Umar Kayam on literature, life and communism

Umar Kayam on literature, life and communism

By Chris Brummitt

JAKARTA (JP): Umar Kayam is one of the country's most
respected fiction writers, if one of its least prolific. In over
25 years of writing he has published approximately 20 short
stories, three slightly longer ones and one novel. This long
incubation period is evident in his work, which is consistently
well-crafted.

He was born in 1932 in a small East Javanese town. His parents
were both teachers and "were into the arts". There were books
around the house -- Dutch novels, English novels translated into
Dutch -- and by senior high school Umar had written his first
short story. He studied literature at Gadjah Mada University
(UGM) and then went on to study in America. On his return to
Indonesia he spent three years as director general of Radio,
Television and Film in the early days of president Soeharto's New
Order. Umar returned to UGM in Yogyakarta in 1970 to teach
literature.

In 1997 he opted for early retirement -- "I was tired" -- and
since then has been traveling back and forth between Jakarta and
Yogyakarta, with a six-month break in Kyoto, Japan, to finish off
a soon to be published sequel to his novel, Para Priyayi (The
Javanese Upper-Classes).

The Jakarta Post dropped by at his home in Cipinang Indah,
East Jakarta, on Friday morning, cut short his breakfast and
asked him about his life and writing.

Umar is currently recovering from a mild stroke and finds it
hard to type as fast as he would like; "robbed" is how he feels.
He is remarkably positive, however, and is waiting for the doctor
to allow him to travel again to examine PhD students in
Yogyakarta and Surabaya.

Asked which he preferred, teaching or research -- he headed
his own cultural research unit at UGM -- he leans forward and
sets the agenda. "The one thing I most like is writing. Writing
short stories and novels."

Does he follow a strict routine when writing?

"I write every day, but I don't have any routine; it's
whenever I choose. I'm not that kind of writer. That is the way
of a government worker or a bureaucrat. Writers write whenever
they please."

He holds up Hemingway -- "a damn sure writer" -- as an example
of someone who lived the ideal writer's life. His writing too has
a "sureness" about it, rarely straying from realistic prose
describing real situations in clearly defined settings. He hasn't
much time for Kundera or other writers who write in "what they
call a postmodern style", adding that "maybe that is just because
I'm getting old or I'm too lazy".

One of his earliest and most memorable stories, Seribu Kunang-
Kunang di Manhattan (A Thousand Fireflies in Manhattan), has
recently been translated into 14 regional Indonesian languages,
all of which have been collected in one volume -- a
groundbreaking literary venture. Umar is pleased his story was
chosen, though he admits to have been baffled when the editor
told him it was because it was "full of semiotic traps".

Similarly, he is unimpressed by much of today's literary
criticism. He doesn't often read it -- "much of it is ngawur
(thoughtless, baseless). I don't know whether they (critics)
really like it (the literature they write about) or whether they
just pretend to".

Seribu Kunang-Kunangan, in common with all the stories in the
collection of the same name, draws on his experiences in America.
It is dedicated to his wife and child, his "hunting companions in
the jungles of Manhattan", and, apart from some humorous moments,
urban America appears to be a cruel and confusing place. However,
in retrospect at least, he is upbeat about his time there. "I was
looking forward to going to America with its modern lifestyle.
When I got there I was impressed, amazed." Returning home was
also not a problem. "I still felt myself to be Indonesian,
Javanese."

What about the differences between American campuses and
Indonesian ones? "American campuses are more free. The students
can speak directly with the teachers. The libraries are very
good. The students are also more open; they have not had a
lifetime of state indoctrination like here. At the most all they
have been is indoctrinated by their lifestyle."

What do you mean by their lifestyle? "Nowadays it is the so-
called globalization virus. Here we don't know anything about it.
Suddenly everyone is wearing jeans. The more ugly they are, the
more expensive."

Umar published Bawuk and Sri Sumarah (the names of the two
female heroines) in 1975, two long short stories which revolve
around the 1965 attempted communist coup, its terrifying
aftermath and the lives of those families affected by it. "That
time was a big shock for me, even though I was director general
of Radio, Television and Film. I was questioning what was going
on myself. I didn't completely understand it. Because of that, I
wasn't DG for very long. I proposed to the government that our
electronic media follow the BBC's model and become independent. I
was fired."

Communism was a theme he would return to in Musim Gugur
Kembali ke Connecticut (Autumn Returns to Connecticut), first
published in Horison, the country's leading literary magazine. At
the center of the story is the friendship between two men,
political opponents but friends, and the tide of events which
leads one of them to his death in a rubber plantation. "That
story I took a little from my own experience. When I was at UGM,
I had a lot of friends who belonged to Lekra (a communist
cultural organization) and HSI (a communist student
organization). Even though we were friends on a personal level,
we opposed each other politically -- always debating. Many of
them died. Killed."

For a writer it was a difficult time. Literature was seen by
the communists as a tool in their revolutionary struggle to free
the oppressed; anyone disagreeing was on the side of the
oppressors. "The PKI (Indonesian Communist Party) was, I think,
very orthodox in its approach and tried to control everything.
They were very active in drama, literature and ketoprak (popular
Javanese opera). That was what I never agreed with. I said let
the writers write what they want. I was always being accused of
being a liberal ... whereas I was always independent. I never
joined a political party."

We agree on how much the world has changed. Pointing to
today's newspaper, he says, "Look what Gus Dur said today in
Beijing. 'Don't fret too much about communism. Communism has
already changed.' It takes a new president to say that. Look at
the ambassador in Beijing. He himself is a general who once was
indoctrinated on the dangers of communism."

Where were you when president Soeharto resigned? "I was in
Kyoto. One of my children telephoned me and said, 'Soeharto has
fallen.' I didn't believe her. I said, 'Fallen from where? His
bed?' And then I realized she meant he had really fallen. I came
home and Habibie was already in power."

On contemporary politics Umar is noncommittal. Gus Dur "means
well" though he has a difficult task ahead of him, while the
Acehnese "have the right to independence", but he wonders "if
they fully realize the consequences".

By this time the midday call to prayer was getting louder.
There was time only for one more question; a last chance to find
out where his political sympathies lie. When you watched the Gus
Dur/Megawati presidential showdown, who were you rooting for? An
impartial observer to the end, after a pause and the trace of a
smile, he replies: "I didn't think anything when I saw it. I just
saw it as a game."