RI's arts, literature in regression

By Johannes Nugroho

SURABAYA (JP): The thunderous roar of disapproval from the contemporary Indonesian arts community in response to Abdul Latief's recent appointment as Minister of Tourism, Arts and Culture is ironic. The newly titled ministry was shunned by the community it is supposed to represent and interact with. Not only did our eminent artists question the integrity of Latief, they also treated the allegedly pecuniary interests of the ministry with cynicism.

Harry Roesli, the loudest of the trumpeters on behalf of the arts community, lamented the intended commercialization of arts and culture. He insisted in a recent interview that scaling the arts for salability was "shallow" and argued that it could pose a threat to the development of the arts in the country. Roesli also stated bluntly that "attention and concern by the government (for the arts) are almost nonexistent".

The latter arguably sums up the attitude and course by which the development of Indonesia, Inc. are set. The government, despite Article 32 of the Constitution, has underestimated the value of contemporary arts. Instead, it has courted almost exclusively the siren of technological advancements.

The construction of the N-250 aircraft by national aircraft manufacturer IPTN, indeed a worthy national achievement, was greeted throughout the country by jubilation. The aircraft's presence in the prestigious French Air Show last year hallmarked our pride once again. Reports of progress made at the shipbuilder PT PAL led to beaming faces across the country. The final icing on the technological-laden cake was the talk of constructing a nuclear plant.

The New Order's obsession with technology has undoubtedly paid off. Computers and laptops are household items which most middle class families can afford. More Indonesian teenagers surf the Internet and chat on cellular telephones. ATMs mushroomed and companies began to computerize everything. In the 1990s, Indonesia shook off the image of a technologically devoid third- world country, and we will probably never look back.

Yet, as Indonesian students are shepherded into the realm of technology at school, they are seldom encouraged to appreciate arts or literature. Humanities subjects such as literature and history are taught with tediousness.

Literature students in secondary schools are instructed to memorize the names of authors, plus their works, without even having to read them. Perusal of literary works is never part of the curriculum. Students are not guided to interpret history and literature themselves. Spoonfeeding is considered a better alternative.

With this unbalanced mobilization towards technological advancement, we have forgotten that a great nation, in the long run, is not judged through its technological legacy. Great ancient civilizations claimed their greatness through their literary works, philosophy and arts.

The Greeks have retain their relevance for two millennia because we still read and discuss Homer, Aristotle and Plato. We still gaze upon their faultless amphoras and statues with amazement. More importantly, their finest legacy, democracy, still lives on.

On the other hand, we cannot make too much use of how they built their roads while we can build three-tiered roads with utmost ease. Their marathon runners-cum-messengers would look ludicrous when contrasted with our split-second satellite communication system. Their then sophisticated ways of recording facts and events on pieces of clay and papyrus pale beyond comparison to our CD ROMs.

Omens of a new generation of Indonesians alienated from arts and literature are becoming more and more visible. For instance, it has been years since a major Indonesian literary work emerged, a sad indicator of dormancy of literature in this country. Contemporary Japanese authors such as Kosno Ishigura have won international acclaim and have their works published, but our authors struggle to find publishers for intellectual novels.

We applauded with belated pride when we learned about Anggun C. Sasmi's success on the European musical scene. Unfortunately, Anggun does not even live here anymore. She is a French national and her records are produced in Europe. Are we still able to call her an Indonesian success story?

Contemporary creative minds today are constantly faced with the dilemmatic censorship which the government upholds almost zealously. Ratna Sarumpaet's play portraying the tragic fate of labor activist Marsinah was banned in Surabaya for dubious political reasons; this is not to mention all the others who suffered the same fate. It is indeed surprising that under such repressive circumstances the Indonesian arts still linger on.

Amid the current national mourning over the economic debacle, it is perhaps far too sanguine to expect government financial support for the arts. Instead, the government probably wishes to exploit our arts to the maximum. The government will presumably want to see more craftworks or Balinese and Asmat statues for export. What evades them is that these are anything but art; genuine artistic works are not some mass-produced, spurious odds and ends.

True works of arts possess the dignity and livelihood endowed in them by their creators. Art does not have to conform to the mainstream tastes. Nor does it need to kowtow to the authorities. Artworks should be the pinnacle of unculled human expression, a testimony to history and, most importantly, a glimpse of the soul. The least it needs for its survival is an attempt at denigration, sizing it up by measures of salability and commercial potential.