Can you be a good person in Jakarta?
JAKARTA (JP): We were traveling on the congested Jl. Gatot Subroto moving toward Semanggi. Cars, trucks and buses were streaming out from the Cawang-Grogol toll road through the Komdak ramp. As usual, most of them would force their way to the left as they inched ahead before they could turn left toward Kebayoran. A new Kijang on our right was flashing its left turning signal. "Just yield, Pak. Let him pass," I said to Pak. Sukarna, the elderly driver that I hire for just a couple of days every week. He did as I suggested. Unfortunately, all the cars behind that Kijang followed it in bumper-to-bumper fashion. We were stuck. The guy behind us was blasting his horn.
This is a regular unpleasant situation that we get into -- because Pak. Sukarna listens to me. The other day, I told him to yield to a Baleno on our left that seemed to be struggling to change lanes. I was thinking that the poor driver wanted to turn right at the intersection ahead and nobody had given him way, so why not help him. Once it got into our lane in front of us, however, this Baleno moved so leisurely that both Pak. Sukarna and I instantly realized that we had, once again, been very stupid.
If stories like this are nothing new on Jakarta's roads, I can tell you of countless others that do not necessarily take place in traffic. For example, as a Muslim, I pay my zakat and fitrah (alms) every year. Even that basic routine duty produces a story of its own. A couple of years ago I went to a nearby mosque the night before Idul Fitri to fulfill this obligation.
I was asked to write down my name and address in the book that they provided, and I did. It was unnecessary, of course, as God already has my name and address in His Database. But the ramification of my trust was substantial. A few months later, someone from the mosque visited me at home and asked for a donation. You know where he got my name and address.
About a year ago, on a hot afternoon, I walked to a warung near my house to buy a bottle of Coke. I bumped into our hansip (neighborhood security guard). As I had not given him any money that month, I put into his hand the amount that I regularly gave him.
Nothing special about it, as I did it simply because he was a responsible hansip with a very low monthly salary. My concern was that if he should decide to quit and find a better-paying job, the whole neighborhood would have difficulty recruiting a replacement. So, you see, my contribution was not purely an act of kindness. In fact, I was doing it more for a practical reason.
But a scavenger happened to see me giving Pak. hansip the money. He followed me all the way to the warung, trying to make me see that he had not had any food since morning. Soon I said to myself, "Heck, why not share some of what God has given me with this guy. Rp 5,000 won't hurt." And I gave him Rp 5,000. That turned out to be a mistake, because after that day he would appear at my porch out of nowhere the moment I took my car out of the carport. He would stand there, asking for my "contribution".
And then one evening about a month ago I went with my family to have our favorite chicken satay along the sidewalk of Jl. Sabang, Central Jakarta. We had barely finished placing our order when a sick woman shoved her open palm right under my nose and begged me for money. She was no stranger to us, as we encounter her every time we are there. I knew she would not leave me alone unless I gave her what she wanted, so I put Rp 1,000 in her hand.
"Lima ribu," she said in sobs. She insisted that I should give her Rp 5,000. In that instant I got so mad that I snatched the Rp 1,000 back from her hand, stood up and walked away.
My peril that evening did not stop there. Just after the sick woman finally left to hunt for another victim, a man came up to me, trying to sell a ring. I told him politely I did not need a ring. He then asked me for money. "Seribu saja," he said. I told him I did not have any money. I still tried to be polite, because just a few minutes earlier I had lost control of myself and was so rude to a really sick beggar. I tried to persuade him that, as he was an able-bodied person, he should not be asking a stranger for money.
As you might have guessed, politeness would not work in a situation like this. Despite my soft words and constant smile, this guy left me at last with a menacing glint in his eyes, calling me names and threatening to kill me the next time he saw me. My family vowed to skip Jl. Sabang and its chicken satay delight until we could get these incidents out of our minds.
If you have lived in Jakarta long enough, you, too, may have come to the realization that it is not easy to be a good person in this big and tough city. No, I am not talking about becoming an angel or a saint. I am just talking about making things a little easier for others, in the hope that they or other people will also help make our life easier down the road. The resulting experience, as it has turned out time and again, can be rocky.
Simply following our impulse for giving, for sharing and even for trying to do what we believe to be the right things may, in fact, puts us in an uncomfortable -- if not dangerous -- situation. We may believe in the beauty of giving and sharing, but, not infrequently, the simple act of giving and sharing may be taken by others as the signing of a contract for a long-term obligation.
In a savage place like Jakarta, one has to be extremely wise to be able to see what one's good deeds will entail. Unfortunately, most of us, including myself, are just ordinary people living ordinary lives.
-- Zatni Arbi