Police methods -- a taxing experience

Police methods -- a taxing experience

JAKARTA (JP): In some places, renewing your vehicle
registration is a straightforward process, achievable at a post
office or by mailing a check. Not in Indonesia. Here, like sex,
it can't be done by post or by proxy or by standing order. Unlike
sex, the procedure takes half a day. It's a good opportunity to
experience Indonesian police methods.

Armed with the necessary wad of banknotes and other, less
important documents, I mounted the steps to the vehicle
registration office at Jakarta Police Headquarters. Close at hand
was my local guide, whose role was to obfuscate the renewal
process while assisting the flow of funds from my wallet into the
pockets of police officers.

It was busy. Indonesia's entire driving population seemed to
have chosen that day to pay their dues. Their numbers were
swelled by a motley band of enterprising small businessmen. The
building is home to an extensive range of support industries, run
by characters looking like pantomime pirates -- all broken teeth,
stubble and scars. (And the men are even worse.)

The would-be registree who arrives penless will find himself
promptly surrounded by swarthy stationers keen to supply the
necessary instrument at a suitably inflated price. The hapless
applicant who finds himself delayed beyond his usual mealtime
will be approached by grubby purveyors of a variety of
consumables nestling in unappetizing conditions.

Keen to avoid dysentery and typhoid, and needing to report to
the fourth floor, we fought our way to the stairs. As we mounted
them, the press of people reduced, until by the time we reached
our floor, it was reminiscent merely of a capacity football crowd
bursting out of a cramped stadium at the end of the match. We
were in a small windowless office where we reported to a sulky
policewoman behind whom, completely oblivious of the throng,
another officer sat noisily engaged in eating a late breakfast.

Sulky examined my documents, and after making clear her
annoyance at the way they'd been cut and grouped, displayed a
virtuosity with the stanley knife and straight edge that could
only have resulted from long practice. It was followed by an
equally impressive performance with the stapler.

Leaving the breakfaster still enthusiastically devouring his
plateful, we were dismissed to the third floor. Having passed by
it three times already, I'd suspected we wouldn't be spared a
visit, and I wasn't disappointed. It turned out to be my
favorite floor.

We entered a long space with a full-length counter, against
which the inevitable crowd, overwhelmingly male, were pressing.
The noise was deafening and a thick fog of cigarette smoke hung
in the air. Indonesians are the most enthusiastic smokers -- the
masochistic fervor with which they assault their lungs is mind
boggling.

The assembled congregation was passing the time by smoking
and, between puffs, shouting at each other. In each corner of the
room hung high-level speakers and I prayed they wouldn't crackle
into life while I was present, though it seemed likely that the
system had long ago broken down. The air-conditioning certainly
had -- the room was swelteringly hot. Perhaps this was police
policy -- an applicant suffering from heatstroke might offer a
bonus for a faster exit.

We joined the queue. This did not comply with the orderly
platonic ideal of queues, but was an informal affair involving
much jostling and yelling and a fairly random order of business.
So we waited and jostled. I did less than the average quota of
yelling, but did plenty of sweating. Behind the counter,
uniformed minions wearing glazed expressions processed documents.
One youth did nothing except tear forms along the perforations.
His neighbor's task was to stamp them. Here indeed were two ace
crime-busters in action.

Time passed. The smoke, the heat and the racket seemed to
intensify, and the sweat running down my back was collecting into
a broadening damp zone at the waist. I looked around the room.
Through grimy windows, I could see a broad sill strewn with
several inches of accumulated rubbish. A cadaverous cat was
stalking through the debris, its scarred, sullen expression a
fitting reflection of its surroundings. I had no sympathy. It was
having a miserable time, but not as miserable as I was.

I had just noticed closer at hand, in fact far too close for
comfort, a youth who, I swiftly concluded, belonged to that group
known as the criminally insane. He wasn't big, but he was very
frightening. It was hard to believe he'd been allowed in the
building at all, as he should have been arrested for his
appearance alone. He was holding an orange. Not wishing him to
think I wanted his orange, or worse still to make friends, I
avoided eye contact with him and began whistling a sort of
unconcerned tune.

Without warning, he took a ferocious bite out of the still
unpeeled fruit in a manner that suggested he had just caught it
in the act of raping his mother. Finding the taste
unsatisfactory, he gave a spine-chilling grimace, spat the
offending mouthful on to the floor and kicked it venomously
against the baseboard. He called over one of the other waiting
miscreants, who very wisely came running, and handed him the
remains of the unwanted orange with instructions to replace it. I
suddenly felt horribly conspicuous -- as vulnerable as the
orange. I had been standing close enough to receive spatters of
juice on my shoe. Not that I minded that in the least, as long as
he didn't bite me: He was probably rabid.

Deliverance came in the unexpected form of a policeman, who
called me up to the counter to present my documentation for
counting. My ordeal was almost over and I could stop whistling. A
short while later, somewhat poorer, I was released unbitten into
the comparative comfort and safety of Jakarta's undesigned roads
and their uncontrolled traffic, driven by untrained drivers.
Strange to think we'd all been through the same initiation
procedure at police headquarters.

Which reminds me -- next month I have to return there to renew
my driver's license.

-- Michael Upton