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.