Viagra and politics of desire in Bali

By Degung Santikarma

DENPASAR, Bali (JP): The telephone number, connecting callers to an unlisted mobile phone, is busy day and night. No surprise, perhaps -- this is, after all, Bali, the land not only of beaches and the Barong dance, but of brokers and buyers of almost every imaginable commodity. What is different about this number, however, is that if you finally manage to leave a message with the breathless receptionist, you'll be connected not with the usual Bali bargain -- three days of bikini-and-beer bliss at a Kuta losmen or transport to an evening of enlightenment at Tanah Lot Temple -- but with a different kind of deal. For a price of only Rp 120,000 per pill, you can have Viagra, advertised as the "wonder vitality drug from the U.S.A." and delivered to your home, office or hotel in less than an hour.

As development in Bali proceeds at breakneck speed, almost anything, it seems, can be bought and sold. Given its status as an international crossroads of tourism and trade, can the popularity of Viagra in Bali be seen as just another case of the developing world eager to consume the latest and greatest Western invention?

To understand the Viagra phenomenon, it helps to know something about the history of sexuality in Bali. Western images of Bali have long stressed the sensual, portraying the island as a tropical temple of worldly pleasures.

Even before the advent of mass tourism in the 1970s, Bali was famed as "the island of bare breasts", immortalized in postcards and paintings depicting lithe young maidens, innocent of their erotic allure, bathing naked in rivers or posed seductively against lush cascades of flowers.

And it was not only Balinese women who were burdened with sexually charged stereotypes, but Balinese men as well. Who could forget anthropologist Clifford Geertz's classic description of the Balinese cockfighter, obsessed with the care of his beloved bird, spending hours on end with it tucked between his knees, stroking its body and fondling its feathers? Or the countless photo portrayals of beautiful Balinese boys dressed in artistically folded sarongs swaying delicately to the silvery tones of gamelan music?

To Western eyes, grown jaded from witnessing the continuing conflicts in their homelands, Bali seemed to offer a fresh young face, unscarred by time or social tension and uninhibited by the restraints of civilization. For these early pleasure-seekers, Bali provided a peaceful playground, a haven for those whose alternative lifestyles made them marginal figures in the West, gaining a reputation as an oasis of sexual tolerance.

But these representations of Balinese sexuality also contained a certain ambivalence. Balinese women, said to be gifted with a natural grace, were also rumored to possess guna-guna -- a magical method of capturing the hearts and wallets of their prospective suitors. Balinese men, armed with their deadly kris daggers and dancing wildly on the edge of trance, were thought to possess a primitive virility, yet at the same time their flowing hair, long sculpted fingernails, androgynous clothing and gentle manners seemed to mark them as less than fully masculine. At once dangerous and docile, fierce and feminine, these images of Bali played out both the fears and the fantasies of the West about Asia.

With the simultaneous arrival of Soeharto's New Order and planeloads of package tourists, the discourse on Balinese sensuality shifted. Balinese men were made over as macho by both a militaristic state ideology and an expanding informal industry of beach boys-for-hire who supplied "companionship" to tourist women seeking a more intimate cultural exchange. Balinese women were told to cover themselves, in keeping with their new assignment to act not as naive natives but as "cultural ambassadors" of a great civilization and a modern nation.

According to the development-driven New Order, it was five- star facilities, not topless temptresses, that would lure foreign funds to the island. Communal open-air baths were proclaimed to be contrary to "Asian values" and lacking in hygiene, and the private bathroom was held out as the new marker of modernity. But while the more erotic aspects of Bali's image were being suppressed, Balinese themselves were becoming subject to increasing pressure to play the seductress in attracting tourists to an increasingly prosaic "last paradise". Through mass media campaigns and hospitality training programs, Balinese were taught the qualities they needed to cultivate to welcome their foreign "guests". It was the sensitive, spiritual Balinese that would appeal, they were told, not the fighter, not the critic and certainly not the dissident.

As a marketing strategy, it would seem that "sensuous Bali" has succeeded. Tourist arrivals are up, and postcard-perfect images of Balinese beauty continue to sell. What is down, it would seem, is the Balinese libido. "Why do Balinese need Viagra," one curious Westerner asked after spotting an ad for the famous pharmaceutical in a Bali daily. "Aren't they supposed to be naturally erotic?" For this man, there seemed a certain irony to Bali being the latest stop on Viagra's transnational trip. At the same time that Westerners come seeking sensual bliss on the enchanted "island of the gods", the Balinese are turning westward for the keys to erotic ecstasy.

But there is more to the story. Drive down the busy streets of Denpasar and you will encounter another kind of sexual service. "Especially for Men," proclaims a sign hanging in a window next to a gaudily colored poster of the Hindu goddess Durga, "Traditional Indian Medicine." Sitting in his office, which with its pink plastered walls and thick red carpet and curtains looks more like a massage parlor than a medical practice, the proprietor of this thriving business explains how he treats all manner of physical failings, including impotence, premature ejaculation, infertility and troubled relations between husbands and wives. He can even, he promises, increase the size of a man's genitals, all using natural herbs he claims are imported from Punjab, a region in the north of India. This man, a descendant of Tamil immigrants to Indonesia who calls himself a tabib, or traditional healer, describes how he serves a variety of clientele.

"Middle-aged men, especially those with young wives, often come because they have problems making their wives happy," he says. "But it's usually the younger ones, between 15 and 25, who come to me for penis enlargements."

This treatment, he explains, is sometimes difficult, taking up to a dozen visits to accomplish. And at a cost of Rp 50,000 per consultation, plus extra fees for the medicines, sexual satisfaction does not come cheap. But despite this, there are increasing numbers of men who are willing to pay the price for a more perfect performance. The tabib attributes his growing patient population to the stresses of modernity.

"Sex is not just a physical act, but a spiritual one," he says. "If your mind is burdened with the pressures of life these days, your sexual functioning will fail."

When asked about Viagra, he is quick to respond. "Viagra is dangerous because it's a chemical. Our treatment is natural, a product of traditional wisdom." And this man is not alone in his work. There are dozens of such practitioners in Bali offering to cure various sexual ailments, and even more Balinese who are turning to other eastern sources for erotic enlightenment: Traditional Balinese lontar texts, local balian healers, yoga, meditation and tantric practices such as kundalini.

The presence of these new sexual services in Bali seems to arouse, in the end, more questions than answers: Are Balinese who are buying the "wonder vitality drug from America" simply trying to copy their Western counterparts, or are they trying, in fact, to bolster the "natural Balinese sensuality" that has made them so attractive to the West? Is it possible that the arrival of Viagra in Bali speaks less to physical failings on the part of Balinese than it does to a kind of cultural impotence, a pressure to perform the sensual part that can attract tourist interest? And are those Balinese who are turning an erotic eye eastward toward their supposed origins in India returning to their past or are they looking for new ways to cope with the demands of the future?. It's hard to know for sure. However, one thing seems certain: Trapped under the weight of exoticizing and eroticizing images and the confusion they cause, it's no wonder that many Balinese find themselves failing to live up to their reputation.

The writer is a Balinese anthropologist and a former fellow at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, New Jersey, the United States.