Color<\/p>\n
By Sirikit Syah<\/p>\n
It was a fine day in early May. Susan got herself ready. Her
\nkids had left for school and her husband for the office. She took
\na taxi to Tanah Abang, Central Jakarta, as she needed to replace
\nthe curtains in their house.<\/p>\n
They had used the same curtains since they moved to this house
\ntwo years ago. Now, she wanted a change and Tanah Abang was her
\nfavorite place to shop for textiles. Last month she had bought a
\nnice carpet for a low price. And since her Indonesian friend
\nintroduced her to this market last year, she had been shopping
\nfor textiles for the clothes she sewed herself. The selection was
\nquite good here and the price was the cheapest.<\/p>\n
Tanah Abang was as crowded as usual. She had shopped here
\nquite often textiles for curtains for windows and doors, textiles
\nfor bedclothes and some fine fabrics for her dresses. She had
\neven bought cute T-shirts for her husbands and her two sons. She
\nhad become Indonesian enough not to feel shy about shopping at
\nTanah Abang. Besides, she had already mastered enough Indonesian
\nto get by in shopping. She found no problems.<\/p>\n
She remembered when she first arrived in this lovely country.
\nEverybody tried to address her in Indonesian whenever she went
\nout with her husband. They became offended when she didn't
\nrespond but, as a Filipino, she didn't understand the language.<\/p>\n
It was rather odd. She looks like any Indonesian woman but she
\ncouldn't speak Indonesian, while her husband, who is American,
\nspeaks it quite well. In the past, people often spoke Indonesian
\nwith her and spoke English with her husband, and they responded
\nthe other way around.<\/p>\n
She enjoyed shopping in Indonesia as it reminded her of her
\nhometown. People bargained and there was a feeling of
\nsatisfaction if you got the price you wanted. It was an
\nachievement but it was not because she had to save money. Charles
\ngave her his monthly salary and it was more than enough for a
\nnice living in Jakarta. But the art of bargaining had been in her
\nblood.<\/p>\n
She didn't enjoy shopping in America where the price was
\nfixed. Today a necklace was priced US$200 and in tomorrow's sale
\nit would be priced $40. She felt cheated.<\/p>\n
"We never know the real price of goods here," she complained
\nto her husband.<\/p>\n
"Why? Isn't that proof that the consumers decide the price?
\nThe producers just follow whatever the consumers want. Consumers
\nare king here."<\/p>\n
"No. It's the other way around. I didn't buy the $40 necklace,
\neven though I wanted it so much when it was $200 yesterday. I
\nfelt cheated. The true value could only be $10 or less. Consumers
\nare made stupid here."<\/p>\n
Susan smiled. When she lived in California with her husband,
\nshe didn't shop as much as now. She prided herself for being good
\nat bargaining. Indonesia is a heaven for bargain shopping.<\/p>\n
She carried four big black plastic bags as left the market.
\nSuddenly she heard noises. Traffic and crowd sounds. People were
\nflooding the street in front of the market. She saw a convoy of
\nmass green. Hundreds of motorcycles, thousands of people. People
\nwere emotional and they cheered each other and made finger
\nsignals.<\/p>\n
"Oh my God. I forgot about the campaign," she panicked. She
\nknew she shouldn't have gone out at a time like this. They had
\ndiscussed this frequently at home but she forgot about it.
\nHurriedly she threw herself into a passing cab.<\/p>\n
"Sorry, I am not working," the driver said, trying to push her
\nout.<\/p>\n
"Please, drive me," she begged, handing him Rp 20,000.<\/p>\n
The driver, either attracted to the money or taking pity on
\nher, reluctantly drove the cab. They moved very slowly in the
\nback of the convoy.<\/p>\n
It felt like hours. They had not left the Tanah Abang area yet
\nwhen suddenly there was noise coming from behind them.<\/p>\n
"Shit! They must have turned around the corner and they will
\ncome back this way," the driver gasped. The cab was already in
\nthe middle of the roaring vehicles. The convoy in front was not
\nfinished, and there was a flood of vehicles coming from the back.
\nWithin seconds, they were trapped.<\/p>\n
They couldn't move even an inch. Apparently, they were the
\nonly people foolish enough to try to get in the way. Susan stared
\nfrom the taxi window and saw green everywhere. Several young
\nfaces stared back at her and gave her a hand signal, but she
\ndidn't know how to respond.<\/p>\n
There was a bang on the window. Then one more at the rear of
\nthe cab, and again, and again. Susan saw a burly man open the
\nfront door and pull out the taxi driver. Her door was opened too
\nand arms grabbed her out.<\/p>\n
She didn't see the taxi driver. The taxi was soon filled with
\npeople in green and driven following the convoy. She was thrown
\nup in a truck filled with men and women wearing green. Then she
\nrealized what was wrong with her, and that even made her feel
\nworse. She wore a bright yellow dress. Yellow was her favorite
\ncolor. She was an admirer of Cory Aquino and People Power, so she
\nalways had reason to wear yellow. The curtains for her house were
\nyellow, too.<\/p>\n
She was forced to stay in the truck, joining the convoy, until
\nit got dark. Then they brought her to their headquarters. She was
\nquestioned intensively. The questioners were angered when she
\ncouldn't answer fluently in Indonesian. They thought she was
\nplaying games. They didn't believe she was not an Indonesian. One
\nof the angry young women tore her dress.<\/p>\n
"How dare you wear this color today? Are you challenging us?"
\nshe yelled at her.<\/p>\n
"I am sorry, I really don't understand what is happening
\nhere," she tried to explain. Tears were falling down her cheeks.
\nShe was exhausted, frightened and in pain. Some people had hit
\nher. Her mouth was bleeding and her cheek swollen.<\/p>\n
They released her late that night. Perhaps they believed her,
\nor felt pity on her, or they were tired themselves. Somebody took
\nher with on a motorcycle home. No apology.<\/p>\n
It was a few minutes before midnight. Charles was nervous. He
\nhad called the police three times already, and they had become
\nirritated.<\/p>\n
"We are doing what we can do and we will let you know as soon
\nas we find out about your wife," one police officer said on the
\nphone. He sounded impatient.<\/p>\n
"How long will I have to wait?" Charles asked.<\/p>\n
"Not long if you just let us do our job and stop bothering
\nus." The line went dead.<\/p>\n
His kids had dinner without him and their mom. Now they had
\ngone to bed. Charles had been trapped in a rally himself on Jalan
\nKebun Jeruk. After two hours, they finally managed to leave the
\narea. He trembled when he remembered the brutality of the people
\ntowards passersby, especially those traveling in expensive cars.<\/p>\n
Charles turned on the TV.<\/p>\n
"She might have gone to one of her friends, and decided to
\nstay until the campaigning ended," he said as he tried to
\nconvince himself that nothing bad had happened to his wife. But
\nit was unusual for her -- she usually wrote a note when she
\nwouldn't be back at when he got home.<\/p>\n
Something on TV attracted his attention. It was ANteve news.
\nIn Medan an elderly man wearing a green shirt was trapped
\nyesterday in a red rally, and he was brutally beaten. He was in a
\ncoma now in a local hospital. The red party made a statement,
\nsaying the man provoked their people by wearing green.<\/p>\n
Charles felt sick. He switched to another channel. An RCTI
\nnews flash. Surabaya was in a war. Everything red was burned
\ndown, presumably by the yellow party. But the yellow party
\ncommented that this was done by others to make it appear that it
\nwas them. It was manipulation. A drama. Chaos.<\/p>\n
He was sweating in an air-conditioned room. He almost jumped
\nwhen the bell rang. He ran to open the door and found his wife
\nlimping, her dress torn down. Susan fell in his arms and fainted.<\/p>\n
Charles didn't need to ask anybody what had happened. He knew.
\nHis wife wore a yellow dress. He didn't bother to call the
\npolice. To file a report? What kind of report? His wife could be
\nblamed for wearing the wrong color at the wrong moment. This is a
\ncampaigning country. And color does matter.<\/p>\n
Sirikit Syah is a freelance journalist, chairwoman of the
\nSurabaya Arts Council and lecturer at Dr. Soetomo University in
\nSurabaya.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/color-1447899208",
"image": ""
},
"sponsor": "Okusi Associates",
"sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com"
}