The rubble of the emerging middle class<\/p>\n
JAKARTA (JP): We hear about them constantly, we see them more
\noften than we might want, but who are these people called the
\nemerging middle class? A walk through my neighborhood might help
\nsort the question out.<\/p>\n
None of this idyllic Bali village life stuff, or the devout
\nlife of Flores Catholics eking out a living on what Westerners
\n(those people who have reportedly ruined Indonesia) deem a
\nparadise. No, my neighborhood gives a better picture of what the
\ncountry is like. All this in a little corner of big, smelly
\nJakarta.<\/p>\n
I live on the fringe of the much talked about emerging middle
\nclass. Less than 300 meters northwest from my dusty street is a
\nkampong where the supply of labor -- \"human resources\" in Five-
\nyear Development terms -- rest their weary heads after a long day
\nof sitting outside middle class houses, guarding them against
\ntheir brothers.<\/p>\n
Sliding back my reinforced gate, I am greeted by a row of
\nsmall houses with negligible gardens and a strange absence of
\nsatellite dishes. Most of the houses have been demolished or
\nrenovated in the last year because the featureless group of
\npeople emerging into the middle class add a second floor to
\nannounce their arrival. The street isn't paved. It was once. But,
\nbecause it has been dug up five times in the last six months to
\nput in water and electricity each time a house is renovated, it
\nis now a dirt track.<\/p>\n
Cars swerve around potholes and mounds of building debris
\nwhich has been left in the street as a monument to progress. One
\nrenovated but long-empty house advertises its selling point as a
\npark view. Its a pity that the park is filled with its refuse and
\ndebris. The piles of garbage continually smolder because some one
\nhas reasoned they will burn-off the used bricks by setting fire
\nto the innumerable plastic bags underneath.<\/p>\n
It isn't until you walk a few streets south that the
\ntransition hits you. The small, one-story houses gradually give
\nway to larger and more ornate structures built on the same size
\nlots. What remains of garden space has been paved over to make
\nway for the Kijang or the remodeled VW Bug, which just make it
\nunder the huge song birds entrapped in puny cages hanging from
\nthe eaves. But there is still some of the charm of rural
\nIndonesia left. Chickens compete with the rats in the gutters for
\nscraps, while stray dogs and cats wearily watch you pass, ever
\nalert for the expected kick or thrown stone. Roosters crow behind
\nbamboo bars to remind the emerging middle class of their roots.<\/p>\n
Walk a few blocks further and the streets get wider and the
\nhouses taller. The open space in front of the marble
\nmonstrosities is so small that there often isn't enough room to
\npark both the BMW and the Jeep Cherokee. The BMW is relegated to
\nthe street because the pampered Jeep, only used on weekends when
\nthe entire clan goes four-wheel driving on the manicured roads
\nnear the company villa in Puncak, must rest safely tucked beneath
\nits fluorescent orange car cover.<\/p>\n
The newly emerged show their true colors along these streets.
\nThere is a three turreted house, each tower painted mango orange,
\nrambutan red and canary yellow respectively, that resembles a
\nkid's building block experiment after too many red Smarties. Up
\nthe road is a towering blue building with ground to sky windows
\ndone in a USS Minnow motif, complete with a two meter life ring
\nover the front door. It is probably good Feng shui.<\/p>\n
This is individualism, a sure sign that the corrupting \"East
\nof Eden\" has been beamed into too many living rooms.<\/p>\n
The Indonesia of today ends on these streets. The emerging
\nhave emerged, found or poached an identity, and buttressed
\nthemselves behind their thick, inlaid granite fences. On the
\nstreet, however, life goes on like it does a few blocks closer to
\nthe kampong. Maids gossip, cats prowl and the young jaga prance
\nabout showing off their courting skills. Life hasn't changed much
\nfor these people. They still scream \"hello mister, where you go?\"
\nand giggle when you answer in Indonesian. The only difference
\nbetween them and their cousins in rural Indonesia is that they
\nnow know how to say \"f--- you\" and use their new found knowledge
\nquite frequently.<\/p>\n
The future of Indonesia is reflected further along in the
\nneighborhood. Here, row upon row of formidable houses on large
\nplots silently stand along transplanted-palm vistas. These
\nmansions, however, are empty. Their ornate cement work is already
\ncrumbling and their marble and glass entrance ways are a cold
\nwelcome to any of the emerged who dare afford to rent them.<\/p>\n
It is a long walk from my small house to the mansions -- if
\nyou don't count it in kilometers. At both ends, though, none of
\nthe roads are paved, the electricity goes out as often as the
\ninhabitants' teenagers, and the parks are filled with the rubble
\nof the emerging middle class.<\/p>\n
-- Jim Plouffe<\/p>", "url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/the-rubble-of-the-emerging-middle-class-1447893297", "image": "" }, "sponsor": "Okusi Associates", "sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com" }