Desperate scenes trigger memories

By Djoweriah Poorwo S.

JAKARTA (JP): There are certain things in life one simply doesn't forget.

They might be buried deep inside us for a long, long time, but they suddenly pop to the surface of our mind as clearly as if the events happened yesterday.

One night, for instance, I happened to see on TV lots of white women, pale-faced, ill-groomed, their hair all tousled, tightly embracing their toddlers and babies as if in fear of losing them. They were absolutely overcrowded. They were avoiding warring fractions which were bound to invade their villages -- so the newscaster explained -- and now they were heading for an allegedly safer place, somewhere out there in the hills. The scene was Tusla, in the former Yugoslavia.

Then my mind involuntarily wandered back through the tunnel of time to stop abruptly in 1943.

That year I witnessed almost the same scene each day without the help of TV.

I remember those open trucks rushing through the streets of my town, Jakarta. They were also crammed with many white women, Dutch women, similarly ill-groomed, their hair similarly tousled. The view was almost the same as the one I saw on TV the other night.

The difference was they had no children in their arms and were not on their way to supposed safety. Rumor had it that they were being offered to the Japanese military, both officers and soldiers alike, who believed they were entitled to do as they pleased. As the great La Fontaine once claimed, the most powerful is always right. It was war after all. Remember?

Another image flashes on TV.

Now old and young are seen looking for precious food. Blacks this time. Incredibly thin. In Somalia.

Simultaneously another scene forces its way to the surface of my mind.

I remember those horrible days when food was so difficult to find, that we could only afford very thin rice porridge once a day. No wonder we got weaker every day, while the Japanese conquerors next door could be seen watering their roses with pure, fresh milk.

Another picture of the have-nots at the time -- who literally possessed nothing -- sticks in my mind. They were mostly ex- romushas, forced laborers crippled from the hard work and doomed to the streets.

These haggard looking, emaciated men didn't look much different from the Somali men. They were clad in soiled jute sacks, roaming the city in search of scarce food.

One morning one of these miserable men happened to lie dying in front of the school where I was teaching. Having caught a glimpse of the poor man, our school principal, who was in the first stage of pregnancy, couldn't help throwing up for quite a time. I wasn't really sure who I was more sorry for, the poor man or the lady. For the man, death was a blessing. It was war after all.

I don't have the heart to describe anymore horrid events. If I did, the picture would echo the TV.

But even now I keep asking myself the same naive question over and over again. Why on earth do we make war?

During the festive celebrations of Indonesia's golden anniversary a warm feeling of gratitude fills my heart.

Our freedom in 1945 and crushing the communist uprising 20- years later deserves a solemn salute to our heroes.

I can only thank God for granting me the opportunity to witness all the unbelievable differences.

Just look around Jakarta.

No malnourished men and women wrapped in soiled jute sacks roam the streets. Instead, people are well-groomed and dress in the latest fashions. Jeans, jackets and cute children's' wear are available in both expensive, fashionable boutiques and cheaper markets. In my youth we made all our clothes, even our bras and briefs. Don't laugh, we were very proud of every stitch.

There are now numerous catering enterprises ready to supply food for big gatherings, such as weddings and conferences. We used to do all the cooking ourselves, with family members and close friends. Hectic days with lots of work.

Now look up at the ever sprouting high-rise buildings. Housing estates are blossoming for the rich and also the poor.

Buses and cars of different makes jam the streets. Freeways are constantly being constructed.

Jakarta is on its way to be labeled a metropolis.

In the past going to school was a privilege of children from connected families. Today even my maid's 5-year-old child heads off to kindergarten in a most matter-of-fact way.

I never dreamed that all this could ever happen. So let's be optimistic.

Naturally there are flaws, perhaps even big ones once in a while. Let's phase them out one way or the other. Life would be boring without flaws.

If everyone does their best to do something useful for Indonesia we will have a brilliant future.

The writer is wife of Prof. Poorwo Soedarmo, pioneer of nutrition in Indonesia.