The politics of early childhood in Bali

The politics of early childhood in Bali

By Degung Santikarma

DENPASAR, Bali (JP): In a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts
of Denpasar, the lazy, humid midday air carries the sounds of a
small war.

In front of the local village meeting hall, a group of
preschool children run in wild circles, giggling, shrieking and
teasing each other. As they play, their mothers, armed with
bowls, spoons and the time-honored techniques of childrearing,
follow them determinedly, trying bravely to coax them into
opening their mouths.

The second their lips part to let forth a cry or a laugh, the
spoon slips in, depositing its load of rice, vegetables and fish
before the target can escape again.

"If my child eats at home alone, he gets bored," explains one
of the mothers. "If I bring him here, with the other kids, I feed
him while he plays." But for her child, an active three-year-old
with more interest in pushing her little brother on his tricycle
than in trying tempting morsels of food, persuasion seems
insufficient.

Seeing the spoon, the child yells a rebellious "No!" and
clamps her mouth shut. Yet this is only the first round of the
battle, and stealth and determination are not the only weapons in
the Balinese parent's arsenal. When her child refuses yet again
to eat, the mother warns her, "If you don't finish your food, the
police will come and get you," pointing threateningly to a
neighborhood man who just happens to have turned down the street.

A look of fear on her young face, the child opens her mouth
submissively to be fed, and the mother finally relaxes,
successful in her mission.

Another hour passes, and the children are still playing. One
of them, a boisterous four-year-old, seems wobbly on his feet and
clearly in need of a rest. His mother calls out, "Let's go, it's
time for your nap."

But the child, busy building up and knocking down an
impressive tower of blocks, seems not to hear. Again and again
the mother tries to convince him to leave, and again and again he
refuses. Finally, she uses a tactic she knows to be foolproof.

"If you don't take your nap right now, I'll take you to the
doctor for a shot." A look of horror on his face, the child
obediently gives up his play and follows his mother home. Later
on, once night has fallen, his mother will use a similar
technique to get him to go to bed.

"If you don't go to sleep now, the leak will get you," she
will say, referring to the terrifying shape-changing demons who
are rumored to wander Bali after dark, preying on unlucky
children.

Bali, most will agree, has entered a new era. Tourists and
mass media bring news of the wider world. Internet cafes and
international flights link Balinese locals to the global village.

Political and social reform have become topics of everyday
discussion, and students and cultural critics openly advocate
democratization, transparency and anti-feudalism. "The people
have already become brave," claim the activists. "We are no
longer scared to stand up to power."

Several years ago, the most popular slogan in Bali was koh
ngomong, meaning too tired or too worn down to speak. These days,
it's siapa takut? (who's afraid?), proclaimed proudly on t-shirts
and bumper stickers.

But in the realm of childrearing, it seems at first that
little has changed. Almost seventy years ago, the renowned
anthropologists Margaret Mead and Gregory Bateson wrote that the
ideal Balinese child was the one who was polos, meaning obedient,
polite and submissive.

Unlike in the West, where most parents try to encourage their
children's independence and individual initiative, Balinese
believed that the most important lesson a child must learn is how
to live in harmony with society.

Fear, following this analysis, could be used to ensure that
one's child grew to be an respectful, modest, dutiful member of a
close-knit community.

And indeed, many Balinese parents offer explanations for their
actions that sound surprisingly similar to the textbook version
of Balinese culture. "If I don't scare my child, he'll never obey
and he'll grow up to become arrogant and willful," says one of
the mothers from the informal Denpasar playgroup.

"I'm sure that Joshua's parents must have scared him, too,
for him to become so smart and successful," says another,
referring to the tiny television star whose clever antics -- and
considerable income -- have made him the recipient of so much
parental admiration.

Yet others speak about the fear that invades the world of
Balinese childhood in different ways. These parents, who
themselves were brought up under Indonesia's New Order
government, have been conditioned to believe that obedience
brings success and safety and resistance brings trouble.

For their generation, submission was not merely a cultural
quality inherent in Balinese character, but a demand placed upon
them by the state. The government official took the role of the
father, and the people the role of the children who must be
taught to follow through fear.

"I need to make my child afraid so that he won't get hurt,"
explains the father of a four-year-old girl. "Bali isn't as safe
as they say, you know," he continues.

"There's violence and kidnapping and accidents and drugs. If
my daughter learns fear, she'll be strong enough to succeed, no
matter how hard the world is," he concludes. "I always used to
threaten my sons with the doctor or the police," recounts the
mother of two high school students.

"And now my children want to become doctors and soldiers
themselves," she boasts proudly.