceiling

Yet another installment from the situational comedy for everyone:

Stepan: [entering the room] Matthew, ve need to have a conversation about food waste.

Matthew: [incredulous at his good fortune] Awesome.

Stepan: Yes, vee must be so very careful about leaving food out.

Matthew: I could not agree more…

Stepan: …and covering ze rubbish…

Matthew: …Yes, though I think the housekeeper just throws the trash over the wall into the swamp next…

Stepan: [become more clipped, emphatic] because vee vill gets da rats.

Matthew: [after observing a respectful pause commensurate with Stepan’s gravity] That would be a bummer man.

Stepan: And once you gets the rats, then they will go—eh—will go Svedish and live in the ceiling and [staccato] you vill nevah be free of them.

Matthew: [stifling laughter] Wait, so a rat who lives in the ceiling is Swedish?

Stepan: [seriously] Yes, and impossible to get out.

Matthew: Where does that come from? ‘Swedish Rats?’

Stepan: [indulges in a little laugh] Eh—I don’t know. Svedish rats, you know you Americans talk about paying, ah, you know, ah, paying Dutch. Is like these rats, you, ah, you go Dutch. Svesdish, Dutch, what do ve know?