The die-hard colonial mentality

The die-hard colonial mentality

JAKARTA (JP): I am beginning to suspect that the Southeast
Asian service industry suffers from a long-lasting colonial
mentality. In Melbourne, where I live, whenever I go to a
European-Australian restaurant, with male or female companions of
the Caucasian race, the waiters make sure they address everybody.
Of course, "madams" and "sirs" are used liberally, even if in
private they probably refer to us as "the old hag", "the dumpy
blonde", "the joker with a beer gut" and other such deprecating
references.

But that is not the point. The point is, nobody is made to
feel that he or she is redundant.

Curiously, this is not always the case if we go to a
restaurant serving Southeast Asian cuisine, and more importantly,
with a Southeast Asian management. In my case, let us exclude
Indonesian restaurants, because the Indonesian community in
Melbourne is not so large that we cannot at least identify each
other as compatriots. And once we start speaking Indonesian,
there is no stopping the gossip flowing. In some circumstances
you want to duck for cover instead of wanting to be noticed, when
the direction of the gossip begins to swipe too close for
comfort.

I find going to other Southeast Asian restaurants with a male
Caucasian companion very irritating, to say the least. I might as
well be invisible, or better still, not there.

"How are you today, sir?"

"Would you like to see the menu, sir?"

These are uttered with the utmost visible deference to my
companion while a menu is peremptorily handed to me.

At times, seeing me quietly rolling my eyes, my Caucasian
friend would ask my advice in front of the waiter or in the case
of a small restaurant, the proprietor. Some would pull up their
socks immediately and promptly register my presence, but not
enough to remember to include "madam" when returning to check if
everything was up to our, or rather HIS, expectations.

"Would you like some more rice, sir? Some more drinks, maybe?"

I have tried paying for the meal, just to show that I was not
a mere shadow, or some urchin my friend had picked up out of
pity, with very disappointing results.

After saying "thank you" to me the proprietor's attention
would quickly return to the "fair one" with "Have a nice day,
sir," or a similar insincere utterance.

How on earth would they expect Caucasians to respect their
women if they do not show any respect themselves?

Imagine my astonishment when I went to lunch with a Caucasian
female friend in one of the five-star hotels in Jakarta!

The moment we stepped in, smiling faces and solicitous
attention were showered on my friend who, admittedly, had injured
her foot, hence was on crutches. However, this was done with
complete disregard for my presence.

After helping my friend to a comfortable seat, I sat facing
her, trying to resume the conversation we had started earlier.
Two service personnel appeared at our table, one handing us the
menu. We tried to discuss our preferences, but one of them, the
more senior one, it appeared, began to give his suggestions. That
was well and good, but he only addressed my friend!

He even asked her for her name, so he could address her
properly. And from then on, drinks, bread rolls, butter, salt and
pepper, the actual meal, came with "Enjoy your meal, Miss Jenny",
as if she were eating by herself.

Luckily I had just been given the go-ahead by my editors for
another article I had proposed, so I was in a good enough mood
not to let the goings-on depress me.

When it was time to go back to work, I asked for the bill.
Interestingly, the bill was given to me, maybe because I had
asked for it, or more likely, because they thought it was my duty
to perform lowly tasks such as paying restaurant bills. Since the
amount stated was bigger than what I had in cash, I began to pull
out one of my credit cards. My friend stopped me and said, "No
Dewi, let me pay."

After a brief mutual protest, we decided to split the bill. We
both put money on the tray. And I was interested to see that from
that moment on, the waitress who took the money on the tray began
to address me. My guess is, she realized that I was with a
friend, not with my boss.

When will the psyche of three hundred and fifty years of being
colonized begin to fade?

-- Dewi Anggraeni