Fairy tales for a not-so-young Republic

Fairy tales for a not-so-young Republic

Indonesia is a land of fairy tales. Or so you will be told by
many expatriates, especially those hailing from the colder and
more industrialized regions of the globe. The natural beauty! The
fabulous sunsets (and sunrises)! The living art! The joyful and
oh so gentle people!

Many expats who have finished their time of service in
Indonesia will often seize any excuse to return. I once knew a
Nordic diplomat who had been posted to New York and had to attend
the 1985 Women's Meeting in Nairobi. Of course she stopped in
Jakarta en route.

"Since when is Jakarta en route from North America or Northern
Europe to East Africa?" I asked.

"Well, if you fly over the Pacific, it is!" she gushed
happily.

Encouraged, I tried to tell my sponsors that the most scenic
route from Jakarta to Nairobi would be over the Pacific. It was a
nice try, but they sent me across the Indian Ocean anyway.

The Indonesian word for fairy tale is dongeng. Now let's not
split hairs about whether it means folklore, legends or myths.

The story about the Tangkuban Perahu is a dongeng. So is the
story of the Queen of the South Seas, Kanjeng Ratu Kidul, better
known in her demonic aspect as Nyai Lara Kidul.

The stories about the brave little mousedeer, kancil, are
dongeng. And the story about the Bear with a Little Brain who
Loves Eating Hunny is also a dongeng.

Fairy tales are usually considered to be mainly for the very
young. Not just for their edification, but also -- at least until
not too long ago -- as a soporific.

I had a young nephew who loved the grimmer of Grimm's fairy
tales. One was his absolute favorite, and you had to tell it
exactly the same way every time, or he would rise like a dragon
disturbed in his slumber and cry: "No! You're telling it wrong
again!"

It wasn't until I came across Bruno Bettelheim's The Uses of
Enchantment that I ceased worrying about what dire effects these
dark tales might have on him. In fact, he's grown into a rather
nice person, although I still hope he doesn't read this
particular piece, or there may be cases of aunt abuse in the
offing.

As Indonesia is celebrating the 57th anniversary of its
independence this month, I find myself increasingly preoccupied
by the fairy tales that abound in our not-so-young Republic.
During the so-called Orde Baru (New Order), there was so much
delusion and illusion all around us that we the citizens often
felt that we were trapped in a shadow puppet play. Things were
happening, were moving, people were jumping high or falling
low ... but who or where was the dalang, the puppet master?

Now, we hear, we have Reformasi (Reform). Down with demagogy,
long live democracy! ... And rallies are the order of the day.
Food and fuel prices are rocketing sky high. Transportation,
telecommunications and electricity are all getting dearer and
dearer. And ... dear me! What does it cost to hold the People's
Consultative Assembly's Annual Session? Only Rp 18 billion (US$2
million)?

Aren't those people's representatives supposed to strive for
the best interests and the welfare of the rakyat, the citizenry?
At Rp 1.8 billion a day, this is definitely not a case of "talk
is cheap".

A police chief stated confidently a week or so ago that
Jakarta is very safe, very secure and very peaceful. Maybe it is
in his corner, but as one Indonesian newspaper commented
caustically, "No doubt the police feel safe, because they have
guns."

If one watches the news on the Indonesian television stations,
especially their crime coverage, one wouldn't really feel so safe
nor secure.

My own little corner in Pamulang used to be quite idyllic:
fresh air, nice neighbors (also the kampong people) and hardly
any traffic. I have a great view of beautiful sunsets, sunrises
and moonrises, because the land across the street is empty, on
account of the Pertamina gas main which runs from Cirebon to
Cilegon.

Covered by wild grass, one is not supposed to erect any
buildings, plant any trees nor light any fires on this 20-meter
wide strip of land. I used the word "suppose" deliberately,
because this is Indonesia, after all. Red warning signs posted at
regular intervals are probably considered to be only ornamental.

Anyway, my tribe of happy cats and I used to enjoy ourselves
tremendously, strolling through the wild grass and all that,
gazing at the distant mountains.

Then a preman (hoodlum) appears out of the blue and
establishes a cigarette stand right across from my house. Were he
only selling cigarettes and bottled tea at normal opening hours,
his presence would still be bearable. However, his customers
became increasingly rowdier and were coming and going at all
hours. In the end I had a full blown preman's nest across the
road.

My efforts to enlist the Community Unit to really uphold its
name, the "harmonious neighborhood", were to no avail. They
were obviously too afraid. Alerting the police had virtually the
same effect, although I pointed out that I had strong reason to
suspect that the preman dealt in certain substances much stronger
than tea or tobacco.

"Well, if the worst comes to the worst you can always call
112," the police said helpfully.

112! The mysterious number that appears on my cell phone when
-- yet again -- I get no signal. It's supposed to work even
without a SIM card. Needless to say, I would hate having to put
it to the test. What if it should turn out to be another fairy
tale, designed to lull us to sleep?

-- Marianne Katoppo