A Noble Idea

By Sori Siregar

His gaze revealed that he didn't believe me. As if all I had been telling him were big lies that should be paid no heed. It was a torturing gaze. He tried to be warm and welcoming. But, I saw it as disgusting pretension. He listened carefully to what I said, frequently nodding and adjusting his tie, though the tie had not been moving.

"So what can I do for you?" he said.

Actually I wanted to say: "I need your understanding." But the words did not come out, they were stuck in my throat. I was very sure he did not understand my position. That was why he sent me the letter. If he did not understand me then, he will not understand me now.

"Nothing." He seemed surprised. He never expected that answer. Especially after I had made an appointment, via his secretary, to see him. I then, without him asking me, spent half an hour telling him a story.

He was still confused when I took leave. He tried to persuade me to stay by inviting me for lunch at a restaurant near his office. I turned his invitation down by walking away.

***

Sjarifuddin was in fact still a good listener. At least he listened to my monologue for half an hour without interrupting. As a director of a bank, where time is precious, he still spared me his time. But his show of kindness was betrayed by his stare which was displaying distrust. That stare gave me strong reason to leave.

Do I need to see some other friends whose names are in my small notebook? Would it be helpful to hold a long monologue as I did with Sjarifuddin? If they too asked me the same question, should I give them the same answer? If I did, it would mean I was lying to myself, wouldn't I?"

When I was in that moment of doubt, with my mind filled with so many questions, Siman's face appeared before me. With that, I came to a decision. I don't want to see those people whose names were in my notebook. Sjarifuddin was the first and will be the last.

***

In reality, money can't solve problems all the time. There are still many people who can't be bought or sold by money.

Had I bribed the reporter who brought the case to the public's eye, it would not have become a scandal, and the security officers would never have intervened in it. The problem was actually an internal matter that could have been solved without intervention from outside elements.

But the skinny unhealthy looking reporter succeeded in making the problem a big issue by giving it wide coverage in the media.

Stealing, for whatever reason, is wrong and the culprit must be brought to justice. Nobody will blame me for taking stern measures against Siman, who stole a few pieces of clothing from the factory. Without stern steps, other workers would surely commit the same crime, which could undermine the company.

I could not accept Siman's excuse that he had stolen the clothes to sell and buy medicines for his ailing mother. Anyone could have given such an excuse. Although Siman was a manual worker who was paid on a daily basis, he had the right to apply for a small loan from the company. I also knew that Siman, who is only fourteen years old, became the family's breadwinner after his father's death.

I had known Siman and his family for quite long because his father used to work in the factory. When the old man died of tuberculosis, Siman, who was in third grade junior high school, had to drop out. He then started working in the factory.

According to government regulations, children of Siman's age are not allowed to work in a factory, but as director, I allowed him to replace his father. My decision was based on sympathy. There was no way his mother could raise her three children by selling traditional cakes to factory workers. Furthermore, two of Siman's brothers were still in elementary school. They needed money for schooling.

During his three months at the factory, Siman was known as a diligent, obedient and honest boy. Every one liked Siman. So when the boy was caught stealing red-handed, his fellow workers tried to protect and defend him.

But the show of sympathy by his fellow workers infuriated a security officer who hit Siman ruthlessly. The boy screamed for help and collapsed, but the officer continued with the beatings and even stomped on his chest over and over again. Watching the brutality, Siman's fellow workers surrounded the officer and beat him fiercely. Both Siman and the security officer were then rushed to hospital.

The incident was leaked to a reporter, who blew it up without checking the facts. The paper accused me of ordering the security officer to act unlawfully.

To tell the truth behind the incident, I met the reporter in his office. In the meeting, I expressed my hope that the newspaper would retract the story and clarify the matter. Unfortunately, the editor stood by his story. He also said he had a number of factory workers as witnesses.

Actually I was prepared to confront the workers. But as I didn't want to prolong the issue, I took a short cut. I tried to shut the reporter's mouth with a few thousands of rupiah. But the reporter flatly turned down my offer. Not only that, the reporter continued to harass me by printing more negative stories about the factory.

As there were reports of ill-treatment of factory workers in the media almost daily at the time, I became an easy target. I felt all alone and helpless, even more so after the factory owner got tired of the reports and not only fired, but also filed a lawsuit against me. That's how I landed in prison.

One year behind bars was more than enough. The first person I met after my release was the security officer who got me into prison with his testimony. He did go to jail, but only for three months. After serving his term, he was allowed to return to the same job.

"Don't blame me, Sir," said the officer, who then explained why he had beaten Siman. After hearing his explanation, I could say nothing but shake my head. He had misunderstood my orders. What I meant then by "stern measure", he translated as subdue or torture.

By "stern measure" I meant termination of service. By firing Siman, I hoped no other worker would commit the same crime.

But behind the seemingly ruthless decision, I had a noble intention, which I had never disclosed to anyone -- except my wife -- until the day I was locked up. I had planned to send Siman home to his family so that he could continue his studies at my expense. I had also set aside a portion of my income to help his family. That was why when I heard Siman stole something from the factory to buy his sick mother medicine, I rushed to see her. I gave her some money to pay toward her medical treatment.

By sending Siman back to school, at least I would have saved a child from labor. Even if Siman had not committed the petty crime, I would have asked him to quit. Three months of watching Siman working as a manual worker was painful.

People, including my close friends, had only read what I had done but never wanted to know why I had done such as thing. And, Sjarifuddin, the bank director I had just met, had attacked me with his harsh written words. "Firman, we all have an instinct for oppression. As a matter of fact, the instinct had won you over and killed all good things in yourself".

Sjarifuddin, a close friend of mine, had based his judgment on newspaper reports. He sent me a letter when the case was still being heard in court.

How easy it was for someone to punish his employee without giving him a chance to defend himself. Today, I met Sjarifuddin and told him the truth. But, the way he looked at me showed that he still blamed me for everything.

Were all my friends like Sjarifuddin? Did I need to see them one by one and repeat the story I just told Sjarifuddin? They will certainly ask me the same question, "What can I do for you, friend?" And to that I will say: "Nothing".

To regain one's good reputation is not easy. Besides, no one is interested in listening to your plans of saving a child from the yoke of poverty. ***