Ethnic stereotyping puts nationalism at stake

Ethnic stereotyping puts nationalism at stake

Tertiani ZB Simanjuntak
The Jakarta Post
Jakarta

One Batak is good as a pickpocket, two can make lifelong chess
mates, three can form a trio of buskers, while four are good
enough to establish a gang of preman (thugs).

Or, in the modern telling of this joke about people from North
Sumatra, they can open a law firm.

The Batak are only one example of our stereotyping -- we have
lots more for Sundanese, Javanese, Minangkabau and Balinese. The
Batak, like the joke tells us, are a rough around the edges, in
your face, no-nonsense kind of people, genetically predisposed to
play the guitar, sing well and order other people around.

And a Batak who does not live up to the stereotype? Well, they
must have spent a lot of time in Java.

Indonesians are supposed to steer clear of ethnic stereotypes
in the name of national unity, but we do it anyway, sometimes
quietly with a couple of friends, or more raucously as part of a
group.

And if we don't say it out loud, we may well be thinking it.

Our stereotypes are everywhere, from TV comedies to
commercials, from whispered asides in office meetings to the
it's-just-in-fun impression of one colleague about another's
supposed ethnic traits.

Ambonese Ruth Sinanu, a 26-year-old lecturer and social
activist, is often hurt by others' comments on her physical
appearance. But it's the backhanded compliment that "you don't
have the typical face of a Maluku person", whose dark skins are
considered unattractive in color-conscious Indonesian society.

"Do they really believe that the Ambonese are ugly?" she said.

Many people conveniently blame all the stereotyping on the
legacy of the Dutch colonial government to divide and conquer all
the different ethnic groups in the country.

But stereotyping is not funny anymore. Today, with ethnic
conflicts plaguing several areas of the country, stereotyping has
been reborn as discrimination -- and how you look and talk and
where you come from can land you in trouble.

In the morning after the imposition of martial law in Aceh on
May 18 to accommodate the military operations to crush the Free
Aceh Movement (GAM), Jakarta Governor Sutiyoso declared red alert
status in the capital against possible terrorist attacks by GAM
supporters.

The administration also sent out an order to subordinates,
reaching the heads of neighborhood units, to mobilize residents
to keep their eyes on the activities of their Acehnese neighbors.
Residents were even empowered with the right to make citizen's
arrests of suspicious Acehnese.

For Acehnese, the stereotyping comes in two forms: They are
all marijuana traffickers and rebels.

Noted Acehnese human rights activists Otto Syamsuddin Ishak,
who is married to a Javanese woman and lives in the capital with
his family, has fallen victim to the stigma.

"I didn't ask to be born Acehnese or live in Aceh. No one has
the privilege of making that choice. My two children, although
they are half-Javanese, are called 'children of GAM' by other
kids at school just because they have Acehnese blood," he said.

His eldest child is a fifth-grade student at an elementary
school, while the youngest is still in the first grade.

Otto said the discrimination runs counter to history as, in
the early years of independence in 1945, Aceh was dubbed as
Serambi Mekah (The Terrace of Mecca) for the people's strong
religious devotion and granted status as a special province to
honor the heroic role of its people during the struggle for
independence.

"Such prejudice has also put me into trouble in joining other
activists, the intellectual critics, in Jakarta. Although they
didn't tell me directly, other friends revealed that I was
considered 'too GAM'.

"Criticism of state policies and being pro-GAM is no different
to them anymore. It is now difficult for me to talk about Aceh
without being accused of bias," Otto said.

Discrimination is not only based on ethnicity, but also goes
back to one of the most terrible periods in the country's history
following an abortive coup blamed on the Indonesian Communist
Party (PKI).

Children and relatives of members of the now outlawed party
continue to pay a high price for continuing discrimination.

Lohjenawi Trinadi's father, who died in December last year,
was a member of a labor wing of PKI. His father joined it three
months before the attempted coup simply because membership would
allow them to receive foodstuffs without having to wait in long
lines.

"My father didn't know anything about the coup plan, if there
were any. I often blamed him for leaving all our lives in grief.
But I know he was a warm-hearted person. He didn't deserve the
last 30 years," Trinadi said.

In 1987, the military detained his father without a warrant
and, the family said, tortured the old man when the latter tried
to find out why the land owner of their rented home in the North
Sumatra capital of Medan sold the land without telling them
beforehand.

In his younger years, Trinadi, who is now an employee at a
life insurance company, did his best to hide his past from those
around him, including close friends at school.

"I killed my desire to become a doctor, because it would mean
having to try to pass the PKI screening to become a civil
servant. I made my youngest sister change her mind to become a
policewoman. I cannot forgive myself now for quashing her dreams.
But I just wanted to save her from more problems."

It's ironic that people continue to pull each other down
through stereotypes and discrimination when the government waxes
on about nationalism and loyalty.

"A nation means a group of people who have shared experiences
and similar goals. If Acehnese or other groups are terrorized,
receive death threats and live in poverty, can we really say that
we are a nation?" Otto remarked.