'Private police' direct traffic to stay in school amid crisis<\/p>\n
By Mehru Jaffer<\/p>\n
JAKARTA (JP): One minute they swarm the intersection like a
\nplague of locusts, waving their hands, whistling, shouting, often
\nseeming to outnumber the vehicles they pretend to steer.<\/p>\n
Next minute they are gone, replaced by uniformed policemen who
\norchestrate the fabled traffic jams almost with the finesse of a
\nmusical conductor in comparison. And this cat-and-mouse game
\nbetween the police and the swarm goes on unabated on the streets
\nof Jakarta day after day.<\/p>\n
On yet another drive past the same route when the locusts were
\nback on the road, The Jakarta Post could not help asking one of
\nthem why they had disappeared.<\/p>\n
"We dispersed because the police came." To the question,
\n"Where are the police now?" the teenager added: "They went away
\nafter performing 30 minutes of their duty. We gave them
\ncigarettes and now they are gone," he grinned, jingling coins in
\nhis closed palm and impatiently fanning his hand to move the car
\naway.<\/p>\n
He added another two hundred-rupiah coins to the day's
\ncollection and looked forward to his next renumeration from the
\nlong line of motorists behind.<\/p>\n
However, Mohammad Rosihun, 16, graciously agreed to take a few
\nminutes off from a busy traffic intersection on Jl. Antasari to
\nsmoke a cigarette and talk a little about what all the screaming
\nand shouting on the roads is about.<\/p>\n
Ever since skyrocketing prices have made even a simple meal
\noften unavailable to his family of six, he has lived with the
\nfear he might have to give up studying. But Rosihun is determined
\nto finish high school, even if it means having to finance his
\nstudies himself.<\/p>\n
Over the past three months he has been part of a group of 12
\nteenagers who spend about three hours a day regulating traffic
\nand sharing the profit. On a lucky day he earns up to Rp 5,000.<\/p>\n
It allows him enough time and money to go to school, feed
\nhimself at least one meal a day and give the change to his two
\nbrothers and a sister.<\/p>\n
He is happy that he can help his parents, both shop
\nattendants, to feed the family during tough economic times. He
\ncan hardly wait to graduate from high school to join the army.<\/p>\n
"Yes, a soldier is what I want to be," he said with a faraway
\nlook in his eyes.<\/p>\n
No, he is not afraid of the police. Twelve teenagers like him
\nare registered with the nearby police station to do the job, he
\nsaid.<\/p>\n
At yet another intersection, the boys are boisterous, a little
\nmore playful than the responsible-looking Rosihun. They strike
\nfilm star-like poses as they stand before the camera.<\/p>\n
Henry, 20, wants to become a rich business manager.<\/p>\n
He is not sure what kind of business he would like to do, just
\nas long as it would make him rich.<\/p>\n
"Don't you want to become a soldier?" elicits the unanimous
\nchant of: "No ABRI (Armed Forces). Never ABRI. Mega, Mega." The
\nlatter is a reference to opposition figure Megawati
\nSoekarnoputri.<\/p>\n
The group of 25 teenagers aged from 17 to 20 lives in slums
\nbehind the main roads of the city. They go to school sometimes,
\nand sometimes do not. They stand two at a time at traffic
\nintersections for periods of 30 minutes. At the end of the day
\nthey share their earnings equally.<\/p>\n
There is a loud denial when asked if they ever tried to enrich
\nthemselves by robbing motorists.<\/p>\n
The youngest of the traffic directors spotted was an eight-
\nyear-old boy in the Buncit area and the eldest was an unemployed
\nman of 25.<\/p>\n
Aji, Reza, Arman, Hasbi, Bowo and Yusuf are just a few of
\nthousands of youngsters pouring out of schools and homes onto the
\nstreets, looking for ways to supplement the dwindling income of
\ntheir elders. Most of them said they did not really enjoy doing
\nthe job and did not plan to remain on the streets for long.<\/p>\n
"Once the economic crisis is over, everything will be all
\nright. Then I will think of other ways to earn money. Really big
\nmoney," said hopeful 19-year-old Yusuf.<\/p>\n
Before the economic crisis, most of the boys had one foot on
\nthe ladder which would take them on the climb away from a life in
\nthe slums.<\/p>\n
Now they have fallen back into a bottomless pit of extreme
\npoverty and hopelessness.<\/p>\n
The country's miraculous race to affluence in the last few
\ndecades made life stable and comfortable, especially for a
\nballooning middle class. All the gains enjoyed in the past have
\nblown away into thin air since the surprise economic crash
\naffecting millions.<\/p>\n
It has been most cruel to children.<\/p>\n
Stephen J. Woodhouse, head of Unicef in Jakarta, has already
\nnoticed the first cases of marasmus, the severe emaciation seen
\nin the worst African famines. Infant mortality in the country is
\nexpected to jump by 30 percent after it was reduced by two-thirds
\nin recent decades.<\/p>\n
"We could easily lose a whole generation of kids who are being
\npulled out of school and put to work. A whole generation of
\nexpectations has vanished," said Scott Guggenheim of the World
\nBank.<\/p>\n
The government itself estimates that nearly half the nation's
\npopulation is unable to afford adequate food, defined as daily
\nintake of 2,100 calories per person. It is only due to
\ndesperation that all kinds of people have suddenly appeared on
\nthe street looking for ways to make money, sometimes by fair
\nmeans and, when the need arises, also by foul.<\/p>\n
Obviously, not everyone approves.<\/p>\n
A colleague recalled having her fingers twisted as she pulled
\ndown her car window to give money to a youngster regulating
\ntraffic on a Kuningan junction. She suspected she was about to be
\nrobbed.<\/p>\n
Shivani Kakar, seven months pregnant, is already uncomfortable
\ndriving around town without having the boys on the road slowing
\nher down even more.<\/p>\n
"I don't really think there is any need for them to be
\ndirecting traffic on a clear route from Sudirman to Jl. Rasuna
\nSaid."<\/p>\n
Other motorists interviewed said they would be better off in
\ncertain parts of the city without a horde of voices unnecessarily
\nscreaming "Terus, terus," (keep going, keep going) at them.<\/p>\n
But they realize that these are difficult times for everyone
\nand that the youngsters are in genuine need of money. "It is a
\nmore dignified way of asking for money than begging," a
\nmotorcyclist said.<\/p>\n
"Once the state and the social workers come up with a better
\nsolution to feed and employ everyone, then we can go back to
\nbeing intolerant of the traffic boys," said a driver employed by
\nan expatriate family.<\/p>\n
Police chase beggars, peddlers, vendors, guitarists and now
\nthe traffic boys off the roads because they like to pretend there
\nare no poor in Jakarta, he said.<\/p>\n
The government wants the main roads of Jakarta to remain a
\nshowpiece, free of all "riffraff", he added.<\/p>\n
"It could do that in the past. But now it can pretend no
\nlonger. After all there are nearly 20 million unemployed people
\nin the country. One out of every five workers is already out of
\njob," it is pointed out.<\/p>\n
And as the gap between rich and poor in the city widens,
\nincidents of lawlessness and robbery can only be expected to go
\nup.<\/p>\n
Crisis or no crisis, Boonboon, a human resource development
\nexpert, has always been grateful to the traffic boys for being at
\nthe Simprug intersection where she must turn toward Permata
\nHijau.<\/p>\n
"Without them I would be just stuck at the crossing. I would
\nnever reach home or be able to get out of it," she said.<\/p>",
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