Butet's monolog cries for journalistic truth

By Yogita Tahil Ramani

JAKARTA (JP): "I will not boast about the virtues of the journalistic profession. There is no sense in implying that journalism safeguards democracy when it does not."

This was theater actor Butet Kartaredjasa describing the current state of his other profession as a freelance journalist during a recent monolog performance.

Journalism is often summed up as a profession of putting facts into print. The intention may be to expose and not to influence, but history has shown that expressing truth often hits some raw nerves.

It took a small theater arena and Butet to elicit substance from the tale Lidah Pingsan (A Numb Tongue), and send a message that contemporary journalism in Indonesia is about use of manipulated facts.

Lidah Pingsan was written by Agus Noor and Indra Tranggono, both seasoned writers with stories published in newspapers like Kompas, Republika and Media Indonesia.

Butet alone flawlessly acted all the four roles in the story and establish reciprocal interaction with the audience on the nights of Nov. 14 and Nov. 15.

He wove into the play a delightful exchange of cynical asides without altering the central message.

Most in the audience left the Utan Kayu Theater with a sense of pride at having witnessed a two-hour revolution in unclogging individual verbal skills.

Peppered with Javanese linguistic insinuations hinting at the strained state of current affairs -- the monetary crisis, forest fires and drought -- Butet's monolog was accompanied by brother Djaduk Ferianto's bongo-beating incantation.

Djaduk is more established in his profession as a musician. He won the 1995 Indonesian Sinetron Festival award for best musical arrangement in a drama, and also works with several notable choreographers, theater producers, TV and film directors. Djaduk coarranged the musical show Dua Warna televised on RCTI, recently nominated for the 1997 Asian Television Awards.

If it was Butet's delivery that voiced frustrations at the lot of Indonesian journalists, it was Djaduk's orchestration of music that dramatized it.

The monolog begins with the story of a belligerent journalist who feels there is no use in penning his writings about the truth because they would never get published.

Instead, he does the next best thing. He stumbles across the truth, writing "dark poetry" for news.

"I know it will never get published, but it serves the purpose of being an honest-to-goodness, present-day journalist: a cynic," he says.

The journalist then diverts the attention of the audience from himself, telling them of a 30-year-old incident in the fictitious village of Menangan that has never been fully resolved.

It involved an innocent kid who was accused by the village chief of causing riots. The boy, upon hearing that he would be jailed or receive worse punishment, ran away and was never heard from again.

Truth is the village chief himself masterminded the riot and conveniently pointed the finger at the boy.

The boy's father, Mardiko, bemoans the loss of him in the most befitting manner. He faithfully sits outside the house of the village chief, screaming and calling out for his son every day for the 30 years.

The village chief, much as he would like to ignore the display, spends sleepless nights and endless days trying to talk sense into Mardiko.

Most of the time he gets his security guard, Mien, to beat Mardiko, but to no avail. The old man continues screaming "Pak Lurah, Pak Lurah" (Mr Village chief, Mr Village Chief) day in, day out.

Due to leakage of important government documents, the journalist eventually finds out the truth.

The facts stir his journalistic spirit to write about the truth, but he is unaware the village chief is a 90 percent shareholder in the newspaper.

Dialogs

Born in Yogyakarta, Butet uses the Javanese language to establish a closeness with his listeners.

When Butet caught a man in the audience asking the meaning of a certain Javanese phrase, he quickly gave him the meaning, and retorted with "there is some good if you know that Indonesia is dominated by the Javanese".

Other than the well-scripted play, it was his hard-hitting Javanese humor that conveyed the message.

He cynically said Western reporters have a lot to learn from Indonesian reporters, screaming: "We are so modest, so polite and disciplined because we indulge in so many of these niceties," followed by the clincher: "We have no time to write at all."

When acting out the role of the village chief, he says a village chief entering the 21st century should be bothered more with the fact that the rupiah was ditempelengi (being slapped) by the dollar than with a man who has been burning his skin to a crisp waiting in the sun for the last 30 years.

Another scene has him acting as the aged Mardiko slumped over his seat, telling audiences that he understands perfectly why people in the village did not want him to "quit the fight".

He said he knew those people missed true heroes because they had been fooled "by people they had considered heroes".

He added that he was not keen at "having a road or a street named after him".

In another scene, the journalist tells people that he did not trust words anymore since he was not able to differentiate between fact and fiction.

"There is a man roasting in the sun for 30 years who I have to consider fiction, and then there is the true story of a nation having their lungs roasted by forest fires, even as a leader convinces his people that 'everything is under control'," he says.

The definitive ending comes with Butet, as the beaten journalist, clutching his throat, gagging over the tragic silence after being told by the village chief that he was majority shareholder in the newspaper.

Butet's monolog was one of many efforts by Indonesian artists trying to reinvent the concept of journalism: To have the facts printed, and have it done without truth-mangling alterations being made.

"Imagine being a coolie of the ink only to be upgraded to being a coolie of the diskette," he said.