Dark days for slain taxi driver's family

Dark days for slain taxi driver's family

By Mehru Jaffer

JAKARTA (JP): First he lost his job to the cruel krismon
(monetary crisis), and then his life, too.

Until recently Mansyur, 51, was an administrative officer in a
mining company in Palu, South Sulawesi.

Laid off in the economic crisis like millions of others, he
was forced to abandon a middle-class lifestyle and move back to
Jakarta almost half a year ago. Failing to find another job in a
city that once brimmed with countless opportunities, Mansyur was
left with little choice but to drive a taxi to support his wife
and five children.

His wife, Titin, an elegant beauty from Banten, West Java,
says she quickly accepted her fate and learned to manage with
whatever she had.

That is until her husband was found dead in the taxi on April
11 with his throat slit, as the engine of the vehicle continued
to whir long after the gruesome murder was committed.

Titin thinks her husband may have had only Rp 150,000 (US$17)
on him when he was robbed and killed. It was perhaps Mansyur's
inexperience in his newfound job, which involves a certain savvy
in dealing with the many dangers on the city's mean streets, that
finally robbed him of both his hard-earned money and his life.

Criminal activities and incidents of violence have escalated
here since the iron rule of Soeharto came to a sudden end nearly
a year ago, flinging wide open the yearnings of Indonesians for
freedom. However, few seem to know what to do about the unrest
that insists on accompanying the country's journey toward
democracy. It is not rare for the city's 10 million population to
experience a daily brush with some form of violence, ranging from
petty theft to deadly killings.

With the country's first democratic elections in many years
just around the corner, there is the fear that worse incidents of
violence are still to come.

What is most tragic about the present day chaos is the fact
that a whole generation is growing up without much hope for the
future. Mansyur's only son, Virsan, suffers from a mental block.
He seems to be totally lost. Already 19 years old, he is ashamed
that he is unable to concentrate on completing his high school
studies.

His eyes light up with anger as he refuses to answer all
questions about his plans for the future. Smoking nonstop, Virsan
feels humiliated at the sudden fall in his social status and
angry at the tragic and unexpected murder of his father.

When all was well with his world, before the economy crashed
and his father still had the job he deserved, the family income
was Rp 1 million per month. Then, there had seemed enough food,
clothes and education for everyone.

Now he has to depend upon his 20-year-old sister Ruli to pay
his education fee. He does not like that. He has resolved the
problem simply by not going to school.

So how does he spend his time? "He will watch television a
little, then meet his friends, but he never wants to say what he
talks to his friends about. Some of them are also dropouts. It is
as if he has lost all sense of responsibility," says Ruli, a
graduate of Jakarta's Tourism High School.

Ruli has a job as a waitress in a hotel, which is an hour away
from her home in an East Jakarta kampong. She is on her feet for
eight hours on the job; in a good month, she has come home with
Rp 500,000, but when business is lean she can receive as little
as Rp 200,000.

But that is not how misty-eyed Ruli dreamt of spending the
rest of her life. She wanted to continue learning languages. She
would have liked to be an interpreter in the tourist industry,
not merely a waitress.

Always a top-ranked student, Ruli studied Japanese in school
and fears that she may lose the language if she does not find the
time or money to continue her studies. On the other hand, if she
has a choice between helping her 17-year-old sister Melissa, who
has one more year before she graduates also from the tourism
school, she will gladly choose to do everything she can for her
kid sister.

Titin, a housewife all her life, never gave a thought to
making money. But she, too, plans to pull out her old sewing
machine and try her favorite hobby of making clothes to earn a
living. After all, her daughter, Adut, 10, is determined to
become a doctor.

Mansyur's elderly mother sits by quietly, her head lowered in
grief. Lili, 9, bites her lower lip as she fights back tears when
she is asked a question.

Zulfiqar, a 21-year-old relative who sits smoking silently in
a corner of the house, recently graduated from high school. He is
now desperately looking for a job. Just any kind of a job, he
says.

What does he feel about the turmoil around him? He is
convinced that one day the chaos in the country will calm down.
Asked if he would also loot and riot like crowds of other, very
angry young people if he does not find a job soon, Zulfiqar said
he cannot imagine himself ever getting violent.

"I do feel frustrated but I am not angry, even though I know
that many dark days are ahead for all young people like me."